#seven characters here and five of them are white and blue

[yoisami]

tags. isagi yoichi x gn!reader, idk what genre, 1.2k wc, mentions of cheating and suggestive themes, alcohol features in this, characters are of legal drinking age, first meeting

You’re alone in a room full of people.

There are some people on the dance floor moving their bodies sensually beside their friends and strangers, some lingering in the corner of the club whispering in each other’s ears with martinis in their hands, and some engaged at the bar, watching the bartender prepare an alcoholic concoction that will finally drive them to a drunken state.

Not a single white light could be found here—there are only flashing coloured lights, buzzing around the room to the rowdy songs blasting in the background. Red, green, and blue rays flicker from one place to another.

Here, a black leather lounge is occupied by you. Your handbag is tossed into the corner of the seat, and there are five empty cocktail glasses sitting atop the coffee table. In your right hand is a half-full glass of Cosmopolitan, and you tilt the glass, letting the shell-pink beverage cascade into your mouth.

You’re not drunk yet, and you wish you were.

Your boyfriend—if he even deserves that title—was just on the dance floor with his friends a moment ago, but now he was nowhere to be found. Maybe he’s on the other side of this room, roaming his hands all over the voluptuous figure of that girl who was particularly touchy with him on the dance floor. If he’s cheating or not, you can’t be bothered to give a damn anymore.

Whether it’s the fact that you’ve caught him cheating three times already these past two months or that you’ve had one too many cocktails, it didn’t hurt you that he was most likely making out with someone other than you. You admit that you feel numb, though, and your solution to eradicate this odd feeling welling inside your stomach was to drink it away.

It’s not a wise decision, but who is here to tell you that it’s wrong to drink your feelings away?

“That’s a lot of cocktail glasses right there.”You look up. There’s a guy standing near the lounge, donning a black button-up and some basic straight jeans. His hair makes him seem effortlessly attractive, and he sends you a boyish smile—you assume that he’s your age.

“Can I sit here?”

“Yeah,” you say, dragging your handbag onto your lap. In one gulp, you finish the Cosmopolitan, adding another empty glass to the mini collection you have on the table. The man sits near you, but not right beside you. There’s approximately seven inches of space between the two of you.

You predict that in a couple minutes’ time, he’ll most likely ask you to make out with him for a while before dismissing you once his interest in another girl at this club peaks. After all, he looks relatively young—he’ll take advantage of his handsome face and have his share of fun in this place.

“Are you here alone?” Maybe the alcohol has left you less attentive than usual, but his question was without any malicious intent. You blink.

“I’m here with my boyfr— kind of?” you answer, but your response trails off. You’re uncertain of your situation yourself. His loyalty didn’t rest with you, so you couldn’t call him your boyfriend, but in some way, you’re still tied to him romantically. You sigh.

The man furrows his brows. “Kind of?”

“Well, I guess he’s still my boyfriend, but he acts nothing like one. He doesn’t really care about me anyway—I think I’m just here to entertain him,” you explain, brushing your hair behind your ears. The air is stuffy and uncomfortable in here. “But I think he’s found someone else to entertain him tonight.

You’re expecting “I’ll entertain you then” to fall past his lips, followed by a dirty smirk, but it surprises you that the man asks you, “Are you okay?” instead.

You blink at him again. “O-oh, um... yeah. I’m okay.”

“Really?”

You quirk your brow. “Yes? I’m quite aware of my own feelings, I believe.”

The man only smiles, briefly motioning at the six cocktail glasses you have lined up on the coffee table. “You sure you’re not drinking your sadness away?”

“Yes,” you blatantly lie. He nods at you, quietly chuckling at the white lie you’ve just told him. Your eyes are stubbornly fixated on him, travelling from his Adam’s apple to his lips.

He’s really good-looking.

You don’t realise that your gaze languidly moves down from his lips to his collar. The first two buttons are done, teasing you with a little peek of his well-built figure that is hidden beneath his clothes. A certain heat flowers in your cheeks.

Must be due to the warmth in this room. (Nope!)

“If you’re upset, you should confide in a friend instead. Too much alcohol can reduce your body’s aerobic performance.”

You look at him, stunned. In these five minutes, this guy has left you bewildered twice with his attitude. A typical man at a rambunctious club like this would not advise you to consult a friend during difficult times, let alone care about your wellbeing. A typical man at a club would only seek a woman to satiate his pleasures for a night or two before he leaves, as if the woman’s worth is no more than a dust particle on his jacket. But this guy—he’s nothing like them.

And it leaves you curious.

“Huh?”

“Oh,” he says bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck with a toothy grin. “I’m a soccer player, so I kinda know what alcohol does to your body.”

A soccer player, huh? But isn’t he being a bit of a hypocrite—being an athlete, claiming that he knows about the impact of alcohol on the body’s systems, but he’s at a club where alcoholic drinks are a necessity to have? “I see.”

“Do you know who I am?” he asks, grinning at you. This tone indicates that he’s teasing you, and your lips break into a sheepish smile as you shake your head. He sighs, feigning hurt by clasping a hand over his chest before he laughs.

He’s cute, you think. He’s really cute—a breath of fresh air compared to all the men you’ve interacted with lately.

He holds out his hand, willing you to shake it. “That’s a pity. I’m Isagi. Isagi Yoichi.”

You don’t hesitate when you accept his hand, shaking it gently. “It’s nice to meet you, Isagi.”

“What’s your na—”

A voice abruptly interferes with your conversation with Isagi, belonging to a man with yellow dye in his hair. He’s calling Isagi’s name from the dance floor, and along with a few other guys, he was waving at you and Isagi’s direction. “Let’s go!”

Isagi turns his head back to you, seeming to be amused by the sight of the group of men, whom you believed were his friends. He opens his mouth to speak but pauses and mutters “wait” as he shoves a hand in his pocket. You tilt your head as you watch him pull out a wallet, placing a five-thousand yen note on the coffee table before he gets up.

“Get home safely—especially after six drinks. This is for the taxi fare,” he says, beginning to walk away as he points to the bill. You rise to your feet, flustered, as you attempt to follow him with his money, but he simply shakes his head and waves at you.

“See you!”

When you get home tonight, the first thing you’ll do is search for him on the internet.

© yoisami 2023. plagiarism, translation and distribution of my works outside of tumblr is not permitted.

[curiositydooropened]

Wildfire • Combustion

You're in trouble. When Vecna sinks he's claws into you, your friends rally around you to help exorcise your demons.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Chapter Wordcount: 10,887

Warnings: This chapter contains smut. Minor DNI. • enemies/rivals to lovers, second chance romance, slowburn, unrequited love, so much pining, blood, gore, character death, best friend!disabled!Eddie Munson, character injuries, trauma, PTSD, hallucinations, drowning, concussion, hurt/comfort, fire, panic attacks, insomnia

Fic Masterlist • Navigation • Masterlist

Chapter Five: Searing • Chapter Seven: Inferno

---

The sun hit the front window and bounced off bright orange, drowning your front yard in an amber glow. It was hot, and your shirt stuck to your skin with summer sweat. The yard was littered in toys, a tractor sprinkler, double bicycles with baskets and tassels on the handlebars. Chalk was strewn across the sidewalk, hopscotch traced in stark whites. Gravel crunched in the drive beneath your feet. 

Your mom called your name from the front door, asked if Vickie was staying for dinner. The girl beside you confirmed with a thumbs up and a wave, limbs longer than she was tall. She grinned at you, two front teeth missing, red hair pulled back into braids. She elbowed at your waist. “Can I stay with you forever?” 

You smiled, excited at the prospect of your best friend moving in, hauling her little rubber suitcase full of dolls and horsies down the road to your house and unloading on your bedroom floor. You would share peanut butter and jelly sandwiches every day for the rest of your lives. 

“Till death do you part, right?” A deep voice came from behind you, a chill of breath to the back of your neck. 

You spun and found no one, just a chill on the breeze, the landscape faded to harsh blues and burgundies, everything covered in black ichor and vines. 

Vickie called your name, and when you turned again to face her, she was writhing in agony, skin melting from the bones of her cheeks, collarbone exposed. She reached out, mouth agape, flames that engulfed her the same color as her shock of red hair. Her eyes were pale blue, clouded.

You slammed your eyes closed, and the heat of her was wiped away in an instant. Instead, you were pushed and prodded toward a closed window. A crowd of strangers filed outside around you, staring up at a cloud-filled sky. Particles of grey and white snowed down on the parking lot of the high school gym.

“Is that snow?”

“I think it’s ash.” 

“Like Mount Vesuvius?”

“I didn’t even know Hawkins was on a fault line.”

You looked around for a familiar face, panic crawling up your chest.

Vickie stood an arm’s length away, and you rushed to her side, tugging on her sleeve. “We need to get out of here.” 

“Steve!” A kid with curly hair limped over to the couple posted up beside your best friend. You noticed Vickie was watching a freckled blonde girl exchange concerned looks with the handsome brunette beside her.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” the handsome man copycatted you, tugging on the arm of the blonde girl beside him. 

“Robin, where are you guys going?” Vickie asked, taking the girl’s other hand in her own. A bloom of jealousy radiated through you, of interest, while the panic rose higher behind your sternum. 

Robin made eyes with the two boys beside her, an unspoken conversation between them. 

“Do you know what’s going on?” Vickie prodded, stepping into their little circle to face her friend. 

Once again, the girl made eyes at the boy beside her, and you watched him roll his eyes before grabbing the younger boy and leading him out the door. 

“Come on,” Robin gripped Vickie’s hand tighter and yanked her out across the lot after them. 

“Wait, Vic!” You chased after your best friend, and this crew she’d acquired in the last hour or so since you left her at the sandwich counter. “Where are you going?” 

You all halted at a burgundy BMW, and the driver held a hand up to stop you from joining. He was taller than you, broader, but couldn’t be any older, and something about his air of authority had you prickling.

“This is my best friend,” Vickie introduced, climbing into the car beside Robin. 

The boy ran a hand down his face and opened the back door for you. “Get in.”

You did as instructed, but yanked the door from his grasp to slam it, satisfied at the look of frustration across his pretty boy features. 

“I’m Robin,” the freckled girl reached across Vickie to introduce herself, and you shook her hand before eyeing your best friend. Vickie’s face had nearly turned violet in embarrassment. “This is Steve and Dustin.” 

Steve didn’t have the capacity to greet you properly as he peeled out of his parking spot and sped away from the growing crowd. 

You hung onto the headrest to stop from slamming into your friend beside you, and grit your teeth. “Great, can someone please tell me where we’re going?” 

Dustin turned to face you, black ichor spilling from between braced teeth in a menacing grimace. His eyes were a pale, cloudy blue. “Didn’t you know? This is the road to Hell.” 

The landscape around you flickered in greyscale. The crowd disappeared and was replaced by rotting buildings, fallen trees, a city on fire.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the flower-faced panic monster rearing its ugly head, clawed its way through your esophagus, breathing fire and sputtering blood, and you choked on your scream. “Vickie!” 

You climbed the final hill in front of her childhood home. The pale yellow facade had peeling paint, fire having ripped through it months earlier. You were out of breath, had been chasing her for hours according to the watch on your wrist. Sweat clung to the base of your skull, and the straps of your flamethrower pinched at the skin of your shoulders. You cried out for your best friend again. 

Something loud banged on the other side of the garage door, startling you, and you swung your weapon that direction. The door shook on its rails , hinges rattling violently. You sidestepped to see the side door, ready to fire when Vickie appeared in the side yard. 

“Listen!” She called out, waving her arms over her head.

“To what?” You frowned. “Where the Hell have you been?” 

“Bonnie Tyler,” she pointed upward. She seemed rushed, crossing the yard to peel part of the chain link from the fence to block the garage side door. She hummed the tune as she worked, and you took a few steps closer to her before you heard it. 

It was a little distorted, tune a little wonky, a little muted. You looked around for a cassette player, wondered if the car was playing it in the garage. 

“It’s Steve. He’s trying to pull you out of this, and it’s getting harder to fight Vecna off, so I’m going to need you to snap out of it and wake the Hell up.” Vickie stated, irritated as she grabbed a patio chair and dragged it to the door. 

The garage shook again, a pound to the door that had the entire building trembling on its foundations. That spot behind your shoulder blade tickled, a chill down your spine, and the pieces all fell into place. 

“Look,” Vickie pointed to the skyline above the woods, and when you turned, you saw a split in the clouds. Greyscale had poured pale yellow onto the canvas and you were watching yourself, catatonic and limp in the arms of Steve Harrington. Large hands were pressed to your cheeks, wrapped around your waist, his body pressed to yours, warm and hard, and there was panic in his eyes as he shouted words you couldn’t hear over the music. Hopper and Owens stood nearby. Several soldiers and Eddie were behind them. 

“Now wake up, damnit,” Vickie shook your shoulder, shoved you their direction. You stumbled two steps. 

“Wait,” you halted and grabbed her wrist, tiny, pulse warm in your hand. “Not without you.” 

“Yes, without me!” Her body was against the door now, the building rattling at her back. “I’ve spent a year holding him back, I can handle him for a little bit longer.” 

You shook your head, the music growing louder against your skull, somewhere just behind your ears. “I don’t understand.” You shouted over it. 

“I told you I’d never leave you,” she bit down on her bottom lip, eyes fierce. “I’m sorry he piggybacked, but now you know he’s here, and you have to get him out. You have the help I never got. Take advantage of that.” The door banged harder, and she slipped before regaining her strength. “Go.” 

“What am I supposed to do?” You screamed, the music all-encompassing, rhythm of the knocks on the garage against the beat of the track on loop. 

“He’s weak, but he gains strength in your subconscious when you sleep.” She explained, eyes closed in her attempt to keep him out. “Destroy the Ether. I think he - oof -” A particularly large hit sent her flying, and you took her place, holding the handle closed tight as it turned in your hand. 

She stood, knees bloodied, and took it from your hands. “Go! I can’t hold him much longer.” She shoved you back in the direction of the clouds. 

You felt conflicted, rooted to the spot as you watched your best friend struggle.

She made eye contact with you, eyes blurred with tears, and she grit her teeth before she screamed, “GO!” Her visage flashed fiery red, a ghost of her former self, the screaming face of a loved one charred and burned.

You reached out for her before you felt yourself thrust off your feet, yanked backwards by your spine. The forces around you, the pulsating of music in your skull, the scream that ripped from your chest to mirror her own, caught you spiraling into blackness, falling, falling, falling through a never-ending abyss. Arms and legs flailed, and you gained speed as you neared the bottom, music so loud you could no longer make out the words, and then you hit bottom.

Warmth flooded your senses, a stuffy heat that clung the fabric of your clothes to your skin and stifled your lungs which fought to catch a breath. Your eyes flew open to find two big, brown eyes and a crumpled brow. The smell of sweat and steam and cigarette smoke filled your nostrils, and every square inch of you was hyper aware of the hand on your waist, your cheek, the abdomen pressed to your own. 

“Are you here? Are you okay?” Steve’s sweet voice croaked, just under the volume of Bonnie Tyler on overhead speakers, and you crashed into him, burying your face in his throat as reality broke and you realized you were alive, and he was there to keep you safe. 

You felt his arms snake around you while your body wracked with sobs, and lips to your temple as he comforted you with soft hums of reassurance. The sounds of soldiers filing in replaced the music and the ringing in your ears. 

—

The coffee in your cup didn’t stay still long enough to see your reflection. Your hands trembled, or maybe they were jittery, and the glare from the fluorescents stung in your skull like a migraine. You sipped, lukewarm and a bit burnt, and wrapped the blanket tighter around your shoulders. 

“So what? You stay awake forever? This isn’t sustainable,” Steve argued, arms crossed over his chest as he sat propped on the table across from your hospital bed. 

You rolled your eyes and continued to drink.

“No, it isn’t,” Owens agreed, face stuck in the pitying frown you possibly had never seen him without. 

“So we need a solution,” Hopper grumbled. Your nurse pulled his cigarette from between his lips and slipped it back into his pocket before scribbling stats onto her charts. 

“I feel like it’s pretty obvious,” you said, trying to ignore the fear that rocketed through you. “We nuke it all. Ether goes to Hell with me inside.” Destroy the host, destroy the parasite.

“No.” 

“Absolutely not.” Steve and Eddie snapped in unison. Eddie was seated at your bedside, knuckles gripping his walker so hard you thought it might snap.

You closed your eyes, steadied your breath. “I appreciate that you want to protect me, but let’s be realistic here. We don’t have any other plans, and if he latched onto Vickie and then onto me when she died, it seems like I need to take care of this.”

“You’re right,” Nancy said from her seat beside Steve. His jaw ticked, and you avoided his glare. “We don’t have any other plans, but we can’t just nuke the Upside Down.”

“The infrastructure doesn’t support that. We blow the place up, the entire Midwest could crumble into the Earth.” Hopper rubbed at tired eyes.

“We shouldn’t make our plans in front of you,” Eddie grit his teeth, his good leg bouncing. “He can hear and see everything you can. He’s in you, but he’s in all of them too.” 

You could feel them: claws and teeth and bloodlust. A shiver wracked through you, that breath of cold air to the base of your skull.

“He’s right. We can’t risk an ambush walking in there.”

Something firm in Nancy’s voice had your heart pounding, that panic clawing its way up and out. Control was swiftly being removed from your reach, one way or the other. “We don’t know that.”

“That’s what he does,” Eddie’s voice matched Nancy’s. He ran a tired hand down his face. “He listens to you, knows your every thought. He listens to the people you care about the most, and then he hurts them. He makes you hurt them.”

You reached a hand to his, but he recoiled from your grasp. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and you saw fear in those big, brown eyes. Eddie was terrified. You swallowed back the emotion that rose in your chest and replaced your trembling hand to your coffee cup. “If you can’t discuss plans with me in the room, can I be dismissed to my quarters?”

Sighs were exchanged all around you. Owens looked over your vital chart, and you watched him make eyes at Hopper. Hopper scratched the mustache on his upper lip and nodded.

“No leaving the compound, and for now, no sleeping.”

“I’ll go with you,” Steve stood from his lean, arms out to help you off of the hospital bed as a nurse went about unplugging you from the beeping machines.

“Harrington, we’re going to need you and the full Scorch team. Munson, you too.”

“Absolutely not,” Steve gestured your direction. “She wants to nuke the Ether with herself inside it. We can’t trust her to be by herself.” 

His words rang true, but you couldn’t help the sting of betrayal that settled somewhere within you. 

“She won’t be alone.” Hopper said, flashing you a smile that filled your with an equal amount of unease.

—

The steady ba-dunk ba-dunk ba-dunk of a tennis ball against hard wood flooring echoed your heartbeat. Over-caffeinated, the tips of your fingers tingled, and your legs bounced in tandem as you sat cross-legged on the floor.

“Bob Marley, man. One Love.” Argyle slammed the tennis ball against the ground beside you, and it bounced and hit the concrete wall. You caught it on the rebound.

“Solid choice,” you nodded. Your mouth was dry, and the way adrenaline pumped through you felt the exact opposite of Argyle’s chill demeanor in a moment like this. He seemed entirely unbothered by the horrifying aberration attached to your psyche. 

He caught your throw. “Yeah, dude. That’s what it’s all about. We stick together, and he can’t win.”

You glanced up at the man beside you, long hair tucked back beneath a camouflage hat. He’d been dragged from his home, his life, the calm of slinging pizzas, and how he’d maintained the positive look on life, you’d never understand. 

“Did someone call a babysitter?” A voice called from behind you.

“Hey, Buckley, what’s your Vecna song?” Argyle called, tossing the tennis ball in the air a few times.

“Steve Miller Band, Joker, obviously,” Robin responded, shoes clacking against the hard wood upon her approach. You couldn’t face her immediately, catching that bit of flame in your periphery, but eventually she kicked at your knee with her toe, pulling your attention to the sad look in blue eyes. 

“Right on,” Argyle approved of her response. You knew it was a lie.

“You hungry?” Robin asked, extending her hand to help you up. 

With a sigh, you took her grasp and lifted yourself from the ground. Your stomach had growled at the mention of food, unable to keep anything down in the passing days in Quarantine. 

“Wish I could go with you, space cowboys, but I have a Scorch meeting to attend,” Argyle tapped at the watch on his wrist and tossed you the tennis ball. 

You caught the bright green fuzz and squeezed, offering him a wave. “Thanks for watching me.” 

The man crossed to you, enveloping you in a surprise hug, tight and warm. “We’re not going to let anything happen to you, bud.” He muttered into your ear before giving Robin a quick kiss to the forehead and exiting the small court. 

“I don’t need a babysitter,” you finally greeted Robin, adjusting the sweatshirt over your shoulders as you followed Argyle toward the hallway. 

She elbowed your side. “I don’t think you really get a say anymore.” 

You know she was teasing, but you’d been stewing for hours. Your jaw ached from being clenched, and your mind raced with your heartbeat of all the possibilities they could be discussing in their meetings a few floors up. You knew none of them would make the right call. “So I don’t have control over what’s going on in my subconscious, and I’m not allowed to make conscious decisions for myself either? How is that fair, Robin?”

“Sometimes life isn’t fair.” Her tone was ice-cold. The polar opposite of Argyle’s warmth, she stopped you dead in your tracks in the center of a dim hallway.

You half-expected her to grow a long claw, to be a part of this never-ending nightmare, but when you turned to face her, it was just Robin. It was just that beautiful woman that spent two years of her life loving your best friend for you to rip her away. 

“Vickie died for his cause, whether she meant to or not, she didn’t leave us a choice.” She said, fists clenching around the satchel strap across her chest.

Your own hands shook at your sides. 

“So, yes, we have to keep an eye on you, so you don’t run away and do the same thing.”

Light from the adjacent room cast in her soft yellows, the same, sickly pale that clung to the concrete walls of this cold building you’ve called your home for years now. Now it felt like a prison, and Robin a well-dressed guard. 

“Robin…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The hurt in her eyes struck you like wind on a crisp day, sucking the air from your lungs. 

“What happens if you die like Vickie, huh? Then Steve gets flayed? Eddie? What was your plan?”

You grit your teeth at the accusations, clenched your fists. “You know I’d never hurt them.” 

“I know,” she snapped, like you’d been the insinuator, “but you have to consider the consequences of hiding this from the world until you burst and Vecna himself comes slithering out in the form of a giant flesh monster.”

Another chill wracked through you, familiar, a buzz at the base of your skull. 

Robin took a few uneasy steps toward you. “Can he hear us?”

You swallowed, shrugged, though a tickle above your earlobe said yes, said absolutely, said speak.

Your friend crossed to you, and for a moment you thought she might avoid you, like Eddie had, but instead, she pressed a warm palm to your cheek. Her other hand reached for your fist at your side. Her blue eyes were fierce, steadfast, terrifying. “We are going to burn him out of you, and he’ll have to watch in agony as his world burns around him.”

Fear hung in her chest at your promise, settled right above the rapid beating of your heart, more fear than you’d ever felt in the Ether, staring down the barrel of a flamethrower at a monster, even in your nightmares.

Robin blinked, laughed back the emotion that threatened to spill. “Sorry, I just really love you, and I don’t want to imagine a world without you in it.”

This time, the emotion bubbled up your esophagus because you weren’t sure if she was talking to you or to Vickie.

She waved it off with another laugh, wiping tears from the corner of her eyes. “Let’s go get lunch in the caf exactly like we used to, in a safe space where I don’t have to be the only one to keep my eyes on you. Sound good?”

You wanted to talk, to tell her Vickie loved her, to apologize again for all that you’d done. The feigned smile on her face told you she was done. You nodded.

“Good.” She linked your arms at the elbows and tugged you in the direction of the caf. 

—

Scalding water cascaded over the aches in your shoulders and back. You’d turned the faucet too high, steam enveloping the ladies’ locker room, but you needed it to hurt. You scrubbed yourself raw, wanting to rid yourself of the sweat and grime that had clung to your flesh in quarantine. You needed to wash it all off of you.

You kept your eyes trained on the cold, white tile ahead of you, on the in-laid shiny chrome knobs. If you closed your eyes, you’d see ice cold landscapes full of vines, you’d see the slam of garage door on its hinges, you’d see the terror and fury in Vickie’s eyes.

You grit your teeth and tipped your head back, allowing the water to pummel your brow, your cheeks, that surge ripping through your stomach, begging for air, but you lingered just a second longer, pushing through the guilt and pain and the need to scream. 

A door slammed, followed by the sound of heavy footfall, and you sputtered, stepping out of the spray to catch your breath.

“Where the Hell have you been!?” Harrington’s voice echoed against tile, his head and shoulders visible above the row of tiled stalls. 

Instinctively, you covered yourself and glanced throughout the room to find yourself alone. “Where does it look like I’ve been, Harrington?” You snapped, turning your back to him to rinse your front. 

“Robin said you’d be in your dorm. I’ve been looking for you for an hour.”

“I was taking some gym time. That okay with you, Warden?” You shot over your shoulder. 

His shoulders rose and fell, and he ran both hands through his hair. It stuck up at odd angles like he’d been doing that all day. His eyes were bloodshot, face already shiny from the steam that enveloped the room. “We were worried you ran off and did something stupid.” 

You scoffed. “Good to know I have your confidence.”

The sound of frustration that escaped him roiled in your stomach, unearthed something deep, something familiar. “That’s not…” 

You glanced over your shoulder again to watch him chew on his words. You couldn’t decide if he was searching for another retort or finding a way to hold it back, and it felt good. You delighted in the competition, in catching his tongue. Your friendship used to be this, a playful back-and-forth. 

“No, I get it, Harrington,” you turned under the water again, feeling the pressure weaken from prolonged use. You gargled water and spit it into the drain at your feet. “I can’t be trusted.”

“I didn’t say that.” He huffed.

“No, really,” you bit back the smirk that was beginning to tug at the corners of your mouth. “You never know when I could do something incredibly…” You slapped off the faucet and stepped out of the stall into the aisle to face him. “Foolish.” 

The end of your word fell from your mouth with a whisper when you caught the look on his face.

Harrington’s jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened, though they stay trained on your face. He stood ten, maybe twenty feet from you, hands to his hips, stance wide, shoulders square. 

Your entire body caught ablaze, cooler air pebbling every inch of you, but you couldn’t cower now, couldn’t shield yourself, exposed and raw in front of him. 

After a prolonged silence, the drip of the faucet against tile floors, he moved. With slow, measured strides, the squeak of rubber soles against wet tile, he closed the distance. 

You sucked in a breath and held it, the warmth of him flooding your senses all at once.

Maintaining eye contact, he reached beside you for your government grade towel, and it wasn’t until he held it out for you to take, did you notice the quick sweep of his eyes along your frame.

Your hands shook receiving the towel and covering your front, hoping to hide the burn in your cheeks with dry terry cloth as you dabbed at droplets on your nose. 

Harrington turned his back to you then, and you watched the red that crawled up his neck and to his ears from the collar of his shirt. “When I couldn’t find you,” he cleared his throat, brought his hands up to scratch at that little row of stitches starting to heal, “I panicked.”

You warmed at his confession, the tidal of an adrenaline rush crashing into something softer, waves along a shoreline. You dried your body and reached for the pile of clean clothes, slowly stepping into them. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, pulling the drawstring on your pants.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re in prison,” again, the soft tone to his voice sent a chill through you. 

You pulled a sweatshirt over your head and reached for him, pausing to stare at the back of him for a moment, broad shoulders and shaved neck, hair a mess on top. He seemed taller than you remembered, maybe it was the boots on his feet. Your fingers came into contact with the dip of his tricep, warm under pruned fingertips. 

He turned, and you felt yourself heat again at the quick one-over flick of his eyes before he met your gaze again. The honeyed brown was still dark, that crease in his brow remained, but you perceived the smallest uptick of the corners of his pink lips when he asked, “You hungry?”

—

Loneliness sunk in like a hot blade through butter. You ate dinner surrounded by friends, and you still felt sequestered, miles away. Maybe it was the exchanged looks on their faces, the pitying glances when they thought you weren’t looking or wouldn’t notice. Maybe it was the way they spoke of their shared future when this was all over, the one you weren’t sure you’d be there for. Something sliced right through you and cauterized the wound. 

Even as you climbed the spiral staircase, trailing two steps behind Harrington, the vacuous concrete loomed in ways you’d never experienced until now. The compound felt vast, a labyrinth of memories you’d rather not dwell on lest they be used against you in your subconscious. 

The prospect of stepping into your room and the door closing behind you had your heart racing. So when Steve held his own door open and nodded for you to join him, you didn’t argue. 

His room was warm and tidy and smelled of his aftershave. His sink was void of dishes, the little countertop holding various tubs and tubes of toothpaste and hair product. His bed was unmade, in a way that looked enticing, cozy, a clump of blankets bunched near the foot to expose the indentation of his frame. A few books were stacked on the bedside table near that secret pair of glasses he kept folded beneath a lamp. 

He crossed the room and turned on a little clock radio, shifting through the static until an unfamiliar pop crooner’s voice filled the little space. You wondered if this was a habit he’d always had, or if he thought it’d keep your parasite at bay.

Then, he opened his wardrobe to retrieve a matching sweatshirt to your own, pulling it over his head. He popped from the collar mussy haired and yawning. He caught his yawn in his hand before rubbing at tired eyes. He reached across the bed for his glasses and pushed them up the bridge of his nose, bleary eyed. 

You shifted on the balls of your feet, lingering just inside the threshold. 

He filled up a couple red plastic cups of water, checking the temperature on his hand first. He set them both on the rickety tabletop, gesturing for you to come join him, before he pulled a deck of cards from a nearby drawer full of pens and paper.

“Any - “ He stifled another yawn, shaking it off with a frown. “Sorry. Any good at Slap Jack?”

The circles under his eyes looked darker in this light, accentuating the yellowed bruise on his cheekbone you’d given him nearly a week earlier. His shoulders slumped, and his hair stood on end. He looked ragged, run through. 

You rolled your eyes. “Harrington, go to bed.” 

“What? No. I’m fine,” he shrugged you off, pulling out his seat to dump the deck into one hand. He began to shuffle, and you watched him with crossed arms. “Will you come sit down?” 

“When’s the last time you slept?” You asked, toeing out of your sneakers and leaving them at the door. 

You didn’t like the look he gave you. The last time you’d run into his room in the middle of the night, he was up and reading. That was nearly a month ago. Hairs prickled at the base of your skull.

Caught, he shrugged it off, kept shuffling. “Last night, whenever.” You knew he’d spent last night sneaking in to see you. 

You leaned forward and peeled the cards from his hands, straightening the deck before sliding it back into its box. 

He shot you an irritated look, crossing his arms over his chest.

You challenged his with a look of your own, tossing the cards back to the tabletop. 

Finally, he spoke, voice soft. “I can’t.” 

You swallowed. “Why not?”

He didn’t answer, only traced your frame with big brown eyes. 

Self-conscious, you adjusted your sweatshirt as it fell over your shoulders. The ribbed hems of your sleeves were frayed from use. A big yellow stain splotched the left side of your chest, source unknown and impossible to wash out. Now clean and dry, you were sure you looked only slightly less haggard than the man in front of you. 

“I’ll stay up with you,” he offered, a polite way of saying he was terrified of letting you fall asleep. 

You shook your head. “I won’t fall asleep.” It was a polite way of saying you were terrified too. “Besides, I don’t feel very safe knowing you’re running on fumes.”

You avoided his gaze by looking back around the space, finding some escape, some trick. You spotted the stack of books near his bedside, and crossed the tight space to pull The Shining from the middle of the stack.

Steve grumbled your name, rubbed at tired eyes from beneath the rims of his glasses. 

You lifted his pillow, floppier than your own, and propped it against the radiator he used as a headboard. Holding your breath, you climbed into his space on the bed, folding your legs in front of you and patting your lap. “C’mere.” 

He blinked back at you and didn’t move, sideways in his chair, rooted to the spot. 

You held your book aloft, flipping to a random page. “This book is terrifying. I’ll be too scared to sleep, but if I do…” You feigned sleep, a bit melodramatic, like you were acting a skit to convince a child, and you dropped the book into your lap. “It’ll wake you up.” 

You blinked one eye open to catch the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple. He scratched at the back of his neck. “You want me uh…” He pointed at your lap.

You warmed, wondered what the hell you were thinking, and licked your lips before you nodded. “Sure.” The word came out with a tight breath. 

Again, he didn’t move. He stared at his feet for a moment, as if willing them to pick themselves up, and then with a sigh, he reached to untie the laces of his boots before he stepped out of them. 

Your heart began to race, the steady drum behind your sternum that heated your chest, your throat, your cheeks. 

He stood, and took slow strides toward you, stopping at the foot of the bed. He scratched at his jaw again before mumbling, “Are you sure?” 

You nodded and shifted again, a vain attempt to become more comfortable, more accommodating. 

With a series of loud sighs, he fell to the mattress, the whole thing bouncing under his weight until he managed to crawl and roll his head into your lap. He hesitated to rest the full weight of his head on your thigh, so you placed a stiff hand to his shoulder to encourage him to relax. He was warm and heavy, but not uncomfortably so. 

“Want me to put your glasses up?” You asked, suddenly self-conscious about everything at this angle. 

“Hm? Oh.” He pulled the frames from his nose and folded them, placing them in your outstretched hand. 

You replaced them onto the beside table and adjusted your hips with a mumbled apology. 

Steve was too long for the bed, socked ankles and feet dangling off the far end. He still wore his tactical pants, all straps and pockets and buckles, and the collar of his sweatshirt scrunched up around his jaw. He sat up a little to pull his sweatshirt down and tried to settle to a softer part of your leg.

“Do you need a blanket?” You asked, tugging at the army green fleece. You hated how breathy you sounded, how your voice betrayed you every time. 

He shook his head, crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m okay. Are you sure?”

You snorted, lifted the book high enough to hide your face, and said, “Harrington, go to sleep.” 

“Okay,” his skull rumbled against your thigh. “But if anything happens.” 

“I will happily smack you with this book,” you lifted it higher to glance back down at him. 

His eyes were closed, but the corner of his lips quirked upward. His eye lashes were so long, casting shadows on freckled cheeks, pinched rosy in the heat or embarrassment of your positions. 

You swallowed and flipped the book to the front page, lest he open his eyes again and catch you staring. You pretended to read until his head grew heavy, and the steady rise and fall of his chest came out in near imperceptible snores.

Despite the warmth emanating from him, something deep in the recesses of your mind reminded you how alone you now were. 

The radio remained on beside you, pop songs you’d let fade into the background. The clock told you it was late into the night, and the lack of sounds from the hall exemplified that. You wondered if anyone could hear you call for help.

You closed the book and added it to its stack, glancing around the room for signs it was real, that you were there and you weren’t alone. 

Harrington rolled, cheek to your thigh, breath fanned hot and wet against the soft cloth of your sweatpants. His fists unclenched from beneath his biceps, and he stretched one large hand under your calf. He was real, and he was there. 

He always had been, just as he promised. Late nights nose-to-nose, exchanging secrets and promises and breath had all come to this. He’d kept you as safe as he could, and you did the same. Every time you needed him, he’d appeared with strong arms wrapped around you, brow crumpled in concern.

In the past two years, you were sure you’d only seen him this relaxed, this content, once before. Careful not to wake him, you tucked his hair up and out of his face.

—

Eddie frowned over his white ceramic mug while he slurped.

The morning crowd had since dispersed, leaving the caf in silence, but at your over-caffeinated state, your mind was lost in a cacophony of sounds: the squeak of sneakers against the linoleum, the brush of a flat broom into a pile in the corner, the clang of dishes being washed somewhere in the back, the rattle of screws in the table leg as your leg bounced with reckless abandon. 

Eddie set his mug to the tabletop, the silver rings around his finger tinkling the bottom of the cup.

You wrapped your knuckles against the table, unable to stop moving, too overstimulated, too anxious, too much kinetic energy.

Eddie stared at your knuckles for a moment. You watched his jaw tick.

You shuddered and reached for your lukewarm cup of coffee. 

Eddie snatched it out of your fingers, and it tumbled to the table with a surprising bounce, casting brown liquid across orange tabletop. “Shit, sorry,” he grumbled, and stood to grab a wet rag from a nearby table to clean up the mess. 

“Munson, what the hell, dude?” Harrington stood and swiped coffee from the crotch of his pants. His chair groaned against chipped flooring, snagged on a lifted tile.

You reached out to grab the back before it went teetering to the floor.

“She’s tweaking out!” Eddie gestured to you, juices from the wet rag spattering your cheek. “Reminds me of my old man.” 

“Is that why you won’t even look at me?” You snapped, mopping your face with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. 

“No,” he pointed at you. “I won’t look at you because you’ve got a fucking monster living inside of you, and I’m sorry I can’t coddle you like Harrington does.” 

“Hey!” Harrington argued. You noticed his shoulders started to square in defense, stepping between you.

“No, dude, fuck off. I don’t want to hear it. She doesn’t need you to be her knight and shining armor. It’s not that deep.” Eddie waved him off with the shake of his head, curls falling over slumped shoulders. He gripped his walker and looked directly at you. 

“You can’t seem to understand that your shit affects the people around you too. We can talk once you’ve figured that out.” He pushed off from the table, and you heard the squeak of rubber pads against flooring as he left.

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but you tugged on the elbow of his sweatshirt until he stepped aside. He frowned down at you, obstinate, but you placed a hand to his chest, and he seemed to soften.

“He’s right,” you said.

“Doesn’t mean he has to be an asshole about it.” 

You shrugged, catching a snap of anger at unsuspecting recruits in the hallway. “We’re all on edge.” 

After another long moment, the crash of tin cans sounded, followed by a series of shouted curse words. A trash lid rolled by the caf double doors. You took a deep breath. 

“You’re the only one who understands what he’s gone through,” Steve muttered.

You hoped he felt the animosity in your expression. You hoped he couldn’t sense how your shoulders relaxed when he tugged at the elbow of your own sweatshirt. 

He nodded toward the hallway. “Go talk to Munson. He’s been really shit in the War Room, and I think it’s because he’s worried about you.” 

You groaned, stamped your feet, but slowly let them carry out away from the smell of stale coffee and cleaning chemicals. 

You found him a few floors up. He’d taken the elevator to the offices, and had settled into a rolling chair behind an oversized desk that would have been reception at a busier time. He looked up as you entered, rolled his eyes, and leaned back with arms crossed over his slender chest. 

“Hey,” you crossed your arms over your own chest, a challenge. You stopped a few feet from the desk. You could hear Hopper’s mumble just beyond a dented steel door down the hall. 

“Hello,” Eddie countered. “What do you want?”

“Apparently my shit affects the people around me.”

He didn’t smile at that. Instead, he sighed and adjusted himself on the chair. The gears squeaked under his weight. 

You grit your teeth through any need to keep pushing his buttons and rubbed at exhausted eyes before you took a few steps forward to the front panel of the desk. You leaned over it, two fists to the tabletop, and muttered. “His plan is to keep reminding me that I’ve murdered everyone who ever loved me. Why perpetuate that by letting me think you hate me too?”

“Shit,” he grumbled and pawed at his own face, scrubbing at the stubble that had grown on his chin. He looked about as rough as you all had, and you knew he hadn’t slept the night before either. “I don’t hate you,” he hissed, though he did back the chair up a few more feet until he hit the wall. 

“I know,” you stood back up. “I just wanted to make you feel shitty for ignoring me for the past two days. You know, I’d feel a lot less hopeless about my fate if the one person who knew what I was going through wasn’t, I don’t know, terrified of me?” 

His gaze softened, big brown eyes turned downward as he gnawed on the cuticle of a nail that you’re sure had been shredded. “It’s not you,” he said through his teeth. “It’s the other dickhead.” He gestured toward your head, but his eyes went somewhere far-off, somewhere full of beasts and burned woods and horror.

“He can’t get you, Eds,” you shrugged off the sharp pain in your shoulder, the gnawing at your spinal cord.

“You don’t know that,” he whispered.

Another sting strung through you, like fingers plucking your strings, and you closed your eyes through the pain, pushed through. “How did you get out of it before? This��� mindfuck, how did you escape it?”

Eddie shrugged, shook out his curls. “I don’t know.”

Panic at the familiarity of having questions unanswered began to claw at your insides, and you snapped, slamming your hands back down onto the table. “Don’t bullshit me, Munson. You guys are plotting how to get this parasite out of me. You won’t let me sleep. I need to be babysat at all times by people who are afraid of me. I’m not a child! Teach me how to defend myself against this.”

“What in the Hell is going on out here?” A gruff shout preceded the creak of a door on its hinges, the stomping of boots from down the hall. When Hopper caught sight of you both, his shoulders relaxed in a sigh.

“We’re just screaming about our impending doom,” Eddie explained, that sardonic grin spreading across his features. 

Hopper made eye contact with you and cocked a brow, frown-unmoved by Munson’s sarcasm. “You okay?” 

You shrugged, shoved your hands in your pants pockets. “You guys figure out how to get this asshole out of me yet?” 

Hop made eyes at your best friend, and the two of them exchanged cryptic glances before he said, “Working on it. Is there a reason you’re fighting outside my office?” 

Eddie looked at you, and you thought he was expecting an answer until his smile fell, and you watched the sadness pierce his brown eyes. “No, sir,” he said, “I was just coming to ask how soon we could get back into the War Room.” 

The old man looked between you two again. “Twenty minutes sound good?” 

Eddie sighed, rubbing at tired eyes. “Better make it thirty.”

With a salute, Hopper turned and walked back to his office, floor squeaking beneath his feet. 

Eddie pulled himself off his chair and started making his way back toward the elevators. You gave him a wide berth, until he gestured for you to catch up, and you did so tentatively. 

The doors buzzed open when the lift arrived, and you both stepped inside. It quaked a little under your combined weight, but managed to start its ascent the moment the doors closed again. The mechanics whirred a little, and the little box smelled of hot metal. 

“Dustin sang to me.” Munson broke the silence. His hand was trembling, rings clanging against the metal hand-hold of his walker. “I beat the ever-loving shit out of him. He almost died at my hands, and he was laying there, bloodied, face-swollen, and he started singing.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You remembered seeing Henderson afterward. You remember visiting him in the Med Bay, of seeing the pain everyone had suffered at the hands of this monster. “What did he sing?” 

Eddie snorted, rolled his eyes. “The Never-Ending Story theme.” 

The halt of the elevator stifled the chuckle you emitted at the image, and you reached a hand to hold the door open for your friend while he exited into a dark hallway.

“Yeah, it was so stupid, but all those little shits were there, and they were telling me stories about Hellfire,” he continued, pushing forward toward mid-morning light cast across pale yellow walls. “They remembered shit I’d forgotten about, and they talked about these characters like we were all there living it. Like we’d destroyed Lord Vecna with swords and axes and a slingshot.”

The mention of his name brought ice-cold to the warmth of your chest.

“So I think it was all of those memories. That’s what snapped me out of it: those weird ass kids and the stupid tabletop game we played after school.”

The idea itself was heartwarming, wholesome, and you ought to be inspired, happy even, that these kids managed to rescue your best friend from the brink. Somehow, the only thing that came to mind was a shock of red hair, black smoke, ash and char and agonizing screams.

“Stop,” Eddie stopped and reached out to grab your hand. “I know you’re thinking about Vickie right now, and you couldn’t have saved her. You didn’t know, and she didn’t know.”

His hand was warm, and a bit damp, and his eyes were fierce. 

“Think about all of the good times you had with her. Think about all the times I knocked on your door to find you two whispering and cackling. Think about all the fights we’ve gotten into about music. Think about Robin’s horrible taste in ice cream. Think about how good it feels to kiss Harrington. Think about how stupid Hopper looks without a mustache.” 

You laughed, a barked thing that stung at emotional-filled vocal chords, and batted at the grin that formed on his stupid face.

“Ow,” he chuckled, shoving you back, hard enough to have you stumbling backwards slightly, and he zoomed around a corner before you scrambled to catch-up, still chuckling.

Light poured in from adjacent windows, across the common area. The soft curls atop his head glowed in sunlight and warmth, and before you could stop yourself, you swung your arms tight around his slender waist and buried your face into the sweet sting of marijuana that lingered in his t-shirt.

He stumbled a little, tensed, but quickly relaxed into the embrace, folding his arms around you too. “We’re not going to let him win, damnit. Fucking promise me.” 

You grit your teeth and nodded, that uneasy pull settling into your shoulders like wings. “Promise.” 

—

Day slipped to night, and you watched pale yellow hallways burn orange and peach with the setting sun. Teams took turns chauffeuring you around the compound, keeping you company and keeping you caffeinated. You tried to keep Eddie’s words at heart, lingering on the smiles and laughter, and you were bid goodnight with hugs and high-fives in the common room just as Scorch was making their way to their respective dorms for the night.

You heard the whispers first, pulling yourself off a barstool to greet everyone with a smile that fell the moment you caught their gazes, their judgment, their disdain. 

Panic dug its claws into your chest. Each of your teammates passed with terror in their eyes until the last two squeezed themselves through the stairwell doorway. Harrington held the heavy steel door open to let Wheeler through.

She spotted you as the others had, jaw clenched, blue eyes fierce. Unlike the others, she crossed right to you. “We’re getting it figured out. You’ll be out of the dark soon, I promise. How’re you feeling?” 

“F-fine,” you swallowed, glanced over her shoulder at Harrington. He was staring at his feet, scratching that scar at the back of his skull. “Tired.” 

Nancy nodded, and glanced over her shoulder before dipping her own gaze to the ground. “Listen, I know I’ve never told you this, but I really admire you.”

Her words stirred something within you, that panic kicking back up again, all claws and teeth and gaping mouth. “What?” Your mouth felt dry. 

She looked up at you then, shrugged, the softest smile quirking at the corner of her bow lips. “You were an amazing team lead, and you had to make some horrific decisions, I can’t imagine…” She cut herself off, cleared her throat. “I just think you’re really brave.”

You managed to thank her, somehow, though you were stunned, and she bid you both a goodnight.

You stared at her back as she retreated, curly hair cascading over her petite shoulders. Even now, in the glow of an Exit sign, she stood tall, proud.

“C’,mon,” Harrington gestured for you to follow him, hands shoved into his pockets. He still hadn’t made eye contact with you, and the panic crawled on all-fours up your esophagus.

“Harrington,” you hissed, pulling your keys and lanyard from your pocket as he stopped beside you dorm room door.

“Can I come in?”

Your hands trembled unlocking your door. You room was stale, cold. You kicked off your shoes near the door and hung your key on its hook by the door. Harrington crossed to your radio to flick it on, static breaking through tracks until he found a station he was satisfied with.

“Harrington,” you hated the way your voice wavered, fear chattering your teeth. “You have to tell me if I’m going to die.” 

He looked up at you then, brow crumpled. “You know I won’t let that happen.” 

“You might not have a choice!”

“Stop saying that!” His volume matched yours, and his own fists shook at his sides, and his tone warmed you. 

That same excitement, the familiarity of a fight kicked up in your chest. You rolled your eyes. “Harrington…”

“No,” he shook his head. “I’m sick of you saying you’re going to give up on me. I’ve put everything into keeping you alive, and you go and say shit like that and make it all feel meaningless?”

The excitement fluttered, wavered, burned out, a flame doused with water to drown it with reality. You swallowed, frowned, ground your molars until something ached in your jaw.

“I promised - ” 

“Cut the bullshit,” you snapped. “We all made promises to her, but she’s dead now, okay?” 

“I’m not talking about Vickie.” He cut you off again. 

Your ears rang in the silence of the room, the steady thump of your heartbeat, the in-and-out of your breath.

“I promised you,” his jaw tightened, “that night, in my room, when we fell asleep, you told me you were scared of all this, and that you couldn’t tell Vickie how scared you were because you had to be brave for her. Do you remember that?”

Secrets were exchanged nose-to-nose, mixing breath warm, gentle circles drawn with thumbs on bare thighs, promises made. 

“I told you I’d be brave for you. I promised I’d keep you safe.”

He had muttered the words to your forehead, soft lips to your brow as you dozed off, dreaming only of fire and ash. 

“I’m trying so hard to be brave here,” he stepped toward you painfully slow, the creak of boots against linoleum. “But it’s hard when I don’t know if I can keep you safe, and that scares me because I love you, and I’m not letting you go that easily.” 

The table separated you, a rickety excuse for a boundary that teetered under your touch. This was entirely new territory, an attack you hadn’t expected, were unsure how to navigate. You resorted to comfort.

“I didn’t ask you to be brave for me,” you scoffed, hand trembling against the back of a chair.

Harrington’s eyes remained on you, brow crumpled, less in anger now than something more fragile. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I said I’m in love with you.”

Your stomach swooped, heart clawing to get out with rapid beats, screaming in your ears. “I-I know.” You stammered.

“Do you…” He cleared his throat, fingertips tracing the tabletop dangerously close to your own. He licked his lips and watched you carefully, eyes hopeful. “How do you… I mean?” He gestured wildly, mouth quirking upward in panic.

You chewed back a laugh, something warm and familiar kicking back up. You managed to roll your eyes. “Yeah, Harrington, yes. You can calm down. I’ve been in love with you since I got into your stupid car.” 

“It’s not a competition,” he grumbled, stepping around the table to approach you. He was warm, brown eyes and upturned pink lips. 

“I’m not competing with you, I’m just telling you how I feel. I’m starting to think you’re the one obsessed with competition.” You were rambling, a nervous habit you must’ve picked up from your best friend, tongue running while your heart raced. 

“Will you shut up and let me kiss you?” He mumbled, lashes long and eyes dark. He cupped your face with one strong hand, tracing the curves of your face with his thumb. 

“Okay,” you breathed. Your eyes sunk closed at the pull of his nose against your own, the dip of his cupid’s bow to your own, and when his lips met yours, you could have melted into the floor.

His kiss was sweet, soft, the gentle press of his lips to your own while he cradled your face. When you separated, eyes fluttering open to see him hovering over you, that smile across his features, you found yourself hungry for more.

Gripping the shoulder seams of his t-shirt, you pulled him in for another go, took his gasp for air as an invitation to deepen the kiss. You tasted him, all tongues and teeth as you vied for dominance, and his free hand gripped the elastic waistband at your hip until the material was taut.

He kissed better than you remembered, a wash of warm and safety and heat and passion, but memory still begged for the feeling of your hands in his hair and his large, warm hands on you. 

He sucked in a breath when you scratched at his scalp, gently passing by the healing scar on your way to bury your fingers in the thick of his hair. He hummed into your lips, dropping his hand from your cheek to grip the other side of your sweatpants.

You groaned, tilting your head sideways to allow him to place damp kisses along the column of your throat. “Harrington, put your hands on me.”

He groaned, a rumble deep in his chest that coursed another wave of need through you. “You can use my first name, you know.” He nosed at your earlobe, smile evident in his voice.

“You have to earn it,” you bit back a smile, and yelped when his hands found your ribcage and pushed you up against your cabinets and countertop. The linoleum was cold against the small of your back, and your arms raised above your head for him to pull your sweatshirt up and over. 

He cupped your face again, crowding you with his oversized frame as he pressed himself into you. His lips were soft against yours, soft enough to make you feel vulnerable, taken off-guard. He kissed your cheek where it met your lips and the tip of your chin. He trailed warm, breathy kisses along the curve of your jaw, moving his hands to your shoulders until his lips met them there. 

You watched him, breathless, as his fingers pushed one strap of your tank top down, and you bit back a whimper as his lips replaced the strap at the juncture of your clavicle. 

His hands clutched at your waist band again, and he rocked his hips into yours, and you gasped at the friction of yourself against his hard length.

He pulled back, eyes dark, chest rising and falling rapidly, to gauge your reaction, and it was enough to have you clawing at his t-shirt again. He reached to pull it from the back of its collar, and you shrugged yourself out of your sweatpants, allowing the comfortable fabric to pool at the floor.

You lifted yourself onto the countertop and embraced the heat of his bare abdomen against you as he dove in for another passionate kiss. You clutched at the meat between his shoulder blades, delighting in the rumble of a groan as you dug your nails in and dragged to the base of his skull.

His hands were on you, finally, warm and strong and dexterous, worshiping your waist, your ribcage, your breasts.

You arched into his touch, gasping into his mouth, and he gripped your hips with one hand to pull you to the counter’s edge to grind himself into you again. Your body responded in kind to his touch, pliable.

You leaned your head against the upper cabinets, what few possessions that lived inside rattled.

He kissed your neck and chest, thumb pebbling your nipple, while his other hand massaged from your hip crease to your knee.

You clawed at the expanse of his chest, desperate for him to get closer, but delighting in the feel of his tongue against you until he stopped.

He pulled back, pulling his hand from beneath your shirt to rest on your hip while his other continued slow ministrations along your thigh. You watched as his fingertips ghosted the thick scarring there, five distinct claw marks from ribcage to knee, a part of you now you’d nearly forgotten, invisible under your own gaze. 

You swallowed, suddenly too warm, exposed. You ducked your head, eyeing the curves of him instead, the breadth of his chest, smattering of hair that covered his sternum and trailed down past his navel to disappear beneath his waistband. On either side of his ribs were scars that matched yours, purple and puckered and violent.

“You are brave,” he said, recapturing your focus, voice syrupy sweet, gaze dangerous. “You are beautiful.”

You sucked in a breath as his fingertips ghosted your inner thigh, a trickle of ticklish touches against the softest bits of you until you felt the sweet press of fingertips to your center. 

“Can I touch you?” He muttered. He licked his lips, eyes cast downward. 

“Yes,” you whined, gripping the countertop’s edge, “please.”

His forearm flexed as he moved your underwear to the side, and his thick fingers gathered the slick at your core to coat your folds. “Please who?” He asked.

You almost didn’t catch it, lost in the ecstasy of his touch, but you blinked to the forefront of your consciousness to see the cocky smirk stretched across his features. You bit back a smile and managed half an eye roll before he sunk two fingers into you, the perfect stretch. Your eyes slid closed, and you clung to his forearm, gasping his name. “Steve.”

“Uh uh,” he tutted, “don’t go away. Open your eyes, beautiful. Want to watch you.” 

Your eyes snapped back open, and his cheeks flushed in a wide smile.

“Good girl,” he nodded, and proceeded to take you apart with nimble fingers, watching you ride the wave until you came crashing down, digging your nails into his arms and stars scattered in your eyesight. 

He caught your lips in a sweet kiss, dropping your thigh from his hip with a squeeze. He chuckled as you caught your breath against his chest, spent, and nosed at your earlobe, planting a sweet kiss there too. 

“I hate you,” you grumbled, nipping at his clavicle to hide the smile stretched across your features. 

“Liar,” he countered, rumbling in a hearty laugh. 

“You’re awfully cocky,” you countered, reaching your hand to palm at his hardened length through his pants. 

He groaned and ground against your hand until your mouth watered. 

You gestured behind him, shoving at his shoulders until he gave you enough space to hop off the counter. The linoleum tiles were freezing beneath the balls of your feet. “Get on the bed.”

He stumbled backwards, the grin across his face possibly the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. 

You pulled your tank top from your head and tossed it to the growing clothes pile. “Take off your pants, boots too.” You stepped out of your underwear. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he sat on the foot of your bed to unlace his boots, before standing to frantically paw at the buckle of his belts before he worked his pants down his thick thighs. 

His movements were eager, and you couldn’t help but laugh as you met him where he stood. “Can I help?” You dipped your hand into the waistband of his underwear. 

“Fuck,” he breathed, arms stretched over his head before he pulled you in tight. “Full disclosure?” 

You hummed, wrapping your fingers around him.

He squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed your arm to stop your movements. When he looked at you again, he seemed scared. “It’s been like two years…”

You smiled, pulling your hand from his boxers before tugging them all the way down, cock springing free. With his pants around his ankles, you shoved your partner to the mattress, springs groaning under his weight, and you carefully climbed on top. 

“C’mere,” he grumbled, pulling you down to meet his lips in a warm kiss. He snaked his arms around you, large hands running over the curves of your back. “You’re perfect,” he said, squeezing the dips of your hips, rolling you into him. 

You shared lazy kisses and appreciated one another’s bodies with wandering hands and lips. You sat up, hands extended to his shoulders, his pecs, the ripple of abs that twitched with laughter under your fingertips. “Steve,” you whispered, an unfamiliar emotion sticking to your vocal cords.

He hummed, tilting his head to catch your gaze. His brow crumpled in concern. You felt so blessed to see him relaxed, comfortable, safe. 

“I love you.” The tears threatened to spill, and you held them back, holding his hands against your hip creases. “I love you, and I’m…” Scared, guilty, sad, grateful, heartbroken, fulfilled, home.

“Hey,” he reached a hand to catch your cheek. “I love you, and I promise I’m going to keep you safe.” 

You nodded, kissed the palm of his hand. You maintained his gaze, kissing his wrist, the tips of his fingers, before you centered yourself over him. 

He tangled his fingers in your own and nodded, biting down on his lower lip as you sunk down onto him. 

If you were fire, Steve was water, the sweet swell of calm emotions and tranquility. For every push, he offered soft kisses, for every pull, he hummed praises. You rode the wave through peaks and valleys, and he worshipped your peaks and valleys. He rolled you over, pressing you into the warm woolen fabric of your blanket, and washed over your in warmth and love and devotion. He was all hands and protection and licked kisses, the snap of hips and sweet confessions of love. 

Your body buzzed with overstimulation, aching muscles stretched taut and plied soft again, and you stared up at water-stained ceilings, your surroundings coming quickly back into focus. 

Steve kissed you, mouth sweet with you, and eyes heavy with exhaustion, both satisfied and well-spent. He moved the hair from his eyes, pushing it up and back until it stood on end, and he leaned on one arm to trace circle into your chest, pulling the covers up higher to cover his waist. “Hey,” he whispered, cupping your cheek in his face. “Where’d you go?” 

You blinked back at him, feigning a smile to quell the worry on his face. “You should get some sleep.” 

His face fell, and he glanced over your shoulder at the clock radio. The late night advertisements buzzed back into your periphery.

He rolled onto his back beside you, pulling you into his chest with an arm around you. He squeezed you in tight, pressing his lips to your hairline again and again and again. He felt stiff, the easiness of the last few hours wiped away with one question. 

Anxiety bloomed in your chest, flower-faced with rows and rows of razor sharp teeth, claws at the flesh that hid your sternum. 

Harrington cleared his throat, kissing you one last time before he muttered, “We should get dressed.”

---

[A/N: They're in love!? Who knew!? This chapter was really a labor of love for me, and I'm getting very emotional knowing the next chapter is the last one. This story has honestly meant so much to me. Thank you so much for reading xo]

Fic Masterlist • Navigation • Masterlist

Chapter Five: Searing • Chapter Seven: Inferno

[aoioozora]

Simon.

Part 8

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 9

Character: Simon Riley / Ghost

Content: Biker! Ghost x Fem! Reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, civilian au

Note: I still can't believe that I've written 8 whole chapters for a oneshot that I never planned on making into a series! But I'm glad it's coming along well and that you're enjoying it :) I hope you enjoy this chapter too.

Tags: @cmbghost @gluttonybiscuits @paintlavillered @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @iimichie

@mxtokko

“Morning, Simon!” 

____ and Lindsey arrived at Simon's door at seven in the morning as planned. His crush was the one who excitedly greeted him, while her friend looked disgruntled and ticked at having to be up so early. 

“Morning,” he greeted them civilly as his hand instinctively ran through his hair, trying not to appear even the slightest disheveled or flustered at the sight of ____’s smiles, and moved away from the door to let the two in. 

“Have a seat. I'll bring you some tea,” he said, promptly moving towards the kitchen. 

The ladies, particularly the author, took in the surroundings of his little flat as they entered and sat down. The entire place as a whole was simple. The walls of the living room were empty and unpainted except for a singular, ancient grandfather clock that hung alone near his curtained balcony, filling the quiet room with its rhythmic ticking. She saw that he was concerned more with pragmatics than aesthetics; if it didn't serve a purpose, then it wasn't needed. 

She saw that he favored dark colors of blue and black, and neutrals, but found that bright colors were speckled throughout the room in his red floor lamp, the gold painted knobs of his brown television stand, and the red and white chevron patterned cushions on his grey couch. The simple state of his room made her wonder if his bedroom was more personalised. 

A hint of green caught her attention and she turned to the balcony. A few potted plants of mint, tomatoes, and coriander, all of which were healthy and green, swayed gently in the morning breeze. She smiled at this. “He’s a gardener,” she thought to herself, not quite expecting it.

The smell of lemon and mint wafted through the air, bringing her thoughts back. Simon brought out a tray of three mismatched teacups and a glass teapot filled with what smelled and looked like lemon tea. 

“Have some tea,” he set down the tray on the coffee table and poured out the tea for them. 

She, wanting to use Simon as a model for her character, Frederick, watched keenly as he poured with a thoughtful, concentrated look on his face. She wondered why he used a glass teapot over porcelain or any other material, but that was probably not important. However, she was not going to let even the smallest things about him and his choices escape her scrutiny. 

“When will Johnny come?” asked Lindsey as soon as she had her sip of tea. 

Simon glanced at the grandfather clock. “At six forty-five, he said he'd be here in ten minutes. He's picking up our other friend, Kyle too. Maybe there's some hold-up,” he answered. He felt a little strange; it was his first time properly speaking to Lindsey, and she seemed to look judgingly at him, as if to find a fault. 

____ was silent, as she was more concentrated on the taste and temperature of her tea. It was lightly sweetened and refreshing thanks to the lemon and mint. A mental note was already taken that Frederick too would be good at brewing tea. 

Simon's ringtone tore the silence and he immediately slid the phone out of his jeans. Thinking it was Johnny, he looked expectantly, but it was his mum. Looking back at the ladies, he excused himself and went out to the balcony to talk. 

“What do you think of him?” ____ asked Lindsey, who took slow sips of her tea as the two watched the man pace around the balcony through the partially drawn translucent curtains. 

“He makes good tea,” she answered, “I think I'll approve of him a bit.” To Lindsey, a man who could brew a good tea was worth marrying, because, according to her, it meant that he cared about the little things, like making tea taste good. As ____ smiled, she paused for a moment before quipping, “He seems nice so far, but I don't trust him just yet.”

____ shook her head, chuckling. Lindsey was always so skeptical of everyone and everything, both a vice and a virtue. 

Simon soon emerged from the balcony into the living room, brows furrowed with concern. He looked straight at ____ and said, “I need to have a word with you, darling,” and then promptly stepped into the kitchen without waiting for an answer, expecting her to follow. 

She instantly set down her teacup and followed Simon into the kitchen. “What's the matter?” she asked as soon as she entered, finding him leaning his back on the kitchen counter, arms crossed. 

He turned to her, almost opening his mouth to speak but cautiously glanced at the open door; he looked back at her, beckoning her to come closer. When she did, he said, “I don't know how you'll react to this but I need you to hear me out, alright, darling?” 

Her curiosity heightened and she nodded.

“Y'see, my mum just called and they're going to have a family reunion soon since my old man's come back home for a holiday from his military service,” he paused, sucking in a sharp breath, unsure about how she would take his next words, but continued anyway, “And my mum asked me if I found a girlfriend yet because she's worried I'm going to die single…” he paused again, “and I may have accidentally told her that you're my girlfriend.” 

“You what?” she stared incredulously at Simon, although she wasn't quite opposed to what he did. 

“Yeah,” he sighed, shaking his head, embarrassed with himself, “I'm really sorry.” 

“Wait, does your mum know about me?” 

“Yeah, I told her a few weeks ago that I recently made friends with this lass,” he paused to sigh again, “And when she asked if I finally found a girlfriend, I accidentally said yes, and when she asked if it was you…” he paused again and shrugged. 

The lady paused. Now that he said it, it couldn't be helped and she had to play along. Not that it bothered her. She chuckled. “Well, it's alright. You take the trouble of pretending to be my boyfriend, so I guess it wouldn't hurt to pretend to be your girlfriend for a bit.” 

Simon looked back at her, visibly relieved. 

“Now, what do you need me to do?” she asked. 

“That's the hard part. We'll have to make up a story of how we met and how we hit it off. And I'll have to bring you home and introduce you to my family. And not just that, you know who else will be there.” He pursed his lips tight. 

She immediately knew. She wiped her clammy hands on her jeans and nodded. “Right, yes.”

He could see the apprehension on her face and in her body as she crossed her arms. Feeling terrible that he dragged her into this, he said, “Darling, you don't have to do this if you don't want to. If going there and meeting him again will make you uncomfortable, then I'm not forcing you to come with me.” 

She drew in a shaky breath and pondered for a moment. Simon watched her, gulping harshly. 

“No,” she finally said, resolute, “I shouldn't be so scared all the time. If I'm going to be there as your girlfriend, I shouldn't be afraid of some ex of mine.”

Simon blinked in surprise at this response. He appreciated her bravery, and felt his admiration for her increase. However, he didn't show it, and kept his facial expressions neutral with a little smile. “I guess, yeah,” he nodded. He paused for a moment, wanting to say something else, but she beat him to it.

“If anything happens, you’ll stick up for me, won’t you?” she asked smilingly, “Since you’re my “boyfriend”.”

He felt his heart leap. That was the exact thing he wanted to assure her of, and it flattered him greatly to know that they had been thinking of the same thing. Even though he knew this was going to be a pretense, it rubbed his male instincts and ego right to be depended on for protection. 

He answered with a wide smile, “Of course, my love.”

“Why d’ye drive a manual?” asked Johnny as soon as he took the shotgun seat, watching ____ take her place in the driver's seat. 

“Tut tut,” she shook her head, bringing out a mini sombrero from her pocket which she placed on the gear stick, “It's Emmanuel.”

The three passengers in the back, from left to right– Simon, Lindsey, and Gaz, watched as Johnny burst out laughing, also making ____ laugh as she got the car started. 

“Ghosty, she's a woman of culture!” Johnny exclaimed, looking back at his best friend. 

Simon made no answer as he was upset that he couldn't sit next to ____. Lindsey felt similarly, but for Johnny. Regardless of that, the drive began with gusto, with Johnny and Gaz filling the time with their singing and jokes, while the other three listened. 

____ drove for the first hour, and Johnny took over for the second and the two switched seats, exchanging jokes and quips with ease, making both Simon and Lindsey at the back miserable and jealous. Simon drove for fifteen minutes in the third hour until he nearly hit a tree, but swerved back to the road right on time to avoid damaging both the car and his crush's esteem. Gaz took over for the remaining forty-five minutes, and Simon was banished to the back seat. 

Thankfully for him, ____ sat next to him to console him, “Don't worry. After all, you did say that if you tried really hard, you wouldn't hit a tree. You did great for fifteen minutes at least!”

Simon chuckled out of embarrassment. It didn't make him feel any better, but he appreciated her effort. 

The camping spot was soon in sight. It was around ten in the morning when Gaz parked the car in the shed of a little cabin. The ladies learnt that the spot belonged to one of Gaz's relatives, who was happy to lend it out to anyone who needed it. And from how the three men scampered around the place relaxedly, it was evident that they were regular visitors. 

The fenced piece of land was right next to a little lake which afforded a view of the distant green hills speckled with heathers and daisies. A lonely little dock hung over the surface of the water, which, as Simon informed the ladies, “made a nice fishing spot”.

The group first decided to begin their hike as planned before unloading the car. England's weather was notorious for being fickle and since the skies were currently clear of all rain clouds, the hike was chosen as the first activity. 

The trail was an easy one, chosen for the benefit of the ladies who were partially accustomed to walking on rocky, uneven terrain. The end of it promised a little waterfall, which Johnny was excited about showing them, as was evident in his constant singing of sea shanties while they hiked. Gaz happily joined him, while the ladies and Simon chose to be their audience like earlier. 

“Johnny sure loves to sing,” observed ____, who trudged between Lindsey and Simon. 

“He's a born singer,” replied Simon with a sigh, sounding both proud of and annoyed with his friend, “And he was a theater kid too. Acted in tons of musicals and plays, mostly musicals. Put him together with Gaz and they'll be singing and dancing all day.”

She chuckled. “How long have you guys known each other?” 

“Johnny's my childhood friend. We've known each other since we were ten years old. As for Gaz, both of us met him in university and we quickly became friends,” he explained, kicking a rock out of the way. 

The two ladies looked at each other. “That's a long time,” remarked Lindsey, “You all must be really close then.” 

“Too close,” Simon said dryly, but there was a hint of affection in his voice. He then turned to the ladies to ask, “And what about you two? How long have you been friends?” 

“Since high school,” ____ answered, smilingly linking her arm with Lindsey's, “She's basically my sister now.” 

Simon smiled. He could tell, for the moment he saw them together, they stuck to each other like glue and didn't leave each other's side for more than a few moments. 

Johnny looked back at the calm trio behind him and Gaz. “Jolene!” He called Lindsey by her nickname. When he had her attention, he beckoned her to join him in singing. 

“I don't know any of the songs you're singing!” she protested. 

“Dinnae ye worry, wee lassie!” he retraced his steps, put an arm around her shoulders, and dragged her ahead with him, making her squeal and stumble. “Gaz and I will teach you!” he promised, and kept his arm around her as they hiked up the hillock. 

While the two men busied themselves in teaching Lindsey to sing ‘Bully in the Alley’, ____ and Simon were left to themselves. The lady smiled at Lindsey's attempts to sing, though she was no singer. 

“Lindsey hates singing,” she whispered to Simon, “It's crazy how she's doing it for Johnny.” A girlish giggle escaped her lips at the thought of a romance blooming between the two. Her authorly brain couldn't help but conjecture all the sweet moments they would have, worthy of a novel of its own. 

“And I'll tell you what, Johnny's never been this fixated on one woman for this long either. He's normally a huge flirt, a ladies’ man, if you will. I'm just as surprised as you are,” answered Simon. 

The mention of Johnny being a flirt worried her. She knew Lindsey to almost easily give her affections to anyone who would look her way, starved for love as she was. But she decided to stay out of the way and watch the two for now. If Johnny ever did anything that would hurt Lindsey, she would not hesitate to confront him. 

The hike was now proving to get a little tiring, and ____ let out a sigh as she paused to catch her breath and drink some water. Simon stopped too, looking down at her from the slightly steep ascent. 

“Are you tired?” he asked. 

“A little, yeah.” 

He bent his knee and lowered himself slightly, holding out his hand. “Come on,” he encouraged, “Just a little more and we'll be at the waterfall.” 

She took his outstretched hand, and no sooner they made contact, a jolt of electricity ran down both their spines. Simon gulped harshly at this reaction, and she felt an additional tingle in her stomach. His larger, more rugged hand held her softer and smaller hand in his, and he pulled her up the ascent with ease. She thanked him as soon as they were next to each other, Simon, eager to be of further assistance, held out his arm to her. 

“You can hold my arm if you want to,” he offered, trying to sound as casual as he could, though his thoughts begged her to give him the honour of accepting him. 

Her hand practically flew to his arm in an instant, wrapping just below his bicep. Simon never felt more depended upon than now as the two began walking together. And she was completely flattered by his kind offer, trying to suppress her smiles and blushes. The two were, without doubt, over the moon. 

The lady was sure to make mental notes about everything Simon did. Frederick would be tall and brooding, but a kind-hearted and observant gentleman with a soft spot for Adelheid.

“This reminds me of the Jane Austen novels where the men would offer their arms to the ladies when they got tired as they walked,” she commented with a bright smile and a certain twinkle in her eye as she moved closer to him, allowing her hand to curl tighter against his arm. 

He noted the expression on her face and the movement and instinctively flexed his bicep so that she could feel it. He smiled in response to her comment and said with a chuckle, his cheeks overspread with a light pink, “So it was a custom back then? Interesting.” He hadn't read a lot of Regency era novels to know of past English social customs, but he seemed intrigued by this one aspect that she mentioned. Wanting to know if she really approved of it, asked, “Do you like it?” 

She loved it, but for the sake of being mild, said, “I think it's nice, especially now when I don't see men doing this sort of thing.”

“So you like gentlemen then?” 

She giggled. “A lot.” 

Simon took note of this immediately. If she liked a gentleman, a gentleman he would be. If men of his day didn't do the things he did, like offering their arm, or pulling out the chair for her at a table, he most certainly would do it, for he didn't want to be like other men. He wanted to be special and singled out by her. 

They began descending down a slightly slippery, gravelly path that led to the waterfall, and Simon took hold of her upper arm this time as he led her down so that she wouldn’t fall in case she slipped over the loose gravel. He was reminded yet again of how much smaller she was compared to him, and it only heightened his desire to keep her safe. 

The gurgle and rush of water from the distant waterfall was soon heard, and a few meters of walking on level ground finally brought them to the waterbody familiar to the men. Johnny cheered like he never saw a waterfall before, loud enough for his voice to echo in the wilderness, and for Lindsey to cover her ears and curse under her breath.

“We're here!”

End of Part 8.

Part 9

Like always, leave a comment if you want to be added to my taglist!

[fancyfeathers]

Society of Protection (Yandere Bungo Stray Dogs x reader x original characters) (normalized yandere au)

Chapter Twenty, Part Two The Masque of the Red Death

(A/N- not a full chapter but very important)

Prologue and oc intro

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven, part one

Chapter seven, part two

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

Chapter thirteen

Chapter fourteen

Chapter fifteen

Chapter sixteen

Chapter seventeen

Chapter eighteen

Chapter nineteen

Chapter twenty

Throughout the night, music and chatter filled the hall. The familiar face of Gaston Leroux stands against the wall, a glass of champagne in hand, he was going his best to keep his eye on Ayatsuji, members of the Hunting Dogs, and other government workers, if any of them interfered with the plan it could be all over. His eyes also kept darting to the door, keeping an eye on who came in and left, making sure none of them would cause a problem either.  Then his eyes fell on a familiar man, through not many would recognize him with the masquerade theme of the night, it was Mr. Tonan’s assistant. He was leaving the room but Gaston spotted Mr. Tonan talking to Victor not a moment ago. Without a word to any other society members Gaston activated his ability and stepped through the wall, disappearing from everyone’s sight. Gaston walked out into the hallway, keeping his ability activated to keep his foot falls non existent. He silently followed the man, upstairs, into another meeting hall, one that would be used for the auction that would be held tonight. Gaston hid himself behind a long window curtain, watching. The assistant went over to the table of cases, full of items for tonight’s auction, he was trying to tamper with the lots. Gaston  stepped out from behind the curtain and deactivated his ability so that when his heels hit the floor it made a sharp clicking sound, getting the assistant’s attention.

“Did you get lost? I believe the party is downstairs.” Gaston said, looking the man over with a polite smile, but one that quickly fell when the man didn’t say anything. “Or perhaps you meant to come here?”

At that the man slowly turned to look at the composer and that wicked grin came across his face that gave even Gaston chills. Then Gaston gained notice of his eyes, green and blue, they weren’t that way before. Then the scar over his eye, that also wasn’t there before. Then it was the hair, black to white, then the clothes to that of clown’s, and a card coming to cover his eye, but what stayed the same was that horrifying smile. It was an ability that was changing him of that there wasn’t a doubt, a teleportation ability perhaps? 

Then he felt it, behind his head… the barrel of a gun…

That’s when he knew…

“Nikolai Gogol, I’ve heard of you, didn’t I think I’d meet you in person ever.” Gaston said, staying calm despite the gun on his head. “And what would a criminally insane or perhaps just an insane criminal want here? This auction doesn’t seem like your style not to mention this is far from Europe and your home ground.”

“Let me answer your question with another question.” Nikolai replied as Gaston felt the gun move down onto his neck. “What is Fyodor doing here?”

The composer’s eyes widened at the mention of the name, he was so much in shock that he would have stepped back if it wasn’t for the gun behind him. 

“What?”

“Don’t worry he’s not actually here as in this building, but why?” There was a long pause in silence, Gaston didn’t actually know why he was. He had been helping try to stop the Guild and he knew why, but why are they still here? Their goal wasn’t Fyodor, so why were they? “Ohhh you don’t actually know, such a shame… but I can’t just let you leave after what you’ve seen, I’m sure Dostoy would love to see you.”

Gaston felt the gun move down his spine, pressing into the small of his back. He could feel the pressure shift as Nikolai pressed his finger on the trigger.

3…

2…

1…

BANG

…But the bullet never met skin…

Gaston activated his ability just in time, letting the bullet fly right through his ghostly body but then in a flash of gold it disappeared…

Gaston looked around confused…

Oh no…

Gaston saw the bullet reappear in the corner of his eye. The flash of gold then the searing pain in his side as the bullet drove into his skin just above his hip. The world went white in pain as Gaston fell to the floor. His vision was rapidly fading and the last thing he saw was Nikolai’s smiling face…

Gaston Leroux, Society Member

Status: missing

[redbullgivesyouwingedkuriboh]

Since y’all liked me getting beaten down by GX characters so much, here’s:

Yu-Gi-Oh ARC-V Characters ranked by how easily I could take them in a fight

same rules apply: fisticuffs only and my personal feelings about the characters do not matter

also since ARC-V is WEIRD AF when it comes to characters this will be characters that are exclusive to ARC-V. so no repeat of Asuka. We already know I bite harder than she does.

without further ado, here we go:

Reira Akaba. No shit. is literally a baby. if I was a baby kicking kind of person I could punt her into the sun. However as I do not kick babies I am more inclined to wrap her in a lil blanket and put her in the corner.

Yuya Sakaki. Bitch. One good step on his toes and he’s going “reaction shot?!” I pull on his stupid fuckin goggles and snap them back onto his face. he’s down. count to ten.

Yuzu Hiragi. Canonically the bracelet girls really suck at holding their own at any given moment. Yuzu is the weakest physically because she has never seen war or hardship to the level of the other three. I could take her in four seconds. pigtail tug time.

Yuri. The second weakest physically of the Yu boys. has been coddled by Leo for years. probably sparred with Sho at the academy to make himself feel better about having 0% body weight from muscles. eat shit you purple motherfucker.

Dennis McField. not only would I beat him, I would enjoy doing it. I’d love to curbstomp that motherfucker off a boat, except he already did that to himself. physically he is a fuckin twig and I am five feet seven inches of pure unadulterated god complex. he’ll wish I turned his ass into a card.

Reiji Akaba. the scarf works to his detriment. I do two laps around him holding the end of that thing and suddenly his face is turning blue and he’s calling for papa. unfortunately for him I have zero mercy.

Rin. again, the bracelet girls are notoriously bad at being strong independent women. we literally don’t see Rin for most of the series because she got herself kidnapped off the cuff. that being said she could probably hold her own against me, but I think she’s too sweet for that.

Z-ARC. We’ve established I bite. even outside of human form, if you look at him, he’s got a fuck ton of exposed veins, both as regular Z-ARC and Yuya Z-ARC. chompy chompy motherfucker you’ll pass out from the blood loss before I can kick your ass properly.

Yugo. Canonically relies on his motorcycle for fuckin everything. lost to Yuri because he rolled a nat one on his constitution saving throw. even though he’s probably physically in shape from motorcycle stuff I could flick him in the forehead and he’d be whining like a baby. If I got the first shot in, I’d have a 99% chance of winning. If he got to me first it would go to about 60%. again, I bite.

Leo Akaba. Here’s where we get into characters that have a greater than 50% chance of beating me. Leo is canonically ripped and also has zero emotions. I would only win if I got close enough for a nut kick, but there’s only one person who wants to be that close to Leo Akaba and it sure as hell ain’t me.

Sora Shuin’in. Holy fuck who let their feral cat off its leash. Sora is literally insane and I am requesting backup. He’d shove that lollipop so far up my ass that I’d be able to tell whether it was lime or green apple. I live in fear of Sora suddenly materializing in my room

Ruri Kurosaki. Remember how I bite? She bites harder. She puts up with No Shit and also has No Fucks To Give.

Serena. No further explanation needed. I fear that explaining it further would cause Feral Child #2 to burst into my brain and start kicking.

Yusho Sakaki. Sweet mother of blue eyes white dragon. remember how I said my personal feelings don’t matter? now they do. smash. next question. wait what were we talking about?

Shun Kurosaki. kinda lost the plot on Yusho but we’re back on track now. Shun canonically took out armed guards by Batmanning his ass up a wall. There’s posters up for him that say “lost dog” and the caption is just “if you find him please keep him”.

Yuto. Everything that Shun is + Ruri taught him how to effectively bite.

Noburu Gongenzaka. he is actually ripped and wears cement shoes for funzies. he could probably just stomp once and my shaky joints would give out on their own. bye.

Yoko Sakaki. canonically beat the stuffing out of people in her past life and I would let her. angry mom energy means I barely make it out alive. smash. wait— shit—

[wander-over-the-words]

BioFluff Week 2023 Fic #3

Title: Hey, Good Lookin’

Prompt: Food/Cooking

Summary: The one where Sinclair has a secret dinner date.

Characters: Augustus Sinclair, Johnny Topside; mentions of Sander Cohen, Andrew Ryan, Stanley Poole, Frank Fontaine, Grace Holloway, Tasha Denu, Gilbert Alexander.

Pairing: Augustus Sinclair/Johnny Topside.

Warnings: alcohol consumption; mentioned sex (no actual nsfw or ‘fade to black’ happens, but like. it’s date night, it’s gonna happen and they both know it, and also it’s mentioned they’ve banged before), kidnapping, period-typical homophobia, forced imprisonment.

Notes: Third submission for a new BioFluff Week! Here’s the response to the prompt ‘Cooking’! Take this as a sort of preview of an AU I’ve had in my back pocket for a while now. You could also say this is the first time Delta’s ever spoken in one of my fics ;3

Songs used: Night and Day, Crazy He Calls Me and Easy Living, all by Billie Holiday.

All material belongs to Irrational Games.

Fic also available on AO3.

…

It’s a thirty-seventy split on how often Sinclair cooks for himself and how often he dines at one of the many restaurants out in Rapture. He’s a capable man, ain’t one of those fellas who leaves the kitchen work to the lady of the house (and not just because there ain’t a chance in hell of there ever being a lady in his house), and he does honestly enjoy the art of cooking. Got tons of recipes stored away in his mind, some from his childhood and some adopted from his time building up his riches after he’d moved to Georgia, alongside his accent and perfect English.

But then he’s also a man who enjoys being rich, and he enjoys what he’s capable of doing since he’s rich; one of those things is the ability to afford wining and dining whenever he damn well pleases. One doesn’t get a tummy like his without spoiling themselves, after all.

Tonight, though, wining and dining isn’t an option, unless Sinclair wants the rumour mill to downright implode upon itself.

He’s humming along to the record gently spinning on its player in the living room as he prepares a sauce for the pasta he’s planning on cooking, apron tied around his neck and waist to protect his date night getup: a nice formal ensemble, complete with navy blue waistcoat and matching slacks, red tie, shiny black shoes and, embedded in the cuffs of his perfectly white shirt, a pair of gold cufflinks in the shapes of sharks that he’d bought for himself as a birthday present (and he’s sure his date will appreciate them, even if the kid’s favourite animals are actually whales; will probably see ‘em and immediately ask if Sinclair would like to hear an interesting fact about sharks, bless him).

The finely-chopped beef and onions have browned within the pan, and Sinclair’s added the tomato sauce and tomato paste; he glances at the clock to check the time - five minutes until seven o’clock - before he grabs a bulb of garlic, loosens it, then picks out three of its cloves to mince and add to the sauce. A few more seasonings, a dash of sugar and a bit of a mix later, and Sinclair adjusts the temperature to let the sauce simmer.

He grabs a tall pot from the cupboard next to his left knee and fills it halfway with water from the tap, then sets it upon a ring on his stove, flicks the temperature up and prepares to wait for it to boil.

And good timing, too - because there comes a sound at his front door.

Knock, knock, knock.

Sinclair pauses immediately, looking toward the entryway to the kitchen behind him without turning his head, waits for a second, then he slowly holds up an index finger.

Knock, knock, knock.

Second finger goes up. Wait.

There’s a beat where nothing happens, and Sinclair cocks his head, arching an eyebrow, and then…

…Knock, knock, knock. 

Three fingers, and Sinclair bobs his head in a pleased nod as he grins.

He whisks his apron off and steps out of his kitchen, making his way to the front door; the knock selected for their code is finished, which means Sinclair knows exactly who it is.

He stands in front of the door and composes himself, holds out his hands and shuts his eyes, then hovers a hand in front of his face and wipes downwards in the air. As his hand moves, his grin is replaced with an irritated frown, and only once he’s confident that he can keep that frown in place does he open the door.

“For the love of God, kid!” he immediately says to the tall man standing on his doorstep, stern and purposely loud, with his hands on his hips. “I thought I informed you of the rules when yer workin’ for me: namely, that none of the folks on my payroll are allowed anywhere near my place of residence unless it’s a dire emergency!” 

“Oh, I’m awful sorry to bother you at this late hour, Mr. Sinclair,” Johnny Topside says, looking so frightfully worried and embarrassed, with his shoulders lifted like he’s trying to hide behind them, clutching a pile of papers tied with string to his chest as he looks anywhere but Sinclair, “but I just…I just can’t wrap my head around this paperwork you wanted me to sort out and I-I didn’t wanna screw anything up, so I…I thought it best to bring it to you, just in case…!”

Sinclair huffs a sigh as he leans a hand against his doorway, using his other hand to pinch his brow.

“This is the third time this has happened, son,” he says, then drops his hand from his face so that he can frown sharply at Topside. “Personally, I’m startin’ to think I’m gonna need to look for a new assistant.”

“Oh - Oh, no, p-please, don’t fire me, Mr. Sinclair!” Topside exclaims, looking at Sinclair in the face now. “I-I really need this job, it’s the best one I’ve been offered! I swear, I’ll get better at it, if you…i-if you just show me how…?”

Sinclair sighs again and looks away as he considers it, then he looks back at Topside as he nods to gesture at his apartment. He steps aside.

“Fine. Get on in here, quick - before I end up changin’ my mind.”

“Thank you, sir…” Topside mumbles as he hurries into the apartment, nearly dropping his stack of papers as he goes.

As casually as he can, Sinclair glances around the hall of the Mercury Suites to check for witnesses, then he steps back into his apartment proper and clicks to shut and lock the door - and the second the door is closed, he turns on his heel, marches over to Topside, snatches the papers from Topside’s hands and nonchalantly throws them aside, then he reaches up to grab the lapels of Topside’s overcoat in his hands and pulls him down for a kiss.

Topside allows himself to be pulled in, fully expecting it, and reciprocates immediately. He settles into the smooch with one hand cupping the back of Sinclair’s neck while the other arm wraps itself around his waist.

They lock lips for several long moments, repeatedly breaking and restarting kisses, until Sinclair leans back and opens his eyes to grin up at him.

“Five star performance as always, kid,” he says, reaching up and resting his wrists on Topside’s shoulders to loosely hug his neck with his hands. “Are you sure you don’t wanna head back down to the theatre an’ tell ol’ Cohen you’ve reconsidered his offer ta go up on stage?”

“Oh, gosh, no,” Topside replies, “I’m nervous enough goin’ up on the small stage. Besides, uh,” his brow furrows as he looks away, “he, uh…he upsets me.”

“Aww. You don’t like the fella responsible for your new name?” Sinclair asks, and when he receives a displeased frown - borderline pout - in return, he chuckles and adds, “I’m just messin’, honey - and don’t worry ‘bout it, that man upsets the lot of us.”

Then he presses another kiss to Topside’s mouth.

More kisses are shared, then Topside’s breaking the pattern to turn his head in the direction of the kitchen, still so close that Sinclair is two inches away from kissing his cheek.

“Somethin’ smells heavenly, though!” 

“Mm-hmm. Makin’ spaghetti.”

“Oh, goodie,” Topside says cheerfully, and Sinclair has to chuckle at his unbridled enthusiasm for something as simple as spaghetti, let alone the fact that he chooses to use the word ‘goodie’. “I’m famished.”

“Well, that’s good news for the both of us, cause I went an’ stopped by the bakery on my way home too. Picked up a li’l sweet somethin’ for dessert. An’ then after that, well…” there’s a twinkle in his eye as he smirks thoughtfully, looking at Topside from under his eyelashes, “we’ll just hafta see where the night takes us next, now, won’t we?”

He slides his hands across Topside’s shoulders and down his arms with a deliberate slowness, pressing down upon Topside’s flesh in a massage that can’t even be disguised as casual - especially not with the fact that Sinclair isn’t at all shy nor subtle in the way he rakes his gaze up and down Topside’s body.

“Could just be, chief,” Sinclair goes on, lifting his gaze to Topside’s rounded, beet-red face, “that one of your awful headaches comes around ta ruin our dinner plans, an’ you’ll end up havin’ ta stay the night…”

Smirk widening, he winks, as if Topside needs a hint on what Sinclair means, as if they haven’t done this kind of rendezvous several times already. It’s just fun to mess with the kid, that’s all - he gets all shy.

On cue, Topside gives a hard enough swallow that his Adam’s apple does a jump in his throat.

“...Just might,” he says slowly, “be feelin’ one coming on already…” then he adds, “boss.”

“Hm. Well, from my experience, I know how painful they are for ya,” Sinclair puts a hand to his heart, all humble-like, while his other hand lays itself on Topside’s chest, “and I just cannot - with my dear conscience intact - allow one o’ my finest employees to try an’ make it home on his own, in such a terrible condition.”

Topside gulps again, then nods.

“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Sinclair.”

“It is kind o’ me, isn’t it?” 

Sinclair chuckles as he drops the joke, then leans up to press a final kiss to Topside’s mouth before he winks again and turns to go. 

“I’ll go on an’ fetch you some wine, honey - you go ahead and make yourself comfortable.”

Sinclair pulls himself from Topside’s arms, starting a saunter to the kitchen, but stops when he catches sight of the papers he’d flung to the floor earlier; he’d thought they were just blank pages, but now that he takes a closer look at them, he sees they’re covered with writing and numbers.

He arches a brow, then looks to Topside over his shoulder.

“Where did you say you got these papers?”

“Oh, uh, I didn’t, but I ripped ‘em out of a phonebook,” Topside says, fiddling with his tie with one hand. “Figured it’d be the most, ah, believable - though, I suppose I should put ‘em back, otherwise I won’t be able to, ah, heh…call anyone. Heh.”

Topside moves to stoop down to pick up the papers as Sinclair sincerely laughs at the joke, then cocks his head, setting a hand on his hip. 

“An’ you’re always tellin’ me you ain’t brainy, lookit you.”

“Oh, I’m not,” Topside replies with a casualness that Sinclair dislikes, head down as he straightens the pile of pages, the string having loosened when Sinclair tossed them, before he stands back up with the papers held to his chest. “Ask any o’ my old schoolteachers, they’ll tell you. Good with my hands, not my brain.”

Sinclair scoffs at the notion, then realises the record that’s been playing since he’d started prepping the meal is starting to wind down, and so before going to get that wine for the two of them, he strolls over to the player to change the record.

“Well, I’ll vouch for that first skill you mentioned,” Sinclair says as he sets the new record down on the turntable, then delicately picks up the needle to get the music back, “but I choose to politely ignore that second part.”

Topside smiles at him, then turns around to put the papers on the nearby coffee table. He pats them twice, like he’s telling them to stay, then straightens up and follows Sinclair into the kitchen.

Immediately, Sinclair fetches the bottle of wine he’d set aside for the evening - a dark, rich brand that had cost a pretty penny - and opens the drawer by his hip to grab the corkscrew. 

Topside’s gaze drifts over the counter space that Sinclair has used to prepare their meal, then winces, sucks a breath through his teeth and rubs the back of his neck with one hand.

“Y’know, I’m, uh…I’m startin’ to feel a little guilty here,” Topside says.

Sinclair arches an eyebrow, stabbing the screw into the wine’s cork.

“And what would you be feelin’ guilty about, honey?”

“Well,” Topside doesn’t look at Sinclair as he speaks, still holding his neck, letting his hand hang off of it by its fingers, “you’ve cooked for me a good handful o’ times now, and I feel like I’m not…playin’ equal, as it were.”

Sinclair scoffs, a sound that’s nearly completely overshadowed by the pop of the cork coming free from the wine bottle’s lips. 

“Now, that’s not true. You’ve cooked for me before, remember?” he says as he reaches up above himself to retrieve two crystal wine glasses from the cabinet, then starts pouring the wine. “I do: made me a mighty delicious breakfast each mornin’ you’ve woken up in my apartment - unless, of course, I’m thinkin’ of some other cuddlebug who I allow to lay between my sheets.”

(And what a treat that first time had been, waking up to the smell of bacon and eggs and toast and walking into his kitchen to find the man who’d made him worry about the thickness of his apartment’s walls cooking for him - and to add the bow to that present, Topside had elected to only dress in his drawers and Sinclair’s apron, like he was trying to make Sinclair’s version of Heaven a reality. He’d said it was because he was distracted by his own idea of cooking breakfast on the way back from the bathroom, and Sinclair believes him because God knows, the man’s mind moves a mile a minute, but…well. Yeah, Sinclair had been late to work that morning - and was wearing his shirt collar suspiciously high.)

Red in the face, Topside briefly gets distracted by the nickname, uttering a small “Oh, gosh…!” as he grins and looks down at his twiddling thumbs, flustered, before he clears his throat and forces himself to focus on what they were just discussing.

“But that’s breakfast, that’s…that feels a lot easier than a big dinner like this.” He gestures at all that Sinclair’s done. “Dinner feels more…more special, y’know?”

“Well, pumpkin,” Sinclair carries the glasses over to him, offering one out that’s taken immediately with a hushed word of thanks, “if we were to have these rendezvous at your place, folks would be wonderin’ why I’m suddenly so partial to spendin’ nights at my own hotel. Not to mention, the walls are a lot thinner there and, well, that’s no good for anybody involved, now, is it? Whole point of meetin’ here is so we don’t get into any trouble that we can’t afford ta be in. I dunno ‘bout you, but I’m not too keen on speakin’ in whispers the whole evenin’ we spend together.” 

“Oh, I know, I just…I wanna cook for you.”

Sinclair watches as Topside clears his throat and looks Sinclair in the eye, then frowns with determination and straightens up, puffing out his chest.

“You should, uh. Lemme cook for you. Properly.”

Sinclair smiles into his wine glass at the sight of him: his fella, who’s always shy and reserved, not wanting to take up much space or bother anybody, who’s always mild-mannered and careful not to offend, with that big ol’ serious look on his face.

Only time Sinclair’s ever seen him drop the gentlemanly approach was when they first met, at the Sinclair Spirits down in Fort Frolic, and that had only been because Topside was full of booze from drowning his sorrows.

“Well - I’d never turn down the offer of a good-lookin’ man wantin’ to cook me a dinner,” Sinclair says, his words cracking the confidence Topside’s applied; he sees the kid’s face bloom bright red and his frown and straightened posture falter. “You’ll hafta share with me the recipe, though. Whole plan’ll fall apart quicker ‘an a house o’ playin’ cards if anybody spots you turnin’ up at my door with armfuls of groceries.”

“I’ll pay for ‘em,” Topside says the instant Sinclair’s stopped speaking, still frowning. “Pay you back for ‘em.”

Sinclair hums through another smile and sips his wine.

“In the meantime,” Topside says, and the confident mask falls as he rubs his neck again, “is there any way I can help right now?”

Sinclair huffs a laugh, then gestures towards the small, round, mahogany table off to the side of the kitchen, initially used for whenever Sinclair needed extra space when preparing meals or wanted a different view than the one in the actual dining room, now used whenever Topside stops by for a date.

“If it means that much to you, sugar, the table needs settin’.”

Topside looks over at it, then nods once.

“I can do that,” he says happily, then sets his glass of wine on the counter and goes off to do just that.

Sinclair titters as he turns back to where dinner’s cooking, setting his glass of wine aside for now. He retrieves his apron and ties it back around himself, then collects the spaghetti from a separate cabinet; water’s more than boiled by now. He turns down the temperature, lest the water boil over, but before he can put the spaghetti in the pot, he finds himself distracted, looking over his shoulder at his fella.

Topside’s collected a tablecloth from the cupboard he knows they’re kept in and now he’s unfolding it, then wafting it through the air to straighten it out before gently laying it over the table. He pats and smooths out creases, then grabs a couple of coasters from the pile of them that Sinclair leaves on the far end of the kitchen counter, next to the fridge, and takes them back to the table, placing them carefully down like he’s balancing them precariously. He then collects his glass and places it down on one of them, in front of the seat that faces Sinclair.

Topside shrugs off his black overcoat and the blazer he wears underneath that, then lays both of them over one of the two chairs at the table. He then pops the buttons on his cuffs and rolls them over before drawing his sleeves up to his elbows, and as Topside goes back to the cupboard he’d gotten the tablecloth from to get placemats, Sinclair lets out a soft sigh at the sight of those broad forearms.

Hell, everything about Topside is broad. His shoulders, his chest, his arms and legs; the first time Sinclair had seen him without his shirt, muscles on full display, he hadn’t hid his admiration for the shape the kid is in, and Topside had just shrugged and given a shy “I work out.”

They ain’t just for show, either: he’d lifted Sinclair into his arms no problem to carry him to his bedroom (something no man has ever done before; it’d honestly left him more than speechless), and besides, he was a diver before accidentally coming to Rapture, with the needed strength to carry one of those big suits on his back. 

But the nicest thing about Topside’s physical form is that he isn’t like some of those boxers who take part in competitions down at The Fighting McDonagh’s Tavern, with their muscles so large that they look like they’ll break out of their skin at any moment, veins all popping and limbs abnormally bulky - an obvious case of ADAM usage (and maybe over-usage, in some).

Sinclair likes muscles on a man, but their kind just makes him wrinkle his nose a little in disgust; he can’t look at them without wondering how they’re so comfortable like that. 

Topside, though - he did everything right when it came to bulking himself up because he’s muscular, but he’s lean as well, to the point that his muscles aren’t immediately noticeable when he’s got his overcoat and blazer on, but good God, they become noticeable after he takes off those outer layers and you can see the definition of his biceps and thighs in their respective sleeves, how wide his chest and shoulders are. All so natural that he could tell Sinclair that he’d popped out of his mother like that and Sinclair would believe him.

Besides, if there’s anything one notices when they first see him, it’s Topside’s height. Sinclair’s never met a man so tall before; Sinclair himself is a couple of inches off the average height of a man his age and he just barely reaches Topside’s shoulder, if they’re standing straight and not counting any lifts like shoes or hairstyles. A full foot over him, and he’s only seven years Sinclair’s junior.

His stature is part of why he’s ended up with the ‘Johnny Topside’ moniker: Johnny Topside was the name of the protagonist of one of Cohen’s films, a piece of propaganda for Ryan that he hadn’t dared allow Ryan to see beforehand, calling it his magnum opus. Ryan had put his trust in Cohen, and that had all been a mistake. It’d been a film about a diver discovering Rapture, falling in love with it the second his feet had touched Rapture’s floors, and abandoning his ideals and his life on (a wildly exaggerated version of) the surface entirely. 

The film had been short-lived because Ryan took issue with someone coming to Rapture without an invitation, even when Cohen genuinely hadn’t meant offence, and all records of the film and its merchandise and posters had all been hurriedly hidden away somewhere in Fort Frolic. But it was too late: enough people had seen it that there were reviews in the papers and kids wanting to be ‘just like Johnny Topside’. From that point onward, Ryan saw it fit to instate an official rule that he see every piece of media produced in the city before it’s released to the public, the whole thing had been a great embarrassment to both Ryan and Cohen - and of course, Sinclair had gotten a laugh out of seeing the whole thing crash and burn.

The fella who played Johnny Topside in the movie was big too (not as big, but still big), as is Cohen’s preference in his leading men, and so when this diver had shown up in Rapture - in a suit nearly identical to the one of the character’s, with a similar build and seemingly living out the events of the long-lost film - everybody was convinced on what to ‘jokingly’ call him: this man is the real Johnny Topside. And thanks to some work from Stanley Poole and the Rapture Tribune, nearly everybody calls him that.

The only people who don’t are the ones Topside’s managed to personally befriend - because they’d been the ones to listen when he mentioned he actually hates being referred to by that nickname. Even Sinclair uses his real name, when he isn’t using the host of pet names he has for him.

And Sinclair doesn’t blame him for getting upset about it: a man’s allowed to hear his own name, after all. He personally hates it when people use any shortened form of Augustus, as the likes of Fontaine are wont to do (which is why Sinclair hates speaking with him; his name is not ‘Gus’). Besides, Sinclair saw that film when it premiered; gave it two stars at best, he’d fallen asleep during the second act and only woke up in time to see the very last scene.

Of course, Topside’s vastly aware of how big he is too; he’s always making sure he’s not in people’s personal space and trying to come off as friendly as possible from the quickdraw, so nobody gets intimidated by him. Not his fault he’s built so big, and the muscles are just used for heavy-lifting and the odd bit of DIY.

Topside’s already informed him of how he’d overheard some workers complaining about carrying a recent shipment and offered his help, thus spending a whole day down in Fontaine Fisheries lifting crates for no pay, and he remembers Topside telling him about how he’d help folks build anything from furniture to their garden sheds back on the surface - “And I’d only ask for a glass of lemonade in return.”

Sinclair had been the one to pay for Topside’s wardrobe, since the kid had come to him in a suit that was obviously too small for him (because all clothes are too small for him), and he still remembers the looks on the tailors’s faces when they’d measured Topside up. 

Still, they’d worked their magic alright, and Topside’s now got a wardrobe that actually fits him comfortably. He’s come to Sinclair this evening in a black suit, patterned with white pinstripes; since he’s removed the blazer, his crisp, white shirt is exposed, alongside the dark grey sweater vest he’s got pulled over the top of it and the navy blue tie at his throat. 

(Topside is also the only man Sinclair’s ever met that could make a sweater vest look attractive, the way it’s stretched over his pectorals until it’s taut, fitting but only just, in the same way that Topside’s rolled-up sleeves hug his biceps and his trousers hug his thighs.)

As he walks about Sinclair’s kitchen, collecting the salt and pepper shakers and the basket of napkins and placing them down in the centre of the table, his shiny, black shoes clack against the floor tiles. His dark hair also catches the light due to freshly-applied hair gel that he’s used to mould his hair into an impressive pompadour, like a large tube of spiralled hair atop his head, long enough that it stands out from Topside’s forehead, if just slightly, and loose enough that a few strands stick out at odd angles in a way that gives the style a little more charm. The hairstyle’s apparently all the rage up on the surface nowadays, but either way, Sinclair’s always appreciated a man who knows how to style his ‘do.

Got the body of a thug, the style and personality of a gentleman, and the gentleness of a lamb. 

Could he be anymore Sinclair’s type?

The song on the album fades out. After a few seconds of silence, the next song - Billie Holiday’s Night and Day - blares and as he goes about collecting two plates from the higher cupboards and bringing them over to the table to put down upon the placemats, Topside starts quietly singing along, with a look on his face that clearly says he’s not aware he’s doing so.

“Night and day, 

You are the one,

Only you beneath the moon 

And under the sun

Whether near to me or far,

It’s no matter, darling, where you are

I think of you…”

There’s another thing: the pipes on this man.

Topside came to him one day, during the photoshoot for the newest line of Sinclair Spirits advertisements (the initial reason that the two of them have spoken beyond the one conversation), telling him how he’s gonna be getting up on stage down in Pauper’s Drop and would Sinclair like to come and watch. 

Sinclair had elected to - and admittedly, the biggest reason for doing so was to keep the morale up amongst his workers. Topside was and still is the new ‘it’ celebrity in Rapture, and practically every business worth its salt wanted him to be a part of them for the profits he’d bring in, attaching his name and face to their products. Sinclair wanted to ensure Topside remained part of the Sinclair business family, and if taking an hour or two out of his day to listen to some singing was what it took to boost the kid’s opinion of him, then so be it.

(Not that that opinion hadn’t been high already; it couldn’t have been more obvious that Topside was carrying a torch for him.)

What he hadn’t counted on, however, was melting the second Topside had opened his mouth up on that stage. His plastered-on smile had fallen into open-mouthed shock and wide eyes.

Mother of mercy, he’d thought in awe, if he ain’t got the voice of an angel…!

He’s almost annoyed that Grace Holloway had discovered the man before he could (not that he has a music-based business, but - Sinclair Records?...There’s an idea, keep that one in his back pocket). Topside used to be the bartender in the Limbo Room and apparently, Grace had overheard him singing along to one of her rehearsals and had immediately gone out, grabbed him and pushed him up onto the stage. 

Smart woman - the Limbo Room’s seen more traffic than ever. Topside doesn’t go on every night like Grace, but when he does, the place is swarming with folks who wanna come see him, either for his voice or his reputation. Almost makes Pauper’s Drop look less like a slum town - almost.

(He does wish Topside had taken his offer of getting him out of that town, but Topside had said he’d made friends there, and he’d feel like he was betraying them if he just went away like that on another man’s dime. The closest Sinclair got to convincing him to go elsewhere was changing the location of his bartending job, from the Limbo Room to the El Dorado Lounge over in Ryan Amusements; the least he can do, in the meantime, is make sure Topside’s got all he needs over in the Sinclair Deluxe. If anybody accuses him of having favourites, he’ll admit to it and point out that Topside is a dear employee of his, even if that hasn’t actually been the case for a while.)

Maybe he should be thanking Grace also, since hearing Topside sing for the first time had been the moment the ‘keep it professional’ lenses had been slapped away from his eyes, but then he could also laugh in her face about it, considering her well-known opinion of Augustus Sinclair.

Thank you, Miss Holloway, for making his life better. How thoughtful of you.

“Honey,” Sinclair says, interrupting Topside’s quiet singing as he gets back to dinner, putting the spaghetti into the pot, “when is it that you’re next showin’ your face at the Limbo Room?” 

“Uhhh,” Topside says, staring into space as he ponders, clutching a fistful of cutlery and a lone fork in the other hand, “Friday, I believe. I’ll hafta ask Grace.” 

He looks to Sinclair.

“Are - Are you gonna come watch?”

“Don’t I always?” Sinclair replies smoothly, eyeing the strands of spaghetti.

“Sure, but - but y’know, you don’t have to. If you’re busy, and all.”

Topside goes back to quietly setting down cutlery, adding, “I don’t wanna get in the way of your work.”

Sinclair smiles. “Please - you’re not gettin’ in the way of anything. Whole point o’ me showin’ up is that I’ve got nothin’ goin’ on worth missin’ your performance. Wild horses couldn’t keep me away - or whatever the Rapture version of that phrase may be.” 

He swears he can feel the heat coming from Topside’s face because he knows Topside’s getting flustered again, and it makes him smirk.

“O-Oh, well…that’s good…that you like my singin’,” Topside says after a moment, “cause it makes me feel a whole lot better about bein’ on stage when you’re in the audience, so I can look at you. You make me feel…more confident.”

Sinclair cocks his head with a flattered smile, then stirs the spaghetti sauce as he replies, “Could help ya feel more confident on the El Dorado’s stage too. Ain’t too far from my neck of the woods (much as I could do without a stroll through Andy’s mirror maze). I figure it’s handier singin’ there when you’re up workin’ the bar too.”

“Oh - Oh, gosh, no,” Topside adamantly shakes his head, baulking at the mere thought, “no, there’re…too many people in there for me to sing in front of. I struggled enough getting up on the Limbo Room’s stage, I can’t get up there.”

“Hm. Well, I reckon it’s down to you in the long run, but trust me when I say you could bring the house down, wherever you’re singin’.” 

“Oh,” Topside says, grinning bashfully at the compliment. “Well, it’s not really about my singin’, more about my nerves. But it’s okay, though! I like singin’ in the Limbo Room. It’s small and mostly quiet, me an’ Grace get to sing together sometimes, and I get to help out Pauper’s Drop. It’s a, heh, win for everybody, I guess.”

It’s quiet between them as the spaghetti sinks into the water and the table is finished being prepared for dinner, then the clacking of Topside’s shoes come closer, and then there’re big, strong arms wrapped around Sinclair’s middle and a freshly-shaven chin is rested atop his head.

Sinclair smiles at the warmth he’s suddenly encompassed in - Topside’s like a walking heater, so he’s naturally splendid to cuddle with - and says, “Careful. Don’t muss up my hair, now.”

Topside chuckles. “Always careful not to.”

It’s almost unconsciously that Topside starts to rock him back and forth, swaying gently at the hips along to the song, and Sinclair grins, shuts his eyes and leans his head back against Topside’s chest, hands coming to rest over Topside’s arms as Topside resumes quietly singing along to the last trek of Billie Holiday’s tune.

“Night and day,

Under the hide of me,

There’s an, oh, such a hungry yearning

Burning inside of me

And its torment won’t be through

‘Til you let me spend my life

Making love to you

Day and night, night and day…”

“Easy there, chief,” Sinclair says as the song ends, tilting his head to look toward Topside over his shoulder, “keep this goin’, and you’ll have me passin’ out in this dinner I’m makin’ you.”

“It’s alright,” Topside says, “I’ll catch you.”

Sinclair titters, then reaches over to retrieve his wooden spoon so that he can stir the sauce again.

After a few seconds where the only sound is of the food cooking, the record in the living room starts to play Crazy He Calls Me, another by Billie Holiday, along to which Topside starts to sing, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Sinclair that Topside gives his waist a little squeeze when he sings about moving mountains if ‘he’ wants them moved.

“Size that you are, honey, I reckon you could move ‘em easier than a God,” he says, and Topside chuckles.

After a few more lines, he interrupts his own singing to say lazily into Sinclair’s hair, “I should be thinking of what I’m gonna cook for you.”

Sinclair puffs out a tiny laugh at Topside’s sheer insistence on this meal he wants to make.

“Hard to go wrong in the food department, chief - there ain’t much I won’t eat.”

“Well, I wanna make it special for you,” Topside replies. “Maybe try and recreate one of my old family recipes or somethin’.”

“In that case, it already sounds like a treat and a half.”

Sinclair grabs for a new wooden spoon from the drawer by his hip to scoop up a small amount of his spaghetti sauce, bringing it up in the air and turning just so he can hold the spoon up to Topside’s face.

“Here, honey. Give this a taste for me.”

Topside leans forward and puts his lips to the spoon, pulling off the little blob of sauce and leaning back as he smacks and licks his lips quietly, then he hums and smiles wide. He rests his head back atop Sinclair’s, this time tilting it so his cheek is pressed into Sinclair’s hair instead of his chin.

“Now, that,” he says, “that is just heavenly. Is there anythin’ you can’t do, Augustus?”

Augustus scoffs out a laugh. 

“Plenty I can’t do, pumpkin, I think you’ll find.”

“I don’t believe that.”

The music continues to croon, as Topside keeps on with his gentle swaying of them both. Sinclair feels awkward that he’s going to have to ask Topside to stop soon, so he can finish up their dinner, and to be honest, he feels reluctant. 

If the public were nicer about people like them, they wouldn’t have to pretend Topside suffers with headaches just so he can stay the night with nobody commenting on it (well, Christ knows, the paparazzi would, if they caught him, but that’s what Sinclair’s paying Stanley Poole for). They could be like this for longer too, not just sharing a night together before having to separate. 

Topside can be snuck into his office with the excuse of him being his ‘assistant’, they just have to think of a lie for why the door gets locked behind them, and sometimes, they can get away with going on dates in public, so long as they aren’t too touchy-feely about it. Sinclair’s taken Topside to several of his favourite restaurants, and even taken him on a special trip down to Arcadia, where Topside had fallen to his knees in near tears at seeing grass again. Sinclair had even bribed Tasha Denu to allow them to see the bees when no one else was around, and they’d each been allowed to take home a jar of honey (and that was easier to get away with, if only because Tasha’s in the same boat they are).

Such is the way down here, no matter what Ryan believes.

“I missed you today, Augustus,” Topside says quietly.

Sinclair glances over his shoulder at him.

“You saw me just yesterday, sugar,” Sinclair replies.

“I know, but…” Topside gives a small sigh, struggling briefly with his words, before he goes on, “It’s just…I see tons of faces every day - at the bar or up on stage - but…I still always feel real lonely when you aren’t around, y’know? You’re one of the few people down here that I feel comfortable around, and...the only person I feel like I can just be myself around. Maybe I’m just bein’ foolish, but…it’s how I feel…”

Sinclair is briefly left at a loss for words; Topside’s the first man to ever see it fit to wax poetic to him. The few men he’s taken to dinner had been upfront when they’d asked him out, and he likes that, but none of them had made him feel all…fuzzy and warm and…loved like Topside does. Like he’s brought the colour into Sinclair’s life. 

It’s a little overwhelming at times, but he’s getting used to it, and more importantly, he enjoys it.

“Well…if it’s foolish, then they’ll call us both fools,” Sinclair replies, turning in Topside’s arms to face him, planting his hands on Topside’s chest, “cause I’ve been missin’ you as well, pumpkin. Lord knows, you’re the only fella in this city that I can stand ta spend any personal time with, outside o’ bein’ cooped up in a meetin’. Well - ‘cept maybe Gil.”

“Gil…? Oh. That fella you’re working on that…project with. The machines an’ all.”

“Mm-hm.” Sinclair shrugs a shoulder. “But you don’t see him with an invitation to my apartment, so I guess you’re just a special case, aren’t you, puddin’?”

He winks, and Topside smiles extra wide, looking at Sinclair in such a way that Sinclair can picture cartoon love hearts floating about his face. The thought’s amusing enough that it makes it extra disheartening when Topside’s smile falls into a thoughtful little frown.

“...You’re makin’ living in this city worth it,” he says quietly.

Sinclair’s face falls. 

Predictably, Topside never got used to living in Rapture; it was the entire reason Sinclair found him nearly passed out on the bartop of Fort Frolic’s Sinclair Spirits. Of course, Sinclair doesn’t blame him for still having his misgivings about the city. After all, they all came here of their own volition, while Topside…well, if they’re all completely honest, they essentially kidnapped him. 

It hasn’t all been bad, even setting their relationship aside - that trip to Arcadia they’d taken and how close Topside now is to sealife are the big standouts. 

The first time he’d seen a whale up close had been in the middle of the night, and he’d excitedly woken Sinclair up, telling him to come look, quickly. Sinclair’s been here for far longer than him, so whales are no longer anything he fusses over, but Topside was glued to the wall-sized window beside his bed, nearly reduced to tears when hearing the whale sing, and then waving goodbye and wishing the whale safe journeys as it swam out of view. As a diver, he’d said, he’d never been allowed to get that close to the bigger sea animals; that whale had been near enough for him to touch, if he’d had his suit.

But Sinclair knows that no matter how many happy moments Topside has down here, if someone offered him the chance to go back to the surface, he’d take it in a heartbeat, and he’d hesitate only because he’d want Sinclair (and perhaps his other friends) to come with him.

“I’m still worried of what Mr. Ryan thinks of me.” Topside confesses.

“Now, don’t get yourself all worked up about that,” Sinclair says, leaning up on tiptoe to press a kiss to his mouth.

Ryan’s been questioning Sinclair since Topside’s image went up with Sinclair’s name slapped beside it, like he wants Sinclair to act as some fucking double agent, to find out what Topside ‘intends to do with Rapture’. Sinclair could only spew lies that Topside is just like his namesake: he loves Rapture and wants no harm to come to it, he’d hated his life up top, he’s a working man and a responsible employee who just wants to make his way down here. Anything to dissuade the paranoid bastard’s ideas.

He doesn’t hide his distaste for how often Ryan is choosing to talk to him, either - he misses when Ryan would swear they wouldn’t speak again, then call him up two months later because he had a problem he wanted Augustus to solve. His evident irritation at having broken his own word just…tickled Sinclair something silly.

Topside looks away, then adds, “He scares me.”

“Andy?” Sinclair gives a dismissive scoff. “Honey, he’s nothin’ but a kitty cat playin’ at bein’ a lion: can’t even muster up a roar when he wants ta.”

Topside looks him in the face. 

“Yeah, but…he’s got the most influence in the city and all, so…” 

Not accordin’ to some, Sinclair thinks, then shrugs a shoulder and reaches up to cup Topside’s cheek.

“Sure, but you know someone else who’s got some influence in this town, kid - and that’s me. More’n you think I do, even. I can getcha new jobs and another place ta lay your head, but most importantly, I offer protection from the other big names lookin’ to snatch you up - includin’ Ryan. So don’t waste time thinkin’ on him, sugar, cause you’re on my side now, and I’ve got everythin’ covered. Just stick with me, kid,” he gives a wink, “an’ we’ll be goin’ places, just like I told you.”

Cause I would sooner see Ryan rot down in Persephone than I’d see you doin’ so, Sinclair wants to add, but then he’d have to explain what Persephone is, and then…this date and this relationship would be over.

Topside stares at him for a moment, then nods.

“Nobody else I ever wanna be with,” Topside replies with a bashful smile, which makes that fuzzy feeling spread all over Sinclair’s body, and the two lean in to kiss.

Sinclair wraps his arms around Topside’s neck, hand carefully cupping the back of his head so as to not disturb his hairstyle, and one of Topside’s arms encircles Sinclair’s waist, while his other crosses over Sinclair’s shoulder blades, holding him nice and close; one little pull upwards, and he’d be taking Sinclair off his feet. 

They hold the kiss for several seconds, then break it to begin another, and then another and another, until Topside’s starting to run his hands down the slopes of Sinclair’s waist and Sinclair’s feeling heat bubble in his lower tummy, then Sinclair forces himself to pull back.

“Oughta go sit yourself down, chief,” he says with a small grin, “otherwise I’ll never finish cookin’ this here food, and we’ll be mussin’ up both our hairstyles ‘fore we planned to.”

Topside chuckles happily, and Sinclair’s hesitant to use the word ‘cute’ with anything another person does, but…his laugh is real cute.

Topside starts to pull back from him, but not before briefly cupping Sinclair’s cheek in one of his big hands, and Sinclair puts his hand over Topside’s and nuzzles into it with a warm smile, kissing the palm. He lets Topside go so that Topside can go and sit at the table, elbows atop it and resting his chin on the backs of his folded hands.

In all the conversation, Sinclair didn’t even notice the song had ended, and Billie Holiday’s Easy Living starts to play (what can Sinclair say? He’s a fan). They were distracted long enough that most of the instrumental beginning is done with, and when Miss Holiday soon starts to sing, Topside sings with her.

“Living for you is easy living

It’s easy to live when you’re in love

And I’m so in love

There’s nothing in life but you,”

Sinclair looks over at Topside as he graces Sinclair with his dulcet tone and he could just melt from the soft, adoring look Topside’s giving him as he sings. He’ll choose to blame it on the heat of the kitchen, though.

Focusing now back on dinner, Sinclair turns off the heat under the spaghetti, then uses a pair of tongs to transfer the spaghetti to the sauce, letting it cook the rest of the way in the pan instead. With a tablespoon, he takes some of the pasta water and mixes it into the pan alongside the sauce and pasta, to help get the sauce to just the right consistency. He ends up using about eight scoops of the water, then reaches for the butter to add a small pad of it to the pan as well to ensure the sauce becomes good and creamy.

He’s distinctly aware of Topside watching him and occasionally looks over at him as he mixes the pasta into the sauce, giving him little amused smirks as he sees Topside looking at him like he’s some master chef from whom Topside wants to learn. 

Silly, really, cause Topside’s already proved himself a good cook. Those breakfasts he’d made Sinclair had been heavenly.

When the spaghetti’s fully cooked and good and covered in sauce, Sinclair flicks off the heat entirely, then tells Topside to bring the plates over.

Topside does so, muttering about how silly he’d been to put the plates on the table when Sinclair would obviously need them, and Sinclair gives them each a good helping of spaghetti before dumping his tools into the sink to be washed later and throwing off his apron.

Topside’s a gentleman and takes both of their plates to the table, setting them back down on their respective placemats, and Sinclair gives him a thanks as he collects his glass of wine. They then sit opposite each other at the table.

Sinclair stuffs a napkin into the collar of his shirt to protect his clothing and goes to pick up the pepper shaker, only to stop himself when he sees Topside clasp his hands together in a prayer, shut his eyes and press his forehead to his hands, whispering grace.

Laying one arm atop the other, Sinclair doesn’t join him, simply waits until he’s done. 

The first time they ever went to dinner together - a business dinner, mind - Topside had tried saying grace too, and Sinclair had turned wide-eyed in a second, nervously looked around, then scrambled to stop him. Of course, Topside hadn’t understood, just politely told Sinclair it’s fine if he doesn’t want to do it too, this is just his faith, but Sinclair had quickly explained that they don’t…do religion in Rapture, and that Topside could get them both in serious trouble if he continues. 

Predictably, Topside had gotten upset, muttered how he’s not even allowed his religion down here, but relented with a slight huff and told Sinclair he’d make amends later, in the privacy of his hotel room. 

Here, in the safety of Sinclair’s apartment, Topside can do whatever he pleases, so Sinclair stays quiet and lets him get on with it.

Once he’s finished, Topside lifts his head and gives Sinclair a grateful smile, then Sinclair reaches for that pepper shaker.

“Oh!”

Sinclair looks up, lips a perfect ‘o’ in surprise.

“Your cufflinks!” Topside says, staring down at Sinclair’s arm. “I didn’t even notice before - they’re sharks!”

“Oh,” Sinclair says, tone just dripping with fake wonder. “Why, they are, aren’t they? I just,” he waves a hand dismissively, “ended up throwin’ on these old things.”

Topside grins at him, then.

“Do you wanna hear an interestin’ fact about sharks?” he asks.

With a smile, Sinclair goes through with sprinkling pepper on his spaghetti, then twirls his fork into his noodles, wrapping up the prongs, then lifts it to his lips.

“Lay it on me, honey.”

[smolvenger]

A Court of Mischief and Purpose Chapter Seven (Loki x fem! Reader, Hiddlesverse A Court of Thorns and Roses Crossover AU)

Word Count: 9K

Series Summary: Inspired by A Court of Thorns and Roses with the Tom Hiddleston characters. As you lay dying of consumption, You make a deal with Loki to heal you in exchange for staying with him every month. You are whisked to a world full of magic...and danger.

Warnings: Discussions of cheating (Not Loki, he'd never) and sex and death.

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @muddyorbsblr @fandxmslxt69 (can't believe I almost forgot to tag you! But now tumblr is functioning and I can tag you🫡!)

Chapter One//Chapter Two//Chapter Three//Chapter Four//Chapter Five//Chapter Six

The next week, it was announced that Lady Sif agreed to train you. 

You had butterflies in your stomach walking into the room on the training room. It was normally used for Asgard’s soldiers and guards, but anyone was free to have it when needed. Loki’s clever lies to his parents were that he wanted the mortal guests to take advantage of the opportunities of exercise here to pass the time. He was with you when you walked out for one-on-one training with Lady Sif. Hal and Robert were the ones behind. Jonathan was going to go through the city to gather information about Grendel. Thomas had to be in his workshop, studying the designs of daggers. 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise to see another woman rechecking her gear and clothes on the floor. One who wasn't you. In your sportswear, you suddenly felt incredibly overdressed. Her shirt had such short sleeves! You could see all of her arms and she was wearing trousers! Leather ones with daggers sheathed at the sides! But was still every bit as beautiful if she wore a gown. Pale skin and long dark hair with piercing, blue eyes. She could have been Loki’s long-lost sister. 

Sister…you remembered the Prophet’s words. The blue skin and red eyes…why…he was a “son”? But no- now was not the time to ask. Especially as training was starting to begin. 

 She put strands of cloth around her hands. They looked like fingerless gloves, the kind that Jonathan and Robert would make when they sparred. She flexed her white fingers and checked the tightness. She muttered something and then looked up at you.

“Oh! Are you-”

“I am Y/N, it is nice to meet you,” you introduced with a curtsy out of habit.

“Why, dear Sif! Glad you are here!” Loki greeted.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked. The Trickster god gave another of his theatrical gestures towards her. 

“This is the enchanting Sif. She was the first-ever female warrior here in Asgard! When they all said maidens could not fight- she was the first to prove them wrong!” Loki boasted.

Sif flared her nostrils, but she kept a half-smile.

“Eh, give or take a few thousand years,” she replied. 

She turned to the two others, cocking an eyebrow.

“And who are these men?” she asked.

Loki gestured to the guests.

“Why- this is his grace, Prince Hal…”

Hal made a gallant bow.

“And this- this is Robert Laing…” Loki continued.

“Oh- Doctor! Doctor Laing- Earned the degree ,” he said with a lick of his lips. He adjusted his tie on his suit. He could wear one since he was not training now. 

Sif dropped her smile.

“Oh- and how do those studies prove you’re better than anyone else?” she questioned him.

“Just wait until you’re the one bleeding out half to death,” Laing retorted with his grin still on her.

Sif shot him a glare.

“I don’t bleed. I make others bleed,” she replied.

There was a sudden chill in the room. Robert backed down and Hal chewed the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. 

“Hmm- we have talked quite a bit. Well,  let’s begin-” she announced. “Get a practice sword.”

In the corner, there were wooden poles and then there were normal swords. You nodded and grabbed a pole that was stationed and ready. 

“No, Y/N! The ones with blades!” she requested.

Oh dear. That’s different. You had yet to try fighting with actual swords. You nervously took one and got it out, unsheathing it with a schliiiiiiick sound. You swallowed heavily as Sif easily grabbed the one next to you. You weighed it in your hand, watching the end of that blade and how many lives, even your own, could be ended with it. 

“I see the look on your face. Do you want to be a warrior? You must learn to fight with a real weapon. You have to be ready, Y/N.” she said.

“Alright…it’s only new…” you said though it was only half your voice.

You walked out into the middle of the floor. The three men stood by the sides with some chairs to watch you both. Hal, the expert on swords too, watched with an examining eye. Robert folded his arms. Loki rested a hand on his chin as he folded his arms. 

“Alright now parry-” Sif ordered.

You parried- moving the sword forward as she threw hers down in a heartbeat. You jumped a little from the impact. There was the sharp sound of the blades colliding that rang through your ears.

“Decent. Now don’t think too hard mortal lady- just act,” Sif instructed. 

She thrust her sword forward. You managed to block it by raising yours impulsively. She was fast and aggressive. When you tried to move forward she would find a weak point and raise it to you. Then you would jump back. You kept fleeing from her, dodging her. Blocking her constant, attacks, your feet shuffling further back. Would she even give you a second to attack her?  You backed up from her constant parries. Her attacks were forward and your defenses backward until your back foot grazed a wall. It then hit you- she has backed you into a corner.

“I’m not sure if you’re training or if Lady Sif wants another fight to win!” Robert quipped. 

Sif’s eyes turned towards the doctor, gritting her bared teeth. 

In a swift second, Sif reached into the side of her pants. She pulled out a small dagger. She looked at Robert and hurled it towards him. The three ducked out of the way. As Robert moved, it landed on the wall next to him, barely grazing his cheek. His eyes were wide and his face pink- as if he couldn’t tell if he hated this or actually secretly enjoyed it. 

You tried to wiggle out, think of a next move as Sif was distracted. Then- a feeling hit you. An odd feeling.

You could sense her. Sense her movement. Sense the movement of everyone. You felt their footprints- where they were. You could sense how many swords and poles were nearby. Everyone’s heartbeat. The other dagger in Sif’s pocket. The guards outside the door. You could feel the feet shuffling in the halls in the next room. As if you were asleep and now awake. You felt your head spin a little and put your free hand to your forehead.

“Sif, I feel…I feel a little odd…” you remarked. 

Her feet rumbled as you sensed her right before you and raised her sword in your direction. 

“Now- Y/N…what do you do?” she asked, raising your sword. It was right before your face. You backed further up to the wall. 

“I…I don’t know!” you confessed.

Sif kept her eyes on you and her sword still pointed at you. You tried to swipe hers away, but she countered it and thrust again forward. You raised the sword up to block it. She pushed forward and you backward. The blades slicing against each other. 

“Come on- focus. Hesitation is when the enemy will gut you open-”

“I really don’t!”  you cried.

“Come on! What’s your first instinct, mortal?!” Sif urged.

You couldn’t think straight. Only the humiliation of your defeat weighing on you. And the hotness of the room, the smells, and the rumbling of feet as someone walked in the next hall. It was too much, too much. In a wave of emotion, you pushed your sword in front of you to her on impulse with a slight shout. Sif snorted, raising an eyebrow at the weapon you stabbed forward.

You felt everything get white hot inside you. The feeling began at the top of your head and waved down to your hands- then to the sword

“Decent, but-”

It happened in a matter of seconds- so fast, you barely processed it. 

Fire shot out. It shot out of your hands and through the sword until it blazed before Sif. 

Sif let out a scream of surprise and backed off. Her sword jumped out of her hands and skittered across the floor. Still, the fire kept burning, blazing. Everyone jumped at the sight of it.

“Why…what…what is this?! What is going on?” Sif cried. The fire added another thing of heat to the room and its crackling was the only sound for a second. 

It then stopped. But the air still felt scorched and warm. It smelt of sulfur. When you checked the sword, it was partially burnt. You dropped it and checked your hands. Little twinges of flame jumped from it. But your skin was unhurt. Then they slowed down and they were as normal, the small star winking at you. 

“I…I don’t know- I don’t. I’m sorry, Sif.” you explained. 

Sif regained her composure. 

“The enemy is surprised, that’s good. Now what do you do- Y/N!? The enemy is surprised and unarmed. Don’t hesitate!”

As you thrust the partially burnt sword forward, Sif jumped back. Her eyes went to the sword she dropped. She reached for it.

With a bit of shock, you felt that sensation again- focusing on that little practice sword of Sif’s. The white-hot buzzing. Something else poured out - almost like a breath. A whiff of energy.

The sword skittered across the floor, unmoved. Far from Sif.

 There was utter silence for a second. The men all stood up with astonished looks on their face. Sif dropped her jaw and turned to you.

“Loki- is this another trick?” she asked.

He shook his head and shrugged.

“No…it seems as if…this was none other than our dear Mortal ladies doing…and there’s only one explanation….magic,” he answered, eyes scanning over every detail of the room and the sword. 

You felt dizzy again. You set aside your sword, feeling everyone’s eyes on you, making you uneasy.

“I’m so sorry but it’s…it’s never…never happened before…” you blubbered out. Now the source of all the attention. Like a child called out for trouble in school before her entire class.

Sif urged the men to come over. 

“Training is done. Please get the queen- she has something in her. It needs to be checked. Now!” she demanded. 

At once, all of you hurried to Frigga in her chambers. She was enjoying the view from her balcony when she turned her head. 

“Mother- hurry- we must talk! About our mortal girl-” Loki insisted.

She walked inside and sat down gracefully on a chair. In brief, all of you told her of what happened.

“Why…magic? Our Y/N?” she gasped.

You nodded. She then reached forward and took your hands. She studied the star marks, tracing them with her finger, her eyes bulging wide as she really took it in. She then turned upward, her eyebrows crossed. Her voice dropped to a sharp, strict tone. 

“Loki…there is only one spell that leaves a mark like that. Why is Y/N here? Not just out of the goodness of your heart? How did you meet her? Was she hurt or sick?” she asked. 

“Yes. Dying, in fact.” Loki reported. 

Frigga’s lips tightened.

“And you used that spell?” she asked.

“Yes, I did.” the prince admitted. 

“My son, did you read everything the book said about it.”

Loki shrugged. He put on his uneasy, half-laughing smile where only part of a chuckle escaped.

“Only the parts that were important!”

She gave him a stern look.  

“That I…thought were important,” Loki admitted. Smile dropping, he folded his hands and looked down, red with embarrassment. For no child was immune to a scolding from their mother, even gods. 

“Including the bargain to seal it?” she asked.

“Yes, mother.”

She let out a deep sigh. Then she walked to her bookshelf. She got out a large, ancient book bound in worn, tan leather. She moved it to her desk and flipped through the pages. Finding what she was looking for, she stopped at one. She read quietly for a minute and then looked at you. 

“You have Prince Loki to thank for this, Y/N. This spell…since the magic must go inside the person to heal them, it never leaves. In short, you now have magic, my dear,” she announced.

“Oh…oh dear god!” you gasped, moving a hand to your mouth. Glad at least flames did not burst out to burn your face. 

“Why, I do like to be called a dear, thank you,” Loki smirked. You gave him a look.

“This is not a joking matter!” you retorted to him.

Frigga folded her hands. Sif, Hal, and Robert all stood watching like they were the audience of a rather suspenseful play.

“Anything else? Other than what happened at training?” the queen questioned.

“I…I’ve had dreams of the future- possible futures…” you explained. 

Your mind drifted back to Stella. The dream you had of her future suicide attempt.  You did everything you could you took comfort in one fact. She made you a promise and Stella would always honor her promises. You wrote to her regularly as you did your parents, sending Thomas to deliver the letters and head back. Like she said, if she was engaged, you would know. Her letters were not of proposals, definitely, not of any men she had her eye on. They were of the ordinary daily life- visits, occasional dances, farmers with their crops, fishermen with their fish, the most tantalizing piece of news that a small town could offer. She was wise not to discuss what was happening at church with you. But no engagements, at least not for her. Perhaps her tragic future was avoided by now. 

Frigga checked the book and tapped her finger on the page. 

“It says right there- visions of the possible futures. Occasional-usually in dreams. And have you ever sensed someone near you- far away? Sensed everything around you? Their actions?”

You nodded.

“Yes. It happened today with Sif,” you confirmed.

Frigga looked at her son and then back at you. 

“Have voices appeared in your head?” she asked.

“One specific voice,” you answered. “Loki’s.”

“I’m not surprised. Do you hear her thoughts too?” she asked Loki.

He folded his arms and lifted his chin a little.

“As clearly as I hear your words, Mother. Even when I was in Asgard and she in Midgard,” he answered.

Frigga turned a page, her finger gliding down as she found a paragraph.

“Here it is listed- the thoughts of the one who cast the spell and the one healed are linked in their minds….” she read aloud. 

She scanned the rest of it, then closed the book. But she went to you, touching your cheek sweetly. 

“It could be worse. But this is a mere symptom of the spell. You will learn how to live with it.” she said.

“How? I don’t want to…to…hurt anyone!” you replied.

Frigga softened her face at your words.

“Oh, of course not! Do not blame yourself! No one has been hurt! You see…”

Her eyes turned to Loki with a small smile.

“My son should be the one to help you,” she suggested. 

Loki’s jaw dropped and he took a step forward.

“Help her? You’re the expert on magic- why can’t you do it?” he asked.

“My dear boy, you were the one who chose to do the spell on her. And you will face the consequences for it rather than running away,” she explained.

He put his hands on his hips and he opened his mouth to say something, then he closed. Frigga kept a smile as she looked between the two of you. Loki swallowed his Adam’s apple bobbing. You exchanged a look, then he turned to her. 

“Alright- then…then I will,” he said. 

Frigga clapped her hands together with a smile. 

“Good- begin tomorrow with the mind reading. It can be done to where two can speak to each other seamlessly would rather it be clear than disruptive. Now-dear Lady Sif, Hal, Robert- I am so sorry I haven’t spoken with all of you. I’ve been busy. How are all of you? Let’s call for some wine and a little bite to eat before dinner as we all chat, shall we?” 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was when you woke up the next morning that it hit you. You were no longer some ordinary “mortal” woman. No- now you had powers! To think, if you could go back in time and tell yourself as a child, what would she think! Not to mention, what would everyone back home think of a woman who actually had powers by accident? Oh, they would all scream in terror if a flame shot out of your hands. Secretly, you were thrilled. As if winning some luck of the draw. 

You walked outside to the gardens. It was right at the start of the afternoon when the sun was the most warm. It wasn’t usually when you liked to walk outside due to the heat, but you wanted to test your newfound abilities. To see if you could figure anything out. You decided to head There was a middle valley in the palace garden grounds. A small grassy part amidst some hydrangea bushes with no trees for shade. 

There were many things you expected to walk into the garden to see. The buds open. Gardeners digging holes. Little bugs about the dirt. Pleasant, familiar, comfortable things. 

You weren’t expecting to see a naked man. 

Pale, and muscular with ripped abdominals and strong biceps despite his lean frame lying down on a bench. A towel on his head and a book over his crotch. They were the only thing on him. 

Ripped with shock, you let out a scream on instinct. To your increased horror, he got up the book shifted. You let out another shout and shielded your eyes with your arm. You thought you would see…that part of a man on your wedding night! Not unwarned and unwanted in a garden! 

But he scrambled up and set the towel and book over the most offending part of his body. When you peeked up, his hair had a redder sheen, and though he was in the sun he was pale. But you had to admit you did like the sight of all the muscles on him.

“Hello there!” Robert nervously chuckled. 

“What on earth are you doing?!” you cried. Your eyes trying very hard to focus on his face. 

“Uh- I just- I’m sunbathing! And I fell asleep!”

“People-people really sunbathe in the future in their free time?!” you questioned. 

“Well, uh, yes,” Robert replied.

“Bare naked as a babe?!” 

“Also yes.”

“Have you gone mad, Robert!?” you cried.

“Not for a month!”

You took a step back, Robert noting the look on your face. He blushed with embarrassment. 

“I am so immediately sorry, Y/N. I didn’t know you would be here! I’ll try to keep it in my room. I’ll talk to Loki. Ask him to conjure a-a-a-sun tan machine or something.” he tried to compromise. His feet started to shuffle to the bushes as if he were Adam after devouring the apple. 

“People make machines for sun tans?!” you asked.

“Oh, they do! I’ll tell you- my- my robe is near this rose bush-give me a minute…”

He leaned in and got it. You turned away as he put the white, cloth robe over himself. The electricity of the shock still running through you.

“Alright, Y/N, I’m decent!” he announced. 

You turned around. Robert tied a knot of the cloth around his waist.

“Sunbathing naked?! Goodness-and did you say…are you sure you’re not still mad?!” you cried.

Robert froze. The joking smile on his face dropped from the embarrassed, cheeky smile. 

“I’m not,” he replied sternly. 

He took a step towards you, his voice serious. 

“Please, don’t bring it up with the others. I don’t like other people discussing it.”

Shame flooded your system. 

“Oh-I…I am so sorry…I…I didn’t know…” you apologized, feeling your shoulders slump.

 He gathered the towel and book in his hands. 

“Well…now you do…Y/N, I….I…I’ll go to my room now,” the no-longer-madman said as he walked out. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Loki did not take you at once into either the indoor or outdoor training grounds. Instead, both of you merely went to a table in a dining hall. He plopped down, his smile never leaving his face as he looked at you. You were dressed in a white day dress with little pink dots all over it, moving your skirt as always so you could sit down on the chair. No one else was around to witness this, only the two of you. 

“Well then- to start. Let’s practice the whole thought business!” he announced. 

“Aren’t you scared I will scorch the table?” you asked.

He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms with a shrug.

“Why should it be? Tables can be replaced, but not you. And I’ve been able to access your own thoughts quite easily for a while. We both know that by now. You should learn how to send them and block mine. Unless you want to hear my voice in your ears to lull you to sweet dreams at night. I will be happy to oblige.”

You gave him a scowl.

“You’re a scoundrel,” you responded.

“Always have been and will be,” he replied with a smile. 

You looked forward at him. You folded your hands on your lap. It was a nice dining hall. Right near an open balcony with tall columns of marble around you. The bright sunlight shone down as it overlooked the skyline of Asgard.

“All right- I’m going to send my thoughts out. To you. I will make them clear.” Loki announced.

Then there was nothing. You heard nothing. You felt the rustle of the bustle on the back of your skirt as you leaned back in the chair. 

With a deep breath, you heard Loki’s voice in your head.

“Hello there, Y/N. It’s another lovely day here in Asgard. Wouldn’t it funny if I snipped off a bit of Sif’s hair when she isn’t looking!”

“Don’t do that! It’s mean! And she will scream at you!” you thought back.

He made a gesture with his hands and spoke out loud. 

“There you go! That’s far better! You hear mine- I hear yours!” he announced. “All because you let me in, my dear. I read it in the book.���

“What else did it say?” you asked, moving your hands to touch the table. It was long and wooden, carved with ancient runes. You nervously traced one with your fingernail. 

“Your thoughts are an instrument one can never stop playing. Only you may play them loudly or quietly. But one can muffle out the music of another., Y/N. Now- try to block out my thoughts to you.”

With a deep breath,  you clenched your body. Willing the invisible thoughts of his to not enter your own head.

“Not working.” Loki’s voice replied in your head.

You let out a huff of air through your nostrils.

“How does one block it?” you questioned him. 

Loki slightly tucked his chin. 

“Hmmm, yes, I see how stiff you are holding yourself, your body. And this time I know it’s not because of this ‘bustle’ thing.  Blocking does not mean bracing oneself- body or mind. Think of it like…like a shield…try to put a shield out. Imagine one. And relax a little.” he guided.

You imagined a shield. You saw many among the guards of Asgard. Tall, circular, and bronze. You imagined it up against you, protecting you, bundling up inside it. Warm and safe. Loki let out another small breath. He sat forward on the chair, leaning an elbow on it. His hand touching his chin and grinning. You braced for his voice in your head again. 

But the shield worked. You didn’t hear one of his. There was nothing. Finally! Your physical training was slow, but at least that was one thing you could get right!

You imagined lowering it down. Sure enough, there were thoughts of

“Y/N, the dress you have on today looks quite lovely, especially when the sunlight hits it.”

A little flutter began in your stomach. You couldn’t give into his flatter, no. You sent out another one, looking into his blue eyes. One of a pair of many you learned to get used to. 

“Trying to recover yourself over the remark about my breasts?” you thought back. 

He dropped his smile, lowering his head.

“I apologize. I knew it would rile you- get you to fight back.”

“Thank you for acknowledging that, Loki. You have quite the presumptuous nature- I’ve figured that out so far.”

Then there was no reply. You heard no thoughts. You tried to send something out to him, but there was nothing for a minute. Then two. Then three. You blinked and tried to send it out.

“Loki? Loki-what-”

He waved open with his hands and spoke aloud. 

“See, Y/N- now my shield was up. Let’s try this little back and forth, shall we?” he asked.

It went on like tennis. It was shaky- but at least you had a hand at it. It was a start.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The day came to announce the heir. It was all heralded that morning so quickly, that there wasn’t time to process it. It was the gatekeeper, Heimdall, who resounded it out before the city balcony. All of you standing in the back room as he looked down upon the people. Heimdall smiled at them and then announced with his rich, sonorous voice to all. 

“Odin has named Thor as his heir! Prepare for the ceremony later today at sunset!”

When you looked for Loki, he immediately left the room. Thor smiled wide before servants ushered him out the other door. 

There was so much bustle, servants running to and fro, platters of food delivered from the kitchen, your head spun. And Thor was never seen to discuss this. And not Loki either. It wasn’t that you didn’t want Thor to be happy. But…you knew today was going to be hard for the younger brother. Yes, Loki was cheeky and arrogant and flirted to get what he wanted and fond of getting into trouble- but you had to admit…you felt bad for him today.

The ceremony began as promised at sunset. You were astounded to see so many people about to watch.  To think this many people lived in Asgard! Were they gods too? Mortals like you who just lived in a different world? Curiosity bubbled inside you. You were just used to your plain little life in a plain little town where every house was white and you saw the same faces daily. But here- there was life. Excitement. Not even London, you imagined, had this much of a crowd for anything. They crowded around. They gathered around the large, open space before the throne with a walkway.

Everyone dressed for the occasion. Odin wore his silver armor and winged helmet, his eye patch seemed to gleam like a jewel. Frigga was beautiful in her golden dress, with a smile on her face. Loki stood in his deep green with his large, horned helmet. You were in your own russet velvet dress for parties. Jonathan wore his blue suit and Robert his grey one. Hal was dashing in dark velvet, his curls combed back. Thomas was in his black suit, the bronze chain of a pocket watch sticking out across his stomach. Sif herself remained in her armor but was placed to stand near the throne with the other Asgardian warriors.

“Let us now raise a cheer for my son- your future king, Thor!!” Odin announced.

Thor was brought down on a chariot, wielding a large hammer. His large red cape and long blonde hair flew in the wind. He had a giant smile as he showed it his hammer. The crowd roared for their future king. Everyone was smiling. Everyone…except the younger brother of the future king. 

You looked over at Loki. His hands folded before him, the usually mischievous gleam in his eyes dimmed. He seemed far away, small, and alone. 

“Loki…how are you? What are you thinking? You can tell me…” you sent your thoughts out.

There was no response.

You couldn’t bother with Hal and Sif trying to outdrink each other at the banquet after. Robert kept trying to flirt with her and she told him to bother off, only she didn’t say the word “bother.” The doctor backed away, hands up in defense. Thomas and Jonathan sat next to each other at the meal. It was hardly a wonder so many Asgardian women made their eyes toward the two handsome men. Many maids offered to refill their goblets with batting eyelashes. Jonathan was polite to them, but never seemed to return their attention. Thomas was a different matter, however. He was smiling, chatting, and charming all of them. Thor was at the center, telling stories and laughing as people lauded their upcoming ruler. 

 But you had no interest in the celebration going on in the hall. There was one gentleman in green who was missing from all this.

You felt your sensation again. Despite the rumble of everyone’s food digesting, you felt Loki’s presence. Locating him easily.  So you got up, going to the stone walkway in the next room. The cool air of the night washing over you. Seeing Loki in a marble corner, staring out at the city. He only looked out at the window at the starry sky and two moons shining through the window. He jumped a little when he turned and saw you.

“I’m not surprised….” he said.

“But it’s still disappointing…” you acknowledged. 

He let out a deep breath. You heard Thor’s large laughter from the other end of the hall. God of Thunder suited him- everything about him was thunderous. 

“I’m so sorry, Loki…you would have made a decent king,” you tried to console.

He arched up a dark eyebrow.

“Really? Me?” Loki asked. He seemed surprised, not like the other side of him that would say he knew. He turned around to look you in the eye.

You nodded. 

“Yes- you would have. You took pity on a dying woman and offered to heal her. You comforted her when her heart was broken. You’re teaching me how to control my magic. You’re planning a quest to defeat a villain to protect others. You…you sent Hal after me. And I hear Robert had...”

You stopped your words. You suddenly remembered Robert asked you not to discuss the time he went mad. 

“A…a hard time…” you finished.

Loki gestured with you to walk back to the dining hall. His eyes drifted towards the Baronet in black smiling as a maid refilled his jug for the third time.

“Oh, if you think Robert had a hard time, wait until you find out where Thomas came from,” he replied. 

‘Thomas?” you asked. 

From the smile, you saw Thomas pull out a small contraption for the maid. It was a music box that could fit in the pocket. The maid turned the knob, grinning to reveal its trickling tune. The maid laughed in delight. One would never guess he ever had a “hard time” at any point in his life. 

You turned your focus back to Loki.

“But you are suffering too. Don’t let Odin or a throne determine your worth. We all appreciate you,” you said. 

There was some music in the back and people raised their goblets. Many gulped it down and threw it on the floor, crying “Another!” You jumped a little at the sound of so many cups crashing on the floor at once. 

“Appreciation won’t make me a hero…or Thor’s equal…” he replied as he walked off. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You couldn’t fall asleep that night. Your heart was still breaking from the last line with Loki. He felt invisible. Unwanted. And it felt like there was nothing you could do about it. Wasn’t there a compromise? Why couldn’t there be two kings or couldn’t the kingdom be divided? 

Then there were the thoughts that shot out of you. Thoughts you tried to stifle. Memories you tried to stifle. But stifling them only made them stronger when they arrived. Memories of home. The letters, the field, the white shirt, the-

No, you had to distract yourself. Not dwell. It would only make you miserable. It looks like you would have to ask for the sleeping potion again. You got out of bed, wrapping a pink shawl around your nightgown for warmth, out you went into the halls. Perhaps it would be in the kitchens or you could ask a servant. Your bare feet touched the cold stone beneath, making you shiver. 

Then- there was a noise. A shuffling. Your powerful sensing was warning you. Someone was up-about. You turned around to look. No one. As you kept walking, you kept swearing you heard footsteps. Then a breath. 

There was someone up and close by. Awake. It wasn’t a servant.

Oh no- could it be a spy from Grendel!? You were going to scream, use what you could. Try to move something- you feel someone there. You felt your hands grip your shawl tighter. You were unarmed- could you somehow summon flames again? Make something move? Frantically looking around, frozen with fear.

Before you could even budge, out from the darkness, Jonathan Pine appeared. He put a hand before you to silence the idea of a scream. He put a hand before his face to shush you.

Like…like…like he would, like what Will would do- no! Y/N, don’t dwell on him. It’s over! you thought. The thought then slipped away in a second. You felt yourself relax knowing it was not a spy from Grendel.

“Shhh- Y/N! It’s okay! I’m here!” Jonathan whispered.

“You scared me to death!” you hissed back, placing a hand over your slowing heart.

“I’m sorry. It’s part of my duties.” Jonathan explained. 

“Duties?!” you asked, with a tilt of your head.

“Remember, I’m Loki’s spymaster. I am again- so very sorry about the scare. I’ll make it up to you. Let me take you downstairs- get you something to drink. Does that sound nice?” he asked.

“Yes, yes it does, Jonathan.”

Down you went to the kitchens of Asgard. They weren’t accustomed to tea as much. But they did have wine. And still whole bottles of the special wine that was made for the banquet today. He located two glasses and poured you both some of the red liquid. He handed it over to you.

“How did you become Loki’s spymaster? I’m curious…” you asked.

He paused. He leaned back against the counter, the glass in one hand. 

“I…I’ve never talked about it much…but…I’ll tell you,” he said.

He set down his glass on the counter and then turned to look right at you. 

“Y/N- you know I’m a soldier…” he began.

“Yes, I do,” you recalled. 

You took a sip of the Asgardian wine-rich and dry in its flavor. Jonathan left his abandoned. You his lips tightened, and then in took in a slow breath. His voice was soft, earnest. 

“I never had a family all of my life. I lost my parents. Grew up drifting in foster homes around England. The army at least was stable. It felt like I had a permanent family of my own. At first. But…but…the things I’ve seen…the things I was ordered to do…it was too much.”

He shook his short, blonde head.

“After it was done, I had to honorably leave the military. Start anew. I ended up living in Cairo, Egypt.”

“Egypt?! That sounds incredible!” you cut in. How different and far from England! It must have been hot, but he would have seen the pyramids every day!

He bobbed his head in acknowledgment. His eyes soft at your brief excitement.

“It was, Y/N. I worked at a hotel for their night shifts. Then was promoted to manager. That at least gave me something stable. A routine. It was a hotel owned by a gentleman named Freddie Hamid. Then one night…there was a woman who checked in. And this woman was his mistress…”

He looked at your face to observe your reaction. Back home, such things weren’t discussed so openly. But you swallowed the little bit of shock. 

Jonathan’s features softened. And his voice became softer, sweeter.

“Her name was Sophie…but her real name was Samira. She liked expensive clothes and coffee. She drank when she was stressed. She was chatty. She had a dog she carried everywhere. She loved to flirt with the staff- even me.”

This was far different, far more vulnerable and tender than you have ever seen Jonathan.

“Did you love her?” you asked.

After a pause, he answered.

“Yes. Yes, I did. I loved her. And she loved me too. Just for that brief time, I loved her.”

“Brief? How come?” you asked. 

There was one possible explanation for why. And it wasn’t good. There was a sudden heaviness in the air as he paused. He wrapped his arms around himself and looked down on the floor. Then back at you as he continued. 

“Sophie had documents with her. She handed it to me to make copies, but I saw them. Proof that Freddie and his friend, Richard Roper, had access to weapons. Destructive, powerful weapons. Bombs that would wipe out entire cities. Weapons only the army should own. So I alerted the authorities. Freddie found out and beat Sophie… I discovered he and his men were capable of doing more. She was in danger. Now that it was out, she was a target. They were going to kill her- because of something I did. I begged her forgiveness, and she said she would have reported it had she been braver. She asked me for help.  So…I hid her. Took her somewhere far away…made sure she was safe…I wanted to whisk her far away. To England…”

He hunched his shoulders.

“Those authorities said she would never be safe in England. That Roper had friends there. That returning her to the hotel was the best option. To curb suspicion. She returned with her head high, confident, and smiling as she checked into her suite. I went to work. I carried about my shift like normal. Then I got word from someone…she was in danger. But when I ran into the room…it was too late….there was…was…she was killed-her blood everywhere…”

A hand flew over your mouth.

“Poor Sophie!” you gasped. 

“It never left me. She never left me. She always haunted me…and she always might. The fact I brought her to death, I…I did…She would…would blame me, she probably did in her last moments…”

“But she told you herself that she didn’t resent you for the documents! That she would do the same as you! I…I don’t know if she would…you didn’t beat her like…like her….like Freddie! You were kind to her. You tried to protect her!” you commented, trying to comfort him.

He gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles turning white. 

“Then one day…the British authorities spoke to me. Asked me to help in an operation to bring Roper and his allies down. So…I decided to become a spy to avenge her.”

 It was hard, I won’t bore you with the details. But to be brief,  I did it. I infiltrated him. Brought him down. I killed Freddie myself- drowned him in his own pool.”

You felt your eyes widen.

“I caught Roper and destroyed his stock. Caught him red-handed and brought him to the government. He ended up in jail, executed for his crimes.”

“How is it you managed to defeat Roper?” you asked.

You found that he smiled, both with his eyes and his smile. It was a smooth, handsome smile. He was elegant so easily and naturally. 

“Sheer determination and thorough thinking. That is what will get you through anything, Y/N.”

He put his hands in his pockets.

“And after that, it was done… Loki arrived to me. Told me that he was a copy of me from another timeline, another life. Asked me to be a spy for him. Fight Grendel with him. I had no home. No family. Not even a woman. Not since…since Sophie, no. Nothing to return to…so I have nothing to lose. That’s why I’m here- where I can be useful.” 

You cupped your wine glass with both hands.

“That’s quite a story, Jonathan!” you remarked. 

You took a step closer. His eyes were still glossy from mentioning her again.

“Jonathan…if Sophie were here…I think she’d be proud of you. For what you did. For avenging her…now that it’s done, and if she can’t be here for you…she’d want you to be at peace,” you consoled him.

His blue eyes shone a little bit, his chest rising and falling with his breaths. 

“Thank you, Y/N. If we survive, I hope I can be. I want to live a normal, peaceful life after this. No battles. No bloodshed. Just a quiet, normal life. I want to become a husband. A father. And not worry about anyone getting killed- just love my wife. Love my child. And pour all that love so they will never have to suffer what I did.”

A hand flew over your heart, and you felt your lips curve to a smile.

“That’s beautiful…I hope you do. If we’re careful…that could be your life, I know it.” you said.

He went back and got his wine glass, taking a careful sip. He kept it in his hand as he escorted you back to your room. Finishing your drink, and reflecting on Jonathan’s story, you fell right asleep.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Two days later, Loki brought you again to that wide training ground on the inside. He made no mention of the ceremony. In fact, there was a bounce in his step as you went with him into that room with just you two.

“Alright YN-let’s practice those other little gifts of yours! Starting with the sensing and tossing things around with your pretty little head!” he announced.

You rolled up your sleeves. He pointed at a red X that appeared on the floor with his magic. 

“Stay put on this,” he required.

You stepped over it. He conjured a wooden pole and set it several feet before you on the ground. 

“Now- move it without touching it,” he instructed. 

You concentrated on the pole. Squinted hard. Your body clenched- but nothing happened. Move little pole, please, come on, move- just an inch, please, please please- you urged silently.

Loki raised up a finger and your glance moved up to meet him.

“Ah, I see. You’re trying to force it! Sometimes forcing it will result in nothing- just allow it happen. As you are- breathe into it!” he advised.

You relaxed your body and returned your focus to the pole. Not losing sight of it, but you released your hand to your sides. It began to twitch a little.

Move, you merely thought.

It rolled right to you like a blast of wind. You caught it with your foot, rolling it carefully. You felt yourself smile in triumph. Loki raised an eyebrow, and he smiled.

“Not bad- now turn around, Y/N,” he instructed. 

You went around and to your shock, you saw Loki again staying right by a wall. A green door appeared on the wall that wasn’t there before. You turned your head to confirm  Loki there behind you- but another Loki in front of you! You didn’t hear him run, but you turned around. There were two of them?!?!

“You have a twin brother?” you asked nervously. 

“Oh no- my magic can make duplicates,” he explained.

One could imagine the sorts of trouble he could get into with that trick! The duplicate Loki gestured to the door and you stepped towards it. 

“Now- what do you sense is behind that door?” the duplicate asked,, his smooth, baritone ringing across the room. 

You did sense something behind it. You could see its outline in your mind. It was tall, thin, and long in shape. It had a sharp point and a handle. Then a picture in your head emerged.

“It’s a…a…a sword,” you answered. 

“That is right. The door is locked. Unlock and open it. Then get the sword,” he challenged you.

You concentrated on the doorknob. Relaxing your body and looking at nothing else. It fidgeted. It shook. But it didn’t open. You tried again, but it failed again. Letting out a huff of frustration, you then looked at the keyhole- sensing how it was kept locked. How the gears were turned to seal it. 

“Now- unlock,” you requested.

The little gears turned and there was a click. Then the door squeaked open. It revealed a dark room with no furniture or decorations. The light from the training room poured out to it- revealing the sword right on the floor before you. 

“Now wield the sword near you without touching it!” you heard the duplicate instruct. 

You concentrated, poking at it with your mind. Bringing it to move. Yet it did not. It stayed there. Dull and solid. When you really willed, it budged forward. Then it stayed put. 

“Dammit!” you cursed beneath your breath. “Just move to me!”

The light from the windows shining through stopped as if someone drew a curtain over them. Turning, you felt the frustration boiling in you as more grey clouds covered the sky. And out of nowhere for an idyllic, sunny day! The god looked up with an easy smile, laughter in his voice.

“Well, Y/N- you definitely did that! IT didn’t move the sword, but it did move the natural elements! Another effect you may thank me for!”

You felt yourself unclench, your shoulders lowering. The clouds rolled away quickly and there was sunshine again. You saw how if you focused on the light shining on the floor. Curiosity crept inside you. When you willed it, the light stretched towards your feet. Like the waves of the ocean when it would cradle and creep softly right before your toes.

“So your mother taught you?” you asked him.

The duplicate vanished into a bit of golden mist. You turned around to Loki and walked closer to him. He nodded his raven head. 

“Yes, she did, since I was small. I remember she’d start with little tricks. Like…like this one here…”

He opened his hand and out came little fireworks. Bright flashes of red, pink, yellow, and blue flying up and exploding into beautiful sparkles from over his hand. You gasped, admiring the bright colors. It was so sweet, so delicate, so lovely. So unlike the portrait of the devious trickster god who called himself anything but a wanted hero. 

“Loki, that’s beautiful!” you exclaimed, smiling in delight. 

He gave you a smile back. You admired the show as it went on and then it faded away. He folded his palm. 

“It’s all a matter of practice- and it will be like swimming to you soon,” he said. 

“I just hope so. It will have to be if I’m to fight Grendel….” you sighed.

“You will- just give yourself time.”

“Do we have time?” was something you wanted to ask. But you did not. You merely focused again on the sword, trying to get it to slide to you. It did not. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was a nice rhythmic routine of your new life in Asgard- training so much in both body and magic. Even if it meant you were almost, always a little sore. Dining with these new people you had to call friends. Even Sif, despite her intense training sessions and sarcastic remarks every time she spoke. There was no report of any progress on Grendel. No news was good news, as the saying goes. It just left you more time to be prepared. It was hard to believe a month had passed by. In fact, you could hardly believe it when Thomas arrived one morning at breakfast.

“Forgive the intrusion, Miss Y/N, but I came to get your mail from home. Your parents begged me to send this over to you,” the baronet announced, handing you a letter. You opened it and read aloud. 

“Dear Y/N,

We have not seen you in a long time. Please return home. Just for a little.

All our love,

Your mother and father.”

You folded it in your hands. It was Loki and his variants who sat a the table, all looking at you dumbfounded.

“Do you think you can visit back, my lady? I wonder if you still are sad concerning your betrothal,” Hal said.

“I don’t know if I can bear it alone….” you commented. The others looked at you and each other.

“I doubt I would be much welcome after that wedding fiasco,” Loki commented.

Jonathan stood up from his table. 

“I will go with her. Y/N will not have to face it alone…” he volunteered.

You gave him a thanks as both of you beheld the portal to take you back. Trusting that you could alert Loki with your mind when you were ready to return. Just a bit of magic, the flash of rainbow colors bursting over you and the spy.

In a second, you both were right at the front door of your home. You knocked and were let in immediately. Sitting in the living room having an uneasy tea. They passed a plate of biscuits to Jonathan. He took a bite, keeping an uneasy smile on his face. A few crumbs fell on his pants which he wiped off. You felt your parents staring at the clothes from his time. Suppressing questions out of politeness. You only had one bite of your own biscuit, which tasted stale and bland. Looking over, you saw that the flowers in the vase on the table in the kitchen hadn’t changed since the would-be wedding. Shriveled, wilted, and dead.

“Now….Y/N, what is going on?” your mother asked.

“I am staying in Asgard. There is a great threat. A villain- he’s trying to invade. We are doing what we can to defeat him,” you explained plain and simple.

“When will you return home? Please, Y/N,” she begged.

“I don’t know, mama. Not for a while. This concerns all of our future, if not our safety. I…I wish I could…but I promised I would help them. And I will. I’m learning how to fight-”

“To fight!” cried your mother.

“Yes, and we have a clue on how to take care of it. Loki needs all the help he can get…”

Their frowns deepened at the sound of his name. Then your father leaned forward, his plate and tea untouched.

“Y/N- you are about to marry Reverend Ransome. We have to pick a new date already,” he said.

You set down your tea, feeling your hold on the saucer turn to a grip. Your breathing became sharp and your hands shook as the cup rumbled on the saucer. You set it down, but the shaking continued. Jonathan took out a hand of yours and held it in comfort.

“Mother, Father…I cannot be a vicar’s wife. Not anymore.” 

Your mother blinked rapidly.

“But Y/N- you love him so much and you’ve loved him for years. You told us yourself.  And he loves you!”

Your father looked down on you. His voice deep and serious. 

“I remember the day he asked permission to marry you. You should have seen him, Y/N. Heard his words then. I gave him my consent immediately. You should see how the reverend is now- hear how his sermons are lately. He’s eager for you to return. He misses you. He would run right here now if it wasn’t for his errands today!”

Yes, you forgot to ask him what errands he is doing. The bastard is probably pleasuring Cora against a tree again by now. Why hasn’t the bastard asked her to marry him yet and put us all out of our misery? I delivered that letter- plain and simple. He couldn’t miss it in his own stupid church. He must have read what it said… you thought bitterly. 

Your senses reached out to the woods. It confirmed what you thought happened in the past. You could sense the bodies. His fingers reached up. Then out. Could sense it when he brought it to his mouth and licked off the inside of Cora.

‘Cora, Cora- how perfect for her name. The first bit rhymes with ‘whore’ and begins with the same letter as ‘cunt,’’ your thoughts bit back impulsively. You swallowed the thought back.  

But you looked down into your cup on the tea tray. Fighting the urge to cry, your breathing even faster.

“I have…ended things with him,” you explained.

Your parents nearly jumped out of their seats.

“Ended things! Y/N- consider your future! A stable life with such a good, moral man who loves you! Why?!”

You gripped the arms of the couch with your free hand, Jonathan held you back from standing up. You saw his lips move, to contain getting involved. Only to support you. You felt your heart pick up and your throat tighten. You decided to make the explanation quick and simple. 

“Will slept with Mrs. Seaborne while betrothed to me. That was why”

Your father squinted his eyes, his nostrils flaring. 

“Y/N- Sarah gave her handmaiden to Jacob. It’s not noble for a wife to be upset when this happens. Your duty is to forgive him and make him happy,” he said. 

You glared at your father. Jonathan’s hand broke off from you as you stood up, raising your voice and meeting them where you stood. 

“Papa, Will had and consummated an affair. He kissed, wooed, and made love to another woman while engaged to marry me. He has broken my trust and crossed a line. It’s in the very Bible he studies and preaches not to do this- and he did anyway. Even as I was sick and dying, he preferred satiating his lust than comforting me. Is that who you want as your son-in-law? Or your rector? Don’t tell me he won’t do it after we’re married. I don’t trust him to. He has crossed a line once- and once is enough! I will not and cannot marry a man like that! And don’t tell me it’s my duty to let it go and be some perfect vicar’s wife! I will not make myself pure when he cannot be pure himself! I will not make myself into a perfect, pristine doll all for him to throw away for another!” 

There was silence. Only the ticking of the grandfather clock. Your mother put a hand to her mouth.

“Y/N…do you realize the scandal even the rumor of this would cause?” she asked hoarsely.

You had no time to respond, the door burst open. In were none other than Mr. and Mrs. Harris, and a neighbor, Mr. Brown. Everyone shot up out of their seats, even Jonathan.

“Please! Mr. Y/L/N! Where is she?” Mrs. Harris asked, her eyes full of tears.

“Who?” asked your father.

Their eyes turned to you. Mr. Brown’s face turned red as if he was about to explode onto you.

“Miss Harris has vanished. We fear the worst- a kidnapping. This is no doubt your daughter’s fault!” he said.

He pointed a finger at you. His voice was heavy with venom. 

“The Trickster’s God’s Whore,” he spat.

You felt sick again. 

“Stella’s gone missing. Where does he have her- where does Loki have Stella?!” Mrs. Harris pleaded, her lips quivering as tears twisted her face and fell down her cheeks.

“Another one to spoil her virtue to pleasure him?! The Trickster God has one- Why isn’t one enough?” Mr. Brown sneered.

“Please everyone- she is not in Asgard,” Jonathan reasoned, putting his hands out to calm everyone down. 

“What! Stella! Missing!” you urged. You went to her parents.

Mrs. Harris burst into heartrending sobs and her husband half embraced you. His blue eyes, just like his daughters, still looked at you with careful suspicion, but not outright hate as his neighbor. 

“Gone since this morning. We were out visiting, taking care of business. Her brothers were off at work. Her little sister was with a friend. Stella was left home alone. She told us she intended to stay today- letters to write. Our neighbors said they heard her screaming. When they rushed in, the house and her room were a mess…and she was gone.”

“Please, Y/N,  she must be with you. Talking of the place you are when we asked her, this Asgard! Every time since you visited! The Trickster god must have enchanted her!” Mrs. Harris fretted.

“Why would Loki do that?” you blurted. “No! I swear to you- as someone who friend of your family-Jonathan is right! Stella isn’t in Asgard! If she was, I would know!” 

The mother began to wring her hands. Then she brought out a scrap of paper from the pocket of her dress.

“But she…she must be enchanted…and abducted…why else would she leave a  scrap of paper behind with nonsense on it!” Mrs. Harris wailed.

“Nonsense? What nonsense? What’s on the paper?” you asked.

She handed you the scarp of paper. It was big and lined, written in a hurry. As if she was grabbed while writing it. But it was Stella’s handwriting. You exchanged too many letters to know it was her hand.

 There was only one word on it. But one word was enough.

It read: 

“GRENDEL.”

[thewittyphantom]

In Duel Links, Ghost Gal has left for now...but the VRAINS characters are seeing how Duel Links connects to other dimensions and trying to figure out Kaiba's plan! That includes the SEVENS world, but the DSOD world was not featured. Guess Kaiba encrypted that one too well. XD

Playmaker: That's... [he sees Yami Yugi and Jaden] Soulburner: They're Duelists we've never met... [he sees Yusei and Yuma] Blue Angel: From worlds we've never known... [she sees Yuya and Yuga] Playmaker: Dueling in ways we've never Dueled... Varis: ..........A network we can't decode...Read our memories...Recreate them...Take humanity's subconscious...Link their minds together...It's a Neuron Network! Ghost Gal: Link minds together? Neuron Network? You're saying that this huge network connects everyone's thoughts and emotions? Varis: LINK VRAINS converts our five senses into electric impulses to access the digital world. We can talk and communicate within the digital world of LINK VRAINS. But this is different. Playmaker: Our neurons themselves are connecting and interacting... Varis: Duel Links reads our memories and recreates them, but that's only a side effect. The network is actually sharing and linking us together. What will happen when every mind is united? If we find out, we'll know why Duel Links was created. Ghost Gal: After all consciousness is united as one...what happens next... Soulburner: Does it have something to do with what we just saw? Blue Angel: Unknown worlds...linked together... Ai: ...... Playmaker: Let's go home. There's nothing more we can do here. Ghost Gal: ...And that's what happened. There's nothing more to tell. This is so big that even I can't see the whole picture. I give up. Akira: Instead of finding answers, we only found more questions. Ghost Gal: Since I didn't technically fulfill my side of the deal, I'll settle for half pay. Akira: No, I'll pay you in full. But in exchange, I want you to keep gathering information for me. Ghost Gal: Are you serious? Don't you know when to raise the white flag? Akira: ....... Ghost Gal: ...Why are you staring at me like that? I know I'm gorgeous, but you're weirding me out. Akira: It's just that for someone who said they were giving up, you seem happy not to. Ghost Gal: ...Heh! Well, you are giving me a chance to find another treasure or two. And that's one bounty I love to hunt!

[the-fiction-witch]

Hot Chocolate

Media TMR AU

Character Newt

Couple Newt X Reader

Rating Sweet

Fictional Advent Day Eight

so maybe for Newt, you can make an AU story where y/n is a waitress at a restaurant and Newt comes with another girl who’s a mean girl on a date and y/n serves them but the girl that Newt is on the date with is really rude to y/n and is calling her rude names, and it gets to the point where newt gets so upset with the mean girl and yells at her and newt hangs with y/n instead. It’s just a little idea I thought was good! Take your time and happy holidays!

I rushed around like a bumble bee busy with the bustle of the malt shop, listening to the Christmas music playing gently mixed with people cluttering cutlery and crockery as well as the bell often tolling on the door as people came and went, the snow fluttering sweetly down the sky. 

“Thank you so much happy holidays” a lady smiled as she and her family left the table

“Happy holidays” I smiled going to clear their little booth by the window tidying up and adding the five-dollar tip to my little Christmas-themed gingerbread house moneybox, as I started on some more coffee for those at the counter

“Hey uhh, I had a little favour to ask?’ a voice spoke up and I looked and saw a guy who had just come in, in some nice shoes that had a dusting of snow on them, some brown suit pants, a little orange t-shirt and a white button-down slipping off his large coat with a fluffy inside as well as a dark red scarf

“You can ask, I don't know what the answer will be but you can ask”

He chuckled a little “I know it's a big ask but could I take a booth?”

“Booths are normally reserved for parties of four or more you have three friends coming?”

“No, I uhh I have a first date. I know it goes against the rules but you think you could let it slide?”

“No problem, take number seven it has a lovely view over the bridge”

“Thank you”

“Your welcome, and hey if they don't look like their picture just order a blue raspberry pancake and I'll get you out of there”

“Thanks, hopefully, I won't need to” he laughed heading over to the booth setting his stuff down and fixing himself up in the reflective side of the napkin dispenser, I made a note about him and went on with my shift luckily the rush was over and things were dying down, I often passed the guy and offered him coffee or tea but he always politely declined and only got more and more nervous as time went on.

Until she arrived.

I saw her walking down the street before she even got into the shop as she pointed her nose high making it the peak of her face, sunglasses that took up almost all of her face, and nails long enough to pick a lock within some little ugg style boots, a pair of tight leggings, a long sleeve white turtle neck with a beige fluffy vest she came in and put her glasses on her head.

“Hi,” She sighed offering her hand to him, “Newt?”

“Hi, you must be Olivia.” he smiled giving her hand a kiss,

“Yeah.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, You’re just as beautiful as Minho said.” he smiled as they sat together, I gave them a while dealing with some other things before I finally went over

“Hi, how are you two doing today?”

“Uhh excuse me, can we get a male waiter.” She snapped at me

“Uhh we don’t have any male waiters”

“Fine. Whatever” She sighed

“Okay… What can I get started for you, Coffee? Tea? Hot Chocolate?”

“Eehhh just water. In a clean glass.” She snapped

“Sure” I nodded

“I’ll have a hot chocolate,” He smiled

“No problem, whipped cream?”

“Absolutely,”

“Candy cane?”

“Yeah that sounds nice”

“Excellent, I’ll be back with those feel to look at the menu for food” I smiled

“Okay we get it bye,” she said angrily

So I just headed off and got her water and his hot chocolate and I took them over “Here we are” I smiled setting them down “You ready to order?”

“Uhh ohh my god! Will you stop jumping down our throats? How on earth would anyone be ready to order already it’s been two seconds”

“It’s been five minutes miss.”

“Are you talking back to me you chubby slop girl?”

“That is incredibly rude. She was just asking” He spoke up

“I’m not taking advice from someone who still eats sugar. That thing is like six suggested servings yeah no thank you.” She snapped

“I’ll give you another minute” I nodded heading away for a moment but before I even got to the counter she clicked her fingers at me

“Hey! Hey! Slop girl! Aren’t you going to take my order?”

“Yes Miss” I nodded as I headed back over

“Do you have anything that actually observes serving sizes?”

“Our plates are all designed for one person, unless they are specifically in the sharing or extra large section of the menu”

“So no. Fine. I will take a lobster and a salad”

“Miss… we don’t have that on the menu”

“I know I’m not stupid. But I want lobster.”

“We don’t have lobster here miss… we mostly just make pancakes, fries, burgers that sort of thing”

“Uhhhh clean my table again slop girl there must be carbs all over the table” she complained

“That is really rude, your are being insanely disrespectful. You choose for us to come here ” he said

“Maybe I’d be nicer if this slop girl could actually use her brain!” she yelled “Give me a side salad”

“One side salad” I sighed “You sir?”

“I won’t be ordering anything I’m sorry,” he said “I cannot go through with this I’m sorry”

“Aren't you gonna pay for my food?”

“No.”

“Ughhh!” She whined grabbing her stuff and marching out in a huff

“I am so so sorry”

“It’s okay, trust me you hear worse in this job” I answered “Could I get you a slice of cranberry pie? Ice cream on the side?”

“Yeah that would be really nice” he smiled

After a while, he came and moved to the counter and we chatted as I worked for a good while doing my best to cheer him up even giving him a free hot chocolate, and after a while he happily paid

“Thanks so much for everything”

“It's no trouble, Happy holidays”

“Happy holidays” he smiled before he headed out, I gathered up his stuff, and found out he had left a hundred-dollar tip and a note ‘I’m so sorry about her, and thank you so much for cheering me up. If you like I’d love to take you out for dinner one day your not working X Newt’ and then his number I chuckled a little and put it in my pocket so I could text him when I get off my shift. 

[fazbears-horror-attraction]

[ID: six flags, three with and three without Luigi. The first two have seven stripes and the third has five. The colors are multiple shades of greens, blues, grey and white. End of ID]

★ LuigiKinnic -> A gender relating to kinning Luigi.

★ FictiviLuigi -> A gender relating to being a fictive of Luigi. This has been coined before and i had forgotten, but i decided to post the flag anyway. The original is here ( link ).

★ Luigicharic -> A gender relating to the character Luigi.

Note: Anyone can use my ( Mod Phantom ) terms. If you are on our DNI you can still use them, but please do not interact with our blog ( You may re-upload my flags to your hoard as long as you credit me, that is all i ask as i am aware of death of an author. You may also redesign my flags, but please credit and/or tag me. Thank you )

[nosolaceofastraightanswer]

hello everyone!! i'm the person who ran the TUA color polls for each of the seven siblings over the last few weeks. sorry it took so long but i'm here with results! i'm going to have charts first because they are flashy, easy to look at an understand, and also won't make the post too long above the keep reading :DD without further ado, the results of the poll: "Which color do you associate with [Hargreeves]?" !!

[keep in mind that the labels are above the charts, and viktor's may be hard to read because the chart maker i used only had a white background- same if you're on dark mode i apologize]

analysis and words under here if you're interested lol :D it’s basically me just rambling for WAY TOO LONG about analysis lmao

okay so going into this, my hypothesis was that everyone’s colors were more or less determined by their s2 outfits. the fashion was iconic and stood out a lot, so it was very likely to stick in people’s brains.

my personal choices in order of siblings are: blue, orange, yellow, pink, green, red, and blue again. i chose green for five because of like.. chalkboards? i feel like he gives the green vibes y’a know? for the rest it was mostly determined by outfits and vibes etc.

but i’m sure nobody wants to hear me talk about my own opinions for too long [afterall, i didn’t even vote in the polls to keep them unbiased as possible] so here’s my analysis of YOUR choices

blue green and yellow were all the top choices for luther, which makes sense to me. blue ended up winning. they’re all generally cooler colors. when i think of luther i think of less stand-out colors, something solid and steady. blue is the most popular favorite color. it has a lot of range, just like luther. he wears it a lot throughout the seasons. blue is associated (not to bring color theory onto the color theory website or anything) with a feeling of sadness, and also responsibility. i really see him as a very tragic character tbh, à la s1 characterization.

diego was surprising to me, because even though my prediction of orange was correct there was a large amount of black in play. red was third after that. i don’t see it as that surprising considering his outfit from s1 lmao. let’s be honest they’re all emo anyways. red and orange are both associated with fire. diego probably would do arson if he thought he was doing the right thing. red is very agressive of a color, but orange is seen as a little less in your face. it can represent change too. but all in all, i think that it was chosen most often because of his orange and black polka dot shirt from s2. slay ig

allison was surprising to me at first, because i didn’t expect so much purple. i think that the pink might be because she’s a girl though. the red is what confused me the most. i would love to hear anyone else’s thoughts because i’m honestly not sure. @creepy-not-crawly (❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️) was talking with me about the polls, and said this about allison having yellow win:

purple is associated with royalty and we all know she’s a queen. ofc, yellow won. we ALL remember that dress from s2. she’s also fairly optimistic for the first two seasons, and s3 largely revolves around her trying to force herself to be happy. yellow is associated with happy, and she was happy when she was with ray and trying to get it back s3. i have a post about the whole tone fuck up from s2/s3 here X so read that if you want!!

alright klaus. green came out (haha get it) in first and i think this one was essentially due to the association of ghosts and supernatural things in general with green. it’s SPOOOOOKY you know? it’s represents change and growth. the guy is trying. also the military is associated with green uniforms (at least in the US), so it can be easily linked back to the vietnam war incident from s1 and his connection to dave.

five had the most votes and it ended up with the closest results to one color taking half the pie. blue won, and red and black followed. i think for the red, it might be because of the metaphorical and literal blood on his hands. as far as i can tell, his powers- some of the most distinctly colored in the show- were a major factor: (credit to @dead-peppermint and @the-time-travelers-admirer in that order)

and his iconic uniform is mentioned as well. (thank god the old man got a change of clothes in s3, manifesting for s4) blue represents responsibility and we all know he has so much on his shoulders (insert joke about how hunched over he was s3 because aiden gallagher has been aging over these past 5 crazy years but he’s supposed to be playing a 13 y o boy). blue is also associated with calm- the man needs some calm in his life, à la that one part of s3. and last of all, sadness. i think most of us remember “HE’S LOVED THEM FOR LONGER THAN THEY’VE BEEN ALIVE” (link post cus i can’t find it) and he spent so long mourning his family, and is probably still mourning them.

og ben is probably the most underrated character imo, so i was excited for this one. i predicted red because of that one scene (UGHHH SO TRAGIC) when he was a kid and covered in blood like “can i go home now” (🥺). my dear mutual @/deadpeppermint from before left these thoughts:

blue and purple tied for first, with red and black in second. honestly the leather jacket? hoodie? thing? and generally emo vibe really lent itself to that lmao. i think purple and blue are also really good colors for him, because he is a king and also responsible as heck (or at least, he tries in comparison). i’m still crying over how he left in s2 ISTG BRING HIM BACKKKK (srsly tho line i want to make a post about his absence affected s3 ughfhfhfhfhfhh) but that brings us back to blue meaning sadness, and oh my lord does this boy represent grief!!! he’s soooooo <3

and finally omg we are at viktor! this graph is fucking hilarious to look at because it just looks empty. the white violin had an association with color, and you could NEVER GUESS which one (sarcasm). i actually forgot about this next was blue, and i think it’s cute that blue was on top three, even top two for 5 6 7. and the. @/deadpeppermint once again with thoughts:

SO TRUE!!

sorry for all of the errors i'm losing my mind.

anyways if anyone (unlikely lmao) has actually read this, or even scrolled down- hi! also goddamn! i hope someone enjoys this post because i have literally postponed so many projects for this weird little side thing. MMMMM DATA. i would make some kind of conclusion, but i'm damn tired and i think that my whole hypothesis kind of worked out! TYSM TO EVERYONE WHO VOTED!! and the people who left thing in the tags or talked to me about it? A MILLION LOVE FOREVER

i plan on doing more analysis in the future, but this is kind of dipping my toe in with a more fandom centered analysis. also! shameless self promotion! this whole thing started because i made a little animatic? thing? and started wondering about the colors because i ended up assigning them. CHECK IT OUT HERE X SUBSCRIBE TO MY YOUTUBE CHANNEL SMASH THAT LIKE BUTTON MR BEAST TIKTOK FORTNITE. anyway. i literally have two other things that have been done for a while which i'll be posting in due time. if anyone is wondering why i haven't been posting art (idk, maybe?) it's because i was holding off on this crazy monster of a post! i'm really excited to make animatics because the music bro it's got me ITS GOT ME THIS DAMN SHOW. i am a self taught beginner artist tho, so i mean be ready for that. (that makes me sound so pretentious STOPP) anyways here! 🎩👑👒🧢 swaggy hats and a 🦉🦋🐞🐠🪿🦜🐁🦔 lil guy to go with it! 🥰🫵 see ya besties ily. i am so ill.

[angstyaches]

Is Lucy the type to pull pranks on her flatmates? If so, would you do 😈 for her?

Sick or Treat

😈 Prank Gone Wrong

Last one!! Thank you, anon, she absolutely is the type!

CW: guilt, fear, phobias, emetophobic character, emotional vomit.

___

Lucy almost knocked her Diet Coke all over her laptop when she heard the scream. She flew to her bedroom door, and by the time she reached the hallway, she had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that she knew exactly what had happened.

Payton’s door was wide open, and they were crouched halfway between their room and the hallway, facing inward.

“It’s alright, baby, it’s alright, it’s a fake – it’s Lucy, Lucy did it, it’s just a joke –”

___

Five minutes earlier

“What’s with the balloons, by the way?” Autumn asked as she tugged the hem of her top down over her waist. There were seven red helium balloons bobbing in the corner of Payton’s bedroom; how she’d been in here for twenty minutes and hadn’t noticed them, she wasn’t sure. Maybe she was just so focused on getting ready to go out that she hadn’t been able to conceive of anything else.

“Oh, it’s just –” Payton gave a little wave of their hand, smiling as they sat back on one elbow across their bed and gave her a slow look up and down. “Lucy. Don’t worry about it, I'll tell you about it later, but – baby, you look amazing.”

Autumn gave a little twirl. She had never worn her puff-sleeved yellow top with her high-waisted yellow corduroy pants before, but with her gold pumps and a red rose pendant she’d found at a charity shop, the look seemed to come together.

“Belle of the ball,” Payton declared, reclining in their black jeans and a blue puffer jacket with a yellow trim which was slightly too big for them, since they’d borrowed it from a coworker for the night.

Autumn fanned herself, already too warm. Since when was October so hot? “Can I borrow some deodorant?”

Payton gave her an amused side-eye. “Borrow? You’re planning on giving back what you use?”

Autum rolled her eyes, leaning on the bed to swiftly administer a few tickles to Payton’s stomach. “Fine, may I use some deodorant?”

They writhed and choked out a laugh, grasping for her hands and drawing them to their mouth. “Yes, my princess, you may.” They kissed the backs of her knuckles. “But know that I think you smell like a rose garden.”

If Autumn had been the type to call bullshit, she would have smirked and done so now. Instead, Autumn was a hopeless romantic, and she couldn’t resist pressing her lips to Payton’s.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” they smiled.

Autumn peeled herself back and reached for the top drawer, where Payton unsystematically tossed all of their toiletries.

And screamed.

___

“A fake mouse?”

“I…”

Lucy felt frozen to the spot. Payton’s eyes were wide, their cheeks blazing red as though all of the colour missing from Autumn’s ashen face had flooded into theirs. Payton rarely let their temper take over, and the feeling that they might be about to yell at Lucy – the fact that they were angry with her – made her chest feel like it might implode.

Autumn was slumped on the floor by the door, as though she'd flung it open with the intention of fleeing, but had lost all strength in her legs before she could get out.

“I – I thought – we – we were –” They had been taking turns playing tricks on each other in the run-up to Halloween. It had started with Payton slipping an ice cube with a fake ant inside into Lucy’s iced coffee (an idea they’d apparently gotten from a coworker at the coffee shop), which Lucy had vowed to get them back for and then did, with the “balloons in the doorway” prank that had caused them to cry out in surprise when they tried to go for their morning shower. They’d retaliated with some sticky tape over the sensor of her computer mouse, and…

Well. Lucy had been so sure that planting a fake mouse in Payton’s top drawer was going to be the perfect response.

Autumn was down on the floor, face almost as white as paper, pressing a hand to the back of her head as though she’d thumped it on the wall when she’d jumped back from the drawer.

All Lucy could do was stammer and hold her hands to her mouth.

“Autumn,” she managed to choke out, “are you okay?”

The glazed look on Autumn’s face was telling, even as she remained silent.

“Autumn’s really scared of mice, rats…” Payton was trying to explain it gently; Lucy could tell that much. But their voice was trembling with worry for their girlfriend, and the guilt churned even harder in Lucy’s stomach.

“I’m so sorry,” she stated uselessly.

“I feel sick,” Autumn whispered.

Payton forced a weak smile and rubbed at her shoulders with both hands. “It’s okay, baby, deep breaths.”

But Lucy couldn’t help gawking at the way Autumn’s face continued to lose colour, even so long after her shock. Her lips parted, her shoulders hunching as though she were bracing herself for something. That little statement, I feel sick, rang through Lucy’s eardrums like an ambulance siren passing up and down the street, sending her pulse into a frenzy.

Did Autumn mean that she was nauseated? Was Autumn’s stomach doing flips out of fear, the way Lucy’s was out of guilt? Was her mouth watering too, threatening to drag up her belly contents in a big, messy wave? Was Autumn gasping to combat hyperventilation, or was she swallowing back acid and vomit –?

Lucy retched into her own hand before she’d even realised what was happening. She was the one swallowing against the tide of her rising nausea. She was the one who was about to make a mess.

But she had upset Autumn, and she couldn’t make this all about her.

“I-I-I’m… sorry,” Lucy murmured one last time, unable to fight the streams of tears pouring down her face. She wobbled with light-headedness as she rose from her crouch. Now she was the one pale with fear, sick with terror –

“Lu,” she heard Payton say softly as she turned down the hallway, but she couldn’t stop.

She kept her head down and clamped her teeth in place and picked up the pace until she made it to the toilet seat, and then, and only then, with the door shut, did she indulge herself with a little groan of distress.

Autumn hadn’t vomited, but the thought of it – the vivid, visceral product of Lucy’s overactive imagination – was burned into her, and the fear was like a black sludge dripping through her insides, curling in her muscles, reaching into her guts, and –

Teardrops speckled the toilet seat as Lucy rocked forward onto her knees and vomited.

[ladyfurbton]

Jacques and the Ghost Part 4

Image Descriptions:

1: Jacques is a 1998 furby with grey fur. His ears are grey with neutral coloured insides. He has a bone white coloured face plate and eyelids with a yellow coloured beak. He has a grey mane going down his back. His eyes are a light blue colour and his feet are yellow with three toes each. He is wearing a grey woolley hat with a pompom on top of it on his head. He is wearing a flannel shirt that is red and black with white buttons on thr front of it. There are two pins on his shirt. One silver tee pee pin and another Canadian flag pin. Ami is a 2012 furby who is fully hot pink except for her beak with is an orangy yellow with a red tongue. Her eyes are open. Ami and Jacques are standing infront of Jacques house. Jacques house is green with a beige coloured roof and has white windows and door. Ami says "Kasumi is taking forever. I hope she is okay." Jacques says "What if the ghost has hurt her?"

2: Same as image one except the furbys are saying different things. Ami says "I am going in to see what's going on." Jacques says "Don't leave me alone out here."

3: Same as image one except the furbys are saying different things. Ami says "you can come with me." Jacques says "ok but if I see the ghost I am going to bolt."

4: Ami and Jacques are walking into the house.

5: Kasumi is a 1999 baby furby with a large yellow tuft of hair on her head. Her fur is light pink except for a white square on her belly. Her tail is a big tuft of yellow hair on her lower back. Her feet are white and she has 3 toes on each foot. Her face plate and eyelids lids are both white and her beak is an orangish yellow colour. Her eyes are light blue. She has pink ears. Kasumi is wearing a pikachu onesie. The onsie has yellow ears with black tips at the end of them. There are large black eyes on the onesie. The onesie is mostly yellow and has a small black dot for a nose and a small smiling black mouth. There is a hole that reveals Kasumis face. On each side of the hole there are large red circles that resemble cheeks. At the back of the onesie there is a large yellow tail that is shaped like a lightning bolt. There are two brown stripes on the back of the onesie. Kasumi is also wearing a dark green lanyard with sunflowers on it. The lanyard has a white tag on it with a rainbow infinity symbol. Gertie is a white ghost with black eyes and a black smile. She has pink cheeks. Ami and Gertie are standing together. Ami is infront of them and Jacques is hiding behind Ami. Kasumi says "Hi Aunty Ami and Mr Jacques this is my new friend Gertie." Gertie says "It is a pleasure to meet you." Jacques says "Oh no it's the ghost!!" Ami says "It's okay Jacques the ghost seems nice."

6: Same as image five except Jacques is now standing beside Ami instead of behind her. Jacques says "Hi ah Gertie it's nice to meet you please don't eat me!!" Ami says "Ghosts don't eat furbys Jacques" Gertie says "I don't eat furbys infact I can assure you that I don't eat anything."

7: Same as image six except the characters are saying different things. Jacques says "Oh I thought that ghosts ate furbys. I guess that's just a rumour. I guess there is no reason to fear you anymore Gertie." Ami says "It's so lovely that you have made a friend Kasumi." Kasumi says "I think Gertie is awesome."

8: Same as image seven except the characters are saying different things. Gertie says "Is it ok if I continue living here Mr Jacques." Jacques says "you can if you're quiet and don't make a mess."

9: Same as image seven except the characters are saying different things. Gertie says "I can manage that" Kasumi says "Oh good it's all settled. You can some to school with me one day Gertie."

10: "the end" is written in black text on a rainbow background. End Descriptions.

[fancyfeathers]

Society of Protection (Yandere Bungo Stray Dogs x reader x original characters) (normalized yandere au)

Chapter Twenty

Dangerous Dance

Prologue and oc intro

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven, part one

Chapter seven, part two

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

Chapter thirteen

Chapter fourteen

Chapter fifteen

Chapter sixteen

Chapter seventeen

Chapter eighteen

Chapter nineteen

The day of the charity ball has come at last, you had been supplied a dress from Miss Jane’s old closet which she did say was open to you. Emma and the doctor had helped you pick it out along with Emma helping with small alterations to it for you. Now you are walking through the hallway filled with doors to society members apartments, some doors open and people coming in and out, Alexandre needing help tying his tie, Henrik helping Lewis put on his mask, and so on. You had just finished your hair and makeup and were dressed in a long white dressing robe, it felt like something a victorian lady would have worn, the society truly spares no expense. As you neared the end of the hallway you saw the door to Leo’s room wide open, you peaked in and sawLeo sitting on one of the couches, book in hand, across from him sat that boy, Karma, the one Leo and Gaston had saved.

“Leo?” You called out from the hallway, catching the Russian’s attention. He turned to look at you before setting his book down and walking over to you, standing in the doorway. You noticed he wasn’t getting dressed for the ball, just a simple white button up and black pants. “Aren’t you going to get ready?”

“I am afraid not.” He gave a slight laugh with a bit of an awkward smile coming across his face. “I am going to be staying here, I feel rather uncomfortable leaving Karma alone with Fyodor running around the city somewhere.”

“I see.” You glanced over to that young man sitting on the couch, he seemed caught in his own mind. You truly did not know much about Karma besides his name and where he came from, he did not talk much to anyone besides Leo, Gaston, and Dr. Stevenson. “Will he be alright? He seems so scared all the time.”

“He should be in due time. He’s been working with Dr. Stevenson with digesting what happened, both mentally and physically.” Leo paused before shaking his head with a small chuckle under his breath. “But you shouldn’t be worrying about that much at the moment, go get ready. I’ll see you when you return, my dear.”

“Goodbye Leo.” You briskly answered with a thin smile coming onto your face at the nickname. You turned away from the Russian and continued down to Emma’s and William’s apartment to retrieve your dress that Emma had adjusted for you. Like most other doors right now theirs was open, and when you peaked inside you saw Emma helping William tie his tie and Dr. Stevenson sitting on a couch, a cup of tea in hand. 

Each of them was dressed absolutely beautifully, Emma dressed in a long red and maroon gown, a corseted bodice with golden details and long sleeves that flowed down to the floor, a halo like crown on her head, and you could only guess that her mask would be just as dramatic. William wore a a blue suit, with frills at the collar and at the end of the sleeves, over it he wore a formal military style jacket, tied over his shoulder with a silver rope that matched the decals on his outfit. Lastly the doctor was dressed in something you would have never expected, a long mermaid style dress, red, with lace that curved up her body that gave the illusion that if something slipped it might reveal something that one may or may not want to see. 

“Oh (Name), come in, come in.” The baroness said, waving you in as soon as she noticed you and finished with her husband’s tie. She then looked at William, kissing him on the cheek before shoeing him out. “Now you, out, out, I have to help (Name) get in her dress.”

There was laughter from the couple as you stepped into the apartment and Emma closed the door after William. She grabbed you hand and lead you over to a wooden dressing screen that had your dress hanging from it. The baroness waved you over to it. “Go on.”

You slipped behind the cover, and you undid the tie to your robe, leaving you in your undergarments. You then grabbed the dress, taking it from the hanger and pulling it over your body, it was a long white gown, an outer corset that was for more for show than functions puffy sleeves and a lacy collar. You stepped out once you were clothed, turning so the baroness could lace up the back of the dress. You felt her brush your hair away, her finger grazing your collarbone and neck ever so slightly. You could feel the first pull of lace and her words rang in your head. “Now a woman with a dress is a frightening and powerful thing. You are not a child when you're draped in gold and lace.”

You felt yourself grow slightly embarrassed at her word, not knowing what to say. You felt her hands lean over to take yours and lean you over to the full length mirror that had been set out and you saw yourself. You felt beautiful. You felt important. She was right, a with in a dress is a powerful thing. You could see the Baroness in the mirror behind you, adjusting your hair from where she moved it. “You are such a lovely thing. Oh, where have you been? It's such a shame to bury pearls in the country, so charming.”

You saw the doctor in the mirror behind the two of you, nodding at the noblewoman’s words. You smiled before your hands unfolded and let go of the other and went to to relax at your side as you turned around and looking over your shoulder to get a better look at yourself. You looked like a character from a fairytale book, like a princess.

You hummed with a smile, looking over at the two other woman in the room who were admiring you. “I should finish getting ready, I’ll see you in a while-“

“One last thing.” The doctor said, standing up from where she sat and set her cup of tea on the table. She walked over to you and reached over grabbing you by the waist abruptly. You felt yourself grown flustered as the doctor reached where the corset met the skirt and- pulled out a knife, hidden in the boning of the corset. Now you felt yourself grow embarrassed at your flustering as she slipped it back into the corset. “A hidden compartment, my idea. Given our line of work and what you’ll be doing it may be smart to have this. Now run along now.”

You nodded in your embarrassment state before scurrying out of the apartment and made your way back to your own. On the way you saw Gaston’s door open and you saw him adjusting his mask in the mirror in his front entryway. His outfit was exactly what you would except, something very theatrical, the mask of red death. A red Victorian style suit, along with a long scarlet cape and and a skull mask on his upper face, and unlike his normal hair style or fluff and curls, his hair was slicked back. Without looking at you he spoke, a teasing tone creeping in his voice. “I’m a traditional person, and I refuse to see without your mask, do run along if you’re not wearing it. I will see your full face at midnight.”

You smile before continuing on and you would hear the soft laughter from the composer behind you as you walked off. You return back to your room in Miss Jane’s old apartment and sit down at the dresser and you took the two black cases from Victor and opened them revealing the jewelry he had gotten you all that time ago, a gold necklace with diamonds and opals planted into it, along with it is a matching set of earrings, and lastly a tiara made with the same materials but along with that golden butterfly and jeweled flowers. You took your time placing each item on and admiring yourself, the necklace, the earrings, and then the tiara. Then at last you stood up and took the mask that was resting on the dresser, a mask that covers your upper face, gold and pink stripes, golden lace, and a pink fake flowers on the corner. You took the ribbon and tied it around your head, making sure it was secure before looking yourself over in the mirror before setting out into the hallway, ready for the night to begin. 

—————————

You stood off at the edge of the ballroom at the hotel, this may be a business related event but the society certainly knows how to show off. Not a single expense was spared, flowers, long golden ribbons of fabric, and candles, hung all around the room. The hall way filled with music from a small orchestra band, people who actually worked at the Paris Opera House with Gaston. You hand helped yourself to a glass of champagne that was being handed out by the servers all around the room along with small pastries, a preference of many the society members you’ve noticed. Along with all that the guests, you saw so many, some famous, some rich, and other close friends and allies. Some of these faces were recognizable like the friendly and familiar face of Mr. Tonan, or the head of the police department of the city who wore his uniform. Others were not so recognizable, like you couldn’t spot Mr. Tonan’s unsettling assistant nor the Hunting Dogs, but seeing as Jouno snuck into the headquarters of the Society without being noticed he could be anywhere and you wouldn’t notice.

“Lovely, is it not?” You heard a voice speak from beside you, you turn you head to see a masked William, standing at your side. “Emma did a lovely job planning this evening.”

“Yes, it is.” You answered, continuing to look around the room before your eyes landed on the doctor talking to an older bald man and a younger man around your age with black hair and glasses and a beauty mark on his lower face, they clearly are business rather that fitting with the aesthetics of the evening. 

“William, who are they?” You asked, pointing over to them with the hand that held your champagne to make it look less noticeable. William glanced over and hummed and his eyes narrowed slightly.

“Those are member of the Special Division for Unusual Powers, Santōka Taneda and Ango Sakaguchi, respectively. They sort of monitor people like us, Armed Detective Agency, and the Port Mafia. They don’t tend to favor us much given our social views.” William answered, his eyes still focused on them. “Victor ticked them off a few months ago during the fog incident apparently so they have been pressing very hard on us these last few months. The doctor likely had them invited to help smooth things over.”

“Do you think it will work?” You question again, looking back over at the group.

“No way in hell, they are searching for any bit of dirt on us right now. A lot of government officials are viewing us a disruption to the “social order” of the city., including them.” William spoke with a scoff and with venom when he said the words “social order”, referring to the normalized behavior of relationships in the world. He grabbed a glass of champagne from a nearby server, offering them a smile and a small thank you. “Personally I think if they could they would hand us over to god knows who. I heard from Gaston that they were relieved when Miss Jane handed herself over to Fitzgerald, shows where their morals lay. They were afraid of Miss Jane, she is a powerful woman, not just with her ability but with her connections.”

“So what I’m hearing is avoid them at all costs?” You asked before taking a sip of your own drink, which William nodded to.

“Exactly, specifically for you that Ango. From what I hear you two have the same if not similar abilities, his just more refined.” William pointed again to the black haired man with the beauty mark. “He’s someone who’s would be able to read you like a book without a thought.”

“So you’re saying he’s better than me.” You said briefly and a looking of non serious panic came on his face. 

“No, no, no, I did not say that-“

“Mmm, sounds like you did.”

“(Name)…”

You then scanned over the ballroom again before noticing Gaston talking to a blond man, again not dressed to the occasion, it actually did not seem that he belonged here. He wore orange sunglasses and a long tan coat and a cap covering his head. You didn’t recognize him. “William, and who is that?”

William’s eyes focused on the man again before giving a very simple answer. “Another man we all need to avoid, Yukito Ayatsuji. Him and Miss Jane have a bit of a history.”

“Then why is he here? Uninvited?”

“No I’m guessing the Special Division brought him, so that’s where Gaston comes into play.” William said as he raised his wrist to check the time. “They want to catch us in the act of getting Miss Jane back, so while Gaston talks to him and distracts him, we can just slip away.”

“How much longer till the auction?” You asked, trying to peer over at his watch.

“Two hours, the night is still young.” You heard as William patted your shoulder. “Now I am going to go find my wife, I’ll find you when it’s time.”

You watched William walk off into the crowd to find Emma. Then not a moment later you felt a hand come to rest atop your should where William’s was. You spun around to see the all to familiar face of Jouno of the Hunting Dogs, dressed in his uniform albeit a nicer more formal version.

“Miss Jane, hm?”

“Jouno, please don’t get involved with this.” You asked, doing your best not to make a scene with the Hunting Dog next to you, not to mention all the people in the room. “Nothing we’re doing tonight is technically illegal.”

“That is true, but we’ll see how true that stays.” He said, his face never facing away from yours. “I can only imagine if something goes down hill, having to shoot or stab someone, or if your abilities come into play. You don’t have your gifted business permit yet so that means if you or your friend use your abilities in such a public place and let alone against somebody you’ll completely shatter the society and then you’ll be placed in whatever government custody they choose.”

You felt your heart beat stop at Jouno’s words, but this only lasted a moment before Jouno yelped in pain as he had done in the hospital. You looked over his shoulder and saw the familiar and a tad more welcome face of Tecchou. 

“Knock it off, you’re scaring her.” You watched as Tecchou sheath his sword before walking over to you and bowing. “I am so sorry for my co worker’s behavior, ma’am.”

Did Tecchou not recognize you? But then how did Jouno recognize you… then you remembered Jouno’s memory is based on hearing, smell, and touch, not sight. So Tecchou couldn’t recognize you… you could use this.

“It’s alright, sir.” You replied, putting on your best meek tone. “I just got so scared, I had no idea what he was on about.”

You watched as a look through f shock come across Jouno’s face at your clear lie but Tecchou just continued, completely oblivious to the situation.

“I apologize, do enjoy the rest of your evening.” Tecchou replied as you walked off, leaving Jouno who was trying to explain the situation to Tecchou but of course Tecchou does not believe him. Meanwhile you ran off to find your other society members. You mingle with guest and friends, meeting people you would never get to meet without the society. As you are getting a drink from one of the waitstaff you hear…

“Miss (Name).” You turn to see Dr. Stevenson walking over to you, accompanied by that black haired man from earlier, Ango. In your mind your mind rings those words…

“So what I’m hearing is avoid them at all costs?”

So much for avoidance…

[sam-glade]

Seven Snippets, Seven People

Tagged by @mariahwritesstuff here, and @writingmaidenwarrior here. Thank you!

Tagging (no pressure): @thedahliafrog @mjparkerwriting @sarahlizziewrites @gummybugg @frostedlemonwriter @late-to-the-fandom @i-can-even-burn-salad

Rules: post 7 snippets, and tag 7 people.

This time I'm going with seven character descriptions, most from Lissan's POV:

Anthea

She strode towards him, her wine-red gown swishing around her ankles. Her Sword was at her hip, together with a richly decorated sabre. Now she looked like a prince — like she’d stepped out of the photographs in the newspapers or textbooks. She was also taller than he’d thought, an inch or two taller than him. She was followed by a man in ashen uniform. He had the most vibrant hair Lissan had ever seen; its copper waves fell past his shoulders, framing a strong jaw and otherwise plain pale face with eyes the colour of storm.

Ianim

A young man — maybe a couple decades older than him — knelt on the ground within an arm’s reach. Lissan blinked, struggling to tell apart his ashen uniform from the steel clouds. The ashen uniform of the Army. A uniform he had hoped to see before he’d almost died. He was too exhausted to point it out though. Striking blue eyes were looking back at him with concern, from a face that was too pale and clean in the muddy, churned field. His skin was smooth, unmarred by scars or even pockmarks, and his hair was arranged into thick, dark waves. He was healthy and well-nourished. With the thin straight nose and angular features that came to a point at his chin, something about him screamed ‘highborn’ — yes, good-looking, gorgeous even, but too distant, as if he came from a different world entirely.

Varré

“We’ll have time to take in the views tomorrow,” someone snapped at him, a short person waiting next to Gullin in the shadow of the tree. Their strong voice belied their physique. It had to be Master Varré, the mentor Ianim told him about. “Ianim, you’ve been here before?” “Yes, Lieutenant General.” “Sir’s fine for short, kid.” They were shorter than Lissan by a head, and while Ianim appeared slim, they were outright tiny. Lissan couldn’t quite make out their features beyond a pale nose hooked like a beak of a bird of prey, and light, silky hair parted into two wavy curtains. And yes, of course they had a Weapon; it looked very much like a city guard’s sabre, its blade curved, its guard arched over the grip. A pistol was held in a holster at their other hip.

Marta

Marta was waiting for them in the door, in her worn blouse and favourite green skirt that reached past her knees that were mostly covered by an apron. Her hair was falling out of an attempt at a single braid — her first shearing took place not even two years ago, marking her coming of age at thirty-five, and her hair barely reached past her shoulders now. It was a lighter shade of brown, like Lissan’s, although he had worn his as short as it was cut during his first shearing. Her face was round and tanned, but still dusted with a smattering of faded summer’s freckles, also just like his. They stood apart from their neighbours — mere miles away from the southern border of the Princedom of Light, darker olive skin and almost black hair was a lot more common.

Erya (and Catnip)

[Gullin's POV]

Gullin had always found General Erya’s office overly gloomy. The heavy curtains were perpetually drawn — especially in the middle of the day — and crystal lamps illuminated the room with artificial light. Her powers manifested subtly in the shadows extending from the corners and seeping from under the desk. He forced his attention away from them, as fascinating as figuring out where they should end was, and focused on the woman behind the desk.

She had strikingly pale skin and short-cropped hair, almost as short as his, white as paper. She wore her ashen double-breasted coatee buttoned up, her silver-rimmed buttons displaying eight-pointed stars. The cool light didn't do her appearance any favours, but then practicality always took precedence for her, and it was no secret that the albino disliked sunlight. Practicality was a priority for every Sword in IntSec. Well, maybe with the exception of Catnip.

The Third Brigadier lounged in a tall-backed chair next to his, her legs crossed casually, her grey breeches stretched tight over her toned thighs. A springy lock of her auburn hair twisted around her finger. A sparrow sat on her shoulder, and Gullin couldn’t tell if she was paying more attention to it or their commander. He sighed mentally. She was his senior by multiple centuries, and knew exactly how much she could get away with.

The White Dragon

Lissan didn’t try to anticipate what he would look like. Back home anyone who lived past three hundred years was a distinguished elder, with white hair and wrinkled, flagging skin, slowly losing their strength and fading. The man in the wheelchair was strong. His hair was grey, but dense and trimmed into short waves, just like Ianim wore his. He was similar to his grandson, although his features were heavier and his jaw more square. His face was expressive and full of colour, and his light eyes looked lively around the room. Despite his unbelievably long life and the injury which even the most powerful Crystals couldn’t undo, the White Dragon was full of energy and the will to live.

Gullin

Marta crossed her arms and looked at him expectantly. Lissan lowered the half-empty jug.

"What?"

"Were you always this bad at sensing Elemental manipulation or have your senses dulled?" she asked, now trying not to smile.

Lissan rolled his eyes.

"I repeat: what?"

Marta shook her head, unbothered by his exasperated look. He kept looking stubbornly at her, but she didn't budge.

"Hey, Lissan."

He span around; the jug slipped out of his fingers and water splashed the front of his shirt. He grabbed the vessel clumsily just before it fell, and looked up.

Gullin was standing in front of him, in the ashen uniform of the Army, with a greatcoat thrown over his shoulders, looking dashing as ever. There was no Sword at his side, only a holster with a gun and his Knife. His skin was brown with cold undertones, like the walnut wood Lissan's father sometimes worked with, and his hair was black and spiky. His keen eyes moved from Lissan to Marta, who was trying to stop snickering.

Days of Dusk taglist (please message me to +/-): @acertainmoshke @another-white-hole @poetinprose

[feelssogoodinmyarms]

So i saw God’s show, Spring Awakening, and it was the best version I’ve seen live and I cried seven times. Here are my thoughts :)

The set was really cool, it had this tree with christmas lights upstage on the wall. 

wendla came on wearing sheet and wore same sheet later when she entered the hayloft scene

her fairy queen dress was so cute!!!

love all the costumes were fucking awesome

wendla had a maturity that I’ve never seen her played with

the adults were all played by different actors, some of which were teen ensemble in the other scenes

mama reprise was BANGIN

so stompy and angry i knew we were going to have a good time

melchior was played the most sympathetic ive seen

even though he was intellectually smart, emotionally he was in the same place as everyone else and it worked

moritz was deaf and had an actor playing his voice!!

fun fact, i took an acting class where i did a scene with the actor who played moritz’s voice

I had to seduce them in the scene and it was over zoom it was a nightmare

they had moritz’s voice say litota multum lines 

idk why they didn’t do what dwsa did for that scene

they didnt pull out mics to sing which i liked

melchior ran stage right all the sudden during all that’s known and i was like go white boy go!!!

bol was awesome but could have been like 2x explosive

an ensemble guy sang “it’s like just kiss some ass man”??

hanschen’s so extra he fuckin put his foot up on a chair to talk to ernst to say the achillies and patrolcus line

every time frauline knuppledick and herr knockenbruch exited they did this synchronized step turn to leave and it was weirdly funny

the girls laid on their stomachs and kicked their legs during my junk chorus!!!

hanschen masturbated facing away from audience

he was so dramatic and hilarious it was a good time

they gave otto’s my junk solo and thea’s second my junk solo to ensemble girls, one of which was my friend and she killed it

it was a good choice

ernst signed part of his touch me solo

melchior and voice of moritz touched moritz during ernst’s solo it was very beautiful and gay

melchior finger spelled genitalia for moritz

my friend in teen ensemble’s character had a gf in teen ensemble and they were very gay during touch me

wendla was really gay with an ensemble girl during touch me

and there was cool choreography!! bol, my junk, touch me, even mirror blue night and guilty ones had awesome choreography without being too distracting 

obc eat your heart out

melchior was just as confused as wendla in woyb

she had this great balance of being curious and then hesitating with him 

she was also very matter-of-fact about having to be home by five it was cute

wendla and melchior didn’t touch each others hands but like put them up close to each other and moved them 

martha👀👀👀

she was angry and recognizes that she’s being abused and i loved it

she nodded after anna’s line

i’ve never seen martha played like that and it was refreshing

they signed beauty during tdikw

for ilse’s verse, martha was sitting behind her on the bed and ilse layed back on her and two ensemble girls put a sheet over her lap

they had a set peice that martha and ilse knelt on for part of tdikw and the girls spun it like in dwsa

they wrapped sheets kind pf restraint-like around martha and ilse toward the end of it

martha and ilse held hands and sang last part of tdikw to each other

all the boys except hanschen hugged moritz at the end of the i passed scene!!!

moritz’s dad signed “what” “failed” and “thank god my father never lived to see this day” to moritz and it BROKE ME

moritz screamed after he left and my heart shattered

the guys were bopping in a rock way with moritz at the end of attwn

shout out to whoever’s android ringtone went off when moritz pulled the gun out

melchior was crying at the beginning of the hayloft scene

i thought wow this is a young boy who doesn’t understand what he’s feeling

the actor really got it

wendla was trying to cheer him up with her line about running through the rain

and he took it as an invitation!!!! bitch!!!

wendla was confused and hesitant during i believe, it was clear that she didn’t understand what was happening

they held up a sheet in front of wendla and melchior while the father was speaking during guilty ones but i could still see them bro

wendla had no idea what had just happened and it was heartbreaking

melchior looked regretful but he still pulled her in and kissed her at the end of the song

she didn’t really kiss back

ilse signed some of her dialogue and part of blue wind to moritz

she was the only person who signed to him👀

she was wearing the big white shirt but just for dds 

in the next scene at the funeral she was back in her dress from earlier in the show

when moritz signed laundry line he mimed hanging himself from it

moritz yelled for ilse after she left like in dwsa and it was heartbreaking

so was ilse’s line about lying on some trash heap

her voice was incredible

moritz’s voice walked off and moritz looked for him before killing himself😭

left behind BROKE ME

frau gabor and frau bergmann entered with their respective children

martha cut herr stiefel this look when she dropped her flower on the casket 

she looked angry the whole number

my friend came in with her gf and they sat at the front of the stage and held each other

MORITZ’S VOICE WAS AT THE FUNERAL

they glared at herr stiefel and slammed their flower down😭

herr stiefel collapsed onto the casket i died

martha’s mascara was running😭

totally fucked was LIT

melchior had awesome energy

they did that weird choreo jonathan groff did in obc but it worked

melchior yelled YEEEEEES it was so funny

vineyard scene WAS THE BEST IVE SEEN IRL

it was a funny scene because hanschen was so extra, not because two boys were making out

you could see he really cared about ernst

ernst was so horny u could tell he was waiting for hanschen to make a move

they didn’t actually kiss, they did the hand over the mouth thing

both of them went in for that second kiss it was adorable

“and so you should” was not manipulative or creepy at all

hanschen and ernst did some of wendla and melchior’s choreo from woyb AND THEY INTERLACED THEIR FINGERS INSTEAD OF NOT TOUCHING

the end of the song was about them and it wasn’t just ilse delivering the letter

h and e hugged and ran off stage holding hands😭

you could see a shift when wendla realized what she did that got her pregnant and it broke my heart

she had the sheet from earlier wrapped around her during whispering and gathered it up and held it in front of her stomach at the very end of the song

i still find the reformatory scene weird and unnecessary

again, the actor who played melchior really understood the character and the show as a whole

he gave himself a minute to realize what he’d done when he saw wendla’s grave before breaking down

this director really got this show

wendla and moritz were physically restraining melchior from cutting himself in part of those youve known

he would not let go of their hands it was heartbreaking

ilse signed and sang the beginning of purple summer

then moritz showed up and signed with her while they looked at each other and they hugged at the end of the verse😭

ernst (who i’m kind of friends with) and vo moritz and were crying at this point and i was also crying but that made me cry harder

i talked to the actor who played moritz in my very broken asl after the show

it was cringe but he seemed to appreciate it (i said “wow!! you wow!! my name r-h-i-a-n-n-o-n. my asl bad. you wow!!”😭)

great show i cried 7 times and am crushing on like 4 different cast members