#i am still working on an actual fic but i needed to dispel these thoughts before i could continue skdhjgfkh

[zukkaoru]

the most (only) important post-canon arc for mai is her learning to let herself be vulnerable. learning that she does not have to spend the rest of her life suppressing both the good and the bad - she is allowed to be sad and angry, and she is also allowed to be happy and loved. mai spent her entire life perfecting an apathetic demeanor, perfecting a persona that does not care about anything. and, therefore, turning herself into someone who not only bottles up the negative emotions but also shuts out the positive ones. at boiling rock, she finally makes a move that puts her true feelings on display, and that paves the way for her to open herself back up to all of the feelings she has spent her entire life ignoring.

post-canon, mai's arc is not only about learning she's allowed to be sad, she's allowed to be angry, she's allowed to react to the trauma she went through. it is also about her learning that she is allowed to have good things. she doesn't have to punish herself for craving affection and love. she is allowed to want, and she is allowed to want whoever she wants. she does not have to hide her feelings for ty lee, does not have to suppress her attraction to women, does not have to assume that whatever marriage she is forced into will feel like a chore at best and a life of torture at worst.

mai has gone her entire life not receiving affection. even her relationship with zuko was stilted and forced, neither of them quite sure how to show that they cared for the other because they didn't care for each other in a romantic way. it was awkward and messy, and while mai might hate zuko for running, she's also grateful because she hated it too. so when, post-canon, she and ty lee end up together, it takes mai a while to understand how to accept ty lee's affection. it takes mai time to be used to someone who kisses her cheeks, her forehead, her hands spontaneously; someone who calls her lovely and starlight; someone who will hug her whenever she needs it and also whenever she wants it. it takes mai a long time to accept all of the love ty lee has for her - to realize that she doesn't have to earn every hug, she doesn't have to be on the verge of a breakdown for ty lee to kiss her forehead, she doesn't have to spend her life trying to be worthy of affection. this affection is hers to have and to keep and to cherish and ty lee is freely offering it to her, no strings attached.

mai's arc is about learning to be vulnerable, learning to be loved, and learning to be held. it is about falling asleep next to the girl she loves and not tensing up when ty lee pulls her close. it is about mai learning to open herself up and trust ty lee. it is about ty lee's arm over mai's torso, mai's back pressed to her chest, finally, finally letting herself be held. finally letting herself be loved. finally letting herself be at peace. it is about the fact that she no longer shies away from affection, no longer fighting with the voices in her mind that tell her to break free from ty lee's arms because she does not deserve this love. for mai, vulnerability is not only crying and being angry and breaking down - it is embracing the (physical) affection that her friends and girlfriend want to give her. it is falling asleep in ty lee's arms, sleeping soundly through the night, and waking up to mid-morning sunlight, all without doubting how worthy she is to call this happiness hers.

[cas-kingdom]

Maybe five hargreeves and reader? ❤️ W/ “I was looking for you”

A/N: Set during the wedding episode, somewhere in between the speeches and the dancing and the drunkenness and the end of the world.

(Reader is the same as in my other TUA fics—she’s Reginald’s biological daughter, born thirteen or so years after the others).

“I was looking for you,” Five said with an air of success as he walked slowly down the hallway, a bottle of champagne in one hand and his blazer in the other. He wasn’t drunk yet, but he was well on his way towards it. Alas, as always, matters concerning his youngest sister came before the alcohol.

You turned your head from where it had been facing the ceiling. You were lying on the floor of the hallway, just far enough from the wedding party to successfully drown out the noise. 

“Why?” you asked. Five stopped by your legs and shrugged. He glanced around before lowering himself to lie beside you, carefully placing the bottle next to him so it couldn’t get knocked over.

“You’re not one to miss a family celebration,” he said as he laced his fingers on his stomach. He moved to glance at you, missing your gaze by a second as you turned back to the ceiling. You were chewing at your bottom lip in a way that confirmed to Five what he had considered as the reason for you slipping out of the party before it had barely started. You’d been there one minute and gone the next, a hardly noticeable fact to someone who didn’t customarily scan the room every so often, just to ensure that everyone who should be present was present. Of course, Five was the possessor of such customary scans. He’d gone looking for you the moment he’d noted your absence, not at all oblivious to your emotions in the past few days. The whole family were aware, and Five was pretty certain that anyone would be better than him in this situation, but they’d been busy, and the alcohol was surging his confidence in his brotherly attributes already.

“Not much to celebrate.” Your mumbling permeated his thoughts, and he blinked himself back to reality. A loud burst of laughter seemed to echo down the hallway and you shut your eyes, letting your chest heave with a deep, totally needed breath. Five silently watched as you did so. 

“Yeah,” he said after a moment, “you’re not wrong. Still, shouldn’t hold ourselves back in spite of that, right? Luther’s married now. I’d rather celebrate than...” He scrunched his nose in consideration. “Incinerate.”

Your gaze snapped to your brother, your face a picture of hardly concealed horror that had Five wincing. He sucked in a deep breath and ran quickly over possible words of consolidation in his head. He wasn’t tipsy enough for this.

“Am I the only one here who’s absolutely shitting myself?” You sat up and crossed your legs in front of you. “You’d think after the first and second apocalypse I’d get used to the idea of the world ending and me dying, but this time it’s—it’s so much realer. We’re actually gonna die.”

Despite Five’s faint victory at having you spill your usually carefully concealed emotions quicker than he knew was normal, he found that concern far prioritised it. Slowly, he pushed himself up, leaning back on his elbows. His brows knit together in swift sobriety as he dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Y/N...”

You tossed your hands up, your eyes suddenly welling with tears. “I’m not wrong, Five!” You pointed down the hallway. “They can sing and dance and—and kiss and make cheesy speeches all they want, but the fact of the matter is we’re all going to die. And I know they know that, and I know this party is a way to be together and distract ourselves from what’s coming, but it doesn’t always just work like that! I can’t—dispel it outta my mind. Whatever I do, whoever I’m with, it’s there. Reminding me over and over again that these are my last few breaths.” You squeezed your eyes shut and brought your hands to cover them. “I’m not one of you,” you said. “I don’t have powers. I’m just...normal. I’m a normal person surrounded by very much not normal people, and I really do feel like I’m the only one here who’s fucking terrified.”

If you were in the thinking mood, you would have pegged your brother’s face as unusually sympathetic once you’d opened your eyes and cleared your hazy vision. It wasn’t a secret to the family that Five had been away far too long to know how to comfort the youngest of you. If Diego were in his place, he’d sit opposite you and drill into you exactly everything you needed to hear, with his hands on your shoulders to ensure you looked him in the eye and couldn’t escape. Luther would cosy up beside you and try to distract you in his ridiculous, yet favourable, ways. Klaus usually made you meditate when he could sense you weren’t happy, then he grabbed you up in a bear hug and spoke a load of nonsense until you laughed. Allison was your usual go-to, your connection likely a result of growing up without a mother, while Viktor, though not entirely adept at consolation, had a way of soothing you with his hesitant words of supposed wisdom.

Five didn’t have the harshness of Diego, the humour of Luther, the stupidity of Klaus, the motherly nature of Allison, or the softness of Viktor. Put together, it created the exact combination you often needed. Five had to fit in there somewhere. He loved his siblings and you were obviously the most accepting of what little affection he sometimes provided, but the years he’d been away had been the entirety of your life before. He hadn’t been there then, but he was here now, and if there was one thing he had to offer, it was life experience.

“Would it help if I told you I’m just as terrified?“ he asked slowly. When you lowered your hands to look at him, he bumped his brows in silent repetition of the question.

Your shoulders dropped as you let out a breath. You sniffed and wiped at your cheek. “Yes, actually,” you admitted.

“Well—” Five lay back again, reaching his arms above his head— “I am. We all are, I assure you. I’ve experienced many doomsdays, Y/N, and it never gets easier.” He offered a smirk in your direction. “If you can believe that.”

You smiled lightly and pulled your knees up to your chest as he continued.

“You’re right that this is different. You’re right that we haven’t got long, and you’re right that this wedding stuff is just a distraction. But what’s wrong with a distraction?”

“It’s not the distraction, it’s…” You faltered, biting your tongue and dropping your gaze in obvious reluctance. Somehow, saying the words felt as though it would fuel the harshness of your reality. 

“I know, I know,” Five said. “It’s the reason for the distraction.” He sighed, his eyes hardening as he looked at you. “I don’t know what to say that’ll make this any easier. For once, I can’t do anything that I haven’t tried. And I’m sorry. For your sake, I’m so sorry. Because you don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve us as siblings or Reginald as your father. What you do deserve is a good shot at life, and you’re not going to get that. So if this celebration is for anyone, it’s for you, and nobody in there would disagree with me.” He turned his head down the corridor, the beats of the music reverberating around you. He could hear Luther yelling something, probably butchered lyrics, and then there was a clash. In an attempt not to come up with all kinds of scenarios as to what that could have been, he turned back to you. You looked far more deflated but far less terrified. Five couldn’t tell if that was good or not. Still, he softened his expression and reached a hand out to squeeze your knee. “There’s not much we can do now,” he said gently, “other than try to make the best of what we have left and…remember everything good before.”

You sniffed and nodded slowly. You picked at a loose thread on the jeans you’d been wearing since arriving at the hotel. “There’s quite a lot of good to remember,” you murmured. Five’s lips quirked up in a half-hearted smile.

"Enough to tide you over until the end, you think?”

“Do you think it’ll hurt?”

He let his cheeks fill with air at that question before he exhaled. The truth was that he had no idea. It had never gotten to that point in all the other apocalypses. But sometimes, lying is the best thing you can do for someone in a situation. Often, the recipient of that lie knows the percentage of truth to it. 

“Nah,” he said, waving it off with a flick of his wrist. “It’ll be like falling asleep, just with less control.” He hesitated then, staring at a stain on the ceiling. Perhaps his next words were subconscious, said without much thought. And perhaps they were as much a reassurance for him as they were for you. “I think that whatever happens, we’ll all be together.”

You allowed a short silence, settling with the new facts, then breathed a short laugh through your nose. “You’re drunk,” you said.

Five narrowed his eyes and whipped them to lock with yours. What a way to ruin a heartfelt conversation. Especially one that wasn’t particularly easy for him to partake him.

“You’d know if I was drunk,” he stated honestly. “Trust me, this is all coming from here.” He tapped his head. After a moment’s pause, he pointed at his heart. “And a bit from here, I guess.” Before your smile could widen any further, he heaved himself up into a sitting position and picked up his champagne bottle. “That’s not to say I won’t be getting drunk. You want some?”

“Legal drinking age is twenty-one.”

Five grimaced, his entire body recoiling at your comment. “I’m...gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.” At your shrug, he tipped his head slightly to the side, pressed his lips together in a thin line, and gave you a dead stare. “It’s the end of time, little sister. Have a drink.”

You took the extended bottle with an amused roll of your eyes and circled your finger around the top. “Thank you, Five.”

“Hey, I’m not bowing down to goodbye speeches, but if I’m gonna say one thing, it’s thank you. I’ve done a lot of bad stuff in my life…seen a lot of crap, lived through of a lot of ‘the ends’…but you, Y/N, are a gentle ripple in an ocean of pernicious waves. Always have been, always will be. Wherever we end up after this.”

There were moments when Five acted less like the imperious, sarcastic old man he was, and more like the brother you often wished for and imagined. You’d been a baby when he’d disappeared, so this Five was the only Five you knew, but your siblings often talked about the Five before. Moments like these, not that there were many, brought you close to what knowing that Five might have felt like.

“Heyyy! What’re we doing?” Klaus’s voice, followed by the slam of a door, echoed down the hallway, interrupting any response you may have given. You and Five turned towards it, him grabbing his bottle back and taking a long swig at the sight of your eccentric brother, very obviously already drunk, strutting towards you.

“Five’s drunk,” you told him, your voice airy in a way that told Five you were happier in yourself after your conversation.

He made a noise as the top of the bottle popped out of his mouth. “I’m not drunk yet,” he said again, pointing a finger at you. 

“Are we getting drunk?” Klaus tripped over his own feet just as Ben stumbled out of the party room with his own bottle of half-finished, currently unidentifiable alcohol. “‘Cause I’m toootally down for that.”

“You’re already drunk, Klaus,” you reminded him. You lay back down again and let him squeeze his intoxicated self between you and Five.

“More is less, Titch,” Klaus said dreamily as he reached an arm across you and pulled you into his side.

You laughed, your face squished against his shoulder. “That is not the saying.”

“Anyone want some whiskey?” Ben asked before he flopped down beside Klaus and the bottle he’d been holding emptied its contents over his chest. “Fucking shit.”

“Benerrino! No swearing with the children around.” Klaus covered your ears and lifted a leg to stretch across you and towards Five. Five hit his foot away and shifted to lie beside you before he silently pulled a handkerchief from a pocket of his blazer and tossed it to Ben.

“Ah! You’re a gem, kid.”

“Not a kid, kid.”

Klaus gasped. “There’re, like, blood stains on this ceiling."

“Hey, party-poopers!” Four heads turned, the two drunkest lifting theirs with audible effort to see above you and Five. Diego had stuck his head out the party room and was confoundedly staring at them. A second later, Lila’s head appeared above him. “The hell are you doing out here?” Diego called, tossing his arms up in question.

“Getting drunk!” Klaus lifted Ben’s empty whiskey bottle.

“Count me in!” Lila said. A moment later she was lying beside Five. Another moment later, a yelp of shock sounded from Diego as Lila yanked him down next to her. A series of muttered insults spewed between them, though Diego made no move to get up. 

No one was quite sure when Viktor joined the line you’d made in the hallway of the Hotel Obsidian, or when Allison appeared on the top step of the opposite staircase, her head leaning against the banister. At some point, Luther and Sloane had come searching for you, the former insisting that you come dance with him to your karaoke song, but had ended up tacking themselves onto the end of the line. There were both full and empty bottles of varying alcohol strewn around you, and a few bowls of snacks that Lila had raced back to grab. The ten of you had then broken into unrestrained laughter when Lila told them that Reginald and Chet had resorted to an apparently awkward silence with the absence of the Hargreeves family.

You talked, you got drunk, you laughed, Luther cried. Memories resurfaced and Diego finally discovered that it was Five who’d put slugs in his bed when they’d been kids. Allison laughed for the first time since the beginning of this apocalypse and she and Sloane engaged in some absent game of catch with a single m&m. Ben drunkenly apologised a grand total of six times for being a dick and Luther cried again after saying he forgave him. Klaus may have unofficially married Lila and Diego and Viktor got hit in the face with a sushi roll. 

And, as you glanced across at Five, smiling at the wink he gave you, you genuinely believed that if the world were to end now, you were so happy you wouldn’t even notice.

TUA Masterpost

[jysmloves]

even winter ends | jjk

↳ synopsis: jeon jungkook is winter, but like all seasons, winter eventually comes to an end.

↳ pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

↳ word count: 3k

↳ genre: angst, tiniest hint of fluff if you squint?

↳ warnings: none

↳ a/n: i actually originally wrote this fic way back in june of last year because i suddenly got inspired even though christmas was literally six months away. i planned to post it during the holidays, but i was busy visiting my family, and i am not waiting another year to release this around wintertime! i hope you guys enjoy my first ever tumblr fic, and happy (not really) reading!

Jeon Jungkook is the personification of winter.

He is your favorite Christmas song, distinct and melodious, blasted on repeat as you dance around your apartment in your favorite red and black plaid pajama pants and black oversized tee shirt at ten o’clock on a Saturday morning.

He is the string of rainbow holiday lights adorning each and every one of the houses in your neighborhood, bright and captivating and inconceivably beautiful.

He is your favorite holiday movie, cheesy, flawed, and downright ridiculous at some points, but still managing to make a smile stretch across your face every time you watch it.

He is your favorite pair of thick, woolly socks, having come across them by chance and not particularly caring about them before eventually growing to realize how much you need them, especially during frigid and difficult times.

He is your favorite chipped mug, the one you fill to the brim with hot chocolate to sit with in front of the roaring fireplace as snow gently blankets the ground outside, the mere taste of the beverage warming you inside and giving you ecstasy.

He is the present that you’re most excited to open underneath the Christmas tree, because you can plainly see that it is wrapped delicately and with care. It’s certainly not the largest or the prettiest one, but it’s the most appealing to you.

And when you’re finally able to open that present, what’s inside is even better than its wrapping paper. It’s none other than Jeon Jungkook, and he is all you ever wanted, all you ever needed. He is kind and generous and funny, loyal and trusting and sweet. He is good, and oftentimes it makes you wonder if he is just a dream, if his existence is a mere figment of your imagination.

But those thoughts are always dispelled when you’re in his embrace, his arms warm and strong and steady. He’s your refuge from the horrors of the world, from the stress placed upon your shoulders due to school and work, and from the weight of the future that lies ahead.

When you’re in his embrace, the two of you are the only ones in the galaxy, in the universe. It is the two of you alone, without the presence of lingering worries or intrusive thoughts. You are frozen in time, eyes closed, bodies still, hearts beating in the same musical rhythm.

Unfortunately, as much as you wish you could, it is impossible to stay in Jungkook’s embrace forever, just like how it is impossible for the winter season to last year round. It is just that: a season.

Jeon Jungkook is your favorite Christmas song, now attached with an entire film reel of painful memories, eventually removed from all of your playlists once you discovered that you couldn’t listen to it without crying, despite its joyful tune.

He is the string of rainbow holiday lights adorning each and every one of the houses in your neighborhood, including your own, which you couldn’t have managed to put up in the first place without his assistance.

He is your favorite holiday movie, cheesy, flawed, and downright ridiculous at some points, now permanently stashed away in the very back of your large pile of DVDs, out of sight and out of mind.

He is your favorite pair of thick, woolly socks, now two sizes too small and much too itchy and inconvenient to wear, stuffed in the back of your socks drawer and forgotten amongst all of the other pairs.

He is your favorite chipped mug, the one that is no longer chipped but shattered to pieces, no longer in your possession but in a landfill somewhere far away where you’ll never be able to get it back. He is your favorite chipped mug, the one you accidentally dropped onto the floor in shock after hearing the following six words leave his mouth: “I think we should break up.”

He is your favorite shattered mug, the one he immediately rushed to clean up by your feet and make sure that you weren’t harmed, all while you stood there like an imbecile trying to process his words. He is your favorite shattered mug, the one thrown carelessly into the trash can after being with you for two years, impossible to be repaired.

He is the present you are still most excited to open underneath the Christmas tree, because you can obviously tell that it is wrapped delicately and with care. In comparison to the others, it still isn’t the largest or the prettiest, but it remains the most appealing to you.

When you’re finally able to open that present, what’s inside is even better than its wrapping paper, because it’s none other than Jeon Jungkook. He is all you ever wanted, all you ever needed. And you love him. You love him more than he will ever be able to fathom, and that is a fact.

It is also a fact he doesn’t love you back. At least, not anymore.

Jeon Jungkook breaks up with you exactly a week before Christmas. He shoots you a text at ten o’clock on the dot when you are already in the middle of your weekly Saturday dance session, so you don’t see it until a few minutes afterward.

The text message has no underlying tones, just a simple “hey, can i come over?” It isn’t out of the ordinary since the two of you are typically always at each other’s places; Jungkook’s apartment is your second home, just how yours is his. However, it’s been a while since either of you have gone over to each other’s residences, too caught up in the hustle and bustle of life. You swiftly reply with a “you already know the answer” before heading into the kitchen to prepare a mug of hot chocolate for when he arrives, your own mug already in hand.

Three distinct knocking sounds against wood approximately fifteen minutes later prompt you to make your way over to the front door, and without even having to look through the peephole, you already know that it’s Jungkook outside. (He’s the only one who chooses to knock rather than ring the doorbell.) When you open the door, he’s standing before you wearing a plain black short sleeved shirt and grey sweatpants, which his hands are stuffed in the pockets of.

You stand on your tiptoes and press your lips to his cheek like you always do when you see him, greeting him with a “good morning” before leading the way back into the kitchen. Jungkook crosses the threshold of your apartment silently, shutting the door behind him before murmuring a barely audible “good morning” in return and following after you.

Instantly, your gut tells you that something is up with Jungkook. His demeanor is off and his attitude is noticeably much less enthusiastic than the several other times he’d visited your apartment before. However, you try to ignore the nagging feeling, shoving it away to the best of your abilities as you hand Jungkook his hot chocolate, supplied in the mug he always uses when he comes over. You chalk it up to the fact that Jungkook is just not a morning person. He never has been and never will be, and you don’t blame him because you aren’t either. Having Jungkook there with you admittedly makes mornings a lot better, though.

He takes his hot chocolate from you without a word, bringing it up to his lips for a fraction of a second before setting it down on the kitchen island. You aren’t sure who he thinks he’s fooling, because anyone can tell that he didn’t take a sip of the drink.

Rather than push him to speak his mind, you lift your own mug up to your lips, finishing the last of the hot chocolate you’d made for yourself earlier. Jungkook calls your name quietly once you’re done drinking and you turn to look at him, patiently waiting to hear whatever it is that’s been plaguing his thoughts since before he arrived.

“I think we should break up.”

The hand that’s wrapped around your mug involuntarily loosens out of shock and your mug slips from it and falls to the floor, meeting it with a raucous crash that shatters the mug into several small pieces, scattering all around your feet and miraculously none piercing your skin. You don’t comprehend what’s just happened even as Jungkook rushes to the supply closet in the hallway to grab the broom and dustpan and returns to the kitchen in the blink of an eye. He hurriedly sweeps a safe path to you and kneels down, checking to make sure that none of the shards injured you. After a thorough examination, he begins silently sweeping the pieces of the mug around you into a neat pile, and does so without meeting your eyes.

Throughout all of this, you remain silent, though finally having come to your senses and stepping out of the way as he works to clean up the mess you made.

You can’t help but wonder if perhaps that’s why he’s breaking up with you. Is it because you always make messes that he has to deal with the aftermath of? Are you too high-maintenance for him to handle?

Once he finishes sweeping all of the broken pieces into a pile and then moving them into the dustpan, he opens up the trash can and pours everything in, every last piece of your favorite mug. You can't help but feel a tad bit resentful about the action. Obviously, the mug is shattered beyond repair, but he still chooses to throw it away without hesitation, without a second thought, just like that.

Perhaps that’s why he’s breaking up with you. Not necessarily because of your attachment to inanimate objects, but because of the sentimental value you hold to things, the powerful emotions you feel. Although he feels things just as deeply as you do, Jungkook has always had difficulty expressing his emotions. It was one of the obstacles you had to overcome in the early stages of your relationship, and nowadays, he showers you with love and affection.

At least, he used to. Somewhere along the line, apparently something went wrong.

Jungkook leaves to return the broom and dustpan to their places in the supply closet before entering the kitchen again, eyes on you with the intention of providing an explanation. He yearns to clarify what he means, and you can tell he does. Words tumble out of his mouth at the speed of light, stringing together sentences revolving around the typical “It’s not you, it’s me” blather, which really means “It is you, but I still care for you and I don’t want to hurt your feelings.” You can’t help but notice that the pet name “baby” falls from his lips exactly twice, most likely out of habit.

Everything he says goes in one ear and out the other as you selfishly try to memorize the way he says that one word, how melodious it is to your ears and the shape his mouth makes when he does so. Instead of focusing on whatever it is that he’s telling you, you try to memorize those things, and you hope with all of your heart that you’ll be able to recall it for a long time, because you know you’ll never hear him call you that again in this lifetime.

Jungkook seems to have finally ended his nonsensical and unnecessary speech slash apology, but you don’t dare meet his eyes, unsure of how you’d emotionally and verbally react. This will probably be your last time seeing him, won’t it? Do exes typically keep up with each other’s social media? Aren’t they supposed to cut off all contact with each other, never to cross paths again? That seems to be a common occurrence with all of your friends and their past lovers.

“Please say something,” Jungkook begs quietly, the silence from you eating away at him. “At least look at me.”

Your body reacts before your brain can, and you’re doing as he requested, elevating your gaze from the floor in order to meet his eyes. Looking at him, you don’t feel anger. You’re not sure if you can ever feel that emotion toward him. You don’t feel hurt either, you realize surprisingly. You just feel… sentimental, in a way. You trace the shape of his nose with your eyes, follow the line of his jaw, outline the curve of his lips, count the beauty marks on his face. This is the face of the man you’ve grown to love. This is the face of the man who no longer loves you back.

Perhaps another person standing in your shoes would fight for your relationship and dig those broken mug pieces out of the trash can to glue together in a desperate attempt to fix it. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t see this coming. It’s the reason why you were so afraid of getting attached to Jungkook in the first place. The process of him falling out of love with you was just as effortless and smooth and accidental as the process of him falling in love with you was.

Finally, you open your mouth to speak. “I don’t really know what you want me to say, Jungkook.”

“I don’t want you to say anything specific, I just…” He sighs and his hand stretches out toward you, as if he wants to hold your hand in his and rub his thumb over the back of it soothingly like he’s done so many times before, but he stops himself and shoves his hand back into his pocket. “I just don’t want you to hate me.”

“I could never hate you,” you reply, because it’s true. You could never hate a single bone in his body, could never wish to harm a single hair on his head. You could never, and it all comes down to the fact that you love him. So you decide to tell him that, because you know that you’ll never get the chance to do it again. “I love you too much.”

“I love you too,” he says, but you can tell he only says it out of habit. It is so blatant that the intimate phrase is meaningless to him, and that there are no true feelings behind those words. You can’t help but wonder if it’s been like that throughout the entirety of your relationship, and if you were just too blindsided by your own love to notice.

“Is that, uh, all you came over for?” you ask, unsure if you can handle being in his presence any longer now that the two of you were officially broken up and your now ex-boyfriend is just standing there in your kitchen like it’s nothing.

“Um… yeah,” he says awkwardly. “I didn’t want to do… you know, it, over text or call. I feel like that would’ve been insensitive.”

“Yeah. Thank you for that,” you reply genuinely and he nods. You’re glad he cares enough not to break your heart in one of the aforementioned ways. You don’t know what you would’ve done if he did, but it probably would’ve been something much worse than accidentally dropping your favorite mug.

You keep sending casual glances over in the direction of the front door, hoping for Jungkook to get the hint instead of you having to verbalize your request for him to leave, and thankfully, he does.

“I think I’ll get going now,” he says quietly, and he begins walking over, his hand lightly brushing against yours as he moves past you to get to the exit. You ignore the spark you receive from the split second of physical contact. He stops in front of the door, one hand on the knob, and turns back to where you’re standing.

“Baby,” Jungkook breathes, and suddenly your heart rate is speeding up twice its normal rate. You were wrong earlier. That is the last time you’ll ever hear him call you by that name. “Can I please…”

“Can you please what, Jungkook?” you ask, and you can tell by the way his breath hitches that he, too, is memorizing every last bit of you, from the way you part your hair to the way you say his name.

“Can I please hold you?” he asks, his grip on the doorknob already loosening. “One last time?”

If you thought your heart rate was erratic before, it’s even worse now. You could hardly hear his words over the rapid thumping of your heart against your ribcage. What was he trying to do, playing with your heart by asking to hold you one last time when he was the one who made the decision to give up on you? You don’t know if this is some sick tactic to get you to miss him more when he ultimately leaves, but you do know that you aren’t going to decline his request.

Not for his sake, but for your own. You deserve to be selfish just this once.

You exit the kitchen and run over to Jungkook, throwing your arms around his neck. You take him by surprise and knock him backward a couple of steps, but he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around your smaller figure with the same degree of tightness that you’re holding him. He buries his face in your neck and you feel him inhale deeply against your skin, taking in your aroma. It’s taking everything in you not to burst into tears in his embrace, the last one he’d ever grace you with.

“Thank you for being the first person I ever loved,” he says, effectively shattering your heart into pieces, just like your favorite chipped mug.

You shut your eyes tightly and savor the moment. You’re in Jungkook’s warm, strong, and steady embrace, and he is your refuge. You’re in Jungkook’s warm, strong, and steady embrace, and the two of you are the only ones in the galaxy, in the universe. You’re in Jungkook’s warm, strong, and steady embrace, and you are frozen in time, eyes closed, bodies still, but hearts no longer beating in the same musical rhythm as they once did.

You force yourself to pull away first, and the moment is gone all too quickly. Jungkook seems to have difficulty letting go of you, but he still does so, albeit unwillingly. He almost looks like he regrets his decision to end your relationship, like he wants to change his mind about it. You decide not to give him a chance to, though, because what’s done has been done, and if Jungkook no longer wants you in his life, then so be it.

You pull open the door and look back at Jungkook, who, despite his tall stature, seems so small standing there beside you. His hands are back in the confines of his pockets and as he stares at you, he’s biting down on his bottom lip so hard you worry it might bleed.

You open your mouth to bid him farewell and the typical “I love you” crawls up your throat out of habit, but you prevent those words from slipping out of your mouth.

Instead you opt for, “I guess this is where we go our separate ways.”

“I guess it is.”

You muster a small, tight-lipped smile, not wanting your last moments together to resemble anything of the negative sort. “Goodbye, Jungkook,” you say, and you almost add, “I’ll miss you,” to the end but decide against it.

Jungkook seems crestfallen, though you don’t know why. He takes a look around your apartment, one last good look, before turning back to you, managing a small, tight-lipped smile of his own. “Goodbye, Y/N.”

And just like that, he leaves. You silently shut the door behind him and make your way back into the kitchen and over to the sink, pouring out his full mug of hot chocolate that’s now gone to waste. You walk into the living room afterwards, collapsing onto the couch, and stare into space for several moments. Then you begin to cry.

Jeon Jungkook is the personification of winter.

But like all seasons, winter eventually comes to an end.

[chockfullofsecrets]

"If I'm not careful I'm gonna end up writing content for a character who literally never appears in 141 episodes"

I mean, you are more than welcome to. In fact, we will gratefully encourage this.

you encourage chock? you encourage chock like the author? oh! oh! tk fic for anon! tk fic for anon for Two Thousand Words!

(also, heads up that i am moving next week! have been working on Importance of Timing when i can, but the first chapter probably won't be here for another two weeks at least.)

---

Verin Thelyss, Essek knows, is a seasoned battle commander and strategist.

He’s also in possession of the instinct to tackle people when he’s excited, so Essek is well aware that it’s only those decades of training and experience that have his little brother pausing for the briefest instant as Caleb and Jester teleport him into the hold of the Nein Heroez before he launches himself at Essek in a dead run.

Veth and Caduceus are at their respective homes, Kingsley watching over the ship, but he is far from alone - Yasha and Fjord each have a supportive hand on his shoulder, a silent assurance from the tense minutes waiting for their friends to return from Bazzoxan. They swear in unison and scramble for their weapons as Verin screeches to a halt just shy of shunting Essek straight though the hull and yanks him into a rib-crushing hug.

He burrows into the junction of Essek’s neck and shoulder, made possible only by virtue of the activated floating spell that puts the coiffed swoop of his hair a full inch above Verin’s. “Thank the fucking Light, you’re not actually dead.”

“What the fuck, he’s like a swearing puppy,” Beau hisses. There’s a soft thwap as Fjord gently smacks her across the back of the head.

Essek is feeling out the edges of friendly intimacy, still, stumbling through every brush of fingers and shared look of exasperation, but even he does not need Jester’s frantic gesturing to prompt him to lift his arms and awkwardly wrap them around Verin’s shoulders.

It’s like wrapping a single thread of silk around one of Yasha’s biceps. Clearly he is not built for comforting.

Verin stiffens with a single sharp twitch of his ear against Essek’s collarbone . Essek’s thoughts flail wildly between an expectation of tears or a dagger to his ribs, but his brother just laughs, loud and hearty, and snuggles even further into his personal space. “I see someone’s finally taught you how to hug back - you should have written and told me, this is better news than any number of pages on den politics.”

Essek bristles. “Careful, or I will stop,” he huffs, somewhat more waspishly than he intends to.

Luckily, Verin has proven immune to his moods. “Oh, please don’t,” he insists, voice still crackling with glee. He grins, warm and wide enough that Essek can feel it against the side of his neck. “It just makes doing this that much easier.”

“Doing what,” Essek says reflexively, even as the tiny portion of his brain that he allows to remember his childhood starts to blare an alarm. “Verin-”

It’s far too late to realize that Verin’s hands have somehow been maliciously positioned just along the backs of his ribs.

Jester, standing with Caleb behind Verin, perks up in clear interest as the corners of his mouth start to twitch up. On second thought, Essek thinks he’d have preferred the dagger.

“Verin,” he hisses again, fighting back the anticipatory shiver crawling up his back. “Don’t - don’t you dare-”

It’s about then that Verin’s evil, evil fingers find the edges of his mantle’s arm slits and squeeze him even closer as they stretch to wriggle under his arms.

He snatches his arms back, but it’s too late - a dismayed giggle sneaks from his throat, then another, and then he’s beating helplessly at Verin’s shoulders as he dissolves into high, squeaking laughter.

Every single nerve between his armpits and his ribs squirms in unison - a bubbly, slippery sensation even more potent for how long it’s been since he last felt it. “No,” he shrieks. “I - ahaha! eeheee! - no tickling, no tickling, Verin-”

Jester looks thrilled - she’s bouncing on her toes, babbling something to Caleb that’s inaudible over the rush of his own laughter. Light, the Nein are going to tear him apart for this-

“Yes, tickling,” Verin protests, laughing right along with him. “All the tickling! You let me think you were dead! For months! I thought I was never going to get to watch my poor brother giggle himself to pieces ever again!”

He’s not, because Essek is going to kill him. “That - nahaha, hff, ahaaa! - that was - ha - it’s been decades - stop, stop, there’s people!”

“Yeah, people,” Beau says, loud and smug and far too close behind him. “Hey - Verin, was it? - does hotboi here have a worst spot?”

Oh no. Oh no. Essek squeezes his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to focus and does the only thing he can while laughing like an idiot.

With a shaky flick of his wrist, his floating dispels. Verin yelps in surprise as gravity takes Essek straight out of his grip.

The instant his boots hit the deck, Essek twists the rest of the way out of his grip and bolts.

There’s nowhere to go, really - the Nein have a room full of Counterspells, and Verin can run faster than he can, and he’s already tumbling halfway back into laughter in giddy anticipation of being caught. Still, it’s a surprise when he stumbles into a brick wall of leather and biceps that resolves itself into Yasha as she hoists him back into the air.

“Oh, where do you think you’re going?” She sounds admirably innocent given the soft, teasing smile she gives him.

“Noooo,” Essek giggles. Heat gathers in his cheeks as he tries to make himself stop - it doesn’t make sense, he’s not even being tickled anymore, but even the potential for it flutters light and fizzy at the bottom of his lungs. “I - I’m not ticklish anymore, I’m not-”

The Nein and Verin cluster around the two of them, bubbling with various levels of amusement. “Really?” Beau drawls. “It’s cute that you think denying it has a single fucking chance of working.”

The sarcasm helps him center himself, if only a little - he buries his face in Yasha’s arm and sucks in a deep breath that doesn’t do nearly enough to get rid of his blush.

He straightens as best he can while being bear hugged by a barbarian. “I am denying nothing,” he says carefully. Jester is still bouncing next to Beau, fingertips already twitching where they’re curled sweetly on her cheeks around a mischievous beaming smile, and Essek has to look away before the nervous snickers still wobbling on the back of his tongue can worm their way free. “I am well aware that Verin is - incorrigible-”

He hisses the last word in his brother’s direction - again, harsher than he intends, but he is so unused to being soft around him - and fails to contain a shy smile as Verin sticks his tongue out in retaliation.

Jester’s tail waves its way into the edge of his peripheral vision. He jumps and looks over at Fjord instead. “-but I, ah, I would ask for more respect from the rest of you-”

“You really shouldn’t,” Fjord says, grinning boyishly back at him. “I mean, you know us.”

And then, to Fjord’s right - “Essek?”

He’s been avoiding looking at Caleb. It is foolish, perhaps, to think that after all of the incredibly stupid things he knows Essek has done he will decide to judge him for this, but he cannot help the way his shoulders stiffen as he twists a little further to meet the gaze of the last link in their semicircle. “Yes?”

Caleb looks - focused, in an offhanded way, like he’s intent on something happening just slightly out of their current reality. Stunned might be a better word for it. He blinks for a moment before focusing those keen blue eyes somewhere near Essek’s eyebrows. “Ah - did you know that when you laugh, your ears -” He puts his hands up to his own ears and flaps them a little.

Drow do not run particularly warm, but that only makes it easier for Essek to feel the heat absolutely flood back into his face. “I-” he stammers. Nearly a century of politics is nowhere near enough to help him keep a straight face. “I - ah - eeh!-”

Caleb is close enough to reach out and run a questing fingertip over Essek’s left ear - it flicks wildly, trying to dislodge the unexpected tickle, but a surprised squeak still slips out.

There’s a moment of silence before Verin starts to snicker. “Oh, I like your friends,” he says merrily, beaming. “Go on, Light knows he doesn’t let himself laugh enough otherwise.”

“Don’t,” Essek gets out hastily, but Caleb is already reaching out for another go and Yasha’s grip is firm enough that all he can do is squeak again. “Wait - hm, hnn!”

Beau sidles up to Yasha’s side and gives him a self satisfied leer as she reaches out across their little group to pluck the feather from Fjord’s tricorn. “You got him, babe?”

“I do,” Yasha confirms and lets out a little squeak of her own as Beau reaches around her, no doubt squeezing something entirely inappropriate with company present.

“Hot,” Beau smirks, and reaches to flutter the feather over Essek’s right ear. “Aw, does that tickle? Thought you said you weren’t ticklish, man.”

Essek maintains some facsimile of composure for all of two seconds before his face crumples “Nnn - hehehe - eheehe - oh!”

His lungs are surely going to burst, with the way they’re shivering out desperate giggles as he shakes his head frantically between Caleb’s fingers and the teasing feather. He can’t move his arms, so he kicks his legs instead. “Please,” he begs, nearly incomprehensible even to his own ears. “Ah - aha, heeheehee! - tickles-”

Verin leans down and scoops his ankles up with one ridiculously sculpted arm. “Essek, you’re going to put a hole in someone with those boots.”

He looks up, raising his eyebrows teasingly, and Essek’s stomach drops like he’s cast something on it. “Here, I’ll fix that.”

Essek’s eyes, narrowed with laughter, shoot wide open. He doesn’t remember Verin being this evil - but then again, his brother’s never been egged on by five other people determined to render reports of his death more realistic.

“Verin, Verin, no-” he tries, but he’s giggling so hard that he can’t even get the words out. He twists as far away from Caleb and Beau as he can, flailing frantically, but Verin’s grip holds firm.

He pouts dramatically. “What? Is it my fault that my tiny, ticklish wizard brother insists on wearing metal-tipped boots that endanger everyone?”

Essek opens his mouth to reply and promptly dissolves into another frantic peal of laughter as Beau gets bored of his ears and shoves her feather in Caleb’s direction before jabbing a finger between his trapped arm and his chest to get at his armpit. “Your - shihihit, shit, ahahaaa, not there! - your arcanist brother is going to kill you just as soon as I can- hahaha!”

Verin just laughs, unlacing one of his boots and starting to slide it off. “Is that your attempt to convince me not to tickle your feet?”

Jester, practically vibrating, emits a sound that perhaps only weasels can hear. “Oh, that’s so cute! Can I have one of them?”

“One of his feet? Sure.” Verin hands over an ankle, grinning down at Jester. “You, I think you’re my favorite.”

As Essek gasps and struggles and falls further and further into a formless mirth that makes him feel so light he can hardly bear it, there’s a different sensation at his ear. A hazy portion of his brain identifies it as the rough bristle of chin scruff and an amused huff of breath.

“You don’t really want them to stop, do you,” Caleb murmurs. “I will help you, if you do.”

It’s quite unfair, Essek feels, to try and make him explain himself while he’s strung out and dizzy with laughter. He tries anyway, for a syllable or two, but Verin digs in between two of his toes and he ends up just tipping his cheek against Caleb’s and shaking, laughing too hard to make a single sound.

“Alright, then,” Caleb says. “In that case-”

He brandishes the feather with a flourish more suited to somatic casting, swooping it down the length of Essek’s nose before directing it back to his ear.

“Tickle, tickle...”

[some-kindofgnome]

these violent delights, pt. i

In an immersive theme park where cutting-edge technology makes your wildest dreams come true, the line between fantasy and reality begins to blur. enter westworld, where artificially intelligent automatons known as ‘hosts’ are programmed to fulfill your every delight.

(westworld AU, eventual host!dabi x reader, host!keigo takami x reader, eventual shouto todoroki x f!reader)

part one | part two | part three

featuring: hanta sero, denki kaminari, katsuki bakugou, momo yaoyozoru, eijirou kirishima

part one: you prepare to enter the park for the bachelorette party your bridesmaids wanted. meanwhile, westworld’s capable employees prepare to roll out the latest programming update.

wc: 8.7k

pt. i warnings: smut (18+!), sci-fi dystopia, artificial intelligence, medical/surgical procedures, body modification. gun violence, robbery, kidnapping, drinking, death, no beta we die like teddy

notes: this is part one of my entry for The Smut Pile’s Western Collab! this is my very first server collab and I am so thrilled to be kicking it off with this plot monster. this is the first of three parts- it leans a little heavy on the world building, so stay tuned for parts two and three. the action dials up from here, promise! i’m excited to be putting out one of my first plot-heavy stories on this blog!

please note: part one borrows several events from season one, episodes one and two of the series. the story will branch off in its own direction in parts two and three. you do not need to be familiar with Westworld to enjoy this fic- so please give it a try! 💖

(MASTERLIST)

“This doesn’t feel right.”

Livestock Management technician Hanta Sero drifts idly from tool cart to operating table with his raven hair pulled back. He’s clad in a protective latex apron and gloves, approaching the table with a blowtorch in one hand and a long, slim pair of forceps in the other.

“That’s what it says here.” Denki Kaminari stands across the black-tiled room, his back reflected in the glass walls of the operating facility. He scrolls mindfully through a folding datapad with a crease of deep concentration in his golden brow.

Snapping his datapad shut, he lifts his chin to find Sero’s conflicted gaze across the lab.

“The specifications were pretty precise.”

“I know what the briefing said,” Sero retorts. “I just…”

He ignites the blowtorch and takes a deep breath, letting his gaze over slowly over the pale, unmarked flesh of the body stretched out on the table in front of him.

“What?” Kaminari takes in the sight before him. He lifts his eyebrows. “Oh. Well-“

He gets up from his stool, tugging his gloves back over his shirtsleeves and crossing the room toward Sero and the body in question. He picks up a scalpel, making a clean little cut just below the subject’s left nipple without any hesitation.

“Dude, stop!” Sero reaches with the hand still clutching his forceps, blanching as a thin well of blood trickles onto pristine flesh.

“He’s offline,” Denki chuckles. “He can’t feel a thing. You’ve patched these guys up a thousand times, Sero. What’s the problem?”

“I dunno,” Sero muses, drawing the back of one glove nervously over his temple. “I dunno. I think they’re starting to get too real. It’s messing with me.” He shoots Denki a weak chuckle and shakes his head.

“What do they need this guy all burned up for, anyway?”

“Momo told me he’s for the new narrative,” Denki replies, puzzling over the red hair and immaculate pale skin of their unsuspecting victim. “Some kind of grizzly new villain who’s supposed to stir up trouble.”

“Better make him extra fucked up, then.” The blowtorch, extinguished in Sero’s panic, is ignited again, but he’s still hesitating.

“Hey,” Denki prompts. “Why don’t we start with the system update? That’ll kill some time. And then- hey.” He reaches across the tool cart, grabbing for the bottle of black hair dye that came with the host’s modification kit. He shakes it in Sero’s face, letting a smug grin cross his features.

“I’ll do the carpet if you do the drapes.”

Sero and Denki find their rhythm easily enough. Before long, the tension dispels and they’re letting conversation flow smoothly between them, making weekend plans while Sero pushes polished silver staples into the now-scarred flesh of the transformed host.

“This guy’s older than he looks,” Denki quips from the tool cart, where he’s selecting an appropriately sized needle for the delicate work ahead of him. “His systems haven’t been updated in years.”

“I’ve never seen him in the park before,” Sero admits. He’s finishing the clean row of staples that trail from the corner of the host’s mouth to his ear, struggling to push the staple into the skin at the edges of his face. The sharp prongs don’t hold as well in the spots where the muscle and flesh thin to just skin stretched over bone. He looks up in frustration, shaking the spots from his concentrated gaze.

“Whoa,” he starts as he spots the way that Denki’s moved up between the host’s lean thighs. “You’re really gonna-“

“That’s what it says in the briefing,” Denki presses. He’s got the aforementioned needle in one hand and a bowl of curved barbells in the other; he’s gone a little grin about the gills, too.

“Sick fucks,” Sero snorts, shaking his head. “Doesn’t feel very historically accurate, does it?”

“Please,” Denki pushes. “If you think this has ever been about history, you’re in for a nasty surprise.”

“Christ, you wanna talk about nasty surprises,” Sero replies, blanching and averting his eyes while Denki inserts the first piercing. “Just wait’ll the guests get a look at him.”

"Bakugou's outdone himself this time," Denki agrees, brow furrowed with sympathy and panicked concentration as he unscrews the first barbell. "Those idiots won't know what hit 'em.”

“Bring yourself back online.”

Head of Programming Shouto Todoroki sits in front of the park’s newest addition, datapad spread across his lap. Sero and Denki’s work paid off; the new host is looking fiercer than ever.

Not new enough for Shouto’s tastes, though. He can still see the blue glint when “Dabi,” as his new narrative calls him, shifts into wakefulness and lets his eyes flutter open. He shoots Shouto a sinister grin but does not move from his seat.

Shouto doesn’t want to believe what they’ve done to him. He’s still nude, putting all his new modifications on brilliant display. The staples in his flesh look angry and inflamed. The scars, done perfectly to appear long-healed, still make his blood curdle.

He can’t even think about the flashes of silver that catch the light when Dabi crosses his legs.

“And who are you supposed to be?" Dabi growls an opening line that shakes Shouto more than it ought to. He sports a brand new drawl that fits the world he’ll be slotted into soon enough, but it’s too much, bouncing off the pristine glass and shiny tile beneath his bare feet.

“Lose the accent,” Shouto commands. Dabi's expression shifts a little, but he does not drop eye contact.

Shouto can’t help but wonder if they all stare like this. He hasn’t been alone with a host in a very long time. Especially not one with this kind of significance.

“Do you know where you are?” He presses, determined to push forward. The sooner he gets Dabi through analysis, the sooner he can pretend like the unsettling host doesn’t exist.

But Dabi’s voice with no drawl is even more spine-chilling.

“I am in a dream.”

“And… do you want to wake up from this dream?”

Dabi’s eyes drift away in a direction they’re not supposed to. For a moment, he casts his gaze down and to the left, letting it sweep across the edge of the room as his brow creases with terrifying subtlety.

The gesture is minuscule, almost as if he's recalling a distant memory. For a moment, Shouto can only admire its beauty.

Then he realizes it’s not supposed to be there.

“Yes,” Dabi continues, his voice soft and lilting and almost wistful. “I’m terrified.”

“Freeze all motor functions.” Shouto’s heart pounds in his chilled throat. His extremities have gone cold. But Dabi follows his instructions to the letter, freezing before he can even blink. Shouto questions why he expected any differently.

Not two minutes later, Head of Behaviour Momo Yaoyorozu ducks gracefully into Dabi’s glass prison. Shouto is still sitting exactly where he began, perched on a little rolling leather stool. Six feet away, Dabi has not moved, bare and frozen on a stool of his own.

"I got your page," Momo soothes, shutting the door quietly behind her and unfolding her datapad. The hinges go rigid when they sit flat, blending seamlessly into a broad tablet that she taps and scrolls quietly through.

“I checked his programming on the way over. There’s something new here,” she concludes. “But I don’t know who added it. Must have been one of the interns, or-“

“I know who it was,” Shou answers grimly, already scrolling meticulously through the lines of code that make up Dabi’s new personality. Momo freezes, looking up at him with cold surprise.

“You don’t think…”

“I do,” he confirms. He takes a deep breath to quell his racing heart and shoots his closest colleague a shaky look. “You’re going to want to see this.”

“Incredible,” Momo gasps a few moments later when Shouto asks Dabi the same series of questions and gets the same frightening response. He knows why it shakes him as much as it does, but it hasn’t occurred to him that someone like Momo would actually… appreciate them.

“It’s like he’s-“ she starts, then stops herself. The conclusion she’s drawn should be as impossible as it sounds. But it’s staring them both in the face.

“Like he’s remembering something.” She finishes her thought this time, and Shou clenches his jaw.

"He must have slipped the code into the update," he determines. "In the programming, he's calling them Reveries."

“Kind of poetic,” Momo muses, still admiring the way that Dabi’s eyes seem to mist as they stare into the middle-distance. “It makes him look so real.”

“The code pulls memories from his earlier programming,” Shouto continues, looking up at Momo and waiting for her to be as spooked as he is.

He’s almost frightened that she’ll be defensive. But she’s sharper than he’s given her credit for, and that revelation is enough to pull her from her stupor.

“That could cause a lot of problems,” she muses. “Especially if the loops haven’t been closed properly. They’re supposed to be wiped after every cycle, but if there are links pulling them back…”

“I know,” Shouto emphasizes. Momo straightens, planting matter-of-fact hands on matter-of-fact hips.

“What are you gonna do about it?”

“I don’t think there’s anything I can do,” he confesses, turning back to catch another blood-chilling glimpse of the all-too-familiar host. “I can’t just pull the programming out from under him. He’ll know.”

“You can’t send him into the park with it. If it’s slotted in with the update, he could spread it to the other hosts.”

Shouto pushes his datapad aside and leans forward, steepling his fingers as he sighs deeply and descends into even deeper thought.

Momo’s right. With the Reveries included, the update has potentially disastrous consequences. But that’s operating on the assumption that his father makes mistakes, which most people would confirm is simply impossible.

If he clears the programming before letting Dabi go through, however, he’ll be facing the wrath of his father.

Shou purses his lips, lacing his fingers together but leaving the pointers extended and pursing his lips against the smooth joints.

“I think we’re going to have to.”

The glossy, perfect train- the first of many you'll take today, as you're told- pulls into a station that's even whiter than the train itself. Polished white floors and perfect whitewashed columns are the first things you see out the massive panoramic windows as the cars pull to a complete stop. When the doors glide open, your maid of honour touches your sleeve as the other girls filter out of your private compartment and onto the platform.

You’re far from the only ones disembarking the train. The rest of the platform is soon crowded by immaculately-dressed guests from all over the world. They bow and shift like a flock of starlings, moving in stark contrast past the perfectly-still bodies of the white-clad staff waiting to greet them.

A tall, statuesque woman with raven hair steps forward, addressing your maid of honour by name. She gives you an apologetic wave and a see you in there before disappearing amid the writhing sea of people.

You’ve been reading up on this place for weeks, scouring pamphlets and websites and guest reviews for every detail about the induction process you can glean from public knowledge. Details of the park itself are kept very private, but you’ve learned all you can about the way you’ll be introduced to it.

This place was not your first choice for the occasion at hand, but your friends practically insisted. You know it’s for selfish reasons- it’s the only chance they’re ever going to get to see the place for themselves- but you can already think of several places you’d rather celebrate your coming nuptials.

Not exactly your typical bachelorette party fare. But your friends agreed to wear matching dresses in that shade of pale green you couldn’t stay away from, so you’re giving them this.

Before long the platform is nearly cleared. You’re just starting to make your way toward the escalator, wondering what exactly became of the host who was supposed to greet you, when a soft croon of your name over one shoulder nearly shocks you out of your sandals.

Your host has arrived, and he’s even more gorgeous than you feared. Graceful and lithe-looking, he’s clad in a pristine white suit and turtleneck that contrasts the bold flashes of his golden hair perfectly. He shoots you a smooth smile, lit by razor-sharp tawny eyes and as he turns his face to catch the light, you can see that his jaw is grazed by the barest hint of scruff- perfectly groomed, just like the rest of him.

"Hello," you greet, trying not to lose your breath. You clasp the fingers of your right hand around the ring finger on your left- the remnants of your favourite new nervous habit. You've taken to twisting your engagement ring in moments of idleness or anxiety, but for safety's sake, you've left the flashy diamond at home.

You know you’re engaged. That’s what matters most.

“Good,” the host croons. You’re getting quickly used to his honeyed brogue, strong and low and sweet as he takes your hand and drops a suave kiss to your knuckles. “I’m glad you found your way here.” He jerks his head toward the emptying escalator, eyes never leaving yours.

“Follow me.”

As you’re ascending through the polished storeys of the park’s immaculate headquarters, your attendant rattles off a long list of mundane medical questions. He’s tapping away on a datapad as he walks, and you’re sure that whatever information he’s taking down will be swept away for later use.

Finally, he brings you to a plain-looking white door. He tucks away the datapad and slips his hands into his pockets. He’s graceful and perfect- too perfect. You’re starting to suspect that he’s no ordinary employee.

“Go on,” he urges, nodding toward the door. You shoot him a sideways little glance but step forward, hooking your fingers around the polished handle and pushing it open. You step inside.

The interior of the room- or closet, as it would be better described- is lit almost exclusively by glowing strip lights hidden in the crevices of the doorway, racks of clothing, and bordering a large series of mirrors that stud each wall.

It’s the biggest walk-in closet you’ve ever seen. And it’s filled to the brim with racks of clothing, all appropriate to the vague late-19th century setting of the park.

“Everything is bespoke,” pipes your immaculate attendant as he shuts the door behind him, “and exactly your size.” Painfully, you remember being asked for your body measurements in anticipation of this visit. Did they custom-tailor everything for each guest?

Or are you being given special treatment?

“You can pick out anything you’d like,” he continues, moving toward you, “and your other clothes will be waiting for you when you’ve finished your stay.”

“I don’t even know where to start,” you muse, fingering the raspberry-coloured silk of a lavish-looking day dress.

“The clothes you choose will determine the course of your experience.”

Your attendant is right beside you now, so close that you can see the way his golden eyelashes brush his tanned cheeks. He’s leaning in to examine the silk same as you, but his shoulder pushes just a little close to be solely practical. As he grips the material between lithe fingers, he lifts his gaze to yours on purpose. There’s a charming lilt to his smile that you can’t help but admire.

He pauses, dropping the silk and turning to face you head-on. Though the smile has slipped from his features, he still eyes you with interest.

“You want to ask, don’t you?”

Your brain catches up immediately, confusion swelling and fading in the span of a heartbeat. It tightens to thick dread in your chest.

He’s right. You do.

“Are you real?” The words sound even more ridiculous in the air between you than they did in your head. But ever since you boarded the train it felt like you could never be sure. And he’s perfect. Too perfect. Even the way he takes your question seems scripted and rehearsed.

He gives a low chuckle and takes your hands, stroking smooth thumbs over the backs of your knuckles. Then he peeks up at you from beneath flawless dark lashes and flashes a hint of pearly canine as he speaks.

“If you can’t tell, does it really matter?”

You don’t need him to expand.

“Come,” he prompts gently, dropping one hand to pull open a drawer of delicate slips and shifts, sitting in neat, folded piles of undyed linen. Some are plain, others trimmed excessively with lace and ribbons. You’re drawn to the coloured ribbons immediately- pale peach, soft blue, mint green. But the brassy gold of your attendant’s eyes is even more magnetic and you can’t look away for longer than a handful of seconds.

“You know,” he continues, squeezing your fingers gently and moving back in to run his knuckles up the inside of your wrist. Every single one of his touches is delicate, fluttering like a songbird against your skin. But there’s nothing gentle about the way he looks at you.

“Some of these clothes are a little difficult to put on alone.”

He does not explain further, but he watches as you’re drawn to the same conclusion that he is.

You have to roll this one over in your mind for a long while. You left your engagement ring behind, but the engagement itself still stands. Then again, he told you to enjoy yourself here. ‘Make every use of the park’s benefits,’ he’d suggested.

He’s just a computer, you tell yourself. A glorified sex toy. Maybe he walks and talks and flirts like a real human being, but…

There’s something about him that’s making it hard to turn him down.

After a silence long enough for any normal person to question, you look up at your attendant once more. He’s patiently awaiting your response, having gone uncomfortably still. You're not even sure he'd blink if you stare long enough.

You give a tight little nod and he’s smiling again, the same lazy smile as before. His default expression, you’re beginning to gather. He reaches for your coat.

“Wait.” You stop him with one hand on either forearm. He’s touched you before, but it’s still shocking how warm he is. Even though the sleeves of his perfect white jacket, he feels unquestionably alive.

"Don't you have a name or something?"

“Of course I do,” he responds. “Would you like to hear it?”

“Um…” Your brow knits. “Yes.”

He slips around behind you, curling his fingers into the open folds of your jacket and beginning to slide the weighty material off your shoulders. As he does, he leans forward, letting his lips draw close to your ear and making you shiver.

“Call me Keigo.”

“Keigo,” you repeat. It’s pretty and rolls easily from your mouth in a slow purr of desire. You can’t help yourself anymore. Keigo’s been programmed to put you at ease, but he’s doing much more for you now.

He undresses you methodically, pausing only briefly to run a hand down the curve of your waist or dip his fingers under the point of your chin when he catches you looking down. Even when you’re standing completely naked in front of him, he does not move to touch you in any untoward manner.

Whatever unspoken arrangement you thought you had formed is obviously not as unspoken as you’d hoped.

With his help, you select some period-appropriate undergarments. He helps you into your breezy linen shift first, lovingly tying the drawstrings into a neat little bow at the centre front. The corset is not as uncomfortable as you'd anticipated, fitting you devastatingly well. Keigo’s skilled hands pull the laces with precise tension, and the whole time he breathes soft commands and inquiries over your shoulder.

“Too tight?” He whispers, holding the laces taught at your waist. You take a slow, deep breath, then shake your head.

“Good.”

He ties the laces off and helps you into two petticoats- one of plain white cotton, the other of decorative silk and lace. Then he sits you on a cool, leather-covered sofa on one edge of the room and drops to his knees in front of you.

“Uh-“ you start, but he produces a pair of silk stockings from seemingly nowhere, smirking over the tops of your knees.

“Let’s get this out of the way.”

He pushes your airy petticoats up from your ankles, letting the backs of his palms brush the insides of your knees. He shoves the material up to your thighs and your confusion is multiplied now- is this what you think it is?

The way he admires your thighs as you shyly press them together certainly makes it seem so.

"Keigo," you gasp, curling your fingers against the edge of the sofa. The leather is supple and delicate beneath your touch like you could tear it if you wanted to.

He looks up just in time to watch you hook a bare thigh over his shoulder, and his brows shoot into his pointed hairline.

You’ve decided what you want out of this trip.

"Dove," he chides, setting down the stockings and pushing them gently aside. He takes both hands up the backs of your calves, stroking perfectly manicured fingernails into the tender skin at the backs of your knees.

He drops a kiss to the inside of your thigh. His face disappears behind the swath of frothy white petticoats gathered in your lap, but you feel his hot breath on your skin clear as day.

“If you wanted something from me,” he purrs, “all you had to do was ask.”

“I’m asking now,” you hum, letting your head fall back against the back of the couch. He’s easy enough to convince. Somehow, the fact that you didn’t have to work very hard for this almost makes it feel more acceptable.

“Here’s my answer,” he replies, sinking his teeth into the flesh of your inner thigh. You let out a strangled gasp, thigh jolting against his face as he slips his hand under the other leg- still hooked over his shoulder. You let out a low, shaky breath, trying not to think about the mark he’ll leave.

He pushes your leg away after biting it, shoving your knees apart and leaning eagerly forward. His head is fully buried under your gathered petticoats at this point, and you can feel him nosing his way into the crook of your groin, sliding a few free fingers up to prod gently for your hair-dusted folds.

“Wet already, bluebird?” He chuckles into your skin, sending shivers up your spine. “I’m flattered.”

“Stop,” you groan. There’s heat rushing to your cheeks with every word that tumbles out of his pretty mouth. You don’t want any of this to stop, but the heat between your legs is the one quickly growing unbearable.

“Do you want me to?” Keigo sits back almost immediately, ridding you of the delicious tingles his close breath were sending across your skin.

“No, no!” You yelp sharply, indignantly, digging your bare heel into his back to keep him close. He stops as soon as you apply pressure, letting out a quiet little chuckle.

“Keep going,” you pant, curling your toes against his pretty jacket.

“Your wish is my command,” he hums, already leaning into your flesh again. He does not hesitate this time, burying his head between your legs and giving the weeping slit of your cunt a long lick.

His first touch is all it takes to remind you how long it’s been.

“Fuck,” you gasp, low and languid. He doesn’t hesitate to close his lips around your swelling clit and suck. He makes sharp, sloppy noises with his lips and tongue, and the way they resonate in your ears near-doubles your pleasure. He’s eating you out perfectly, with terrifying precision. The strength of his jaw and tongue remains almost painfully consistent.

All the better for drowning him out. Despite his easy-flowing attitude and suave charm, he’s not a person. And it isn’t unfaithful to want him like this.

Even if you know he wouldn’t like it.

Keigo is diligent and careful, plunging his tongue in and out of your needy hole before finding the nub of your clit again, hard and sensitive. When he flicks the tip of his tongue against the tender front of it your legs spasm and you cry out softly as sensitive goosebumps rush across your ribcage.

“Like that,” you plead breathlessly, drawing your foot up between his shoulder blades as the tension builds. “Again, please.”

You’re holding the swells of your petticoats up around your thighs for him, but your fingers are beginning to clench in the delicate material. You’re not going to last long at all beneath a tongue as talented as his.

“Don’t worry, dove,” he purrs into your body, sending thick vibrations through every nerve in your system, “I won’t leave you unsatisfied.”

As he settles into his rhythm again, he plunges two fingers into your messy depths. He curls them tightly inside you, massaging your tender walls with a blunt and careful touch.

It takes little more than a few methodical strokes to make you fall. You cum with a tight little squeal, closing your thighs tightly around his head while you spasm and buck and sigh. He’s attentive enough to keep pumping his fingers through your orgasm, drawing out the pleasure as much as possible and greedily lapping at the wetness that trickles from your clenching pussy.

"That's it," he soothes, easing you down from your high with one calming hand on the column of your twitching thigh. As you settle, sweat-soaked, back into your seat he surfaces, sweat and shiny, sticky fluid sticking in the bristles of his perfect scruff. He licks his lips and you realize you’ve unconsciously mirrored him, doing the same.

In the moments directly following your peak you say nothing, looking down to meet his brassy gaze as deep uncertainty settles into your gut.

What happens now?

Keigo sits back on his haunches, pulling the folded pocket square from his breast and mopping up the mess on his chin and jaw like he'd done nothing more than spill a glass of wine or splash water over his lips.  

“Much better,” he croons, reaching for the discarded stockings from before. “Feeling a little more relaxed?”

You swallow hard.

“I’d say so.”

His smile is surprisingly bright and sunny.

“Good.” He hooks his fingers under your knee again, unhooking your leg from his shoulder. Sliding a palm down to your ankle, he fits one stocking deftly over your foot and slides it up your calf, continuing his work as if uninterrupted. He fits the stockings over your knees and ties them off carefully with slips of silk ribbon, sitting the knots just below your knees so the stockings won't fall. Then, he gets to his feet and offers you a hand.

“Let’s pick out the rest of your clothes, shall we?”

The park is even more immersive than you imagined. The photos do it no justice. When you step off the (genuine steam-powered) train at Sweetwater Station, it’s accompanied by a very real twinge of anxiety. The village is like a scene out of a Clint Eastwood movie. Only there are no cardboard sets here. The saloon doors really swing inward. The shops and businesses that line the main street are built from real, weathered lumber. The dust that’s kicked up by the hosts that go about their daily lives is already beginning to coat your new boots.

You sneeze.

“God bless you,” greets a kind stranger in a rough-hewn grey coat and white hat. He’s got a very apparent drawl to his voice, but the glint in his blue eyes is kind.

Back at the facility, guests and hosts were easy enough to distinguish from one another. Out here, it’s a little more difficult. You’re not sure whether to believe that everyone is real or assume they’re all fake.

Luckily, there are four women beside you whose humanity you are acutely aware of. You’re lucky enough to have found your bridesmaids on the train in- all clustered in the bar car, but together nonetheless.

And they’ve insisted on keeping the party going.

“C’mon, bride-to-be,” your maid of honour chides, grabbing you by the hand and pulling you out of your reverie. “I know exactly where we need to go first.”

“It’s not even noon yet,” you protest, but the others are already miles ahead of you. You’re dragged easily into the broad, dusty street and toward those broad, swinging doors. The saloon stands proudly in the centre of town on a prominent corner with faded signs advertising its wares. And your maid of honour eagerly bats the doors open, striding boldly into the sun-soaked saloon.

The tables are surprisingly crowded for this time of day. It’s most likely a flood of guests, disembarking the train and heading straight for the local watering hole for a real taste of the action.  Beyond their idle chatter tinkles the bright keys of a player piano against one wall. You can see the player scroll turning in the piano’s upright fixture, but that doesn’t change the unsettling way that the keys seem to press themselves.

It’s an eerie fixture in a town populated by walking, talking player pianos.

The man behind the bar bleeds Old West stereotypes from every pore. He’s got a huge, exaggerated greying moustache and a tweed waistcoat with shirtsleeves bound back for work. He’s polishing an empty glass with a cotton rag, but you spot him just in time to watch him politely greet a guest and reach behind him for a frosted bottle of unlabeled whisky.

The only other fixtures in the place are the women patrolling it, clad in colourful, lacy outfits that you’re certain violate some kind of historical convention. But they’re all breathtakingly beautiful, bosoms heaving over tightly laced corsets and fluttering from table to table like songbirds. They seem to provide little more than decoration and, as you settle into a table not far from the door, they fade easily into the background.

Until one of them screams.

You’ve read as many stories as you could scour the internet for before coming here. You know this place can get intense. Details of the park’s narratives and interactive storylines are kept under wraps as much as possible, so you can’t be sure whether this is out of the ordinary or not.

But when you whip around to find the source of the blood-curdling shriek, it doesn’t feel scripted.

It doesn’t feel scripted when the pretty girl in peach lace flings herself to the feet of a brand-new guest, here with his wife and their young son gaping from across the table. It doesn’t feel like she’s supposed to be wracked with sobs having never exchanged a word with this man.

It doesn’t feel like she should be pleading with him.

But the sobs wrack her body anyway, and her rosy little cheeks are flushed deeply now as she sniffles and blubbers.

“My daughter,” she begs hoarsely. “My girl, my daughter, please, I know you have her. Give her back to me, please. I know you took her. Give her back to me, I’ll do anything.”

Whether the father-of-one knows what she's talking about or not he's white as a sheet, stumbling backwards against the edge of his wife's table and pushing his arms forward, trying to keep her away.

The player piano finishes its tune, keys stilling as the saloon’s patrons look on in shock. And for an honest handful of heartbeats, the saloon is silent save for the host’s ragged sobs.

It takes a few moments for the player scroll to re-align itself before the tune restarts, and as the familiar notes cycle back through the saloon the host re-centres herself, climbing to her feet. There's a hardened resolve on her tear-stained face as her target looks around, gathering his wife and son with a this is bullshit and turning to leave.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me-“ the host begins to snarl. She lunches for the man, hands outstretched for the back of his brand new jacket, or maybe the brim of his crisp Stetson.

“Freeze all motor functions!”

A deep voice booms from the door of the saloon, amplified and simultaneously muffled with the use of a megaphone. The girl, and every other host in the saloon, freezes in place as though they’ve been paused. They don’t just stand still- they’re paralyzed. The smiling bartender is stalled with a glass in his hand; he doesn’t even blink.

In the doorway stands a hulking man of at least six and a half feet, seeming nearly as broad across the shoulders as he is tall. He wears a black uniform, armored black vest and heavy combat boots with a head of brilliant red hair spilling over his shoulders. As he lowers the megaphone he’s grinning, the bare flash of a sharp canine catching the low light of the bar.

“Sorry for the intrusion, folks,” he declares, striding across the floorboards toward the frozen host. Her expression is paused in a sneer of sheer horror and aggression, her hand outstretched for the man who has long since stepped aside.

The red-haired guardian angel, who has the name Kirishima stitched neatly onto the breast of his protective gear in white thread, catches your gaze. He shoots you a familiar little wink and a nod, a soft y’alright? escaping his throat in a quiet little growl.

You lick your lips, nodding slowly. Kirishima averts his gaze and reaches for the frozen host. As soon as he touches her skin she goes limp, falling easily into his powerful hold. He hoists her body over one shoulder and surveys the saloon, touching two fingertips to his forehead in a bright little salute.

“Please, don’t let me intrude on your stay any longer,” he continues. “As you were, everybody. Resume.”

The last word seems to be a command for the hosts in the room, as they spin to life again. They resume their rounds as if no time had passed at all; as if nothing out of the ordinary had ever transgressed.

Spooked, but encouraged by Kirishima’s smooth removal of the offending host, the guests around you go hesitantly back to their conversations. The player piano, also halted by Kirishima’s commands, has resumed its delicate play, and slowly the environment returns to the way it was before.

Your friends are among those willing to brush off the incident.

"What happened?" mumbles your maid of honour across the table, as if the host were still around to overhear her. As if the host's friends might be listening in to see if anybody's talking about her.

“No idea,” quips one of the other girls. “Must be some kind of glitch.” She looks over her shoulder, watching the remaining hosts at the bar. “I wonder if it happens often.”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

Head of Narrative Katsuki Bakugou slams a stack of papers onto the table in front of him, disrupting the intricate hologram that provides a real-time, scale model of the park to the room’s occupants.

“Katsuki!” Momo scolds, watching the hologram stutter and flicker. It’s not the first table he’s damaged.

“You’re not pulling my fucking narrative. It rolls out today. Do you have any idea how many writers I had busting ass on that thing?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” she retorts, tapping the screen of the datapad she’s got hooked tightly in the crook of her other arm. “You saw the host that Eijirou pulled, didn’t you? The fact that he had to step in at all means things got way out of hand…”

“Bullshit,” Katsuki retorts, sweeping his papers off the holo-table (and shattering the image one more time). “That was a fucking glitch. You don’t even have the results back from Behaviour yet.”

“I already know what they’re going to say,” Momo continues.

“That’s right,” Katsuki snarls. “I forgot you know everything around here.”

“She was carrying the latest update. There must be something wrong with the code.” Momo tries not to remember Dabi and his distant stare. She swallows the part about the extra coding slipped in by the man who could do no wrong.

She flips her datapad shut- it’s doing her any good, since Katsuki’s right. The results from Behaviour regarding the misaligned host won’t be ready for some time.

“You can’t. Pull. That. Narrative.” Katsuki’s squared up now, all the gathered papers tucked under his arm. His jaw is ticked, nostrils flaring as his eyes flash. “An entire trainload of guests is wandering around Sweetwater looking for the stories they fucking paid for. If you pull the plug, there’s nothing left.”

He’s right again.

“Look.” Katsuki crosses to the holo-table one more time, only this time it’s without the murderous intent in his gaze. For once he’s ready to use the table as intended, pin-pointing the broad, dusty street of Sweetwater’s main strip and bringing up a live feed of the bustling little town.

"Dabi is riding through here in less than two hours," he continues. "Dial-up his aggression a little. Make him shoot up the place. If you want to pull the hosts, at least let them go out with a bang.”

Momo isn’t convinced. But it’s the closest thing to a happy medium she can picture at the moment. Katsuki, as prolific as ever, knows how to think on his feet.

“How many d’you think he’ll take out?” She probes quietly, quirking an interested brow.

“Enough to keep the guests AND your Doctor Frankensteins entertained while I find us some more loopholes.”

Her mind races through more questions. But the panic, fluttering high and shallow in her chest, has somehow been replaced by a delicate sort of reassurance.

She flips open the datapad one more time, activating the remote host commands available only to an employee of her standing. Finding Dabi’s program file, she does exactly as Katsuki suggests and dials up the aggression in his behaviour stats by eighty percent.

“This had better work,” she threatens softly, but Katsuki’s already folding his arms across his chest, looking far too satisfied with himself. His ego is insufferable, but his talent is unmatched. Worth suffering for.

His mouth splits into a triumphant grin as he shoots an idle glance at the live Sweetwater feed. The only stage he’s ever needed.

“’Course it will.”

The afternoon sun has nearly dipped behind the tallest rooftops in Sweetwater when your friends stumble out of the saloon. Your friends are already tipsy, giggling and clutching each other as they try not to trip over the hems of their skirts. They’re all a little too eager to pull out the extravagant lace fans that pair perfectly with their colourful dresses and fan at their heaving bosoms.

As you bound down the steps and into the dirt road, you dive seamlessly into the milling crowd of hosts and guests, starting to swim. If you’re about to be caught in the eye of a devastatingly orchestrated narrative maelstrom, you’re blissfully unaware.

“Give me the time,” Katsuki grunts from the Sweetwater side of the holo-table. Momo glances up at the digital clock on the wall.

“Thirteen fifty-eight, forty-two,” she notes. Katsuki’s got the camera feed trained on a lone trio of riders, clad in black and plodding steadily toward Sweetwater. He watches carefully, keeping an eye turned on the clock.

“They’re going to be late,” he grunts bitterly, folding his arms over his chest. Sero, Denki and Kirishima, who have all crowded around the holo-table on their lunch breaks to watch the show, snort in near-unison.

“I don’t think anyone down there’s keeping track,” Denki quips, smoothing his palms down the front of his crisp shirt, apronless for once. Katsuki shoots him a vicious glare.

“You wanna go back to your sewing room or what?”

Denki goes quiet.

Inside the park, the sun passes behind a cloud. The light shifts just enough to draw your gaze, and when you look up, you’re among the first to spot a few dark shapes approaching. They’re close enough that you can make them out as riders, all on horses as black as the wide-brimmed hats on their heads.

There’s something about them, their precise formation and the slow, plodding, deliberate pace of their horses that holds your attention. You can’t quite write them off as guests, no matter how much they stand out from the dully-dressed villagers around you.

You glance across the street just long enough to spot a WANTED poster tacked to a column not far off. You can’t make out any of the writing on it, but the face is distinct- dark, shaded patches covering his jaw, chin and lower lip, carving out two shadowy patches under his eyes.

There’s something about the narrow shape of his cheeks that pulls familiar.

But you don’t have to wonder much longer.

The three riders ride quietly into town, the crowd parting around them with little more than low murmurs and dull, lidded fear. They pull to a stop in front of the saloon, barely twenty feet from you.

The cowboy in the grey tweed coat who caught your eye fresh off the train approaches the riders. He’s got a revolver holstered on one hip, and he draws it slowly out of its pouch as he squares up with the horse at the lead of the pack.

“Haven’t you seen the signs with your mug on ‘em?” He drawls, his face drawn into an expression of tense righteousness. He jerks his chin toward the nearest one, the WANTED sign you’d seen seconds earlier. “You’re not welcome here, Dabi.”

The taller rider in the centre- Dabi- tilts his chin into the sunlight, and that’s when you catch sight of its purplish colour. His face glints with silver, a perfect match for the drawing posted across the street.

He does not hesitate, drawing his own revolver in one smooth motion and shooting the cowboy in the chest. The gun discharges with a crack that’s louder than you ever imagined it could be, punctuated by the screams of bystanders nearby.

As the village descends into panic you stand there dumbstruck, watching the chaos unfold.

“Wait for it,” Katsuki grunts, hiding his satisfied grin as his colleagues watch in rapt fascination. Sero hasn’t blinked since the action began.

“You sure?” Dabi rasps, voice muffled by the feed. He produces a shiny golden badge and flipping it, like a silver dollar, onto the expiring corpse of the righteous host.

“No,” Denki whines. “He killed the sheriff?”

“Shut up and keep watching,” Katsuki growls, quelling the proud adrenaline pumping through his veins. There’s nothing quite like seeing his hard work come to life- supremely worth fighting with Momo over.

Dabi smirks, tipping the brim of his hat.

“Seems like invitation enough to me.”

He swings capably off his horse and you can’t deny your fascination with the mystery surrounding him. You should be terrified, but there’s something about the cool confidence with which he carries himself that you can’t quite put aside.

If the women flocking to the windows on either side of the street are any indication, you’re not the only one who feels that way. In a brief moment of lucidity, you take a glance around you. Your bridesmaids have disappeared, disappearing in the panicked mass of flooding crowds after the scarred rider fired his first shot.

He’s followed by a second rider on his right flank, both quickly disappearing into the bar. The third rider- a petite blonde woman swathed in a heavy coat- gets down off her horse and turns quickly toward her saddlebags. When she comes around the front side of her steed, she’s got a shotgun in her hands.

She’s loading it. The pandemonium amplifies. At her feet, there’s a long, thick coil of rope that’s partially unwound and trailing into the saloon. It’s unwinding slowly, with dull screams and shattering glass echoing from inside.

That’s all you have time to notice before another shot goes off in front of you. The little blonde girl’s levelled her shotgun, emptying her rounds at anyone who raises a weapon against her. You’re barely standing ten feet away. But she passes you clean over.

Is it because you're a guest? The only ones who have fallen at her hand are the hosts, capable of being hurt by her gunshots. The guests who haven't taken off are clustered in the windows of shops or hiding behind broad wooden columns, but there is no fear painted on their faces.

You know the hosts can’t hurt you. But there’s something about the thrill of it all that sends adrenaline pumping through your veins anyway. There’s a cool mystery to all of the black-clad riders.

A part of you wants to join them. If you can be anyone you want in here… why not one of them? Why not swing cooly down from your horse and terrorize, when there are no consequences to your actions?

You take one step backwards, then another. Your senses are finally coming back to you. You should run. Disengage. Maybe you can’t be caught in the crossfire, but you can’t stand dumbly in the empty street, either.

Something has to change.

Before you can make it to the safety of a storefront, a pattern of three gunshots in tight succession from inside the saloon triggers something in the blonde, still picking off hosts. There are bodies littering the street.  

She lowers her shotgun and hops back onto her horse, spurring it on with a sharp whistle. The beast takes off without hesitation, and it’s then that you realize the other end of the coiled rope is wound around her saddlehorn. As the horse strains its haunches and pushes forward the rope goes taut. And as the pair of them take off down the street, the spoils emerge: a heavy wrought iron safe, bursting out of the saloon doors and leaving nothing but splintered remains in its wake.

It bounces and rolls down the steps and slides smoothly as soon as it hits the dirt street. The blonde shooter and her horse disappear, safe in tow.

You wonder what became of the bartender inside and his friendly moustache.

Dabi emerges seconds later, a fresh rifle clutched lazily in one hand. His companion’s lost his hat in the turmoil inside- he’s blonde, too, with a deep scar splitting his forehead from hairline to brow.

"Let today be a lesson for every one of you," Dabi calls, re-cocking his shotgun as he surveys the fresh bodies and fleeing guests. You've stopped dead all over again, drawn to him like a magnet despite your best judgement.

He levels the shotgun, aiming it about five feet to your right. You follow his gaze. In the window over your shoulder, with her hands pressed to the glass, is a little girl no older than five. She’s watching Dabi and his riders with fearful fascination and does not seem to realize that she’s been targeted.

You don’t care if she’s a guest or not. She’s a human girl with big, lively eyes, and your adrenal glands work faster than your sense of logic.

Dabi shuts one eye, tilting his head. The corner of one lip curls ever so slightly as he concentrates, taking aim. “And that lesson is-“

“Stop.” You step in front of the window, spreading your arms and drawing his attention for the first time. When he looks at you over the top of his shotgun, his expression goes slack. He drops the shotgun and his eyes are wide, wider than they’re supposed to be, almost.

You’re close enough to see that they’re a shocking shade of blue. That blue strikes an achingly familiar chord in your heart.

You recognize those eyes.

“What the fuck!”

If the holo-table didn’t weigh half a ton, Katsuki would’ve flipped it on its end. The feed is as smooth as ever, but his face has gone scarlet as he paces away from the table, scrubbing his hands over his face.

“What? What’s wrong?” Kirishima’s well past the end of his lunch break by now, but there’s no way in hell he’s going back to work before seeing the way this plays out.

“He stopped,” Katsuki growls. “He’s not s’posed to fucking stop.”

Dabi’s been stopped on the brink of a speech that took Katsuki days to put together. He’s been waiting to hear it delivered for weeks. It’s the speech that Dabi’s entire narrative was hinged on, forged out of countless sleepless nights and careless notes scribbled idly on coffee breaks.

“Holy shit.” There’s a genuine shock in Denki’s voice that’s enough to make Katsuki turn around. Denki’s gone white, Sero beside him, too.

“You’d better get over here and see this, dude,” Kirishima mutters, jerking his chin toward the feed. Momo’s watching over his shoulder, too, one hand pressed to her pursed lips.

“That’s a guest, isn’t it?” Sero quips. Silence settles over the room.

“I’ll get Shouto,” Momo declares, turning away and opening up her datapad.

“What’s going on?” Shouto bursts into the holo-room not two minutes later, mismatched eyes lit up with urgent concern. “Did I read your message right? I-“

Katsuki’s pacing the room, quieter than ever. Denki, Sero and Kirishima are still gathered around the feed, winding back the stream to replay the events that have sent them all spiralling. Momo’s the only one who even acknowledges his presence.

“Something’s happening in the park,” she explains, hushed and tight as she meets him at the door. “Another updated host is off-script.”

“How bad is it this time?” Shouto asks, hiding the dread that’s spreading in his gut. He had hoped that the girl from the saloon was just an unexpected glitch, but the results from Behaviour told another story.

Still, two deviances in just the first day of the update feels worse than he dreaded.

“You’d better take a look for yourself.”

Momo leads him to the holo-table and the feed, letting the other boys step aside. Shouto steps up to the projection, watching Dabi ride into town. Watching him break into the saloon with Twice and Toga, two other repurposed hosts, by his side.

He watches Toga ride off with the safe behind her and watches Dabi start his speech. And then, from a near-birds-eye view, he watches Dabi spot you of all people. Dabi lowers his rifle and strides toward you.

Shou’s heart leaps into his throat.

With dull horror he watches Dabi slip a leather-gloved hand under your chin. He watches you tilt your jaw into his touch. You’re fascinated by him. Even though the dust and pixels it's painfully obvious.

Dabi seems to notice, too, since he stoops low and hoists you over his shoulder without another word. You struggle, but he holds you fast. He strides across the road to his horse and sets you- still squirming and fighting- in the saddle, climbing on behind you and grabbing you tightly before you can escape.

Just before he spurs his gargantuan black steed forward, he pauses to glance over his shoulder. Shouto can’t be certain, but for a moment it seems like Dabi’s found the camera, staring plainly up at Shouto through its low-quality lens.

A breath passes. He looks away, gives a whistle, and disappears into the wilds beyond the town.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” Kirishima presses. “Katsuki, you didn’t program him to kidnap a guest, did you?”

“Of course not,” Katsuki snarls from across the room, his nerves fraying dangerously. “What kind of idiot do you think I am? Do I look like a walking liability to you?”

“Look, it’s fine,” Denki chimes in. “It’s not like he can hurt her or anything. Just chalk it up to the park experience. Tell her Dabi kidnaps random nobodies all the time.”

The room goes quiet as a crypt. Kirishima looks at Shouto. Shouto looks at Katsuki. Katsuki looks at Momo, and Momo takes a slow, deep breath.

“Do you want to tell him, Shouto?” she asks, “or should I?”

Shouto closes his eyes and tries to quell the panic rising in the back of his throat. He shoots Denki a cold look, jaw ticked but eyes blazing.

“That’s my fiancé,” he mutters, low and shaky. “Dabi kidnapped my fiancé.”

[kbstories]

noodle soup (a little KRBK sick fic)

The squad thought they knew their beloved Blasty was a bit of a feral-type mom friend… until Kirishima got sick from one day to the next, and they witnessed the full extent of how overbearing a worried Bakugou can be. At first Kirishima plays up the whining because, well, he’s sick and that sucks, and hogging Bakugou’s attention is nice and makes everything suck less.

It’s a tactical mistake.

Suddenly, absolutely nobody is allowed close to Kirishima ("Or d’ya fools wanna get sick too, hah?!"). Kirishima’s room becomes a biohazard zone guarded by 1-A’s very own Dynamight akin to Cerberus at the gates of hell.

The thing is: Kirishima is still allowed to do everything he wants. He gets away with demanding hugs (even if Bakugou pointedly leans his masked face away when they snuggle up), or marathon his favorite TV series Bakugou insists actively kills braincells. When Kirishima wakes up coughing and groaning miserably, Bakugou is there to force some cold medicine on him as well as the home-made broth that happens to have those noodle letters Kirishima not-so-secretly finds delightful.

It’s fun until it gets a little claustrophobic. Kirishima is used to working out daily, and hanging out with most of 1-A in some shape or form throughout the week. Being locked in his room is making him antsy in a way that even the virus wreaking havoc on his body can’t dispel.

"Bakuuu", goes Kirishima on day three. "You know I love you, right bro? And that hanging out for all eternity is like, manly as hell—"

Bakugou’s eyes narrow over his mask. He aggressively folds a wet towel and shoves it — deceptively gentle — against Kirishima’s brow. "But?"

"I miss the others, dude! Have you seen Denks blowing up the group chat? This is giving him separation anxiety and stuff."

"Sparks isn’t a fucking dog, he can deal."

"And what about Mina? She needs our combined intel or her gossip operation will suffer!"

"Gossip?! I don’t gossip, you do."

"Fine but like, Sero—"

"Just say you’re tired of me and go!"

Only when Bakugou yells those words does Kirishima realize he’s been actually keeping his voice down when around him. And sure, Kirishima’s aching head had appreciated that — the volume is all the more jarring now.

"Huh?!"

With a glare, Bakugou puts pressure on the towel until Kirishima gets the memo and holds it himself, watching the other get to his feet and start to pace.

"Or— Fucking don’t, your stupid ass is still sick. I’m going. You stay in that bed, Kirishima Eijirou, or so help me—"

Kirishima sputters, "But, dude! I meant like, letting the squad in, not— I wouldn’t get tired of you, I don’t think I can."

"Save it", hisses Bakugou, whirling around on his way out. "Fuck you! And there’s lunch in your mini fridge!"

Then he’s gone.

Continuing to dutifully hold the towel to his too-hot face, Kirishima gapes at his closed door. It takes him a good minute or two to one-handedly text the others not to cross Bakugou’s path.

Then he sits in the sudden silence and misses his best friend.

*

Bakugou stays away for the duration of Kirishima’s sick leave.

It’s a little dramatic, admittedly, especially because (a) they live next to each other, and (b) food seems to magically appear at Kirishima’s doorstep for every meal. His bro is sneaky when he wants to be, though, so Kirishima knows it’s pointless to try and catch him in the act, or even attempt an apology.

(That doesn’t stop him from doing it anyways or from hoping he’ll succeed, of course.)

Guilt keeps Kirishima from using his new-found freedom for anything other than watching TV, finding the comfort lacking even from episodes he knows by heart.

By the time he’s back on his feet, Kirishima has a plan to hunt down the ever-elusive Bakugou and clear things up. And by 'plan' he totally means camping out in front of Bakugou’s room until he shows up. So what if Kirishima is feeling a bit wobbly from residue sickness? He’s a man on a mission, and once Kirishima has made up his mind about something, there is no turning back.

Even when the Bakugou that finally shows up around midnight is looking about as exhausted as he feels. Leaving the fact aside that it’s hours past Bakugou’s bedtime, he looks… weirdly subdued. In actuality, he doesn’t even seem to realize that Kirishima is on the floor, back against Bakugou’s door, until Kirishima pipes up with an uncertain:

"Bakubro?"

Bakugou damn-near startles, blinking and letting his gaze roam until it falls on him. The immediate frown that follows makes Kirishima wince. Yup, alright, Bakugou is still pissed.

"The fuck d’you want?" asks Bakugou in the same moment Kirishima offers, "You good, man?"

Another awkward moment of staring. Kirishima gets up to level the playing field a bit, the elaborate speech he’d thought up blown away by how hazy Bakugou’s eyes are. Oh no.

"You look a bit pale there, Kats. Sure you’re feeling alright?"

"Fine", comes the predictable reply. Bakugou shoves Kirishima aside with half the force he usually would and okay, uncharted territory here.

Because Bakugou definitely caught the virus from Kirishima.

"How about we, dunno, skip the part where you pretend I didn’t manage to get you sick and you let me help you out too?"

There’s hope in Kirishima’s voice. In retaliation, Bakugou’s glare is double as venomous (even if his flushed cheeks maintain a certain softness there too).

"How about you go hang out with the rest of the idiots and leave me alone?"

Yikes. Kirishima shuffles on the spot a little, "You didn’t deny it, though", wanting to reach out but kind of enjoying having un-exploded limbs, as well.

"Kirishima."

Hrghh, definitely still hurt, too. Kirishima whines and leans against the frame of Bakugou’s door, not standing in his way but not letting him go without a fight, either.

"I’m sorry, bro, seriously, I am! I didn’t mean to complain when you were working so hard. Didn’t mean to sound like I don’t appreciate you having my back, either, but I did and just… Couldn’t ask for a better friend, y’know? You being all overprotective about me and stuff, I’m really honored!"

"Kirishima", Bakugou grits out.

Kirishima grins. "Just tellin' the truth."

Huffing out, "I’ll show you truth", Bakugou scowls at this own threat. Probably not murder-y enough. "Whatever. You done? I’m fuckin’ beat."

The worry in Kirishima’s heart returns with a vengeance. Bakugou, openly admitting he’s tired? He must be feeling pretty bad already.

"Okay, yeah, I’m letting you sleep. Just— Lemme get you some of those pills before you do? And like. I’m totally bringing you breakfast in bed, Kats, just a heads-up!"

That gets a scoff out of Bakugou, undeniably amused. "Do me a favor and don’t burn anything, will ya?"

Kirishima beams at the unspoken go-ahead, saluting before rushing to grab the meds Bakugou got him not too long ago. There’s no way he won’t ace this rare chance of taking care of Bakugou.

He learned from the best, after all.

[writesowhatnext]

accidental collateral damage // george weasley

Summary: so the prank didn’t necessarily ‘go to plan’, but George, admittedly, has never been happier for it

Request: Omg I love your works with the Weasley twins! Can I request a fic for George where he and Fred accidentally prank the reader who is shy. And so George feels bad because she was humiliated and purposely makes fun of himself to try to prevent people from making fun of her.

A/N: cracking request this is

Reader: unspecified

Warnings: swearing, public embarrassment?

Professor Snape was a creature of habit. Surely a malicious and miserable creature, but without question, one of habit. Every day like clockwork, just after lunch started, Snape would glide up from the dungeon and cut through the main courtyard to reach the Great Hall in time to eat. Every single day. And, as all well-established pranksters should, Fred and George made it their mission to know these things. As they always said, you never really know when such information will become useful or exactly how useful it will actually be. One very icy day in November, this tiny detail became paramount to Fred and George’s newest venture.

The twins sat behind the concrete base of the large rose bushes, crouched down as to hide their faces from any teachers that could possibly be on the hunt for perpetrators of a particular prank. Not that they’d pulled any sort of prank, of course. But the plan was simple really. Snape would walk in and then the bucket of slime Fred had ‘misplaced’ on the windowsill a few feet above him would mysteriously fall (must be the wind) and so, Snape would end up doused in green slime – a tragic accident; a fool-proof plan.

What Fred and George had not anticipated, however, was you. From the moment you stepped foot into the courtyard, George’s attention had been divided, and not so equally.

“Blimey, mate,” Fred said, rolling his eyes as he looked from you to his brother’s vacant, moon-eyed expression. “We’ve got a job to do here.”

“What?”

George turned to him, barely sparing him a glance before his eyes shot back to you. He watched you carefully as you stopped, a smile lighting up your cheeks as you spoke to someone. He’d always liked you, ever since he’d sat next to you in Charms that one time when Flitwick moved him away from Fred. He knew how shy you were and how little you liked to be the centre of attention; how everything you said was carefully thought through, and he found it kind of sweet. Not to mention, he more than enjoyed watching your flustered movements, especially when it came to him. He sighed softly at your grin, but his fawning was nothing compared to Fred’s huff, an impatient exhale.

“George, Snape will be here any minute-“

“And we’ll be ready,” George snapped, frowning.

“Not when you’re so bloody distracted by Y/N over there-“

“I am not distracted!”

George turned to you, a small smile curving at his lips as you circled around too quickly, walking into someone. You offered them a shy laugh in response, stepping out of their way and wringing your hands.

“Not distracted, eh?” Fred asked, arms crossed with a decidedly smug expression. George scoffed, nudging his brother with his elbow. Fred rolled his eyes again, adjusting his grip on his wand.

“Don’t be a git, Fred.”

“Me, a git? What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re so goo-goo-eyed for Y/N, you barely even know what we’re doing!”

“Of course, I know, you prat.”

“I’m a prat?” Fred flicked his brother in the ear, earning an irritated push in return. “You’re a prat!”

“Sod off-“

The plan took a backseat as the twins squabbled between them, pinching and shoving at each other. Fred pulled at George’s hair and George twisted Fred’s arm and it only took a moment before they were both tangled up like a pretzel, Fred’s wand waving about wildly.

“You need to focus on the plan,” Fred insisted, flinching as George elbowed him in the gut. His frustration dissipated within a second as his wand flicked and the bucket stashed on the windowsill rocked to the side, falling quickly towards the ground.

“Oh, fuck,” Fred muttered, both him and George stopping their bickering in its tracks as they watched the bucket fall, directly towards the only person within the few feet radius of it; you.

You didn’t expect to be covered in green slime. Though, you supposed, nobody really expected it, did they? At first, you didn’t even know it was green slime. You heard the bucket clatter next to you and then you felt something hit you with the force of a rampant snowball, or perhaps a rather large dog. It was cold and gooey and certainly slime-like, but it wasn’t until you looked down at your hands to see them, your arms and the few clumps of hair in front of your hair that you could see through, covered in thick green goo. You were sure it would’ve been quite funny had it happened to someone else, had you not automatically been the subject of the attention of all fifty or so people in the courtyard. Despite the cold, you felt your face heat up as you stepped backwards, foot kicking the bucket behind you. As people began to crowd around, their faces ranging from amused to sympathetic, you found yourself wringing your hands together, ignoring the uncomfortable stickiness of the green goop.

“Fred,” George said, the both of them standing up to see you and their prank in its full glory.

“Yes, George?”

“Prank me,” George exhaled shakily before using his hand to hoist himself over the flowerbed, wrecking whatever Professor Sprout had just planted. He didn’t have so much of a plan as a very desperate need to wash that horribly embarrassed expression off your face.

“What?”

“Prank me, Fred, now!”

Fred watched as his brother ran towards you, pushing through the crowd of people until he was almost out of sight. With a hum, Fred lifted both his wand and his eyebrows.

“If you say so, mate,” he whispered, before shooting a spell he knew extremely wel and used far too oftenl.

What neither Fred nor George counted on was the patch of ice on the ground just inside the circle of people surrounding you. A rather dark, rather slippery patch of ice. George, like all knights in shining armour, catapulted to the floor with a resounding thud, his legs flying in the air and his back hitting the concrete quite unceremoniously. Winded, he rolled over and groaned. Had he been more awake, he probably would’ve been chuffed at the instant shift of attention from you to him. His luck, though, was not the best as Fred’s spell rebounded off of a pipe near you and hit George in the stomach, enticing another much louder groan from his lips.

Whilst you hadn’t expected to be covered in slime, you most certainly hadn’t expected for George Weasley, of all people, to run into the crowd that had encircled you, slip and then get further pummelled by a rather nasty, but rather brilliant pranking spell. The crowd of students around you had all collectively turned to face him, erupting in snickers and giggles as he sat up slowly. You sighed in relief, happy to not be the centre of attention and grateful to George, but even you couldn’t hide the laughter that escaped your lips when he sat up, his hair drenched in treacle with dozens of white feathers floating around him. You bit your lip as you smiled, touched that he’d made such a fool of himself to help you.

Everyone in the courtyard seemed to freeze when a few students parted to reveal Professor Snape, a fouler sneer than usual decorating his face.

“And what is the meaning of this?” he asked, raised an eyebrow as his eyes flicked back and forth between you and George. You looked down, feeling everyone’s stares on you.

“Well?”

You looked quickly towards George, noticing him floundering, spitting out feathers and frowning.

“Just a little wand mishap, Sir,” you said, as surprised as anyone that you’d opened your mouth. Snape looked at you for a moment, eyebrows knitted together tightly. You looked back down, clenching your jaw and praying the situation would just end.

“I suggest you both get yourselves cleaned up, then,” Snape said sharply, shooting you a deadly glance before turning to George. “Don’t you, Mr Weasley?”

George, his mouth still full of feathers, only nodded.

“Well,” Snape lifted his arms, gesturing to the other students in the courtyard. “I am sure it is lunchtime, yes?”

Nobody dared question him as the once full courtyard emptied out rather quickly. Fred stood up to go help George when he noticed you, still green and gooey, walking slowly closer to his brother and so, with a smug smirk, he sat back and watched.

You didn’t say anything at first, as you walked towards him, frowning and swallowing, trying to dispel the lump in your throat. George didn’t notice your approach, too busy pulling now brown, sticky feathers from his hair. He only stopped when you crouched down in front of him, his hands dropping to his lap in surprise as you leant over and pulled away with a particularly large feather in your grip.

“One of your pranks?” you asked, smiling nervously. He noticed your hands shake and tried to give you his most encouraging grin. Though he was sure in his current state, it wasn’t all that convincing.

“Sort of,” he said, lifting a hand to move your clumped hair to the side, revealing your only slightly green-tinged features. You froze for a moment at this close proximity, not long enough for him to see, though, you hoped.

“Was meant to be Snape, though, covered in slime.”

“Ah,” you nodded. “And the feathers?”

He smiled sheepishly, going to rub the back of his neck, wincing at the stickiness.

“A detour to help out a friend.”

You raised an eyebrow, sitting back onto the cold ground. He watched you closely, fully aware of the way you carefully picked each word you were about to say, finding your pensive expression adorable.

“Are we friends, then?”

“I sure hope so,” George grinned, scrunching up his face as moved the brown treacle from his eyes. “I don’t make a fool of myself for just anybody.”

“Only everybody,” you said quickly, far too quickly for you. His barked a laugh as your eyes grew wide, shocked yourself by what you’d said.

“Sorry about the slime,” he said softly, his eyes a bright and apologetic contrast to the thick goop on his skin. You nodded, pulling your top lip between your teeth.

“Not a problem.”

You both sat there silently for a moment, so silent in fact, that George was sure you could hear his thoughts, his loud, disappointed ranting about messing up his chances with you. You surprised him, though, when you pinched a bit of slime between your fingers, pulling it away from your arm as it stretched like taffy.

“Rather funny, though,” you said, sucking your teeth for a second. “Quite ingenious, too.”

He looked at you then as if you put every single star in the sky, his mouth agape and eyes wide. You smiled bashfully under his gaze.

“Not exactly fool-proof, though.”

harry potter tag list:

@creator-appreciator

@loveisblindness

@decadentwastelandtrash

@xinyourdreamsx

@brainlesspasta

@hariosborn

@rexorangecouny

@staringmoony

[moonlit-han]

hold you close ↠ han jisung, seo changbin

genre: angst, fluff at the end word count: 1.6k warnings: angst, swearing request: yes a/n: this is from the universe of Date a Boy Who Makes You Mixtapes. you don’t need to read the series to understand this fic, although you’ll get a little spoiler (sort of?) about the relationships the develop over the course of the series.

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

That’s not it… Still not good enough. Why doesn’t this work? How am I supposed to make this any better when I’ve spent weeks on it already. What the fuck…

Jisung slumped over the desk in front of the monitor on which rows and rows of tracks layered together glowed green, orange, purple, and white. He roughly yanked his headphones from his head, letting them fall to the floor, then held his head in his hands. He’d been trying to improve a song he’d presented to the Music Department for midterms—it was supposed to be something he could include in his senior portfolio. They’d given him some of the harshest criticism he’d ever received, which, at first, only pushed him to improve the song; but now, after spending every minute of free time in the recording studio, he still couldn’t get it right.

Taking a deep breath, Jisung scrubbed at his face and looked back up at the screen. The colors seemed to blur together as his eyes unfocused and his head simultaneously felt like it was about to burst and float away. Was it possible for his consciousness to exist outside of his body? Because that’s what it felt like.

Five minutes later, he came to himself and let out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding. His throat was slightly raw from lack of sleep and water, and when he went to grasp the mouse to save his work and shut down the computer, his hands were shaking.

As quickly as he could, feeling like his blood was vibrating, Jisung packed up his things and made his way out of the Fine Arts building to trudge home. And, as much as he tried, he couldn’t stop the thoughts circling round and round in his head.

↠↞

It was a typical Thursday evening, meaning you were at Jisung’s apartment and sprawled on the couch next to Changbin, casually reading a book. Changbin’s and your schedules matched fairly well, so you usually ended up studying while he worked on one project or another, munching on snacks and drinking copious amounts of tea. Jisung, meanwhile, had the studio to himself on Thursday evenings. When you both were tired of working and thinking, you’d beat his ass at video games.

Just as a round ended, you heard the front door open and looked up to see Jisung slink into the room. His head was down, his beanie and bangs slipping down over his eyes, and his shoulders were slumped.

You bolted to you feet, your voice full of worry at seeing your boyfriend in such a state. “Ji?” He didn’t respond. “Oh my god, Jisung, are you okay?” The gaming console dropped from your hand as Jisung stumbled into the room, shaking a little. Your heart dropped: Jisung looked terrible, absolutely terrible. Beside you, Changbin stood as well, but allowed you to go to the young man who you both cared for so deeply.

As you reached Jisung, you reached to take his bag while your other hand gently cupped his cheek. “Baby, what happened?” His eyes were wide when he finally met your eyes, shaking like a leaf under your touch.

Jisung’s lips parted slightly, as if to speak, his breath hitching as he tried to speak and failed. He gulped.

You pulled Jisung into the room and guided him toward the couch on which he curled himself into a tight ball, lower lip quivering slightly. His breaths were shallow and there were dark circles under his eyes that hadn’t been there a few days ago. You sat beside your boyfriend, drawing him toward you so he could nestle into your embrace. Changbin had pushed the coffee table away from the couch and knelt in front of both of you, a hand on Jisung’s back and the other resting comfortingly on his thigh.

“Jisung, what happened?” Changbin softly echoed your words as you slipped Jisung’s beanie off to caress his hair—you didn’t mind that it was a bit oily from lack of washing. Jisung was usually so fastidious… What the hell was going on? He leaned into your touch, his shaking lessening little by little now that he was with both you and Changbin—his boyfriend and girlfriend.

Jisung took a deep breath, turning his face into the crook of your shoulder and shifting so that he could hold your hand more easily. “The faculty gave me really harsh comments and,” he paused, “I-I’ve been trying to work on the song but I just can’t get it. I don’t know what’s wrong!” You and Changbin just waited for Jisung to continue, knowing he needed space to gather his thoughts.

“It’s just all shit, you know?” Jisung continued, trying to breathe through the shaking that had returned. “I can’t think. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t I can’t I ca—“

“Jisung, love,” Changbin murmured, taking Jisung’s other hand and holding it fast. “You’re okay, I promise. You’re wonderful and talented, and I’m sure the song’s great.” Jisung made to shake his head. “No, I know your compositions and you’re amazing, baby. You really are. Please don’t let their comments get to you, okay?” Changbin leaned forward pressed a kiss to Jisung’s lips, trying to put as much sincere affection into the gesture as possible. Jisung smiled wanly.

“He’s right, baby,” you added. “You can’t let their comments get to you. How about Changbin and I listen to the track sometime and help you figure out what to do?” You traced the curve of his jaw, and Jisung looked up at you once you reached his chin, inviting you to peck his lips, too.

“Okay,” Jisung murmured, snuggling back against your chest. “That— That would be nice.”

“We’ve got you, Ji,” Changbin reassured him, brushing back the hair that had fallen into his boyfriend’s eyes. You smiled at Changbin over Jisung’s head. This was part of being a unit, being together—you supported each other and helped however you could. “You wanna go get in bed so we can both cuddle you?”

Jisung sighed, nodding, but made no move to rise. “Ji, baby, you have to get up for that to happen,” you said, a laugh coloring your voice.

“Here,” Changbin said, standing and reaching out his arms to pull Jisung up. The other young man let himself be pulled to his feet and then squeaked as Changbin lifted him bodily into his arms. You giggled at how Jisung immediately curled his arms and legs around Changbin as he was carried into his bedroom. With the ease of long practice, you turned out the lights, locked the door, and closed the front curtains to Jisung’s apartment before following your boyfriends into the bedroom.

Changbin had just set Jisung down on the bed and was riffling through the dresser drawers for pajama bottoms as you quietly entered the room and turned closed the door. The faerie lights above Jisung’s bed were already on, lending a faint glow to the room. He sat on the edge of his bed, shoulders still hunched, and stared listlessly into space.

“Did you—“ Jisung began, looking up.

“I closed and locked everything, babe, don’t worry,” you quickly reassured him, shrugging off your light sweater and pants so that you were simply in underwear and a camisole. Before Jisung could say another word, you pulled back the blankets and hopped into bed. “Come on, Ji, let Changbin help you into pajamas and then we can all snuggle.”

Changbin, having finally found appropriately comfortable pants for Jisung, came to stand in front of his boyfriend and leaned in to capture his lips. Jisung let his head fall back, opening to Changbin like a sunflower to the sun—he was still slightly dazed from dissociating and stress, and let Changbin do the work of kissing him. Lingering at his bottom lip, Changbin slowly broke the kiss, only to press his lips to Jisung’s forehead in a silent promise of the comfort and affection he would bestow.

Changbin stripped down to his boxers, then helped Jisung out of his clothes, having to prompt the other young man to actually put on the pajama bottoms proffered to him. After a moment, Jisung was curled under the covers with you and Changbin on either side of him. He clutched your joined hands to his chest, as if the two of you could hold his heart if he pressed your hands just that much closer to his body.

For long minutes, you and Changbin nuzzled you boyfriend and whispered sweet nothings to him, calming Jisung’s racing heart and completely dispelling his shaking. His eyes closed as the warmth of your bodies pressed together washed over him and Changbin’s soft singing began to lull him to sleep. He loved feeling the vibrations passing from Changbin’s chest and through his back—it was calming in the way a cat’s purr is.

You slanted your mouth against Jisung’s one last time before snuggling down along his body to tangle your legs together and hold him even more tightly. Changbin shifted slightly to more fully embrace Jisung, now his arms and legs going around his boyfriend. Jisung still held your hands to his bare chest, his breathing finally calm and the lines of worry smoothed from his face.

“Sleep, love,” you whispered against his skin. “We’ll still be holding you in the morning.”

[winryofresembool]

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 30

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary: At Waystation, pt 3/?

A/N: Chapter 30 already! This chapter was not an easy one to edit as I was insecure about a lot of things, but hey, it's out now and that's what matters, right? I am so aware things are progressing a bit slowly right now but I feel it's kind of 'necessary' to have a bit of down time before things start going down. (Not that I'm capable of writing actual drama.) Well, at least we'll find out a bit more about Leo's past in this chapter.

Without a further ado, please enjoy and let me know what you think (those comments really help me!!!)

Words: exactly 3000 apparently :O

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort

Warnings: none

previous chapter / AO3

...

After breakfast Leo asked Calypso if she would like him to give her a tour around Waystation. She agreed, but Leo couldn’t help but raise his eyebrow at his family members when Georgina asked if she could go with the flatmates and Leo’s mothers told her that they needed Georgie’s help in some Christmas chores.

“What?” Josephine asked innocently when she noticed Leo staring.

“I dunno, tía Jo. It just kinda seems like you don’t want Georgie to hang out with us,” he stated bluntly.

“That’s not accurate at all, Leo,” she denied. “I’d gladly let Georgina go with you but we really do need her help around here. Christmas isn’t coming if we all just slack off, right, Emmie?”

“I agree, dear. I haven’t even…” Emmie’s hesitance only deepened Leo’s suspicions. “...hmmm, taken care of our mistletoes yet.”

“Mistletoes?” Leo crossed his arms over his chest, briefly daring to wonder what would happen if he and Calypso were under one of those plants at the same time. He shook his head to dispel such an idea.

“Didn’t we agree that we don’t need stuff like that? You don’t even like Christmas!”

“I may agree that this holiday is way too commercial these days, but since Emmie has some mistletoes growing in her greenhouse anyway, I don’t see why we wouldn’t use them,” Jo commented. “It’s nice that Georgie gets to experience some of the old traditions even if we grownups don’t care about them.”

“Whatever,” Leo rolled his eyes, knowing he wouldn’t win that battle.

“Um, if you need extra hands,” Calypso joined the conversation, addressing Jo and Emmie, “I don’t have to go with Leo. I’d love to help too.”

Leo felt a twinge of disappointment because of Calypso’s suggestion. His insecure side yelled that maybe he had misread Calypso’s intentions all along.

“Oh, no, no!” Emmie denied immediately. “You are our guest; we want you to take it easy and enjoy your stay here. I bet Leo’s tour is a lot more fun than us peeling way too many potatoes and carrots for the casserole.”

“I wouldn’t mind peeling potatoes,” Calypso mumbled but Leo’s mothers pretended they didn’t even hear that. The flatmates simply had to accept that they wouldn’t have a chaperone - except maybe Festus - on their tour.

Once the two of them were outside, Leo’s thoughts went back to the time when he had first arrived at Waystation. Back then, he had been only 15, having just escaped from his latest foster home, which had been located far away in New Mexico. His foster family there had hidden their opinion on him very badly, giving him sly remarks about his looks and telling him to speak clearer English even though Leo’s English had always been fine, thanks to his real mother allowing him to learn both Spanish and English as a small kid. They had also made him do the hard work such as carrying heavy loads while the other foster kid of the family got the easy tasks. And when he had come home from school with bad grades, the foster parents had commented: “why do we even bother with you?”

At some point Leo had simply had enough, and by selling some of the few belongings he had he had managed to gather just enough money for one plane ticket and so he flew to Indianapolis without telling anything to his foster family.

After living on the streets and successfully dodging the authorities for a couple of weeks, the police finally found him and contacted the local social workers. Thankfully, after Leo put all his convincing skills to use, they agreed to not send him back to New Mexico, instead finding him a new foster family nearby. Leo hadn’t had high expectations because he had been in at least 6 different foster homes since his mother’s death and none of them had been a good match for him. Some had been abusive, some racist, some ignorant, some had had kids who were bullies, some had had alcohol issues… What had been common for them all was that none of them had treated him the way they should have.

That was why Leo had picked some bad habits too; he wanted to drown his feelings somehow and he ended up stealing small amounts of money from his foster family so he could buy alcohol from his older homeless ‘friends’. He had hated how it made him feel afterwards, but it had been the only way he had known how to deal with his issues. At some point he had even had suicidal thoughts because the guilt and trauma from his childhood got so bad he woke up covered in sweat after the same old fire filled nightmare almost every night. And going from foster home to foster home and feeling like none of those people cared what he really did with his life definitely didn’t help him regain his feeling of self worth. He had no future, no plans, no real friends or family and nowhere to go.

Luckily, during his worst phase in his last foster home someone from his homeless group mentioned having a relative in Indiana and that he was hoping to move there at some point in hopes of getting a new start for his life. That idea sparked something in Leo’s mind and when he started planning his big escape, Indianapolis was the first place that he thought of.

When he finally met Jo and Emmie, he was surprised. Seeing them spending time with their then 5-year-old adoptive daughter, he could tell that these women genuinely cared about the little girl and did everything for her wellbeing. Not only that, Jo was a mechanic just like Leo’s real mother and they had also other things in common. With some patience and showing that they cared, simply by making sure that Leo ate, rested and had something to do with his time other than dwelling on his sad past, they eventually won him over. And when Leo discovered thanks to Jo’s help that he himself had the skills to become a mechanic someday as well, he finally had a goal to reach and studying wasn’t quite as big a struggle for him anymore.

Soon, however, Leo became afraid that Jo and Emmie wouldn’t want to keep him around because he still had some bad days when he literally had to be dragged from his bed. He was also worried that maybe the women had heard what he had done in his past and were silently judging him. Instead, they surprised him by telling him that they wanted to officially adopt him much like Georgina because he was a part of their family now. As an added bonus they assigned him for therapy sessions, which really helped and the days when he didn’t want to do anything became less and less. Leo knew he was still a work in progress but this family had helped him so much and he had found his purpose, his home, at Waystation.

Calypso had naturally noticed Leo’s silence so eventually she asked:

“Are you OK? You’re being unusually quiet.”

“Oh, yeah, just dandy!” Leo exclaimed, trying to act more like his usual self. “I was just thinking about the times when I first moved in here.”

“Really? Do you want to tell me more about that?” Calypso asked curiously.

“I guess it won’t hurt.” Leo shrugged. “I don’t remember if I’ve told you that I was in a lot of foster homes before I got here. Well, my last foster parents were really shitty people and I was this close to… I dunno, doing something desperate. So I decided to just leave and ended up here in Indianapolis. I, um, was homeless for a bit but when the social workers got me into their hands they found me a new family, Jo and Emmie. At first they were supposed to only foster me for a time being but they ended up adopting me instead. I… haven’t told this to anyone, but they probably saved my life by doing that. The Leo from that time was far from the Super-Sized McSizzle that I am now,” he attempted to joke, but Calypso ignored that. Instead, she said:

“I’m sorry you had to go through that… but I’m glad you opened up about it to me.” Leo’s heart did an extra jump when he saw Calypso smiling at him supportingly. He would never get used to that. “And I’m glad Jo and Emmie adopted you.”

“Yeah, me too… When I first saw the place I was like, ‘wow, I wish I could stay here’. Obviously the people here are awesome - they are my family - but that wasn’t the only thing the 15-year-old me cared about. The cars and other machines Jo was fixing? So cool. I had only seen something like that at my childhood home and the nostalgia hit me like ‘boom’ right away.”

“I should have known it was the machines that convinced you to stay here,” Calypso teased, but Leo knew her already too well to get provoked by that.

“Nah. I mean, they’re neat and all, but Jo and Emmie did the actual convincing.”

“Okay, I believe you. So, was Jo’s garage what made you want to become a mechanical engineer?” Calypso asked.

“I guess the spark was always there but it took me a while to convince myself that I should try to pursue that goal. But when I started going to school again regularly – long story, don’t ask – I noticed that the sciences were easy for me, I was also decent enough at drawing – which of course helps with the blueprints and stuff – and Jo let me try fixing some of the simpler machines she had and turned out I wasn’t half bad. It was Jo and Emmie who kept pushing me to apply for the uni, though, because they believed in me more than I did. I’m thankful that they did it but… sometimes I still doubt...” Leo hadn’t talked about his insecurities even to his adoptive mothers so he felt that the fact that he was able to open up about it to Calypso was a big deal.

“I’ve seen you fix countless items,” Calypso said slowly. “I’ve noticed that you’re always… so different when you’re fiddling with your machines. More relaxed. Calmer. Surer of what you do. And your eyes sparkle and you hum some old school rock song while you work and I can just tell that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

Leo had to avert his eyes from her because he was afraid he would do something stupid like cry if he looked at her too long in that moment. No matter how encouraging his family, friends and the therapist were… it was still hard to get used to the compliments. And if he was honest to himself, he probably valued Calypso’s opinion more than anyone else’s at that point.

“Wow… umm… I don’t know how to answer that…” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“A simple thank you would probably do,” Calypso replied. “But know that I mean what I say. Now, how about you show me that famous garage?”

Leo did as he was told. He introduced Calypso to all the tools and machinery they used to fix whatever item the customer happened to bring in. He had a feeling that Calypso probably didn’t have any idea what he was talking about half the time because he tended to get very technical with the terms when he got excited, but she still seemed content listening to him. At least she wasn’t telling him to stop, which was definitely a plus.

To Leo’s surprise, Calypso went to the table where he and Jo used to draw their blueprints and asked him if she could see how he did it because she hadn’t seen his blueprints before. He complied, taking a pencil and a piece of blank paper from the stack and looking at Calypso questioningly.

“What do you want me to draw, then? I may have some experience on this but even I need some ideas first…”

“You can draw whatever you like. How about Festus?” Calypso requested.

“Festus?” Leo tapped the pencil against his chin for a moment, considering Calypso’s request. “Hmm, as you wish, Sunshine.”

He started making fast, swift motions on the paper and it didn’t take him very long to finish the sketch. Sure, the lines were a bit rough, but Calypso told him she was very impressed by how accurately he remembered even the little details, such as a dark spot on Festus’ back, how the tail curved when he was happy, and how he was missing a tiny piece of the tip of his left ear.

Leo felt a bit embarrassed by the praise. “It just comes with me hanging out with him so much. Nothing more to it, really.” He looked at the sketch for a moment. “Hold on, I feel like this is missing something. Can you look towards that window for a moment?”

“What, why?” Calypso asked, but turned anyway.

“Just adding something real quick,” Leo replied and started sketching again. He wondered if it was the lighting of the room but he thought Calypso’s cheeks seemed a bit darker than usual and she kept looking at the floor shyly. When he realized that he’d probably feel the same way if she was drawing him, he himself got flustered and decided to try to finish the drawing as quickly as possible. Within minutes he had drawn her next to Festus, playing with him, wearing the same holiday sweater and jeans she currently was.

“Can I see?” Calypso asked.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Leo gave the picture to her. “It’s not detailed or anything but I tried.”

Calypso kept staring at it for a moment. “Leo… this looks great! I mean, I don’t think I am that pretty but I am quite amazed that you managed to do this that fast!”

Leo wanted to say that there was no way the picture did her justice but he knew that would be a never ending debate so instead he told her: “It’s the experience, Sunshine. When you draw hundreds of blueprints you learn to be fast.”

Calypso turned her attention to the drawing again. “Can I get it?” she asked after a while.

“Why?”

“Because Festus looks cute, you weirdo. That’s a good enough reason, right?”

“Fine, you can have it. I’m not sure where I’d put it anyway.” Leo shrugged. He wasn’t sure why Calypso possibly hanging the picture on her wall made him feel a bit weird. In a good way, though.

Once the two of them left the garage, Leo pointed at a smaller building next to the ‘main’ one. A couple of pointy ears were peeking from the upstairs windows. “That’s where our foster animals live. I think the kid me wished on some level that I could have a pet but my mom could never afford one… but Jo and Emmie have been fostering rescue cats and dogs even before I got here. One of them was Festus’ mum; she was pregnant when she arrived here. When she had her puppies, I noticed that one of them was a bit of an outsider and we instantly formed a bond. Jo and Emmie allowed him to stay here even though he sure would have had adopters.”

“That was really sweet of them,” Calypso commented. “Can we see who’s in there right now?”

“Sure but we should probably let Emmie know about it because she’s pretty strict about who can go in. She may ask us to wear ‘bunny suits’; some of the animals may be sick and we don’t wanna spread the bugs around.”

“No problem, let’s go see her then.”

When Emmie heard what Leo and Calypso were about to do, she promised to stop her Christmas chores for a while so she could show them (mainly Calypso) around in the rescue house. Currently she was fostering two young puppies who had been found on the streets without their mother, a mother cat with her 4 kittens who were getting close to their adoption age, and an older cat with some kidney issues who seemed to however adore the little kittens.

Leo was watching Calypso’s reactions closely as Emmie was introducing her to the kittens. Soon one of the braver kittens climbed on the girl’s lap, giving her a tiny ‘meow’ and then started nuzzling against her sleeve.

“Aww, look Leo! He loves me,” Calypso exclaimed, smiling widely as the kitten started purring loudly on her lap while she pet him. ‘He’s not the only one,’ Leo thought in his mind. Aloud he asked: “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I guess because I’ve never really handled cats so I didn’t know how they’d react to me…” Calypso noted more seriously. But then the happiness returned to her face. “You know, this one reminds me of you! He also has long, black hair like you and fierce eyes.”

“Fierce?” Leo raised his eyebrow. “That’s what you think of me?”

Calypso seemed to want to explain but with Emmie in the room she didn’t go to details. “Um, maybe? Hey, look! Another one is coming!”

This time a small ginger kitten was approaching her and Calypso extended her arm so the kitten could sniff her. The group kept making small talk about the cats in the room and continued snuggling them, but Leo’s eyes were on Calypso the whole time. He could see how happy she was about such a simple thing as kittens and it made him feel lighter, warmer again, even though he had just remembered some very bad times a few moments earlier. Maybe all of it had been meant to happen, he wondered briefly. After all, it led him here, to his family… and Calypso.

[synchronmurmurs]

Reflection

[ Gen | Judge Eyes/Judgment AU | Punchy & Sugiura ]

So thanks to a post I reblogged earlier tonight, I cleaned up a warm up piece on a whim, and thought I'd post it as part of that short fic challenge I reblogged aaages ago. This is supposed to cover the third prompt: character meta

I'm never 100% sure if I should post Punchy's Judgment AU here or over on my RGG blog, but since Punchy's my DMC OC, I think it's okay to put here? I'm gonna be putting it all under a cut anyway, so I'm not eating up too much time either way I hope. 🙏 But for context's sake, this came about when I was joking about Judgment's sequel, and how if they all got arrested or something, Punchy would go and bail Higashi, and only Higashi out. 🤣

And then like the clown I am, I then proceeded to run away with that thought. This is indulgent as hell honestly, and requires a bit too much explaining and Judgment knowledge, but I've been waffling on what to do to fill the character meta prompt, and I'm tired, so here we are. 😔

———

He's doing his best to appear nonchalant. Calm. At ease. But when he's almost completely turned around in his seat, eyes and even body facing the window in an attempt to close himself off from the other presence in the car, Sugiura knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he's coming across as stiff and unapproachable as he thinks she is. Young, and dare he say so himself, attractive, with a smooth and easy nature, he's far from the kind of person who stumbles and trips around women; he's used to their attention (and perhaps even a little smug about it, according to Kaito), but there aren't many in Kamurocho like her.

Higashi's quiet girlfriend.

Though she's never really spoken to him before, never once directed a snide or untoward comment at him, she's never really gone out of her way to be nice to him either. Come to think of it, he doesn't even think he's ever seen her so much as smile. Unlike Higashi, to whom Sugiura warmed up to in time, he has nothing to work with when it comes to her. No conversations that provide even the faintest glimmers of context, and no peek into what she's actually like beyond her stern silences. Just carefully chosen and dosed words—normally only to Higashi—with a cigarette dangling from between her fingers. To Sugiura, someone who's still so afraid of what the underbelly of any city offers to those who live above the law, she is nothing but another knife's edge, held by the dark hand of organised crime. And once more, unlike Higashi, he's never once seen that honed edge dull. Where Higashi is malleable and swayed by what is right, she is firm; an odd match up when he thinks about it more than he has any right to.

And so, to put it simply: Sugiura is terrified of her. Of her background that Higashi refuses to elaborate on ("not my place to", he says, entirely too dismissive). Of her stoic demeanour she's made no effort to dispel (please at least smile or something). Of her scars; the ones on her face and inside her hands whenever he's brave enough to try to get a look at her (what kind of shit did she get into that she has burns??).

Even her gigantic dog makes him wary (even though Higashi calls him Spud).

And yet, when Higashi made their one allotted phone call after they got arrested in Yokohama, she showed up at the station within the hour with more than enough cash for bail. Though she deliberately left Yagami and Kaito behind—something Higashi is working on making her reconsider (and seems confident he will, to boot)—she showed up when she was needed. Truth be told, Sugiura had expected to be left behind too, but she'd cited that "he's just a kid", and with a skittish little "thanks", he followed Higashi out.

(He's far from a kid, but if the alternative is being left in a cold cell, he'll let it slide this once.)

Still, that doesn't make being left alone with her any less awkward. He wishes Higashi would come back soon, if only to break the terse, and honestly oppressive silence that's fallen over the car. It's so quiet that the barest shift in either seat is a loud roar, and so Sugiura does his best to remain perfectly still, afraid even to breathe. Hell, maybe if he's motionless enough, she'll forget he's even there.

He hopes so.

"It's Sugiura, isn't it?"

The sound of her voice is both jarring and horrifying, such that when he bolts upright at the sound of it, he cringes in equal parts pain and embarrassment. Thank fuck nobody else was around to see that, he thinks, in a bout of irony.

"Y-yes!" he meets her eyes in the rearview mirror, too nervous to look away now that her attention is on him, and shit even the rigid sound of his voice causes him physical pain. Fumiya Sugiura, you're a damned embarrassment.

"Can I tell you a story?" her question is a mere formality at best, and they both understand this, yet still, she waits for him to react. Which he does with a nod that is at once, stiff, wary, and confused. "My… profession was not much different to Toru—"

Toru, Sugiura thinks. He's never once heard of anybody referring to Higashi with his first name. Hell, not even Kaito does. But maybe that's attributed to the fact that she's not a local? Where did she come from again? Somewhere in the States? But she doesn't look American… She looks… well, he doesn't rightly know; he's never once set foot in any other country than this one, and even then, he's never even been to Hokkaido.

Or Kyushu.

Or even Shikoku.

Man, what the hell is he doing with his life?

He focuses his attention back on her.

"—I was higher up on the food chain, a glorified watch dog some liked to call me, but the fundamentals were the same - we dealt in the same shady dealings. Before I came to this country, I made some rash decisions after losing someone in the business, someone… very dear to me, that resulted in only two options for my future: to flee or to die." her eyes close, and though this is the prime opportunity to tear his eyes away and resume staring out the window, he finds that doing so now would be disrespectful. Like Higashi, she doesn't speak without purpose, and her decision to reach out to him, to divulge something that feels far too personal to be directed at someone so impersonal to her life, is, like everything else she does, deliberate. So he keeps watching her in the rearview mirror, that anxiety in his gut beginning to melt away the more she talks, replaced with something a bit more earnest. "Dying would have been… honourable, I suppose, but I chose to flee. And remembering that I once ventured to this country on business, maybe thinking I could rely on a name and a legacy, I ran all the way here with nothing but cash, my dog, and the clothes I was wearing at the time. Everything else had to be thrown away. I had no driver's license. No passport. No official documents of any kind. In Kamurocho, and where I came from too, those are the prime circumstances for a woman disappearing from the face of the earth forever. I'm sure you can guess what I mean when I say that."

Sugiura makes a sound of acknowledgement. Not something so crass as a grunt, but a quiet hum, and a slow nod; Kamurocho is a hub for that kind of activity. Even he knows that.

Her eyes trail off to the side, eyelids heavy with a private nostalgia. "I needed papers—forgeries— if I intended to live out the rest of my life, and remembering the Matsugane office, I went there. That day, if I had met with anybody other than Toru, I don't think I'd be here today. He is humble. He is gentle. He is… someone unsuited to the more sinister avenues of his line of work. But he opened his home to an almost stranger, someone he hadn't seen in years, and had only met just once before. That kindness is something that I've only just begun repaying."

Their eyes meet once more.

"Do you understand what I'm saying? I can't lose him too. I'm not asking you to watch over him - that is not your responsibility, and he has his own pride - but finding allies is not easy in a city like Kamurocho, yet you've acquired three." she pauses then, a little too suddenly, and Sugiura thinks she's said too much. Pulled the curtain back a little further than she'd intended. "All I'm asking for you, for all of you, is to come back to Tokyo in one piece."

"That's all."

———

When Higashi comes back from the convenience store, two bags in tow, he finds the atmosphere in the car a little lighter than when he'd left. Myra doesn't seem any different, but when he looks over his shoulder at Sugiura, he notices his shoulders are sitting lower than they had been. His back is slouched. He's casual in the way his chin rests in his palm.

And his reflection in the car window is smiling.

[iustine]

A sense of familiarity

Hello 😊I decided to try my luck with writing a fic for Speaker. I had a lot of fun with it and I hope you will enjoy reading about my Speaker Nev and Liam lovingly making fun of each other 😄

A sense of familiarity

The day after their victory was a bleak one. Despite it still being a mid – afternoon the gloomy mood extended over the library in the Delaney household. Open curtains and lit wall sconces unable to fully dispel the dim.

In the far end of the room; leaning against the wall, a young woman was sitting comfortably. Just beside her stood a massive cabinet filled with books and old trinkets, which almost impeccably hid her figure.

Completely at odds with the atmosphere around, her expression held a vibrant smile as she sketched vigorously. She was so concentrated on her work that she didn’t notice a figure moving in her direction.

At least she didn’t notice it until a hand landed on her shoulder.

„Eep” Unexpected touch making Guinevere jump in surprise; her hand reaching up to hold on to her throat as she squealed. This frantic movement almost resulted in an ugly bruise at the back of her head, as she just barely avoided hitting the wall.

The newcomer proved to be Liam, after startling her he backed away to lean casually against the cabinet. Thick black - framed glasses doing nothing to hide hints of humour dancing in his dark eyes.

No doubt on account of her not so graceful moment.

„Geez, Li! Shouldn’t you finally grow out of sneaking up on me?” She pouted playfully, before releasing a quick bark of laughter and standing up; corners of his lips turning upwards at her comment.

„Nah, I like to keep you on your toes.” His words tinged with humour as he shrugged. „Seems like it doesn’t work in your case though.” He added sending her a smirk, which oddly only brightened her appearance.

In a retrospect he truly should’ve expected what would happen but a moment later.

With a beaming smile and sparkling eyes firmly focused on her friend Nev stepped closer catching Li in a quick hug. Yet, just before coming out of his zone she didn’t fail to swiftly poke him in the middle. Repeatedly. Her precision being just as deadly as in the past.

Immediately he took another step away from her. She couldn’t help but snigger when noticed how he instinctively hunched bracing himself. Not omitting to send her a truly ugly glare. Unfortunately for him, it was completely wasted on Nev and the woman doubled over as her cheerful giggle swept throughout the room.

Some things never change.

While she tried not to choke on laughter in the corner of her eye she noticed as Liam sighed in exasperation. Despite it, he couldn’t maintain this annoyed appearance for long, and a not-quite-fond-but-similar smile forced itself on his face.

„I would prefer it if we broke that habit of yours. There’s only so many heart attacks I can withstand.” She teased wiping away a stray tear. „And so can you it seems.” The words almost bringing back surge of laughter. „Maybe, for both of our sakes, you should rethink my old offer of braiding bells into your hair.

„I can’t believe you still remember it.” He shook his head.

„I remember everything.” She barely managed to quell these words just before they could slip past her mouth. „It’s the most effective safety measure.” She said instead, spreading her hands; an innocent smile gracing her lips. From his barely concealed grin she knew it was a good choice.

„No way.” He elbowed her playfully, carefully keeping just enough distance to stay out of her reach. She couldn’t quite bring it in herself to feel sorry for his hypersensitivity.

He deserved some tickle scare after scarring her for life with his coffee.

„Bold of you to assume I need your agreement.” She leaned backwards with crossed arms as her face lit up with an impish glee.

„I called your name 2 times before coming over here. I doubt bells would have any effect”. Liam pointed out smirking playfully.

„Well… there is a saying that you might’ve heard before” She rolled her eyes, not even trying to hide a smile. „Third time’s a charm.” Shaking her head in amusement Nev looked around locating her scattered drawing utensils.

Closed sketchbook forgotten for a moment in favour of a pencil that rolled away, almost ending beneath the cabinet. She only hoped it didn’t fracture from the fall. There is nothing as irritating as a pencil lead breaking in the middle of making a clean sketch.

„I knocked, you know. On the cabinet here, right before you” He shrugged, spreading his hands; joking smirk placed firmly at his face.

Soft chuckle escaped her lips before she could stop it. „Come on, there is no way I wouldn’t hear that. Stop exaggerating.” She responded lightly pushing his arm, before placing an empty hand on her hip. „Being more perceptive than me is no achievement, remember?”

„You didn’t even stir.” He deadpanned.

Nev couldn’t help but flick her gaze to the treacherous cabinet, shock evident on her face. Liam for his part didn’t even try to hide chuckle at her dumbfounded expression.

When she stared at him in mock indignation it only reinforced, turning into a genuine laugh. The sound, equally as mirthful as unexpected vibrating in the quiet room. At the unusual sight from her soft spoken friend Nev felt a wave of warmth spreading in her chest.

Familiarity of this banter once again making her realise just how much she missed it. Missed him. Without any frantic research, without race against the time, she could fully appreciate their renewed friendship and easy camaraderie it brought.

„Have you thought that maybe, just maybe, it was you who wasn’t interesting enough to catch my attention” Nev looked up staring straight into his eyes. Teasing smile lighting up her face as she saw mischievous gleam in his eyes.

Although her amusement was short lived as a wicked grin appeared on Liam’s face. All at once it occurred to her just how Li would choose to interpret her words.

Clearly delighting in her atypical shyness, that unfortunately tended to resurface more and more nowadays, he took a step closer and leaned forward.

„Then how do you intend to make this encounter more interesting? Or maybe you would prefer to hear my suggestions?” Voice soft, words almost purred in her ear as his eyes glinted, daring her to respond.

„Oh…Um…” This proved to be way harder than it should, as his sudden proximity made forming cohesive sentences impossible. Her breath hitched, face feeling much warmer than a second ago. As deep green hair brushed her cheek a wave of electricity moved throughout, straightening her spine.

Locked in this newfound intensity she found herself unable to look away from these fathomless eyes.

Spell holding both of them abruptly broke as a pencil slipped from Nev’s grasp landing on the hardwood. The sound, unusually loud in a quiet room woke them from a daze. With her face flaming Nev looked away feeling enormously grateful they still haven’t put the carpets back in place.

„Great, if they weren’t fractured before then now they definitely are.” She mumbled, crouching in a quick motion, hoping to hide her flushed state. A few seconds later Liam joined her on the floor. She desperately avoided looking at her companion, while trying to stall her racing heart.

„I give it 2 out of 10.” His words not quite sinking in, she glanced at him as if it wasn’t a pencil that had fallen, but he did. Straight into his head.

„Your hideout.” He responded to her bewildered stare, gracefully ignoring further implications of her questioning look. „And I am being generous, literally anyone walking in would see you.” Which wasn’t technically true; despite it his lack of comment on her shaken appearance almost made Nev sigh in relief.

This feeling quickly evaporated as she noticed what he was about to pick up.

Instantly it made her forget about any pencils or even her own bashfulness. She rapidly reached out towards the sketchbook grabbing it first. With a tight hold over it she turned towards her companion glowering.

„Still with that angry hedgehog look, huh?” Completely unperturbed he sent her a lazy smirk, nonetheless he still yielded the book without any objections; even coming as far as to raise hands up in a peace offering. Whenever the action meant actual remorse or was done only to indulge her would remain known only to Liam himself.

But she would bet all her money on the latter one.

„Remember our rule?” She bristled.

„No peeking.” He answered easily, rolling his eyes.

„Good.” She said, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder. „If you didn’t I wouldn’t either”. She proclaimed vaguely, trying to sound intimidating. Consequences unspoken, but clear to the both of them.

Maybe only to the both of them.

„You wouldn’t find it” He scoffed.

„Aha. Got ya, so you are still writing.” She thought triumphantly, her expression must have mirrored it, as Liam recoiled. The sight making her giddy, proving she still could render her friend speechless.

„Try me.” She added challengingly crossing her arms, the knowledge boosting her with newfound confidence.

„Yes, and I am to believe you could find it?” He asked doubtfully.

„I can do everything if I focus on it hard enough.” She shrugged, a sly grin firmly placed on her face. If she was able to find people all around states following vague visions, then she had a fair chance of finding a book in a witch’s house.

For a moment she wondered if he would try grabbing her sketchbook away in a pure obnoxiousness. His thoughts must have followed a similar track, as black eyes flickered towards the book. Instinctively her hold strengthened.

Hush descended upon them as they stared at each other. Several moments passed in silence, before they wordlessy called for a truce.

With a wide grin Nev hopped on the couch, patting the place on the other side as she noticed Liam perching on it’s edge.

Ready to voice a convincing argument she wondered whenever he would sit beside her.

He did.

„So, what’s up? Is everything ok? Or did you just get used to coming over everyday?” She teased with a bright smile. „We still haven’t put out that coffee feeder.” Her smile turned a little bit more playful.

He rolled his eyes so quickly she briefly worried they would get stuck that way. „I thought you said I was welcome to borrow the quiet, but if that’s not-” he started, slowly getting up.

„What?, No! I mean; Yes! I mean-…” She stood up frantically, almost knocking the cushion off the sofa. When Liam’s shit eating grin came into her view she dropped heavily, releasing a sigh; face hidden in her hands. „You are incorrigible” She huffed trying to ignore his wide grin. „Just sit your butt down”

„How can I refuse such a charming request” He smirked, eyes gleaming in amusement.

„You know, I was contemplating showing you some of the finished sketches.” She clicked her tongue. „But I am starting to think you have enough fun as it is.”

„With you things could never be boring, that’s certain.”

„Hello the kettle. Meet the pot.” She jested vividly gesticulating with her hands. „You are just as much trouble as me.”

„Maybe, but I’m not quite as proficient at causing problems. It’s not like my notebook used to be confiscated every other day.” His expression was entirely unrepentant; clearly showing he never opposed this sentiment.

„What can I say. They had it out for me. And you never pulled out yours during class” She grinned waving her hand. „Anyway, don’t even try to pretend you didn’t love every second of getting it back.” Nev added nudging him lightly with her shoulder.

 „I never denied that.” Nudging her back, he flashed her a wicked grin. „She almost flipped when we got it before her next lesson.”

Without any need of further clarification she instantly knew who Liam was referring to.

„Poor Mrs. Roberts” She laughed heartily tilting her head back. „Hadn’t she took a week off right after that?”

„To recuperate her health.”

Mrs. Roberts was a substitute teacher that came to their class confident of handling even the worst „hooligans”. The woman could be summed as five feet of pure evil.

Unfortunately for her she hadn’t quite met them before. Although, giving respect where it’s due, she lasted far more than either of them predicted. Resigning only several months prior to the end of school - year.

It should suffice to say that she educated half of their faculty staff before her pension and most of these teachers cheered on their antics.

„You know, I actually drew her not long ago.” She chuckled softly, searching for the correct page in her sketchbook. She might have disliked the woman, but she never had as much fun as the day they got her to resign. The memory widening her smirk.

„What was the occasion?” He looked over the picture of an older woman; Soft facial features doing nothing to quell her severe glare. The sight only widening his impish grin; it was the only confirmation Nev needed to know he was recalling exactly the same memory as her.

„Me and Gwen were cleaning the library and an old photo book flew out.” She pointed towards the furthest bookshelf.

„So that’s why it’s so cluttered in here.” He deadpanned smirking at her.

„Oh, hush you.”

„You got really good.” He said softly. Sarcasm from a moment before replaced with sincerity as he examined the pencil sketch.

„Thanks.” She tucked several strands of hair behind her ear, flushing slightly. „These past years I haven’t had too many opportunities to practice.”

„But hey, look here. This one should feel even more familiar.” She added uncovering the next picture with an affectionate expression.

The drawing in question showed three kids, aged anywhere between 9 or 11 years. A young girl in the middle had her arms wrapped around her friends pulling them towards her for a photo. Her almost identical sister smiled joyously as she leaned into her. The only boy at the scene half-hugged the girl between them, his expression soft, but holding a playful edge.

The sketch emanated warmth; it was clear to see for anyone that the author cared a great deal for the pictured people.

„I think it’s my favourite.” Nev exclaimed, brushing her hand against the paper; the sight made her nostalgic. „I drew it with the help of the original photo.” She added evading looking at her companion.

As seconds passed with no answer she dared a look at Liam, who still gazed on the picture. Softly, warmly, some tender emotion moved throughout his eyes. It disappeared in a flash before she could even try to decipher it.

Sensing her glance upon him, with unusual trouble he tore off his eyes from the picture.

„It looks nice.” He ended somehow stiffly. She waited a second longer, her mouth open as she curiously looked him over. She was almost sure he would say something more. But yet his lips remained closed as he looked at her almost like if not seeing her.

If Guinevere has ever seen a good moment for a subject change then it was definitely one of them. Fortunately on her lap was a book with a fair amount of topic starters.

Without even thinking she uncovered the next page. It held a picture of a young woman sitting on a stump in the middle of a forest. Her eyes closed, a contented smile on her face. A small camera hung around her neck.

„It’s a reminder of one of our forest outings. I haven’t seen Gwen this relaxed in months and my hand slipped” She giggled looking over the sketch of her twin.

„You are dressed similarly” He observed glancing over her outfit, before returning his gaze to the sketch. Internally Nev breathed a sigh of relief sensing her friend returned to his normal self.

„We still have a bunch of identical clothes. It was especially funny in high school, once we pretended to be each other for a month straight. No one recognised us.” She released a soft chuckle.

„Have any more teachers resigned because of you?”

„Now, how can you say it?” She asked assuming model appearance of an offended innocence. „We wouldn’t have left you out from something like that.” Grin on her face almost faeish as she winked at him.

Judging by his smirk, he was just about to respond to her words, before something else caught his attention. „And what about this one” He pointed to the see-through sketch on the next page. It standed out with it’s quality, a little more rough than previous ones.

„That’s Clarkia” All her amusement evaporated in a second. „A pixie me and Gwen saved some time ago.” Her hands moved, rubbing her temple as if trying to stall an upcoming headache.

He shook his head smirking, eyes sparkling with mischief „Why the addictions?” Words leaving his lips laced with humour as he nodded towards the picture.

And „Why the addictions?” indeed. The sketch showed a small humanoid creature dressed in a frivolous outfit and holding his fist upwards in a theatrical pose. Paper around him full of small hearts and flowers. Rainbow and unicorn depicted in the background.

„Ask Gwen. She was the one who drew it.” She closed eyes, still rubbing her forehead. Action itself much more similar to a skull trepanation instead of a massage. She wondered whenever the page would disappear if she dared it hard enough. Unfortunately no such luck was in store for her. „I didn’t have the heart to tear it out.”

Soft hum her only answer as hints of humor still danced in her friend’s eyes.

As Nev was about to turn to another page she heard a subdued buzz. It’s source proved to be insistent spam of messages on Liam’s phone. After glancing at her apologetically he picked it up to check over them.

„It’s Nellie. I should better get going, before she sends somebody my way” He responded to Nev’s questioning look, before getting up with a regret.

„Maybe if we wait long enough she will come here herself, I doubt Gwen would mind” Nev added smirking knowingly, the action prompting Liam to smirk back in a shared amusement on account of their sisters. On the contrary to her words she still sighed regretfully and followed her companion up.

She doubted Nellie would call out Li if she didn’t need him for something important. Lately the woman was oddly determined to keep the two of them together as often as possible

Nev prefered not to think about her possible reasons for that.

„You should come more often. It was fun to spend some time together.” She remarked giving him a crooked grin. „And so you know.” She leaned conspiratorially, half - covering her mouth „I don’t really go around showing my sketches to everyone. You should feel honored.”

„Then I am really lucky.” He smiled, despite it’s teasing edge Nev could clearly see it’s rare, unhidden gentleness. The sight almost taking her breath away.

„Good that you know it.” She clapped her hands cheerfully gesturing forward, as the two of them fell into step together.

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

„Hey, Li.” Nev started as they stalled by the front door. „I am really happy you came.” She added fiddling with her dress. „Don’t be a stranger, all right?”

„You should visit too.” He murmured „The others will be happy, Angus as well.”

„She would better be.” She laughed. „I said it before and I will repeat it; Now I am your problem.”

„I don’t remember signing up for that.”

„No take backs.”

„Bu-”

„NO take backs.” She cut him off with the widest grin, barely keeping laugh at bay.

Liam shook his head with a genuine smile. For once not even trying to mask it.

As he was reaching to open the door she made a step forward and pulled him into a tight hug. „I really missed you, you know.” For a moment she thought she heard a soft hitch of breath, but it could only be her imagination. As his hands engulfed her back; at first softly, a second later with firmness equal to hers; she had a feeling that no matter what life throws at them; they will preserve and forge their own fortune.

Distracted none of them heard a faint buzz by the stairs.

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If you are still here then maybe some of my addictional notes may interest you 😊  

- Nev was definitely drawing Liam with the goofiest, most cheerful smile she had on her face in weeks (though she next she will draw the rest of their friends so it isn’t really a surprise)

- One would have to pry from my dead cold hands headcanon that Liam stood there for like 5 minutes watching beaming Nev draw.

- I don’t believe that Nev would actually find Liam’s heavily warded notebook, but I love the thought that he actually hesitated, because of his faith in her (she is some kind of a miracle - maker)

- The buzz by the stairs is Gwen, she is definitely trying to take a photo 😉  

That’s it, I hope you enjoyed yourself 😊

And if you still haven’t seen Speaker by @speakergame then I cannot recommend checking it enough 😊

[overclockedroulette]

so here's that fic with avarice and vega i promised! ages ago! it also just so happens to be the first time they met :)

also! a reminder that the situation with chio was incredibly traumatic! he's fine with literally any other physical contact (a little starved for it, actually), but he won't let anyone touch his neck. totally nothing to do with having needles shoved into his neck repeatedly for several weeks to forcibly drug him into complacency.

it is such a surprise vega hasn't been killed in a lab 'accident' yet.

they are insufferable together, but at least vega is a half-decent role model. sort of. i mean. he's like 60% more mentally stable so that's gotta count for something. at least he Tries to fit into polite society.

~~~

When Fabrica had told him he would be working with another person, Avarice didn’t question it. A minor hindrance, sure, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He wouldn’t complain to a monarch - especially one with such a high level of influence such as Miss Fabrica Kiriatta (not to her face, anyway). He knew his etiquette. He could be civil.

“Hello,” a changeling (they weren’t normally this obvious, were they?) with long, pale hair outstretched their hand to him. “Avarice, right? From Aublilon? Is it true that they raise you workers from birth, there?”

Avarice raised an eyebrow. “Charming. It is. How about your name, darling?”

“Oh! My mistake. Vega Mochizuki. Polaris.”

“Polaris?” He put on a mock-interested voice. He couldn’t help himself. “Is it true you’re all trust-fund cowards spoonfed directly by the richest people alive?”

Pause. Neither of them broke eye contact.

“Well, aren’t you the feisty one?” Vega teased, “Definitely on your high horse for a trained dog.”

“Trained dog?” Avarice mused, still refusing to take his eyes off the changeling in front of him. “That’s an interesting way to say ‘naturally talented’. No need for jealousy, sweetheart.”

Vega let out a short laugh, incredulous. “Jealous? You were raised like a show animal, what is there to be jealous of?”

“Oh, just let me think…” he mocked, “Resolve, intelligence, talent, general superiority-”

“-lack of free will, non-existent social skills, ignorance of the outside world, probably some serious mental health issues,” Vega listed on his fingers, taking no small amount of satisfaction in the affronted noise that Avarice made when he mentioned that last one. “Do I need to go on?”

“Point taken, Pulsar lapdog.”

“Oh! So the circus lion’s a crackpot conspiracy theorist, too!”

“Oh, please.” Avarice rolled his eyes. “Spare me the theatrics, we all know where you get your ‘government funding’.”

“As if money laundering and tax evasion is any better?”

“Better than being another Pulsar lackey.”

Vega stepped forward, the smallest hint of frustration in his voice. “We aren’t with the Pulsars.”

Avarice just smirked and shrugged in response, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Of course not, dear. And I’d appreciate a little more respect, if you don’t mind. Drop the attitude.”

“Were you trained to talk like that? Speaking of which, if I told you to roll over, would you do it?”

“Prick,” Avarice hissed.

“Mutt.”

“Pig.”

“Bitch.”

“Insect.”

“Freak.”

“Pulsar sugar baby.”

“Aubilon showdog.”

“Fucking third-rate-”

“Am I interrupting something?” Both parties - who were now very much within a sword’s-length of each other - turned at Fabrica’s voice. “No, please, do continue. I thoroughly enjoyed hearing you both at each other’s throats.”

Vega coughed. “I apologise, ma’am. How long have you been here?”

“The whole time,” she smiled. “I don’t mind, but please keep personal affairs and grudges outside of work. You understand?”

They both nodded, albeit glaring the other down the whole time. Fabrica smiled, not believing it for a second. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

There were a few moments after she swept out of the door, as they both waited for her footsteps to become inaudible. Vega was the first to speak.

“I want to test something, if you don’t mind.”

“I mind,” he insisted, quite firmly. That didn’t stop Vega from turning on his heel to face him, an insufferable grin on his face, and pointing one finger in his direction.

“Sit.”

Avarice recognised a command spell being cast: he had quite the array of experience with the feeling - an impulse that wasn’t quite his shooting through his body, unexpected and unwanted, as uncontrollable as blinking or breathing. The recognition did not, however, stop him from collapsing into a cross-legged position the second the words left Vega’s lips, pain shooting through his legs as they hit the ground with force. He at least had the dignity not to cry out, especially since Vega’s laughing was starting to get on his nerves.

“Oh! So you are like a dog!”

“Piss off,” he muttered, starting to stand up. Vega cleared his throat.

“Ah-ah! Stay.”

He froze. He knew that was another spell, but yet again he found himself returning to his original position, unmoving and seething. Vega knelt down to his level, locking eyes with Avarice and smirking. “Who’s a good boy?”

“I will fucking kill you,” he spat.

“Oh yeah?” he hummed, placing a hand on his neck and rubbing a thumb across it playfully, not noticing the other scientist freeze up. “Reckon you’d suit a collar, psycho?”

Avarice’s breath hitched. He couldn’t respond. Normally, he’d bat his hand away before he could think too much about it, but he couldn’t move, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t move and all he could focus on was the hand on his neck and he felt like he was choking. This wasn’t Chio. This wasn’t the same situation. He shouldn’t be feeling like this right now; he shouldn’t feel like this at all, feeling like this was weak but he couldn’t move and there was a hand on his neck and fuck he felt so unbearably helpless. It hurt. It hurt, and he was helpless, and he couldn’t control it, he couldn’t control anything, and his chest stung and his head was all static and he didn’t know how long he’d been hyperventilating. He barely even knew where he was. This was weak. This was weak, and he’d pay for it. He’d pay for it like he had with Chio. His head hurt. Everything was static.

He barely registered Vega dispelling his magic, or the awkward attempted reassurances. He did, however, register the pressure on his neck transferring down to wrap clumsily around his torso, and he certainly felt himself collapse his whole weight forwards and rest his head in the ruffles of Vega’s shirt as he evened out his breathing. This was fine. This wasn’t Chio.

“Hey- hey, it’s- I mean, I- I didn’t mean to do that,” Vega finally settled on as Avarice came to his senses, after a few hastily stammered explanations that he half-hoped he was too far gone to hear. “You’re alright?”

There was a long pause. Avarice managed to push himself away from Vega as harshly as possible, getting to his feet albeit a little shakily. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mind telling me what I did to elicit that reaction?”

“Why?” The response was instant and defensive. Vega hadn’t meant it as an attack, but the reaction he was getting made it clear that Avarice had taken it as one. He explained as carefully as he could.

“So that I don’t cause it again. Obviously.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” he retorted, looking not unlike a cornered puppy. Vega sighed.

“I’m not going to hurt you, you paranoid fuck, just tell me why you freaked out.”

Avarice blinked slowly. Narrowed his eyes. Then let out a small sigh, and pointed to his neck, elaborating only with a hesitant “don’t.”

“Alright. That’s all I wanted to know,” he shrugged. “I’d ask why, but it could be anything with you Aubilon lot, so I’d probably rather not know.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re a prick. Mind doing me a favour?”

“I do mind, actually.”

“Cool,” he shrugged off, disregarding Vega’s response entirely in favour of taking a quarterstaff to the back of his knees and watching him collapse, letting out a surprised yelp. He knelt down to his level and smiled, taking out a vial of who-knows-what from his pocket and holding it out to him without once breaking eye contact. “Oh, and you didn’t think I’d let you get away with disrespecting me like that, did you, sweetheart? We have some testing to do.”

Vega averted his eyes nervously, taking the vial with hands that were much less stable than he thought they were. “I’m- I’m not drinking this.”

Avarice leant in, still smiling. “Oh, but you are. Don’t worry, though, it’s perfectly safe. Or, at least, it won’t kill you. I hope.”

“You can’t make me-”

“Can’t I?” he hummed, in a tone that suggested that he absolutely could. “Would you like to take your chances?”

A pause. Then Vega shuddered, said a prayer, and downed the vial.

[luthorao3]

I forgot I sent in the Selkie!MC thought! But thank you for reminding me and also thanks for the Nadia thought because now all that's in my head is this following idea of how she finds out about MC (if you have your own idea please share, I'm just chucking mine out because I'm a mess for these characters and the myth and folklore genres).

Also forgive the length of it, I started typing and the idea grew much, much further than intended. I should not be as invested in mythical and folklore creatures as I am, but once I start thinking it does. not. stop.

Anyway, here's the initial idea I had:

Nadia's not a fan of hypocritical behaviour because, fine, some people have moral codes but at least have the strength of character to stick to them. So she's annoyed about the Poppy having a pet seal, so maybe she decides to be petty about it and give them the metaphorical finger.

How does she decide to do this?

By kidnapping the seal and releasing it back into the wild of course!

She figures out quite quickly that the seal in question isn't always in the pool, but for the life of her she can't find out where they keep it indoors. Is there a hidden water tank inside she doesn't know about? If there is she can't find it, which leaves the pool as the only viable option to take the "poor, trapped animal" from.

And sure, MC loves being (as you perfectly put it) a menace in the pool when others are around, but sometimes she just likes to swim yk? So she goes swimming on her own sometimes.

And during one of Nadia's checkups on the spot, she sees the seal splashing around unsupervised and sees her chance.

MC does not expect the net.

She thrashes, of course, but at first thinks it's an ill-advissd, not very sensitive prank and is just like "I'm gonna kill them" until she realises exactly who has just pulled her out of the water.

The plan for Nadia had been to use a seal-carrier bag usually used by rescuers after getting the seal out of the net.

The plan absolutely had not included the thrashing seal to almost immediately shift into an infuriated MC because she recognises the bag Nadia's holding and it might not exactly be a cage but it's pretty close and she doesn't know what the hell Nadia wants with a seal so she's at least going to get into a form where she can defend herself.

Nadia's of course frozen in shock and barely avoids getting her nose broken again.

The Poppy hear MC shouting and come running, and Vivienne nearly kills Nadia the moment she sees the net, the bag and MC clinging to her sealskin. The rest of the Poppy are fully ready to throw down but it's Nadia's shock that saves her because she just blurts out "You're a SEAL?" And the Poppy pauses because they're like "...you aren't trying to take her coat?"

"Wtf would I do that? You think I need sealskin?"

And they really don't like this situation, they don’t want to be in a position where they have to trust Nadia because, yk, it's Nadia, but they can't kill her either (Vivienne does ask again if they can reconsider their no killing rule, but this time she's only half joking) so they don't really have a choice. They chuck her out as fast as possible because they are not explaining anything that could give her leverage and also they don't want her around MC, and Nadia's more than happy to book it out of there because she needs more information but her mind is still reeling (MC, seal, MC, seal, MC is the seal, what the-). The Poppy move to another penthouse and are gearing up to dispell any rumours that might "crop up" about MC in the Underworld, practicing scoffing in people's faces like "Selkies? You mean like magic? That doesn't exist!"

But Nadia doesn't spread any rumours, there's just total silence, nothing to indicate that anyone's heard anything about Selkies or seals.

And nobody's going to, because once Nadia's done her research and worked out that, yes, MC is an apparently not-so-mythical Selkie, she knows she isn't going to tell anyone (aside from looking insane if she did so, she also does want to win the Poppy over and stealing a pet seal is one thing but this is on an entirely different level).

Of course her research of Selkies inevitably raises the point of how important MC's sealskin coat actually is, and it clicks in her brain exactly what the Poppy thought she was doing by attempting to kidnap MC, and Nadia's a terrible human being, okay? Absolutely terrible, she would kill a man without hesitation, she would wreck someone's life in all kinds of ways, but she wouldn't do that. She gets the implications of what taking the coat would mean immediately, what it looked like to the Poppy by the pool before they realised she didn't know, hadn't worked it out.

And the Poppy don't hear anything, not for a while, as Nadia tries to work out how to approach the situation, until she gets wind of Vivienne punching a man who hadn't known that MC was a Selkie, but had thought that the sealskin coat looked very nice and tried to steal it.

He ends up dead in a couple days.

please never never apologise holy shit also please tell me you write??? please tell me you have fic somewhere that i can read because oh my gos your mind???? i’m about to go zombie weird on you and your beautiful brain lmaoooo this had me laughing out loud!! nadia ‘releasing the poor, captive seal back into the wild’ ajdjdjfkfkfk.

all i could imagine when i read that, though, was— you know that one scene in the parent trap? where the twins take meredith (??) camping, and as she’s sleeping they drag her blow up mattress out into the middle of the lake? like either THAT or the fucking aristocats, with MC waking up in the middle of the wilds hearing a toad croak directly beside her ear like ‘MAMA? D:’

but oh my GOSH!!!!! at nadia understanding the implications of her rescue attempt looking like she’s trying to steal MC’s coat. oh god. i can’t tell you how much of a sucker i am when it comes to ‘yes, i will do unquestionably evil acts, but i don’t fuck with kids/animals/vulnerable people’ villains. you sexy piece of shit. 😔👌

also can we just for a second appreciate after everything calms down nadia rocking up to mc with like a bucket of fish or smth equally awful because she is still, alas, a rat bastard. <3

[thetriggeredhappy]

I have a scout headcanon where he's not a murderer and the other team respawns so he's not a murderer but sniper is. Before the job, he was an actual assassin, payed to kill people who respawn. Maybe you could (given that you have free time) write a short fic about scout realizing that sniper is an actual killer?

this was actually a conversation i kinda wanted to try to squeeze somewhere into Taking Shots but i’m not sure if i’m gonna be able to. so here’s a way heavier version of it since i can do that since outside of the fic

ft. catholic guilt and a lot of semantics

-

Scout had dropped by both to hang out and to listen to the game that night, not wanting to deal with the hustle and bustle of the common area and arguing over what the radio would be set to. And apparently his team won, and then the radio was shut off, and Scout was just finishing off the beer Sniper’d handed him earlier, fingernails tapping against the glass as he looked up at the map on Sniper’s wall.

It was criss-crossed with various marks in varying colors of pen, fading after having had it for so many years, so many contracts.

“Is travelling, like, fun?” Scout asked suddenly out of the blue, looking at the map.

Sniper shrugged. “Can be. Or it can be stressful, if I schedule contracts too close together,” he replied. “What, don’t you count base transfers as travel?”

“Nah,” Scout said. “Not really.”

There was another long pause.

“So it was mostly just… when you were on contract for stuff, then? Before you worked here?” Scout asked.

“Mostly,” Sniper confirmed.

Fingers tapping on glass. “Must’a paid well.”

“Mercenary work usually does,” Sniper shrugged.

Scout took a drink, put the bottle back down again. Looked at it. “I keep forgetting that most of you guys have kinda been, like… doin’ all this shit for years and years. Like, outside of the team. One of those things of like—like when you meet someone and they mention their hair used to be way longer or shorter or whatever and you just can’t imagine it because you’ve only known them lookin’ one way.” Fingers tapping on glass. “That you’ve, like… pretty much always been used to all this.”

“You weren’t?” Sniper asked.

Scout shrugged. “I mean, I pretended. Took a few months to start getting used to it. The dyin’ thing was new for everyone, so that was fine, but… not much of the rest of it.”

Sniper’s brow furrowed. Scout continued after a moment, clearly uncomfortable with the silence.

“I mean, I guess it was kinda like how you guys all had to get used to livin’ with a whole bunch of people. Like, Heavy kinda got it since he’s got all those sisters, and Engie had a bunch of roommates in college and stuff, and you just live out here so you don’t gotta deal with that shit, but I’m the one who lived with like half a dozen other guys for most’a my life growin’ up, y’know? So everyone else had to kinda play it cool with that, and I had to play it cool about killin’ people, it balances out, right?”

Sniper looked him over. Fingers tapping on glass.

“Yeah, nah. Those aren’t the same thing,” Scout said quietly, ducking his head a little.

“You’d never…?” Sniper asked slowly. Saw Scout recoiling a little, changed directions. “Most everyone got recruited from some sort of criminal background. You saying they picked you up right out of… a desk job or some other nonsense?”

“No,” Scout said, voice a little quiet. “No, I… I did what I had to do, alright? And… I always kinda figured if it ever came down to it, I’d… keep doin’ what I had to do, to stay alive, to make it back home again. But I never got beyond fistfights, mostly. Knife fights. Shit like that. Never killin’. So… this was new.”

Sniper shifted. “I could never tell, if that makes a difference,” he mentioned, trying for a lighter tone, and Scout’s lip only quirked for a second before dropping again.

“…Snipes, let me ask you a question real quick,” Scout suddenly proposed, sitting up a little and looking up at Sniper for maybe the first time since the conversation started. “Do you think what we do in our day job counts as murder?”

Sniper considered the question. Scout elaborated.

“They come back again. So if nobody’s really dead, then it’s like nobody died, and if nobody died then nobody got killed. Then technically there’s no killer.”

“I don’t think it counts,” Sniper said decidedly. “Like you said. Nobody’s dead, nobody’s a killer.”

“I… feel like maybe it does,” Scout said carefully. “I feel like it’s about intent, y’know? Like… you’re tryin’ to beat the shit outta someone until they quit breathing, that’s killing, even if they don’t really die. Like in those murder mystery books and whatever where someone gets like, shot in the chest and then fakes dyin’, and the person thinks they killed someone. Ain’t that kinda still murder?”

Sniper sat back, looked at Scout, his fidgeting, the guilt on his face. “I think that’s a real Catholic way of looking at it,” he finally said, and Scout looked up at him, a little surprised. “You said you were raised Catholic, right?”

“Yeah,” Scout nodded.

Sniper exhaled, tilting his own bottle around idly, watching the few drops at the bottom rolling around, considering his words. “I don’t think it’s about intent,” he decided. “I think it’s about… cause and effect. The effect at the end. I don’t think you’re responsible for much of anything that goes on in your own head—you can only control that so much. All you can really control is your actions, and if your actions are automatic or out of your control, more of a… fight or flight response, then you can only control whether you take responsibility for it.”

“What if you do somethin’ and then somethin’ happens that you didn’t mean to happen?” Scout asked.

“Then you still need to take responsibility, if it could be your fault. And… that goes for good or bad, right or wrong. If you’re brilliant on accident, you’ve got to take responsibility. If you do something awful on accident, you’ve got to take responsibility. It goes both ways. Assuming that everything makes you a bad person—that causing lethal harm to someone who can’t die makes you a murderer—that’s just a very Catholic way of looking at it. Constantly finding yourself at fault, assuming you’ve done something wrong, deciding that every choice you make is…” He trailed, losing track of his words for a second.

“Is…?” Scout asked, and when Sniper looked up, Scout appeared to be clinging to his every word.

Sniper paused for another second or two. “Assuming that with everything you do, you’re responsible for the worst possible outcome of the situation regardless of whether it happens or not,” he finally decided. “Everything you do, thinking of the worst case scenario and deciding you’ve earned the guilt of that happening whether it happens or not. But you can’t live like that. You need to focus on what’s actually happening, what you’re actually capable of. Not the semantics surrounding whether you’re technically, legally, morally a murderer. Intention isn’t much of anything, really, but result is, and what you’ve done in our day jobs has never resulted in anyone being dead in a way that matters.”

He finished his little soapbox rant, and wished he could take a drink to dispel his nerves, but his bottle was empty. Scout seemed to be considering something.

“…Sometimes, Miss P sends you on jobs,” Scout said slowly, looking up at him. Sniper nodded. “You kill people on those, right? Real people, not people that come back.” Sniper nodded, more hesitantly. “Do you… count that?”

“Yeah,” Sniper said, concentrating every molecule of his body on making his voice light. “That definitely counts. I’m making independent choices, knowing the result will probably be someone dead, and then someone’s dead for real.”

Scout took a drink, set his bottle down, nodded. Like he’d already known, already come to terms with it, which he probably had. Like he’d only asked because he wanted to know what Sniper thought. Paused. “Sometimes I go on contracts. And it ain’t exactly my job to try and clear out places, I’m more of a… get in, grab somethin’, see somethin’, fuck right back off again before I get shot,” he said. “I’ve never pulled a trigger on someone who dies for real. Only ever maybe whacked someone upside the head if I gotta get past them.”

“Not a killer, then,” Sniper said simply, but Scout shot a look at him and he stopped again.

“Here’s the thing though, is I go in there and figure out where shit is. Where they store explosives, where the exits are, who lives and sleeps where, the layout of places,” he continued. Tipped his bottle from one side to another, drained the last of it and leaned to drop it in the trash can. “Snipes, I ain’t an idiot. I know Miss P thinks I am, all the guys think I am, but I ain’t an idiot.” The bottle shattered against the bottom of the can, startling Sniper a little. Scout didn’t flinch, though. “I know Miss Pauling goes, or sends someone else, and kills basically everyone in there once I tell her how to get in.”

 He got comfortable again, shifting a little. Sniper just watched him warily.

“That’s basically the same thing as me putting the bullet in their head myself, isn’t it?” Scout asked, looking back up at him, expression hard to read.

Sniper hesitated. “Maybe,” he said slowly. “But… I don’t think I’d count that, either. Not properly.”

Scout sank back, and that hard to read expression shifted into frustration. “Look, okay. Maybe I don’t personally kill people,” he said, tone short. “But I sure as hell hurt people. Sure as hell fuck up their whole shit. And I dunno if that’s worse, but it’s not that much better. Like, Jesus Christ, I mean, everyone on the team’s got nightmares these days, I can’t hear a car backfire in town without wanting to take a swing at someone. I won’t be able to make it living with regular people once this job finally runs out, and neither will most of us, and neither will most of those other assholes on the other side of the field. In all the ways that matter, that dumbass piece of shit kid Jeremy died on his first day on the job. He doesn’t exist anymore. Now,” he said, and his throat seemed to go tight suddenly, and he looked off to one side, swallowing hard. “Now I’m just Scout. Now I just hurt people. Because it’s the only thing I’ve ever been any good at.”

Sniper didn’t know what to say.

Scout swallowed again, visibly steeling himself. “I’ve got another question for you,” he said.

“Go on,” Sniper prompted gently.

“Is a killer someone who’s killed people before,” Scout asked, “or is it somebody who tries to kill people because it’s the only thing they know how to do?”

[dreamcatcherfication]

Skin Deep - Round Two

Part two of my fic that no one’s going to read, huzzah! This is my Beauty Queens AU (which is a very misleading title but whatever) that immediately goes horribly wrong so... I hope you all enjoy it! Sorry for any spelling/grammatical errors, I wrote this through tears while watching All You Wanna Do animatics.

Writing Masterpost

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas (now featuring random asks). If you want to be tagged in any of my works, just let me know which ones and I’ll be sure to tag you!

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Trigger Warnings: Talk about attempted rape and sexual assault, victim blaming

Part 1

It didn’t take long for the cops to arrive after Jane and Aragon called them. The girls were still huddled together in the judging room when loud footsteps echoed through the hall. Cathy looked up from her spot next to Anne and glanced at Jane and Catherine by the doorway. Aragon had her head out in the hall and was waving down someone - presumably the police - while Jane kept her eyes fixed on Kit. There was pain hiding behind her eyes, but she made no move to show it.

When the cops walked in the room, Cathy carefully peeled Anne away from Kit so that there wouldn’t be too many people crowding her cousin. Anne made a sound of protest but she let Cathy pull her away. Not even a machine powered buzzsaw could separate Anna and Kit though, so no one tried. There was a horde of cops at the door, but only two of them actually entered the room. “You girls okay?” one of the cops asked Jane and Catherine. The student judges both nodded and waved off the concern.

Both the cops were female, thank God, one dressed in the typical uniform while the other wore a suit, signifying she was a detective. The detective kneeled down next to Kit and gave her a kind smile. “Hey kid, how are you doing?”

Kit peeked out from Anna’s hold and immediately her eyes darted everywhere but the detective’s. “M’fine,” Kit mumbled, hiding the tears that were gathering in her eyes. 

The other cop was still standing back, but she was very clearly taking mental notes on the exchange. When she caught Cathy staring at her, the cop tipped her hat in acknowledgement. Slowly, Cathy nodded back at the cop. “Well we’re gonna take you somewhere safer than here, if that’s okay with you.”

There was silence as Kit thought about it. “Can Anna come? And Annie and Cathy?” she asked, looking over at her cousin. 

“Of course,” the detective assured the volatile teen. The detective stood up and scanned all the girls. She tried to appear warm and inviting, but the same cold, analytical gaze all detectives had was what she was wearing instead. “I’m Detective Bessie Blount, but you can call me Bessie. This is Officer Maggie Lee -”

Maggie jumped in, a much more natural grin on her face, “I’m her partner.”

“Technically you’re still an officer.”

“I should be a detective.”

“You would be a detective if you quit violating task force etiquette,” the two of them lightly bickered.

The ridiculousness of it made Kitty let out a small giggle, so none of the girls complained at the strangeness of the interaction. “Whatever, you’re still stuck with me,” Maggie stuck her tongue out at Bessie childishly. 

Rolling her eyes, Bessie returned her attention to the girls on the floor. “Two of you can ride with me and Maggie will drive the other two to the station.”

Sighing, Anne answered, “Kit and Anna aren’t separating anytime soon, Cathy and I will ride together.”

Maggie nodded. “Alright, you two can come with me. Bessie, you got them?”

“Yeah, you go on ahead.” Maggie held her hand out and helped Anne stand up. The three of them exited the room together, Cathy giving a small wave to Jane and Catherine who were speaking with the other police officers right outside the room.

Leading them out of the building, Maggie was surprisingly carefree for a police officer. Some of the contestants peaked out of their dressing rooms to watch Cathy and Anne, confused as to why police were in the building. Shivering, Cathy realized there would be a million rumors circulating by the end of the day. Finally, outside of the building, the girls were exposed to the fresh air. Cathy hadn’t known how constricted her lungs were until she was out of that building.

Unlocking the door to her car, Maggie ushered Anne and Cathy inside. “Alright girls, it’s only a short ride down to the precinct, but I know how scary it can be. If you need to talk to me or each other about something, don’t hesitate just because you’re in a cop’s car. And there’s candy under the middle seat if you want it.”

Without a second of hesitation, Anne reached under the seat and gasped when there was in fact a bag of candy hidden there. Cathy laughed at her girlfriend’s shock. “You hide candy in your car? Is this what Detective Blount was talking about with violating etiquette?” Cathy asked the officer.

“Hey,” Maggie chuckled, “you bust enough criminals for hiding drugs, you learn a thing or two.”

Stopping with a tootsie roll already halfway down her throat, Anne’s eyes widened. “Wait, are you saying these are drugs -”

“No!” Maggie laughed, “No, they aren’t drugs. I got them from Walmart. Geez, kids are so much more uptight than I remember,” she playfully joked. Turning on the engine, Maggie pulled her seatbelt on. “Make sure you’re wearing your seatbelts, I’d hate to have to arrest you for something like that.”

As serious as a situation they were in, Maggie was doing a great job of dispelling the tension of it. It made Cathy wish all police officers tried to be more friendly than aggressive. If she was in a murder investigation, she would tell Maggie far more than those men she always saw on the news. “Officer Lee,” Cathy started.

“Please, call me Maggie, formalities are stupid.”

More and more, Cathy was starting to see what Bessie referred to as ‘violating task force etiquette’. “Okay, um, Maggie. What’s going to happen to us?”

Watching the two teens through her mirror, Maggie frowned. “What do you mean?”

“We mean,” Anne picked up the conversation, “When we get to the station, are they going to question us? Is Culpeper going to be arrested? Is Kit going to be okay?”

Clicking her hand on the wheel as they waited at a red light, Maggie sighed. “Look kid, those are a lot of questions and I can’t give you all the answers. You and your friends are all going to be questioned so we can get a story. If there’s a case -”

“If,” Anne yelped incredulously, “If there’s a case? Of course there’s a case! My cousin was almost raped and you’re questioning whether that’s a case or not?”

Cathy knew Anne was prone to outbursts, especially when it came to people she cared about. Maggie seemed to anticipate this too, so she made sure to keep herself calm. “I don’t doubt you, but this case’ll probably go to court. If you don’t have a story, there won’t be a case and your cousin’s assaulter won’t be brought to justice. I’m going to try and help you as best as possible, but you’ve got to cooperate.”

“You said,” Cathy broke in, “that this will probably go to court. Are we going to be witnesses?”

Maggie made a turn before answering. “Yeah, all three of us will probably be witnesses, but you two and Boleyn’s cousin will be the most important. You two witnessed the crime and your cousin’s the victim.”

“Don’t call her a victim,” Anne mumbled, crossing her arms. Cathy reached out and put a hand on her girlfriend’s knee, a source of comfort in the small police car.

It was obvious Maggie was trying to keep a positive atmosphere, but it was difficult with the reality of everything. Instead, the three girls fell into silence and waited for the ride to be over. It wasn’t much longer before they actually arrived at the precinct and were brought inside.

Bypassing all the front desk sign ins, Maggie led the girls into a conference room. “We’ll question you two later, but right now we’re just going to get all the witnesses together before we start. It’s important to have all the pieces so we can build you a strong case,” Maggie noted. She left the room, leaving Anne and Cathy alone.

Letting out a loud breath, Anne sunk to the floor. “Cathy,” she groaned. “Why did this have to happen?”

Kneeling down next to her girlfriend, Cathy tried to pull Anne into a hug. “We’ll get through this -”

“I know we will!” Anne shouted, pounding her fists against the floor in frustration. “We’ll get through this just fine, but Kitty’s gonna have to carry this with her for the rest of her life. If maybe we’d been a little quicker, I could’ve stopped him from getting to her.”

“No,” Cathy stated forcefully. “Don’t you dare go down that path of thinking Anne Boleyn. You did your best. You stopped him before things could get worse and you stayed by Kit’s side.”

“My best isn’t enough,” Anne spat at the ground. 

Wrapping her arms around Anne, Cathy held her in a tight hug. If she could convey all her pride in her girlfriend, all her love in a single show of affection, she would do it at that moment. “Anne, you’re doing everything you can do, that’s what matters. It’s one of the reasons why I love you.”

An unintentional blush made its way to Anne’s cheeks, just as Cathy knew it would. “Thanks Cathy, you know I love you more than my heelys.”

“Isn’t it ‘you know I love you more than the world itself’?” Cathy raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, but I already love my heelys more than the world. I’m putting you above my heelys Cathy, my heelys, you should be kissing me senseless for that,” Anne scoffed.

Shrugging, Cathy replied cheekily, “If you say so,” and brought Anne in for a kiss. It was a sweet moment of stability and happiness, something they always found in the other. Pulling away, the two girls kept their gazes locked, the love in their eyes palpable in the air.

They were interrupted by the door opening, surprising the two girls on the floor. Standing in the doorway was Catherine and Jane, both of them nervous and awkward. “The officers told us to wait here,” Catherine offered when she noticed Cathy and Anne. The girlfriends stood up and made their way over to the conference table, sitting down on one end. Catherine purposefully sat down on the other end while Jane sat in the middle.

Anne and Cathy didn’t resume their conversation, too worried at being overheard by their new companions. Catherine kept shooting Anne mild glares while Jane tapped her foot lightly. “So…” Jane tried, hoping a conversation would pick up. Nobody even looked in her direction, so she dropped it and continued with her tapping.

Later, the door opened again, this time entering Kitty and Anna, followed by Detective Blount. “Go take a seat girls,” Bessie urged. Kit sat next to Anne, immediately grabbing her hand. Anna followed behind her, sitting on Kit’s other side in case the girl needed her. Observing the full table, Bessie instructed, “While Maggie and I prepare the case files, feel free to talk and mingle. You aren’t being recorded, so don’t worry about any of that. I’ll be back soon.” And then she closed the door, sealing the six girls inside together.

At first, no one talked. None of them wanted to, especially with the tense air surrounding them. They weren’t here for a birthday party, and they didn’t try to act like it. Again, it was Jane who tried to break the silence. “So… we’re all here -”

“Yeah, why are you here?” Anne asked with a hint of aggressiveness in her tone. Cathy couldn’t tell if it was left over from her outburst earlier or if it was specifically intended for Jane.

It was Aragon who answered for Jane. “We were the ones who called the police, and we’re associated with Culpeper. We’re a part of this case too, Boleyn.”

Anne sent a sneer in Catherine’s direction, but Cathy’s warm hand on her shoulder calmed her down. “It’s my fault you’re here, I’m sorry,” Kitty muttered, her voice only heard because of the silence of the rest of the room. 

“Don’t apologize, dear,” Jane spoke before anyone else. “This is not at all your fault. We’re here to stop a sexual predator,” Kit winced, “and do the right thing. How could this possibly be your fault if you haven’t done anything wrong?”

Kitty seemed at a loss for words, but everyone else was too afraid to speak up. “I followed him into the room. I let him touch me.”

“You told him to stop,” Anne cut in.

“We heard it,” Cathy added, reaching across Anne to add her hand to the cousins’ intertwined ones.

Shrugging, Kit didn’t seem particularly convinced. “I could have tried harder. He just,” she started to shiver. Anna put her arms around Kit and let the girl rest against her. “He just started touching and I didn’t know what to do. He had been so nice during the other rounds, giving me presents when I won. I thought he was being nice because he thought I was talented. But he locked that door and,” her breath hitched in her throat, “he started tearing and ripping at my clothes, and I didn’t want him on me like that.” Her voice was shaking, the syllables broken and pitiful.

It was breaking Cathy’s heart to see Kit so torn up about Culpeper. In only a few moments he had torn her apart, leaving her scared and shameful of something that wasn’t her fault. Cathy could tell by the way Anne tensed up that her girlfriend was concealing fiery anger towards Culpeper. “He’ll be brought to justice, I promise,” Aragon gritted through her teeth. “My parents have a team of expert lawyers, he doesn’t stand a chance.”

“You have lawyers?” Anna gasped, “Girl I don’t even have lunch money.” Kitty let out a small laugh, knowing full well that Anna had plenty of lunch money - so much so that she saved it up and bought a sports car just so she could take up two spaces while parking to annoy some of the high school students who made fun of Kitty. (In reality, Anna much preferred her truck that she had made so many memories in). 

Cathy noticed the way Kit perked up at Anna’s joke, so she nudged Anne, gaining her attention. “You think lunch money’s bad? Anne saved up three years worth of birthday money just to buy heelys!”

Again, Kitty was giggling at the absurdness of their claims. Jane and Aragon were catching onto the game, so they started to play along. “You get birthday money?” Jane asked. “I’m the Cinderella of my house. I do chores all day and I don’t even earn minimum wage!”

None of the jokes were particularly funny, but it felt good to be able to laugh when there was so much tension around them. Being dumb teenagers did in fact (despite what adults might say) have its benefits. “Chores are the worst,” Anne grumbled, playing up her annoyance. “They go ‘clean this, clean that’ but never do they say ‘this needs to be dirty’. Why can’t we have dirty things!?”

“Because that’s unsanitary babe,” Cathy explained, a twinkle in her eyes.

Scrunching her nose, Kitty gave Anne a disgusted look. “Yeah, remember when you tried to take us out for a picnic, but you thought washing the plates in lake water would clean them?”

“I’m sorry, she did what?” Aragon asked, her mouth agape.

“Mhmm,” Anna confirmed, “nearly got us all sick with whatever was in the water too.”

“I’d give her a 3/10 on Yelp reviews,” Cathy added.

Gasping in mock hurt, Anne turned to her girlfriend. “Only a 3 out of 10? Cathy, you wound me. I thought I was better than that.”

“Please, we all know Kit’s the ten amongst us threes,” Anna continued to tease Anne.

“There’s a reason she was going to win the pageant,” Jane confirmed from her spot at the table.

Everyone turned to look at her. “She was going to win?” Anne asked.

Smiling nervously and looking at Catherine, Jane nodded. “She’s an audience favorite, no one else got as many cheers as Katherine Howard. Besides, the counting was already done as soon as the last vote was in.” Cathy could tell Anne was internally cursing that her cheating plan wouldn’t have worked, but she was still glad Kitty had won.

“You hear that Kit, you’re a winner,” Anna told her.

Even as she tried to hide it, a smile grew on Kit’s face. “At least that’s one good thing.”

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

Tag list:

@annabanana2401

[pips-fics]

ask: if it isn't too much I'd like to request a fic where minho catches the flu and is so spaced out he starts talking in third person please and thankies,, love your writing btw !!

and here it is!  a weird tone for this one and it may or may not have turned into a changlix fic (low-key!) and i’m not mad about it?  anyway, hope you all enjoy! :)

——

the members of stray kids had endured many long days, days that started far too early in the morning and ended far too late at night for any sane human being.  and yet, this had been a long day even for them.  longer for some than others.

in particular, minho had woken up at 1 am with a fever, the stomach flu, and a desperate need for a toilet, and he hadn’t been back to sleep since.  arguably, though, the day had been even longer for changbin, and he’d woken up at noon.

the problem is, he’d woken up at noon and immediately been placed in charge of keeping an eye on minho.  and felix, apparently.  heaven knows what kind of karma he must’ve accrued in his previous life to deserve this.

officially, felix was supposed to be helping changbin out, but all he’d done so far was cover his ears and hide when minho puked and encourage whatever nonsense the sick boy had been spouting all day.

“changbin-hyung!”  changbin was currently hiding out in the bedroom, trying to get a break from babysitting.  “changbin-hyung, minho-hyung looks green again!”

changbin groaned loudly, stood up, opened the door, and was met with felix’s panicked face.  minho was draped over the younger boy’s back, completely limp.  felix’s voice was high-pitched.  “changbin-hyung!  help!  please.”

“oh for the love of— felix, why did you bring him here?”  frankly, it was astounding that anyone had thought felix would be any sort of assistance in this situation - and that includes felix himself, because he was indeed the one who insisted on staying back and “helping” today while they others went about their various schedules.

a sweet thought, changbin acknowledged, if thoughts were what actually counted.

“but you’re here!”  felix protested.  changbin resisted the urge to palm his own forehead.  instead he put a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder to encourage him to turn around and go back the way he came.

“let’s just get him to the bathroom as soon as possible.”

“minho feels sick.”  felix and changbin froze, starting at each other.  neither of them had said that.  changbin placed the back of his hand on minho’s head and was unsurprised to find it warmer than it had been all day.

“what was that, hyung?”  felix asked quietly.  this time minho didn’t respond, his head hanging down, eyes closed, snoring softly.  changbin shrugged.

“whatever, let’s just go before he wakes up and makes a mess.”

felix nodded his head in vigorous agreement and let changbin assist them (the younger boy was nearly collapsing at this point).

the dorm was a mess, changbin noted as they made their way through it.  the couch was in shambles because minho liked to take the upright cushions off.  there were tissues all over because minho didn’t have energy to find a trashcan, apparently even if it was directly next to the couch he was laying on.  there were dirty dishes and also clean ones on the counter and the ground (why?  changbin didn’t know) and frankly it was rather fortunate that seungmin wasn’t here right now.

the bathroom was even worse than the rest of the dorm, but it wasn’t worth cleaning until they could fully dispel the overwhelming smell of vomit, which wouldn’t happen until minho was feeling better.  the sick boy remained sleeping after being laid gently atop a pile of pillows and blankets on the ground - they’d spent so much time in there, they figured it was worth making it comfortable.

changbin and felix relaxed a bit as well, the younger boy sitting close to the door so that he could make a quick escape should minho’s stomach act up suddenly.

“do you want to nap, too?”  felix asked earnestly.  changbin could feel his heart thawing.  squeamishness aside, felix really was an angel.  

“are you sure?”  changbin knew the answer before he even heard it.

“yes!”  felix squeaked, almost excited.  “i know i haven’t been very useful up until now, but i’d like to do something.  i know you were up late last night working on stuff.”

he had been.  it actually wasn’t common for changbin to sleep as late as he had today, but he hadn’t returned to the dorm until 4 in the morning, and had continued working until the sun had well past peeked through the windows, probably not sleeping until around seven or eight o’clock.

permission granted, he fell asleep within a minute.

he woke up to felix making a noise that could really only be described as shrieking.

“what?!  what’s happening?”  changbin sat up way to fast, trying to wipe drool from his face and instead punching himself lightly in the jaw.  his eyes gradually found felix, gradually found what he was screaming about: a splotch of vomit on his shirt.

changbin sighed, turning back to minho.

“really?  you puked on him?  you had one job—“ changbin had been joking (half joking, maybe), but he stopped suddenly upon seeing tears in the sick boy’s eyes.

“minho’s sorry!”  the eldest whined pitifully.  “minho didn’t mean to make a mess!”

“uh… hyung…” tears started falling and changbin did everything he could to not just sit there in stunned silence.  “hey, don’t cry, it’s okay.”

“minho feels bad,” the sick boy cried.  changbin gently helped him lean over the toilet.  “doesn’t wanna be sick!”

“it’ll be okay, hyung, you’ll be alright.”  seeing that minho wasn’t going to be sick immediately, changbin turned back to felix, who was breathing hard but otherwise seemed to be frozen in place.  “lix, do you think you can get that shirt off on your own?  you can wipe up the mess with a towel first so there’s less risk of it getting on you.”

felix nods robotically and changbin wishes he could do more, but minho starts retching just then.  throwing the youngest an apologetic look, changbin refocuses.

“that’s it, get it out,” he encourages.  watching minho cry is a completely surreal experience.  up until now, changbin had hardly heard him whimper.

“minho doesn’t wa- hck,” minho gags.  “doesn’t wanna be sick!”

“i know.”  changbin can’t think of anything better to say, so he sticks to gently shushing the older boy as he begins to heave up what little remained in his stomach.  a handful of heaves and a large shudder later, he’s pulling away from the toilet and leaning his full weight against changbin.

“minho’s tired,” he mumbles.  changbin flushes the toilet and helps minho to his feet.

“let’s get you cleaned up and then you can sleep.  sound good?”

minho just nods.  after that, he keeps quiet, entirely worn out and seemingly feeling a bit better.  he even drinks a few sips of water when felix returns, only slightly traumatized, with a water bottle.  by the time they get him tucked into bed, he’s out like a light.  changbin is nearly there, too.

“how long did i nap for before, by the way,” he asks felix when they’re snuggled up in the bed next to minho’s.  felix has a new shirt on and he snorts at the question.

“about 2 whole minutes, hyung, i don’t even know how you fell asleep so fast.  or how you’re still awake now!  get some rest already!”

changbin doesn’t need to be told twice.  he’s well on his way to dreamland when he mumbles, “thanks, lix,” and he won’t remember if he actually said it later, but he knows felix will get the message either way.

——

feel free to send more asks!