#like I am almost done with the perfect relics

[meat-kat-ultra]

I have a theory that 2/3 of Crash 4 problems could be fixed if you just shrunk every level down by roughly 20%.

[childrenofcain-if]

Fuuuckk! *Throws some angst for W*

Childhood Friends to lovers are really my weaknesses when it comes to stories and I am left just craving for more when I see this trope because most of the time it's just never executed right. Forgotten Childhood Friend with the other pining for MC, while MC (can) remain obvious 👀👀👀 Now that's a great setting for angst if I ever saw one!

Because in a scenario where MC has a trinket, a stuffed toy, a keychain, and W sees it and freezes, because it's the same one they gave MC years ago. MC mistakes it for interest and tells them "Oh, I don't really know where I got this from but it looks cute, don't you think?"

Just *ASDFGHJKL* What would be their reaction? Because MC still kept something that symbolizes their time together. But on the other hand! MC forgot about them and only kept the trinkets!

Also crying over this song that reminds me of W. The story within the song is different but the longing and yearning is there that rips my fucking heart out. I could not find the song cover that I really liked on YouTube so, here's one that seems close.

https://youtu.be/YiVpWPkbdPY?si=R2csRdrSsRFsO9K6

Also I can't wait for Sept 22! So excited to play the demo!

the moment W spotted the red muppet, everything about them stilled—their breath, their posture, the casual air they usually carried around you. their hand froze mid-motion as they’d been reaching for something else, but now their fingers hovered above the clumsily stitched muppet, their gaze glued to it as if the sight had transported them somewhere else.

the stuffed elmo sat on the dresser, slouched and frayed at the edges, its stitched seams visible in uneven lines—clearly done by an unpracticed hand. it was amateurishly repaired, the kind of haphazard work a child might do when they were trying to fix something that was once beloved, not caring how it looked as long as it was whole again.

it was the same one. there was no mistaking it. the muppet’s orange nose was slightly off-center, where their stitches hadn’t lined up properly, and one eye was smaller than the other.

their heart clenched, an ache so familiar it was almost comforting, and for a second, they were eight again, sitting cross-legged on the floor of their childhood bedroom, hands trembling as they tried to patch the torn elmo plushie back together. it had been torn to shreds by paolo, your mom’s neighbor’s pitbull, and you’d cried—they hated seeing you cry.

the memory hit them like cold water, their body suddenly stiff, eyes wide as if they’d seen something that didn’t belong in the present.

and then, you speak, completely unaware of the weight they were carrying.

“oh, i see you found my favourite plushie. don’t really know where i got this from, but it looks cute, don’t you think?”

your voice was light, casual, almost dismissive as you twirled the stuffed toy in your hands. like it was just an object, a relic of some forgotten childhood. but for them, it was the artifact of a time when the world was bigger, when the two of you were inseparable, when they would’ve done anything to fix even the smallest thing for you.

W’s breath caught in their throat, and they had to force themselves to blink, to remember how to speak. their heart pounded, not from excitement, but from the disorienting rush of memories. they had given this to you. or tried to.

they had stitched it back together so carefully, spending hours making sure it was perfect before nervously handing it over. you’d smiled back then, said you liked it, and they’d believed it meant something. something more than just a token, more than just a toy.

but you didn’t remember. you didn’t even know where it came from. a part of them wishes you didn’t still have it. wishes you’d forgotten completely, because this—you keeping it, but not remembering them—is so much worse.

they swallowed hard, trying to keep their voice steady. “yeah, it’s... cute.” the word felt wrong in their mouth, like it was somehow betraying the weight that muppet plush carried for them.

their gaze lingered on it, their mind racing, wondering if you had kept it because you cared, or if it was just some forgotten relic of a time you no longer remembered.

you smiled, tilting your head. “it kind of feels like something special, you know? like it was given to me by someone important. i just wish i could remember who.”

W’s chest tightened, the claustrophobic feeling spreading through them. someone important. you didn’t remember them, but you still felt something. they looked at you, at the elmo plush dangling from your hand, its threadbare form a little sad, like a reflection of something lost. something that was once held together, but now, you didn’t even recognize the hands that put it back together.

they wanted to say something, wanted to tell you the truth, but the words tangled in their throat. what was the point? you didn’t remember, and the idea of reminding you now—of laying bare this vulnerable part of themself—felt utterly terrifying.

W laughed, though it sounded strained, and ran a hand through their blonde locks.

“i, uh…” they cleared their throat, glancing down, hands gripping the edge of their denim aviator jacket. “i used to know someone who had one just like that. torn by a dog, actually. i stitched it up for them.”

your head snapped up. there was something flickering behind your eyes, something W couldn’t quite read. it almost looked like jealousy, but that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? you couldn’t be jealous over a stupid story from childhood.

“really?” you asked, your voice carefully neutral. “who was it for?”

they paused, their heart hammering in their chest. they didn’t want to say it outright—they didn’t want to ruin this delicate, strange balance between you. so they shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “just... someone i knew. a friend.”

you nodded, but there’s a glimmer in your eyes, something that was very close to envy.

“i bet they were really important to you, huh?” your voice has an edge, and W can hear the undercurrent of an unspoken emotion which you were trying to suppress.

they want to laugh, but it catches in their throat. “yeah,” they mutters, their gaze flicking to the floor. “they were.”

you glanced down at the toy again, running your fingers over the uneven stitching, and W’s stomach twisted. they wanted to reach out, to tell you it was theirs, that they’d sewn every stitch with clumsy hands, that it meant something to them because it had been for you, only for you. but instead, they just stood there, rooted to the spot, their mind spinning with the weight of what you didn’t know.

“was that friend really close to you?” you asked softly, your voice almost too quiet, as if you were afraid of the answer.

W froze, caught off guard by the question. they hadn’t expected that. they hadn’t expected you to ask, hadn’t expected you to care. but now, standing there with the past pressing down on them, they realized they couldn’t lie—not about this.

“they were... they meant a lot to me,” they said carefully, their voice barely above a whisper. they looked away, not wanting to see the confusion or the hurt or whatever it was that might show on your face. “it was a long time ago, though.”

you nodded slowly, though something about your posture had stiffened, like you were trying to process what they’d said, trying to make sense of it.

“i see,” you murmured, your eyes flicking back to the toy in your hands. “that’s really nice. i don’t really remember much about my childhood.”

W swallowed hard, feeling the weight of those words. you didn’t remember. of course you didn’t, the last summer you spent together was the darkest period of your life. how would you remember them, or the hours they’d spent trying to make that muppet perfect for you, or the way they’d felt when you smiled and said you liked it? and yet, you’d kept the plush. you’d kept it all these years, even though you had no idea it had been them.

“yeah,” they said quietly, their voice heavy with understanding and empathy. “i guess a lot of things get forgotten once you grow up.”

you didn’t respond, but you didn’t need to. the silence between you said enough—that painful, lingering silence that wrapped itself around the two of you like a python of what could’ve been.

the muppet sat in your lap, a symbol of a shared past that only one of you remembered, and W felt that ache again—that deep, hollow ache of being close to you but so far away. like you had travelled to the stars and they had no way of reaching you anymore.

they took a deep breath, trying to pull themself back together, trying to focus on the present, on the fact that you were still here, even if you didn’t remember.

“anyway,” W said, forcing a smile, “i’m glad you kept it. even if you don’t remember where it came from.”

you smiled, though it didn’t reach your eyes, and W wondered if some part of you did remember, somewhere deep down. whether it was an actual possibility or W’s wishful thinking, you didn’t say anything else about it, and neither did they.

and in the end, all W could do was smile back at you, pretending like it didn’t hurt. like they hadn’t been completely forgotten as well.

[ambers-archive]

who am i, darling to you (ii)

surrender to the sound

The low hum of the engine came to life as you found your seat on the plane. 

"So, let's go over what we know. The unsub targets honeymooning couples, but the question is, how does he manage to catch them off guard?" Hotch asked

He was seated across from you, and you pretended not to notice his eyes occasionally drowning into yours. 

You flipped around your case file, while your other hand was clutching onto your favorite book.

You know it inside out: it was your grandmother's favorite, and apparently your mother's as well. 

Some of the pages still smell like the incense she used, and her hair oil. 

It’s a relic, or time capsule you think. One of bedtime stories, sleepless nights, and memories just out of reach.

"Given the lack of signs of struggle at the crime scenes, it's possible that the unsub is either surprising them or has some form of control that keeps them compliant." Reid chimed in sitting next to you.

You two got along really well, he was the first one to strike a conversation with you since joining the team. Few days into your reassignment to the team he approached your desk. 

You were reading: And then there were none. 

He complimented your taste and went on to analyze it himself. "You know, one of the most intriguing aspects of the book is how it delves into the psychology of guilt and remorse. Each character in the story is haunted by their past actions, and their guilt ultimately becomes their downfall." 

And just like that he became one of your best friends. 

Emily offered you and Spencer some coffee as she took the seat across from you. You smiled at her; all of them were like family to you. Emily and Penelope, the sisters you never had.

And JJ like to the mother always wanted.

Sometimes you look around and can’t believe you have people around you, who love you, and want to spend time with you. 

It was nice, everyone on the team was really welcoming.  

Even Hotch, well as welcoming as he can be. 

At first you would get a brief nod from him, and sometimes when you delivered a profile correctly, a slight raise of his eyebrows and some stolen glances which you kept close to your heart. 

Recently though you’ve been getting occasional smiles, few compliments, and brief moments of laughter. But quick as they come, quicker they disappear. 

Morgan leaned forward from his seat next to Hotch, "But how does he target his victims in the first place? I mean, we're talking about well-prepared honeymooners, not easy targets."

"He could be monitoring their activities before attacking. The unsub might be studying them, learning their routines, and finding the perfect moment without raising suspicion." You said, it felt almost scary to you, the way you're able to dissect their behaviors, putting yourself in the mind of a serial killer, profiling, and going over the most heartbreaking cases.

You hunt, just like they did. 

And the patterns he left on the women are still stuck in the back of your head. He hates women.

(That much is clear)

"This type of power play, especially if it were done post-mortem, suggests a level of sadism." You continued. "These women most likely represent a source of his resentment." 

“So we're dealing with an unsub who targets couples, targets the women specifically, and is able to go into their rooms undetected." Emily said, "Should be easy enough." 

“Emily and I can go to the resort, ask for their security footage. There’s gotta be something we can find out.” Morgan said. 

“Since you have experience with sexual assault cases you and Reid go see autopsy results. See if these marks were post-mortem." Hotch said, looking over at you and Reid.

You were relieved you weren't paired with him, you overthought every decision around him.

And you could barely look him in the eye, your words often died out at the tip of your throat: impossible to convey words of much intelligence. 

The air in the coroner's office was thick. 

Of course temperature wise it was cool, and airy. Detached and void of anything warm. the victims bodies told so many stories. 

"These markings: they're deep stab wounds. They were also done post-mortem," Dr. Fields stated. "They are precise, not hesitation wounds—he knew what he was doing from the beginning."

"He seems to be targeting their femininity. This stems from a deep hatred for women," Spencer muttered.

"Or a woman," You interjected.

"You think these victims are surrogates for someone else in his life?" 

"The time and effort it takes someone to inflict these wounds takes determination. This sort is indicative of someone affected by past trauma."

"What can we know about husbands?" Spencer asked, redirecting the focus to the examiner. 

"Whereas the women died from strangulation, the men were drowned, and it's assumed they were drowned in their hotel bathtub," Dr. Fields responded

"So he takes his time with the women, gets it over with with the men?" Spencer asked. 

"The time of death for the male victims was hours earlier than their wives. Maybe he wanted to eliminate the competition, wanted to enjoy his time alone with them?" You suggested. 

ʚ ═══･୨ ꕤ ୧･═══ ɞ

"Strauss wants a briefing on this case." Hotch announced walking into the makeshift briefing room. It was a tiny station in a small town in Florida. 

Emily snorted, "So she can question everything we have so far about the profile?" 

"I'm not sure, but it sounded urgent that she wants to talk to the whole team." Hotch replied by opening the laptop and starting the call to Quantico. 

"Hello agents." Strauss said as the call came to life, holding up the case files. "The director called, he wants to consider you going undercover. Due to the high popularity of this resort, and the timing in which these murders are being committed-"

"We might need to understand his patterns from within the environment he operates in." Hotch finished for her, 

A collective pause filled the room, and their words hung in the air, an uneasy silence passed through the team.

The team hadn't gone undercover in years. 

"Undercover?" Morgan broke the silence, "This team hasn't gone undercover for years, Hotch and I are the one of the only ones who's gone undercover, but never as a team."

"Going undercover as a honeymooning couple could give us an advantage. It might put us right where the unsub is likely to strike." Emily responded

"It could help us observe the surroundings, identify any potential patterns or anomalies that we might miss from an investigative standpoint." Reid said, agreeing with Emily. 

"This only calls for a couple since the unsub is targeting couples. We need two agents to pose as husband and wife." Strauss said

You sucked in a breath, the thought of going undercover sent shivers down your spine, you've done stimulations before, but the real thing? You push the feeling down as soon as it bubbles up.

You only joined a year ago surely they would want someone more experienced, someone who's shown themselves proved themselves to the team more. 

But before your mind could fall deeper into your thoughts the sound of Hotch's name coming from Strauss stopped you. "Based on your experience and being Unit Chief the director wants you at the forefront of it." Hotch nodded, looking at the rest of the team. 

"I would like to take Agent Prentiss since she has experience with Doyle-“

"Actually Agent, I believe it would be better if someone else went in with you."

 And suddenly you were the only one in the room, a pair of uneasy green eyes met yours, Hotch raising his eyebrows ever so slightly. 

And if you were crazy enough you would think he looked worried.

 "With all due respect Ma'am I don't think she had enough field experience for this." 

"I am concerned about that, however it has been brought to my attention that our unsub has a type and they all have a resemblance to-“

"To me" You finished for her. trying to sit up straighter and slow the beatings of your heart as you meet hotch's eyes. "If we can use my cover as bait, I would know what to say and how to be careful around him-" 

Hotch looked over at you, calling out your name. "This is very risky, and dangerous not to mention doing a covert mission like this won't be easy." 

“I understand Sir, but-"

“I don’t want any of my agents going in a bait, the profile isn’t complete yet. We don’t know what we’re looking for.” Hotch responded, eyes still boring into yours. 

“Agent Hotchner we can’t wait until there are more victims, I’m sorry but it's the director's orders.” Strauss said, “We’ll send over the alias needed and with the information you have now it should be a simple task." And with that Strauss signed off, leaving only you and the team looking uneasy. 

"This could work, Aaron,” Rossi said, sitting off to the side scribbling absentmindedly on his notepad.  “While you two are undercover we can gather more pieces to the profile with your insight." 

"Let's go over the victims, affluent couples honeymooning, madly in love, never leaving each other's sides."

You only caught snippets of the rest of the conversation. You were too busy wondering why for the first time Hotch was avoiding you, his eyes were glued to the board not sparing you a second glance.

[hannahssimblr]

Where u? 

I text Jen from the lonely beach house, Saturday night, the last weekend of the summer and she’s not responding. I give her five minutes and then text again. 

I glance at the clock. It is close to midnight now and she’s been gone all day. Ivy and my parents are sleeping, but I sit fidgeting on the couch, trying and not succeeding to watch a DVD I rented last week and forgot to return. 

I text Shane. 

Five, six minutes, no response, so I try Joe as a last resort. 

Silence. I groan with frustration and open the contacts menu on my phone, the clunky buttons clicking furiously as I scroll to Jen’s number. I can’t believe she’s reduced me to this; to calling her like some relic of the 1990s. I jam the phone up to my ear and listen to the dial tone, leg shaking, teeth worrying at my lip.

And the call is dropped. 

“What the fuck?” I mutter in outrage and navigate to Shane’s number. Hey, man. I imagine myself saying as it rings. I know it’s so weird to call you but I was wondering if you’re with Jen. See I’m just stressed about it in case she’s gone to Joe’s weird brother’s house again. Last time things got a bit weird and I wanted to make sure that-

Shane rejects my call. 

This time I spring up from the couch and start pacing the room, circling around the coffee table, from the bathroom door to the stairs. 

Phoning Jen. Call rejected. 

Phoning Jen. Call rejected. 

Now I'm panicking. I’m imagining her passed out at some heinous house party in a pile of broken glass and blue absinthe. Actually, she’s dead. She’s died and it’s all because of me. Or there’s a creepy guy, maybe-

“Hello?” Her voice finally comes over the line and I almost fall to my knees with relief.

“Oh my God, Jen!” I cry, only then realising how insane I sound. She, however, sounds pissed off. “Why did you ring me like seven times?”

“You weren’t picking up.”

“I’m busy, we were watching a film.”

“What? Where?”

She hesitates. 

“With who?”

“Um,”

“Jenny!”

She lets out a hassled sigh, “Look, Jude-”

“Are you three hanging out without me?” If my entire family wasn’t asleep I would be yelling, but they are, so I am hissing into the receiver, incensed. How could they do this to me? “Wait, you’re planning a surprise party, right? Something I can’t know about, isn’t that it? My birthday is in November though, you’re a few months early but I appreciate the thought, really. So kind.”

“C’mon, Jude.”

“Where are you?”

“Well, I went outside to take your call…” She says vaguely, and I hear the chirping of grasshoppers in the background, nothing specific enough to give her location away. 

“You’re at Joe’s caravan.” I surmise.

“No.”

“Shane’s?”

“Here, look, I-”

“You’re at Shanes! Aha! I caught you out, you little sneak!” And I grin triumphantly until I remember that I am offended, actually, and what they’ve done is hurtful. Sorrow takes hold of my heart, “Wait, why are you hanging out without me though? Why are you hiding this from me?”

There’s a few seconds of silence on the line, and I'm only certain she is still there because I hear Joe’s distinct laugh muffled somewhere in the distant background, “I’m sure you kind of know why,” she says eventually, “you know, with it being Shane’s place and all, it’d just be a bit awkward.”

“Awkward? How?”

“You should probably sort this out between the two of you but-”

“This is about Clóda.”

“Clóda? Um, no, it’s not about that, that’s not what he said anyway.”

If I keep interrogating her I’ll get answers, because Jen is easy. She’s about as good at keeping secrets as a tabloid journalist and she never keeps things from me, at least not for long and I can sense the cracks forming, perfect for sticking my prying fingers into. “Oh?” I say, “Well if it’s not about her then what is it?”

“Really? You can’t think of anything else?”

“No, seriously! Just tell me.”

“I think you should talk to him.”

“What? No, you tell me-”

“It's none of my business!” 

“Jen!” 

She hangs up. 

I curse and stare down at my phone for several long moments, my heart is pumping in my chest. What the hell? I open up a message to Shane and type frantically. 

I delete it. Asking him to meet me somewhere implies that I want to fight him, which I decidedly do not want, because he’d pummel the absolute shit out of me and walk away with half my front teeth lodged in his knuckles. 

As though possessing some telepathic connection with me, Jen sends me a text. 

I slump onto the sofa and stare vacantly at the TV screen and think about all of the things that I have ever done wrong in my life. The time I went to a theme park and shot repeated water cannons at that couple until their inflatable boat capsized. The time I broke my wrist while riding a wheelchair down the travelator in Tesco and got banned for life. The time I drew a giant dick with weed killer on the lawn of the catholic girls school near my house, and so many more things. Smashing flower pots, throwing stones, accidentally breaking vending machines, but I never did anything to intentionally hurt my friends, not really, not maliciously. Everything I’ve ever done has been in the pursuit of entertainment, something funny, something memorable, something to beat back the boredom like encroaching nettles that will sting and blister my ankles. 

Yet it’s not really a voice of reason I can hear in my head now, it’s my fathers, a disembodied head floating by my ear. 

“Why do you act like this?” He scolds, “you’re not a child anymore, we shouldn’t have to deal with this kind of behaviour. Can’t you just sit still? Can’t you just be calm? See this is it, this is how you are, you don’t think before you act. You know, other parents don’t have kids like this. Other parents have kids that do as they’re told, who don’t cause trouble, who don’t get phone calls from the school reporting of yet another problem, another detention, and you’re-”

I jump as my phone springs to life on the cushion beside me, buzzing obnoxiously and hopping toward the edge of the seat. I’m certain it’s Jen again, so I snatch it up in a fury.

“Look, Jen, you were right, it’s not a good time to talk. I actually think I just want to be on my own and…” I trail off when I realise it is not her on the line. It’s someone else, maybe someones. All that I can hear is giggling. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[howlingday]

Well, since you've done DBZA, you've opened a Pandora Box of ideas, but for your sanity, I'll only choose a few:

-Tien Kikoho against Cell or any scene that involves two. Cell could be Cinder while Tien could be Winter.

-Cell's Perfect Song with Cinder singing it.

-Nappa 'Are we there yet' with Sun being Nappa and Blake Vegeta or the return of Ghost Nappa with Ghost Vegeta.

-Goku and Vegeta talking about the Spirit Bomb against Buu or Vegeta insulting Goku for not grabbing Gohan when Buu exploded the Earth. Ruby and Cinder could be those two respectively.

-SSJ2 Gohan's red flag. Yang could be Gohan and Goku could be Raven in this case

You dare challenge me with DBZA? Foolish... You've yet to witness my true power, and you still beg for annihilation. Very well... WITNESS OBLARITY! ...You know, like oblivion and hilarity and- Oh, forget it! Here's RWBY as Dragon Ball Z Abridged.

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

Winter: NOT YET!

Cinder: Hm? Oh my god, it's Winter! What, was Jaune busy?

Winter: GRR!

Cinder: Come on, sweetheart. You can't be serious. With your power scaling? You're barely a maiden! You're not a wizard! And you're certainly no Silver Eyed Warrior!

Winter: Yeah? Well, you know what?!

Winter: FUCK POWER SCALING!

Winter: FUCK SILVER EYED WARRIORS!

Winter: AND FUCK! YOU!

Winter: WEIßER WINTERTOD!

Cinder: Aw~! How cute~! She named-

Cinder: OH SHIT!

=========================

Cinder: (Tosses away eyepatch, Flexes every Maiden power)

Cinder: M is for Momentous; this time you will rue~! Cinder: A is for Annihilation of all the hope you've held to~! Cinder: I is for Immolation, which all will come to know~! Cinder: D is for how DICKED you'll get, now allow me to really show~! Cinder: E is for Eccentric; just listen to my song~! Cinder: N is for No other maidens, which I've wanted for so long~! Cinder: Me is for who I fight for, in case you couldn't tell...

Cinder: I'm the one true Maiden, Cinder, and I'd like to welcome you... TO HELL.

=========================

Sun: Are we there yet?

Blake: No.

Sun: Are we there yet?

Blake: No!

Sun: Are we there yet?

Blake: NO!

Sun: Are we there yet?

Blake: Yes.

=========================

Salem: (Ghost) 'EY~!

Ashe: Wait... Auntie Salem? What are you doing here?

Salem: So, funny story, it turns out liquor and porno don't mix well after taking viagra! But it's my fault. Should've stuck with playing one hand pocket pool.

Ashe: I don't get it.

Salem: Ask your Mom when you get the chance.

Ashe: But she's dead!

Cinder: (Ghost) The fuck am I doing here?

Salem: (Gasps)

Cinder: Oh no...

Salem: CIIIIIIIIIIIINDEEEEEEEEEE

=========================

Mad Witch Neo: ...

Ruby: Uh, so she's still stronger than the both of us, right?

Mad Witch Neo: (Howling, Beating her chest)

Cinder: ...And almost as dumb.

Ruby: Got any ideas?

Cinder: Well, the older version of Ashe is still stronger, so where is she?

Ruby: She's... back in Remnant. So, you know... Dead.

Cinder: Wha-?! THEN WHO DID YOU GRAB?!

Ghira: Hey.

Ilia: Hey.

Cinder: ARE YOU KIDDING ME, ROSE?!

Ruby: I had to grab Ilia! Come on, she's the guardian of the relics now!

Cinder: The little god, I get, but why that fat-headed coward?!

Ghira: I can hear you, you know!

Cinder: Good! I want you to!

Ruby: Look, I panicked, so I grabbed the relics, okay?

Ilia: Oh! So that's all I am to you, am I?

Mad Witch Neo: (High-pitched howling, Runaway train engine piston motion)

Cinder: Great, so we have the relics, so now we just have to live long enough to use them.

Ruby: Oh, come on! I'm sure we'll be just fi- (Strangled by Neo, Thrown around)

Ghira: ...I see you for more than what you carry.

Ilia: Your daughter is a two-timing slut!

Ghira: Just like her mother...

=========================

Raven: Uh... You make a very good point-

Yang: Then shut up and put on your poncho.

Yang: YOU'RE IN THE SPLASH ZONE.

Raven: ...Is that also a red flag?

Qrow: CRIMSON.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

All right, I didn’t want to do this, to dignify this bullshit with attention, but I’m going to be annoyed about it anyway and if I write the annoyance down and post it somewhere then I can move on from thinking about it. That’s pretty much why this whole blog exists – write the thoughts down, put them somewhere outside me, then I can move on from them.

Many days when I wake up, I check Chortle like it’s the morning paper. It’s not a perfect website. In many ways, it’s rather a shit website. The frequency of the typos is genuinely amazing, for a website that people get paid to make. But I’m not on Twitter (and I don’t think going there would be a good way to find fewer writing errors in my way of getting comedy news), and I want to know what’s going on in British comedy, and that’s a good way to scan the headlines.

I’m not doing a Chortle headlines roundup this morning, where I post the actual headlines. I almost linked to their top story today, and then decided I shouldn’t, and this is the first time I’ve ever thought I shouldn’t link to Chortle. Because Chortle’s imperfect, but it’s not evil, a link to there is not going to drive traffic that’ll be used for nefarious means, it’s not like linking to the Daily Mail or some shit.

But I still don’t want to link to this one. Throughout the Edinburgh Festival this year, I got annoyed when they posted an article about it pretty much every time Graham Linehan left his house. Why give this attention? Why treat this like it deserves any relevance? Why play directly into his hands, by constantly covering what is very, very clearly a contrived publicity stunt? Why write an article about how this is a transparent ploy for attention, when the writing of that article clearly rewards it with the exact attention he wants? (For anyone who didn’t follow it, basically, Graham Linehan got himself booked on a gig that got canceled so he could shout about being canceled, and then he did his set anyway in the street. It really isn’t that interesting.)

Well, we know what it was all for now. Everyone who said it was a publicity stunt was right, and everyone who publicly said it was a publicity stunt did, in fact, contribute to further publicity for what was definitely a publicity stunt. And not just some general publicity stunt to garner attention for the general concept of Graham Linehan – it was a specific guerrilla marketing campaign for this book. And everyone played into his hands.

That’s the Chortle top story I’m not linking to – today’s announcement that he’s written a book about how he got canceled. I realized today that, as annoyed as I am about everyone giving him the attention – I still clicked all those Chortle headlines this summer. And I don’t click every Chortle headline. I click the ones that interest me. But I clicked every one that mentioned Linehan, because I was curious. Thereby letting Chortle know that they can get the click-based attention their business model requires by continuing to give Linehan the attention he needs to market his book. What a fucked up state of the world. I’m not trying to, like, cancel Chortle or anything. I’m still going to read that site and link to it when I think there’s something interesting. But I can at least avoid linking to their Linehan articles.

That’s what’s in it, though. Graham Linehan has written a book and it’ll be published next month. The book is the type of thing that should really be a relic by now, shouldn’t it? It’s been a cliché, at this point, for comedians to make jokes about the provocateur who gets a book deal and TV spots and uses them to talk loudly and publicly about how they’ve been silenced. That joke’s been done to death, we’re all now aware of how absurd that is. So how on Earth are people still doing it unironically? It would be like someone doing an unironic, unsuberverted “What’s the deal with airplane food?” joke in 2023.

If that were all this was, I’d have read the article, rolled my eyes, and moved along. Because like I said, I don’t want to give it attention (though I’d argue that my tiny tiny Tumblr blog giving attention to something does not make me hypocrite for complaining about one of the biggest websites in comedy giving it attention – it’s not the same thing). But this article listed the quotes that have been lent in support of the book. Andrew Doyle – obviously. Simon Evans – no surprise, don’t care, though I’d say this might push him from “really shitty right-wing comic but I guess he’s sort of just barely on the slightly more acceptable side of right-wing, and therefore it’s not totally unconscionable that that they have him on The News Quiz sometimes, a bit like Geoff Norcott as much as Geoff Norcott fucking sucks”, to “seriously, if the BBC keeps booking this guy, I might go beyond just skipping his episodes and be done with The News Quiz altogether”.

Then there’s Jonathan Ross, which is slightly more notable because he’s still out there in the mainstream respectable side of comedy (well, light entertainment, at least), but not a surprise. I think he’s already publicly expressed support for Linehan, anyway. Also, he married his wife when he was 28 and she was 18, after meeting her when he was 26 and she was 16. Who cares about anything else about him?

That’s a bit how I feel about Frank Skinner too – why is there any debate about whether he’s a good guy, when he married a teenager who was ten years his junior (though in Skinner’s case, there’s the added fun element that he was her teacher)? This isn’t some vague rumour that he might have fucked a teenager, where we can pretend it might not be true, like with Noel Fielding. He definitely did it, they got married. They had a ceremony with witnesses and legal documents to formally acknowledge that he definitely fucked that teenager. I don’t care what else he’s done, that should be enough to end the conversation about whether we like this guy.

I’ve thought before that it says something about standards and values in the 00s that Jonathan Ross had a very successful career in the public eye for many years after marrying a teenager, no one minded that, he only got in trouble with the BBC after he made some lewd phone calls (I think those phone calls are the thing that have landed Russell Brand in the most actual hot water as well, despite those being much less bad than the crimes he’s confessed to in public, not to mention the ones that he hasn’t). Around the same time, Frankie Boyle said a bunch of horribly misogynistic and racist shit on Mock the Week, and that was all fine, he only got fired for a joke that was insufficiently reverent about the queen. Interesting where the BBC draws its lines.

Anyway, this has gone very off topic, but the point is that I don’t care what Jonathan Ross has said, because I never liked him anyway (I mean, he is also really annoying, but that shouldn’t be the main reason to dislike him in light of the fact that he married a teenager). That leaves just one person who gave a supportive quote to Linehan that counts as a surprise or disappointment, which is Richard Ayoade.

“Graham Linehan has long been one of my favourite writers - and this book shows that his brilliance in prose is the equal to his brilliance as a screenwriter. It unfolds with the urgency of a Sam Fuller film: that of a man who has been through something that few have experienced but has managed to return, undaunted, to tell us the tale.”

Normally, I would not hold a pull quote on a book against anyone. I know those things don’t mean anything. I know that much of the time, the person who wrote the quote didn’t even read the book. I know they were just asked to say something so they did, or maybe they even just let their publicist write something and then signed off on it. But in this case, even if that’s what happened, that doesn’t make it better. The unconscionable thing here is lending any support to Linehan in 2023. You can’t even make some argument about separating the art from the artist, because this is the artist. It’s not an unrelated stand-up comedy set, it’s a book about how his views are fine and he shouldn’t have been canceled for them. Even if Richard Ayoade never read that book, he signed off on having his name attached to a statement that a book on that subject is okay.

The only thing that would justify this is if it turns out they took a quote he said years ago out of context, or if they made it up entirely. The former seems unlikely as he seems to be talking directly about this book, referring to Linehan's ability to write prose. The latter seems unlikely as inventing this seems like an absurd thing to do even by Graham Linehan’s standards, and if he had, you’d think Richard Ayoade would make some statement denying it.

God damn it. I mean, it’s not the end of the world. I’m not quite emotionally invested enough in being a fan of Richard Ayoade to have that much difficulty in saying, “Okay, I’m definitely done being a fan of that guy now.” But I did like him. I’d love to revise history and say I never liked him, but that wouldn't be true. I can claim to have been on the right side of history a little bit, in that I always thought The IT Crowd was overrated. I first watched it when I was in high school because all my friends loved it and I wanted to see what the fuss was about, and I didn’t think it was that great. I re-watched it in 2020, and thought some of it was funny, but it didn’t deserve to be as revered as it was. Once I learned more about Linehan, I became pleased that I took that viewpoint (I also never got into Black Books, tried one episode years ago and didn’t much like it). I guess I have another reason to consider that the right side of history now. But I can’t pretend I never liked Richard Ayoade.

Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace is a fucking masterpiece. I thought Question Team was great. The IT Crowd was sometimes funny. He was funny on Mighty Boosh things. And I always find him funny on panel shows. Any episode of Catsdown or Big Fat Quiz or Buzzcocks or anything like that will be funnier if Richard Ayoade’s in the lineup. He’s quick and he’s sharp and he plays his persona brilliantly. He's funny. I liked him enough to feel disappointed about being done with him now, but not enough to feel conflicted about it.

Though on the subject of the persona… look, if Richard Ayoade really thinks it’s fine to dedicate your life to insisting that everyone should have to remain exactly what they were when they were born and cannot ask people to see them as anything different from that, then I’d like to point out, it’s not his real voice.

Which is fine, it really is. I’ve shared those things before to laugh at the contrast between that version of Richard Ayoade and the guy we know now, but I don’t think it means he actually did anything wrong. Comedians using personas is totally normal, though Richard Ayoade took it farther than many do. He played one really nerdy character in about 2006, and then got stuck having to continue playing that character on every TV appearance for the rest of his life. Which you’d think he might consider limiting, but I guess it did also make him large amounts of money, which might be why the limiting nature of the persona he took on did not stop him from feeling destructive levels of loyalty to its creator.

He just... you didn't need this, Richard! You absolutely did not need to do this! Why couldn't you have just kept doing what all the other apolitical comedians like you do: shut up about it, and let us all assume your political views are probably basically fine, even while we vaguely know in the back of our minds that probably if we ever heard you tell us what you think about everything we wouldn't be able to like you anymore? You know, like we do with possibly some of your Cambridge contemporaries? (David Mitchell, I'm going to need you to shut your mouth very tightly about this, as tightly as you shut your mouth when you were next to Robert Webb in that interview where he was refusing to walk back his transphobic comments, because as long as you continue to not actually say anything, I can continue to like you.)

I understand why some comedians go right-wing. Small ones, struggling to build a career in the mainstream, do a Comedy Unleashed show so they can compete in the smaller and less competitive market of right-wing comedy. And/or they say something horrible because it might get them on the front page of Chortle and even negative publicity still helps them build a brand.

But Richard Ayoade did not need to do that. He fucking won in the mainstream comedy arena. He can get on the front page of Chortle any time he wants. He did not fucking need this. I was trying to think of the best way to describe this situation, and I have to give @lastweeksshirttonight credit for being, as usual, more concise and clear about things than I am as they used the term "unforced error". There's no a better way to put it than that. There was no reason for this.

Okay, those are my thoughts, I have written them down and put them somewhere, and I shall now move the fuck on and stop paying attention to it. But fucking hell, this is annoying. I did like the guy. Why taint the legacy of Garth Marenghi this way?

[rizzilience]

That’s it. That’s the title.

This is dedicated to @definesanity and @rits-crackerz . Curse you both for corrupting me /aff

Anyway TK14 R1999 SMUT LOOK AWAY RAHHHHH (BUT ITS NOT ACTUALLY SMUT)

If there is one word that Vertin would use to describe how Sonetto has been making her feel recently, it would be helpless.

It started out innocent enough: asking for her chief assistant’s company when writing reports, doodling small drawings of her in the margins of notebooks, admiring how her eyes almost look golden in the dawn’s light, feeling her heart flutter whenever she amused the request for an ‘Italian Cheek Kissing Greeting’….

Not that she’s a stranger to such a feeling. Vintage clippings stashed away in the attic were nothing but evidence of that.

And how could she forget the sharp, bittersweet taste of oranges once on her lips?

But this is new. This is different. Like she’s burning alive from the inside out, suffocated by indomitable flames, with smoke that clouds both her vision and any remnants of sense she has left.

Which is why some time ago, Vertin stole one of Sonetto’s shirts from her laundry basket, the scent making her head spin more than any one of Lilya’s spirits. The snake of greed and lust coiled around the fabric in her hands. When it writhed, so did she at the thought of her own actions.

This was wrong, everything about it was wrong, but still she kept that shirt tucked away in her room like her most prized relic.

Of course, guilt and disgust were gnawing on her bones, but so was something else. By now, it had gone past the bone completely and was screaming, crying out to be heard in her marrow.

It’s why she’s now sprawled in her bed, on the one day the rest of her crew have left the suitcase. There’s nothing but silence to confront this sickening despair. One hand clutches the shirt close to her face, while the other moves frantically, desperate to relieve the feelings scorching her brain.

Over and over, she chants Sonetto’s name like an anguished prayer. Unfortunately for her, her prayers were answered as she heard the footsteps of her legend puppy thunder through the hallway.

Shit. Sonetto had returned from her mission early? Of course she did. Perfect Sonetto, best of the best…

“Timekeeper?!” her chief assistant raps on the door frantically. “Are you okay? I hear wailing!”

Vertin genuinely has no idea how to save her situation. What can she say to make this any better? Nothing.

So she says nothing.

“Timekeeper? Vertin? Please forgive me, but I am going to break down the door.”

Vertin barely has any time to cover herself under the sheets when her door is opened with a loud bang, the sound thundering throughout the suitcase.

Sonetto flies in, pupils the size of pinpricks. When she sees Vertin haphazardly covered up in bed, they somehow shrink even more.

“Timekeeper? Are you sick?” Sonetto asks, her voice immediately softening. “I told you to stop working past midnight…”

Then she starts to walk towards Vertin. Too close too close too close—

Sonetto is just about to put a hand to Vertin’s clammy forehead when she catches sight of something: the evidence of the Timekeeper’s crimes. The golden collar of her own shirt glimmers in the late afternoon’s sunlight.

“Timekeeper? Is that… my…”

Before Vertin can hide the shirt, Sonetto grabs it, lifting up the sheets in the process. Which reveals the Timekeeper’s very naked body to her. Straight away, Vertin pulls the sheets back over herself.

Sonetto immediately springs back, blood rushing to her face. She stares at Vertin. Vertin stares back.

After a moment of agonising silence, both Sonetto and Vertin ramble their hurried apologies simultaneously.

“I’m really sorry—”

“Please forgive me—”

“I shouldn’t have done that—”

“Wait.” Sonetto cuts in. “Timekeeper, why are you apologising as well? I clearly invaded your boundaries!”

“Well, I… invaded your boundaries too. With… with the shirt…” Vertin mumbles, her cheeks flushing.

“What do you mean? It’s fine, Timekeeper. Really. You’re sick. You’re not in your right mind. Please just… have a good rest…”

“No, wait… about that. I… um…”

Against her better judgement, Vertin decided to confess everything to Sonetto. How she made her feel, the shirt, what she just did, everything.

“…Aren’t you ashamed of me?” she asks when she finishes.

She expects outrage, mortification or disgust. But instead, her chief assistant is approaching this situation like one of her missions. In fact, can Vertin see a glimmer of delight in her eyes…?

"Timekeeper… Not only don't I care... but I feel sorry that you even tried to repress such feelings. You deserve better, you deserve to be happy."

Sonetto pauses, studying her.

“And if I tell you truthfully... the only thing I am ashamed of is that I couldn't have been there with you."

Completely caught off guard, Vertin’s mouth opens slightly.

“What?” she whispers.

“Timekeeper, it is my sworn duty to assist you in any way possible.” Sonetto speaks solemnly. “And if you need anything, then I want to be sure that I can—”

“Sonetto, please don’t feel obligated to do this.” Vertin interrupts frantically.

“Obligated?”

Suddenly, Sonetto is on the bed as well, pulling the sheets off Vertin’s body, crawling towards her.

“Timekeeper, I want to do this. I may not have much experience, but I want to be of any help to you that I can. Because…”

Only now does Sonetto grow bashful.

“I have had similar feelings as well, and it pained my chest how strong they were. But now, now that I know that you feel the same way…”

Her hands tentatively hold Vertin’s bare waist. They’re like a soothing balm and searing hot coals at the same time, making Vertin want to both melt into the mattress and writhe in agony.

“We can… help each other with those feelings as well.”

Man idk if ill ever finish this sorryyyyyy

[dru-plays-starbound]

Home That Our Feet May Leave, But Not Our Hearts

Universe: Starbound CW: Swearing, deliberate tense switching Words: 3212 Context: Started for August's monthly prompt: "Home". Finished for the Woe, Cubes be Upon Ye Protectorate Event. Title is from The Poet at the Breakfast Table by Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr. Concrit welcome. Or read on AO3 Tag list (ask for +/-): @jacquesfindswritingandadvice, @writeblrsupport

Somewhere, an alarm is chirping incessantly. Mio pulls the covers up, trying to drown out the sound. "Cadet." The voice has an electronic cadence, devoid of emotion. "Cadet, wake up. I calculate a 99% chance that you will be late if you don't get up now." Mio throws the covers back. "SAIL?" "No. This is your other automated assistant, LIAS." The delivery is almost deadpan. "Oh, very funny," Mio replies, equally deadpan. "You know, I regret ever installing that sarcasm module. Just my luck it was unstable…" The air is the first thing she notices – it's fresh and clear, devoid of the synthetic smell recycled air carries. The light is bright and warm, reflecting off light grey and orange walls. Mio nictitates. "SAIL, what day is it?" SAIL's audio crackles as it plays a snippet from an old movie, "Why, it's Christmas Day!" "Ocean Tides, SAIL!" Mio runs a hand over her face. "Mio, are you unwell? Did you somehow forget today is your graduation day?"

Mio fumbles out of bed and stares at the room. "I think I'm dreaming…" The sunset postcard and hula girl Lonny got from xir sister. Goldwall's maintenance manuals next to Chian's trashy romance novels next to Mio's textbooks. Xilli's turtle plush, Fabian's guitar… It's all exactly as Mio remembers, right down to Chian's clothes spilling out of the drawers. Mio pulls the turtle plush off its shelf, crushing it against her chest. She can feel the soft pile, feel it tickle the membranes of her hands. It even has the little worn spot on the top of its paw that they all rubbed for luck or anxiety. Mio finds herself thumbing it even now. This doesn't feel like a dream, and yet… "SAIL, what the fuck is going on?"

"Mio, I am concerned. I know you have been looking forward to graduation day; however, I recommend you forgo the ceremony and instead get checked out by the medical team." "I feel fine, SAIL. I'm just…" Already the lines are blurring. "I'm confused. I had a dream? The craziest dream. The Protectorate was gone, the Earth was destroyed… I met Grand Protector Bright, and she had me collecting these relics…" Mio shakes her head. "Your vitals seem normal," SAIL says, though its tone is reluctant. "If you are to make Graduation, you must hurry." "Right." So Mio shakes off the remnants of her confusion and hurries. Bathroom ablutions are done in haste, her uniform – perfect from where it was laid out the night before – is donned, and she grabs a slice of cold toast Xilli has left out for her, chewing as she rushes through the halls.

Lonny is the first to see her. Xe waves and laughs as Mio is hustled in with her group. They may be Dorm B, but their outstanding performance means they graduate first. As a diplomat, Mio is their team leader and is hustled right to the front of the queue. "Anxious. Hurry, Mio. The ceremony is about to start," Goldwall says, nudging her through. "Why isss Mio sso late?" Chian hisses as Mio passes. "I had a bizarre dream. SAIL was this close to shocking me awake." Xilli clacks her beak. "Tell us about it later. Did you manage to eat something?" "Yes. I found the toast, thank you!" Xilli nuzzles Mio's fronds. "Someone's got to take care of our Captain." "Not Captain!" Fabian chuckles, his eyes dancing. "Not yet." Because they all know it's coming, Mio thinks as she stands proud at the front of the line, straightening her uniform. The six of them will be deployed to join an existing crew, and in a few years they'll get their own ship, and then she'll be Captain.

There's applause as Grand Protector Portia steps up to the podium and begins her speech. A sense of déjà vue floods over Mio, like she's heard these words before. "Today, in the name of peace," Portia is saying. Mio's stomach clenches, dread and fear rising. She shakes her head. "You okay?" Fabian whispers into her ear. "I feel strange," Mio whispers back. Fabian squeezes her shoulder. "It's just-" he starts, but a rumble interrupts him. "Huh?" Mio moves instinctively, like she's done this dance before. She spins, shoving Fabian hard. A chunk of concrete drops from the ceiling between them. "Mio!" "Run!" she screams back.

There is nowhere to go but the stage. Mio's running, scooping the Matter Manipulator up, even as Portia, wrapped in the huge tentacle of some giant beast, is shouting at her to run. She's chased down the corridors by screams and the noise of ripping infrastructure, and arrives on the shuttle pad as smaller tentacles worm their way through the building towards her.

SAIL guides her to a waiting hylotl ship, something she can reliably pilot, and she shoves the AI into the ship's waiting port. As Mio runs the start-up procedures, she can't help but wish Lonny was here next to her. Xe's a far better pilot than she is. Her heart twists. She left her crew. Her family. Her love. "Cadet, I have released the shuttle and plotted a route away from the planet. You may launch." Mio's hand wavers. "Mio. Launch." She hits the ignition, and they rise through the atmosphere. "Engaging FTL… Now!" In her haste, Mio has forgotten her seatbelt. She's slammed back into her seat, then forward. Her head hits the console, and everything goes dark.

–

Mio wakes with a start, jerking upright, and leaping away from a bed. "SAIL?" she calls, voice tight with panic "Good morning," comes the AI's modulated voice. "Where are we?" "Mio?" SAIL sounds worried. "You are in your dormitory at the Terrene Protectorate Academy." "But we-" Mio turns frantically. Golden light reflects off orange and white walls. "There was-" She pulls the turtle plush down from the shelf, crushing it against her chest and thumbing at the bare spot on its paw. "What the fuck?" "You were dreaming, Mio," SAIL says. "I was just about to wake you. If you do not hurry, you'll be late for your graduation." "The graduation!" Mio's eyes widen. "Tides, I have to warn them! Where's Grand Protector Portia?" "She's currently in her quarters. Mio, what are you talking about?" The turtle plush is thrown onto Xilli's bed as Mio runs out of the room, still in her PJs. "Get Fabian on comms. Tell him to grab the crew and our families and get to a shuttle now." "Mio, I understand the last term has been stressful for you-" "Damnit, SAIL! Just do it!"

Mio slides to a halt in front of the Grand Protector's quarters. Taking a breath, she straightens her pyjama top. From within comes Portia's muffled voice, "For over 500 years, we have stood honourably… No, no. We have stood proud…" Mio rings the bell, and the door hisses open. "Blast, is it time already?" Portia asks. Her white hair is neatly swept back, and her ceremonial uniform is missing the golden epaulettes. She's mistaken Mio for her escort. "Ma'am, no. I'm not here to take you to the ceremony. I'm here to take you to safety." "I beg your pardon?" "My name is Mio. I'm a final-year cadet. This will sound crazy, I'm sure, and I can't explain how I know, but we're going to be attacked." Mio swallows. "You'll say 'we welcome our newest compatriots, and present each of them with our greatest tool' and then a giant tentacle will kill you. Please, I must get you to safety." Portia waits for a second, then laughs. "I commend you, Cadet Mio. Usually, the pranks are after the ceremony. I think this is one for the history books." "Ma'am, please. This isn't a prank. Earth is going to be destroyed. I'm trying to warn you!" Portia gives Mio an indulgent smile. "Listen, Cadet. This is one of the more unique and inventive stories I've been given in my tenure as Grand Protector, so I applaud you for that. But I need to finish getting ready. Come and find me afterwards, eh?" Portia turns away, but Mio sticks her foot in the door. She knows she's not being very diplomatic, but the panic for what's going to happen seems to have robbed her good sense. "Ma'am," Mio says firmly. "There's not going to be an after if we don't act now!" "That's enough, Cadet." Portia has a shock weapon in her hand. Mio can already anticipate what's going to happen but knows she still has to try. She takes a step into the Grand Protector's quarters. "Ma'am, please-" Mio's whole body locks up, muscles frozen from the electrical discharge Portia's just struck her with. Mio hits the ground, and everything goes dark.

–

"Cadet. Cadet, wake up." Mio lies in the bed for a moment longer, ignoring the alarm, ignoring SAIL's prodding to rise. Her gaze flits over her surrounds – orange walls, warm sunlight, yellow bedspread – and she sighs. "Hush, SAIL. I'm getting up," Mio says. Mio dresses, eats both slices of the cold toast, and rubs the turtle plush's paw. "It is quite impressive that you can remain so serene when you are running so late. Well done you," SAIL says. Mio says nothing in response, only gives a grim little smile as she exits the dormitory.

"Mio, where are you going?" SAIL says. "The main hall is in the other direction." "I know. Please get Fabian on comms. Tell him to round up the crew and our families, and get them to a shuttle immediately." Mio runs a fond hand over the orange panelling. "Tell him I'm sorry, I won't be joining them." "The message has been sent. Mio, I am concerned. It is unlike you to behave so irrationally." Mio stops at a door, and prises off the keypad's face, fiddling with its innards as Chian taught her. "If something happens once, that's a fluke," she says to SAIL, as she works on the lock mechanism. "If it happens a second time, it's a coincidence. But once something happens a third time, it's a pattern. Agreed?" "Agreed," comes SAIL's cautious assessment. "Then I'm stuck in some kind of time loop. In just under an hour, an eldritch creature is going to obliterate Earth. I don't know why or how this is happening to me, but I've got a chance to stop the beast, so I'm going to take it."

The door hisses open and lights flicker on as Mio walks into a room filled with stacks of weapons and munitions. She walks directly to a cage in the back and picks the lock. "Mio, are you sure you didn't just have a dream?" Mio snorts as she finds what she's looking for – a monstrosity in black and shiny grey. "Yes, SAIL, I had a dream. My dream was to graduate with my friends. To go to the afterparty and introduce my girlfriend to my parents. To have my mother be proud of me. "My dream was to go into space with the people I've spent the last four years training with, to lead them to bold new horizons and share their adventures. "Instead, I end up stranded, Tides' knows where, on a dead ship, all alone. My home, destroyed. Everyone I cared about, murdered. I had to claw my life back, block by block." Mio shoulders the rocket launcher. "The Ruin destroyed my dream. The fuck am I letting it happen again."

It takes longer than Mio would like to get up to the hatch beside the Hall's dome, and many strange looks, but she pulls on the harness, hooks herself onto the safety rail, and starts the climb. The dome is the highest place on the Academy campus. She only knows how to get up here because Whip brought her one morning to watch the sunrise. It had been magical – the golden sunlight glittering off the Thames, turning it into a ribbon of molten gold, and Whip's warm arm around her, protecting her from the wind. The city, unblemished, spreads out before her now, as Mio sets up the rocket launcher. There're no strong, warm arms this time to protect her from the racing wind, and she has to brace herself against the safety rail. SAIL has long since stopped complaining; she can only hope it hasn't sent for Security forces.

The Ruin appears in the blink of an eye. One moment all is serene – the next, the sky is filled with smoke, debris and banded purple tentacles. Through the darkness, Mio sees the glint of something vast and yellow. She aims and fires the rocket launcher. There is an unholy screech. Thick tentacles reach out for her, but she fires again, blasting them apart. The dome shakes. Mio loses her footing. She drops the Ex Machina and watches it skitter away. Something strikes her back. Mio feels the taut safety line snap, and she's plunging towards the edge of the dome. She falls, and everything goes black.

–

An alarm chirps. "Cadet-" "Fuck off, SAIL," Mio says, rolling over. "I'm sick."

An hour later, the building shakes. Mio is knocked out of bed. Goldwall's toolbox falls off a shelf and hits her on the head. Everything goes dark.

–

"Cadet-" "I had a dream that told me not to graduate today," Mio tells SAIL before it can get any further chivvying her awake. She dresses, eats her toast, and tidies the dormitory. As she's putting Chian's clothes away, Mio smiles, thinking of Freya's tendency to drop her clothes wherever.

Mio takes her time strolling down the corridor, chatting to the graduate students. She fixes the vending machine using a trick Nobu taught her, helps the janitor clear the walkway of blossoms – not unlike sweeping flour from Sparkfoot's galley – and sits under the tree, listening to the second-year recite poetry that reminds her of Sakura's. Mio stays on the bench after the second-year leaves, admiring the view and thinking that Kata would like the wind chimes. Then the beast comes. The tree is uprooted, and a falling branch knocks her unconscious.

–

The alarm that woke her was the warning blare of defective machinery. Rather than 'Cadet', SAIL was crying, "Captain! Captain!" The air that greeted her nose was stale, her vision wavering and tinted green as she stared through the darkness at the orange shape flitting distantly. Mio twisted, looking around, trying to figure out where she was. Another flicker, white this time, and closer too. "She's waking up! Get her out of there!" "The mechanism's bust. We'll need to get her out manually." The voices were muted, as if coming through thick glass, or water. Mio nictitated. She pressed her hands against a wall of glass. A tank? Why, by the Ocean Tides, was she in a tank? "Guys!" "I'll do it." Another figure resolved out of the wavering darkness, unmistakably a hylotl by their cyan and lavender markings. Their webbed hands and feet clung to the outside of the tank as they climbed it. Metal reverberated against metal, making the tank shake. Mio gripped the walls, fearful of ending up crushed and cut. But the tank didn't fall. The top was removed, and the other hylotl slid in with her. «Leader,» said the hylotl. Mio nictitated. It had been so long since she'd heard the underwater language, that she struggled to understand them for a moment. «What this?» Mio asked. «Rescue.» The hylotl smiled, achingly familiar. Mio was sure she knew this one, but like spume in a storm, their name escaped her. «Hold still. Many points to remove.» «Points?» The hylotl reached up to her head and pulled something off Mio's scalp. Mio screamed, the tank fluid filling with bubbles as she fought to get away from the searing pain. «Leader, leader, wait,» the other tried to soothe. «No! Pain! Pain!» The other launched themself up, leaning over the top of the tank. "Fife, do you have something that can help?" "Try this." The one in white hands a tube of something to the other. "It's a cream that should make the electrodes come off easier."

Mio's mind whirled as the other hylotl massaged the cream into her fronds, lifting the electrodes from her skull. Fife… Fife is a medic. Fife is her medic. The orange blob resolved itself into the form of an avian… Xictli, Mio's second in command. That makes the hylotl… «Youko.» It's not possible to whisper underwater, so zir attention was on her instantly. «Yes?» Mio nictitated. «Nothing. Continue.» As ze went back to the business of freeing Mio from whatever contraption she'd fallen into, Mio can't help but feel a fluttering in her chest. This is her crew. Her family. They came to rescue her, to take her back to her ship, which she captains. Mio put a hand to her head. Her memories are all so jumbled.

Finally, Youko was done. Ze helped her from the tank and into Xictli and Fife's waiting arms. "What happened?" Mio asked as Fife looked her over. "Your last reported position was just outside this facility." SAIL's words were perfunctory, but its tone was fretful. "You declared your intent to investigate an abandoned apex research facility and shortly afterwards your comms died. I waited three hours, planet time, per our standard procedure, then alerted the crew to your disappearance." "When we arrived," Xictli said, "the place was not as abandoned as expected. We can only surmise you were taken by surprise, captured, and put in this… contraption. I'm sorry it took us so long to find you." "How long?" "A few days." "I can see your vitals are stable," SAIL said, "and aside from some malnutrition, you have no outward signs of injury. Doctor, do you concur?" "I'll do a full diagnostic back on the ship," Fife said. "But from initial evidence, I concur. How do you feel?" Mio opened her mouth, then shut it again and shook her head. "That's fine," Fife said. "It's alright to be confused. I can't imagine what they were doing to you." Yon smiled gently. "Let's get you back home." Mio recoiled. "What?" "To… to the ship?" Fife frowned and glanced at Xictli. "I'm going to need a full workup on what that machine was doing." Xictli ground her beak, hands curling into fists. "I'll bring a team back down after the Captain is safe." Mio closed her eyes briefly. "The base is Miniknog. It's thought reassignment R&D. What-" Her voice stuck in her throat. "What was the programme set to?" Xictli and Youko shared a look. "To assess the subject's perception of 'Home'," Xictli said. Mio nictitated rapidly, flaring her gills. "Of course it fucking was," she said with a choked laugh.

As they rose through the floors of the underground lab, Mio watched her team work on her extraction. They might not be the crew she thought she'd have, and they may not have been the ones she wanted. Nonetheless, they were her crew, the ones she'd chosen, bit by bit. She cared for them – shared their adventures, their triumphs and tribulations. They had, she realised, become as much of a family as her first crew; and her ship as much of a home as the Terrene Protectorate.

[annakarina888]

Some thoughts on art and creating

I always tell myself that I am not the writer. I am not the creator. I’ve spent my whole life analysing the works of others and will likely continue to do so. I occupy an almost liminal space between the logic of science and the freedom of arts. I base my arguments on logic not passion. I used to create art and spent hours painting but I haven’t done so for a long time and I’m too scared of trying and failing. I worry that my drawings will come out flawed, that my poetry will be cliched, so I don’t create. To create is to be vulnerable, to expose yourself to failure and I am too scared. I try to create sometimes and inevitably end up tearing up notebooks with failed poetry and sketches in it, furious that I wasn’t perfect first time. I know that to be a good writer or artist, one has to fail to improve. True art is a constant cycle of trying and failing, of perseverance. I know I can write essays well because I have had to consistently improve, I have failed but was not allowed to quit. Yet I can’t seem to extend this to art and instead give up instantly when I’m not perfect. My room is littered with relics of abandoned hobbies; half crocheted gloves, hidden paintings and balled up poems. The walls are lined with art from when I was younger, from when I tried and made myself improve. I remember when I first started my now favourite painting that I hated the sketch, and I hated the first splashes of red. I remember crying and wanting to destroy the painting, but I couldn’t. My teacher had finally trusted me enough to give me a big canvas which was typically reserved for the scholars, and I couldn’t let her down by abandoning it. So, I continued. And as weeks went by, the painting took shape, the colours began to make sense and I found myself enjoying making it. When I had finished, I was so proud of myself. The initial self-doubt followed me throughout my other paintings, but I learnt to ignore it and to persevere. Eventually, I became sure in myself, able to paint without worrying about failure. When I left that school and came to my current one, I did not have the same opportunities because painting was reserved for the GCSE students. Occasionally I would try to create a small painting but being out of practice they never looked good. Instead of remembering that I needed to persevere, I would throw them away and swear off art again. Now, I consume art instead of being the creator. I devour poetry collections and novels but seldom glance at paintings because they make me wonder what I could have been. This year I want to try to create, to not be scared of failure and maybe make something worthwhile in the process. 

[piacemia]

with otto snoring beside me

dear me,

you've come off a holiday season that stored you right back in that glowy firelit warmth you'd missed out on the past few years. the holidays truly felt like decades, but you lived in them fully and with so much delight. so much more to say, but this isn't about that.

here you are in a home you spent almost half your time in, with two dogpeople that have intertwined along the garden wall with you, three vines growing together more and more each day. what has the year looked like?

jan: grannys birthday! feb: everything everywhere all at once in theaters, julias car needed a stereo so played hookie, march: rain forever, to florida and dc for an east coast extravaganza april: titas birthday in fullerton, lots of outins with jmac, struggling through the last quarter may: finished indoor league <3 , got trapped on coronado, found mold in my closet june: SUMMER SUMMER SUMMER -> met claire, to valle for the first time, to the bay for birthdays and a flight to vancouver + boat to victoria, july: 4th of july at our house, MAGIC CASTLE, beach picnic with a canopy, cristinas birthday and reserving a fire pit at 7 am, and a new year begins with a new staff new admin, new kids. aug: watched barbie, TAYLOR SWIFT, house got painted, prepping our faces off for the europe trip sept: boston on the first day of vacation and then to london!, made one night in paris, and then home early to recover from the chaos, beach picnic and cards, and my car finally kicked the full bucket so welcome to the family rav 4, and the house finally finally got its numbers and a new green door, had a night out at fleet science center with FREE dinner, quieter homes finally giving us ac and windows and locking both me and julia out of the house concurrently, and babysitting of course oct: neighbor's pipe burst, first time surfing! decorating for halloween because we finally had the house back, yves tumor @ observatory, dinner @ amie's, babysitting ollie, creating the great pumpkin for trunk or treat, being cruella deville, and HOZIER!!!!!!!!! nov: billy raffoul w/ amie + steven, jinhui's birthday at din tai fung, TWO FIELD TRIPS (zoo, the grinch), starting mimi and mamie's mixed media martial arts, waffling about staying in sd or home for thanksgiving, home for pia's 21st in sf, camping with jmac in the rain, friendsgiving, driving home at 4am, relic bageri! dec: the whirwind of the winter season and fully embracing the fun at work, decorating the house for the holidays, my birthday at campfire!! , driving home with k, amie, nahla, and jules and spending a day with amie and home. enjoying the holidays with k, visiting carmel, visiting the cabin with furniture for the first time, and home again

in between all this, the sunday shopping trips, the weekend jmac excursions, the lack of a home, the car problems, the growing into yourself. you've felt a settling and a snapping into place of where you fit into this world, a sense of putting the last puzzle piece into the community, the friendships, the relationships, and life in general that you've made for yourself. when a puzzle's done, we break it up and start a new one. it feels like 2024 might be the year where we begin again and i'm scared to let go of the perfect life i have already. i'm scared of the new challenges ahead, of the way things are never quite the same as the days before. i'm scared to because i'm so happy and so loved, and i know life changes. i know i'm in a golden moment. i know life will change and give me more golden moments, but i have worked so hard to climb this mountain and reap these rewards, and i'm having a hard time knowing a new climb will be ahead even though i know that summit will be just as wonderful.

we grow, we change, life changes around us. we try and try again. happy new year, i love you. you can do it.

[marieiswishingon-a-star]

If I was a Replicant  Blade Runner 2049 story - Part 2

The man still held me until I stopped moving around. “Tyrell really made you perfect”. He said, his hot breath in my ear. My eyes widened "O Shit he Know's I'm a Replicant" I thought. "Wait! Tyrell -Wallace still makes Replicants they just make them special order to buyer’s these days. But I'm not like the Replicant's of today. I come from the days of Rachael. 

"My names Alexander Donovan" he whispered in my ear breaking through my thoughts, "Everyone calls me Alex". As if that explained why he is holding me so tight against his body. He took me with him still holding me close walking out of the dark corner slowly making his way back to the to the busy street. Malcolm was nowhere to be seen. It's 2:00am it's late and all the running, I’m getting tried. I have not had a chance to power down in the last 72 hours or (sleep) in human's terms. My Heart was starting to beat really hard against my chest not knowing what Alex wanted from me or if I could trust him? He didn't seem to want to let me go. I struggled a bit more in his arms he took his hand away from my mouth. "Please I have money”. I told him. I can make you a rich man ". I pleaded with him. "Let me go"! He still held me tight. "I can't" Alex explained "I was following Malcolm when I realized he's following you." You'll have to come with me, he knows now where you live". It's not safe for you there". "How can I trust you"? I asked him over the crowd. "You don't have a choice". Alex said matter of fact. "What's your name". "Mara” I said. He finally put me down but made sure I stayed right next to him as we walked through the crowded streets to his place. "If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done so already". Alex said. As people passed us some men stared at me. I was used to that. Most men stared at me. One almost walked into a light pole he was staring at me for so long. When I was first made, I hung out with other Replicant women like me. Replicant’s never grew old we stayed the same age during our lifecycle. I will always be a 25 year old women with long blonde hair dark green eyes with a perfect body. One woman laughed telling me a man was staring at me she smiled at me saying "He wants you". The human man was tall with stringy hair. I asked her "What does he want from me". I asked being naive." He wants to have sex with you". The only thing I knew about sex was from the steam filled sex rooms I saw. Which wasn’t much.

"Well Mara you have a real problem".  Alex said taking me out of my thoughts. "Malcolm has been following you for the last few weeks". "Have you seen the papers and what he does to Replicant's when he catches them". he asked me. I was quiet. One article I read said Malcolm bathed in Replicant blood. Most humans don't care about Replicant's we are nothing but a skin job after all. I really hated that name "Skin Job". You could see everywhere they place on signs “Fuck off Skin Jobs”. Sometimes I get lonely, but there's no one I can trust. When feel lonely I stay up all night searching for relics, in the sand dirt and time. I was really tried now with him chasing me down my wrist started to blink a light red. Alex didn't look tried at all. We came to the back door of a high-rise building. He looked over his shoulder to make they weren’t followed then opened the door to an apartment on the 3rd floor he unlocked the door and had me go in first. Not knowing what else to do I went inside his apartment. He locked the door be hide him. "You can have a seat" he pointed to his gray couch. I sat down on his large comfortable couch. Alex had a nice place it had a kitchen bathroom, living room and a stereo player. I hadn't seen a stereo player in a while. He took off his jacket he had two guns and holster on. “You trust me? I am a replicate, I’m fast”. Alex didn’t answer. "You a cop"? I asked him. "Something like that". “Are you a blade runner”? I asked Alex quietly afraid of his answer. He didn’t answer he started undressing Infront of me. shoes and socks then his. shirt it has some blood on it, he took it off. "You can do that in the bathroom". I told him has he reached for his pants "No" Alex continued on. Then his pants dropped I tried not look but I couldn't help but stare at him. I couldn't breathe the man is all muscle, wide shoulders a tapered waistline and long strong legs and tall. He finally went into his shower room and shut the door. I could finally breathe again. He was so prefect I almost wondered if he is a Replicant? The scare on his back said otherwise. Replicants didn't scare like that.

My system started to blink on my wrist; I'm shutting down. I haven't done this in a while. I used more energy than usual. I laid back, fear taking over me I didn't have my revive system with me. My eyes shut and my system started to blink red. I didn't know if I would wake up my eyes started to close.

Alex came out of the steaming shower. Hot steam filled the room. Wanting to shower before asking Mara more questions. A towel wrapped around his waist he had never he seen a more beautiful replicant than Mara and hoped to have her in his bed soon very soon. She's in more danger more then she knew. Alex had been following Malcolm for a while. When Alex saw Mara for the first time, he couldn't take his eyes off of me. He lost Malcolm a few times distracted by her beauty. Malcolm said he was just a bounty hunter for replicant's, Alex wasn't buying it, not just because he found Malcolm more than just repulsive and made his skin crawl the man smelled and was fat with his cruel dark face. Alex had a feeling Malcolm was doing the same thing to human women as he was doing to Replicant women he just couldn't prove it yet. Malcolm liked torturing women.

Looking towards his couch he saw me laying there not moving. with my eyes closed. I looked passed out. Color had drained from my face "Mara" he said my name. When I didn't respond he checked the place where he had held me tight under my bra thinking he might have injured me somehow. Lifting my shirt there were no marks where he held me only perfect soft skin and breasts covered by a sheer pink bra. Hot blood shot straight to his dick. "Damn" he said out loud in pain. He put my shirt down. that hurt. I looked like an angel laying there. Alex finally looked at my wrist there was a small red rectangle flashing. He pushed it. A red-light box came up flashing low energy revive system needed the box filled the room with red light "Revive system what the hell is that"? he thought. Looking through my black purse he didn't find a revive system. Alex remembered an old friend Ron who lived on the 4th floor and sold replicant parts.

Getting dressed in a hurry Alex left his place and locked his door. Alex took the stairs to the 4th floor and knocked on Ron’s door. Ron half asleep shouted at his door “Wow the Hell is it” “It’s Alex” Ron opened his door halfway stuck looked out of the door he complained about what time it is and why the hell he was there. "Do you have a revive machine" Alex asked. Ron thought for a moment grumbled something and went back into is apartment and shoved a black box with a cuff on it into Alex's chest. "Look man if you have a Replicant in your room you'll want a newer model this machine is from the early 20st century" and slammed the door. Alex ran back to the apartment looking be hide him he didn't think he was followed and locked his door. The light glowing from my wrist was there but starting to fade. He looked at the revive machine and Alex decided to place one piece around my wrist to the black box with small tringles that went from red to yellow as soon as it was hooked up to the wall's power source. My face instantly had color and my breathing got deeper, unable to resist Alex kissed me on the lips and put my legs on the couch so I laid down and covered me with a blanket.

I woke up must be around noon. I looked down at my wrist and a revive system pulsed through me showing green. I pushed it my wrist and the color went away looked like normal skin. Alex must have found one. "I was beginning to think you would sleep the whole day". Alex said as I pulled the machine cuff off my wrist. Alex was dressed in clean clothes like the ones he had on last night. I found Alex handsome rough around the edges some lines on his face showed character. He smiled at me and my heart skipped a beat. “am I attracted to a human” I thought? I must have stared at his lips for too long he came to the couch and sat down next me. He pulled me into his arms and started kissing me passionately I have never been kissed before. I started to feel hot. As he kissed me my eyes closed my heartbeat faster as he pulled my lower lip into his mouth and sucked on it gently it made me purr. Alex held me even tighter it felt good. He stopped to pull his T- shirt off and then my jacket and pink blouse. Alex made a growling sound when he looked at my breasts in the sheer pink bra. He pulled down the strap's then used his teeth to pull it off. The whole bra snapped off and flew against the back of the dark gray couch. It scared me a bit I grabbed the blanket to cover myself. "I'm not going to hurt you" Alex said as he went back to kissing my lips to my eyes back down to my lips again. He continued on pulling down my dark pants and underwear. I only had socks on now. He continued to touch and kissed my body everywhere. The stubble on his face made me jump a time or two when he rubbed it against so sensitive areas on my body. No part of my body was off limits. I would have returned the favor only he wouldn't let me. He sucked on my breast the next thing I know I am sitting on top of him with something hot and wet entering me long and hard in the deep core of me. I held my breath has Alex moved me up and down heat started to build inside me fast. I grabbed on to the couch back. Then a sudden Brust of a pleasure washed over me, I cried out. It felt wonderful. I tried to catch my breath. Alex moved me off of him and laid me in his arms. "Was that your first time"? he asked me. I buried my face deep in his chest. "Yes" I replied. he held me tighter and smiled, he lightly rubbed my back.

"We have to leave: go off world somewhere" I told Alex". "No" He got serious "I need to catch Malcolm first". I have a plan he reassured me. I’m worried about you “if Malcolm catches you-your gone. I looked at him “yes like a real girl.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QyZ6QdO7Dc0

[carovieehaven]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Chapter 1

—When I opened my eyes, I saw an unfamiliar ceiling.

The overly monotonous sentence, the sickeningly run-of-the-mill scene unfolded in front of my eyes.

I had a hunch. That the very same ‘incident’ that I read thousands of times happened to me too!

My only hobby, reading web novels.

One hundred won even in the midst of a hectic life, collect two hundred won to buy a few moments of happiness.

With the belief that you have to dip it and eat it to know whether it is poop or soybean paste, I mastered almost all the works regardless of whether it was a hit or a miss.

Therefore, when ‘the incident’ that I read about millions of times took place, I felt a subtle excitement rather than fear.

What I imagined while wandering through the letters every day actually happened!

Now it even feels like an old-fashioned relic, ‘Book Possession.’

‘Yeah, who else would be possessed by a book if you weren’t a fan like me?’

I inwardly laughed.

Maybe I have been waiting for this moment.

A day to escape from the stuffy reality, living in a vast fictional world!

I couldn’t just lie down entirely with my beating heart.

‘What should be done when the possessor opens their eyes is definite.’

It is quite right to say that reading is food for the mind.

Thanks to the indirect experience I had accumulated as much as Everest while reading web novels, the was loaded in my brain.

‘First of all, I need to know what novel I’m in and who I am…’

I got up from bed and looked around.

‘Somewhere in the room…. As expected!

As expected, an old mirror hung on the wall next to the bed.

I got up from bed to look in the mirror.

Of course! As a general rule, if you are possessed by a book, you are obliged to look in the mirror and admire your beautiful appearance.

I got out of bed to look in the mirror.

For a moment, my head was spinning as my eyes went dark.

My body staggered, but I skillfully leaned against the wall.

This also does not miss expectations.

‘I knew this would happen because I’m possessed.’

Usually, a possessed body is weak or just over the edge of death.

Even if it is not an incurable disease, there may be a degree of orthostatic hypotension.

I took a good deep breath and came to my senses.

Slowly my vision cleared.

The figure of ‘me’ was slowly revealed as I turned my gaze to the mirror.

In the mirror, there was a woman who looked to be about 20 years old.

Light brown hair, green eyes, pale and remarkably clear white skin, long slender neck, blah blah blah…

When I described it, it was so beautiful that I got tired of it.

“It’s real.”

I have long faced the unrealistic existence in the mirror.

As time passed, embarrassment crept across her flawless face.

‘So… who are you?’

I have no idea.

Who the character I possessed.

The ‘me’ in the mirror is pretty, but aren’t all the main characters in the original novel pretty?

Moreover, brown hair and green eyes are common regardless of the main or supporting roles.

I read hundreds of works a month, so I don’t even remember exactly who and what kind of appearance they have.

‘She’s not a spiteful villain, apparently…’

A beautiful, gentle, yet modest appearance.

In this case, it can usually be inferred from three roles.

First. Heroine. She doesn’t have a flashy appearance, but she’s perfect for a decent lead.

Second. Extra. Because the extras are also pretty in the novels.

Third. Sly 100th tier villain. It is a role that puts the main character in trouble while pretending to be innocent.

Either way, I’m the main character now, but…

‘How did other possessors know precisely what book they were possessed in just by looking at their faces…’

More hints are needed.

At least I need to find the name of ‘me’.

I turned my eyes away from the mirror and looked around.

The view of the old attic was visible through the belatedly widened field of view.

A low-sloping ceiling, a creaking bed without a canopy, a small desk and a rustic wooden chair, old-smelling bookshelves, and a low wardrobe that doubles as a vanity table

‘Where did the luxurious noble rooms used by the main characters go…?’

It was utterly an unenviable environment.

But I was not disappointed.

‘Yeah, this kind of uncomfortable environment for the protagonist is an accessory.’

I proudly put my hands on my waist.

It’s not a nursery with an unscrupulous director, a dark underground prison, or a cold palace, so it’s rather a good thing.

In the first place, the main protagonist starts unhappy and has a happy ending.

‘Isn’t this the way to get a family, a castle, and an empire?’

There is no way the main protagonist, who is possessed by the book, will continue to rot in the attic.

Since I know all too well what the ending of most books is like, I didn’t have to worry.

There’s one in ten works with a bad ending, no, it’s rarer than that. Especially if it’s a book possession!

‘Hmm, by the way, at this point, someone has to come in to give me basic information…’

A maid would come in saying, ‘You’re awake, Young Lady!’ in most novels.

But the old-looking wooden door has been quiet since before.

It’s unlikely that the maid saying, ‘Young Lady!’ would come into this attic.

I tapped my fingers nervously.

‘I can’t wait!’

To wait for the next character without any assurance, my temper born of the blood of the ‘hurry-hurry people¹’ was in haste.

‘It’s foolish to just sit still and wait for the next episode to progress.’

Like a Korean who attacks games with extreme efficiency, I started actively gathering information about ‘me.’

Searching all over the not-so-wide attic, I found a diary in the desk drawer.

‘This is it!’

Could there be any better item than this to understand the situation?

I saw the name written on the old leather cover of the diary.

[Sophia Frauss.]

It was my name.

And the letters within the ribbon shape are engraved with the family seal in the middle of the diary.

[The Count of Frauss.]

‘Then I’m the Count’s Lady?’

I took another look around the shabby attic, where the ceiling creaked whenever the wind blew.

I was about to wonder if it was a fallen family when I heard a loud laugh outside the sunny window.

As I stretched out my head through the small window on one wall, I saw the garden of the Count of Frauss.

Unlike the old and shabby attic, the scenery outside was splendid and magnificent.

The lawn was extensive enough for horses to run, a fountain that made a rainbow, and a gazebo surrounded by flowers in full bloom were also visible.

The family crest attached to the large main gate of the mansion was clearly the same as that of the diary.

In other words, it hints that you are not in a position to live in another house.

‘A Lady who has been in the attic of her own family…?’

Just like Cinderella.

A Lady who is neglected by her family. This is a popular setting.

Honestly, how many female leads are happy and loved right from the first episode?

‘At this rate, everyone will fall for me and I’ll get the male lead as well.’

I picked up my diary, predicting the inevitable future.

At that moment, something fell from between the diary I had lifted.

‘Letters?’

I picked up several envelopes that had fallen on the old floor.

All the senders are ‘Sophia Frauss.’

It was a letter that ‘I’ had not yet sent.

‘Is this the letter you were going to send all to the same person?’

The recipient’s address of the letter.

The same name was written there.

[To the Grand Duke, Killian Viffrons Rivelon.]

A shiver ran through my body the moment I read that one line.

‘Killian?!’

tl: caroviee

ˏˋ°•*✎.ೃ࿐ t/n: 1: ppalli-ppalli (quickly/hurry up)

====================================== ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Previous | TOC | Next

[dienamights]

Unfavorable Guidance | H.Shinso

​✎ Mindjack has been doing these kind of jobs since he was recruited as a hero, he is unmistakingly the best at them, doesn’t need anyone butting their noses in his business, especially you, the sly fox in disguise, offering your tainted helping hand.

✎ Protagonists: Hitoshi Shinso x Fem!Reader.

✎ Word count: 6.4K

✎Category: noncon/dubcon, Smut MDNI, Prohero!au

✎Caution(!):  noncon/dubcon, Smut 18+ MDNI please, , mentions of alcohol, mentions of murder, minor character death, sex under quirk use, spitting, degrading, swearing, manipulation, unprotected sex. 

✎ Author’s notes: I KNOW I’M LATE EUFGKHDFVBDFXL, but here is my contribution to @daisy-bakugo​ 2k event Vice City! Please take the time to read everyone’s work if you haven’t! Thank you so much for letting me participate.

I listened to this throughout the entire process of writing it, if you’re familiar with Kingdom Hearts, some names will ring a bell to you lol. also I hate the header and the summary but you’re just gonna have to live w it for now cause its 8 am I NEED SLEEP

» Masterlist | Requests | Taglist

The annual auction of Vice City is one of the biggest social events of the year. The wealthiest families and richest people in the world come from everywhere in attempts to win what is secretly considered the greatest treasures of all time. Greatest and most expensive.

Alas, the after party held later on is what people are all secretly actually waiting for, where the most exquisite and rarest artifacts of the year get auctioned off to whoever is lucky enough to even be included in the guest list.

While not all are there for the auctions, it certainly is the perfect opportunity for anyone who's anyone in the world to show off their wealth. Filthy rich people sway all around, laughing and bragging. Venetian crystal chandeliers, velvet carpets, gambling, and alcohol. Men with their cigars, men with their wives, and men with their arm candies, their escorts or mistresses.

Yet, Shinso isn’t here for the luxury, he isn't here for the fame and the fortune, nor the reputation people thrive for when they buy those - meaningless, he calls them - relics. No, he is here on a mission, one he certainly wants to be done and over with because he wants to go home. He loosens his tie with an aggravated sigh before knocking back the last of his only gin and tonic, the bitter taste prickling his throat as he surveys the crowd of people all around him while he stands idly by the bar.

He knew it’d be a pain in the ass the second he got the mission assigned to him from the agency, the words “intel” and “Vice City'' of all places forced a frown upon his face, yet, being the most suitable for this job, he couldn't really decline.

Mindjack isn’t the type of hero you see on billboards and magazines, isn’t the type of hero to kiss babies’ heads that get thrusted at him in meet and greets, he certainly isn’t one to have those adoring fan clubs that follow his every move, posting about his greatest conquests. Oh no, he is a hero that works in dingy jobs with filthy manipulative men in black markets and the human trafficking industry, undercover -lie through your teeth throughout the whole ordeal- kind of hero, the kind of hero that goes home at the end of his missions with no gratitude towards his work, because nobody knows who he is or what he contributes to the society.

For the longest time, Shinso accepted the life he’s living, he didn’t look for validation from the citizens, knowing his work is always beyond the scope of their knowledge and their awareness, but sometimes, just sometimes, the sour droplets of envy would foul his mouth when his amethysts for eyes scan over the extravagant heroes, making a show out of saving their cities and getting praised and awarded and loved for doing what they’re supposed to be doing, their job. 

“Squeeze that glass a bit more and you’d break it”

A voice just like silk, weaving around him and entrancing him, Shinso blinked twice before his eyes dragged over to you, oh so beautiful and oh so close. Your nimble fingers wrapped around his fingers, the lacey glove lightly scratches his hand before he lets go of the glass in surprise, dropping it into yours. You giggle sweetly, turning around to place it on the bar before ordering your own, but not without looking at him over your shoulder and sending him a smile.

“What will it be, sugar tits?” the bartender leans over the counter, towel thrown on his shoulder as he sends you what's supposed to be a sultry look. Your elbow is placed on the counter while you rest your chin on your hand, smiling temptingly at him. “Anything that’ll get you to stop staring at my boobs.” Shinso almost laughs at the contrast between your smile and your voice, sharp and venomous, and the man leans back so far from you like he’s been stung. Walking away to work on a drink for you.

Shinso’s eyes rake your body without his knowledge, he admires the dress adorning your body, hugging you in all the right places, cascading down to the floor, and that slit my god, your legs looking endless in those heels he wonders how you can strut so elegantly with them on. A snap of your fingers breaks his trance and he tries - keyword tries - to act nonchalant to his obvious ogling and you only laugh in return.

You hum lowly, “So,” you’re turning to face him as you lean back on the counter, pushing your chest out to grasp even more of his attention, “what's an esteemed hero like you doing in a place like this?” It takes Shinso a good minute before he narrows his eyes, left foot back and ready to either take you down or run away if you were to involve greater forces. No one is supposed to know about his true identity, no one is supposed to know that there is a hero within them.

But what shakes his demeanor is the way you dangle his wallet in front of him, like dangling a stupid feather for some silly cat, waiting for it to jump at you to entertain you. Shinso swallows with a struggle, deciding that using his quirk to retrieve his wallet back will lead to him leaving, and he didn’t want that. He’s been keeping an eye on the wanted man for hours now, and it’ll all go to waste because of your slimy little hands and your-

“Here,” you toss it back to him, and he stumbles a bit before catching it properly, eyeing you for any sudden movements, but you simply turn back around in time to hold the drink from the bartender’s hand with a smile dazzling your lips. “You’re getting intel on The Wise?” you mumble against your cup, sipping slowly, eyes never leaving Shinso’s glaring ones. How the fuck do you know?

“You’re not the first.” you smirk, finger wiping the smeared lipstick against the glass before circling the rim. “You all look the same, thinking you’re better than them because of your position in the society, only for that ego to come and bite you right in the ass.” It’s almost ironic how poisonous your voice could get while still maintaining that mesmerizing smile, and oddly enough, Shinso’s eyes keep drooping despite his desperate attempt to fight against them.

You hum again, the click of your heels sounding muffled to him, eyes blurring when you get so close to him your breath tickles his cheek. “But you’re different, hmm? You’re gonna make the bad guy go away?” 

“Yes.” it's rushed, almost desperate, and the hero is astonished at how he sounds. “Then, lemme help you… Hitoshi.”

A blink, and you’re gone just like you vanished right from under his nose, slipped right between his fingers. A low curse escapes Shinso’s lips and he turns around swiftly to question the bartender, hell bent on getting any information on the girl that just revealed his entire identity and mission to him in a matter of seconds. 

“How can I help you, sir?” the question boggles his mind, the big burly man with an attitude problem wasn’t there anymore, replaced by another sweet woman that held concern in her eyes at his sight. “You’ve been staring at the wall for a while there, need me to call your driver to get you back?” 

“Wa- but I- She,” Shinso’s body started heating up in anger, worry, embarrassment, he doesn’t really know, but what he wants to know right this instant is how long he’s been out of it and for god’s sake, why?

Shinso doesn’t really consider himself to be the sharpest tool in the shed, but dammit did he feel like a complete idiot letting you run off like that, a quick trip to the restroom for a splash of water clears his head enough for him to pull back his wallet from his pocket, flipping through it and finding something he was absolutely sure wasn’t there prior to your visit. A silver card, with ‘Surveillance room’ scribbled on a note behind it.

Caving in and accepting whatever help you were offering him, Shinso slides the card through the reader, sighing in relief upon the satisfying ding sound, followed by the door opening to the surveillance room.

“Now that’s what’m talking about.” life got so much easier now that he could watch The Wise through multiple screens, making it hard to miss a single move of his. The hero allows himself to relax a bit, hand messing with his hair and tired eyes blinking in irritation against the glare of the screens. The Wise was the mastermind of Organization XIII, as their name intel, they’re consisting of the same thirteen members that founded it years ago, nobody really knows how they started, what shocked the whole world is how grand their first crime actually was, bloodbath of the century -they would call it, seventeen slaughtered heroes, followed by their families, including women and children, thousands of millions of ¥ in money laundering atop of it, all within a span of 4 months, that was years ago, back in their prime.

Now, with eight of them behind bars, the remaining five were able to stay under the radar, distributing whatever money they were able to keep between them and fleeing to different parts of the world. Just because they were apart, didn’t mean they were any less dangerous, The Wise is a prime example for that, brutally murdering three of the undercover heroes sent his way to bring him back to justice, but they weren’t Shinso, he’d try to remind himself.

May their soul rest in peace, they were those heroes he felt dissociated from, the type of heroes to flaunt their powers, monetize the peoples’ knowledge of their quirks, uncover the secrets of their job, they were easy targets for people like The Wise, he’d know their weaknesses and how to take them down before they even think about pursuing him. Now, Mindjack was a different story, he wasn’t held on a pedestal by the people he saves, simply because they don’t recognize him, while he would loath that reality sometimes, he thanks the god for it today, as he’s watching the man’s call out for a drink.

Amethyst eyes scan the remaining screens, widening upon the sight of you looking right back at them, you are a vixen to him, eyes half lidded with a smile so intoxicating it does nothing but entrance whoever was lucky enough to catch its sight. Lace clad fingers wrapping around a piece of paper, you are so beautiful, Shinso tries to stop his mind from wandering, imagining what you wore underneath that angel crafted dress, envisioning what those fingers could do to please him, the same fingers that held the unfolded paper, the word ‘RUN’ smeared across it in lipstick.

Wait a minute, run?

Even before the poor hero could react, the similar satisfying -now dreadful- ding rings in his ear, before the door opens behind him, illuminating the room even more. Shinso stands to face two men, both as surprised as he is to see another occupant in the room. Right before any of them move, the hero opens his mouth and prays to god that whatever way he’s winging it works. “You got a permit to be here?”

Jesus one of you answer, and they both do - the left having fingers curving into talons while the right pulled at strings from the tips of his fingers, both ready to attack - and by god Shinso couldn’t be happier upon hearing a sound, because the minute the word ‘yes’ slips through their lips, Mindjack is smiling like a madman, welcoming the look of glossy eyes and heavy heads like a beloved relative’s return back home. 

“Great… Now,” the two manipulated  men face him, unaware of the dreaded fate bestowed upon them, while Shinso just can’t seem to keep the glint in his eyes at bay. “Why don’t you put on a show for me,” he breathes, smiling down at the ground before looking at them. ”Choke the fucking life out of each other.” The men don’t even blink, quick to face each other and jump, hands wrapped around throats like a vice, Shinso only moves away from the men on the floor as they thrash and kick at each other, limbs flailing as they try to force the life out of each other.

Turning his back against them, Shinso eyes the screen he was monitoring before their entrance, ignoring the groans and gasps of air behind him. He curses under his breath when he sees The Wise getting up from his place, heading towards a room that is supposed to be monitored by screen #6, but is purposely out of service. If he isn’t able to question The Wise or even keep an eye on him, then he’s gonna head on over to the next best thing. Gargled screams echo through the corridor as the hero makes his exit, making sure the door clicks shut behind him, he wouldn’t want to cause disturbance to the esteemed guests of the society of lowlifes.

Mindjack works in dingy jobs with filthy manipulative men in black markets and the human trafficking industry, killing machines that didn’t spare the live of the innocents, so why should he spare theirs? 

Shinso makes it back to the main event, immediately finding you between guests, sitting so pretty on the poker table, eyes drawing him closer, the grin adorning your lips now wobbly, easy for him to distinguish as fake, forced, a façade kept for the people surrounding the table. He is hasteful in settling himself in the chair near you, shoulders tense when different pairs of eyes fall upon him, the dealer shuffles the deck to draw cards for Shinso, but you hold your hand out with a smile. “He’ll sit this one out, by my lucky onlooker.” A round of laughter causes Shinso to flush in embarrassment, feeling degraded and looked down upon by all these lowlifes, petty thieves and criminals, thinking they’re better than him, oh he’ll show them.(1)

It takes a few rounds for the table to empty out, now occupied by Shinso and yourself, the dealer asks him to move over to the next chair before they start their game. “Place your bets.” you’re quick to slide over a few of your chips to his side - some black, others red and blue, he didn’t really pay that much attention to them- your eyes daring him to reject your invitation to take the money to play.

He only blinks at you, his eyes seemingly never wanting to lose sight of you as he fights with himself to sit straight to face the dealer again, the man proceeds to deal both of you the cards for you to review before placing your bets. “You tricked me.” Shinso is almost appalled at the hurt laced in his voice, as if the two of you had a bond that was never meant to be broken. “don’t believe so, told you to run didn’ I?” The mockery in your voice is a hoax, the single twitch in your brow catches his attention and he can only deem it as you being stressed, whether it be because of the ordeal regarding the surveillance room or not is beyond him. No, he was stupid and foolish and he will not fall for your silly games again. “Exactly, you knew they were coming.” you hum in response to his accusation.

“Call.” Dropping a few of your chips on the table, your eyes shift momentarily to him, “I did, I said I’d help you and here I am.” He slams his bet on the table, ‘Raise’ gritted right through his teeth at your words. “I don’t want your help!” He reveals his cards on the table, a way to show his disinterest in your assistance as the dealer announces ‘Flush’ at his hand. Your eyes meet again from above your cards, now narrowing down instead of the half lidded look you seem to always have “You don’t want it, but you need it.” The façade you held before is slowly but surely breaking, now a deep frown tugging at your lip as you reveal your own hand, brows furrowing even further in challenge as you hum in displeasure when the dealer announces your ‘Full House’ hand to be the winner of this round.(2)

Shinso moves swiftly to stand when he sees you do the same, right before his entire world starts to spin, lights and colors mingling together and causing his head to spin, he sits down again, head between his hands as he tries to calm himself down, it's probably the strain of the mission, maybe it’s the weight bestowed upon his shoulders to finish it up. The hero lifts his head up to ask you, about something he himself isn’t even sure of, he just wants to hear your voice, like a drug to him that he can’t help but ask for more. Except when he does, you aren’t there, the table is occupied by different people, the dealer is another man with longer hair and slimmer figure, and by god did Shinso want to rip his hair out.

The minute he feels like he could get back on his own to feet without falling down on his ass, Hitoshi is quick to check his pockets, adamant to find a clue your sneaky hands slid into one of his pockets while he was out, despite the tantrum he almost threw at not wanting your help nor guidance, and he does find something, a simple metal key, attached to it was a tag with the number XIII on it. 

In his shock, he almost drops the key on the ground but barely holds himself together to avoid any further embarrassment, Shinso takes deep breaths, knowing that the key in his possession is his entry to the heart of the organization, and especially to The Wise. 

Every year, specifically at the Vice City annual auction afterparty, The Wise holds a meeting with the most dangerous men within the continent, the most loathsome masterminds of the criminal world, all in the hopes of recruiting one of them into the organization, to uphold its name and spread its message. Every year, with no recruitment yet. 

With trembling hands, Shinso stuffs the key back into his pocket, eyes on the lookout for anyone who might’ve caught the key in his hand, but sighs in relief when he sees some engrossed in their meaningless poker and absurd talks, while the majority have made their way to the next hall over for the auction that is being held. He takes the stairs three at a time up the floors, facing a red oak double door, the same forsaken number engraved into it. After multiple failed attempts at inserting the key in the lock, he finally does with a huff, hearing the lock echoing in his ears before pushing the door open.

To be honest, Shinso didn’t know what he was expecting to see on the other side of the door, he thought maybe he’d watch weaponry trade off, perhaps people brawling and fighting amongst each other for the title of being the new members. But he certainly didn’t expect to be engulfed in jazz music, men with their cigars laughing and chatting, without a single care in the world, as if their hands weren’t tainted with the blood of the innocents, oh how he loathed them. In an attempt to fit in, he grabs a glass of whiskey from the butler standing by the door, nodding to him in thanks before moseying his way over to the corner in the room, he’d be damned if he got caught in the crossfire of those lunatics.

A stage is set up in the front of the room, and it takes a second for him to acknowledge the pole placed right at its center, it takes him another few seconds to see the beauty dancing on that pole, Shinso’s eyes rake her body without his knowledge, he admires the lingerie adorning her body, hugging her in all the right places, garter snug against her thighs as she twirls, her legs looking endless in those heels he wonders how she can dance so elegantly with them on… wait a minute. 

As if predicting the minute he realized it was you, you twirl to face him, lips pulled into a smile yet again, a giggle interrupting your humming as your body twists and turns on the pole. Shinso isn’t really sure how long he sits there captivated by your body, the only thing breaking his trance is the clap on his back and the heavy weight that sits next to him. “Beauty, isn’t she?”

Bile rises to Shinso’s throat at the mere sound of the person next to him, fear stills him in his place, restricting any movement he’s even thinking of doing, all he could do is sit, widened eyes and sweaty brows at the sight of The Wise right beside him. 

“Don’cha love it when women like her,” The Wise points at you with his cigar, “work to please men like us?” His arm now completely wrapped around Shinso’s shoulder as the hero feels his soul levitating from his body. “Look aroun’ya,” and he does, and only then does he really pay attention, he should’ve seen it all along, the glossy eyes, the droopy heads, it's a sight he was so well accustomed to that his brain normalized it to him. With whatever courage he musters up, he shifts his eyes to look at the man beside him, noticing the ear plugs he wore, and right then the gears start to turn in his head. “My most prized possession I tell’ya.” 

Of course you would be, how else would you have access to all these things, the card, the key, the vanishing from thin air, it all makes sense now.

“Enjoying yourselves, gentlemen?” your words are flowing like honey to his ears, a low buzz ringing in his brain as you spoke to the men in front of you. His ability to frown is nonexistent, a relaxed look adorning his face as he looks up at you, so elegant and beautiful in whatever hugged that miracle of a body.

“Sure are,” The Wise jerks Shinso by the shoulder, and he realizes that was done to break whatever trance he was in, he could only glare back at you when you smile at them, that conniving smile that hosted all the lies you spouted to him.

“y/n,” He calls you and by God if this isn’t the most beautiful name Shinso ever hears, what a shame it's being tainted by the voice of this criminal. “Wadda ya say to takin’ this fine boy to the red room, hm?” The man urges him to stand and take your hand, which he did at the blink of an eye, his body moving on it’s own to graze his lips against your knuckles in a breathless kiss. “Treat’m real nice for me.” The hero’s feet take him to follow you, his steps light, like walking on clouds, the sway of your hips pulling him closer to you until his chest is flush against your back, pushing you to move faster into the room you are pointed towards.

Walking aimlessly through hallways, taking lefts and rights he would never be able to recollect in his current state, you both enter a room, red just like The Wise called it, crimson silk sheets fitted on a king sized bed, maroon loveseats and plush carpets, everything in that red hue that it's almost nauseating. 

Bringing your hands in a loud clap, the fogginess in Shinso’s vision dissolves, your creased brows and frown now more prominent to him than ever, his eyes catch the scar trailing from the back of your neck to your cleavage, confused as to why his usual perceptive self would miss it, but then again, he doesn’t feel like he was ever himself throughout this whole ordeal.

To say he was furious is an understatement, he never felt more played in his life, he is Mindjack, the most conniving hero of all of Japan, he was manipulative and sly , known by his people to get jobs done, no matter who his opponent is, he always comes back victorious. And when his ears pick up your sigh of relief, he could only see red, he is hurt, he is scared, but now its his act, his turn to fuck shit up, he wants to hurt, he wants to scare.

“Fuckin’ lying bitch,” It takes him all but two steps for his body to graze yours, tantalizing eyes boring down into yours as you gasp at the close proximity, “you were workin’ with’em this entire fuckin’ time?”

“N-no that’s not it,” you stutter, flustered at his overwhelming presence, trying to put some distance between you and the fuming man by pushing his chest, “Please, I need you to listen to me.” 

“Oh, now you’re beggin’ hmm?” his firm warm hands circle your wrists, tugging them away from his body and using them to pull you even closer to him, his breath now grazing the tops of your cheeks, “Didn’t your boss tell you to treat me right?” he breathes, “well, get to it, slut.”

“That’s not what this is Hitoshi, just listen-” for the love of all that’s pure in this world, why does the sound of his name exceed his perception of how happiness is supposed to reverberate in his ear? “Keep my name outta your mouth, or I swear,” He hisses at you, the grip on your wrists tightening as you whimper out in pain. 

“You think you can just toy with me? Have me running around and following your orders like a lil bitch!?” He sees you trembling, lips wobbly and in tears, how ironic, he doesn’t know a few words would get you to start tearing up, the change in demeanor from when he first met you confuses him for a second, but only a second, because he’ll be damned if he falls for any of your tricks anymore. “N-no, I swear it isn’t like that, just p-please, please c-calm down! Let me explain myself-” the ugly cackle he lets out shuts you up, teary eyes widening as they fall on his, the aura he’s radiating is terrifying to say the least, your knees shaking in dread at what’s about to fold.

“You think you can play my game and win?”

It takes you a minute to answer, the word no echoing in your head, throbbing in your brain so painfully you forget the words that follow it, but what you can’t forget, what you will never forget, no matter how delirious you feel, is the look of pure sin across Shinso’s face, grin rivaling that of the Cheshire cat, because you were now simply a measly little pawn in his game. 

Mindjack works in dingy jobs with filthy manipulative men in black markets and the human trafficking industry, criminals that broke every law in their way to get what they desire, so why couldn’t he indulge even a little himself? 

He lets go of your wrists, watching as your arms sway next to your body like dead weight before he turns around to flop down on the loveseat, legs spread wide as he waves his hand over to you.

“Waddaya waitin’ for,” he knows you can’t answer him, but it feels so fucking good to hold such power over you after all you’ve put him through. “Now, strip.” the surge of power he feels jolts his dick up in excitement as he watches you take off your lingerie, moves robotic and forced, eyes glazed over both with tears and his control over your dumb little brain. Hitoshi is no villain, he is a respectable hero, but he’s been called that all his childhood, he might as well live up to that expectation, one way or another.

Shinso stands when you’re fully naked in front of him, long legs circling you and taking you all in, the back of his hand grazes your nipple and he all but groans as it pebbles at his touch. But god, he was nowhere near being done with you.

“Spread your legs for me on that bed,” he grins at the way you follow his orders even before he asks, “will ya?” you settle yourself on the bed before slowly dropping your weight on your back, hazy eyes staring up into the ceiling as your arms bring themselves down to circle the back of your knees, pulling them up close to your chest to expose yourself to him. 

Shinso’s cock twitches in his pants again at the opportunity to just seath it into you without any warning, but he barely holds himself back, approaching your body and feeling himself salivating at the sight, what a sight it is, your pussy looking so fucking beautiful clenching over nothing, the sight tempting him to just dive his face right in to get a taste of your juices.

Taking off his suit jacket and rolling the sleeves of his shirt, Shinso presses his thumb to your clit, frowning when he notices how dry you are, of course you would be, he chuckles to no one, puckering his lip to spit right at the nub, watching it trail down to your clenching hole, the sight igniting a flame within him, he does it again, simply to watch your spit hide in your cunt, impatient to follow suit and bury himself in there. 

His thumb is quick to draw circles with your clit, needing for your orgasm to wash over you quickly, eager for the things he’d do to you after he preps you enough to take him. The usual comforting silence is thick between you, no moans escaping your ajar mouth as your arousal seeps out of your pussy, he prods your hole with his finger to collect your nectar, smearing it across your clit again to rub even faster against it.

The only indication of you coming undone is when your thighs start to shake, your body curling in on itself as your back arches, your cunt gushing on his fingers, and Shinso is almost disappointed to not hear you moan out his name in pleasure. But he isn’t that disheartened, he’s bound to hear you scream.

You on the other hand, are petrified at the way your body is being handled, feeling yourself looking down at the horror being folded in front of you, this isn’t you, this is a shell of who you are, wrapped around his finger, at his mercy, and you want out, no matter the cost. But, you are to regret these words, because you see him unbuckling his belt, you hear the zipper drilling in your ear, and you watch him lay atop you, feeling your lungs constrict at the weight settling upon it, and to your utmost terror, the only thing that breaks his bind on you is when you feel his warm head prodding at your entrance, right before seething completely in, your throat prickling when you wail hoarsely in pain at feeling like being split into two.

“No, nonononon, st-stop please, please!” You’re crying, legs thrashing and arms flailing trying to push this monster off of you, but you can’t, you think as your walls pulsate in pain at the intrusion, you’ll never be able to with him placing his entire weight on you like that, and the way he pulls out before impaling you again has you seeing stars in the worst way possible. Desperate for an escape, you grab a chuck of his hair, your nails digging into his scalp before you yank, your jaw throbbing at how tight you clench your teeth in pain and disgust and pure panic. The strength you muster to pull his head up is in vain, because it only jerks his face deeper into your neck, right where your scar trails, and he bites, so hard you’re certain it draws blood. 

Only then does he lift his head up, his upper lip smeared with a smidge of blood, your blood, before he spits right into your mouth. Sick to your stomach at the metallic taste invading your taste buds, you spit right up at him, mindless to the debris falling right back at your face, your mascara running down your cheeks as you sneer up at him. Even as he laughs teasingly at you.

“Don’t worry slut,” He rasps, his nose brushing against yours as his thrusts find a pace, pulling out to the tip before pushing himself fully inside, “It’ll feel good in a minute.” and it does, he feels more of your arousal coating his cock as he snaps his hips against yours, your wails and whimpers slowly yet surely are coated more with lust as you moan out his name. “See tha’, almost too easy…” almost too good to be true.

And it is, because when his eyes struggle to find yours, he is reminded by the feeling that overtook him this entire evening, and when he sees the corner of your lips pull lightly does he want to rip your head right out, but the minute he moves his hand, he is overwhelmed by how wobbly he feels, how your face distorts and misshapes before he is met with the sight of the ceiling, the sight you grew accustomed to when he was taking advantage of your unconsciousness. 

He groans when he feels you impaling yourself on his cock, pussy clenching so tight as you bop yourself up and down his shaft, your tits bouncing with you as he looks up at you, so mesmerized and entranced by your beauty all he does is hold your hips, helping you lift yourself up before dropping you on him, the squelching sound that follows it music to his ears.

You plant your hands against his chest, hips rolling as you pant at his lips, both of you so drunk on the feeling of each other and chasing your highs, “You gonna listen to me, when I ask you to?” His hand claps against your ass at your question, “Yes, yes oh God, anythin’ just don’t stop.” He can’t help but want more of you, want to feel his cock push against you even further, so he plants his feet firm against the bed, hand grabbing handfuls of your ass as he starts thrusting up at you, moaning against your neck when he shoots ropes of his cum inside of your sopping cunt, squeezing him so tight and milking him, and all of what Shinso remembers is the way you arch your back, pressing your chest against his as your whimper out his name, as he feels your juices dripping against his balls and down on the sheets beneath you. After that, all he could see was black.

Shinso awakes startled, eyes darting in alarm before he relaxes when he confirms he’s alone, the red silky sheets now draped over his lower body, pooling at his lap when he sits up to look around once more, desperate for any sign of you. Yet he only sees a brown folder on top of the love seat, impressively thick with the amount of papers stacked inside it, and when Shinso reaches for it, he catches the note that slipped off and draped down on the floor, reading it and scowling at it. ‘You promised you’d listen’

And boy is he more than lucky to listen to you when you asked him to. Because that folder has every tiny little detail he needs to know about The Wise, from the quirks of his circulating bodyguards to the keys to his multiple homes within the world. Pictures upon pictures of the man, decoded letters and basically intel on his entire criminal record.

Fucking finally, Shinso gets to just go home no that everything’s over and done with.

Limited Edition Sneak Peek:

It is way too early for Shinso, the sun glaring at him as he makes his way into the agency, the honking cars and chattering people feeding into his migraine so early in the morning, and he groans as he pushes his door open, ready to get back to his regular routine after the incident at Vice City.

It hasn’t been even a week, but it sure was eventful, using the folder you left him, Mindjack was able to capture The Wise the very next day, via the map of the routes he takes that was attached in the folder. They were able to ambush him, easily being able to bring the right heroes for the job to overcome the quirks of both his workers and himself. Now the mastermind of Organization XIII was behind bars, making the job of catching the remaining members now much easier.

It almost felt like child’s play, at least, that’s what the heroes made it out to be, flexing their powers and their potential, when they were well aware that all their efforts would’ve been in vain if you and your folder weren't there to aid them in every step.

To say that guilt ate him up is an understatement, he feels himself decaying from the inside out from resentment, he figures he spent too much time in the dark, that it started to mess with him, manipulate him, carve him into someone he isn’t, someone that isn’t fit to be a hero. He feels like was walking into a tunnel with no way out, engulfed and trapped in pure merciless darkness, that ate away at his soul every step he took further in.

Shinso trudges up the stairs with a heavy heart, the dread at what he did to you, especially that your intent to help him didn’t waver despite his actions loomed over him, and he couldn’t remember the last time he felt like he didn’t deserve the life that he’s living in right now. 

Yet, the saying ‘there's a light at the end of the tunnel’ rings in his ear, the minute he opens up the door to his office, eyes widening at the sight before him, smile so dazzlingly sweet, a voice just like silk, weaving around him and entrancing him as the words captivated him despite their simplicity.

“Missed me, Hitoshi?”

(1) its common in poker for women to be onlookers, like the wives of the players for example, the jab at him being an onlooker is basically just a sexist joke to make the people around the table laugh to ease their mind.

(2) to help gain more perspective about the poker scene you can read the elaboration here

Aaaand more about the reader’s quirk here!

Hope you enjoyed! Also, PLEASE if you could theorize with me after reading the fic I’d love you forever, ask me about the reader’s quirk, ask me about some hidden meanings between the scenes JUST ANYTHING. MWAH

Borrowers (taglist):

@hanji-is-life @anarchicmartyr @sleepykyan @yourprincess-maybe @wolfygirl1900 @tteokdoroki​

@theehoneybunii @nanamisbento​ (not sure if you wanted to be tagged for bakuhoe only of all my fics, so sorry if its the former!)

if you want to be tagged with for any of my fics let me know ♡

[the-broken-truth]

Hi I know I asked for request but I though about didn't seem to make sense so here's a new one can you do one where the reader is the Husband of Miranda/Donna and acts like Lara croft from the tomb raider franchise also I recommend play the games to

Broken Truth: Hm. Donna - as much as she is my favorite lord - really wouldn't benefit from a Tomb Raider Husband, but he could aid Miranda in finding relics that could aid her in reviving Eva. I'll go with Miranda. Now, let the words weave together!!!

[Miranda walked down the hall of her chapel that lead to her husband's study and peeked into the room, seeing that man sitting in his large chair with notes and drawings cluttering his desk and books all over the floor, some in stacks while others were open and thrown everywhere.]

Miranda (Walks into the room, over to her husband's side, and places her hand on his shoulder): Husband, you have been in here for hours; it's time for dinner. Leave the research for now and come eat with me.

[Name] (Doesn't look up from the notes in his scarred hands with intense [Eye Color] eyes): I'm almost done with this Miranda; I'm so close to pinpointing where the Chalice of Life is located. If I can find it, we can revive Eva without the need of the Cadou, plus, she'll be stronger than the Cadou could make her.

Miranda: My Love, I know that you are eager to return Eva to us, but you must sleep and keep your energy so that you may be able to perform your tomb raiding. Please, come downstairs with me and join me for dinner, I am so lonely without you.

[Name] (Places one of the papers down and runs his hands through his [Hair Lenght] [Hair Color] hair with a deep exhale): I'm so close to finding it, Miranda. If I just can, even everything can be perfect again. We would have Eva and the Lords would have their sister; we would be able to be a family and then we can make something of this village, something grand. (Looks at Miranda with tired eyes) Don't you see that I'm doing this for all of us?

Miranda (Places her hands on [Name's] Cheek and leans down to give him a kiss for a few seconds before pulling away from him, only to place her forehead on his with love shining in her eyes.): You are overworking yourself again, [Name]; remember, you just come home from doing a job for that important client. I shall admit, the pay was good but you need to have a break before you go on another adventure. I need you here to aid me with the children that we already have. Besides, you have yet to bring Donna and Angie to the relic you found for them.

[Name] (Looks down in disappointment): You are right, I didn't bring Donna the relic that would heal her scarring. (Moves his head from Miranda's hold and holds his head in his own hands) I'm such a horrible father.

Miranda: You're not horrible, My Love. You're just so consumed in your work to help our children that you forget to spend to with them. (Grasp her husband's hand and pulls him out of the chair, to his feet) Come with me, [Name]. We shall eat dinner, then tomorrow, you can spend some time with our children before you go back to work. Does that sound fair?

[Name] (Smiles at Miranda): That sounds perfect. Question: Have Alcina and Karl been behaving while I've been away?

Miranda (Chuckles): I'm sure you already know the answer to that question, Darling.

[Name] (Exhales): Right... Stupid question.

[sporadiclilbook]

Can I request a Claude x reader x Sylvain fic with an s/o who acts coy but is actually scarily perceptive? Like they notice Sylvain's inner turmoil almost right away and they notice the echoes of Claude's trauma in being ostracized and alienated and their care manifests in extremely subtle ways. How would they react once they find out that they're pining for the same person?

I hope ya like this anon! Hoping that this is how you wanted it too. Golden Deer!reader for plot reasons.

Truth of your mask

(Yan!Sylvain x Perceptive!Reader x Yan!Claude)

You hummed as you walk through the halls of the academy to get to the dining hall. Everything was going normally, nothing much was happening other than getting a new teacher. A former mercenary no less. However you can't seem to read them at all. Not even when you try to talk to the new professor. No smile, no frown or pout. Just.....blank. Usually it was pretty easy considering how most people is full of expression, but your new teacher was like a blank canvas.

It interested you, truly. Perhaps you can continue to observe them and learn a thing or two. You sit down at one of the long dining tables to dig in into your favourite meal. You ate a bit slow considering there was no need to rush. You suddenly heard someone sitting right next to you and immediately knew who it is. "Is there something you need, Sylvain?" You asked as you blow softly on your food to cool it down. "Nothing just checking up on the most attractive person I know."

"Stop it Sylvain, there are lots of other attractive students here too you know....." As you pretended to blush and faced the opposite direction of him a bit. Now you may not be the best with close ranged combat and prefer to strike afar but you admit, you were quite good at intel gathering. Whether it's playing a shy role or feigning ignorance, you think you were quite the expert at it. "No need to be shy now babe, show me that beautiful eyes of yours." Sylvain was a tom fool to you, to think he would easily fall for this act is hilarious to you.

Slowly looking at him, you predicted that he would be wearing that same flirty grin that he always have talking with literally anyone he fancies in the academy. "I-uh....my eyes aren't exactly that extraordinary." You quickly averted back your eyes to your food. Eating it up a bit quicker now. You would have looked at him longer but everytime you do you felt something was off with him. You've seen him flirt around before. His expressions was all the same. It was a typical playboy face. It was different of course when he was alone. There were times when you catch him spending his time in solitary. That's when you notice the pain he has.

It looked like regret and weight of responsibilities. Doesn't help that he is the heir to House Gautier because of his crest. You approached him once, when it was raining, to talk to him a bit. Sure he was annoying at some times but letting him stand there looking so miserable didn't felt right. Of course this doesn't reveal your perceptiveness to him. To most it would look like he had a bad day but to you? You knew he was clinging onto something negative. Something he can't run from.

Ever since that day, he always seemed to make an effort to speak with you. Sometimes Felix or Prince Dimitri will berate him for disturbing a student from another class but there was no real harm, were there. Maybe he just want to make you one of his flings. At least that's what you thought until you see it in his eyes. It was not an usual flirty eyes. It was not lust or some kind of playboyish ones.

It looked like infatuation. Genuine infatuation.

That's when it hits you. It must have been something related to his past. Was he not loved by his family? Is this why he was seeking flings, hoping to finally find the one? Did he decided you were the one simply because you talked to him to ask if he was ok?

Perhaps you were wrong. There are times when your expertise was wrong. Rarely, yes but the chances are not zero. But for now, you will keep him at an arms' length. "Nonsense, your eyes shines brighter than the stars." You smiled sheepishly at him. Not knowing what to respond. He was about to talk more when suddenly a new yet familiar voice join. Your house leader, Claude.

"Well well if it isn't Mr.Smoothtalk, he's not bothering you right (Y/N)? What am I saying of course he is." Claude was like you, observant. But he only looks whats on the surface and not below. But who knows, he was quite eccentric. Maybe he does know you're feigning ignorance. Maybe he doesn't. But then again he would have talk to you about it. He's secretive but sometimes he will overshare his thoughts, ones that has no purposes anyway. You remember the day you enrolled here. Being a citizen of the Alliance automatically sorted you into Golden Deer. He was nice to you. Welcoming you and showing you around. In fact all of the Golden Deer was. Leonie might said something without thinking at times but she would apologise. Raphael was a gentle giant. Hilda was lazy but you reminded her of Marianne and that wanted to make her put in effort.

Claude was always all smiles and schemes. Even so, not even he was immume to you. When you spot him in the crowds of students it was clear as day. He felt isolated. Different. Foreign even. It intrigued you. Why would he felt out of place? Could it be tied to the fact he suddenly show up as the grandson to the leader of the Alliance? As curiosity plagued you, you made an effort to befriend him slowly. Pretending to have problems with class that you known he was good at and even picking up a bow sometimes seeing how his heirloom relic weapon was the bow Failnaught. He learns about you and vice versa. One of his simple mistake was when he invited you for tea.

He served you Almyran tea. He asked what you think of the tea and you just said tea was tea. Just like how people are people. The blend is different but in the end, it's just another beverage. He seemed delighted at your answer and you were delighted at his actions. He was Almyran or half-Almyran. It make sense seeing how Lady Tiana eloped a long time ago. Even after years, people talked about it. You decided to keep it a secret. You didn't really care about his heritage. What only matters to you was bringing back the cat that was killed by curiosity with satisfication.

Oh however. He too, had the same look upon his face. The same as Sylvain's. No one notices it, only you did. From their expression to their subtle acts. How Sylvain's pick up lines sounds like him courting you instead of flirting. Claude subconscious favouritism over you. And it scared you, truly. What were they planning exactly? Does Sylvain needed someone to finally let out his trouble thoughts to? Did Claude wanted to see if he can become vulnerable around you and reveal his secret himself to you? What is their true motives?

"Oh? Hello to you to Mr. House Leader. No need to worry, I'm not bothering them too much." Claude sat to the vacant spot next to you. "Yeah I can see that. But talking to someone who is enjoying a hot meal isn't that nice you know." You continued eating as you ignore their bickering. At least neither of them would talk to you and instead hurled passive-agressive responses to each other. When you finally finished your meal, you stood up. "You're done already (Y/N)? I was hoping I could talk to you a bit but see you at Golden Deer I guess." It was clear as day that Claude specifically said to meet you in class as in a mockery to Sylvain. "U-uh, yeah....see you at class Claude..." With that you returned back to class.

Claude and Sylvain sat together in a tensed silence. But they knew why they were still sitting here. The still noisy atmosphere of the dining hall proved perfect to conceal their conversation. "(Y/N) huh? Not a bad taste but I'm afraid you can't have them." Claude chuckled at Sylvain's statement. "Can't have them? They're in my house. They're Golden Deer not Blue Lions. And you think you have a chance?" Sylvain gritted his teeth at him. "And so? That won't stop me." Claude just shooked his head at him. "Oh Sylvain, maybe if you didn't use all your brains for pick up lines you'd have a great chance. It's unfortunate we liked the same person." Claude smirked at him. He knew the day Sylvain kept pestering you that he was also lovestrucked like he was. But Claude thinks you don't deserve someone like Sylvain. While Sylvain thinks Claude is trying to take advantage over your 'meek' personality. Seeing how schemeful he is.

"Bring it on then, Riegan."

"Don't hold it against me when you lose, Gautier."

[omgsomeonesomewhereonearth]

I'll Write This Scene a Thousand Times - Ch1

AO3 Link || Next Chapter

Ship: Moceit (Janus/Patton)

Warnings: Alcohol, Implied sex, one-night stand, rumours and scandal, swearing, I would recommend a 16+ readership, but since this isn't actually explicit I guess use your discretion?

Summary: For all accounts and purposes, Patton Hart should have been able to make it through his twenties in the music industry without coming face to face with a scandal. The perfect package of talented and adorable, with family connections to boot, all he'd had to do was keep out of trouble, and he was good at that.

He hadn't counted on running into Janus Lyre. The beautiful, frustrating, devil-may-care actor evidently has some sort of effect on Patton, driving him to make the sort of mistake that never would have crossed his mind previously. Now, with their faces plastered across the internet and fledgling careers on the line, the two of them need to keep the lie of their fleeting relationship sustained.

‘The sweetheart and the snake’ - has Janus Lyre found a new ‘Hart’ to break?

Less than an hour after being photographed at the premiere for his own movie, the young star was seen at a swanky downtown nightclub - guess that’s one flick we won’t be catching!

But, dear readers, that’s not the most interesting part. With Lyre’s turbulent record over his few years of fame, one might say playing hooky is just a minor infraction for the beloved bad boy, but the same can’t be said for the cutie hanging off his arms in those photos! Some of you might have already recognised those cute brown curls and sunshine grin, and as hard as it may be to believe that is indeed Patton Hart.

The youngest son of now retired singer Ophelia Hart has made quite a name for himself recently, with his sugary sweet lyrics and impossibly innocent persona - impossibly being the operative word. Is the golden boy finally rebelling? Or had there always been a darker side to Hart, hidden behind the saccharine pastel branding?

---

Logan Wright: Just saw the news. Need to talk immediately. Send me your location, I can arrange for you to be picked up safely.

Logan Wright: Patton please pick up my calls

Logan Wright: I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how urgent this is??

---

Patton groaned around the headache coursing through his skull as he paced the wooden floors of the darkened bedroom, willing the phone in his hand to be still long enough for him to figure out what to do.

This had to be a bad dream.

Patton Hart was not the kind of guy to wake up in another man’s bed with a bad hangover, barely any memories of the previous night, a hundred missed calls from his manager, and compromising pictures of himself spread all over the internet.

Maybe if he just crossed his fingers real hard and opened up twitter again, it would all just be gone and he would wake up in his own home, sans migraine, and everything would be just fine.

Nope. Patton’s own besotted face was the very first thing that greeted him as he opened the app, gazing up at Janus Lyre of all people. He felt like he was looking at a stranger as he flicked through the images despite his own surmounting dread. He watched this weirdly confident version of himself, practically draping himself over a man he barely knew, grinning as Janus leaned in to whisper in his ear, kissing him in the street outside the nightclub, his own unfamiliar hands running through long dark locks, wandering down to lithe waist and hips, pulling their bodies even closer.

Patton felt sick. He had to call Logan, he knew that. Logan knew how to fix things, he would handle this.

Then again, Patton had never given him something like this to fix before.

The tweets underneath the photos ranged between a variety of reactions, from confused, to shocked, to disgusted to “always knew Patton Hart had a dirty side”, to “Can’t wait to see how long Janus keeps this one around.”

To be perfectly honest, all of them made the sea of dread and nausea in Patton’s gut rise and lurch.

“This is so bad,” he muttered to the figure that had just appeared in the doorway, glass of water in hand.

“Oh is it? Is it really? Oh, thank you so much for telling me, I would definitely have forgotten just how ‘bad’ this was if you weren't here to remind me.”

Janus Lyre was infuriatingly cool, in a way that no one really had a right to be in the mornings - let alone on this morning. Somehow, even in sweatpants, with his tousled hair tied back in a low ponytail, he managed to make Patton feel awkwardly underdressed for having put his own clothes back on. His smudged eyeliner, a relic of the night, only added to the effect of his condescending eyeroll.

Regardless, Patton was grateful to accept the water, and the aspirin that was dropped into his palm with it. At least he was a gracious host, all things considered.

He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, sipping slowly as he picked at a rip in his rumpled jeans. He could feel the weight of Janus’ eyes on him, but he didn’t want to look up. It felt like he’d be doing something wrong, shameful even, to be looking at the other man right now, despite all that had already transpired between them.

He didn’t know Janus, not really, but he had known of him. At least, he’d known he was bad news. He was an incredible actor, from what Patton had heard, and had managed to flourish in the past couple of years despite his young age and apparent lack of industry connections.

…Unfortunately, his incredible acting wasn’t all that he was known for. Janus’ name frequently popped up with regards to his sardonic responses to the press, disregard for convention, insulting important names in the industry, and generally being considered trouble.

Patton had often wondered how the man hadn’t been blacklisted yet. He never thought he’d end up tangled up with him in any way, much less this literally.

“Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’re getting how serious this is,” he protested, “I - I just don’t understand how - there are pictures, Janus, everywhere, I have so many calls-”

Janus looked almost amused, as he leaned casually against the curtained windows, quirking an eyebrow at Patton.

“Oh dear, not pictures !” he mocked, “I take it this is your first time getting caught ‘ in flagrante’?”

“Wha- yes,  of course!” Patton flushed.

“Well, don’t worry then, the first time is always the hardest,” Janus responded lightly, seeming as though he was getting quite bored with the conversation, and by extension, with Patton.

“I don’t exactly intend there to be a second time, just so you know,” Patton snapped,” I didn’t even intend for there to be a first time, quite frankly-”

Janus did look amused at this, grinning smugly as he replied, “Oh, is that right? You and I appear to remember last night very differently.”

“I’d really rather not talk about last night, thanks.”

“I’d happily talk about anything else. You are the one that keeps bringing it up,” Janus shrugged, before turning on his heel to face the window, tugging the curtain open by the corner, just enough to invite in a thin stream of light.

Patton might struggle with nuance sometimes, but even he understood that - Janus had got the last word in, and now he was done talking.

He huffed in annoyance, but it didn’t stop his traitorous eyes from following the graceful movement, tracing the dark lines of the tattoo that marked Janus’ light brown skin, a massive serpent that coiled and looped all over one side of his slender frame, seeming almost to writhe, hypnotically, with the slightest movement.

Patton tore his eyes away quickly, tugging self consciously at his own sweater sleeves. The cool water had helped slightly, but he could feel the dread settling in his stomach again. He didn’t belong in this situation, having wild midnight trysts with ridiculously pretty men, and whatever confidence the alcohol had apparently given him last night had evaporated, leaving him utterly unprepared for light, flirtatious morning-after banter.

“Um, well,” he cleared his throat and stood up, “I should probably go now, and call my manager to fix all this. Thank you for, er - the water, and last night, I guess, and I wish you all the best, of course.”

Janus didn’t even turn around to respond, “Oh, and I don’t suppose you’ll need transportation arranged?”

“No thank you,  I can find my way-”

“And give the press an opportunity to catch you leaving the den of the snake? In the same clothes you entered in, no less?”

“I-”

Luckily, Patton didn’t have to come up with a clever response, because Logan - his dear, wonderful, manager Logan - decided to call him at that very moment.

“...I have to take this.” he muttered triumphantly, turning around to lift the phone to his ear, “Hi, Logan, I am so, so, sorry - I meant to call you, I just-”

“No time,” Logan’s phone voice was as always, clipped and professional, and he got straight to the point, “I need to see you. Immediately. There is much to discuss. I trust you’ve had enough foresight to remain at Lyre’s residence and not step outside?”

“I - I’m still here, yep.” Patton blushed.

“Good. I’m sending a car, don’t leave the building until it arrives. And bring Lyre with you, please.”

“You want to meet Janus?”

“The subject I need to discuss with you also concerns him, so yes.”

“Oh- um, okay, I’ll bring him. Um, do you need an address?”

“No need, I have it.”

“Already? How?”

“That is my job, Patton.”

“Right, right, fair enough. Okay, I’ll see you.”

---

Patton had a flashback to middle school - the one time he was sent to see the principal for bad behaviour - as he knocked nervously on the door to Logan’s office.

“Come in.”

He heard a scoff from behind him as he took a deep breath, preparing to open the door - it had been a struggle to get Janus to come along.

Just as he’d expected - and feared - Logan was wearing his “I am a professional and thus I am not going to get upset” face. What he hadn’t expected, was that this look didn’t seem directed at him.

Leaning back in the chair next to Logan’s, high heeled boots on the desk, was a man that Patton had never seen before - and between the half-black, half-silver mullet, curled moustache, and bright green glitter, he was pretty sure he’d remember if he had.

His eyes skipped over Patton entirely before settling on Janus and lighting up.

“J-Anus!” he cackled, “Thanks for not picking up any of my calls from last night, asshole!”

“Remus, good to see you,” Janus sighed, “Looks like your mummy called my mummy,” he whispered loudly to Patton.

To Remus, he said, “I do apologise, Remus, I turned my phone off because I was busy not watching the movie I was in. I’m sure you understand.”

“Ahem,” Logan interrupted, “Mr Lyre, thank you for coming in, Patton, this is Remus Rey, Mr Lyre's manager. Please take a seat, Remus and I have much to discuss with you.”

Patton waved politely at Remus, who winked back.

“Well first things first, I’d like to say congratulations to you both-”

“Remus.”

“-But that was nasty fucking trick you pulled there, Jay! You promised me you’d stop disappearing from important events! You know how much work I have to do to clear that shit up?”

Janus shrugged like a petulant teenager. “Got bored.”

“I really am sorry for putting this on you, Logan.” Patton could see Logan’s knuckles tightening, a familiar tenseness in his jaw, that telegraphed that he was Not Having a Good Time.

“That’s - not to worry, Patton,” a twitch had started to develop in his right eye, “technically speaking, this is - my job.”

“And he’s pretty damn good at it if he’s managed to keep you out of trouble this long eh, Patty?” Remus cracked in, “I mean, for what it’s worth, I always knew there was more to you, but the two of you really had the rest of those idiots fooled, huh?”

“Um…”

“ Anyways,” Logan interrupted through gritted teeth, “Whilst the two of you were missing in action, so to speak…”

Patton sunk a little deeper in his seat. He wasn’t looking at him, but he was pretty sure he could feel Janus roll his eyes from beside him.

“...Remus and I had a chance to sit down and decide how to deal with this in a way that will benefit both parties.”

“ Oh, how fascinating, do tell .”

Logan, apparently much better equipped at dealing with smart-ass comments than Patton, ignored Janus entirely.

“Now, the two of you may have your reservations, but I request that you please hear us out before rejecting the matter entirely.”

“Now, the two of you may have your reservations, but I request that you please hear us out before rejecting the matter entirely.”

“Of Course we’ll hear you out!”

“ ...Yes, because that request didn’t raise any suspicions at all.”

“Remus and I think the best way to spin this current...situation to our advantage, would be with a relationship contract.”

There was a silence in the room for a minute as the full meaning of Logan’s words settled in. Well, a silence accompanied by Remus tapping out a rhythm on the edge of Logan’s desk with his - admittedly fabulous - acrylic nails. After what felt like a full minute he grinned at them.

“Pretty good, huh? It was my idea.”

”Yes, well, I cannot exactly deny that Remus was the one to suggest that,” Logan grumbled, “However, I do support it entirely, and am happy to proceed with your consent.”

“You want us to...date?”

“They want us to pretend to date,” Janus interjected, “A few staged photos, attend events on my arm, everyone thinks this was a sweet little lover’s outing and not a drunken fling.”

“See, I told you mine was smart!” Remus grinned proudly at Logan.

“...Indeed,” Logan nodded at Janus, “I understand you might have your compunctions, but this is the best way for us to spin this into something... close to brand-appropriate, for Patton. And as for you, Mr Lyre-”

“We’re hoping we can make it look like you’re finally setting down, starting to behave yourself, or some horseshit like that,” Remus cut in, “I gotta keep you booked somehow, Jan-Jan.”

Another long silence filled the room - and even Remus stayed quiet for this one. Patton stared at his lap. He didn’t exactly feel great about this sort of thing, but Logan had said it was the only way. And heck, this sort of stuff happened all the time in this line of work, he knew that. Right?

Janus spoke up first.

“How long would this contract be, exactly?”

“We were thinking one year,” came Logan’s reply.

A whole year?

"I assume there are rules?"

"Behave as though you're in a relationship, perform for the camera when necessary, and if you intend to have outside relations, do try to keep them private - or better yet, don't."

“...I’m amenable,” Janus said finally.

And then, Patton could feel three sets of eyes on him, waiting for a response. Logan, calm and expectant, as ever hiding his impatience behind professionalism. Remus, toothy-grinned, leaning forward as if he was watching a sports match.

And Janus. For the first time with sober eyes, Patton levelled his own gaze with Janus’. His face was as inscrutable as ever, but Patton could feel the unspoken challenge behind his mismatched eyes. Asking him whether Patton Hart could handle something like this. Or worse, outright stating that he couldn’t.

…Or maybe Janus wasn’t thinking any of that and it was just Patton’s own loopy consciousness egging him on. Either way, the words slipped out of his mouth before he even thought them.

“I’ll do it.”