#spiders are like my worst fear but i’d never tell someone with one as a pet that i’m gonna kill it

[riverside-lavender]

guys my bunny is so cute i might start crying over her. again.

[heyiwrotesomethings]

How Not to Form a Thruple

Sayaka Igarashi x She/Her Reader x Kirari Momobami

A/N: Oh my god this took forever to do. There are just so many factors to consider when trying to make this work and I did not want this to turn into a novel and yet it's still sooo much. Anyway, much love to Sayaka and Kirari but they don’t know how their own relationship works without trying to date another person at the same time. Ririka is suffering, but at least she has Mary. Sorry if there are more errors than usual I had to deal with a cat menace. Also beware of Midari in this fic, you know how she is. And the OC I made isn’t very helpful either. Word Count: 18,395 (Why did I do this to myself?)

~

(Y/n) sighed and slouched in her seat at the back of the classroom, her eyes followed the form of Igarashi Sayaka taking her seat in the front of the room with her arms full of papers and folders. Her bag, looking just as heavy as the load in her arms, had the shoulder strap strained over the desk hook.

“Ugh, you really are hopeless, you know that?”

“Huh?” (Y/n) turned her head, meeting her friend’s eyes just in time to see them roll to the side.

“You’re looking at Igarashi with those dumb puppy eyes again. We’re well into our second year of high school now, shouldn’t you be over her by now? Or, here’s an idea, ask her out.” Tsubasa advised, pretending to be scandalized by their own suggestion.

“Don’t talk so loud!” (Y/n) hissed, quickly looking to see if anyone, especially Sayaka, had heard.

“The whole classroom is practically screaming about gambling and homework (Y/n), no one’s listening to us. Especially not Miss Workaholic over there. So, what’s the deal? When are you gonna finally make a move?”

“Are you crazy? There will be no move making from now until the end of time!” (Y/n) gestured wildly, emphasizing the word ‘now’ and the phrase, ‘the end of time’. “She obviously likes the president... and like is putting it mildly, there is no way I’m going to embarrass myself like that. I mean, when it comes to the president I can’t possibly compete. She’s too beautiful and suave, no wonder Igarashi wants to spend so much time with her.” (Y/n) sighed wistfully and slid further down her chair, openly sulking.

“Sounds to me like you’re simping double time these days, (Y/n).” Tsubasa snickered and kicked at (Y/n)’s foot with their own, producing a muffled groan from the girl who had since buried her head in her arms over her desk.

“You look at the girls in this school and tell me you can’t find easily like, ten of them that you’d immediately give your kidney to if they asked.” (Y/n) grumbled.

“Nah I’m good thanks, I’d like to keep my kidneys as a matched set if I can help it.” They leaned back in their chair and stretched. “Class is starting soon, better get your act together before you get called on and embarrass yourself in front of Igarashi.”

“God that would happen to me wouldn’t it?” (Y/n) sat up and opened her notebook for her first class, scanning the most recent notes with a critical eye.

“Hey, before you get too lost in that boring stuff I wanted to ask you if you heard about the gamble that’s taking over Yumemite’s stage during lunch.”

“I haven’t heard anything. What does Yumemite-san have to say about this? Didn’t she have a concert scheduled at that time?”

“You would know that wouldn’t you, simp.” Tsubasa laughed, poking (Y/n). “She’s sick or something so someone snatched up the stage for the day and they even got permission to broadcast to the whole school. Anyone can come by to gamble and the last person standing gets ten million yen!”

“What’s the catch? There always is one with these no admittance fee gambles.”

“Loser has to do one thing the winner asks each round. Something that can be done right then and there on camera to be broadcasted to the school. What do you think? Will you do it with me?” They grinned.

“Be humiliated in front of the whole school? No thanks, think I’ll pass.”

“Come on, don’t be like that. We could split the money fifty-fifty if one of us wins. What’s the worst request someone could demand of you if you lose?”

“Uh, have you been paying attention in this school?” (Y/n) looked up from her notebook, “A person having the power over you to make you do something for them is almost always worse then owing money. They could tell you to strip or rip your nails off— all sorts of crazy things!”

“I guess I could have been more clear. The winner just asks a question to the loser and they have to answer it honestly.”

“Wait, you’re telling me this is just going to be truth or dare without the dare?” (Y/n) looked at them incredulously. “I know I was complaining before but how is something so boring being broadcasted to the whole school?”

“Beats me, but really, the deal is a lot sweeter now, don’t you think, partner?” Tsubasa batted their eyelashes and (Y/n) lightly punched their shoulder.

“Alright, I’m in.”

***

“Never mind I’m not in!” (Y/n) trembled at the sight before her. The stage was filled with all sorts of creepy crawlies and dangerous looking animals in various enclosures. She made to leave but her friend grasped her arm and pulled her back.

“Too late to pull out (Y/n), I already signed us up!” They smiled brightly as if completely unaffected by the scene before them.

“Did you know about this?” (Y/n) asked, her throat tightening with equal parts anger and anxiety. “This isn’t truth or dare without the dare, it’s like, dare with a light suggestion of truth!”

“I know right? This is gonna be awesome!” Tsubasa grinned.

“Did Ikishima take over your body or something? What the hell is wrong with you!?” (Y/n) chastised through clenched teeth.

“Shhhh, I think the organizer is about to get things started. Don’t think about the risk, think about how awesome it’s gonna be when we win ten million yen! Five mil each!”

“If the more affluent students heard you getting excited over five million yen they would laugh you out of the school.” (Y/n) mumbled, rubbing at her temples to try to fight the oncoming headache she was starting to feel.

“Wow, a lot more of you showed up than I thought you would!” A voice called from the stage, crazy familiar laughter rolled over the auditorium.

“Ikishima actually organized this? Why am I not surprised?” (Y/n) sighed.

“Okay so a handful of you...” Ikishima scratched her head with her gun as she looked around the room. To (Y/n) surprise, the crazy girl suddenly fell to her knees with a cry of anguish. “Yumeko didn’t come? But I invited her directly! How could she stay away from such a gamble when I worked so hard to procure all this shit!” She moaned mournfully and motioned towards all the animal enclosures.

“Uh, so are we doing this thing or...?” Another student called out after watching Midari spread out on the stage floor and sulk for a hot minute.

“Yeah, yeah, just give me a second...” Midari sighed despondently. “Yumeko,” she began, looking to the ceiling, “I made this all for you, enjoy the show... I know you’re watching!”

(Yumeko was in fact, not watching.)

“Alright, listen up everybody!” Midari jumped back onto her feet, her gun tracing over every face in the front couple rows of the auditorium. “Ya ever hear of Fear Factor? Well that’s what we’re doing except not really. Basically, I’ll have you face off one v one. You each get to pick an animal you’d like your opponent to get all close and personal with, the first person to bail loses and if neither bails after five minutes, then the person with the highest heart rate loses. We’ll be monitoring your heart rates with these little wrist monitors to keep you honest. If your heart rate continually spikes higher than the other person, we’ll know and you’ll be out of the competition, not before you let out a truth of the victor’s choosing of course.” Midari smiled wickedly and gestured to the giant screen behind her. “Here is our bracket, let the games begin!”

(Y/n) scanned over the names and was jostled by Tsubasa slinging an arm over her shoulders.

“Look at that, (Y/n). We’re on opposite side of the bracket, I’m liking our odds!”

“Yeah, great.” (Y/n) whined and slowly made her way to the stage. Her name was right at the top of the bracket signaling she would be in the first match.

“Go (Y/n)!” Tsubasa cheered.

(Y/n) grimaced as Midari fixed the cold heart monitoring device to her wrist and another beautification officer hooked up her opponent who smirked once (Y/n) met his gaze.

“Coin flip decides who picks first. (L/n), heads or tails?” Ikishima asked, her breath sticking to (Y/n)’s cheek because of how close she was.

“Heads.” (Y/n) chose. Midari flipped the coin and revealed heads.

“Lucky you!” Midari cackled, “Choose carefully because once an animal is chosen, it will be retired for the remainder of the gamble!”

“I’ll pick the tarantula.” (Y/n) declared, suppressing a shudder. At least now she knew it wouldn’t be able to be used against her later.

“Ahh tarantula-san eyy?” Midari giggled. “I love it, nice choice! And you?” Midari turned to address the other student.

He appeared to be sweating ever so slightly but his smirk didn’t leave his face. “I’ll pick that huge ass snake.”

“Boa-san? Hell yeah!” Midari cackled, looking all too pleased with how this was going. “Handlers, bring out the chosen animals!”

“Hold your arms out, kind of like a cradle please.” The handler asked (Y/n). She had just nearly put her arms in position before the handler looped the middle of the large constrictor around her neck. The upper half of the large snake began coiling around her arm as (Y/n) struggled to hold the heavy reptile.

(Y/n) chanced a glance at her competition who appeared to be holding his breath as the tarantula crawled across his pant leg. He was sitting on the stage, something about lessening the risk to the spider should the boy freak out. (Y/n) gulped as her attention was brought back to the snake. It had raised its head to be level with her own and scented the air between their faces before slithering up and over her head and it began its descent down her back.

“Hey!” (Y/n)’s eyes darted back to the boy who looked noticeably more panicked. “It’s crawling toward my junk!” He screamed as the spider slowly made its way over his thigh.

“So?” Midari shrugged, “What, you gonna bail already? It hasn’t even been two minutes.”

“Get it off me now!” His voice pitched higher, the spider had momentarily lost its grip and slid closer to the boy’s crotch. “Take it, take it!”

“Alright, you big baby.” Midari waved him off signaling the handler to take the spider. “Round one goes to you, (L/n). Sazanka class, represent!”

(Y/n) released a relieved sigh as the weight of the boa was lifted from her shoulders. She massaged her shoulder and almost left the stage before Midari called her back.

“Hey, don’t forget your question!”

“Ah, right, sorry. Umm, what’s your favorite color?” (Y/n) could heard the faint echo of Tsubasa smacking their forehead with their hand in the darkened auditorium and Midari groaned.

“That’s what you’re asking? That’s so god damn boring!” Midari sprawled out on the floor again. “Well shit, answer (L/n)’s boring ass question I guess.”

“It’s green.” The guy breathed, thankful for the low stakes question after his embarrassing screeching over the tarantula.

“Alright, who’s next?”

***

The final round was finally here. (Y/n) had survived a hand full of banana slugs and holding up a adolescent fox bat by its feet before finally making it to the last round with Tsubasa bouncing excitedly as her final opponent. They had made it, no matter what happens now the ten million was as good as theirs.

“Alright! Here we are with the last match! Only a handful of creatures left, what will be used I wonder...” Midari pondered. “Heads or tails, (L/n)?”

“I’ll go heads again.”

The coin flipped in her favor once more and she smiled at her friend. “I know you’ve been eyeing that iguana over there, go make a new friend.”

“I really appreciate that, (Y/n).” Tsubasa simpered. “However,” the sweet smile turned sinister, “Just because we made it to the end, doesn’t mean I’m going to go easy on you.”

(Y/n)’s eyes darkened at the betrayal, her mouth twitched into a frown aimed at her unbothered so called friend. Sweat gathered at her brow. Were they going to pick the literal grizzly bear over there? Or maybe even worse, the—

“I pick the octopus.”

“No way!” (Y/n) gasped.

“Uehehehe, I see you recognize the coloration of octopus-san, don’t you (L/n)?” Midari leered over the other girl.

“Yeah, that’s a blue ringed octopus isn’t it? Those things can kill you and you expect me to hold it?” (Y/n) threw her arms out wide in disbelief.

“I had it brought here for Yumeko, but I’m glad someone is going to play with octopus-san.” Ikishima practically moaned. “Well, (L/n) are you gonna hold it or bail?”

“Of course I-“

“(Y/n), before you answer that question,” Tsubasa whispered, “You should know I’m planning on asking a really good question should I win. You know, related to who we were talking about this morning.”

“You wouldn’t-“ (Y/n) gasped.

“Try me.”

“I give you the iguana and this is how you repay me! I could literally die!” (Y/n)’s heart was absolutely pounding. Hurt and betrayal plain on her features.

“Listen, I don’t know what the hell you guys are going on about, but we are broadcasting live to the school and you have a decision to make. (L/n), whatcha gonna do?” Midari pushed.

“I...” (Y/n) took a deep, shuddering breath, her gaze drifted to the deadly cephalopod. Her eyes closed tightly as she tried to quiet the wild thrumming of her heart in her ears. This was dangerous and stupid, but she’d sooner die than lose and answer that query truthfully. “I’ll do it.”

“For real (Y/n)? Are you crazy-“

“I love what you’re doing here (L/n)!” Ikishima interrupted (Y/n)’s gambling partner with a wheezy laugh. “If I didn’t already have the hots for Yumeko, I’d jump your bones right now!”

(Y/n) grimaced at the vulgar girl and made her way to the octopus’ enclosure, the vivid blue rings hypnotic in the shallow waters of the tank.

The octopus itself was small, no bigger than the palm of her hand, yet she knew that size would hardly matter, it could still easily kill a grown man twice her size.

(y/n) breathed in deeply and pulled up her sleeve, her hand just barely skimmed the water when her supposed friend spoke up.

“(Y/n) you don’t have to do this. You seriously would rather die than talk about your feelings?”

(Y/n)’s steely gaze met her partner who was nervously stroking the iguana in their arms and her frown deepened.

“Use my half of the ten million to pay for my medical bills and or my funeral.” She spoke coldly, carefully sliding her hand all the way into the tank. She would have just plunged her hand right in, but she really didn’t feel like dying today if she could help it. Please god, give me the luck of that one idiot I saw holding one of these things on social media.

Slowly, she nudged the creature into her hand and raised it up a bit so Ikishima could clearly see her dangerous skinship with the octopus. The one-eyed girl let out a delighted squeal but (Y/n) could not hear it over the pounding of her own heart. The tentacles of the venomous creature curled over her hand as if searching, maybe for the best place to bite (Y/n) thought wryly. It began crawling up her wrist and settled on her forearm. (Y/n) felt faint and she could feel the sweat roll off her in buckets, having the octopus sit still was almost worse than it moving.

“How’s it feel, (Y/n)? I can call you (Y/n) now, right? We’re kindred spirits you and I after all. How does it feel knowing you’re one little bite away from almost certain death? It’s great isn’t it?” Ikishima moaned grossly in (Y/n)’s ear and (Y/n) grit her teeth, her jaw tightened painfully. She did not dare pay attention to Ikishima, her eyes belonged only to the small mass now writhing in the crook of her elbow.

A loud buzz shot (Y/n) out of her concentrated state, causing her to move suddenly and offset the balance of the octopus. (Y/n) yelped  in response to the octopus’ renewed hold over her that was much tighter than before. Did it just bite me?

“Five minutes is up! Guess we have to refer to heart monitors for the winner. Though judging by (Y/n)’s face, her heart rate will probably be nonexistent soon!” Midari laughed and motioned to the big screen. The computer scanned over the last two competitors heart rates over the last five minutes and compared the data. It was quickly determined that (Y/n)‘s heart rate was much higher than her opponent’s, making her the loser of this gamble.

(Y/n) closed her eyes and hung her head in shame, if the octopus did bite her, she didn’t have it in her to care. Her life would be over soon anyway once she answered the victor’s question.

“Wait a minute... what the hell is wrong with octopus-san?” Midari screeched, bringing (Y/n) back into the moment.

(Y/n)’s eyes shot open to look at the octopus and she was surprised to see it had changed color to match that of her skin tone.

“But, blue ringed octopuses don’t change color so dramatically as this? What... this isn’t...” (Y/n) could hardly believe it. The small octopus on her arm wasn’t the deadly Australian native, but a mimic, and a talented one at that.

“Hey you! What the fuck is this!” Ikishima berated the nearest handler, gesturing to the tank with her gun.

“A mimic octopus, ma’am. This little baby has a tank adjacent to a real blue ringed octopus and the clever boy just loves to copy the colors. Intelligent little guy, isn’t he?”

“Well, yeah,” Midari huffed, “but I asked for blue ringed octopus-san!”

“We didn’t want anyone to be hurt. We figured you wouldn’t mind as long as you got an octopus.” The handler smiled tightly. God these rich kids are crazy.

(Y/n) managed to free herself from the mimic and withdraw from the tank. She rubbed her arm and watched the small octopus change color again to match the the sand in its tank. She felt so foolish, all her fear had been misplaced and now- she turned to Tsubasa, now iguanaless, and stepped forward.

“Well that was hella disappointing. What’s-your-face gets to ask their question now.” Midari sighed, clearly disinterested. “If I wasn’t so impulsive and hadn’t put this thing together last minute, I would’ve made much better punishments for the losers.”

“(Y/n), please don’t let this ruin our friendship. I only want what is best for you.” Tsubasa rubbed the back of their neck awkwardly.

“If you didn’t want to do that, you’d pick another damn question. Just ask already.” (Y/n) snapped.

“Who have you had a crush on since middle school who you still like to this day?” They asked almost sympathetically. (Y/n) wanted to slap that awkward smile right off their face.

“Igarashi Sayaka.” (Y/n) answered clearly so as to not have to repeat herself before bolting off the stage, Midari cackling behind her.

“You like that stick in the mud? That’s hilarious!” Midari wheezed from the stage as (Y/n) pushed through auditorium doors with a boom and kept running.

***

(Y/n) should have just skipped school. She was basically doing it anyway since she couldn’t go to class. Not when she was actively avoiding three people in said class. Tsubasa she didn’t want to see for obvious backstabbing reasons, Ikishima because she was being... extra herself towards (Y/n) since the gamble and she didn’t appreciate it, and then of course Sayaka... who knew if she was aware of the gamble or what she’d do if she saw (Y/n). She’d probably tase me, (Y/n) thought glumly.

The last few days (Y/n) had exiled herself to the deepest, darkest depths of the library and didn’t leave until most of the students had gone home for the day. She didn’t need to worry about gambling. Despite not talking to Tsubasa, she saw that her five million that was agreed upon was transferred to her account with an, ‘I’m sorry :( <3‘ attached to it so she was set for awhile in the class rankings.

This day should have been no different as she made her way to the back of the library, but she gasped audibly once she took in the figure perched atop her table seemingly awaiting her arrival. She would have backed away if not for the fact that those icy blue eyes commanded her to stay.

“President!” (Y/n) squeaked. This was it, she was so dead. How foolish of her to think she would be able to get away with admitting her feelings for the secretary of the most powerful person in the school without any repercussions.

The president did not yet speak, but motioned (Y/n) to come closer, the way her glacial eyes bore into (Y/n)’s left no room for argument. (Y/n)’s legs moved slowly, they shook noticeably and she feared she might collapse right in front of the president. Finally she stopped and stood a foot away from the president’s regal pose over the table. (Y/n)’s hands wrung together and she scanned the titles of the nearby bookshelves so she would not have to look her intruder in the eye.

“You’re a surprisingly difficult person to find, (L/n) (Y/n).” Kirari finally spoke, examining her pristine, blue fingernails.

“I,” (Y/n) cleared her throat, “I’m sorry?” Her voice trembled, sounding oh so weak in the presence of the apex predator.

“That was quite the show you put on a couple days ago at Ikishima’s event.” Kirari continued, seemingly oblivious of (Y/n) speaking at all. “You turned that drab, mind numbing dullness into something I could tolerate watching with my afternoon tea. Sayaka seemed quite invested as well.” She said, her eyes casually looking up to catch (Y/n)’s again, gauging for a reaction.

(Y/n) didn’t speak for fear of her heart escaping out of the orifice due to how violently it was beating in her chest, in her throat. It was beating so fast it put the whole octopus incident to shame.

“Of course, the novelty of the octopus was shattered as soon as its true nature was revealed, but it was interesting to watch in the moment, sort of like a magic trick, wouldn’t you agree?”

(Y/n) stayed silent, only managing to tear her eyes away from the analyzing blue ones to study her own shoes.

“Sayaka couldn’t believe you would do something so, how did she put it? Irrational? Insane maybe? It escapes me now, but she was muttering to herself in that endearing way she always does when she’s thinking too hard and she just can’t contain her internal monologue.” Kirari’s smile grew a small fraction wider at the memory. “I didn’t see what the problem was. If anything I’d dare say she was being quite hypocritical, given the fact that she had jumped out of a five story building with me not too long ago.”

(Y/n) allowed a look of astonishment to take over her face and Kirari chuckled quietly.

The student council president slid off of the table and approached (Y/n) with confident, purposeful steps, causing (Y/n) to back away until her back hit the bookshelf behind her. Kirari rested an arm on the shelf beside (Y/n)’s head and leaned so far into her personal space that (Y/n) dared not breathe.

“Maybe you would like to give it a try?”

(Y/n)’s lips trembled, still unable to so much as make a sound. Her eyes were trapped by the icy, oceanic gaze mere inches away from her.

“No need to be so tense, it was just a suggestion. I know you are capable of speaking. What must I do to make this a two way conversation?”

“I-“ (Y/n) attempted to clear her throat, taking in a shaky breath, “I- what do you want me to say, president? Why are you here?”

“You’ve caught my interest.” She stated plainly, “To risk your life all to avoid answering a simple question of little consequence. Tell me, are you embarrassed to like my secretary so much? Do you find such feelings disgraceful, or is it because it’s Sayaka?”

“No! No. That’s not it at all, I just- I’m not embarrassed about how I feel. Igarashi-san is amazing. So incredibly dedicated and hardworking, intelligent, pr- pretty,” (Y/n) blushed, “I could never find anything disgraceful about liking someone like her.”

“Why hide it to such a degree, then? Why risk your life to keep it hidden?” Kirari came closer still, drinking in every micro-expression that (Y/n)’s face would betray for clues about the peculiar behavior she was so fascinated by.

“There was just no point in revealing my feelings. They obviously aren’t reciprocated, I didn’t want to make class awkward or ruin the good terms we were on as classmates. If I was to be embarrassed about anything, it would be the idea of receiving a rejection that I was well aware would occur and was trying to avoid.”

“I’d like to propose a gamble.” Kirari said suddenly, (Y/n) could feel the declaration disturb the air around her face, causing a slight tingling sensation that made her lips purse subtly.

“What do you propose, president?” (Y/n) whispered weakly, her back digging almost painfully I to the bookcase, trying fruitlessly to create a semblance of personal space between them. She surprisingly took  in the sudden declaration without question, probably due to how small she felt in Kirari’s presence. She dared not question the president’s seemingly sudden whim.

“A simple game, really. I don’t have time to plan some grand operation unfortunately. Such things are better planned out over the course of several weeks, months or even years. Something Ikishima will likely never learn even after her hastily put together show,” Kirari spoke, digging at the disorganization of the beautification officer while still looming over (Y/n) like it was perfectly acceptable to be so close, “but that’s neither here nor there, the game will be lightning round old maid.”

“What are the stakes?” (Y/n) asked, a hot cold rush ran down her spine as Kirari absently inspected a lock of (Y/n)‘s hair, twining a finger though it before letting the hair slip from her touch. She backed away, finally giving (Y/n) room to breathe.

“If I win, you’ll immediately start going back to your classes and you’ll become a page of sorts to the student council. You’ll be at Sayaka’s beck and call.”

“I don’t think Igarashi-san would care for that. I’m sure she has a very specific way in which she likes things done. I don’t want to be on her bad side more than I probably already am!”

“Sayaka would never say it, but with the added work the election has brought, I’m sure she could find a use for an extra pair of hands.” Kirari smirked, “Now, what would you like if you win?”

“...I guess it would be nice to have some assistance transferring schools?” (Y/n) mumbled after a moment’s thought.

“How practical. You’re about as imaginative as Sayaka I’ll give you that,” Kirari commented, striding to the other side of the table to sit with practiced poise, “well,” she gestured to the chair opposite her, “please take a seat. This won’t take long.”

(Y/n) bit the inside of her lip and sat stiffly in the presented chair. She couldn’t believe she was about to gamble with the president. Such an ‘honor’ was usually reserved for people like Jabami or Ikishima... What did this say about herself, (Y/n) wondered.

Kirari slipped three cards out of her blazer. The queen of diamonds, the queen of hearts, and a joker card. She presented the cards to (Y/n), allowing her to check for any possible tampering. When (Y/n) was satisfied, she gave the cards back with a sight tremor. Kirari reached past the cards, encompassing (Y/n)’s wrist with her hand and drawing out a surprised gasp from the girl. Kirari skimmed her fingers over the exposed skin up to (Y/n)’s own finger tips before finally taking the cards back and shuffling them under the table. All the while (Y/n)’s hand tingled, still suspended mid air until she remembered herself and quickly pulled her hand back to join her other tightly fisted in her lap.

Kirari eyed the cards, newly shuffled, and slid the queen of hearts to (Y/n)’s side of the table. With a reserved smile, she held out the remaining two cards. “Now, which one will you choose I wonder?”

(Y/n) scrutinized the backs of the cards in Kirari’s hand, silently cursing herself for not thinking of marking the cards in some way as she inspected them. Her eyebrows knit and her eyes narrowed in concentration as if that would help give her some sudden clarity, to open up the right choice.

“As much as I’m enjoying this intense look of concentration you are wearing, I do have other obligations that require my attention this afternoon.” Kirari spoke, jolting (Y/n) from her thoughts.

“Sorry!” (Y/n) swallowed and eyed the cards, darting her attention from one to the other at least a dozen times. Finally she sucked in a huge breath and reached for the the one on the right. Then, changing her trajectory at the very last second, she took the card on the left, missing the excited gleam in Kirari’s eyes.

With trembling fingers she flipped the card in her fingers and felt dread as the laughing face of the joker stared back at her.

“Wrong choice I’m afraid, looks like I’ll get a turn after all.” Kirari said.

(Y/n) took her queen and the joker, mixing them under the table until she was satisfied then held them out to Kirari, trying to will her face into impenetrable stone.

Kirari chuckled quietly as she reached out. She teasingly danced her fingers over the cards, gauging for a reaction. (Y/n) looked away from the scene, trying to invoke some kind of ‘I can’t see you, you can’t see me’ strategy. However, (Y/n) felt that she could have no face at all and Kirari would still be able to read her.

Her eyes shot open when she felt the card in her right hand being tugged free, she turned back to the remaining card with an audible gasp. The queen was still in her hand.

“Oh well,” Kirari smiled, “Another chance for you then, (Y/n).”

(Y/n) nodded resolutely, looking between the two cards once more. She took less time to deliberate this go around and took the left card. Incorrect again.

The joker traded hands at least three dozen more times and traded hands quickly. Staying in one hand only long enough to be shuffled and presented to be taken half a second later. (Y/n) found it exhilarating. There was no strategy, no second guessing, just the gamble itself. Taking whatever card they touched first without a care.

The joker had found (Y/n)’s hand again and (Y/n) couldn’t help the laugh of disbelief that escaped her lips. Her nervous frown had left rounds ago, replaced by a content smile. If Tsubasa could she her now, smiling and playing a children’s game with arguably the most frightening person in the school, they would lose their mind.

“I’m glad you’ve come out of your shell and are enjoying yourself,” Kirari spoke up, her eyes looking unusually warm. “However the time is quickly approaching for one of my aforementioned engagements so,” (Y/n) blinked owlishly, her mouth falling open ever so slightly. Kirari took the queen out of (Y/n)’s hand as if she knew she could have done so at will at any time and smirked. “I’ll be seeing you bright and early Monday morning to discuss your new duties.”

As Kirari stood and moved around the table to exit (Y/n) kept blinking at the joker in her hands. “Oh, and (Y/n),” Kirari stopped at the bookshelf momentarily and looked back at (Y/n), seeing the surprised girl turning slowly in her seat to look at her. “Do not be late.”

With that, the president took her leave. (Y/n) looked back at the joker and smiled brightly despite herself. She knew once the novelty wore off she was going to be an anxious mess before Monday arrived, but for now, she was ride out the high gambling with the president gave her. She gathered her belongings and left the library and the school, humming pleasantly with a skip in her step all the way home.

***

(Y/n) hadn’t slept more than a combined total of eight hours all weekend. She had worried her weekend away to the point of feeling physically ill. What had she been thinking to entertain such a gamble? Not only did she need to start going back to class, but now she had to report in to the student council as if she were a member herself.

(Y/n) glanced at her phone again, squinting her eyes at the harsh light,  a panicked groan leaving her as she read the time. It was five-thirty in the morning. She had more than enough time to get ready and be at school before the student council meeting began at seven, but the anticipation was killing her.

She was not ready to see Sayaka. She wasn’t ready to sit next to Tsubasa in class again or get hounded by Ikishima. Today was going to be an all out assault on her emotional state.

(Y/n) stood outside the imposing doors of the student council room, the time on her phone displaying that she was fifteen minutes early. (Y/n) worked to control her breathing, willing herself to take deep, even breaths. Before she worked up the courage to enter, the door swung open with air displacing force strong enough to whip some of (Y/n)’s hair askew.

“I’ll retrieve the file president! You needn’t concern yourself with such menial tasks!” Sayaka strode a purposeful half step out of the room and rammed straight into (Y/n)’s chest, causing (Y/n) to stumble back, but not fall.

“What are you- oh,” Sayaka’s angry retort died on her lips as she registered who stood before her. “(L/n)-san, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, good- good morning, Igarashi-san. I’m, um, I’m here to-“ (Y/n) stumbled over her words looking over Sayaka’s head, unable to even look her in the eye as she felt her cheeks grow increasingly warm.

“Ah, (Y/n), right on time. Early even.” Kirari appeared in the doorway behind Sayaka who looked back at her with a bewildered expression. “Ready for your first day on the job?”

“President! What are you saying? What is the meaning of this?” Sayaka asked, looking between Kirari and (Y/n) as if to try to draw her own conclusion.

“Sayaka, (Y/n) is going to be your errand girl from now on. Sort of a secretary of a secretary situation.” Kirari explained with an amused grin. “I feel like your work efficiency would be maximized if you didn’t have to run all over the school.”

“But president, I can’t just-“

“(Y/n) has graciously gambled away her services, so use her as you see fit.”

The wording Kirari used, left the two second years gaping and thoroughly embarrassed. The awkward silence that followed seemed to be lost on the president and she continued to speak.

“I’ll provide the first task as an example. (Y/n), Ikishima has neglected to return a rather important file that is needed for the composition of a life plan, retrieve it.”

“Yeah, okay.” (Y/n) quickly turned tail and jogged away from the president and her secretary, thankful for every step that parted her from the awkward confrontation and headed to the bowels of the school.

Sayaka and Kirari watched her leave. The latter looking very pleased with herself.

“President, what did you do?” Sayaka asked, studying Kirari’s mirthful face.

“I was merely following up on my promise. I said I’d find out if she was okay, didn’t I? Now you can see for yourself anytime you wish.”

“I didn’t intend for you to gamble her into servitude!” Sayaka’s voice cracked with exasperation. “What was going to happen if you lost?”

“She was going to transfer schools.” Kirari revealed, drinking in Sayaka’s shocked expression with amused satisfaction, “I don’t know what you did to her Sayaka, but she is positively terrified of you.”

“I- I didn’t do anything! At least, I think...” Sayaka poised a contemplative fist over her lips, thinking back from middle school to present, sifting through memories to find anything to the contrary.

“No matter, you’ll have plenty of time to figure out how to proceed,” Kirari waved dismissively, “I never discussed a date of release before the gamble, but I’m sure keeping her in this position after your graduation would be a tad excessive. Now,” Kirari ran her fingers through Sayaka’s ponytail, eliciting a shudder from the underclassman, “I’d love another cup of tea before the meeting.”

***

(Y/n) descended the stairs to the basement floor of the school. She could hear the distinctive hum of old fluorescent lights and boiler room generators, by looking at the rest of Hyakkaou, you’d never think that such a rich school would have such an ancient, decrepit, looking basement.

As she continued clicking down the darkened hall she could hear a muffled, albeit echoing, cackle that would have sent her sprinting in the opposite direction if not for the fact that it was a familiar laugh she had heard disrupt class on countless occasions.

(Y/n) turned down the next hallway, jumping and covering her ears as a shot rang out, painfully reverberating off of the walls.

“It’s like a goddamn haunted murder house down here.” (Y/n) mumbled to herself.

She turned down one more hallway and met a couple beautification committee members loitering around.

“Hey,” (Y/n) addressed them awkwardly, wincing when the small group quieted and eyed her suspiciously, “I’m, uh, looking for Ikishima?”

“Get lost, she’s... busy” one of the grunts replied, a faint look of discomfort, hidden as she pretended to examine her nails.

“It’s student council business,” (Y/n) persisted. As much as she would have loved to peace out right then, there was no way she was going to return from her first errand empty handed. “It can’t wait.”

“No one gives a damn. Trust me when I say you don’t want to go in there.”

“I’ll take the chance.”

“Hey!”

(Y/n) walked passed the disgruntled committee members and banged on the door, the thudding carried down the hall.

“Ikishima! I’m here to collect a file for a life plan!” (Y/n) called through the heavy metal door.

“Damn it! What the hell?” Midari yanked the door open and (Y/n) had to take several steps back at witnessing the severe sweaty, disheveled state the girl on the other side was in. “I was so fucking close and you just cut me off like that? What the hell, that just turns me on more!”

“The file? Now, please?” (Y/n) stuttered out, desperately wishing for a line of brain and eye bleaching products that would make her forget ever seeing her classmate like this. For now she would simply have to settle with getting the hell out of there as soon as possible.

“Wait a minute, why did you get sent here, (Y/n)? The way you pounded on the door, I thought you were Sayaka again.” The girl laughed and (Y/n) mentally gave Sayaka her condolences. “Whatever, there’s a meeting in ten minutes. Why can’t I just bring it then?”

“They probably thought you would forget.” (Y/n) shrugged uncomfortably.

“Hey, you know what, that’s fair.” Midari nodded, “Hang on a second,” she slipped back into the room and came out a few seconds later with a stained and soggy looking piece of trash. “Here, now get lost. Unless you plan on joining me in here.”

“Wh... why is it wet? And what’s this stain?” (Y/n) made a disgusted face as she held the paper away from her, pinching one corner with her thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, (L/n).” Midari cackled, the sound continuing on even well after the door had been shut in (Y/n)’s face once more.

On the way back to the student council room, (Y/n) made a pit stop for a ziplock baggie and went to the restroom to wash her hands in the most scalding water she could handle.

***

“That was surprisingly quick,” Kirari smirked from her chair at the head of the table as (Y/n) knocked politely before letting herself in. Sayaka’s head swiveled in (Y/n)’s direction as well, looking more concerned than her amused counterpart. “Were you able to retrieve the file?”

(Y/n) nodded stiffly and presented the file, confined in the plastic of the ziplock baggie like evidence in a murder case, to the president.

“Oh my, it’s hardly legible,” Kirari spoke, her tone suggesting that she may have been mildly impressed by the paper. Or perhaps it was a morbid fascination. “And what’s this stain here?” She asked.

“I don’t know, I don’t think I’ll ever want to know.” (Y/n) replied, placing the plastic wrapped atrocity on the table. Sayaka pursed her lips and nodded as if (Y/n) had spoken some old, wise philosophical scripture.

“Oh well, I’m sure Sayaka can write up a fresh copy later. Congratulations on completing your first assignment, (Y/n). The meeting will be starting soon so please take your position to Sayaka’s right,” Kirari motioned to the girl standing behind her.

“That’s wholly unnecessary, president,” Sayaka shook her head, “We will look silly.”

“Not at all. Surely you can see the logic of wanting my right hand by my side. The right hand of my right hand is by extension, mine as well and needs to be close as such. (Y/n), take Sayaka’s right.”

“Uh, yes, president. Whatever you say,” (Y/n) moved around the table and stood a respectable distance away from Sayaka, directing her attention to the exotic fish swimming in the large aquarium nearby.

“Closer.” Kirari commanded, gently.

Without moving her eyes from the aquarium (Y/n) took a half step in Sayaka’s direction.

“Closer, (Y/n),” Kirari said again, “we must look like a cohesive unit.”

“It’s okay, (L/n)-san, I won’t bite.” Sayaka said, ushering the girl closer with a worried half smile.

“Unless you’re into that kind of thing.” Kirari amended with an amused grin, watching the second years sputter and gasp at her like fish out of water.

When the rest of the council members finally began filtering in, (Y/n) and Sayaka were stood almost shoulder to shoulder while Kirari sat sipping her tea with a satisfied expression.

Although the council had technically been disbanded because of the election, there was still work to be done that could not be held off without threatening the school structure.

“Wow, (Y/n), you really working here now?” Midari asked, doing a double take as she plopped in her seat. “I thought you were just looking for an excuse to see yours truly again.” Midari laughed, pointing at herself with her gun.

“Not really, no.” (Y/n) spoke dryly, arms crossed loosely over her chest.

“Oh that’s right, because you like-“

“Ikishima!”

As the door was violently pushed open to reveal the teen idol Yumemi,(Y/n) exhaled harshly, feeling heat crawling all the way up to the tips of her ears as she continued to watch the fish, not daring to even spare a hint of a glance through her periphery in the direction of Sayaka and Kirari.

“Ikishima, my whole stage still smells like a barn!” The idol gritted through a menacing smile.

“What do you expect me to do about it?” Midari said, swinging her legs onto the table.

“I’m ordering a deep cleanse and you’re paying for it!” Yumemi huffed, taking her seat as well.

“Bahhh, whatever.” Midari waved her off, earning a laugh from Runa as she flopped onto a nearby couch.

The vice president silently made her way to stand at the president’s left, taking a moment to stare between the three people at the head of the table. Or at least, (Y/n) guessed she was. It was hard to tell with the mask.

Yuriko came in last, looking a bit frazzled as she took her own seat. Once it was clear that everyone was situated, Sayaka began to recite the major talking points and the meeting began.

***

(Y/n) swears she almost fell asleep standing up. Only jolting out of her meditative state as chairs scraped against the floor signaling that the meeting must have ended. Her eyes darting to the clock on the wall, revealing that classes would start soon. Taking the time into account, she moved to the wall where she had left her school bag and hooked it over her shoulder before turning back to the president and her secretary.

“I can go to class now, right?”

“Of course,” Kirari gave a slight nod, “just give Sayaka a moment to gather her things and you can go together. Won’t that be nice?”

(Y/n) chanced a glance at Sayaka as she packed her bag full of folders, quickly averting her eyes when Sayaka looked up expectantly from her bag. (Y/n) discreetly cleared her throat, “Sure.”

“Ready to go?” Sayaka asked, shouldering the heavy bag with little effort as she stepped forward. Wow, she’s a lot stronger than she looks.

“Yes,” (Y/n) responded, walking over to the door to hold it open for the secretary.

“Do be back for lunch.” Kirari called.

“Of course, president.” Sayaka nodded, provoking a hint of warmth in Kirari’s charming smile before she turned her back to the door to face the vice president who seemed to eye her intently as (Y/n) closed the door behind her.

They didn’t make it very far down the hall before Sayaka produced a fancy, black, hardcover notebook and held it out to (Y/n).

“I took the liberty of taking notes for you in your absence,” she explained, a small, sweet smile upon her lips.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have, thank you very much!” (Y/n) stared at the notebook with a pleasant warmth building in her chest. She accepted the notebook, accidentally brushing fingers with Sayaka in the process. Her breath caught in her throat as Sayaka’s hand caught her own instead of falling away once the notebook had left it. Her other hand reached up to cup the notebook from underneath when it became clear that (Y/n) was about to drop it.

“It was no trouble but, I’m glad you’re back.”

“Haha, well, one of the president’s conditions of the gamble was for me to go back to class. I guess I couldn’t really hide in the library forever though.” (Y/n) shrugged, trying to be nonchalant while fighting off the emotions bubbling just below the surface.

“You were in the library?” Sayaka looked perplexed as students walked around them, a few giving inquisitive looks as they passed but otherwise hurried to class. “I must have checked there at least three times.”

“You were looking for me?”

“Yes,” Sayaka lightly squeezed (Y/n)’s hand and the notebook between her own, “I even spoke to that degenerate you sit next to, to see if they knew where you were. A useless conversation.”

“Why?” (Y/n) asked with a tremor in her voice, partially afraid of what Sayaka would say.

“I’ll be more than happy to explain at lunch, but we’re going to be late if we don’t start moving.” Sayaka pulled her hands away and motioned (Y/n) forward. (Y/n) fell into step beside Sayaka, heading to their classroom while her heart beat violently against her rib cage.

Upon entering the room mere moments before their teacher, Sayaka smiled kindly at (Y/n) before taking her seat. (Y/n) had her own dreamy look on her face that melted into a steady frown as she made her way to the back of the room and made eye contact with her sheepishly smiling friend.

(Y/n) plopped down in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff.

“Hey.”

(Y/n) ignored them, focusing her gaze on the front of the room.

“Come on, (Y/n). I told you I was sorry!” Tsubasa whispered, scooting closer, “You can have my notes if you want, you kinda missed a lot.”

“I don’t need them. Besides, you take shit notes.” (Y/n) grumbled.

“How about I let you punch me in the face? Trip me into the fountain outside? What if I buy my favorite ice cream and right before I get to taste it, you knock the cone out of my hand?”

(Y/n) couldn’t help but snort at the suggestion, covering her mouth with her hand and shying away from the look the teacher sent her way before resuming his lecture.

“I really am sorry you know. I’ve missed by best friend.”

“I’m still mad at you, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t miss you too.” (Y/n) simpered.

“Wanna join the crew at lunch? I’ll buy.”

“I can’t actually,” (Y/n)’s smile became a little regretful, “I kind of belong to the student council now so-“

“You what!?” Tsubasa yelled, their voice commanding the attention of the whole classroom, even Sayaka looked back with a raised brow.

“Care to share with the rest of the class?” The teacher spoke coldly.

“No, sorry!” They squeaked, sliding further down their chair.

“Great, try to pay attention, please,” the teacher turned back to his presentation, “Now where were we...”

“Shit.” They sighed under their breath.

“Nice one.” (Y/n) whispered back with a grin.

“Well what do you expect when you drop a bomb like that? What happened?”

“Shouldn’t you be quiet? You’re already on thin ice.”

“What’s the worst he can do, this school is fucked academically anyway. Tell me what you’re doing with the stuco.”

“Okay, just don’t scream... I gambled with the president,” (Y/n) paused, watching Tsubasa cover their mouth and bend over their desk with shock. It was clear they were trying very hard to keep it all together as the lecture continued. “I lost and as per our agreement I have to go to class and assist Igarashi-san with student council duties.”

“Oh my god!” They gasped,

looking between (Y/n) and the back of Sayaka’s head. “Don’t you see what this means?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me what you think it means,” (Y/n) rolled her eyes, taking notes on the new slide of the presentation.

“What it means is you’ve earned yourself not one, but two potential girlfriends!” They grinned, flashing a  discrete peace sign.

“That’s not what it means at all.” (Y/n) deadpanned.

“Come on, (Y/n)! Since when does the president find interest in plebeians like us? And don’t you think Igarashi would have been absolutely livid to have the president’s attention on you and not herself? I mean, remember how snippy she was when Jabami first rose in prevalence?”

(Y/n) shook her head, “You’re being ridiculous. I’m probably only in Igarashi-san’s good graces because she knows about my feelings for her and it would stand to reason that she doesn’t have to worry about me taking her place or making moves on the president. And then the president! As if anyone knows why the president does any of the things she does. She was probably bored and thought it be funny to watch me make a fool of myself in front of Igarashi everyday.”

“Just you wait. You’ll be a part of their weird little role play before the month is out, I guarantee it.”

“Don’t say it like that! Also, it’s not gonna happen so drop it.” (Y/n) kicked at the exposed ankle across the lane.

“Do I smell a wager to be made?��� Tsubasa smirked through the pain, rubbing their ankle.

“I only thing I smell is someone who needs to mind their own business and start taking notes, you degenerate.”

“Igarashi is rubbing off on you already I see.”

***

After four more hours of hushed interrogation, lunch period began. Sayaka waited for (Y/n) in the hallway and (Y/n) gave her troublesome friend a warning glance, daring them to say anything stupid.

“Hey, Igarashi. Take good care of (Y/n) now, okay?” Tsubasa dodged (Y/n)’s fist and waggled their eyebrows before dashing off to the cafeteria.

“Ignore them.” (Y/n) said, almost pleadingly.

“Right, shall we?” Sayaka motioned in the direction of the student council.

“Oh, is it alright if I grab something from the cafeteria first? I didn’t pack a lunch.” (Y/n) asked.

“No need, I’ve arranged for lunch to be catered to the student council room.” Sayaka explained, leading (Y/n) to the grand, wooden double doors.

Sayaka knocked before entering, holding the door open for (Y/n) to slip in before closing it once more.

“Excellent timing, a house pet arrived with lunch just a few minutes ago.” Kirari informed, moving to the parlor area of the large room.

“Shall I fix your tea, president?” Sayaka asked, already walking across the room to start the kettle.

“Yes, please do.” Kirari nodded before then focused in on (Y/n), standing awkwardly near the fish tank. “Come take a seat, (Y/n). Sayaka will join us soon.” Kirari smiled, gesturing to the lush armchair seated to the left of the loveseat where Kirari regally sat.

“Of course, thank you, president.” (Y/n) sat back in the cushioned chair and although it was the epitome of luxury, she kept her back rigid and both feet firmly planted on the ground, staring at her hands as she nervously picked at the edge of her skirt.

“Still so tense,” Kirari sighed, “What happened to my old maid partner over the weekend? I thought we had hit it off rather splendidly.”

“Oh! That reminds me...” (Y/n) dug her hand into her blazer pocket and fished out the joker card from last Friday, presenting it to Kirari, “I figured you would want this back.”

Kirari pulled one eyebrow up in amusement and reached forward. Much like she had done in the library, her fingers grasped passed the card and took hold of (Y/n)’s wrist. Her icy lips curled into an almost sinful smile as she tugged (Y/n) forward. Not enough to pull her from her seat, but enough to bend her closer with (Y/n)’s arm fully extended, held near Kirari’s knees. (Y/n)’s ears burned as Kirari leaned closer and blew directly into her ear, raising the heat tenfold.  (Y/n) had no escape from the close proximity as Kirari kept her wrist hostage.

“Thank you,” Kirari hummed, “Is this perhaps your way of suggesting we play again? I would happily indulge you for the right wager.”

“I, uh, um-“

“The tea is ready president.” Sayaka informed, placing the tea set in the middle of the table with a barely audible click.

(Y/n) noted the loosening of Kirari’s grip and used it as an opportunity to straighten back up and put as much space between her and the president as possible, but she feared it was already too late.

Sayaka’s shadow loomed over (Y/n) and she clenched her eyes shut. Sucking in a breath, she tried to prepare herself for the volts of electricity that were sure to come.

“(L/n)? Tea?”

(Y/n) slowly looked up at Sayaka, meeting her mildly concerned features before glancing down to Sayaka’s hands, noting the tea cup and dish that were held out to her.

(Y/n) blinked, thanking Sayaka and accepting the tea with shaky hands. She wasn’t going to get tazed? Sure, Kirari had been the instigator of the close contact, but (Y/n) had expected a murderous look at the very least regardless of who started it. Yet, here Sayaka stood before her, offering her tea looking as calm as can be.

“Sayaka, come sit with me.” Kirari implored, patting the spot beside her on the loveseat.

Sayaka moved with barely contained excitement and with her cheeks blushing faintly, she took her place right of the president.

(Y/n) smiled from behind her tea cup though her heart ached. They looked cute together, happy. Everyone in the academy had some inkling that the president and her secretary had some kind of relationship beyond their work on the council, but many assumed that Sayaka was being used. Simply a means to an end that would be discarded once the president grew tired of her. Based on how tenderly Kirari wiped a stray crumb from Sayaka’s beet red cheek, (Y/n) would have to disagree with her peers.

With the attentions of Kirari and Sayaka focused away from her, (Y/n) took the opportunity to eat her own lunch. Wherever Sayaka had catered from was really great. (Y/n) happily ate the food on her plate and enjoyed the fish swimming around the large aquarium, lost in her own world.

“Are we too dull to keep your interest, (Y/n)?” Kirari asked, piercing through the girl’s all too temporary peace. Sayaka peered over at her as well, whatever the intelligent eyes were searching for (Y/n) couldn’t guess.

“Not at all! I was just in my own little world, sorry! Did you need something?” (Y/n) sat stiffly in her chair once more, waiting anxiously for the president’s reply.

“Now that you mention it, there is something I need.” Kirari smirked lazily, a hand resting just below her lips. “Unfortunately now is not the time however. Not until I further discuss the details with Sayaka.”

Sayaka looked just as in the dark as (Y/n) was as to knowing what that meant, but she didn’t ask for any clarification on the matter. Trusting that her president would tell her what she saw fit when the time came.

“Just be more present with us. I want us to all be well acquainted and we can’t have that if you keep floating off.” Kirari added. (Y/n) nearly spat out her latest sip of tea when Kirari’s foot slowly dragged up her leg from her ankle to her calf before sliding back down and returning to its original position.

“Okay!” (Y/n) coughed. Some of her tea seemed to have gone down the wrong pipe.

(Y/n) was tense throughout the rest of the lunch period. Especially when the president seemed intent on making (Y/n) watch her feel up Sayaka. Okay, so it wasn’t like, explicit or anything but, still! By the end of the lunch period Kirari had pulled Sayaka close enough that she was practically sitting in her lap. Sayaka at least had the decency to look embarrassed but Kirari just kept talking to (Y/n) as if this was all normal behavior. And who knows, maybe for the president it was.

(Y/n) had never been more relieved to hear the warning bell in her life. She stood quickly, hitting her knees on the table as she did so. Luckily nothing had broken or spilled.

“I’ll just help clean this up quick then head off to class, is that okay?” (Y/n) winced, trying to discreetly rub her knees.

“Mm, that’s alright. A house pet will get it. You may head off to class. Sayaka and I have something to discuss,” Kirari ran her fingers through Sayaka’s ponytail, “be sure to come straight back here after classes let out.”

“Yes, president.” (Y/n) turned towards the door, counting down the seconds until she could breathe again.

“I’ll see you in a few minutes, (Y/n)...-san.” Sayaka called after her, still looking red. Perhaps even more so from addressing (Y/n) by her first name out of the blue.

“See you!” (Y/n) squeaked, feeling heat rise in her own cheeks. The president calling her by her first name hadn’t even affected her as strongly as it had when Sayaka just said it. Perhaps because Kirari didn’t seem the type to hold much stake in traditional formalities, but Sayaka certainly seemed the type. To call (Y/n) by her first name without asking her first, even with a formal honorific, it almost made (Y/n) swoon, as foolish as that may sound.

(Y/n) fumbled with the door handle and nearly knocked into the vice president by accident. With an apology quirk on her tongue she continued to walk briskly to her classroom.

“She sure left in a hurry.” Kirari hummed, resting her chin on Sayaka’s shoulder. Ignoring her sister flopping down on the couch. She may have been wearing a mask, but Ririka radiated exhaustion.

“I can’t say I blame her, president- Kirari, you were too... physical with your advances.” Sayaka replied, her hands reached up to cup her own cheeks in an attempt to cool them.

“I was just trying to be friendly, perhaps a little enticing, but how else would we let her know where we stand?”

“You’re moving too fast!” Sayaka exclaimed, “It hasn’t even been a full day since she has started interacting with both of us. You need to gradually work up to it, like with the Tower of Doors, like you did with me.”

“I seem to recall touching you just as much before the completion of the Tower, but perhaps you have a point. Should I be making (Y/n) a tower as well? I suppose it only seems fair.” Kirari looked as if she was already planning the schematics before Sayaka interjected, slightly panicked.

“No! No more towers. (Y/n) is smart, but as you have seen, she is not logical to the same degree as I, and you would most certainly kill her. I would not be able to bare it!”

“Oh, but how interesting it would be to test her mind to the limits.” Kirari spoke wistfully. “To have such an unconventional thought process for dealing with her problems. An irrational rationalism, rather oxymoronic, a paradox. Wouldn’t you say, Say-a-ka?”

“I don’t know why (Y/n) felt the need to touch a seemingly deadly cephalopod in an attempt to get out of answering a sensitive question, but you shouldn’t base a rule off of one experience. Stress has a way of making people do things they wouldn’t normally do. That being said, please don’t make her do anything dangerous.” Sayaka pleaded.

“My, so protective. I thought you said you only had a small crush on her before you met me.” Kirari teased, causing Sayaka to flounder about trying to find her words. “It’s alright, I can see the appeal.”

“The next class period is starting soon. What had you wanted to discuss with me?” Sayaka asked, hoping to derail the current topic of conversation.

“A gamble.” Kirari smiled.

“Ah, a gamble?” Sayaka sighed.

“Yes. I need something a little more stimulating than the election to keep me occupied,” Kirari turned to Ririka for the first time since she entered the room, “Perhaps my dear sister could play dealer for this little wager?”

“No.” Ririka deadpanned, the voice modulator giving the single word a bit more bite. “I love you Kirari, and you’re great Sayaka, but I’ve suffered enough watching you two dance around each other the better part of three years. I don’t want a front row seat to find out how you plan to add a third person into your dynamic.”

“No need to be so pretentious. All you needed to say was that you’re too busy trying to woo Saotome to help your poor, little sister.” Kirari shot back with light theatrics.

“I’m too busy trying to woo Mary to help you, yet again, with your own love life.” Ririka said, fishing her phone out of her skirt pocket to check a text before standing up. “Speaking of, Mary needs me.”

“That girl has changed you. Sometimes I worry it’s for the worse.” Kirari’s words poked at her sister’s retreating figure, hoping to get a rise out of her. She found that she quite liked trying to get under Ririka’s skin now that she had grown a bit of a backbone. Ririka did not give her the satisfaction though, opting to just flat out ignore her sister as she exited the student council room.

“So cold.” Kirari giggled.

“President, Kirari, the gamble?” Sayaka asked trying to get her back on track. She had less than two minutes to get to class now.

“Yes, here is what I have in mind...”

***

“What, you can’t go home now either? (Y/n), that is just tragic.” Tsubasa sympathized, patting (Y/n) on the back until (Y/n) slapped their hand away.

“Knock it off. All I need to do is follow the president and Igarashi-san around for an hour or two while the president gambles. Maybe fetch some things along the way. How hard can it be?”

“(Y/n)-san, are you ready?”

(Y/n) jumped when Sayaka came up behind her and turned swiftly in her direction, “Sure thing, Igarashi-san!”

“Bye (Y/n),” Tsubasa crooned with a mischievous grin, “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“What are you even talking about? You know what, I don’t want to know.” (Y/n) waved them off and moved to fall in step beside Sayaka, following her to the student council room.

The halls had vacated rather quickly after school hours. Students usual were in a rush to get to the gambling dens or go home. Of course there was a small population that participated in extracurriculars as well, but in this school such things were of little importance.

After Sayaka and (Y/n) turned the first corner, the lingering voices from their classroom faded further into the background until all they could hear was their shoes clipping in near synchronization against the floor.

“Just Sayaka is fine.”

“Huh?” (Y/n) turned her head to face Sayaka, noting the flush of her cheeks as they continued walking.

“I have referred to you by your first name so you may call me Sayaka, I don’t mind.” She elaborated, still looking straight ahead.

“Oh! Sure, thank you, um, Sayaka-san.” (Y/n) stuttered out. Before long, her expression looked just as bashful as Sayaka’s. Never would she have dreamed that she and Sayaka would be on a first name basis! (Y/n) was already on a high from that objectively small step towards familiarity when Sayaka did something that nearly sent (Y/n) into cardiac arrest. She held her hand.

(Y/n)’s neck jerked from Sayaka’s pink face to their conjoined hands several times within the first few seconds of the unsuspected contact, her voice was strangled by her vocal chords allowing only the most pitiful confused squeaks to surface until she quickly clamped her own mouth shut with her free hand.

“I’m sorry, I have poor circulation. Y-you don’t mind warming my hand for a minute, do you?” Sayaka’s delivery was almost smooth, but even if she hadn’t fumbled with the line, the look on her face was anything but calm and confident.

“You’re fine!” (Y/n) winced internally. She sounded much too enthusiastic and spoke much too quick. Sayaka was going to think she was a creep for sure now. But no, Sayaka did not seem overly bothered by the quick reply. She actually seemed, relieved?

“We never did get to talk about why I was looking for you over lunch.” Sayaka stated, seemingly content to carry on a conversation while their hands swayed between them with each step.

“No, I suppose we didn’t.” (Y/n) replied. Her heart twinged, thinking back on how close Sayaka and the president had been. She needed to remind herself not to get her hopes up about Sayaka, even if she was currently threading her fingers between (Y/n)’s own.

“You must know by now that I saw the broadcast, Midari’s gamble.”

(Y/n) swallowed audibly, hoping desperately that her hand wouldn’t start sweating. “I figured as much. But the president did tell me that.”

“I see. Well, I wanted to talk to you about what you said. About your truth. I needed to talk with the president about it first of course. Then by the time we had it sorted out, it had been a few days and I had already noticed you hadn’t been in class at all so I had started looking for you. I wanted to tell you—“

“Don’t worry about it!” (Y/n) cut in with a forced smile, “I already know what you’re going to say.”

“You do?” Sayaka asked, (Y/n) almost believed that the secretary had gripped her hand harder just then, but quickly pushed the thought away. Chalking it up to more wishful thinking.

“Yeah, I knew I never had a chance. I was actually kind of hoping you just wouldn’t bring it up, but knowing you, I should've guessed you would want to follow the rules of etiquette and reject me formally.” (Y/n) had said, struggling to keep the melancholy out of her tone.

“(Y/n),” Sayaka actually looked rather pained, but the expression was lost on (Y/n) as the other girl tried to distract herself by looking out the windows they passed. “That’s not what I-“

“There you two are. Having fun without me I see.” Sayaka and (Y/n) whipped their heads forward, watching Kirari walking towards them as the student council room doors closed behind her with a dull thud. “Need I remind you that there are gambles that require my attention?” Kirari smirked lightly.

Sayaka looked momentarily torn before finally addressing her president. “I apologize president. I hadn’t realized we were running late.”

“Oh, you weren’t. I’m just feeling antsy today I suppose.” Kirari shrugged her shoulders lackadaisically before making a show of noticing Sayaka and (Y/n)’s connected hands. “My, I hope I wasn’t intruding on anything just now. Look how close you two are already. I think I might even be jealous.” Kirari said, her soft smirk never once faltered as her glacial eyes pinned the underclassmen in place.

“She said her hand was cold is all!” (Y/n) quickly explained, and although her hold on Sayaka’s hand slackened, the secretary did not take the invitation to remove her hand. “You’re more than welcome to take my place. I’m sure she’d prefer your company anyway.”

“I see,” Kirari’s eyes drifted over Sayaka for a moment, “Unfortunately, I suffer from the same ailment. In fact, I’d argue I’m worse off than Sayaka in that regard. I hadn’t realized you would be so valuable, (Y/n),” Kirari closed the distance between them, surprising (Y/n) by slipping her hand into (Y/n)’s free one. “Mm, yes, I could get used to this.”

If (Y/n) thought Sayaka’s hand was cool to the touch, Kirari’s was literal ice. Were the rumors of her being a vampire true? My god, her hand was down right freezing maybe the blue coloring of her nails wasn’t even polish.

“Well then, the gambling hall awaits. Not that I care to appease the masses, but Sayaka insists I entertain the delusions of the smaller fish.” Kirari sighed.

“I want to see you come out on top of this election, president. Every vote counts.” Sayaka stated matter-of-factly.

(Y/n) just stared blankly ahead as they strolled down the hall, occasionally looking down at her hands, each encompassed by the hands of the president and her secretary who continued to talk around her. She would have pinched herself if she had a free hand to do so.

Before they entered the den, Sayaka and Kirari disengaged, breaking (Y/n) from her trance just in time for (Y/n) to tune into the president’s words now directed at her.

“I do hope you have a vivid imagination, (Y/n). I can’t fathom that any of these matches will be particularly entertaining to watch.”

Sayaka looked the slightest bit irked by the president’s behavior, but it was very subtle. Especially when devotion and loyalty always seemed to shine most prominently when she looked at her. Sayaka motioned (Y/n) to open the left side of the double doors while Sayaka herself opened the right, allowing Kirari to saunter right in. Any ambient noise that they had heard before died instantly upon the president’s entry.

The trio made their way to the back, center table and Sayaka pulled out the vacant chair that would serve as Kirari’s throne for the evening. Kirari sat gracefully, hooking one knee over the other she smiled down at the students who had already gathered around the free seats before connecting eyes with the election committee member who would serve as their dealer.

“Let us not waste anymore time. What are we playing tonight?” Kirari asked. (Y/n) could only see her side profile from where she stood beside Sayaka, but she swore those endlessly blue eyes were glowing.

***

Despite Kirari’s warning, (Y/n) found she was not bored at all. Kirari was a gambling beast. Claiming vote after vote until none remained and the room was quiet for a whole other reason, everyone had left, dejected and voteless.

“Another clean sweep Momobami-san. I’ll be sure to process the votes before the updated rankings come out tomorrow.” Inaho informed.

“I see. Thank you for your diligence.” Kirari replied offhandedly as she rose from her seat. “Sayaka, is my car waiting out front?”

“Of course, president.” Sayaka nodded.

“Let’s be on our way then.”

(Y/n) walked with them until they reached the school gate. Expecting to go their separate ways from there, but when she made to continue past the expensive black car, Kirari stopped her.

“I hope you weren’t planning on waking home. It’s already quite late you know.”

“I always walk home, actually. It’s really not that far. I’ll be fine.” (Y/n) assured.

“If you live so close then come with us. I’ll have the driver drop you off.” Kirari left no room for argument, cementing her position by waving (Y/n) into the doorway Sayaka had pulled open.

“If you insist...” (Y/n) crawled in and sat at the far end of the car. She was amazed at how spacious it was in there and how soft the seats were. The vehicle also still had that new car smell, (Y/n) vaguely wondered if the Momobamis just bought a new car every week.

Kirari crawled in soon after her, followed by Sayaka closing the door tightly behind her. The secretary signaled the driver before pushing a button that closed the privacy window, blocking the driver’s view of them in the back seat.

(Y/n) tilted her head to look out the window however, her jaw was quickly snapped up between icy fingers, pulling her vision back to the interior of the car.

“Not this again.” Kirari tutted, keeping her hold on (Y/n)’s jaw, “Sayaka and I are right here. Surely you could spare us a few minutes of your attention.”

“Sorry.” (Y/n) gulped, feeling the icy fingers slide down her cheeks to her neck before pulling away. Staring at the two of them, their eyes, it was like being caught between the deepest depths of the sea and the furthest reaches of outer space. It was intense, who could blame (Y/n) for trying to look away.

“Ah,” Kirari startled (Y/n) by leaning fully against her side, resting her cheek fully against (Y/n)’s shoulder, “what a dull evening this has turned out to be. It’s only Monday as well.”

(Y/n) felt more weight press her a tad further against the car door and saw Sayaka lean against Kirari in turn like the three of them were toppled dominos.

“Keep pushing on president. The weekend will come faster than you think.” Sayaka assured, reaching one arm over Kirari to cover (Y/n)’s hand that was picking at the hem of her skirt, stilling the movement and further confusing the poor girl.

“Mm, but do I have anything to look forward to this weekend dear Say-a-ka?” Kirari playfully tapped Sayaka’s nose for each syllable of her name, causing the secretary’s nose to scrunch cutely.

“Well, that’s the gamble, isn’t it?” Sayaka answered back, her eyes shifted to meet (Y/n)’s as of trying to convey something to her.

“Mm, I suppose you’re right.” Kirari agreed, joining Sayaka’s hand over (Y/n)’s.

“What gamble? Is it for the election?” (Y/n) asked, dipping a metaphorical toe into the conversation. Even if Kirari seemed to want her attention, that didn’t necessarily mean she wanted her commentary. She still didn’t know where she was supposed to fit in this new role. Kirari, however, seemed pleased with her query.

“No, it’s a separate affair. I’m looking forward to seeing how it plays out. Sayaka rarely indulges me when it comes to such things. Tell me, (Y/n),” Kirari’s eyes glinted, “which of us do you think will come out on top?”

“Kirari!” Sayaka scolded halfheartedly.

(Y/n) felt her cheeks prickle with heat. Was that supposed to be an innuendo or did Sayaka simply want to keep the gamble to themselves? She wasn’t sure. Still, it would be unwise to drop the subject when the president was so clearly waiting for an answer.

“I’m afraid I’m not sure, president.” (Y/n) answered diplomatically. “What are you gambling for, if I may ask?”

“That, dear (Y/n),” Kirari drew in close, “is a secret for another time.”

(Y/n) gulped at the proximity then sighed when Kirari pulled back to play with Sayaka’s ponytail. She was somehow both relieved and disappointed to have her own space back.

“It appears we’ve reached your destination.” Kirari spoke as the car came to a smooth stop at the curb. “Be sure to get a good night’s sleep. Don’t think Sayaka and I hadn’t noticed the dark circles under your eyes.”

“Yes, please sleep well (Y/n).” Sayaka echoed, earning a chuckle from Kirari.

“You also sleep too little for my liking. Don’t think I forgot about that ‘accidental’ phone call at four in the morning last week.” Kirari taunted lightly.

“Kirari!” Sayaka covered her eyes, embarrassed.

“I’ll try to get some sleep.” (Y/n) smiled, stepping out of the car. She bent over to look back in, “Thank you for the ride. Good night, sleep well. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

(Y/n) stood straight up and closed the car door. She walked to the curb outside her house and waved at the car as it picked up speed and disappeared down the road.

No one else was home. They were either out working or out on business retreats or cocktail parties so the first thing (Y/n) did upon entering her home was yell about the fucking weird turn her life was taking.

***

It was Friday and (Y/n) felt like she had aged thirty years in the last four days. For some reason beyond her comprehension, Sayaka and Kirari had become even more... touchy, since Monday. Every touch, especially from Kirari, seemed methodical. Like they were trying to provoke a certain reaction from (Y/n). What kind, she wasn’t sure. But they would often say some sweet words and get way too close to (Y/n)’s face. Close enough that if (Y/n) didn’t keep her wits about her, she was worried she’d close the short distance and kiss one of them.

“I don’t know what they’re making you do over there in that council room, but I think you need to ask for a vacation or something because you look like shit.” Tsubasa had lovingly told (Y/n) during class.

“I don’t know what they’re trying to do to me.” (Y/n) groaned, rubbing her palms harshly against her eyes.

“What are they doing to you?”

“I don’t even know how to explain. ‘Don’t think I want to.” (Y/n) leaned further into her desk.

“They’re trying to seduce you already, huh?” Tsubasa grinned.

“No!” (Y/n) hissed back. “Stop saying stuff like that!”

“Well, whatever’s going on, you clearly need a break.”

“I would love a break, but in case you forgot, I pretty much sold my soul to the president for the rest of high school. It doesn’t seem like an option.”

“I have an idea. What if you just, broke your legs?” Tsubasa suggested, looking pleased with themself. (Y/n) frowned at them, unimpressed.

“How the hell would that help?”

“Bed rest. Can’t really follow them around all day with broken legs now can you?”

“They’d probably get me a wheelchair. It’s make more sense to fake having tuberculosis or something. Rather than actually break my own legs.”

“Oh now you’re all about self preservation. Where did octopus girl go?” Tsubasa mocked jokingly. (Y/n) rolled her eyes.

“That’s it!”

(Y/n) and Tsubasa jumped in their seats and all their classmates swiveled in their seats to look back at them. Their algebra teacher seemed to have finally had enough of their little conversation.

“(L/n)-san, can you tell me what I just said?”

“No sir, I apologize.” (Y/n) quickly replied, heat crawling up her neck and settling in her cheeks.

“That’s what I thought,” the teacher shook his head despondently before switching his gaze to Tsubasa who looked largely unaffected, “I’m not even going to ask you. I need both of you to stay after class.”

“But, but lunch!” Tsubasa cried, their expression turned on a dime.

“It won’t take long. Everyone else may leave a few minutes early so we can have the classroom to ourselves.”

(Y/n) watched everyone else get up to leave. Her eyes caught Sayaka’s and she felt even more embarrassed at the sympathetic wave she gave her before following the rest of the class out of the door.

***

“Man, that teacher had no chill today, huh?” Tsubasa grinned when they finally came out of the classroom.

“Yeah, now I’m late. Thanks for making me suffer through that talk.” (Y/n)’s frown deepened.

“It’s about time honestly. I was starting to think he had a bias against me.”

“My work shows I’m learning something. You never get above a ‘D’, so of course he’d be more pissed at you.” (Y/n) looked up at the clock on the wall and noted the time,  “I’ve got to get to the student council room. I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, maybe we should get in trouble more often. I hardly get to see you these days.”

“I’d really rather not make a habit of getting chewed out by teachers. I got to go.” (Y/n) called over her shoulder, already making her way to the student council room. When she arrived, the door was already partly ajar and she heard Sayaka and Kirari talking to each other.

“Time is running out for our little gamble Sayaka. At our current standings it appears that we both may lose.”

(Y/n) paused just out of sight. She had forgotten about Sayaka and Kirari’s secret gamble. With a wave of curiosity flowing through her she stood quietly, waiting to see if she could hear anything else about the wager.

“You do like a challenge, Kirari. I can’t imagine she could hold out much longer though. I’m sure (Y/n) would have kissed me yesterday if you had not sent Midari to interfere.”

(Y/n) knew what Sayaka was referring to instantly. Yesterday, she and Sayaka had paused to sit at the fountain in the courtyard. Sayaka had told (Y/n) she had something in her hair and combed her fingers through it, smiling tenderly all the while. They had been so close, then Midari ran up and belly flopped into the shallow waters, dousing her fellow Sazanka classmates with it. (Y/n) never would have thought Sayaka had actually wanted to kiss her before that moment.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Kirari giggled, “Besides, (Y/n) and I have had a few close encounters ourselves. It’s anyone’s game.”

(Y/n) was in shock. We’re they really trying to make her kiss on of them for a gamble? Her blood began to boil. Was this all just some funny game to them? They knew about her feelings for Sayaka, they had to be making fun of her.

(Y/n) roughly gripped the door handle and swung the door open, startling Sayaka, but Kirari simply looked back with a raised brow and an amused smile.

“I don’t care that I have to be a secretary to a secretary for the rest of my days at this academy, but I refuse to be played with like this!” (Y/n) shot angrily. “Oh, (Y/n)’s so pathetic and desperate! Let’s see if we can get her to kiss one of us so we can laugh about it later!” (Y/n) mocked. “Well, I refuse to be walked over like this.”

“Oh, (Y/n)! It’s not like that I swear!” Sayaka pleaded, stepping towards (Y/n) only for the other girl to step away from her.

“(Y/n),” Kirari singsonged, “you are talking about things you do not fully understand. Come sit so we can discuss this and shed some clarity on the situation.”

“No!” (Y/n) clenched her firsts tightly against her sides. “I need some time to myself.”

“(Y/n), wait!” Sayaka called after her, but (Y/n) was already darting out the door and jogging down the hall.

She kept going, slipping out a side exit and headed to one of the back trails of the school forest. As she continued on, she happened upon a small pond, filled with algae. There was a large flat bolder at the shore that looked about just as good a place as any to host a mental breakdown so she sat there, pulling her knees to her chest. (Y/n) sat there looking at a frog that rested half submerged in the duckweed and algae. She felt her phone buzz in her pocket but she ignored it.

“Fuck school.” She muttered to herself. She was sure it was a text from Kirari. Lunch period had ended ten minutes ago and she was supposed to be in class right now. “I’m taking a vacation day.”

Something startled the frog and it dipped under the water, leaving the duckweed to swirl above the disturbed surface. Then a body came into (Y/n)’s peripheral and sat beside her on the boulder and she jerked her head to fully take in the invader.

“Vice president.” (Y/n) stared at the upperclassman, startled by her ghostly presence “What are you doing here?”

“Kirari tasked me with retrieving you and returning you to your studies.” Ririka’s voice crackled beneath the mask.

“I see. I can’t say I’m surprised, it was part of the deal after all.” (Y/n) frowned pensively.

“It was too easy to find you. Now we will just have to stay here for awhile. I could use a nap.”

(Y/n) stared at the vice president, her mouth slightly agape while she watched the masked girl lay back against the rock. Ririka laced her fingers over her stomach and released a relaxed breath. Though through the modulator it sounded more like a ghostly moan.

“You aren’t going to make me go back?” (Y/n) asked.

“Not yet, making Kirari wait should be a more than fitting punishment for being such an idiot.”

“Hh... huh?” (Y/n) didn’t know what to think about any of this. Was she seriously hanging out with the vice president now? Listening to her call the most terrifying person in the school an idiot?

“She has a uniquely awful way of dealing with her feelings that is simply exhausting. I thought once she and Sayaka got together she’d smarten up a bit, but Sayaka continues to indulge in her nonsense.” Ririka looked up at (Y/n) through the black mesh that covered her eyes, “They really do like you, you know.”

“You must be mistaken, vice president.” (Y/n) shook her head, a humorless laugh bubbled past her lips. “It’s all just for some stupid gamble.”

“I never said they were good at conveying it in a way that makes sense.” Ririka shrugged. “Kirari’s idea of a love letter to Sayaka was a five story tower that came with a four out of five chance of death. You should feel relieved that they dialed it back for you.”

“I don’t understand. I heard them talking. It was all for a gamble to see who could make me kiss them.”

“Did you hear what the wager was?” Ririka asked.

“No, but does it really matter?” (Y/n) sighed, looking back out at the pond.

“The winner would get to go out on a date with you first and the loser would have to pay for it.”

(Y/n) stared down at Ririka incredulously.

“Believe me, I know it makes no sense. They both intend to date you, but they don’t seem to know how to go about asking.”

“But, aren’t they already dating each other? I don’t...” (Y/n) went quiet, trying to piece it all together. Her head was starting to hurt.

“It all started during the tournament. We noticed Sayaka was agitated watching the event, but we really didn’t understand why until the octopus round. Kirari wouldn’t let it go, of course. So she finally got Sayaka to admit that she had a crush on you before meeting her.” Ririka recalled.

“Then they spent the following couple days talking about that, and about the possibility of inviting you to join them on a date and then, yeah, you see where that all spiraled off to.”

“That’s... they really like me like that?” (Y/n) whispered.

“Yes, you have my condolences.” Ririka’s phone rumbled in her pocket and she took it out to check it. (Y/n)’s phone rumbled not too long after.

While Ririka read her sister’s text, (Y/n) read her own.

Five new messages

12:14pm

President Momobami: (Y/n), I hope you aren’t planning on backing out on our agreement. I will give you one class period of reprieve, then you must get back to class. We will talk after school.

12:15pm

Igarashi Sayaka: (Y/n), where are you? I’m so sorry, but I swear it’s not what you think.

12:18pm

Igarashi Sayaka: I’m worried about you. Please come back.

12:19pm

Igarashi Sayaka: Please talk to me. At least let me know that you’re okay.

1:02pm

TsuBAKA: where r u? Igarashi looks feral lmao but srsly what u up to?

(Y/n) sighed and turned off her phone without answering any of the messages.

“It’s time to head back, (L/n)-san.” Ririka stood and stretched, “Please don’t make me drag you back as the president suggests.”

“Okay,” (Y/n) scooted off the boulder and smoothed her skirt into place, “thank you for explaining everything to me, Veep. I’m still kind of worked up, but this really helped.”

“When you work as closely with the president as I do, damage control becomes second nature.” Ririka deadpanned.

When they made their way back into the building it was within the five minute break between class periods. (Y/n) waved goodbye to Ririka before walking into her classroom where students were quietly talking amongst themselves. Immediately she heard a desk chair screech harshly against the floor and she looked up just in time to see Sayaka push her right back out the door. She took her by the hand and pulled her down the hall and turned the corner to a more secluded hallway.

“Ah!” (Y/n) gasped when Sayaka pulled her into a tight embrace.

“Where have you been? Why didn’t you answer my texts?” Sayaka scolded. “We really need to talk.”

“And we will,” (Y/n) pulled back from the hug a bit, “but first we better finish the school day. I’m already on thin ice for violating my contract with the president for one class period.”

“Don’t worry. She understands, we both do,” Sayaka took (Y/n)’s hands in hers, “But before we have to sit through another three class periods, I want to tell you how sorry I am. I promise it’s not what you thought, we just went about it in an entirely inappropriate way and I promise you I’ll do everything I can to make it right!” Sayaka proclaimed, growing steadily louder with each word, making (Y/n) wince, but also smile a small, appreciative smile nonetheless.

“Thank you, Sayaka. You’re well on your way to fulfilling that promise already.” (Y/n) lightly squeezed Sayaka’s hands before letting them go, making the secretary blush. “The teacher will be in soon, better get back to class.”

“Right.” Sayaka followed (Y/n) back into the classroom. Taking her seat, she had finally taken notice of the drumming of her heart. At least (Y/n) didn’t seem as devastated as she had when she stormed out of the student council room, but now she was worried for a whole other reason. Would (Y/n) still be interested in her after all of this, or was it all too much for her?

“What was that all about? Trouble in your office role play?”

“Shut up, Tsubasa.”

***

The classes dragged on and on. When they were finally done, all (Y/n) really wanted to do was go home and sleep the weekend away, but life had other plans.

Sayaka watched (Y/n) gather her belongings intently. As if she was afraid (Y/n) would disappear if she withdrew her gaze. With one last annoying look from Tsubasa, (Y/n) approached Sayaka and they made their way to the student council room together. Sayaka’s mind was whirring with the proper sentiments to convey to her classmate, yet she held her tongue. Deciding it would be best to do so with the president by her side.

Upon entering the room, they saw Kirari gazing into her aquarium. She was seemingly too lost to hear them enter, but of course someone like Kirari Momobami was never one to be caught off guard. Kirari turned to face her underclassmen, offering a slight smile.

“(Y/n), what a pleasant surprise. Are you done with your tantrum?” Kirari teased, much to Sayaka’s chagrin.

“President!” Sayaka warned, cheeks red.

“That depends,” (Y/n) crossed her arms, “are you going to explain yourselves?” (Y/n) doubted that the vice president would lie to her, but to hear it directly from the horse’s mouth would make her feel much more secure.

“Explanations,” Kirari sighed, moving to stand in front of (Y/n), “I don’t do explanations. Not in anyway that makes sense, at least, according to Sayaka,” smile never changing she turned her head to Sayaka, “perhaps you could explain the logistics of it, Sayaka?”

“I should have expected as much,” Sayaka grumbled lightly, earning a chuckle from Kirari. She took (Y/n) by the hand and sat her down on the large, plush couch nearby before taking a seat next to her, “(Y/n) in order to keep this as simple as possible, I’m going to be very brief. I’ll be happy to answer any questions once I present our case.” Sayaka spoke as if she was getting ready to do a presentation.

“Mm, so methodical.” Kirari hummed, taking the empty seat on (Y/n)’s other side, making their thighs touch despite the ample space left on the furniture. Sayaka ignored her and began her explanation.

“The president... Kirari and I, want to date you. Kirari came up with the idea that whichever one of us you kissed first would get to take you out somewhere first while the other had to pay and stay home. It wasn’t our intention to hurt you. We really should have just asked you like the vice president suggested. I’m really sorry.”

“I’m confused,” (Y/n) started, trying to ignore how Kirari kept dancing the fingers of one of her hands up and down (Y/n)’s thigh, presumably out of boredom, “If you both want to date me, why wouldn’t you just... why was the gamble a one or the other thing? Why wouldn’t you both get to go?”

Kirari’s fingers stopped tapping and Sayaka’s face drew a blank. (Y/n) took the silence as a sign to keep going.

“Like, okay, say this somehow worked and one of you took me out on a date. Then what? Did you think you could just... switch off? Were you actually planning to approach me about polygamy or was it supposed to be some kind of surprise? And doesn’t it sound backwards to kiss before we actually start dating anyway?”

“We hadn’t thought about that.” They answered in comical unison after a few moments of dead air silence.

“Wow, now I understand why the vice president is so tired.” (Y/n) released a laugh of disbelief, “You two are kind of hopeless, no offense.”

“I would advise you watch your tongue, (Y/n),” Kirari shifted her weight to loom over (Y/n) with their faces inches apart, “I had previously chosen to ignore your insubordination earlier, but if you’re going to tempt me, a punishment may be in order after all.”

“Here is the new gamble,” Kirari continued, eyes gleaming, “kiss Sayaka, and she wins, kiss me, and I win. Whoever loses still has to pay for the excursion, but gets to tag along. Of course, you could choose to walk out the door if you so desire. Just keep in mind that I technically own you.”

“Kirari! You can’t just coerce her like that! We already failed with the first gamble attempt. I’m all gambled out, can we not push (Y/n) further away please?” Sayaka pleaded.

“I’ll do it.” (Y/n) shrugged, standing up from her seat and turning to face the other two girls still on the couch.

“You... you will?” Sayaka asked. She really couldn’t believe it.

“Yeah, can you two stand up, please.”

“My, (Y/n). I must say I didn’t expect you to take the bait after our misunderstanding earlier,” Kirari stood up, poised as ever, “I’m excited to witness your choice.”

(Y/n) stared between her two choices, eyeing their expressions, their body language, for any last second tells that this was all just a dream or a cruel prank and found nothing. She took in a deep breath and nodded to herself.

“President.”

“Yes?” Kirari smirked. She hardly moved forward before (Y/n) stopped her.

“Could you lean down a little? A little more... great.” (Y/n) cupped Kirari’s left cheek and startled Sayaka by cupping the secretary’s right cheek. She pushed the duo’s heads together until they were cheek to burning cheek and angled their surprisingly pliant faces until they were more or less kissing each other awkwardly with the corner of their lips. With one quick look at her handy work, (Y/n) hummed and leaned in. It was hard to do so with so many noses in the way, but she tilted her head back and managed to land a chaste kiss on both the icy blue and glossy pink lips before her.

“Ha, bet you weren’t expecting that now, were you?” (Y/n) pulled back with a grin. It hadn’t been a sexy first kiss, but it was going to be a memorable one, that was for sure.

After a beat of silence, Kirari began to laugh. Sayaka smiled beneath the hand she had brought up to her lips.

“So now what happens?” (Y/n) asked, feeling a bit smug for finding some kind of loophole in the gamble, until- “MMPH!”

Kirari’s lips met (Y/n)’s fervently and just as quickly as she descended, she pulled back just a hair to speak, her lips brushed against (Y/n)’s now quivering ones with each word. “That’s the best part, (Y/n),” Kirari paused for a kitten lick at the corner of (Y/n)’s lips, “You see, we had discussed what we would do if you had decided to play us both in our original gamble. Since Sayaka and I have both won, we choose what we will do together, the three of us, and you will pay.”

“What!?” (Y/n) felt sweat slide down her cheek, swearing she could hear it sizzle out once it came into contact with the heated flesh. Her tongue darted out of her mouth of its own volition to taste the tacky flavor of the blue lipstick residue Kirari had left on her lips. Kirari was going to kiss her like that and then try to pull a fast one on her like that? “You can’t do that! That was the previous gamble! The rules changed when you presented this new version of it to me!”

“Perhaps you should have asked me what would happen in the event of a tie then. I had decided your punishment would be for me to withhold the trivial information about ties.” Kirari smirked, running her fingers through (Y/n)’s hair. “If it makes you feel any better, your solution was still a bit of a surprise. We had only accounted for you kissing each of us behind the other’s back, not kissing us at the same time. Had you tried to be secretive in your advances, Sayaka and I would have had a lovely night to ourselves at your expense.”

“Oh that’s such—!” (Y/n)’s jaw was pulled to the side and her lips were captured by someone else. This kiss was much softer, and lasted a tad longer. When Sayaka pulled back

(Y/n) had forgotten how she was going to cuss out Kirari, which was probably a blessing.

“I know it was an absolute mess to get to this point, and I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I’m so glad Midari came up with that idiotic gambling event.” Sayaka smiled, resting her forehead against (Y/n)’s arm.

“Yes, this has been quite the interesting development. I’m looking forward to seeing how this turns out,” Kirari added, speaking more as if this was a science experiment rather than a major change in a relationship dynamic with not just (Y/n), but Sayaka as well.

“You two are so fucking weird.” (Y/n) laughed breathlessly, swinging an arm around both of them to hug them close, “You’re both lucky I like you guys so much.”

“You’re lucky you piqued my interest or you would find yourself as a house pet before you could say mittens.” Kirari easily replied.

“Get along you two. Can we not just enjoy the moment?” Sayaka sighed.

“Are we not getting along? I thought we were doing just fine.” Kirari asked, tilting her head slightly to the side.

“Sorry Sayaka.” (Y/n) apologized sheepishly, hesitantly resting her cheek on the top of Sayaka’s head.

The door to the council room clicked open and Sayaka and (Y/n) startled and moved away from their little group huddle.

“Oh, it’s just you.” Kirari smirked as she watched her sister come in and close the door behind her. “Look Ririka,” Kirari spoke, a hint of excitement audible in her tone as she pulled Sayaka and (Y/n) back to her body, “I’ve got two girlfriends. That’s 200% more girlfriends than you possess.”

Ririka rolled her eyes beneath her mask. “Godspeed, (L/n)-san.”

“You always tell me how unconventional-“

“The word I used was convoluted.” Ririka interjected, (Y/n) snorted.

“But it obviously works,” Kirari continued on, not at all discouraged, “if you need me to set you and Saotome up with something I’ll gladly offer you my expertise.”

“Entirely unnecessary. Besides, if Mary so much as smelled you anywhere near the vicinity of where we were, she wouldn’t be happy about it to say the least.”

“Have it your way, dear sister,” Kirari  shrugged, looping her arms with Sayaka and (Y/n)’s, “we three have much to discuss for our outing tomorrow so we’ll be on our way. I’ll see you when you decide to come home.” Ririka waved dismissively while Kirari guided Sayaka and (Y/n) out the large double doors.

“But, election gambles!” Sayaka’s reminder went ignored.

“Wait, sisters?” Ririka heard (Y/n) ask as the trio left the room and she shook her head. Ririka’s phone buzzed and she checked the text and smiled.

3:32pm

Mary: Hey dumb dumb, done talking to evil incarnate yet? I’d like to get to that movie before the previews start.

3:32pm

Ririka: omw <3️🏻

***

Saturday came and (Y/n) prayed for her bank account. She was far better off financially than a scholarship student, but she wasn’t Momobami level rich. She still couldn’t believe she had to pay after all of that nonsense. She waited outside of her house, casually dressed as per Sayaka’s instructions. When a familiar sleek, black car pulled up to her she got in and was warmly greeted by her dates.

“Alright,” (Y/n) smiled nervously, “what have you two decided on for today?”

“We’re going to drive to the ocean, have lunch at a lovely local bistro, and then walk along the beach. Isn’t that right Kirari?” Sayaka leveled a look at Kirari that screamed no funny business.

“Yes,” Kirari sighed, “I wanted to go to the moon again, but Sayaka wouldn’t agree to it.”

“T... to the moon, again.” (Y/n) slowly parroted. She turned to Sayaka and shared her gratitude to the secretary with a light kiss on the cheek and a whispered thanks for rescuing her trust fund.

Lunch was great, a lovely view of the ocean from the outdoor deck they were dining on. They shared bites of their meals together, talked and laughed. They had a wonderful time and (Y/n) was surprised by the normalcy she felt sitting there with Kirari and Sayaka.

Then they walked on the beach, feeling the sand squish and grind between their toes. (Y/n) carried both hers and Sayaka’s shoes with one hand while the other was entangled with Sayaka’s fingers. Sayaka’s other hand was held by Kirari as the lightly swung their hands with each step. Eventually they slowed down and found a nice place to sit for awhile and watch the waves with some ice cream from a nearby vendor. After their rest, they continued walking along the shore, looking for neat shells and rocks.

As the sky turned pink, they watched how the sun seemed to get swallowed by the sea and they took that as their sign to start heading back home. They made their way back up to the nearest sidewalk where their driver was already waiting for them and piled into the car, giggling and recapping their favorite moments of the day.

They were about halfway home when Sayaka fell asleep. The car being as spacious as it was, allowed for the secretary to be maneuvered so that her head rested in (Y/n)’s lap and Kirari could move to sit on (Y/n)’s other side to leave room for Sayaka’s legs. Kirari and (Y/n) continued to talk quietly together. (Y/n) yawned, prompting Kirari to pull (Y/n)’s head into her chest.

“Sleep,” Kirari soothed, cool fingers rested against (Y/n)’s hairline, “I’ll wake you upon our arrival.”

(Y/n) nodded against Kirari’s chest and dozed off. Allowing the smooth motions and gentle whirring sounds of the car, as well as the even beats of Kirari’s heart, to lull her to sleep.

Kirari watched the blurred city lights come into view from the far window of the car. Her left hand lightly massaged (Y/n)’s scalp while her right held Sayaka’s. The younger girl had a cute habit of sleeping with her hands near her face, sometimes going as far to completely cover her nose and mouth. Kirari often wondered how she could even breathe like that. Kirari chuckled quietly and raised Sayaka’s hand to her lips, giving a kiss before lowering it again gently, the movement stirred Sayaka, but ultimately she remained asleep, snuggling further into (Y/n)’s lap.

Next, she rested her face in (Y/n)’s hair, inhaling the newer scent that seemed to compliment her own and Sayaka’s so well. She could really get used to this. Kirari pressed a kiss in (Y/n)’s hair. Kirari didn’t receive a reaction, but she simply chalked that up to be due in part by the stress of the week wrecking (Y/n)’s sleep schedule.

Kirari would have felt regret for having to wake them both, if not for the fact that she was excited to see their sleepy, grumpy faces staring bleary eyed at her. It was far too cute.

“This isn’t my house?” (Y/n) mumbled tiredly, rubbing her eyes.

“You disclosed earlier that your household is empty most weekends. Sayaka’s and my own are much the same. It will be nice not to have to spend the rest of the night alone, will it not?”

“I guess, but I’ll probably pass out as soon as I touch a pillow.” (Y/n) shivered as the cool night air hit her body. Sayaka, who was also too tired to function, latched on to (Y/n) in an attempt to keep warm.

“That’s the plan, now please, come in.”

If (Y/n) wasn’t so exhausted she would freak out at the vastness of Kirari’s estate. They got into a freaking elevator at one point and then kept walking down the grand corridor passing door after door, until they finally stopped at one and Kirari ushered them inside. Large fish tanks framed the walls, painting the dark room in a soft blue, ambient light.

Kirari guided (Y/n) and Sayaka to the bathroom to brush their teeth and to just get ready to sleep comfortably in general. Sayaka already had her own toothbrush there and scrubbed at her teeth with her eyes drooping shut.

“Don’t forget to take out your contacts.” Kirari reminded her softly before opening a nearby cabinet to supply (Y/n) with a toothbrush of her own. (Y/n) never would have dreamed the girl who came up with the house pet system could be so gentle.

The three girls brushed their teeth and washed their faces. Then they changed into some pajamas that Kirari had provided and made their way to the opposite side of the room where the bed lay. A bed that probably could sleep a family of five comfortably.

Kirari pulled back the covers and crawled in. Sayaka was quick to follow and was unusually demanding, curling into Kirari while also tugging (Y/n) in behind her. They snuggled into the silky sheets, holding each other close. (Y/n) had almost fallen back asleep before Sayaka sat up in bed with a cute, little frown on her face.

“Wait, goodnight kisses.”

(Y/n) almost laughed, simply believing Sayaka was too tired to filter her thoughts and desires, but the Kirari sat up as well

“I almost thought you had forgotten, Say-a-ka. Here,” Kirari pulled Sayaka in and gave her a short and sweet kiss that made the secretary hum happily.

“(Y/n),” Sayaka turned with an uncharacteristic pout, sleepy Sayaka was too cute, “come up, you too.”

“Okay, I’m coming.” (Y/n) sat up, allowing Sayaka to clumsily bump into her lips before the secretary fell back against the pillows, content.

“May I have one?” Kirari smirked, leaning over Sayaka’s body between them.

“You may.” (Y/n) had hardly gotten the words out before Kirari swooped in.

“Good night.” Kirari whispered, noting that Sayaka had already fallen back asleep.

“Good Night, Kirari.” (Y/n) smiled back as she wormed back under the covers to snuggle against Sayaka’s back. Kirari slipped back under the covers as well, draping an arm over Sayaka side and one of (Y/n)’s arms to rub them soothingly with her cool, soft skin.

Before long, Kirari and (Y/n) fell asleep along side Sayaka to the sound of bubbling water and the hum of the fish tanks surrounding them.

[duckymcdoorknob]

The Fall of Red Riot

Warning! This is a tickle fic!

Ships: KiriBaku

The breakdown: Lee!Kirishima, Ler!Bakugo and Ler!Kaminari

Warnings: tickling, swearing, fluff overload

Prompt: The 1-A boys are hanging in the classroom during lunch and they’re stumped. They could not get Kirishima to spill his biggest secret: his crush. Bakugo rolls his eyes and volunteers his methods...

“There’s gotta be some way!” Kaminari whined.

“No way! I’m never telling any of you!” Kirishima barked in response.

“Tch, we’ll get it out of you at some point, shitty hair.” Bakugo noted coolly.

“OYE DON’T CALL ME THAT!” Kirishima yelled.

The boys groaned as they all ate their lunches. It was just them and Aizawa, who naturally was asleep, all alone in the classroom.

Kirishima was in a really fuckin’ bad place; he was being pestered by his friends. They all wanted to know who his secret crush was. Luckily, due to his quirk, the boy could withstand anything.

“There isn’t anything?” Midoriya questioned, “not even one thing?”

“Punch me, kick me, swirly, wet willie, draw on me, whatever you want. I’m not talkin’.” Kirishima answered bravely.

Bakugo let out a scoff as he rolled his eyes. “You’re all idiots”

“Well I don’t see you offering any ideas, Kacchan!” Deku grew defensive.

“Literally you’re all fucking stupid.” Bakugo was getting agitated; are they all really this dense?

Deku and Bakugo glared daggers at each other before Bakugo squeezed Deku’s sides.

The smaller boy yelped and leaped at least a foot in the air.

The blonde scoffed, rolled his eyes, then finally spoke up, “there’s your method. Try it out, I’m sure it’ll work.”

Kirishima, who had not been paying attention, turned toward Bakugo, “What method? What do you mean Bakubro?”

“Well now that you’ve got him wondering, I think that you should do the honors.” Kaminari chimed.

Deku grinned menacingly while Bakugo tackled Kirishima and straddled him.

“W-woah there! What gives, Bakugo?” Kirishima grew anxious, what the hell was this guy’s deal?

“Last chance to talk, shitty hair.” The blonde was smiling evilly, a side Kirishima had never seen before.

Red Riot sucked in a breath.

“Do your worst!” Kirishima cried preparing for inevitable pain, “what man can’t take a little pain?”

“Wh-Pain?” Deku asked with furrowed brows, “no-no! You got it all wrong. Kacchan is just going to exploit your body’s sensitivity is all.”

“Ohh!” Kirishima beamed. Then the realization struck, “oh”

Bakugo rolled his eyes. “Way to go shitty Deku, now he knows the plan!”

Nonetheless, the Katuski clawed his hand and started to lower it down to an already giggling Kirishima’s tummy.

The red haired boy used his summer camp training: act quick in heavy pressure situations.

The hero in training hardened his skin, adding an extra layer to his abdomen, causing Bakugo to groan.

“Seriously? Your shitty quirk!” Bakugo rolled his eyes, “well I can wait here all day. And when the girls come back, you get to say which one you like in front of her.”

“HAVE YOU NO MERCY?” Kirishima roared.

The sudden loud noise awoke Aizawa. He was not a happy camper when he was woken up, especially from a good nap like this.

“You know what Bakubro! I’ll be fine holding out! I can keep my skin hard as long as I wish!” Kirishima yelled cockily.

Oh this will be good.

Aizawa stood up and stealthily stood next to Midoriya. He put a finger to his lip and winked at the greenette.

“How can you interrogate me with no method? You really didn’t think this through Bakubro.” Kirishima was getting cockier by the minute, “can’t tickle someone with no soft skin!”

Aizawa grinned.

Midoriya clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from spoiling another surprise.

As Aizawa’s hair stood up in an instant, Kirishima’s rock hard abdomen disappeared into a soft, pudgy, tummy.

“YES!” Bakugo cried

“M-MISTER AIZAWA!” Kirishima whined.

“You’re the one who woke me up. Just thought I’d keep my quirk alert Incase if any villains attack.” Aizawa responded in a monotone.

Bakugo didn’t hesitate. He immediately started scribbling his fingers along Kirishima’s sides.

The red haired boy kept his composure, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Oh? Nothing’s working huh.” Bakugo lifted his attack, “I guess we’ll just have to stop then.”

“Man you really suck at th- EEP!” Kirishima squeaked as Bakugo raised his arm above his head and poked the hollow of his arm.

It all happened so fast, Kirishima couldn’t even attempt to hold in his laughter.

“waihihihihit. Bahahahahakuhuhuhgohohoho!” Kirishima’s bubbly giggles melted Midoriya’s heart. Normally, Red Riot would be rolling all over laughing, but the uniform definitely helped minimize the feeling.

“You ready for talk yet?” Bakugo asked with a cocked grin.

“Nehehehehehever! Ihihihihihihihi cahahahan lahahahahast!” Kirishima manages through his uncontrollable giggling.

“Midoriya I might need some eye drops. This could take a while.” Aizawa muttered.

Deku chuckled and grabbed drops from Aizawa’s desk.

“You’re getting boring shitty hair. I’ll find your death spot and you’ll never stand a chance.”

“Jokes on you! You can’t even access it!” Kirishima spoke without thinking.

“Oh? Why is that? Is it blocked by me or clothes?” Bakugo cooed as he started to untuck Kirishima’s uniform shirt.

“Waihihihihit Bakubrohohohoho!” Kirishima giggled uncontrollably before any contact was made with his hyper-ticklish skin.

“What happened to being unbreakable? Where’s the great Red Riot now?” Bakugo teased as he prepares an assault, “I wonder if you share your worst spot with the shitty Deku.”

Deku yelped with wide eyes as attention turned to him. He could kill Kacchan.

“W-where’s his death spot?” Kirishima asked, followed by a gulp.

“Nowhere special. Just-“ Bakugo drilled his thumbs into Kirishima’s hips, “here.”

“BAHAHAHAHAHAKUHUHUHGOHOHOHOHO!” Kirishima cried out.

“Ohh maybe you do have the same death spot as Deku!” Bakugo teased confidently.

Kirishima’s bright belly laughter filled the room. All of the other boys gathered ‘round to see what was going down.

“Bakugo, you do know you just exposed Deku right?” Kaminari questioned with amusement.

“And I care because? I’m the only one who knows how to get him howling anyways.” Bakugo replied cockily.

A loud yelp was emitted from Deku’s side of the room after Aizawa took a squeeze at both of the boy’s hips.

“Well he’s not lying.” Aizawa said calmly.

“Come make yourself useful, Pikachu. Hold his arms up.” Bakugo commanded.

Kaminari obliged and soon Kirishima was under Bakugo’s mercy, meaning there would be none.

“Tell us Shitty Hair!” Bakugo spoke louder as he removed a hand from one of Red Riot’s hip, and added a scribbling hand to one of his underarms.

“NNGH- NEHEHEHEVEHEHEHEHER!” Kirishima cried.

The boys of class 1-A all shared the same look: fearful amusement. They now knew to never mess with Bakugo, especially after today.

Bakugo lifted his attack fully. “Alright Kirishima, you leave me no choice.”

Kirishima gulped nervously.

“Either you tell me your death spot, or I embarrass the hell out of you right now.” Bakugo said menacingly.

“Y-you. Fiend. You’ll get nothin’ outta me.” Kirishima barked in rebuttal.

“Suit yourself.” Bakugo said calmly, “Pikachu.”

Kaminari drew his attention to Bakugo. While this happened, Aizawa realized that Kirishima was too weak to use his quirk, so he retreated back to his sleeping bag.

“You might wanna sit on those arms, things are gonna get ugly.”

As Kaminari obliged, Bakugo began to pinch at the pudge right above Kirishima’s bikini line. This caused the hard-rock hero’s laughter to jump up an octave.

“Found it~” Bakugo purred in a low voice.

“BAHAHAHA! BAHAHAHAHAHAKUHUHUHUHUHUGOHOHOHOHOHO! MEHEHEHEHEHEHRCHYHEHEHEHE!” Kirishima tried to writhe from under the blonde’s evil clutches.

“Then tell us!” Bakugo demanded angrily.

“NOHOHOHOHOHO!” Kirishima whined in response.

“Then die.”

Bakugo’s evil smirk was all that Kirishima saw before his eyes squeezed shut and he was a screaming, blushing mess.

The blonde continued to squeeze the boy’s worst spot. But, he also demanded Kaminari to spider his fingers under Red Riot’s arms. And to top it all off, Bakugo started blowing fat raspberries on Kirishima’s abs.

Red Riot moved into quiet hysterics, unable to bear the tickly feeling.

“Maybe you should stop soon.” Tokoyami butted in, “He doesn’t look too good.”

“Shut up bird brain! He’s done when he confesses!” Bakugo barked back.

Kirishima was trying his best to get out of his friend’s clutches, he was even squeezing Kaminari’s butt with his free hands. But, It had no effect on the electric boy.

“BAHAHAHAKUGOHOHOHO, KAHAHAHAHAMINAHAHAHAHRIHIHIHI STAHAHAHAPPIT! Q-QUIHIHIHIHIHIT IHIHIHIHIT! I CAHAHAHAHANT TAHAHAHAHAKE IHIHIHIHT!” Kirishima squealed as tears leaked from his eyes.

“Last chance to tell us before we get you to exhaustion!” It was Kaminari’s turn to interrogate now.

“OKAY- OKAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAY IHIHIHIHILL TEHEHEHEHELL!” Kirishima cried.

The attack ceased, leaving Kirishima panting. After a few seconds of greedily gulping in air, Red Riot looked at his attackers, then his classmates. He had no dignity left, so why should he lie?

“It’s um... it’s...” shit. He needed to come up with a name quick, “it’s Mina.”

“You liar.” Kaminari said as he skittered his fingers once again.

“IHIHIHIM NOHOHOHOT LYIHIHIHIHING!” Kirishima cried.

“That’s enough Pikachu. He knows to tell us the truth.” Bakugo unstraddled Kirishima, Kaminari did the same. The blonde reached a hand out and helped Red Riot to his feet.

His classmates surrounded him in a circle, there was nowhere to run.

“Ah jeez. This is gonna be embarrassing.” Kirishima spoke softly.

“Just say it!” Kaminari commanded.

“It’s Ururaka!” Kirishima yelped.

“No! You’re still lying! I know when you lie because your quirk activates on only your hands!” Bakugo yelled.

“Mister Aizawa! The one time I needed you to erase my quirk!” Kirishima groaned bashfully.

“Just tell us dude we won’t judge you.” Kaminari said with a reassuring hand on Red Riot’s shoulder.

Kirishima looked at all of his classmates curious faces. What if they judged him? What if they didn’t want to be his friend anymore because of who he liked?

“W..well.. um...” Kirishima closed his eyes and sighed, “it’s.. its B-Bakugo.”

Bakugo’s eyes widened along with all the other boys.

“I.. I shouldn’t have said that...” Kirishima said before running out of the room.

“Kirishima! Stop!” Bakugo yelled.

The blonde went chasing after Red Riot, leaving the rest of the class dazed.

“What did I miss?” Aizawa asked with a yawn. He saw all of his confused students, “Jesus was it Mt. Lady or something?”

“N-no... Kacchan” Deku spoke quietly.

“Oh that was obvious.” Aizawa said with an amused breath of air. “Now I owe All-Might 200 Yen.”

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Tony Stark’s son (Part 2)

Tony Stark x son!reader

warnings:

a/n: had to split it into 2 parts bc i hit the text limit dhshaggags

prompt: continued

part 1

~sokovia was ur first big mission~

“why is y/n here, stark?” -cap

“the first mistake was letting me become a father”

“good god, tony...”

you having the time of your life crushing robots

“WHEEEEEE”

also proving useful by saving avengers a handful of times

“thanks for the assist, stark clone” -clint

rip pietro

rhodey was actually the most worried about you if we’re being honest, he didn’t understand why they let you in this one???

“y/n? y/n, talk to me! are you alive?”

“yes, uncle rhodey! i’m perfect, stop worrying!”

“i love you, kid! be safe!”

✨a good family you’ve got✨

soon the avengers broke up bc your dad cant get along with steve and it was just really awkward

but you chose your dad’s side

“sorry, steve! he pays my allowance!”

peter was actually a little okay, you know!! spazzy at first, but he was cool

“dude, you’re y/n stark! you’re tony stark’s very own son! i’m talking to mr. stark’s only child!”

“yep, that’s me. i’m what earned tony the title of ‘DILF’”

teenage teamup? ofc

“am i doing alright?”

“looking a-okay, pete!”

tony was worried fighting steve would traumatize you so he made you wait at the hotel with happy and peter

“don’t do anything to embarrass me, y/n. i dont want to see you on the news for something stupid”

you and peter ended up hanging out in your room and watching tv and ordering room service

“how do you do that so smoothly? i’d just freak out and go get it myself”

“years of experience as a spoiled rich brat”

absolutely positively being up all night and trying to fight your exhaustion

“you two seem to be getting along well. couldn’t be me” -happy

“for someone named happy, you never seem to be happy”

“not around teenagers, no”

“i remember when you loved me, ‘uncle happy’”

peter texted you every day after that

whenever flash picked on peter for “never meeting tony stark” he’d show a picture of you and him taking selfies in the lab together yes you invite him over much to the dismay of everyone else around you

plus tony was out of town and you were finally trusted enough to be left alone unchecked so like, happy would just leave at the first sign of peter

“that’s not real!”

“jealous?”

you actually showed up for homecoming on a dare (but in disguise)

didn’t wanna attract all the attention, you just wanted a high school experience

but you got called into avengers tower to help move early on :/ bad timing too cuz peter had to fight his first villain and u missed it

“dude, how do you feel?”

“bruh sound effect number two”

“oh my god”

FRIDAY heard him and pulled up the sound and you were WEAK you couldn’t stop laughing

“please....i think i broke a few ribs. cant laugh until tomorrow”

tony offered peter the avengers gig and peter said no, you were very disappointed but u understood that not everyone wanted to be in the spotlight like that

but you and peter obviously still hung out

oh, tony proposed! they interviewed you on sight!

“y/n, how does it feel to know that you’re going to have a stepmom soon?”

“you guys are aware that pepper helped raise me, right? right?!”

moving on, life was smooth for a while, there was some wedding planning, talk of you being a best man (which rhodey fought you on)

“no, i’ve known your dad longer!”

“i’m his son!”

i n v a s i o n

oh boy that was rough

bruce was surprised that you had fucking grown so much in the past 3 years good lord

“y/n...your VOICE”

“puberty, i know. when’s it gonna happen to you?”

“it hurts more when it’s from a teenager”

“uh, did you forget my birthday?”

peter’s back! peter’s back!

finally, man

“spider-kid, i could use an assist!”

“on the way!”

“aliens, why did it have to be aliens?”

up up and away for tony and peter, leaving you on the ground with all the earthly chaos and fear

“you two are the absolute worst, you know that? DAD, PETER, GET BACK DOWN HERE”

“no can do, kid. i—” *cuts off*

“oh great, no service on the space donut, huh? find a damn wifi password and call me back you asshole”

pepper was probably having a heart attack bc the news stations were having a field day but you were one of the only active avengers left, meaning you had to help clean this up

“bruce, we gotta get going”

“what? where?”

“upstate”

patching up the avengers as best as you could to take care of the threat

but you guys always win, this should be a cake walk, right?

wrong.

this was bad, very bad

after a lengthy battle with thanos in wakanda, you had failed. thanos got the stones, he snapped. the world was in ruins. but you didn’t get to see that part

you dusted away

“tell dad i’m sorry and i love him”

tony finally came back to earth hoping to see you, but upon seeing pepper’s face, he knew you were gone

“he did everything he could, tony! he didn’t deserve it!”

she was extremely upset, she saw you like a son of her own

soon, her and tony restarted their life and had a daughter, dad always wondered what it’d be like to have a little girl. it was different, it really was

she was eager to meet you

morgan stole pictures of you to hang up in her room

“when i meet y/n, im gonna give him a big hug! then we’ll have a tea party!”

tony has a picture of you and peter in the kitchen, he misses the two of you, but found comfort in the fact that you may be with each other

an ounce of hope, he had to try something

save his only son, and his other son

when he got to 2012, he was disappointed that he hadn’t let you become an avenger yet because he couldn’t see you here

yada yada he fucked up now he’s in the 70s and he fixed the fuck up and now hes in 2023

and bruce snapped

and you were all brought back and the way you kicked ass was inspiring

tony had to see his son now. right now.

“y/n, dear god! you’re okay! oh, man. i love you so much, kid. i missed you”

“i love you too. and i can’t believe you went to space without me, meanie”

“get over it”

ah, back to old times

peter and you obviously had to team up for this one! come on, what a story to tell!

and then, a snap and the warriors began to fade. you turned around and saw him on his knees

“no...”

you rushed over to where peter already was and tried to hold back tears, to be strong for him

“hey, dad. i’m here. no more missed goodbyes, okay? i’m here.”

you sat beside him and held his hand while the rest of your family made their peace with him and he finally slipped away

“y/n...are you okay?” -peter

“not even a little”

peter was worried about you, but you were worried about peter

mutual worry

meeting morgan was...surprising

pepper forgot to tell you they had a daughter while you were gone

she was so sweet and for the first month you lived at the cabin, she slept in your room

you got NO space

“i love you y/n”

“love you too” *thinking about dad bc she just reminds you of him so much*

“i love you y/n”

“love you too, morgan”

over and over

peter and you had sleepovers a lot, usually at his house bc you were the only one besides ned allowed over bc of all the spider-stuff

ned fanboyed over you

also sleepovers at peter’s were a nice break from being at tony’s cabin where you were constantly reminded that he wasn’t there

“y/n, i’m going to europe for a field trip! it’s gonna be awesome!”

“dude, you’re gonna love it. are you bringing your suit?”

“no, this is my offical vacation. no spider-manning”

“good for you, man!”

peter sent you all the pictures he took on his phone

all of them

Peter-Man: And this one is me and Ned in our crappy hotel room. And here’s the river. And here’s MJ covered in birds, and here’s the airplane, Mr. Harrington fell asleep on me

you had to come to europe once you heard what was going on

happy and you picked up peter and he was a mess

“you gave away dad’s glasses?”

“i think we’re past the point that i am not smart”

“jesus, peter. you should have called me about them. i would have taken them off your hands if you weren’t ready for them”

having to make sure that you guys didn’t get hurt bc this was honestly your guy’s first solo pair-up

there wasnt much backup here

finally, you defeated the evil (who apparently held a very large grudge against you. sorry mister beck) and were able to go back home

“call me if you need anything, pete”

“i will. i promise.”

and the next thing you know...peter’s identity was exposed

“i left him alone for one day!”

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @rorybutnotgilmore // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @natasha-danvers // @lokihiddles // @frostedgiant // @emygirl // @lotsoffandomrecs // @johnmurphyisbisexual // @teenwaywardasgardian // @pappydaddy // @captainshazamerica // @freya-xo // @ravenmoore14 // @purpleskiesstorm //

[bubonickitten]

Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Chapter summary: An examination of endings and how to realize them.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 24: brief claustrophobia; some RSD/fear of abandonment stuff; extensive discussion of death (this chapter’s all about Terminus, babey); allusions to past suicidal ideation on Jon’s part; mentions of eye gouging/blinding (not graphic); some internalized victim blaming; anxiety symptoms; spider mentions; swears. Let me know if I missed anything!

Chronic fear has been Jon’s baseline for so long, it’s difficult for him to conceptualize what he would be were it to abandon him. In some ways, he’s become acclimated to it. On the other hand, fear is a volatile, prolific thing, its many shades relentlessly coalescing and mutating to form new strains. It all but guarantees that the Eye will never truly be sated: there will always be some heretofore unknown species of terror to discover, experience, and add to its collection.

Sprinkled in amongst the more noteworthy moments of abject terror and the constant background pressure of existential dread, there are smaller fears: everyday anxieties; pervasive insecurities; acute spikes of panic and adrenaline. Each discrete instance may pale in comparison to life-threatening peril, but muddled together and given time to ferment, they compound. They feed into one another. Sometimes, they come to attract the attention of larger, far more forbidding monsters.

In this way, Jon is no different from the average person – and one of the oldest, most deep-rooted of those comparatively banal fears is his fear of rejection, of disappointing, of being seen and found lacking. It guided his path long before his first supernatural encounter, and in many ways, it still does. His self-awareness of that fact does little to dampen its influence.

So it’s vexing, but not surprising, that the foremost concern vying for his attention right now is whether this might be that final straw that chases Georgie away for good. She sits with her hands clasped in front of her mouth, eyes closed and brow furrowed as she gathers her thoughts. The longer she remains silent, the more time Jon has to run through all the worst-case scenarios.

It’s already difficult for him to capture a full breath under the crushing weight of anticipation. It doesn’t help that his intermittent claustrophobia has decided that right now is the perfect time to manifest. A tunnel collapse would probably damage the Archives above it, though, and there’s no way Jon would be so lucky. He isn’t sure whether to consider that a consolation or not.

Finally, Georgie takes a breath, opens her eyes, and leans forward.

“Okay.” She tilts her folded hands towards him in an indicative gesture. “Explain, please.”

“Right,” Jon says, rubbing one arm nervously. “S-so, Oliver –”

“I knew his name wasn’t Antonio,” Georgie mutters.

“No. That was an alias he used when he first came to the Institute to give a statement, back in 2015.”

“The prediction about Gertrude’s death?” Martin asks.

“The same.”

“And what was a harbinger of death doing looming over you while you were in a coma?” Georgie presses.

“I don’t know that I’d call him a harbinger –” Jon’s mouth snaps shut immediately when Georgie shoots him an impatient glare. “He wasn’t – he wasn’t trying to – to reap my soul or anything like that, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Then why was he there?”

“He was called there,” Jon says. “By the Web, according to him.”

“Oh, and you don’t think that makes him dangerous?” Martin says, throwing one arm out in a surge of exasperation.

“He isn’t allied with the Web,” Jon replies, fiddling with the hem of his jumper. “It just… got into his head, and it was easier for him to go along with it, rather than fight it indefinitely. Oliver tends to have a fatalistic outlook. If he sees something as inevitable, he’s not inclined to try to stop it.”

“So, what – he’s serving an evil power not because he’s sadistic but because he’s just apathetic?” Georgie couldn’t sound any more unimpressed if she tried. “How is that any better?”

“It’s, ah… it’s really not that simplistic,” Jon says, adopting a delicate tone. “And I don’t think I’d call it apathy so much as…”

“Acceptance,” Georgie says stiffly. “Everything has an ending.”

“Yes. Oliver is an Avatar of the End, and the End is characterized by its certainty–” Jon pauses when he catches a glimpse of Georgie’s hands, fastened to her knees and trembling with tension. “We don’t have to talk about this.”

“No, I –” Georgie sighs, relaxes her grip, and flexes her fingers. “Just – tell me why you invited him here.”

“It’s like I said upstairs – there were things I couldn’t tell him about outside of here.”

“Why do you feel the need to tell him anything?” Martin asks.

“I just thought… he might be able to help us.”

“Why would he,” Georgie asks, “if he’s so fatalistic?”

“Because, he…” Jon hesitates, biting his lip. “I suppose I thought that maybe – maybe he’s like me.”

“He��s nothing like you,” Martin says vehemently.

A flicker of a smile crosses Jon’s face. “You don’t even know him.”

“What, and you do?”

“Not well,” Jon admits. “But I do think I understand him.”

Martin crosses his arms, transparently miffed. In an attempt to suppress his amusement, Jon presses his lips tightly together. It doesn’t work, evidently.

“What?” There’s a flat, defensive edge to the demand, highlighted by a suspicious scowl. “What’s with the smirk?”

Jon already knows the answer to the question he wants to ask, but he can’t help himself: “Are you jealous?”

“No!” Martin yelps. “Why would I be jealous?”

Jon shakes his head, chuckling softly. “Well, you don’t need to be.”

“I’m not!”

“If you say so,” Jon says with a shrug and a sly grin.

“I am not jealous,” Martin insists – and now Georgie is snickering, one hand clamped over her mouth to (unsuccessfully) stifle the sound. Martin glowers at her, betrayed.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says. “Just – didn’t realize you were quite so jealous.”

“I’m not,” Martin says for a third time. “But – but even if I was, I would be completely justified.”

“Because he woke me up,” Jon says, toning down the smugness now.

There is an uneasy boundary between affectionate teasing and perceived mockery, and here in the past, he hasn’t quite mapped the shape of that line. Between seeing one another in the Lonely and anchoring each other through the apocalypse, he and Martin had been forced to confront long-held insecurities about themselves, both as individuals and as a unit. That shared history no longer applies. While Jon has no desire to repeat that chain of events – there are happier, healthier pathways to a relationship than bonding via trauma, or so he’s heard – it does mean that this version of Martin hasn’t yet had the same epiphanies.

Much like Jon, Martin struggles to take a declaration of love at its word. People lie; they mislead; they say what they think others want to hear – whether out of self-interest, sympathy, or simple social ineptitude, the results are the same. Sometimes they start out sincere, but little by little, their tolerance dwindles and they recognize their mistake: what they thought was genuine affection was at best a passing fancy for someone who turned out to be far more trouble than they were ever worth. Or worse: a caring façade born of pity or guilt or obligation, only to turn rotten and toxic when the burden grows too tiresome.

Add all of those deep-seated convictions to the lasting influence of the Lonely, and Martin needed proof before he could entertain the possibility of being loved. Following him into and then leading him out of the Lonely was a fairly convincing statement. Absent another life-or-death gesture to act as a catalyst, Jon suspects that this time around, building that confidence will come down to time, practice, and repetition.

“Okay, yeah, about that – what does that – what does that mean, he woke you up?” Before Jon can get a word out, Martin barrels on: “I mean, what makes him so special? I spent weeks – weeks – begging you to come back, and nothing. He visits you once and suddenly you’re fine?”

“I really did try to come back on my own,” Jon says – not accusing, not pleading, not even self-flagellating. Just plain, sincere assuredness. “I heard you calling me. Not at first, but – the last time you visited. It was the first time I’d heard your voice in… in so long, I – I never thought I’d hear it again, and then you were there, and I was – I was so relieved, so… so elated.”

Martin sulks quietly, glaring at the floor, but there’s a noticeable flush staining his cheeks now.

“And then – and then I heard you on the phone with Peter, and…” Jon swallows hard, the despair he felt in that moment still stark in his mind. “I tried to call out to you, but you couldn’t hear me. The Lonely was drawing you in, just like before, and there was nothing I could do. I wanted to wake up more than anything, but I just… couldn’t figure out how. I still don’t know why – I don’t know the exact mechanics of it all – but for whatever reason, I wasn’t able to wake up until Oliver’s visit. Same as the first time.”

At that, Martin seems to deflate somewhat, finally looking up to meet Jon’s eyes.

“If I could have come back sooner,” Jon continues, smiling sadly, “I would have. In a heartbeat.”

Martin pouts for a moment longer before surrendering, his rigid posture slackening as the rancor drains out of him.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

“So you think you owe him,” Georgie guesses. “For waking you up.”

“Partially,” Jon admits. “But that’s not why I invited him, really. He just seems… I don’t know. Lonely, I guess?” Georgie rolls her eyes. “He never – he never asked to be a death prophet. No more than I wanted to be a – a trauma leech. And arguably – arguably he was even less to blame for what happened to him than I am for what I’ve become –”

“Jon,” Martin says warningly.

“No, just – just listen.” Jon takes a measured breath as he puts his thoughts in order. “Oliver started having prophetic dreams several years ago. Just – out of the blue. As far as I know, he did nothing to tempt fate. Eventually, those dreams carried over into the waking world. Everywhere he went, every single day, he could see the evidence of imminent death. There was no escaping it.

“In the beginning, he tried to help people. But it never worked. When he was unable to save his own father, he stopped trying to change fate, for the most part. I think the last time he tried was when he dreamed of Gertrude. He saw how far-reaching her death would ultimately be, and he tried to warn her, even though he didn’t have much hope that it would make a difference. And he was right, in the end. He couldn’t save her, and he couldn’t prevent what came after.”

“So he just… gave up,” Martin says flatly.

“When you fail over and over again to do good in the world, when you witness horror after horror with no recourse to stop it, when you try again and again and again to escape and never even come close… at some point, you burn out,” Jon murmurs. “Lose all hope. It becomes your new normal. Exist like that long enough and you start to become numb to it all.”

“You lived through an apocalypse and you didn’t give up,” Martin counters.

“I did, though,” Jon says quietly.

Martin frowns. “What?”

“After I lost you.” Jon averts his eyes and folds his arms tight against his middle, holding his elbows. “I was lost. I couldn’t save anyone, I couldn’t change anything, I couldn’t even look away. I wasn’t allowed to sleep. I wasn’t allowed to die. So I just… survived, even though I wanted anything but.” When he glances up, he sees that Martin’s expression has softened. “You were my reason. Then you were gone, and I was alone.”

Jon hadn’t known that the world could end a second time, but there it was. With Martin gone, what little that remained of Jon’s own microcosm shattered. Yet the Ceaseless Watcher’s world dared to continue turning, to go on churning out horror after horror as if nothing at all had changed. And Jon was just another cog in that machine, going through the motions and fulfilling the purpose for which he was cultivated.

It wasn’t truly ceaseless, of course. Everything has an ending. But it felt like an eternity – and for Jon, indefinite waiting has always been a special kind of torture.

“So what changed?” Georgie asks, her tone gentler than before.

“For a while, nothing,” Jon says. “I sort of… drifted. Wandered aimlessly through the domains for… I don’t really know. When nothing ever changes, keeping track of time becomes pointless. The Panopticon kept trying to draw me in, of course, but I – I suppose there was still enough spite left in me to make a show of ignoring it.

“At some point, I got lost in a Lonely domain. Which was fine, really. Or – it would have been fine, had I been allowed to succumb to it. I wanted to just – fade into it, let it in, but” – Jon breathes a bitter laugh – “it wouldn’t take me. Wouldn’t let me go numb, wouldn’t let me forget – didn’t have the decency to let me disappear, no matter how long I stayed.”

No one got what they deserved in that future, but this was a rare exception to that rule: to be allowed to simply forget his role in creating that nightmare world, to sink into blissful ignorance, would have been a miscarriage of justice. Not that the Eye cared about what was just or fair, of course. No, it simply would not – perhaps could not – deign to relinquish its hold on its Archive.

“But the longer I stayed,” he continues, looking at Martin now, “the more I thought about you. In retrospect, maybe that’s why I didn’t want to leave. And maybe that’s part of why it wouldn’t have me – I couldn’t let you go. But being there, it kept reminding me of the first Lonely domain we came across after the change. We were separated, and I was – I was so afraid you wouldn’t come back to me. But you did.” Jon smiles to himself, remembering the relief and gratitude and awe he felt in that moment. “You rejected the Lonely all on your own. Found your own way out – found me, and… every time I thought about that, I imagined your voice in my head. Telling me off for wallowing. For giving up.”

“Sounds like I would have been justified,” Martin says delicately.

“You would have,” Jon confesses with a contrite half-smile. “I was in peak brooding condition. Eventually I wore myself out wallowing there, though, so I left to go wallow somewhere else. I needed a change of scenery, and – well, I got one. Stumbled into a Spiral domain. Ran into Helen, and… funny enough, that was the last straw.”

Jon can still recall the encounter down to the smallest detail.

‘Still drifting aimless, are we?’ Helen bared an unsettling number of teeth as her grin stretched – literally – from ear to ear. ‘Exactly how long do you plan on moping about, Archivist?’

Jon did not answer; did not even meet her eyes, instead staring vacantly over her shoulder. The incessant reel of horror scenes playing in the back of his mind made it difficult to focus on any one thing at a time, and there was nothing he cared to see so much that it was worth the effort it would take to grant it his undivided attention.

‘You know,’ Helen said, tapping an elongated, crooked finger against her lips, ‘I wonder what he would say, if he could see you now.’

It didn’t matter. Martin was gone. Those parts of the world that hadn’t already been thoroughly razed were slowly but surely withering. There was nothing left to salvage.

‘Disappointed, I imagine,’ Helen continued, distant and muffled by the din of a splintering world. (Somewhere deep below their feet, a man was screaming himself hoarse in a labyrinth made of mirrors and fog.) ‘But not surprised. It’s not the first time you’ve let him down, is it?’

Jon gave a listless shrug. Her words stung, certainly, but they were a far cry from some of her more artful jabs. A pointed insinuation to send him spiraling into his own self-destructive conclusions would always be more corrosive than outright disparagement.

(The man in the maze gazed into mirror after mirror, hoping to find himself within. In every one, his reflection had no face.)

That said, Helen wasn’t wrong. Even as a child, Jon had always been a burden. He never did manage to prove himself worthy of all the many unwilling sacrifices made on his behalf. Never measured up; never put nearly enough good into the world to balance out the cost of having him in it.

(The man in the maze had misplaced his name. Did he drop it somewhere? He checked his pockets only to find holes. Yet another eyeless reflection stared back at him from beneath his feet.)

‘You were always headed here, weren’t you?’

Yes.

(The man in the maze tried to retrace his steps, but everything looked the same: an endless, recursive corridor of mirror images. He asked one of the doppelgängers for directions, only to realize that the man in the mirror had no mouth with which to answer.)

‘To think – all that time he spent coaxing you along, and you crumble the moment you don’t have a prop to coddle you.’ Helen cackles, high and cruel. ‘What a waste.’

She wasn’t telling him anything that he didn’t already know.

(The man in the maze was scouring the mirrored ground, searching for… something he’d lost; he couldn’t quite remember, but he knew that it was important. He checked his pockets, only to discover that he had no pockets.)

‘Although, I guess the blame doesn’t fall squarely on your shoulders. He was naïve. It isn’t your fault he was foolish enough to hope for–’

The words jolted Jon back to the present like an electric shock. Whatever else Helen had to say, he’d never know. He tuned her out, and he started walking.

“She was having a go at me – nothing new there – but then she brought you into it, and…” Jon shrugs. “I don’t think it was her intention, but it nudged me back on track. You and I had a plan, before, and… honestly, I didn’t have much hope that it would work, but you had. That made it worth trying.”

It wasn’t like Jon could break the world more by parleying with the Eye. At worst, it made no difference, but at least Jon did something to honor Martin’s memory; at best, it put Jon out of his misery, one way or another.

“I’m glad I did, because… well, it changed things, obviously. You were right.”

“Sorry,” Martin says with unmistakable self-satisfaction, “could you say that again?”

“You were right, Martin.” Jon rolls his eyes, but the effect is undercut by an indulgent smile he can’t quite repress. “You often are. All of this is to say – I’m only here because you gave me a reason to be. If not for that, then… well, I meant what I’ve said before, about needing a lifeline in order to stand any chance against the Fears. I was – I am lucky enough to have one.”

More than one, he thinks with a sense of wonder. The support he has now is such a far cry from the ostracism he experienced the first time he was here. It still gives him pause every time he dwells on the contrast. Sometimes, it almost seems too good to be true.

“Oliver didn’t,” Jon continues. “It’s hard to begrudge him for resigning himself to fate, especially considering how the power that claimed him is defined by fatalism. He never asked to be chosen, he was given no hope of escape, and he had no one to reach out to, let alone anyone to reach back. It’s unsurprising that he would come to accept the inescapable when the only anchor he had was the certainty of oblivion.”

“‘The moment that you die will feel exactly the same as this one,’” Georgie says quietly.

Jon nods. “And without a dependable reason to see the moments in between as significant, it’s… well, it’s hard to see the point in anything. I’ve been there.”

As has Georgie, Jon knows. She exhales heavily, massaging her temples, visibly conflicted.

“I still don’t think you should trust him,” Martin says.

“I’m not suggesting we trust him wholesale,” Jon says, “but I’m certain that he isn’t an enemy. He might not resist the End, but he doesn’t work to end the world in its name, either. He’s… thoroughly neutral.”

“Then what makes you think he’ll lift a finger to help?” Martin asks.

“I doubt he’ll go out of his way to help,” Jon admits. “He might be willing to trade information, though. I just thought… Avatar of the End – he would have more insight into the limits of Jonah’s supposed ‘immortality’ than I do.”

“You think he can tell you something about the dead man’s switch,” Georgie guesses, rubbing at her forehead.

“That’s my hope, yes. He can see the route that a person will take to their end. Or, he can when their death is imminent, at least – I’m not sure how far into the future his foresight stretches these days.”

In the hospital, Oliver implied that he could see something in Jon’s vicinity. Whether that suggests Jon’s own end is near enough for Oliver to foresee it, Jon does not Know. Given his proven resilience, he suspects it’s just as likely to be a quirk of his strange existence. There’s no shortage of idiosyncrasies that may mark Jon as an outlier: he’s the Archivist; he’s traveled through a rift in time; he’s the primed and practiced focal point of the Watcher’s Crown, and the fate of the world hinges on his ability to keep that potential in check.

And if his situation is an exception to the rule, perhaps Jonah’s is as well.

“Maybe he’ll be able to see whether our routes flow into Jonah’s, so to speak,” Jon says. “When Oliver dreamed of Gertrude’s impending death, he saw how much of the world’s fate was intertwined with hers –”

“– the veins, whose domination of the dreamscape had only ever been partial before, had thickened and now seemed to cover almost the whole space of every street – the destination – into which all the veins flowed – The Magnus Institute – choked with that shadowed flesh – following that red light that would now pulse so bright that I knew were I to see it awake it would have blinded me – and every one of those veins – where they ended – a person sitting at that desk and it was them that all of this scarlet light was flowing into.”

“Gertrude,” Martin says.

Jon nods, then holds up one finger: Wait. The Archive has more to say; Jon can practically feel the words bubbling up his throat and crowding behind his teeth. As discomfiting as it is to have it hijack his voice, sometimes it’s easier to ride out that compulsion than to tamp it down.

“I have no responsibility to try and prevent whatever fate is coming for you – such a thing is likely impossible – but after what I saw I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try – there is something coming for you and I don’t know what it is, but it is so much worse than anything I can imagine. At the very least, you should look into appointing a successor.”

Statement ends, Jon thinks, working his jaw to soothe the unnatural tension that has taken root there. Happy now? Anything else to add?

As expected, it doesn’t answer. He’s well aware that addressing the Archive essentially amounts to talking to himself, but carrying on an internal dialogue with the more frustrating aspects of himself was a habit long before he took on the mantle of Archivist.

After a few seconds, he feels the Archive’s imposing presence start to recede, releasing him from the compulsion. It’s still there, of course – it’s always there, looming over him like a vulture, as impossible to ignore as a knife to the throat – but for now it seems content to fall back and observe once more.

Georgie sighs. “That’s why you’re sympathetic to him.”

“He tried.” Jon shrugs. “He didn’t have to, but he did.”

“That still doesn’t mean he’s going to help this time,” Martin says.

“No, but he has no incentive to hurt us, either. There’s no harm in asking him questions. He’s not going to run to Jonah to inform on us. The worst that happens is he says ‘no’ and goes back to minding his own business. But if he agrees to talk… well, it might be our best chance to determine how much of what Jonah says is true.”

Georgie chews on her thumbnail for a few seconds before looking back up at Jon, a pensive frown on her face. “Why’d he go out of his way to come here at all, if he has no motivation one way or the other?”

“Honestly? Curiosity, I think. But… I suppose I’m also hoping that there’s a part of him that might sympathize.”

“Do you really think there is?” Martin asks.

“I don’t know. In my future, probably not. He wasn’t enjoying himself like some of the other Avatars – I mean, he was feeding on the fear produced by his domain, but even then, he didn’t strike me as cruel. It was just… acceptance in the face of a conclusion at ultimately stayed the same regardless of the path leading up to it, and…”

And maybe it speaks to Jon’s mental state at the time, but there were a few points in Oliver’s statement that struck him as almost merciful. After all, in the face of seemingly endless torment, death was a covetable escape.

“I have no power to stop it,” the Archive recites, “and even if I did, I would not do so. For to rob a soul of death is as torturous as its inevitable coming – I fear the annihilation you would gift me as little as I desire it – perhaps once it might have horrified me, or given me some sense of pursuing the ultimate release of the world that you have damned – I am now, as the thing I feed, a fixed point, that has neither the longing nor ability to change its state of existence – even you, with all your power, cannot keep the world alive forever. All things end, and every step you take, whatever direction you may choose, only brings you closer to it.”

“That Oliver again?” Martin mutters tetchily. “Doesn’t sound to me like he’ll be particularly inclined to help.”

“Well–” The word comes out as a rasp, and Jon has to pause to clear his throat before continuing. “That was – that was the Oliver of the future. After the change, he was too much of the End not to live its truth, just as I was too much of the Eye not to walk its path and archive its world. We were both conduits, inseparable from the powers that laid claim to us. Here and now, though, I’m hoping he might still be…”

“What, benevolent?” Martin says incredulously.

Jon is quiet for a long moment, trying to find the right words to explain.

“At my most hopeless,” he says slowly, “I still cared, even though there was no meaningful way for me to put it into practice. I don’t think I ever managed to reach the level of acceptance that Oliver did – and sometimes I envied him for that. But embracing the End as a foregone conclusion doesn’t necessarily mean he’s completely unmoved by what happens in the interim. Not yet, anyway. And as of right now, whether it’s out of curiosity or compassion, obviously he still interacts with the world from time to time, even if he prefers to exist in the background for the most part.”

Martin and Georgie both look unconvinced.

“I’m not asking him to help us change fate,” Jon goes on. “In his view, there is no obstructing fate – not in any way that genuinely matters to his patron. Oliver isn’t particularly concerned about when the End will come – he’s just secure in the knowledge that it will happen eventually, with or without the interference of any mortal actor. Passive or active, nothing he does or doesn’t do will change that. But I’m thinking it’s been a long time since someone has asked him for help that he actually has the power to provide, and… I know what that’s like.”

Despite the immense power that Jon could exercise after the culmination of the Watcher’s Crown, he was ultimately powerless to change things for the better. It’s why he leapt at the chance to help Naomi in her nightmare: even a small, low-effort act of kindness after so long without the opportunity was overwhelmingly liberating.

It was insignificant against the vast backdrop of the universe, perhaps, but it still left a mark. It prompted a cascade of little changes that completely rewrote their dynamic; it curtailed some of the suffering in which Jon had previously been so unwillingly complicit; it's even acted as an inoculation against the loneliness that had permeated both of their lives during this stretch of time when Jon was last here. Those little changes mattered to him, and they mattered to Naomi – not only in that first moment, but in all the time since.

All of that had to count for something, right? It took fourteen ill-fated marks to end the world, after all. With any one of them missing, the Ritual wouldn’t have worked and the world at large would never have noticed. But that didn’t make any one of those marks wholly insignificant on its own. They scarred him and the people around him; every encounter changed him, whittled away at his sense of self, left him progressively vulnerable and set him up for successive marks.

The repercussions still linger. They probably always will.

In his sporadic moments of cautious optimism, Jon cannot help but wonder: If a series of little cruelties can create such a perfect and terrible storm, is it really inconceivable that a pattern of little rebellions could keep it at bay? And Jon has long since come to the conclusion that compassion in the face of unimaginable cruelty is its own form of rebellion.

“As much as Oliver talks about fate and inevitability,” Jon says, “he still seems to believe in free will to an extent. That we all make choices. When he last spoke to me, he offered me a choice. Now I’m offering one to him.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…” Georgie releases a weary exhale and tosses her head back to stare at the ceiling. “You’re sure this won’t come back to bite you?”

“We have nothing to lose by asking,” Jon says. “And he has nothing to lose regardless of what choice he makes, but… it feels right to at least give him the option. Whatever he decides, I won’t begrudge him for it.”

“Fine,” she says tersely. “Do what you want.”

Jon just barely suppresses a wince. “Georgie?”

“Sorry, that came off as –” Georgie heaves another sigh. “I’m not angry with you. I get it. It makes sense. I just don’t like it.”

“I know.”

“Just… be mindful, alright? You don’t owe him any answers you don’t want to give. And he doesn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt just because you relate to him.”

“I know,” Jon says again.

“I mean it, Jon,” she says sharply. She takes a steadying breath before continuing, more diplomatically this time. “It’s… sweet, I guess, that you want to empathize with him, but you have a tendency to…” Georgie pauses, weighing her words. “I mean, I’ve seen you compare yourself to Helen, too. And Jonah.”

“Well, I don’t think anyone would deny that there are certain… similarities,” Jon says, not quite under his breath.

“Yeah, you’re always going to have something in common with other people if you look hard enough. But sometimes you see the worst in people and you fold it into how you see yourself. Like you’re looking into a funhouse mirror, but you can’t see how the reflection is distorted.” Jon avoids meeting her eyes, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear it, but you have a history of comparing yourself to your abusers. Sorry,” she adds when he flinches, “but it’s the truth, and you need to hear it. Just… think about it, okay? Ask yourself whether this is compassion or if it’s just another way to dehumanize yourself.”

“I –” Jon swallows around the lump in his throat, his mouth gone dry. “Okay, I – I get your point, but – I swear that’s not what this is. With Helen, and – and – and Jonah, it’s – they’ve actually gone out of their way to – to manipulate, to cause real harm. Oliver is different.”

“You were marked by the End,” Georgie says pointedly.

“Yes, but that wasn’t Oliver’s fault. He didn’t hurt me, never tried to trap me or trick me – never pressured me into making one choice over another, even at the end of the world. I really don’t think he’s evil, or sadistic, or – or scheming, weaving some grand web. He’s just watching things unfold, because he had a crash course in the stages of grief forced onto him and the end result was… well, acceptance. He doesn’t fear the End, but he doesn’t worship it, either. He just embodies it, openly and authentically.”

Georgie is silent for nearly a full minute, scrutinizing Jon intently, before she capitulates.

“Alright. I’ll… trust your judgment, I guess,” she says, but she shares a knowing glance with Martin – who looks just as leery as she does – when she says it. “Still, be careful.”

“I, uh… I imagine you don’t want to be here when I talk to him?” Jon ventures, though he’s certain he already knows the answer.

“No,” Georgie says summarily.

Jon releases a breathless chuckle. “Fair enough.”

“I really should be getting home to Melanie, anyway. It’s stay-home date night. Pizza and a movie.” Georgie offers a tentative grin, her shoulders relaxing minutely. “She hasn’t seen the new Ghostbusters yet, somehow – something about having been preoccupied with real paranormal bullshit for the last few years – but I checked and the DVD version has audio description, so I bought a copy. She’d be cross with me if I stood her up for the grim reaper.”

“I imagine so.” Jon tilts his head. “Although, Oliver isn’t actually the–”

“Jon,” Georgie sighs, “I was being facetious.”

When the three of them leave the tunnels, they find Oliver still waiting awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs out of the Archives, Basira standing sentinel nearby. Daisy leans against a far wall, eyeing him from a distance.

Georgie gives a long, doubtful look at Oliver before turning to Jon and offering a hug that he gladly accepts.

“Text me later tonight?” Georgie says. “And keep me updated on your travel plans.”

“Will do. Tell Melanie I said hello. And tell the Admiral he’s a national treasure.”

Georgie snorts at that, shaking her head in amusement before turning towards the stairs. Oliver nearly jumps out of the way as she strides in his direction, but she doesn’t stop to confront him beyond a glare as she passes. A prolonged, awkward minute of silence passes after she leaves, charged with suspicion and tension.

“Tunnels,” Basira says eventually, her tone and expression giving nothing away. She doesn’t wait for a response before stalking off down the hall, Daisy falling in line behind her.

Basira barely waits for the others to take their seats before she launches into her interrogation. Although her eyes remain fixed on Oliver, her first question isn’t directed at him.

“Why is he here, Jon?”

“Like I said, I invited him.” Jon glances at Oliver, apologetic. It feels odd to talk about him as if he isn’t present.

“Why?”

“Mutual curiosity, I expect,” Oliver cuts in, inclining his head towards Jon. “You have questions for me.”

Jon returns a nod. He has ulterior motives, and Oliver knows it. To pretend otherwise would be pointless, not to mention insulting.

“Oliver is an Avatar of the End,” Jon tells the others. “There might be a chance he could tell us how much of what Elias says is true.”

“And what’s the price tag?” Basira asks.

“He has questions of his own. He could tell in the hospital that there’s something… wrong about me. Obviously, I couldn’t talk about it where Elias could hear.”

“You shouldn’t disclose it at all,” Basira says. “If any of it gets back to him –”

“Oliver has no reason to betray our confidence.” Jon’s gaze flicks to Oliver. “Right?”

“Consider me a neutral party,” Oliver replies.

“You’re going to just… take him at his word,” Basira scoffs.

“The End has no Ritual,” Jon says, “and it has no reason to prevent any of the other Entities from successfully pulling off their own Rituals. No matter what happens to this world, the End will claim everything eventually. The when and how are irrelevant to it. In the meantime, the world as-is suits it just fine. It has no desire to postpone or hasten the end of all things.”

“Terminus is what it is,” Oliver agrees. “I have neither the power nor the desire to contradict it.”

“Then why would you help us?” Basira asks.

“I never said that I would.”

“I’m not asking you to actively intervene,” Jon says before Basira can offer a retort. “I just want to talk. That… is why you came here, isn’t it?”

Oliver hesitates for a moment before answering. “Your curiosity must have rubbed off on me.”

Unbidden, Oliver’s statement rushes to the forefront of Jon’s mind: I still remember the first time I tried to touch one…. I don’t know why I did it; I knew it was a stupid thing to do. But I just… maybe I wanted it this way.

“Don’t know about that,” Jon says quietly. “Curiosity is only human.”

And the worst part was that, somewhere in me, I – I liked it, the statement plays on. Underneath all that awful fear, it felt like… home.

“Perhaps,” Oliver says, noncommittal.

“So you’ll tell us what we want to know,” Daisy finally speaks up. Despite her veneer of calm – leaning back in her chair, arms crossed – her bouncing leg belies her agitation.

“It makes no difference to me.” Oliver shrugs. “Though I can’t promise my answers will be satisfying.”

“I still don’t like this,” Basira says, glaring askance at Oliver.

“Look,” Jon says, “this is the only way I can think of to figure out what stakes we’re working with. Jonah has been cheating death for centuries–”

“Jon!” Basira hisses.

“It’s important context,” Jon argues back. “And anyway, it’s going to come up when I tell him my story. It’s not exactly a detail I can gloss over; it’s central to the plot.” He sighs and looks at Oliver. “Elias is Jonah Magnus, the original founder of the Institute.”

Basira throws her hands up with a frustrated snarl. She turns to Daisy for support, but Daisy only offers a sympathetic grimace and a half-shrug.

“I thought there was something odd about him,” Oliver says blandly. “He’s long past his expiration date.”

Daisy snorts at that. Judging from the bemused, almost startled expression on Oliver’s face, he hadn’t expected to garner anything other than aggression from her.

“Whenever one of his vessels is… compromised,” Jon elaborates, “or nearing the end of its usefulness, he takes a new one.”

Recovering from his fleeting bewilderment, Oliver turns his attention back to Jon. “He wouldn’t be the first.”

“Maxwell Rayner and Simon Fairchild,” Basira says.

Oliver nods. “Among others.”

“Does that… I don’t know – offend the End?” Martin asks.

“No,” Oliver says. “They can’t outrun it forever, as so many have discovered firsthand.”

“Like Rayner,” Daisy says.

Once again, Oliver looks thrown off-kilter by Daisy’s diminishing hostility, but he does offer a wary nod in response to her contribution to the conversation. “And in the meantime, their fear of their own mortality ages like a fine wine.”

“Is an unnaturally long life somehow tastier for the End, then?” Martin asks. “I think most of the statements I’ve read about it involved somehow cheating death.”

“Perhaps. If my patron has a conscious mind, it has never spoken to me directly. Everything I know to be true is just… feeling.”

“So it’s as cagey as the other Powers, then,” Daisy says with a derisive chuckle. “Good to know.”

Oliver smooths his hands across his coat, draped across his lap, before glancing at Jon for guidance.

“I gave you a story,” he says reticently. “I would like to hear yours. Then I will answer your questions.”

“Fair enough,” Jon says – and abruptly realizes that he has no idea where to start. “You, uh… you don’t need to hear my whole life story, do you?”

“I did give you an outline of mine,” Oliver says with just a hint of amusement. “I admit I’m curious as to what led you here, but I imagine if you went into detail, we would be here for hours.”

“Much of it doesn’t bear repeating, anyway,” Jon says. “Just the highlights, then?”

“If you please.”

“Right,” Jon mumbles. He takes a deep breath. “Had my first supernatural encounter when I was eight, never got over it, and a combination of lifelong obsession and unchecked curiosity brought me to the Institute. After Gertrude died, Jonah chose me as her replacement because he knew I would be easily molded into the catalyst for his Ritual, and I was.” He looks up. “Is that enough?”

“Which of the Powers marked you first? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“The Web.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you seemed… entangled.”

There’s something… off about you, Oliver had told him when they last spoke. The roots, they look… sick. Wrong. And the threads are – tangled.

It’s possible that Oliver was speaking in metaphor – alluding to the threads of fate, so to speak – but the question has been simmering in the back of Jon’s mind for months…

“When you visited me before,” he blurts out. “You said the Web sent you.”

“Yes,” Oliver says candidly. “Not an explicit command, of course. It was more a… well, a feeling. A tug. The Web usually prefers subtlety, but there are times when it wants its marks to know the hand that moves them.”

“S-so, when you said the threads around me were tangled, was that figurative, or could you… see the Web’s influence?”

“The Spider might make its presence known sometimes, but Terminus doesn’t give me the ability to see the shape of its web any more than the Eye does you.”

“Not unless the Web allows itself to be Seen,” Jon says absently.

Despite how much he could See in his future, the Web always remained something of an enigma. It wasn’t until after his standoff with the Eye that he was able to follow the Spider’s threads.

But then, the Eye hadn’t been the only watcher lurking in the Panopticon. The Web had woven itself into the foundation of that place from its conception, and the Spider made no effort to hide. More than once, it stationed itself where he was sure to notice it. The more he thinks on it, the more he suspects that the ensuing ability to See its threads, to Know where they converged, was as much an allowance by the Web as it was due to his communion with the Ceaseless Watcher.

“When I spoke of threads, I meant more…” Oliver opens and closes his mouth a few times as he struggles with his phrasing. “Well, I’ve not yet found a perfect description for it. Think of a life and fate as… a jumble of intersections. Some people feel like thread-and-nail art. Others feel like a snarled ball of yarn. You,” he adds, looking at Jon appraisingly, “are something of a Gordian knot.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Martin demands, a protective edge in his voice.

“It’s not a compliment or an insult,” Oliver says mildly. “Only an observation. Come to think of it, Gertrude was much the same way. The fates of many hinged on the routes she took. Less of a butterfly effect and more of a hurricane.”

“So you can see fate?” Basira asks. A genuine question, but the flat skepticism in her tone makes it sound rhetorical.

“To a limited extent,” Oliver says haltingly. “I see the near-future as it relates to death specifically. When people near the ends of their routes, I can make out the details of their–”

“Seeing those awful veins crawling into them, into wounds not yet open, or skulls not yet split – they sneak up and into throats about to choke on blood, or lurch into hearts about to convulse – webbed over the face of a drunk old man stumbling into his car – one snaking along the road, over towards the railing – I’ll never forget seeing a field of cows the week before they were sent to the abattoir…”

Jon trails off with a tired groan, rubbing his eyes furiously.

“You have a good memory,” Oliver says.

“Sorry,” Jon mumbles. “Archivist thing. Can’t always control it.”

“S-so,” Martin redirects, “if any of us were about to die, you would be able to see it, right?”

“Yes. But I don’t make a habit of telling fortunes,” Oliver clarifies before Martin can ask. “Knowing your end is coming does nothing to prevent it. It only ensures that you will live your final days in fear.”

“Wouldn’t your patron like that?” Daisy asks.

Basira immediately latches onto that thought. “We have a statement here about a book that tells you how and when you’ll die.”

“Case number 0030912,” Jon cites. “Statement of Masato Murray, regarding his inheritance of an untitled book with supernatural properties. Each time the reader rereads their entry, they’ll find that the recorded date of their future death draws closer and the cause more gruesome.”

“Thanks, spooky Google,” Basira says sardonically. “Who needs an indexing system when we have a walking, talking card catalogue on staff?”

“One of my predecessors in ancient times once filed a complaint with the Eye, aggrieved by all the terrible powers it foisted upon him,” Jon says matter-of-factly, not missing a beat. “Being a benevolent patron, it granted him and all future generations of Archivists a convenience feature as compensation.”

“Smartass,” Basira says, but it sounds almost amiable, and Jon allows himself a tentative smile.

His tolerance for making light of this part of himself tends to be variable. Unpredictable, even. On good days, shared gallows humor is a balm, bringing with it a sense of solidarity and camaraderie; on bad days, even the gentlest dig feels like a barb.

He also tends to be selective about whose teasing he can weather. Martin and Georgie are safe more often than not. Daisy can usually get away with it; she’s prompt to let him in on the joke whenever he doesn’t pick up on her sarcasm. Given how blunt Melanie can be, it at least tends to be obvious when her pointed comments are meant in jest or in umbrage; and anyway, he hasn’t yet spoken to her directly since she quit.

Basira, though – she’s always been difficult to read. They have a similar sense of humor, but part of his brain is still living in a time when she saw the worst in him. No matter how many times he tells himself that things are different now, he can’t quite shake that feeling of being on indefinite probation. Hostile attribution bias, he recognizes, but having a label for it doesn’t make it any easier to silence those perennial fears. It’s only recently that he’s been able to take such joking from her in stride. Not always, but sometimes.

“Anyway,” Basira says, looking back to Oliver, “I take it that book is affiliated with the End. It feeds on the reader’s fear of knowing the details of their death.”

“Almost everyone has some degree of fear regarding mortality – their own or that of others,” Oliver says. “For some, that primal fear permeates their entire lives. Others only spare it any thought when it closes in on them. Terminus feeds on all of it equally. I suspect that active encounters with it are more about…”

“Flavor?” Basira suggests.

“So to speak,” Oliver says. “Welcome variety in its diet, but not necessary to sate it.”

“Which is why its Avatars have such wildly different methodologies,” Jon says, nodding to himself. “Justin Gough was allowed to survive a near-death experience, but acquired a debt that had to be paid in the lives of others, killing them in their dreams. Tova McHugh was granted the ability to prolong her own life by passing each of her intended deaths onto others, adding their remaining lifespans to her own. Nathaniel Thorpe was cursed with immortality after trying to cheat his way out of death. He was only one of many gamblers who played such games of chance–”

“Jon,” Basira sighs, “you don’t have to go through the whole roster of personified death omens.”

“Sorry.”

“So what kind of Avatar are you?” Basira asks, looking Oliver up and down. “How do you feed your patron?”

“For me, Terminus has not been particularly demanding. I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s because I never attempted to cheat my way out of death. It simply… chose me – or I wandered across its path – and it never left. Thus far, it seems content to have me play the observer.” He glances at Jon. “You can probably understand that.”

“The Beholding isn’t satisfied to have its Archivist simply observe. It wants its knowledge actively harvested, recorded, curated.” Jon huffs, not bothering to contain his disgust. “Processed.”

The conversation lapses into a tense silence for several seconds before Basira changes tack.

“About Gertrude,” she says. “You tried to warn her about her death.”

“Yes,” Oliver replies.

“Why?”

“The evidence of her death snaked its roots all across London – as far as I could see, and perhaps further. At the time, I’d never seen anything like it. Such a sprawling web of repercussions stemming from a single death – I felt like I had to say something. As I expected, it made no difference in the end.”

Jon worries his lower lip between his teeth. “You said the roots surrounding me seemed sick.”

“You saw roots around Jon?” Martin says urgently, jolting up ramrod-straight in his seat.

“They’re… different from the ones I’ve grown accustomed to,” Oliver says slowly. “There’s no light pulsing within them, no life flowing to or from them. And looking at them, it’s almost like…” He frowns, squinting down at the floor as if it might offer up the words he needs. “It’s like they’re there and not there simultaneously. Faded, like an afterimage – one that can only be seen from a certain angle.”

“Okay, and what does that – what does that mean?” Martin asks.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I was hoping Jon could shed some light on it,” Oliver says, raising his head to meet Jon’s eyes. “I may not have the same drive to know that you and yours do, but I find myself returning to the question frequently over the past few months.”

“R-right,” Jon says. “Let me just, uh… where to start…”

Jon rubs at this throat with one hand, the other clenching into a fist where it rests on his knee.

“Jon,” Daisy says, “are you sure about this?”

“Yes, I just, uh –” Jon breathes a nervous laugh. “This never gets any easier.”

“Do you want me to say it?” Martin offers, schooling his tone into something approaching calm. His posture remains rigid, though, hands balled into white-knuckled fists in his lap.

“No, it’s fine.” Jon takes a few deep breaths and then looks Oliver in the eye. “In the future, I ended the world.”

Oliver raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t think the Beholding gave you any precognitive abilities.”

“It, uh – it doesn’t. I didn’t foresee the future, I lived it. For… for a long time, actually, so I –” Jon exhales a humorless chuckle. “I probably meet your definition of past my expiration date.”

Oliver tilts his head, considering.

“Hard to say,” he settles on. “You’re… a bit of a paradox. Feels as if you exist in multiple states at once, and it’s difficult for me to tell which one is true.”

“Maybe all of them are,” Jon says distractedly. “But, I, uh – I eventually found a way to come back to before the change – or, to send my consciousness back, anyway. But only as far back as the coma. I… I wish it had taken me back further – back to the very beginning, though I” – Jon huffs – “I suppose it’s hard to say what counts as the beginning.”

“It depends on how you want to define a beginning,” Oliver says. “In a way, the advent of existence marked the beginning of the end. Everything since then has been just another domino.”

“Well,” Jon begins, but Daisy cuts him off.

“Nope,” she says bluntly. “You go down that semantic rabbit hole and we’ll be here forever.”

“Fine,” Jon says with a petulant sigh. “Anyway, I couldn’t figure out how to wake up on my own, so just like the first time I was here, I had to wait for you to come along and help.”

“I still don’t understand why,” Oliver says.

“Neither do I, I’m afraid.”

“Not to encroach on your sphere of influence, but I think in this case, not knowing the answer might bother me even more than it does you.” Oliver releases a quiet sigh. “So you came back to stop yourself from starting the apocalypse.”

“It’s not like he chose to end the world,” Martin says, immediately leaping to Jon’s defense once more.

“Apologies,” Oliver says with an earnest nod in Martin’s direction. “I didn’t intend to imply otherwise.” He glances at Jon. “I’ve known of many who seek to bring on the end in the hopes that they will be able to choose what shape it takes. You don’t strike me as the sort.”

“No. But Jonah is.” Jon ducks his head as he speaks, fingers twisting in his jumper. “He wanted – wants to rule over a world reshaped in the Beholding’s image. He needed an Archivist with particular qualities to serve as the linchpin of his Ritual. So he created one. By the time he showed his hand, it was too late. I was the key, and Jonah didn’t need my consent in order to open the door.”

“I imagine it didn’t go as he planned,” Oliver says.

“No,” Jon says with a grim laugh. “No, it didn’t. He suffered as much as anyone else did in that reality. It all started because he was afraid of his own mortality, and yet – in the end, he met a fate worse than death.”

“Whatever it was, he deserved it,” Martin mutters.

“Maybe so,” Jon says. “But it was never about deserving. There was some poetic justice there, seeing him brought down by his own hubris, but… at the end of the day, he got the same treatment as anyone else. Just – pointless suffering, utterly divorced from the concept of consequences. Had a way of… diluting the schadenfreude, honestly.”

Martin’s spark of vindication appears to fizzle out as Jon speaks, his shoulders slumping and his eyes softening.

“Regardless,” Jon continues, “Jonah wanted to be a god, but at his core, he was no different from any other human. Fodder for the Fears. And the one he feared the most – it was in no hurry to finish the meal. I imagine by the time Terminus finally came for him in earnest, he would have welcomed it.”

“Those who seek immortality always come to see it as a curse in time,” Oliver says sagely. “When they come to terms with the fact that there is no such thing as a truly immortal existence, it comes as a relief.”

“I walked through your domain once,” Jon says after a pause. “You gave me a statement about the End’s place in that world. The domains were reluctant to let their victims die – they’d bring them to the brink, then revive them and repeat the process – but the Fears are greedy. Eventually, they would suck their victims dry –”

“– bones – every one of them – picked clean and cracked open – desperately gnawing – trying to reach whatever scant marrow might have remained inside – sucked from them to leave nothing but dry, white fragments – the hunger he saw in their eyes–”

Jon bites down on his tongue. That’s quite enough of that.

“You alright?” Martin says, leaning over and putting a hand on Jon’s knee.

“Sorry,” Jon says gruffly. “That one was…”

“Grisly?” Daisy says.

“Yeah,” Jon huffs. “But – not necessarily inapt? That reality was a closed economy. No new people were being born. The ones who already existed were destined to die, no matter how unwilling the other Fears were to grant that release.”

“As has always been the order of things,” Oliver says.

“You predicted that eventually the Fears would start poaching victims from one another’s domains – and they did. There were…” Jon grimaces. “There were a lot of territorial disputes, towards the end there. Domains encroaching on one another, monsters fighting over scraps. The Eye got its fill Watching it all play out, of course, but given enough time, it would have starved, same as all the rest.”

“And once the world was rendered barren,” Oliver says, understanding, “Terminus itself would die.”

Jon nods. “And until that happened, both you and your patron were content to let things play out.”

“Terminus is patient.”

Too patient, Jon thought at the time.

“I don’t think it was your intention,” he says, “but your statement did come as a relief. I already expected as much – that eventually it would all end – but having it corroborated by an authority on the matter was… very welcome.”

“People may fear death,” Oliver says, “but anyone who outruns it long enough finds that there is a much deeper fear hiding underneath – that of having the release of death withheld from them.”

“We have a lot of statements to that tune,” Basira says.

“I imagine so.”

“So,” Daisy says brusquely, “is that enough of a story for you?”

“I suppose,” Oliver says. “Although it raises more questions than it grants answers.”

“Our turn for questions, then?” Basira asks. She doesn’t wait for an answer. “The… veins, or… roots you saw around Gertrude. You’re saying they didn’t just foretell her death, but showed how it would impact everything else. So, what about the ones you saw around Jon?”

“It’s difficult to observe them for any length of time, but they do seem… more sprawling.” Oliver studies Jon for a moment, considering. “Like you are the heart of a watershed moment destined to happen.”

“So that’s it, then,” Jon says dully. “I’m still the spark for it all.”

Pandora’s box with a ‘use by’ date, he thinks to himself, somewhat hysterically.

He already knew it to be true, but that doesn’t make the confirmation any less harrowing. Everything hinges on his ability to keep his head above water, but the fate of the world weighs ever more heavily on his shoulders, pressing down, down, down –

“Does that mean…” Jon hugs his middle, slowly curling in on himself. “Does that mean it’s going to happen again?”

“I cannot say.” If Jon’s not mistaken, Oliver sounds… almost sympathetic. “This is unprecedented. I can only theorize. It’s possible that you’re like Gertrude, and what I see is a premonition. Or maybe the reality you came from still exists, parallel to this one, and it still clings to you. Perhaps it’s a Schrödinger’s cat, and it both does and does not exist, right up until the point where you do or do not bring it into being. Or maybe it doesn't exist, and the roots I see are only… imprints, so to speak. Echoes of a time and place that this world will never overlap.”

“Like trace fossils,” Jon murmurs. “Ghosts.”

“If you like.”

“Could you – could you follow them?” Jon can feel his pulse quicken, his heart thrumming in his throat. “See where they originate?”

“They originate from you.”

“O-oh.” Jon’s gaze darts uncertainly around the area before fixing on Oliver again. “Then, uh – can you see where they end?”

“You have a suspicion,” Basira says, watching Jon carefully.

Jon swallows around the breath caught in his throat. “What if they go back to Hill Top Road?”

“As far as I can tell, they reach out in all directions,” Oliver says. “There may not be a single end point. Regardless, I have no desire to visit Hill Top Road.”

“Oh,” Jon says despondently. It’s not like he expected Oliver to go out of his way to help, but…

“Would it really tell you anything of value anyway?” Martin asks.

“I don’t know,” Jon says, running a hand through his hair, one finger getting caught in a knot and pulling hard at his scalp. “But – but it feels like something I should at least check –”

“To what end?” Daisy asks. Jon looks at her blankly. “No offense, Sims, but the most likely outcome is you get no real answers, you lose yourself obsessing over theories, each more catastrophic than the last, and you spend the next few weeks compulsively checking yourself for spiders. Some things aren’t worth chasing after.”

“I just – I feel like I should know one way or the other –”

“Is that you or the Eye talking?” Martin asks.

“What’s the difference?” Jon says flatly. He immediately regrets it when he glimpses the expression on Martin’s face – a very familiar mixture of concern and frustration. “I’m sorry. Just… I don’t know. I don’t Know.”

Jon tugs on his hair once more, focusing on the dull ache it produces. He’s always had trouble letting things go. Letting questions go unanswered; letting mysteries go unsolved. The Beholding just nurtured that obsessiveness, encouraged that impulse to proliferate in his head like a weed and choke out his inhibitions.

“You’re here now,” Martin says firmly. “You can’t go back, so you may as well go forward.”

“Yeah,” Jon says, guilt heavy and searing in his chest.

“Like I said,” Oliver says, rubbing the back of his neck, “my knowledge of the future is narrow. I can’t tell you anything about parallel universes, or branching timelines, or the ability to alter history. The only certainty is that anything that begins will have an end, one way or another. All the rest is just… details.”

Martin folds his arms across his chest, examining Oliver with narrowed eyes. “You say that like the details are irrelevant.”

“I wonder about that,” Oliver says softly.

“Well, I think our experiences matter,” Martin says. “The fact that we were here at all, it’s… it’s not nothing.”

“Even those who make the greatest impact are forgotten in time.”

“So what? It will always have happened, even if no one is alive to remember it. And – and you never know when something little will have an impact on someone, which contributes to them doing something that makes a greater impact – that changes history.”

“Even time itself will end eventually. History will be forgotten, and nothing will remain to register its loss.”

“And?” Martin persists. “We won’t be around to see it. In the meantime, we’re here. We’re alive. If we’re going to end no matter what, why not make it worthwhile? Sure, there are no equivalent powers of hope and love to counter the Fears, but – but who cares? That just means that we have to make up for that absence.” Jon smiles to himself as Martin builds momentum – shoulders pushed back, chest thrust out, head held higher, speech growing more impassioned as he argues his point. “If a few mistakes and some asshole with a god complex can end the world, who’s to say a few deliberate kindnesses can’t save it?”

“Am I the asshole with the god complex?” Jon says drily. Judging from Martin’s disapproving scowl, he is not in the mood for self-deprecating humor. “Sorry, sorry. But, uh – in all seriousness, I think it was more than a few mistakes on my part–”

“You know what I meant, Jon,” Martin snaps. “And – and fine, maybe a few kindnesses can’t save the whole world, but – but they can save someone’s world. They can save a person. Doesn’t that mean something?”

“Yes,” Jon says with a small smile. “Yes, it does.”

“R-right.” Martin blinks several times, momentarily stunned by the lack of resistance. “It doesn’t change the world – except for how it does. Just – the universe might not care, but we can, and that’s exactly why we should. It’s… it’s what we owe to each other. That’s what I think, at least.”

Martin goes quiet then, arms still folded with a mixture of self-consciousness and sullen defiance.

“How long have you had that rant queued up?” Daisy teases.

“A while,” Martin says, rubbing his arm sheepishly.

“You’re quite the romantic,” Oliver says. He says it like a compliment, albeit somewhat wistful.

“Yeah, well.” Martin blushes at the praise in spite of himself. “Someone has to counter the fatalism around here.”

If you ask Jon, there are many reasons to love Martin Blackwood. This is doubtless one of them.

“Besides,” Martin recovers, apparently on a roll now, “it seems to me there’s as much evidence for fate being changeable as not. Yeah, sure, eventually everything dies, but who’s to say that the details are set in stone? Like – like that book, the one where the details of a person’s death change every time they read it.”

“But does their fate actually change, or is it just the book messing with their heads?” Basira says, tapping her fingers against her lips and looking down at the floor pensively. “If the End has foreknowledge of a person’s death, maybe the last entry a person reads before dying was always their fate, and all the previous accounts were just lies intended to seed fear.”

When Jon opens his mouth to chime in, the Archive seizes the initiative, unceremonious as ever.

"When did it change?” comes the cadence of Masato Murray. “Was it when I turned back to read it again? Or perhaps when I had made the decision to never visit Lancashire? If the book knew the future, then how much did it know me? My decisions and choices were my own, so was it responding to them or simply to the fact that I opened the book again? Perhaps it changed every time I opened it, even if I didn’t read the page, every interaction changing my fate…. When I close the book I wonder: are those same words still there, squatting and biding their time, or have they already changed into some new unknown terror that I can neither know nor avoid, waiting to spring on me.”

Jon holds his breath in anticipation. After a few seconds of suspense, the pressure recedes, the Archive having spoken its peace.

“Archive’s talkative today,” Basira observes.

“Apparently,” Jon grumbles. “What I originally meant to say was that I’ve wondered the same thing – whether the book was really telling the future or simply playing on the fears of the reader.”

“Maybe offering textual support is another convenience feature?” Daisy keeps her tone carefully neutral, gauging his mood.

“The Beholding is known for being exceedingly generous,” he retorts.

Basira ignores the banter and speaks directly to Oliver. “Do you know?”

“I’m unfamiliar with the book in question,” he replies. “All the deaths I’ve personally foreseen have come to pass so far. That says nothing about whether or not the End always reveals the truth to all who cross its path.”

“Right.” Basira shakes her head. “Not sure why I expected a straightforward answer.”

“Maybe there isn’t one,” Martin says. For a fraction of a second, Basira tenses. Jon suspects she’s just as repulsed by such a prospect as he is.

“Whatever,” she says curtly. “It isn’t important right now. What I want to know is how to deal with Jonah Magnus. So” – she pins Oliver in place with sharp, unblinking eyes – “what can you tell us about his mortality?”

“In short? He won’t live forever, regardless of how much he wants to deny that reality.”

“Yeah, you’ve said,” Daisy says, tossing her head back with an impatient groan. “Him dying eventually doesn’t help us now.”

“I’m not a mind-reader,” Oliver says. “If there’s more to your question, you’ll need to elaborate. What are you actually asking? How to kill him? For me to tell you whether his death is on the horizon?”

“Jonah claims that he’s the ‘beating heart of the Institute,’” Jon explains. “He says that if he dies, everyone else who works here dies as well. You were able to see the ripples created by Gertrude’s death. I suppose I thought – maybe you could tell us if there’s something similar with Jonah.”

“If his death was imminent, perhaps.” Oliver averts his eyes as he twists a ring around his finger, growing increasingly tense under such concentrated scrutiny. “But as I said before, I don’t make a habit of telling fortunes.”

“So you won’t tell us,” Martin says.

“To be frank, this place is rife with potential.” Oliver casts his gaze around the area, as if seeing something the others cannot. “It would be… difficult to untangle it all.”

“Fine,” Basira says tartly. “Then can you tell us whether it’s possible for him to set up a dead man’s switch in the first place? Seems to me something like that would be the End’s domain, wouldn’t it?”

“It would.”

“Then would he be able to exercise any real power over it?” Basira persists. “There’s nothing inherent to the Eye that suggests its Avatars should be able to bind others’ lives to them. Even the Archivist doesn’t work like that – we’re linked to Jon as far as being unable to quit goes, but we won’t die if he does. I think it’s more likely that Jonah did something extra to bind the Institute to himself.”

“Assuming he’s even telling the truth,” Daisy says.

“So, is there an artefact that could let him do it?” Basira asks, still staring Oliver down. “A ritual? A favor from an affiliate of the End, maybe?”

“Terminus has a variety of ways in which it operates,” Oliver says cagily, “same as all the other Powers. I don’t seek out instances of those manifestations. Given the sheer number of statements collected here, it's likely you’re all more familiar with the breadth of its influence than I am.”

“You’re very helpful,” Daisy scoffs.

Oliver hunches his shoulders, chastised. It’s an odd sight – Jon wouldn’t have expected him to be particularly affected by such an accusation. Oliver never promised to be helpful; does not owe them his cooperation. Before Jon can pursue that thought any further, though, Oliver continues.

“I will say that Terminus is its own master. Those who believe they have tamed it are only fooling themselves. Orchestrating their own misery. The moment in which they finally realize that fact – that they have never had the upper hand, that the entire time they have never strayed from the route to which Terminus binds them…” Oliver chews the inside of his cheek, considering. “The existential terror that moment creates – I wonder sometimes whether it’s a delicacy to my patron.”

“Sounds a lot like the Web,” Basira says. The suggestion must pique his interest, because Oliver sits up straighter and leans forward ever so slightly.

“Except the Web reviles its extinction as much as the other powers, and as much as any mortal mind,” he says – not quite excited, but more engaged than before. “Terminus, on the other hand – its eventual oblivion is part and parcel of its existence. It does not fear the conclusion of its story. The Web will never surrender to such a fate. It will always seek an escape route, some way to appoint itself the weaver of its own ends. Its threads can never stray from the confines of the routes dictated by Terminus, but the concept that it may itself be under the guidance of another… such a thing is incompatible with its definition. Still, the shape of the Spider’s web will always mirror the blueprints of a greater architect.”

“And you think the same is true for Jonah,” Jon says.

“I know it is.”

“Okay, but – but Jon changed fate,” Martin protests. “In a million little ways – some we probably don’t even know about – and some big ones, too. So who’s to say that every step of the route is part of the End’s blueprints? What if – hold on.”

Martin stands and moves to Jon’s makeshift desk, rummaging around for a few seconds before coming up with a pen. He snatches one of Melanie’s therapy worksheets from the top of the pile and turns it over to the blank side.

“What if the only things set in stone are – are certain points along the route,” he says, scribbling a scattering of dots across the page, “but all that matters is that the route eventually intersects with those points?” Martin connects two points with a wavy, sine-like line. “Maybe it doesn’t even matter how convoluted” – he draws another line, this time with several loop-de-loops – “or long” – yet another line, this one traveling all the way up to the top of the page and making several winding turns before plunging back down to connect with the next dot – “the path is.” He holds up the finished product for everyone to see. “As long as the dots connect, the rest is free reign.”

“I like to think that choice plays a role,” Oliver says. “That fate is less of a track and more of a guideline. But honestly, there’s no way to know for certain. I only know the end point. The rest is speculation.”

“It’s also possible that the rift brought me to an alternate reality,” Jon says, eyes downcast. “If the reality of my original timeline still exists, I haven’t changed fate at all. I’ve just jumped to a different track.”

“Okay, and if that’s the case, and this is a different dimension,” Martin says heatedly, “then that means it has its own timeline and its own future, and whatever happened in your future has no bearing on ours.” Martin glares, daring Jon to argue. He doesn’t. “So it’s a moot point. If we can’t know one way or the other whether the future is already written, then let’s just act as if it isn’t. Prepare for the worst and hope for the best. At least then it will feel meaningful.”

“The worst isn’t something you can prepare for,” Jon says darkly. “Trust me, I know.”

“If I want ominous proverbs, I’ll let you know,” Martin immediately counters – and Jon loves him for it. Daisy chokes on a startled laugh; Martin ignores her, instead pivoting to face Oliver. “We want to kill Jonah Magnus. Or, at least make it so he can’t perform his Ritual. But preferably kill.”

“Never realized you were so bloodthirsty, Blackwood,” Daisy says approvingly.

“The world will be a better place without him in it,” Martin says without a hint of indecision, not looking away from Oliver. “Jonah’s original body is in the center of the Panopticon. Except his eyes, because apparently transplanting them into innocent people is how he cheats death, because of course it is, why wouldn’t it be some messed up–”

“Martin,” Basira sighs.

“Okay, fine, moving on,” Martin sasses back. “It makes me wonder, would destroying his original body hurt him, or do we need to destroy his original eyes as well, or would destroying just his eyes be enough? And – and would it kill him, or just – blind him, disconnect him from the Beholding? Or – or would that kill him, because the Beholding is what’s keeping him alive?”

“Your guesses are as good as mine,” Oliver says. “Much of this really does come down to speculation and thought experiment, and it seems you’ve done plenty of that amongst yourselves already. I’m afraid that the only certainty I can offer is the certainty of an ending, and I don’t think that’s as much of a consolation to you as it is to me.”

“No, it’s not,” Martin says.

“But, uh – thank you for your honesty,” Jon jumps in. “For trying.”

“I really do wish I had better answers for you,” Oliver says, not quite meeting his eyes. “The End is… somewhat of an echo chamber at times. When you’re already on the inside looking out, it can be… difficult, to shift perspective.”

“I wouldn’t be able to offer many straightforward answers about my patron, either,” Jon admits.

“Wait,” Martin says. “Could you… could you at least tell us whether you can see anything about our deaths?”

Oliver draws in a deep breath and releases it slowly. “In my experience, there’s nothing to be gained from such knowledge.”

“Tell us anyway,” Basira says.

“Why?” Oliver says tiredly, his hands curling into loose fists. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because if you can see something, it could help us narrow down possibilities,” Basira replies. “If you see all of us dying in the same way, maybe it means we all die when Magnus does.”

“Or it just means you all die in the same freak accident.”

“Wait, do we?” Martin asks, his voice pitching higher in alarm.

“It was just an example,” Oliver says, scrubbing one hand down his face. “I’m just saying that this kind of knowledge doesn’t tend to give people the answers that they want.” Met with nothing but four determined stares, his shoulders sag in defeat. “Are you all certain you want to know?”

Everyone nods. Oliver equivocates for a full minute, rubbing at his forehead in complete silence. Eventually, he releases a long, low sigh.

“Right now,” he says, “I don’t see death closing in on any one of you.”

“Shit,” Martin says on a heavy exhale. “The way you were putting it off, I was sure you were going to predict a massacre.”

“Honestly,” Daisy mutters. “Bury the lead much?”

Jon ignores them, preoccupied with the implications of Oliver's revelation. If they were planning on killing Jonah tomorrow, it would say nothing about whether they were to succeed, but it would suggest they don’t die in the process, which would at least offer some reassurance going in. But Jon has no idea when they’ll be able to execute any sort of plan. This only confirms that none of them are likely to die in the next few weeks – and that’s assuming that Oliver’s premonition is accurate. Up until now, his predictions have come true, but there’s a first time for everything.

Judging from the contemplative frown on Basira’s face, she’s running through the same calculations.

“How far out can you see?” she asks.

“It varies,” Oliver says. “Weeks, usually. Sometimes months.”

“And it could change in a few weeks,” Daisy says.

“It could change tomorrow. It could change an hour from now.” Oliver looks between the four of them with a faint, melancholy smile. “I did warn you that it wouldn’t offer much sense of security. It only makes you want to know more.”

“Look where you are,” Basira scoffs.

“Point taken,” Oliver says with a startled laugh. “But honestly, ask yourself whether it’s all that different from Masato Murray and his book. If it’s worth living your life around the question of when and how – especially when the answer, should you receive one, will never put your mind at ease.”

“Just to be clear, ah – was I included in that prophecy? Or do you still see the veins around me?” Jon asks. Oliver raises his eyebrows. “I know, I know – the answer won’t satisfy me. Just – humor me?”

“Yes,” Oliver sighs, “I can still see them, if I look for them, but as we covered quite exhaustively, they look atypical and wrong and I don’t know what to make of them.” A tinge of indignation breaks through Oliver's characterisic mild manner – and then the moment passes. “I don’t think they indicate an imminent demise, but much about you is an enigma.”

“And there’s nothing else you can tell us about Jonah Magnus?” Basira asks.

“It isn’t a matter of if he can be killed, but how. Unfortunately, you’ll have to figure that part out for yourselves. As for whether or to what extent he could bind his fate to the rest of the Institute… there are any number of strange phenomena and improbable feats in this world. I would never claim to be an authority on the scope of it all.” Oliver offers another wistful ghost of a smile. “I’m afraid you might just have to take a leap of faith.”

Again, Jon thinks with an inward sigh.

But at least he can say he’s had practice.

End Notes:

Citations for Jon’s Archive-speak are as follows: MAG 011; 011; 168; 121; 156; 070. The “I still remember the first time…” & “And the worst part was that…” Oliver quotes are from MAG 121.  

Yes, “what we owe to each other” is a nod to The Good Place.  

So. This… was a beast of a chapter, and the last half of it really kicked my ass, which is why it’s taken so long to finally finish it. Still not sure how I feel about it – it’s a bit of a digression, but I’m hoping it still fits in thematically. Either way, next chapter we’re moving on to Ny-Ålesund.

Hopefully it won’t take me an entire month this time to write the next chapter, but… we’re down to two episodes left, folks. Chances are, next time I update, we’ll have heard the series finale. Are you all ready? Because I categorically am NOT. aaaaaaaaa

(That said, I already have a handful of epilogue standalone fics planned for this AU once the main story is done. Because hurt/comfort and recovery fics are going to be at the top of my hierarchy of needs once Jonny Sims destroys me in two weeks, I s2g.)

Thanks for reading!

[snek-snacc-ficc]

One Is A Genius, The Other’s Insane

Summary: Logan had seen enough of the world to know it was a horrible place, greatly in need of a competent leader. That was a job he was more than willing to fill, and so, by the age of twenty, he began his tireless work to plan the perfect scheme for world domination. Things became much more complicated, however, when Remus, his complete opposite in nearly every sense, stumbled his way into his life.

(Pssst, it's a Pinky and the Brain au)

Words: 3,177

Logan Ackeroyd couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he realized the world was a horrible place. It had been more of a gradual thing really. He studied history in school and learned of all the horrors man had committed against man throughout the thousands of years of humankind's existence. Everyday he’d watch the news and see atrocities happening across the globe in real time. When he turned sixteen, he had to get a terrible job as a fast food cashier, enduring impatient, rude customers demanding cheap food that tasted like it had been chemically manufactured (and he figured it most likely was), just so one day college would be slightly more affordable. And, perhaps worst of all, when he did reach college, he was forced to listen to pretentious English professors take the likes of Sigmund Freud seriously. Listening to an old man tell a room full of his fellow peers that Hamlet wanted to copulate with his mother was the last straw, and so, by the age of twenty, Logan Ackeroyd decided that he would take over the world. 

He wasn’t the absolute perfect choice for Earth’s ruler, he knew, but he also knew that he had an immense amount of intelligence, and a righteous moral code, and that put him above nearly every other world leader in his book. 

Unfortunately, Logan found, working to become the world’s benevolent dictator didn’t pay well, in fact it often depleted his pocket book, and so he took up a job as a middle school science teacher by day, and would dedicate his nights to working out the perfect scheme for world domination. 

It was supposed to be a secretive, solo endeavor. Involving others in his plan could get messy and chaotic, which was rather counterintuitive to his goal. Along with that, it could prove disastrous to alert others of his plans for fear it could somehow lead to interference from the authorities. It was best, he decided, to simply keep to himself with a clear mind. All of that, however, was ruined the day he met Remus.

Logan’s trip to the hardware store was meant to be quick and simple. He was working on what he thought was the verge of a breakthrough, (a prototype of a device that would allow him to brainwash the masses through the use of a high pitched sound wave), but he was missing some of the tools needed for its completion. When he turned around from the shelf he had grabbed a collection of bolts from, he was brought face to face with a man with a handlebar mustache staring at him. He was startled for a moment, but the feeling quickly gave way to annoyance.

“Excuse me,” he said, pushing past him.

“Is that blood on your sleeve?”

Logan looked down at his long sleeved polo. He hadn’t noticed the red stain on it earlier and he thought it odd that the stranger would point it out.

“I don’t believe so. There’s a stronger possibility that it’s jam.”

“You should totally lick it to find out.” 

“That would be highly uncouth,” Logan deadpanned, hoping the peculiar person would soon leave.

“It could be cool. If it is blood then you’d be like a vampire.”

Logan moved towards the check out, delving into an explanation of the definition and proper pronunciation of “uncouth.” The man continued to trail behind him, apparently satisfied with his shopping trip of a cartful of spray paint, chattering on about what seemed like disconnected nonsense. By the time he was finished with his purchase, excusing himself once again to leave, Logan was relieved to no longer be burdened with the annoying distraction.

He rushed to his lab with the missing parts once he reached home, eager to begin work on the project once more. He had little time to do so though, as right as he began the door to the room swung open. Logan jumped, grabbing a screwdriver on instinct in case he had to defend himself, and spun around to see the man from the store standing before him. 

“What?!- Why’re you-” he sputtered, completely flabbergasted.

“You left this at the checkout,” the man said, thrusting forward a plastic bag with a collection of wrenches in it. Logan hadn’t even realized he’d left it behind, but his attention had been split when he was checking out thanks to the other.

“So your first reaction was to stalk me and break into my house?!” Logan’s voice rose with anger and unease. “How did you even find where I live?”

“I followed your car.” The man said it like doing so was the most casual thing in the world. “I almost missed ya, but I caught up just in time. Lost you for a second at a stoplight though. And when I found you again your car was already in the driveway and you were gone. I tried knocking at the front door but you never answered, so I just walked in and heard you doing...whatever this is down here.”

Logan was silent, both confused and slightly disturbed that the man’s first solution had been breaking and entering, but he had little time to dwell on that. His cover was blown. His lab had been exposed to an outsider who would most certainly bring an end to his work. It had always been a concern of Logan’s, but he didn’t think he would be faced with it so soon. He kept his composure though, already theorizing which high security prison he might be thrown into. 

“Well,” he said, “I suppose now that you know of my secret you will contact the authorities. I’d rather you do it now and get it over with. My phone is right over there if you need to use it.”

The man did not move to grab it however. He remained where he was, darting his gaze around the room.

“Why would I do that?” he asked, still taking in the surroundings.

“B-Because you know of my nefarious plans now, to take over the world.” Logan gestured to the large bulletin board on the wall labeled “Plans for World Domination,” using the same tone of voice he used when re-explaining concepts to students that had been zoned out in class.

“You’re trying to take over the world?!” the other sounded ecstatic, “Woah, how?”

That hadn’t been the reaction Logan expected at all, and he still was unsure whether it was a trap of sorts or the man in question really was this...dense seemed the best way to put it. Either way, he had little left to lose. If he was going to get arrested, at least he would finally get the chance to explain his genius plan to someone beforehand. He turned back towards the device on the work desk. 

“Well if you must know, I’m working on this prototype of a device that would send out a high frequency noise to anyone within a ten thousand mile radius. Once it’s finished, I was going to hide them on numerous radio towers and implant a message within it that would brainwash everyone that heard it, allowing me to gain total control of a large number of people quite quickly and efficiently. The only problem thus far seems to be a simple yet pesky error on my part; These wires on its main control panel keep falling in the way when I try to work on it, and there's no way for me to move them all at once and simultaneously continue my work.” 

“Well I can help with that Dr. Dork-enshmirtz, here.” He moved over to the control panel, lifting up the bunches of wires that hung over it. “That better?”

Logan, though still a bit stunned, dug around in the bag the man had brought over, taking out the wrench he needed to continue where he left off. 

“My name is Logan,” he said, “but that is quite helpful, thank you…?”

“I’m Remus,” the other chirped eagerly.

“Thank you Remus.” As much as he loathed to admit it, it was fairly nice to have some sort of companionship. Being able to share just a bit of his idea already gave him a rush of excitement, despite the odd circumstances it had occurred under. And having someone to be an extra set of hands was an added bonus.

“Would it be possible for you to further offer your assistance to me?”

“Sure thing Nerdy Wolverine, as long as I get Australia privileges when you brainwash everyone. I’m gonna make a spider army.” 

The plan fell through in the end (Logan hadn’t considered how difficult it would be to travel the globe, climbing thousands of radio towers), but from that moment on Logan had Remus as his partner in justifiable crime.

---

"Heeeyyy Logie, what are we gonna do tonight?"

Logan rubbed his temples. For ninety-five nights in a row Remus had asked this same question, and every single night Logan's response was the same.

"The same thing we do every night Remus, try to take over the world."

"Ooo neat! What are we gonna do this time? More sabotaging jam companies?"

"No Remus," Logan sighed, "after last night's disaster we're lucky we aren't on some government watch list." He was most disappointed that out of all of his plans that one fell through. Creating a utopia where only Crofter's jam was consumed would have been a dream come true. But alas, he had to move on.

"Truth be told I am rather stumped as to what our next approach should be, but I'm sure with some copious amounts of effort I will come up with another brilliant idea."

"Why don't you take the night off Brainiac?" Remus asked.

"Take the night off?" Logan scoffed, "When the world still remains in the clutches of corrupt, incompetent leaders? Never. Besides, what would I do if not plot to take over the world?" 

"You could take a nap," Remus suggested, "You've got circles under your eyes so dark you could pass for a MySpace profile picture."

"While I appreciate the concern, my friend, I am quite fine. Though my sleep schedule is a bit off of an average rhythm, rest assured I have calculated a routine that keeps me functioning regularly. Though, given that you sleep a full 9 hours each day I doubt a set sleeping pattern can do much to create normal behavior." Logan muttered the last bit watching Remus grind his nails against his teeth like they were a nail-filer.

Remus halted his movement, inspecting his hand with one eye closed as he spoke. "Well then we could do something fun. We could watch this one documentary I want to see about this religious cult that made all it's followers fuck each other on a bridge and then jump off," he let out a cackled laugh, "Crazy how all that religious stuff can control people like that."

Logan scrunched his nose. "Remus, I ask that you keep your disgusting documentary drivel to yourse-" He paused for a moment, the last thing Remus said sinking in. 

"Remus, what did you just say?"

"It's crazy how all the religious junk can control people," Remus repeated, "that's partially why I gave up organized religion, in fact…" 

He trailed off but Logan wasn't listening, the gears in his head turning, formulating a new idea.

"Remus," he exclaimed, eyes lit up as he cut the other off without realizing it, "are you pondering what I'm pondering?"

"Hm, well I think so Logie," Remus said, "but I'm actually allergic to synthetic body glitter."

Logan grit his teeth, face falling. 

"You would make for wonderful evidence to prove it's possible to de-evolve, Remus. No, I was referring to the idea of preying on the population through the use of religion. If I were to somehow convince the masses that I were a god I would have the world tied around my finger; They would do anything I commanded."

"Woah, you'd be a much better god than Sky Daddy Logan," Remus said, "but how are you going to get that many people to trust you?"

"From what I've observed, most people seem to distrust claims of the supernatural due to a lack of perceivable, verified evidence," Logan said. "If I could find a way to create some sort of projection of myself to a large number of people all at once, it might be enough to convince them that I am a deity. And right here in America would be the perfect starting point, because most people here are rather gullible and severely lacking in critical thinking skills."

Remus clapped his hands together. 

"Yay! We're gonna start a nerd cult!"

---

Tireless nights were spent working to bring the plan to fruition. Logan had to work out exactly how he could create a convincing projection of himself, as well as find a power source with enough energy to fuel it. After weeks of building, planning, and re-working the contraption was finally finished and ready to be put to use. 

It was about half past ten o'clock when Remus and Logan headed out to the nearby electrical company. Its small amount of security and large source of power made it the ideal location to put his plan into motion. When they arrived and had successfully snuck through the wired fence, Logan turned to Remus.

"Here," he said, handing him a thick metal pole he had under his arm, "you use this to knock out the security guards while I hack into the security system and cameras. Try and meet me in 15 minutes."

Remus gave a two-fingered salute. 

"You got it Dorkenshmirtz."

Logan rolled his eyes at the nickname, but couldn't truly be annoyed by it. So far everything was going perfectly according to plan. Logan even found himself grinning as he made quick work of disabling the security, the flow of adrenaline making him nearly burst with excitement. Once the system was completely down, he turned tail to head to the main center. He unzipped the bag he was carrying, carefully taking out the disk-like platform he would use for the projection, and untangling the series of wires and cords to put together. To his dismay, he found that the last cord was slightly bent, most likely from being shuffled around in the bag on the trip over, and wouldn't properly plug in to the outlet without hands on assistance. The concern was quickly diminished though. Remus would be able to hold it in place while he was on the platform. Just as the thought crossed his mind the door swung open and Remus stepped in. His hair was slightly more astray than usual and a noticeable bruise was forming around his jaw, but he was smiling madly, chipper as ever.

"Did you take all of the guards out?" Logan asked.

"Yup, I bonked 'em!" Remus said, proudly. "A few of them put up a fight but I went like this," he swung the pole through the air, "BONK!"

Logan couldn't help the amused quirk of his lips. 

"Wonderful," he said, making his way towards the platform, "Everything has been put into place, except the cord over there. I need you to hold it into the outlet for this to work. Do not let go."

Remus nodded.

"Amen Sky Daddy!"

He plugged the cord in, keeping it upright and steady. Almost immediately the platform lit up with a surge of power. Logan walked towards it, nearly trembling. Finally after years of work, trying and failing and trying again, he was going to succeed. The world would finally be his to craft to his perfect, peaceful vision.

Once it was completely charged up Logan took his step onto the platform. Outside an enlarged image of himself filled the sky for miles. He cleared his throat, preparing his speech for the people, when suddenly his moment was interrupted by the sound of Remus cursing to himself as softly as he could manage. His head whipped around and to his horror he saw sparks of electricity flying from the place where the cord met the outlet, sending repeated shocks through Remus, who was struggling through the pain to keep the cord plugged in.

Remus looked to Logan, seeing him hesitate.

"Go on," he whispered, though his voice was strangled with discomfort, "I'm fine."

Logan turned back around once more, but got no further in his speech as he caught the sparks growing larger out of the corner of his eye. 

Time seemed to freeze for Logan, his head was spinning, torn between the task at hand and Remus' pained whimpers.

He'll be fine.

He'll get electrocuted and die.

It's one person vs the future of the rest of the world. This is what I've worked towards for years, and I'm going to blow it.

But he's helped so much. 

Stupid, loyal Remus with his constant screw ups, and dumb jokes, and annoying nicknames, and laughter and chatter that always rang through the house, that filled a void I didn't even notice was there before, and-

Remus cried out, his body completely jolting with an electric shock, but still he forced himself to keep hold of the cord.

"Remus let go!" Logan shouted.

"N-no, y-you-" Remus couldn't get out another word before another strong shock struck him. The surrounding wires and cords were jumping with sparks as well, and Logan caught sight of a fire starting at the floor where Remus sat slumped weakly against the wall.

"Remus!"

Without thinking twice Logan bolted from the platform, heaving Remus into his arms just as the flames began to grow and approach his body. He rushed out of the building, lungs burning from the toxic fumes of smoke that filled the air, but he didn’t slow his pace until they reached the car, the sound of sirens already blaring in the distance.

The drive home almost certainly broke the speed limit, but Logan cared little about that, glancing at Remus, unconscious but miraculously breathing, every few seconds until they reached home.

---

It was evening two days later when Remus finally awoke. He groaned, blinking his eyes open. Just as he came to, Logan walked into the room, rushing over to the bedside.

"So Logan,” Remus said, flashing a dopey smile up at him, “what do you want to do tonight?" 

Logan threw his arms around Remus' neck, the position awkward due to him being sprawled out on the bed, but neither paid any mind to it. Tears leaked out of Logan's eyes, that he tried to hold back.

"I think," he said, sniffling, "that you can choose what we do tonight Remus."

Soon after, the two were curled up on the couch, Remus' head resting on Logan's thighs. Logan sipped hot chocolate from his #1 DICK-tator mug, a Christmas gift from Remus, carding his fingers through the other's hair as a true crime documentary played on the T.V. Maybe, he thought, world domination could wait a bit when he had his whole world lying right in his lap.

---

Ah! I’m so glad I finally finished this! Think of it as my own little celebratory work to welcome in the new Animaniacs reboot.

Taglist: @bullet-tothefeels 

[theseathatsparkles]

On Bugs

so for creative writing class we were told to imitate Amy Dillard’s writing style. This is the essay on bugs that I ended up making. Not Bleach, I know, but I thought someone might enjoy it. 

This took so long to write oh my god ;-;

also, I am fully aware that not all insects are bugs, and that spiders aren’t either of the two, but. bug is much more fun to say.

Word count - 1500 on the dot

@despairforme THE BUG ESSAY. IT’S HERE. @onenicebugperday you inspired me to write a four page essay about bugs i hope you’re happy

When I was in third grade, I dropped a dandelion down the back of my classmate’s shirt. She was upset, having thought the rather inconspicuous dandelion was a daddy long-legs spider. She’d screamed, slapped me on the chest in an attempt to escape her arachnid harasser, and had decided to wage war against me for the rest of our time together in school.

I never was afraid of spiders the way she was. Spiders and snakes and all sorts of bugs, so long as I could be assured they weren't poisonous, had always held a special place in my heart - and, more often than not, my hand. Growing up in woody, wet Germany gave me a healthy dosage of ladybugs, crickets, and snails at a young age, and I never looked at a bug with anything other than fascination. 

It’s the middle of winter, now. There aren’t many bugs around. Forty-two little silhouettes in the light above my desk, but none of them move, empty exoskeletons like shells. They’re probably dry, and if I touched one I’m sure it would crumble under my fingers. There seem to be more of them every time I look up; it’s the middle of winter, so the warmth of the indoors must be especially tantalizing. Right now, there isn’t any wind outside, but the world seems to be painted in shades of grey. Even looking outside makes you feel cold, and the drifts of iced-over snow outside of the window just emphasize this.

I have mixed feelings about winter. I love the snow, love having an excuse to stay inside wrapped in blankets on the days I don’t have school. I love that there aren’t mosquitoes to follow me around - I must taste good to them, since they always seem to swarm me. But the lack of the bugs I do like - spiders, caterpillars, grasshoppers, even the jeweled dragonflies that swarm our canoes in summer - makes winter feel especially harsh. 

When I’m feeling more grey than usual, I turn to the internet to soothe me. My computer has a tab open - one nice bug per day. The third picture that appears on image search is a gorgeous skeleton leaf moth, the row under that containing a domino cuckoo bee. I smile, looking at the pictures.  A photo of a hissing cockroach wearing a tiny paper party hat jumps out at me, curled around a leaf. I click on the picture, save it to my gmail by emailing it to myself. I’ll take some time to admire them later.

The bigger the bug the better, of course. Small bugs are hard to track, and the idea of one getting somewhere without me knowing about it gives me chills. That’s probably why I hate ants; they swarm up your legs and into your shoes and socks and it takes far too long to extract them all, and you feel phantom itches on your body for the next day or so. 

The fear of ants is called myrmecophobia, and often goes hand-in-hand with entomophobia - the fear of insects. When I was young - still in Elementary school, at a time before my decision to quit soccer - I’d practice with my mom in the field a bit southeast of the elementary school tucked at the base of the mountain pass. The playground had been north of us. I always wanted to go back to the playground. The whole complex had been a good half hour’s drive from my house, so we didn’t go there often, but it had an excellent jungle gym and some new swings. It got hot easily, out there under the sun; if I didn’t bring water, the ninety-degree weather would feel twenty degrees hotter, the sort of heat that makes you lightheaded and grumpy. 

But my mom had told me to play soccer, and she wasn’t the sort of person who you could say no to easily. I tried, of course, in futile attempts that would end with me in tears and my mom seething, but always ended up on that field, kicking the ball back and forth as my mom chastised me for skipping to the goal. Skipping, apparently, was slower than running.

 I’d hated soccer. 

It was one of those days that solidified my fear of ants. Wyoming doesn’t have fire ants or most other nasty biting bugs, so I was never in real danger, but that didn’t stop the whole experience from being traumatic. My mom, of course, had laughed about it later; it seems to be a habit of adults to take the irrational fears of children lightly. The ants crawling up my leg had probably been just as afraid of me as I was of them, but knowing that didn’t help any. Adults will tell you that the shark that bit off your arm was just as afraid of you as you were of it, but that doesn’t change the fact that your arm’s gone. 

I’d been unlucky enough to step right in an ant nest, the sort that stays hidden by the short grass until something, or someone, disturbs it. It hadn’t looked different from the regular ground from my five feet, but the moment I felt a tickle on my leg, I knew. 

I’d screamed. I think anyone would have screamed when confronted with one of their worst fears, so I never was ashamed of my reaction, even if I’d hated the exasperation and faint amusement on my mom’s face. The ants had come right off, lady fortune smiling on me that day, and I hadn’t found any tiny ant corpses in my shoes when I took them off that afternoon - a rarity; ants always seem to turn up in unexpected places post-encounter. I’d been paranoid, though, and had hopped around on one foot until I was a safe distance from the nest before shoving my hands down my socks to search for any lone ants. There were none.

I refused to resume play until I was positive there were no ants on me, of course. Even when we started the game again I was wary, taking light steps and watching the ground like a hawk for any sign of another insect. It had taken the fun out of the game pretty quickly, and we went home soon after.

The internet goes out for a moment, and the photo of the mantis I’m looking at shifts to a grey screen. I frown, take a second to stand up and stretch. My legs and shoulders are especially sore. By the time I sit down again, my picture has loaded again, and I scroll to the left to see a swallowtail butterfly looking out of the screen at me. They have yellow fur around their eyes and antennae, and look vaguely curious. This picture also goes to my saved folder to look at later, and I keep scrolling.

When I was in second grade, we studied bugs in science class. Not extensively; there’s only so much work you can get done as a scatterbrained second grader, and bugs weren’t on the top of my list of priorities. But we studied them, and after a few weeks our teacher imported seven Madagascar hissing cockroaches to be our class pets.

Nobody in my class was afraid of them; I think we were too young to be afraid of something as hideously cute as those little insects. They remind me of pugs now, disgusting in the sort of way that makes you want to coo over them. We’d kept them in a little glass terrarium in the back of the classroom, and took them out during lunch break and sometimes to sketch them during art. Our teacher had told us how to tell the males and females apart, but the information had gone straight in ear and out the other, like water through a sieve. There are two things I can remember about them now: first, that they would shed their skins sometimes and we’d have to clean out their terrarium; second, that if you poked their heads, they’d hiss.

The second thing was the most important to my little second-grade brain. My classmates and I took great satisfaction in poking the cockroaches and watching them puff up and make little hissing sounds like air coming out of a tire. They’d always make their funny wheezing sound, and we’d sit there for minutes on end - the longest amount of time our young minds could stay on track for - and tap them, giggling uncontrollably as they got progressively more frustrated.

I like bugs. I’m no entomologist, I would never spend my days in the wild watching them through magnifying glasses. But I still like them. Their colors remind me of spring and summer, and I love their size - perfect to pick up and put on a fingertip. They’re much more simple than people, never worried about money or jobs or politics. They have no worries, no fears.

I would love to be a bug.

[lexieelouuu11]

HC: Peter Parker didn’t know he was Bi until Harley Keener

So this took a turn I wasn’t expecting, also it’s a lot longer than I was expecting I’m sorry also Idk how to do the cut thing so my bad  

 TW: Mentions of Rape

Okay so Peter Parker is *Straight*

He likes girls, really likes girls

He literally went on a date with Liz (it may have ended with her moving away bc he put her dad in jail but that’s besides the point)

And he may have had a brief crush on MJ 

So Peter Parker is *Straight*

Boys are gross, and trust Peter he knows

He doesn’t ever want to think of men in a sexual matter

He 10/10 supports anyone who comes out to him 

But anytime he thinks about how boys could possibly be into him, his brain immediately goes to Skip Wescott 

And how Peter was 9 when it started and that he never wants to be in a position like that again

It was horrible and scary, and Peter Parker likes women and only women, and he will never be anyone’s Skip. And he will never put himself in a position where there can be another Skip.

So Peter Parker thinks men suck. 

(Obviously beside Ned and Mr Stark, they’re cool, but Peter has known Ned forever and Mr Stark is literally a super hero, and Peter only became such a huge fan of Iron Man and Tony Stark because of what happened)

His therapist tells him it was his way of coping with what happened 

Then one day Happy picks Peter up at school on an non-lab day because Mr. Stark has someone that he wants Peter to meet

Peter really hopes its the Black Widow (because they’re both spider themed heroes !! how cool !!!)

Peter meets Mr Stark and this mystery person in the living room

Mr Stark introduces Peter Parker to Harley Keener

Harley Keener looks hot good, hes tall and wears a leather jacket and cowboy boots with skinny jeans. He looks so out of place, but he doesn’t look bothered by it either

Peters heart skips a beat, but Peter chalks it up to be anxiety 

“Hey there Peter, I’m Harley”

Oh my god he has an accent, an actual southern accent

And doesn’t that just make Peters heart race 

“Tony here tells me you’re a real Einstein” He laughed

Harley laughed. Peter is not laughing

Peter hears his blood rushing, and feels himself go cold. His spidey-sense is just going off

Peter looks to Mr Stark whose smile falters at the look of pure-fear on Peters face

Mr Stark doesn’t know. Peter never told him. Any files about what happened never include Peters name, or any family members name, so Mr Stark wouldn’t have stumbled on it, unless he went into Peter’s Therapists notes, which he hasn’t because he may be nosy but he isn’t invasive 

Peter knows what this is, he knows he’s going into a panic attack. He was triggered and he needs to get out. Out out out before anything can happen

“So-sorry, I’ve gotta, I gotta go, something came up wi-with May. It was um, it was nice meeting you Harley.”

Peter left, and made it back home, though he doesn’t remember how he made it from Manhattan to Queens and into his apartment.

He’s home and it’s not the safest place, can’t go into his bedroom but it’s better than there

Tony beat him to the apartment (without Harley), already sitting with May when Peter walks in

May is quick to give Peter his favourite over-sized sweater (it makes him feel safe) sitting him down in the living room, putting a knit blanket over him, and giving a bottle of water. 

“Pete, you okay kid?” Mr Stark asks 

And Peter is fine, he always has been, so he nods 

“Do you want to talk about why you were triggered into a panic attack” His voice is soft as he speaks to Peter, like Peter would break

May sits next to Peter, pulling him into her 

“Adrian Toomes was not the first person Spider-Man sent to jail” Peter started the story like this because it was easier to tell it, his therapist may not be happy with it but she’ll be happy he’s making progress by telling some

“Spider-Man was 11 when he sent his first person to jail. It was a year long trial, one kid versus one 18 year old. He used to call Spider-Man, Einstein”

Peter seemed to be done with his explanation after this, deeming it enough information for Tony to understand what happened

It wasn’t 

But May sending a text that said “Search Skip Wescott” gave Tony the opportunity to find out what happened later 

(Tony is really pissed when he reads what happens, and makes sure Skip get transferred to worst prison and that he can never leave)

“Okay, Pete, I’ll talk to Harley about not calling you that. But Harley will be going to the same school as you, okay? That’s why I wanted you two to meet.”

After that first night Peter goes back to being his usual chipper self

And Harley starts at Midtown 

Peter was just rounding the corner outside of the school to see Harley getting dropped off by Happy

After a moment of hesitation Peter went up to Harley and offered to help him on his first day (because Peter will not let his overwhelming fear take over and he will be friendly for the sake of Mr Stark and that is all)

Despite Peter’s uneasiness and distrust Peter and Harley get on like a house on fire

Peter started to feel really close to Harley, and Harley would often throw his arm around Peter’s shoulder and call him things like sugar, or sweet thing or darling

And Peter liked that a lot, except he didn’t because it was weird (but he really did)

And Peter would always go tomato red whenever Harley was around

Even Ned and MJ recognized the crush Peter had on Harley and vice versa

“Dude when are you going to make a move on him?”

“What the fuck, Ned? I’m straight, Harley and I are friends”

“Peter are you being serious right now? You both obviously have a crush on each other. Harley knows you like him too.”

“The fuck MJ, I expected you to be more understanding about this. We are friends. Maybe I come off as gay to you because I choose to respect people and am not the exact definition of a ‘toxic male,’ but I don’t fucking like you guy assuming that I like men. Men ain’t shit and I’m not going to find myself in another situation like I used too. I like women”

“What’s your issue Peter? You homophobic now? Didn’t peg you as that.”

“Fuck MJ, this isn’t your business. I’m an ally, people love who they love, but I don’t like men, and you need to stop pushing that on me. I have my reasons, you have yours.”

“Peter, the way you’re going off on MJ isn’t really helping your point much-”

“Would the two of you just shut up about this. I don’t like other guys. Women are it for me. I will not be stuck under another man. Fuck, I’m straight and you need to stop pushing the idea that I’m into Harley just because you want me to live out your little fantasies of what my life should be like.”

Peter didn’t talk to them the rest of the day. Not because he was angry but because he was embarrassed that he said too much 

At the tower Peter and Harley were cuddled together sitting next to each other watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine and talking

Peter really loved Harley’s Blue eyes

And his accent

And his face

And Harley in general

But totally only in a friends way

They’re bros

“I want to try something real quick, you can tell me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am” 

And then Harley kisses Peter

Harley Kisses him

And Peter freaks out

Without even thinking about it, Peter pushes Harley off of him and bolts, leaving the tower without his phone, shoes or bag, Peter just leaves

Once Peter gets outside he throws up, before his anxiety takes over again and he just runs and runs and runs

Harley is left now sitting on the ground, tears in his eyes, confused and hurt about what just happened

Tony makes it to Harley in record time thanks to Friday, and without a question Harley explains what happened

“I thought he liked me too, Tony, I really did. I don’t know how I messed up this bad.”

“I’m sorry Harls, Peter has been hurt a lot and I just don’t think he was ready yet emotionally for a relationship.”

Tony knows that Peter has probably just been triggered. He’s only heard Peter talk about girls romantically, never boys, but he was sure that Peter and Harley were going to be together at some point

Once Harley finally calms down enough and goes to his room Tony calls May

“May, is Peter with you, he left all his stuff here.”

“No, I thought he was staying with you tonight. what happened?”

“Harley kissed Pete, and he freaked out and ran out without any of his stuff, I was hoping he was with you. His phone is here too.”

“I think I know where he is, College Point Park. Ben and I used to take him there after any court date.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“What about Harley?”

“He’s already asleep, I’ll meet you there.”

Tony and May get there in record time, finding Peter sitting on the rocks facing the East River.

“Peter?” May called out.

Peter turned around, his face clearly red, tears streaming down his face.

“I don’t understand” Peter finally said as May and Tony got close enough

“What don’t you understand?” Tony asked

“Harley kissed me. He kissed me. I expected to hate it. But I didn’t. I liked it when he kissed me. I should hate it though. He’s a boy. I shouldn’t have liked it.”

“Peter it’s okay if you liked Harley Kissing you, and it’s okay if you like him romantically too” May tried to comfort

“But it’s not May, because if I like Harley, and I like him kissing me then that means that I liked it when Skip kissed me. And I didn’t like anything he did to me.”

“Peter, I like when Pepper and I kiss, but that doesn’t mean that if May were to kiss me that I’d like it. Same thing goes for you kiddo.”

“I like girls though. I can’t like Harley.”

“You can like both boys and girls. You could be Bisexual or maybe not. No matter what it’s okay.” May said again.

“I need time. I can’t- I need Dr Rosenburg and I need to not be Spider-Man and I need to not see Harley or Ned or MJ. I need time.”

“Okay baby, you can have as much time as you need.” 

Peter ends up taking a week off of school, with daily appointments with his therapist. He went completely ghost mode. Wasn’t active as Spider-Man, wasn’t active on social media. Didn’t read or respond to anyone’s messages. Only talking to May or Tony and only if they were at the apartment.

After his week off, Peter finally reappeared at school, still having not responded to anyone’s messages, preferring to just deal with things in person.

“Peter oh my god you’re alive we all thought you died.” Ned shouted from down the hall going to greet his friend, MJ and Harley in tow.

“I’m fine guys, I just had some stuff from the past come back up that needed to be dealt with before I did anything that would hurt other people.”

“What are you talking about Parker, you wouldn’t hurt a fly let alone anyone else.” MJ said confused

“I’ll tell you when I’m ready too but I’m not there yet. My therapist thinks I made good progress this week though.”

“Your therapist?” Ned asked.

“Uh yeah, sorry. MJ, Ned, I really messed up with how I treated you guys the other day, regarding my sexuality, turns out I may of been wrong and you guys were right, I just repressed any of those emotions due to trauma. So, I’m sorry you didn’t deserve that.”

Ned and MJ obviously forgive Peter bc duh they’re friends

“I would like to talk to Harley privately though, so you guys wouldn’t mind?”

So Peter pulls Harley to the side finally getting the chance to talk to him, and wanted to say his words before he lost his nerves.

“Peter I’m sorry-”

“I liked when you kissed me. That’s why I freaked out. I didn’t think it was possible for me to like that, or men. I’m sorry for pushing you away. I wasn’t prepared and my brain automatically went to a dark place. I like you Harley Keener, but I have problems and I want you to be aware of that before we do anything.”

“Okay.”

“If we are going to try this I need you to be aware of my limits. I have a lot of them apparently, and I’m not sure if more will come up or not, but my therapist said that I should talk to you about this stuff before we do anything. If you still like me, that is.”

“Peter Parker you are too precious, of course I still like you, I don’t plan on not liking you for a while yet.”

And then Peter smiles and he feels relieved, because getting to this point took a lot of work and now he’s here and he likes a boy who likes him back who won’t hurt him

[bravo-four-seal-team]

Profile: Ashley Sawyer

Thought I’d share my OC profile so people know more about her when reading.

So yeah, here's Ashleys profile, basically how I remember what I'm writing

Name: Ashley 

Middle Name: Caroline.

Surname: Sawyer

Age: 31

Height: 5’3

D.O.B: 14/03/1990

Nickname/call sign:  Song Bird(when drunk and singing) , A.C, or Ash.

Occupation: Marine, joined in 2007-8.

Family: Older Brother Trent Sawyer.

Rank: Staff Sergeant (E-6 ) (10-11 years enlisted) 

Gunnery Sergeant (E-7) (12-13 years enlisted by 2021)

Emergency contacts for injuries in field:

Trent Sawyer 

Scott Carter (Boyfriend)

Amelia Carter (Friend) 

Trained in:

 Medical (First aid), hand to hand close range combat, heavy weapon combat, heavy vehicle combat. Long distance targeting.

Injuries/Trauma: 

3 Months worth of torture. 

Broken ribs, punctured lung, broken leg, dislocated shoulder, electrical burns, cuts/slashes, whip marks, waterboarding, starvation. Stabbed, shot. Taken out by walking into a door.

 jumped on a grenade.

Drinks:  Whiskey, beer, tequila. 

Personality type: is classed as a Defender trait, always ready to protect her loved ones, protect those who need it, dedicated and warm, loyal, though doubts herself at many stages.f

Personal Details:

Hair: Dark blond, almost brown. Shoulder length. Usually tied up in a bun.

Eye Colour: Grey 

Height: 5’3 (shortest in her family while her brother is 6’2)

Relationships: Dated in the past, engaged once.  

Wounds?: Multiple scars across torso and back. Along with Electrical burn scars on legs.

Children: None (though secretly wants a kid though.)

Phrases: “Well shit” “Well someone left me unsupervised” “Don’t be mad” “Fuck” “Oh boy” 

Car or Motorbike: Both

Shows and Movies: Historical, action or sci-fi, crime.

Music: Country, some sea shanties and classic rock and occasionally emotional songs.

Favourite Food: Anything that is not an MRE - she can cook, but only if she is really in the mood to make pizza from scratch. (However later finds a place with amazing Onion rings)

Most used swear: Shit.

Emotions: Chooses to ignore them. Just like her health

Health: Ignores that, gets hurt? No big deal. Sick?  Who cares? She doesn’t care.

Other :  

She hates spiders and is claustrophobic. Has a fear of hospitals, being left alone in one.

Does not like to talk about things going on in her head - will shut down and if annoyed will fight.

She won't care if she's bleeding out,someone else gets hurt and she needs to check on them.

Massive Fear of Needles, three responses, pass out, punch, complain/sarcasm.

2 tattoos, one on her shoulder of a Compass  and one on her ribs Marine logo with Semper Fi (only type of needle she isn’t scared of)

Hidden Talent: She can sing and is pretty good at it. And knows how to play guitar (deployments can be boring)

Facts:

She told Trent she had enlisted in the Marines when he had some downtime before deployment. (she was studying) 

She met Metal when visiting Trent, who at the time was not home. He was drunk.

She was held captive for 3 months and tortured.

She finds out Trent is in a good and stable relationship.

She has been part of the support for Bravo, when a Marine team is assigned. 

She has had the worst dating experiences. Her last boyfriend tried to kill her. - She woke up tied to the table and him preparing surgical items, she got out. He was killed.

Worries constantly about her brother - she is scared that one day it’ll be his funeral she attends. - but doesn’t know anyone on his team to ask them to have his back.

She joined the Marines because Trent got blown up, she never wanted him to be alone again on the field, she has been trained to provide tactical support to SEAL Teams, Trent is unaware of this.

Didnt speak to Trent for 5 years. - Massive fight 2012, later in 2017 reached out to him in August. 

Other Points

Ashley is confident, put her beside metal? She will be a flustered mess.

Ashley loves all kinds of animals, however she is really allergic to dogs, that does not stop her from petting every dog she sees.

She spends time at the shooting range. - Especially after arguments.

If she's hurting she shuts off from people and will not answer anyone.

If something traumatic happens i.e losing a friend - she will go radio silent, stop eating and nearly end up in hospital because of this.

She will hide when she is struggling, refusing to ask for help.

She hides injuries a lot. - She can literally have her arm in a cast and says “Who got injured? Wasn’t me.”

Will look them in the eye and steal their beer. (especially with Metal.)

She hunted Amelia down to see exactly what she was like, she ended up somehow befriending her.

Dating her 

She lives for being able to just cuddle. - or just have physical contact.

Her love languages are Emotional connection and physical contact. 

She is sensitive when it comes to scars being touched, or being asked to talk about what is going on in her head, (it probably runs in the family.)

Will steal her partner's clothes. Especially for when she's deployed.  Will walk around base in their hoodie to have a piece of comfort.

She's loyal, loves with all her heart once you get past the walls 

Someone hits on her; she just smiles sweetly and will promise to hurt them is they speak to her again.

Break down those walls of hers? You got yourself an Ashley for life. - She does not cheat, but always has a fear that her partner will as it's happened twice before.

Will admit things she won't tell her brother. - which is a lot. But only after she's managed to convince herself she won't be hurt by her partner.

Childhood 

Locked in the trunk of the car by her father for ‘talking about an unwanted subject’

Father and Mother did not want her, Father tried to kill her. Head smashed against the wall claimed she ‘fell downstairs’

Has always looked up to her brother (both for what he does and because he's taller) 

Had a stuffed bear in camo gear (Father burnt it one night.)

Would go see Trent off and be there for when he returned from spin ups and deployments. 

Was obsessed with Archery and archers from Robin Hood to Hawkeye. 

Spent time avoiding Trent as a teenager after his injury. - parents thought it would be easier for both kids. 

Cut her hair and dyed it and her father was angry. 

Did stupid stunts which resulted in a dislocated shoulder.

Was selected to do training for the Olympics in archery, dropped it when she decided to join the marines. 

[parkrstark]

ladies and gentlemen, it’s too much for captain america!

wrttien for @whumptober2020  day 1: waking up restrained, shackled, hanging, Steve wakes up restrained and hanging in some Hydra den, which is fine, really. He can handle that. What he can't handle is watching them blow up his husband and son. That breaks him more than any torture ever would. 1.8k, ao3

When Steve became aware of things around him again, it felt like he had never passed out. It was like a moment had passed since one of the Hydra agents slammed a block of concrete against the side of his head, rendering him unconscious. 

But he knew it couldn't have been that short of time because he wasn't where he was knocked unconscious. He was strung up by the shackles and chains around his wrists. 

His feet just barely brushed against the ground, not enough to hold himself up to stop the iron from digging into his wrists. 

He couldn't help the groan he let out as he lifted his neck so his chin was no longer resting against his chest. 

"Finally awake, hm?" 

Steve looked over at the Hydra agent speaking to him and he narrowed his eyes, keeping his jaw clenched firm. 

"You've been out for quite some time. It's hard to get information from an unconscious man." 

"I think you'd find it easier than getting it from me while I'm conscious," Steve growled. 

"We'll see about that," the man strolled over, casually with a cattle prod in his hand. 

Steve kept his mouth shut even when it was stuck in his side. He gritted his teeth through the burning pain. 

"Are you sure there's nothing you'd like to tell us?" Hydra man asked after what had to be a half hour or endless electrocution and punches. 

Steve didn't know what the hell he wanted, but he answered anyway. "Actually, there is something I'd like to tell you." 

Steve couldn't see the agent's face behind his mask, but he bet there was a smirk. "Please share." The cattle prod sparked with electricity, only inches from Steve's chest.

“Kiss my ass.” 

The Hydra Agent shoved the prod forward until it connected with his skin. Steve was not as loud as the man, but he couldn't help the grunt of pain. 

Once he was done and staring up at Steve, Steve made sure there was a smile plastered on his face. 

The Hydra Agent used the prod to hit Steve in the side of the head with. Steve swung slightly from the shackles and tried to stop himself from moving. Before he could stop moving, the prod was stuck into his side again and his body seized painfully as electricity ran through his body. He couldn’t help the groan he let out. 

The Hydra Agent laughed. “I’d love to do this for hours, Captain. I won’t stop until you tell us something.” 

The electricity was back and Steve grunted through it. Once the electricity was gone, his body sagged and he could feel drool trickle down his chin. He didn’t know how many volts they were pumping into him with each shock, but it was definitely adequate against Captain America. 

He could barely lift his head. 

“Change your mind yet?” The Hydra Agent cackled. 

It took Steve a few seconds to even be able to get his mouth to speak. But when he did, he made sure his voice was strong as he could make it. “I got something for you.” 

“And what is that, Captain?”

Steve took a deep breath and rattled off what he had memorized in basic training. "Name: Steven Grant Rogers. Rank: Captain. Serial number: 54985870.” He decided smirking down at him was a good usage of his energy. “And that's all you'll ever get from me." 

With a frustrated shout, the agent pulled the prod back, ready to hurt Steve again when he was interrupted by red lights flashing in the room, followed by blaring alarms. 

The Hydra Agent moves away from Steve, back to a monitor screen. He typed away until a feed was brought up and he saw outside from a surveillance feed. 

There was nothing in the frame and Steve didn't understand what they were looking at until a familiar blob of red and gold came into view. 

The agent zoomed in on the blob, and sure enough, it was Iron Man. He was sneaking through trees, no idea by his calmness that he had already triggered a silent alarm.

"Oh, look at this," he said. "Someone's coming to save you, huh?" 

Steve didn't react, though he was so proud of Tony for finding him. 

Until he heard him whisper, "Alright, Webs. You wanted to tag along, stay close. I'm not losing you too." 

And then Spider-Man was sneaking up behind him. "I'm not completely incapable of handling myself." 

"If I save Steve and he comes back and finds out that I lost our kid, he won't be very happy with me." 

Steve's heart stopped. That wasn't something any of them broadcasted. Sure, they teamed up a lot in smaller missions, but it was never confirmed Spider-Man was their kid. And they definitely never let him tag along on big missions like this. 

Tony and Peter continued to sneak through the trees, but Steve could barely focus when all he heard was the agent's cackling. It turned into loud howling laughter soon enough. 

"Oh, this is just too good to be true! Just wait until the others find out. Iron Man and Captain America's kid is Spider-Man." 

No. No. The world knew Steve and Tony had a kid, Peter, and now they would know that kid was also Spider-Man. 

"Please. Leave him alone. He's just a kid." 

Hydra Agent turned to him with a grin. "So suddenly you want to talk, huh?" 

"Please," Steve begged. "Don't hurt him." 

"You know we have excellent defenses around the base. One click of this button and the mines we have set up go off immediately. They'll be blown out of those suits so fast." 

Steve was shaking now, trembling as he struggled against the shackles. "No! Don't kill them!" 

The agent didn't even hesitate before clicking the button in front of him. Steve turned to the feed and stared, just waiting for what was about to happen. 

Peter went still, he straightened up. "Something's wrong." 

Tony glanced back and asked, "What?" 

"Dad--." 

That was the last thing he said before an explosion lit up behind them, and they both went flying, somewhere off screen. 

"Oh, boy," the man laughed. "There's no way they survived that." 

And the worst part was that Steve knew he was right. 

He sagged in the restraints, not caring at how much weight he was putting on his wrists. All of his fight was extinguished immediately. Without his family, there was no reason for anything. 

He stared down at the ground, willing himself to wake up from this nightmare. It didn't work. 

He heard the man walking closer, his footsteps and laughter sounded like nails on a chalkboard. "What's a matter?" 

Steve could only guess how drained he looked. He stayed silent. 

"Did you not like the show? You got to see them one last time. I didn't have to give you that." 

"My family…" He said, his voice so hollow and devoid of any emotion. 

"Your family is dead, Captain Rogers. And soon you will be if you don't give us what we need to know." 

"I don't care," Steve said, shaking his head. He looked back up from the floor and looked to the man in that mask, that coward. "Fucking kill me. Please. It will be better than living. It would hurt less." 

"With great pleasure." 

The prod came back again, full force, and Steve was right. That burning hurt so much less than the memory of Peter's fearful cry and then the two of them getting blown away, trying to save him. 

He welcomed every blow until he was finally knocked unconscious. This time, he hoped he never woke up. 

--

"Babe, babe, you gotta get up." 

Steve couldn't help but open his eyes when he heard Tony's voice. The edges of his vision were still dark and the rest was blurry, but he'd recognize his love anywhere. "Tony." 

"Thank JARVIS you're awake." Tony looked him up and down. "You're so bloody and beat up...I was so scared…" 

Steve just continued staring. "Tony…" 

"Yes, baby, it's me. I'm right here." He cupped his cheek gently. 

Steve smiled. "I wish you were here." 

"I am. I am." He glanced over his shoulder anxiously, which didn't make sense. Tony wasn't really here. He was dead. He had nothing to worry about if he was dead. 

"I miss you already." His eyes started to droop shut again. 

"Miss me? Babe, I'm right here." 

"You're gone. I miss you." Steve leaned into the touch. 

"I'm right here and we're getting you out of here." Tony started to pull at the shackles around his wrists. "Pete, get over here and hold him up while I break these." 

"Petey's here?" Steve looked around for his boy. He wanted to hear his voice again when he wasn’t panicking. 

Tony frowned, looking back at him. "Steve, how hard did they hit your head?" 

Suddenly Peter was in front of him, holding him by his waist. "Hey, Pops." 

"Say that again," Steve said. He just wanted to keep hearing him talk forever and ever to wipe out the sound of him crying. 

Peter looked as confused as Tony did. "Hey, Pops…"  

"I miss you too, baby bear." 

"I'm right here, Pops. Not going anywhere." 

Steve's wrists were uncuffed and Peter caught him easily because of his super strength. 

Then he was putting him on the ground with one arm still wrapped around him while Tony held the other side. Steve looked from Peter to Tony and then back to Peter and then back to Tony. 

"Wait...you're here. This isn't...this isn't a dream?" 

"Finally coming back to us, big guy?" Tony asked, sounding a little worried. 

"But I saw you-- I saw--." 

"You saw us get blown to fucking Guam? Yeah. Well, they didn't plan on all the safety features I added to Spider-Man's suit to protect him from pyromaniac wackos like these freaks and thankfully, I was close enough to be included in that protection." 

"The video-- they know. They heard you. They'll tell." Steve glanced back at the monitor, just noticing all the damage to the room he was being held in. 

"I wiped their entire system. They have nothing. And there were no survivors here to spill whatever secrets they learned. Don't worry." 

Steve found relief in that, and being held by his boys, who were both safe and alive. 

"Hey, Tony?" 

"Yeah, Winghead?" 

"Remind me later when I'm not close to passing out, to kick your ass for bringing our son on a mission like this." 

Tony laughed and it was a beautiful, beautiful sound. Steve was still pissed though. "Oh, Stevie. Now I know you definitely got hit in that noggin hard if you think it would have been possible for me to leave him home. That kid is just as reckless and stupid as us when his family is in danger." 

Even half conscious, Steve couldn't argue that. "That kid is crazy, huh?" 

"Yeah, just like his Pops."

[imnotoverlyobsessive]

Looks Like Someone Picked a Whole Bushel of Oopsie Daisies

Chapter Nine: The Choices We Make

Thanks to @edward-or-ford and @pacific-ship for their invaluable feedback and support!

I don’t wanna spend another moment without you again. Just tell me, tell me how to keep this so it never ends. - Nothing More, If I Were

She didn’t notice when the door opened. It wasn’t her fault, honestly. Dipper was giving her this… this look, and then he was kissing her, which was at kinda a weird angle with her laying on his chest the way she was, but she was into it anyway.

Then, there was a scream. Not a “stop tickling me, dammit!” scream, or an “eeeek I just saw a spider kill it kill it kiiiiillll iiiiiiiiit” scream.

No, it was the type of scream you scream when somebody you love gets murdered right in front of you. The kind of eardrum-damaging, gut-wrenching, stomach-dropping, heart-attack-giving, oh-god-what-did-I-just-see type of scream where you just witnessed something so simultaneously devastating and horrifying that you can’t do anything but scream.

So, obviously, Mabel and Dipper were what could only be described as ‘hella startled’, and turned their heads towards the door, their lips still very much in kiss-mode.

Their mother was still screaming. Her purse had fallen to the floor, and she had one hand fisted in her hair, clutching it so tightly that Mabel wondered for a second if perhaps she’d pull out a part of her scalp.

Their father rushed forward, as if somebody had pressed play on him, or maybe even fast forward. Dipper squeezed Mabel’s hand tightly, as if to reassure her (Mabel wasn’t sure anything could’ve reassured her just then, though) and got off the bed. Mabel didn’t want to let go of his hand; she feared that if she did, she’d never get to touch him again.

There had to have been a reason their parents kept them apart. Mabel had always been under the impression she had an open, honest, loving relationship with her parents.

Evidently not.

They’d lied to her about a vital part of herself for longer than she could remember.

And she’d fallen for it. How had she fallen for it? For so long, she’d believed them, whatever they told her.

Had any of it been true? Anything at all? What else had they lied about?

Mabel had forgotten about their parents’ deception for awhile, too preoccupied with being in Dipper’s arms.

And also possibly with Dipper’s dick.

Okay, so she was definitely too preoccupied with Dipper’s dick to think about anything else.

Well. They’d seen that the truth was out. Maybe they’d accept it. What else could they do?

Except no, because their dad was trying to pull Dipper away from her, and their mom was sobbing hysterically and picking up Mabel’s clothes.

“Here, honey, just put these on, okay-“ Mrs. Pines said shakily, holding Mabel’s clothes out to her on the left side of the bed.

Mabel scooted closer to where Dipper stood to the right of the bed. “No, go away! You’re interrupting, could you, like, leave?” Mrs. Pines flinched as if Mabel had slapped her. “How did you even find us, honestly, like-“

“Your brother left a bunch of pillows in his bed to make it look like he was still asleep, and you weren’t at Candy’s, and when your father looked in his wallet he found Dipper had taken his hotel keycard, but he certainly didn’t take mine, so where else would you have been?” She was murmuring frantically, like her mind was racing a mile a minute.

Mabel scoffed. “You lied to me and Dipper for years, for our entire goddamn lives-“

“Language!” Mr. Pines snapped. It was the first thing he’d said, and it made something in Dipper snap, apparently.

“L- language?” he sputtered furiously. “You’ve been keeping me from my soulmate since we were babies and now that you see we’re together anyway, you’re worried about us using profanity?” Mr. Pines’ eyes narrowed at Dipper, and maybe that would’ve worked to shut him up if he weren’t so royally pissed off. “No. Fuck that,” Dipper said fiercely.

Mrs. Pines was opening and closing her mouth, and very much resembled a fish. “Come on, Mabel, let’s get you home-“ she was saying frantically. Mabel reared on her mother, and was about to tell her exactly where she could shove it, when Dipper spoke again.

“She’s not going anywhere,” he snapped over his shoulder. “She’s staying with me. We’re going to be together. I’m not going to let you take her away from me again because of your- your- your dumbass ideas of what you think we should be or what you wanted us to be, or whatever.”

Mrs. Pines was attempting to push Mabel’s clothes into her arms again, and Mr. Pines was meeting Dipper’s furious glare with one of his own.

“We’re taking her with us back to California,” Mr. Pines said, in a dangerously calm voice. “If you fight back, I’ll have you arrested for assault.” It was hard to tell if it was a bluff or not. Was it a bluff? It didn’t seem like one, but evidently they were infinitely better at lying than originally thought, so it was hard to say.

Suddenly, a horrifying fear gripped Mabel. She knew it was probably irrational, but in that moment, she felt sure she’d never see Dipper again if she walked out of that hotel room. A life without Dipper? But… how- no, that couldn’t happen. She couldn’t just never touch him again, never kiss him again. But even so, she felt sure that if she left, that’s exactly what would happen, and she’d be forced to live a Dipper-less existence for all time.

“No!” she gasped out, feeling the tears starting to fall, and scrambled up onto her knees on the mattress and throwing her arms around Dipper’s neck from behind. He reached up with one hand and stroked her arm affectionately.

“No,” she said again, her voice quieter. “Don’t let them take me away from you, Dipper,” her face was pressed between his bare shoulder blades, and god, but he smelled so good, even then. “Please, I- I love you so much, I never want to be without you again. Please,” she was sobbing now, her hands dropping to hold shakily onto his shoulders.

“Can’t we… can’t we live together? You don’t have to even see us together, or at all, if you don’t want, just…” he trailed off for a moment, putting his hand over where Mabel’s lay, still shaking on his shoulder.

“You can’t get an apartment unless we sign off on it,” their father pointed out, the sound of his voice mixing with the sounds of Mabel’s sobs. “And we won’t.”

“Why not?” Mabel asked tearfully. Both parents pursed their lips and didn’t respond. “Don’t you love us? Don’t you want us to be happy?”

“Of course we love you, sweetie, of co-“ their mother was cut off abruptly by Dipper.

“If you love us, then none of this makes any sense,” he said. “If you loved us, you wouldn’t have kept us apart our whole lives.”

Mrs. Pine twitched for a second before she spoke. “You’re just sick, Dipper, that’s all, we can get you help for that, really, it’ll be okay-“

“We’re not sick, mom,” Dipper told her angrily. “We’re in love, and there’s nothing wrong with us being in love. She,” he pointed to Mabel, “is my soulmate, and I want to be with her.”

“Regardless,” Mr. Pines cut in, ”you will not be receiving any help from us on that front.”

“Well,” Dipper said in that voice he does when he’s racing through a million options a second. “We could live with Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford, then, they’ll take us in, they practically raised me while you were forcing Mabel and I apart needlessly-“

“And why, exactly,” Mr. Pines cut in, “do you think they took you in to begin with, son?” He leaned closer, just barely. “To keep you away from your sister. They won’t help you.”

While agonized over that apparent betrayal, Dipper moved past it quickly, his voice hardly shaking. “Well… mom has family on the East Coast, doesn’t she? I’m sure some of them will-“

“They won’t,” Mrs. Pines cut in flatly. “Sibling soulmates are about the worst thing two people can be to my family.” When the twins turned to face her, astonished (she never talked about her family), she spoke again. “My mother hates soulmates. Especially soulmates she sees as morally wrong. When my uncle found his soulmate and introduced my mother to his new boyfriend, she…” shaking her head as if to force out some awful memory, Mrs. Pines went on. “They won’t help you. Don’t contact them. You’ll only put yourselves in danger.”

“D- danger, what-“ Mabel was astonished, too much so to form coherent thoughts. Was that why she’d never met her grandmother?

“So… your brother, then!” Dipper’s voice was hopeful, desperate. There had to be a way. There just had to be. “He’s used to so-called unusual soulmates, right? He’ll take us in-“

“No,” their mother said fiercely. “You are not to contact any members of my family. None of them. Do you understand me?”

Her tone was unlike anything either twin had ever heard from her before. They were so startled by this that they didn’t even consider arguing.

There was no one. They had no one in their family who would accept them and love them for who they were.

They were alone.

Mabel looked up at Dipper then, and said shakily, “can’t we like… run away together or something? I’d rather live under a bridge with you than in a house without you.”

Dipper sat down next to Mabel on the bed, and she could see in his eyes that he was sorry, which meant she wouldn’t like his answer. He never would’ve considered that, though, would he? He couldn't go that far, couldn’t expose her to that kind of risk. He was done fighting their parents. Crushed, she leaned into him without really thinking about it, sniffling against his neck.

“It’s only for a few months,” he whispered into her hair with a light kiss. She was clutching at him, and she couldn’t seem to stop crying. Her chest was hurting from it, but she still couldn’t stop.

“I- I don’t want that,” she whimpered.

“Me neither,” he agreed. “But we need to go along with what they say so we can be together later, okay? As soon as we turn eighteen, we’ll be together. We’ll be together before senior year, even.”

“But I wanna be with you nooooooow,” she whined, and he chuckled miserably.

“I know, Mabes, I know,” he pulled away from her slightly, wiping away her tears with a soft smile. “But we will be soon, okay? We’ll be together in just a few months, and then we have the rest of our lives to make up for it.”

“You promise?”

“Promise.” And for a moment, it was like their parents weren’t in the room at all, because when he kissed her, everything else fell away, and it was just the two of them. And they very much did forget, too, because when she tilted her head and leaned into his body, he moaned softly against her lips. When she opened her mouth slightly to deepen their kiss, their tongues brushing, he slid his hands along her thighs where the hem of his flannel shirt was brushing her skin. Trailing his hand up underneath the fabric to caress her ribcage briefly before reaching around her back and pulling her down onto the bed with her on top of him.

Their mother was sputtering something, horrified beyond belief, but they didn’t hear her. Their father was too shell shocked to move at all.

They didn’t notice that, either, though, because Mabel had slotted her hips against Dipper’s, and he was kissing her neck, eliciting an appreciative moan from her lips. Pulling his hand back, he smacked her sharply on the ass and squeezed it roughly, and she moaned again, moving her pelvis against his. She reached down to his hips to slide his boxers off him, and he could move her panties to the side, or, better yet, rip them off with his teeth, oooo yes that sounded nice, she’d let him rip up as many pairs of her panties as he wanted-

“Th- tha- that’s enough!” their father shouted angrily, his face red enough that Mabel would’ve laughed under different circumstances.

Under those specific circumstances, however, she blushed to her hairline, pulling herself away from Dipper, because, like, she had almost just sat on Dipper’s dick right there in front of her parents holy shiiiiiiiit oh god why she was never gonna live that down, good god.

“Time- time to go,” Mrs. Pines said shakily, ushering Mabel into the bathroom to change clothes. She put her bra and jeans back on, but not her shirt. She put Dipper’s on instead. It smelled like him. She wanted to smell like him. She wanted to get a big thing of Dipper-smell, put it in an oxygen machine, and breathe nothing but that for the rest of her life.

Particularly for the next eight months.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, Dipper was wearing his own jeans again, which, of course, was an international tragedy, but at least he didn’t have a shirt, so there was that. He smiled when he saw her, and it widened when he saw she was still wearing his shirt.

“Can I keep it?” she asked, walking up to him. He smiled again and cupped her cheek. Her eyes were red from crying, she knew, and even though she was dreading what would come next, his skin on hers felt like the best thing in the world, and she never wanted the moment to end.

“Anything you want,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her softly, gently, reverently. Mabel didn’t know if it would be their last kiss or not, but it felt like it would. Despite that, though, his words brought her back to the things he’d moaned against her skin what felt like ages ago, but it really hadn’t been long at all, had it?

“Let’s go,” Mr. Pines said from the car, his voice gruff. Their mother pulled her away from Dipper by her arm, handed Mabel her coat, and she shrugged it on.

Dipper was putting on his, too, over bare skin.

“See you soon, Mabes,” he said quietly, doing his very best to give her an encouraging smile as she stepped through the hotel room door.

“Yeah,” she responded over her shoulder, trying not to cry, their mother dragging her towards the car. When the door shut, and Mabel buckled herself in, it finally started to feel real.

She was leaving him. Leaving Dipper. Still, though, her eyes were strangely dry when Mr. Pines started the car. They were dry, too, when they pulled out of the parking lot.

It wasn’t until Mabel looked back at Dipper through the rear window of the car that the tears began to fall. He waved at her, smiling again, much more shakily this time.

The car door was locked (her stupid parents had turned on the child locks; they knew her too well, it seemed), but she could still roll down the window, so she did. She stuck her head out, her seatbelt locking and digging into her neck.

“I love you!” she shouted into the chill morning air.

“Mabel!” her mother exclaimed, but Mabel ignored her.

“I love you, too!” Dipper yelled out after her.

She pulled her head back in and turned around in her seat to look at him. She wanted to look at him as long as possible.

Well. At least there was that, then, right? She was crying harder, but hey. At least she got to hear him say it one more time.

Her father had rolled the window back up from the driver’s seat, but that was okay. Mabel had told Dipper what she’d needed to tell him, after all.

“Don’t do that again,” Mr. Pines told her firmly. Mabel didn’t say anything to him, either. She just watched Dipper turn from a person to a figure, then a dot, and then, he was gone.

She watched the road for a moment, wondering what he was thinking just then, the tears flowing freely still.

Turning back around, she locked eyes with her mother in the rearview mirror.

She couldn’t see her own eyes, but if she could, she might’ve been a bit startled; teary, red, splotchy, and, in her opinion, tremendously unattractive, but furious. Furious in a way Mabel couldn’t remember ever being before.

It didn’t matter what her parents’ reasons were. They were separating her from her soulmate. From Dipper. They’d have to learn to live without their daughter, then. Mabel wanted nothing to do with her parents. She’d never forgive them. She closed her eyes, and a few more tears fell.

She’d be with him again soon.

She had to be.

She had to be.

[jaysworlds]

T4TMA Day Five - Community

“How’s it going, Miss. James?”

Sasha carefully avoids looking up, pretending to focus on her paperwork. “Something the matter, Mr. Stoker?”

Tim laughs, pushing the stack of papers (extra work from Jon; punishment for something that had been entirely Tim’s fault) to the side so he can sit down. “I was just thinking…”

“Funny that, me too.”

“Oh? Care to share?”

“Yes, actually. I was thinking that whatever you’re planning is a terrible idea.”

“I have great ideas.” Sasha finally looks up, fixing him with a glare that she hopes is suitably withering. “I’m still dealing with the fallout from your last ‘great idea.’”

“Alright, alright, I can admit that one was flawed.” He runs a hand through his hair, seemingly unbothered by her best glare. Maybe she should work on that.

Maybe she should work on making him fear her a little more, though she has a suspicion that any attempt would probably start a prank war, and she is not looking to get fired any time soon.

“But this new one is great!”

Sasha groans. “I don’t suppose you could just leave me alone? I haven’t forgiven you yet.”

“You haven’t forgiven me? Me, your best pal?”

“Yes. You.”

Tim sighs, dramatic and long-suffering. “What cruelty. Do you want to hear my idea or not?”

Sasha groans again, smacking her head into her paperwork. She can’t admit she’s interested, though her curiosity is going to be the death of her one day.

“Fine.”

“Perfect!”

“So? Hit me.”

“Archival pride trip!”

Sasha sits up, staring at him. “Are you actually serious?”

“Yeah! London Pride is in a couple of weeks, and it would be a great bonding experience, don’t you think?”

“I think you’re mad if you think Jon will agree to that.”

Tim flaps his hand around. “I see no reason why he wouldn’t. It’s a bonding experience!”

“You said.”

“God, you’re boring. Wouldn’t it be fun, though? Just you, me, Jon, and Martin. Maybe they’d even kiss!”

Sasha snorts. “Tim, you’re living in a fantasy world.”

“Maybe we’d kiss.” He waggles his eyebrows at her, and she can’t quite supress a smile.

“How about this,” she says, because she can’t deny she’d like to watch Tim get shot out of the sky by Jon telling him going to pride would be ‘unprofessional’ or something. “If Jon says yes to us going to pride then I’ll kiss you there, alright?”

Tim grins and throws his arms around her shoulders, nearly knocking them both onto the ground. “I knew you had it in you. I’m going to get that kiss, mark my words.”

Sasha laughs and shoves him off. “I don’t think so.”

Someone clears their throat from behind them and Sasha freezes. It’s Jon, she knows it’s Jon, and if he gives her more paperwork she is going to murder Timothy Stoker.

“Hey, boss!” Tim says, standing up and brushing himself down. Sasha turns around in her chair to watch.

“You’re not on a break, Tim,” Jon says, giving him a disapproving look. Theirs is even worse than Sasha’s, and unsurprisingly Tim does not cower. “Please stop harassing Sasha. I’m sure you both have enough work to be getting on with.”

“Sure,” Tim says, wandering over and slinging an arm around their shoulders. Sasha cringes a little, but surprisingly enough Jon doesn’t shove him off. Just sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“What is it?”

“I’ve had a wonderful idea for a group bonding exercise,” he says, steering Jon towards their office. “I’d love to talk to you about it.”

“You have five minutes,” Jon says, and then the door to his office bangs shut.

Sasha snorts. There’s no way in hell that Jon is going to agree to this.

“Hi, Sasha.”

“Hi, Martin,” Sasha says, leaning back against her desk and grinning at him. “You’re never going to guess what Tim’s trying to arrange.”

“Oh dear,” Martin says, brow furrowing. “Is it a prank war? I’m really not any good at pranks, you know. I would put salt in people’s tea, but that just seems really predictable, you know?”

Sasha laughs. “Oh, god no. I don’t think he’d announce that, just start … filling Jon’s office with plastic spiders or something. No, it’s not that.”

“Bar crawl?”

“Nope.”

“Some sort of competition?”

“Nope. I told you, you’ll never guess.”

“Fine. Tell me.”

“Archival pride trip.”

Martin laughs, almost nervously. “Jon’s never going to agree to that. Right?”

“I hope not. I’ll have to kiss Tim if he does.”

“Oh, really?” Martin frowns, getting a look in his eye that Sasha doesn’t completely like.

“Yes. What’s that look for?”

Martin gives her a little smile that she really doesn’t like. “Oh, nothing. Is Tim talking to them now?”

“Yes,” Sasha says, narrowing her eyes. “Martin Blackwood, what are you planning?”

“Nothing!” Martin says, and he’s such a bad liar. “I’m just going to, um, take Jon their cup of tea, alright?”

“Don’t encourage Tim,” Sasha says warningly, as Martin starts backing towards the office. “I mean it! You’ll make an enemy for life!”

Martin just laughs and disappears into Jon’s office.

God, why had she told him about her crush on Tim? He’s going to use that knowledge against her, she knows it.

She growls to herself and turns back to her paperwork. Might as well get something done, right?

“Sasha!” Tim announces, almost five minutes later, and she can tell by his tone of voice that he’s won. Somehow. “You’ll never guess what we, as an archive, are going to do next week.”

She groans and turns around slowly, not wanting to see the smug grin on his face. “Oh, I couldn’t guess. Please, enlighten me.”

“Our wonderful boss has decided that it will be a fantastic bonding experience if we all go to pride.”

Sasha shakes her head, turning to give Martin, just emerging from Jon’s office, her withering glare. Unlike Tim he actually shrinks a little, giving her a smile that might be apologetic, from a certain angle.

“Did you encourage him?” she growls, and Martin laughs nervously.

“I just suggested it, that’s all.”

“You are the worst,” she tells him. “I’m never trusting you again.”

Tim laughs, triumphant. “He’s my partner in crime!”

“He’s going to be your partner in suffering for this.”

“Oh, stop it. We all know you want to kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

“The thought makes me feel violently ill.”

“Shame, because these lips are going to be on yours in two weeks’ time.”

Sasha turns to glare at Martin again, only to find that he’s already disappeared. Probably wise, really. Maybe she should instigate a prank war.

Tim actually brings flags into the archive over the next two weeks, and the worst part is that Jon actually lets him hang them up. She’s considering going into his office and demanding to know who’s stolen him and replaced him with a boss who actually lets Tim carry out his dumb ideas.

She has to admit it’s kind of nice, though, having the flags around. Tim has bought himself and Jon bi flags, Martin several little rainbow pins, and an enormous trans flag for all four of them that he’s somehow managed to tape to the ceiling. There’s even an ace flag on Jon’s door, and she’s considering letting him bring her a pan flag. Considering.

(She lets him, in the end. It’s not like she doesn’t have one at home, but it’s her home flag, and having one on her desk is nice, actually.)

She still doesn’t understand how he convinced Jon to let him do this, but she has a suspicion that he bribed them, though what with she isn’t sure. Maybe the flags are the bribe.

The morning of pride is … exciting, actually. Jon’s given them all the whole day off work (she thinks he must have bribed Elias. Maybe with whatever Tim bribed him with) and they’re planning to meet at Trafalgar Square. Maybe she goes a little overboard with getting dressed, but what’s the point of pride if you’re not going overboard?

Tim has gone even more overboard than she has, to be honest. He’s painted his whole face blue, purple and pink like he’s going to a gay football game, and he’s wearing a trans flag as a cape, complete with a he/him broach. It’s kind of cool, really. Not that she’d tell him that.

Martin has, predictably, gone pretty simple, just a few badges on his shirt (which reads ‘come to the gay side, we have rainbows.’ Sasha’s certain Tim bought it for him) and a little paper flag.

Jon, to her surprise, isn’t quite as straight-laced (ha) as they usually are. They’re wearing a skirt which wouldn’t meet the institute dress code and honest-to-god fishnet stockings.

“Looking good, boss!” Tim calls, when they arrive, and they give him a small, almost embarrassed smile.

“Thank you, Tim,” they say. “You too.”

Martin is, predictably, staring, and Sasha elbows him gently. As cross as she is that this is at least partially his fault she doesn’t want him to embarrass himself.

It’s a good day, actually. A really good day. Tim has brought a polaroid camera, and he insists on documenting everything. Martin has to keep the photos safe, as the only person who’s brought bag, but Tim doesn’t seem to mind.

“Right!” he says, after a few hours, and hands the camera off to Martin. “One of you owes me a kiss.”

Sasha rolls her eyes and walks over to him, perhaps a little more eagerly than normal. “I’ll try not to be sick.”

“Like you haven’t been looking forward to this for the past two weeks.”

“Talking to yourself?”

Tim laughs, pulling her closer. “Shut up and kiss me.”

And she does. He’s a good kisser, actually, and it’s nice. It’s really nice.

“See?” he says, when he pulls away. “That wasn’t so bad.”

She rolls her eyes and kisses him on the cheek. “There. That’s all you get.”

“What do I have to do to get a date as well?”

She huffs, glancing over at Martin. He grins and waves a fresh photo at her.

“I’ll think about it,” she says, finally. “Come on, let’s go.”

“That’s not a no,” Tim says, gleefully.

“Come on,” Jon says, rolling his eyes, though Sasha imagines it’s rather fond. “We can’t stand around here all day.”

“Coming, boss,” Tim says, and grins at Sasha.

And if she reaches out to link her fingers through his, then that’s nobody’s business but her own.

[incorrectstarcoquotes]

Incorrect Recap - S2

Alright @seddm​, Round 2 it is! My first round and his first round. Let’s get it on!

My New Wand - Star learns wandless magic in order to prevent starco from being canon early because why would we want that? It’s just the only thing everyone wants.

Ludo In The Wild - A nature documentary is the best way to show what Ludo has been up to.

Mr. Candle Cares - Tom does something wrong again and everyone still spends four years trying to convince me that he didn’t, and even if he did, it’s okay.

Red Belt - A Marco-centric story is the best way to catch up on some character development. Also, the Diaz’s are afraid of the store?

Star On Wheels - A car chase through a southern California freeway is the best way to show Star and Marco’s trust deepening.

Fetch - A dog from another dimension tries to fry its own brain to catch a break. I’m sorry, what?

Star Vs Echo Creek - Star runs away from accepting responsibility from a crime she committed and Marco spends all day and all night trying to look for her (but we don’t see that part).

Wand To Wand - Wand to wand, man to man, hand to hand. Both Star and Ludo learn to use their half of the wand.

Starstruck - Star learns the same lesson we all do, never meet your heroes.

Camping Trip - River travels dimensions through sheer force of will to be a third wheel to Star and Marco’s camping trip.

Starsitting - Babysitting is the best way to show how Star and Marco’s dynamic would be married with children.

On The Job - Buff Frog does as any good single dad would do and goes out to try to bring home the bacon...er, corn.

Goblin Dogs - The show beats down the Marco money joke until we’re introduced to a character I slowly start to hate.

By The Book - Glossaryck uses his omniscience to fuck with Star, and we learn that Ludo does know Marco’s name.

Game of Flags - Star makes her own team of two with Marco at a family reunion as they a play a game that everyone is a little too into. It’s like playing football at Thanksgiving in Texas. Even the people who don’t like football are suddenly experts.

Girls’ Day Out - Star and Janna totally become friends as Marco gets a reminder of that Jackie body. I mean, DAMN.

Sleepover - A magic box voiced by Goku forces the characters to develop.

Gift of the Card - Star and Marco act more like a canon couple than most canon couples and my favorite character name is introduced.

Friendenemies - Tom and Marco actually bond over boy bands and karate movies. I’d actually buy into this if Tom fans hadn’t been talking shit to me this whole time.

Is Mystery - Buff Frog goes up the ranks of everyone’s favorite character list by furthering the main plot.

Hungry Larry - An interdimensional terror is the best way to teach Rafael that adult fear is legitimate fear.

Spider with a Top Hat - My eight year old niece turns to me and asks, “Are we still watching Star vs?” because neither one of use could believe the crap we were looking at.

Into the Wand - We learn that Toffee is corrupting the wand and the magic but Star doesn’t figure it out until much later.

Pizza Thing - Pony Head makes everything worse for Marco because she’s Pony Head. It’s kind of her thing.

Page Turner - Star proves that she’s a Gen Z-er by believing that ancient dark voodoo whatever isn’t a big deal.

Naysaya - Tom does something wrong again and again everyone tries to tell me that he didn’t, and even if he did, it’s okay.

Bonbon The Birthday Clown - Star vs pulls a hard Toradora by having Star realize that more Jarco time does mean less Starco time. Ludo steals the book and changes the game for the characters and the plot.

Raid the Cave - Star and Marco pull a Monty Python and the Holy Grail and Star’s parents do what all leaders do and try to downplay the severity of the crisis.

Trickstar - "Weird” Al Yankovic sucks the joy out of people which is the opposite of what he does IRL.

Baby - A cute little cat thing gives Star a reality check.

Running with Scissors - A crazy episode about Marco getting his own dimensional scissors has so many terrible ramifications through the fandom. Like my God I fucking hate all you dumb motherfuckers “He’s 30. He’s 30.” THINK FOR FIVE FUCKING SECONDS YOU PIECES OF SHIT. DID NO ONE THINK WHILE MAKING OR WATCHING THIS EPISODE? AARKDAKL;SDF

I’m sorry. I lost my head for a while there.

Mathmagic - Star almost destroys the multiverse because she’s not good at math.

The Bounce Lounge - Star tries to save her favorite hangout and...that’s really it.

Crystal Clear - There are few things worse than watching a dumbass try to be smart, as Star learns.

The Hard Way - Ludo learns a spell. One spell. Singular. Toffee shows himself again.

Heinous - Marco’s parents will believe anything.

All Belts Are Off - Marco tries to get the approval of someone who really isn’t worth it, and turns out, Star really is a bug.

Collateral Damage - Star learns how crazy the people of Echo Creek actually are and Marco becomes an odd number because he literally can’t even in this episode.

Just Friends - The show pulls a Toradora for the second time but far worse.

Face the Music - Patrick Stump figures out what took everyone else two seasons to learn that STAR BUTTERFLY IS IN LOVE WITH HER BEST FRIEND...and his name is Marco Diaz. Star’s parents face political blowback because they’re just the worst.

Starcrushed - All of my worst hopes and fears come true until that last minute.

[theplaguebeast]

Today’s Topic: Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, AKA The Crippling Fear of Failure

Actually, it’s worse than it sounds. It’s the crippling fear of thinking someone might think you’re not doing as good as you could be. Actually being told so? Genuinely feels like being punched in the stomach. And that goes for everything from ‘you got a B on this assignment’ to ‘you should’ve told me you were upset’. Yes. Even the second one, because I fucked up I didn’t tell you something I should’ve!

Earlier this year I almost had a panic attack because I was hungry, and there were snacks I could get, I knew I was allowed to get them, but what if the act of getting the snacks bothered someone else in the house? I don’t NEED the snacks, but I want them. But what if it annoys someone? And they SAY SO? That would be the WORST.

A panic attack because I was hungry and wanted food I was allowed to get.

I had to talk myself down from it and I was so angry that it happened at all.

(I did manage to go get my snack, no one was bothered except for me.)

Right now my biggest *vague hand gestures* THING going on in my life is my journey to get top surgery (boob-b-gone kind). And I am having to fight my own brain to get each step done. It’s taking months longer than it should because there’s this bone-deep terror that I might fuck up a step and if I do-

My brain says that it’s Over. Done. Never get a second chance. Curl up in a ball and DIE OKAY?

I KNOW that it just means I redo the thing or start over or whatever.

It’s like someone with arachnophobia KNOWING that a spider is smaller than them and easily brushed away or squashed and Not Actually A Threat, but they’re still going to scream and cry and run because logic doesn’t fucking matter it’s a PHOBIA.

Earlier this week I said something stupid/in a stupid way in a group chat, I was called out for it, I agreed with the callout and apologized and everyone moved on, and then I spent three hours telling myself that no one hated me for it and that it was okay everyone knew it was dumb and I wasn’t going to be kicked out, banned, blacklisted for life.

I don’t speak to my grampa more than once a week because he’s always been the Ultimate Authority Figure in my life and if I don’t talk to him I can’t upset him. Not because I think he’d DO anything, but because the IDEA of earning a frown makes me want to sob.

I quit my first job when my manager said he was going to promote me to the supervisor on my shift (so I’d be the boss of a whole one other person) because I was terrified that I’d fuck it up.

Every single interpersonal interaction, literally every single one, at least a small part of my brain is chanting ‘don’t fuck up don’t fuck up don’t fuck up’ with background vocals of ‘they’ll hate you if you fuck up’ and a bass line of ‘you’re a failure’.

And absolutely nothing and no one in my family, childhood, friendships, whatever, NO ONE has EVER reinforced this idea. I have had the absolute blessing to have supportive family and friends my entire life. And this is still something I am actively struggling with. I didn’t even know that it was a Thing With A Name until after I’d been diagnosed with ADHD and one of the newsletters I got mentioned it as a symptom.

The only thing I’ve found to be effective is to basically mentally sit myself down and talk myself off the ledge. And it’s exhausting. Finding what’s set off the panic and fear, and finding what I can tell myself to make it stop. It’s exhausting, but it is getting better.

Because a year ago, two years ago, if I’d had that interaction in the group chat where I got called out? I’d’ve just quit. But I’m still there, and no one hates me, because I didn’t really do anything wrong, and no one was actually hurt.

And it took me until I was 29 to understand that.

[neighborhood-merc]

Guys !!! I am back! First of all, I hope all of y’all (your friends, family, pets! too) are doing alright. Keep safe! Wash your hands! Don’t go out if not necessary! Kisses! Kisses! Kisses! Alright, alright, let’s do this shall we? Same shit applies. [Here is Part 1 & 2 btw ] 

The themes of the stories on this list varies, I’m either into something heart-warming, fluffy, domestic that sort of stuff or into some really really heavy and dark messed up ones. (READ THE TAGS) It always depends on the mood am I right? *wink wink*

It’s always gonna be smutty though lol

As long as it’s tastefully written, whatever kinky shit, I can be into it, I don’t judge the writer (they give us free content y’all, who are we to judge??) With that being said if I add something straight up messed up here now/or in the future, don’t come for meh, just mind the tags of the fic, for your own discretion if anything.

this list should be Wade Wilson/Peter Parker - Spiderman/Deadpool pairing only. I kinda like my babies greedy/possessive for/of each other.

READ THE TAGS.

I don’t care who tops or bottoms.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Summaries are taken directly from the fanfic’s summary.

Read the tags first!

Deluge (this is such a good boi, this fic is a good boy!) Weapon X chose Wade Wilson because of several factors in his life. He was a preternatural. He had extraordinary abilities that could be expanded upon. The cancer just made him desperate enough to agree to whatever they wanted to do with him.They didn't just turn him immortal. They destroyed his very soul, tearing him apart and shaping him into something new and never seen before. They took everything he had been and left him with ashes and bones. Soulless.He killed his creators and went on with his life.Then he met Spider-Man.Things started to change.Something inside him, something that had come out of the ashes and was a nightmarish, terrible thing, sat up and took notice. An intense, single-minded notice.

The Perks of Working Third Shift An AU in which Wade is wandering the globe and ends up in NYC where he meets the absolute most perfect man he's ever seen who's working third shift at a quick mart. Even better, the man seems happy to flirt back. Wade makes it his mission to score a date.Peter stopped dating a long time ago, but Wade's flirtations, energetic attitude, and hilarious comments make it hard for Peter not to enjoy the attention. But will all of that be ruined if Wade finds out his secret?

Better Like This  (Listen,  NotEvenCloseToStraight’s Spideypool works are amazing, read all of em, honestly just check out ALL the works of the writers on my list because if I list everything, this is gonna be a long ass list) No one knows Spider-Man is an Omega. Not the newspapers, not the NYPD, and certainly not the overly loud, definitely obnoxious, sort-of-a-good-guy, completely Alpha, Deadpool. And Peter would like it to stay that way. But when he drops into an unexpected heat, Deadpool is the only person he can call to help, and how quickly the Alpha switches from shouting dirty innuendos to whispering comforting things really throws Peter for a loop. After sharing a heat, Peter is convinced that Wade is his Alpha, and is ready to take him as his mate, but Wade rejects him. Wade knows that a man like him wouldn’t make anyone a good mate, much less a perfect, pretty Omega like Peter. So he says no, pushes the Omega away and unable to even work together anymore, they go their separate ways. Peter is devastated, heartbroken, seeking comfort in the arms of another Alpha, and all Wade can do is watch from a distance, and keep telling himself that he is doing the right thing, sparing Peter a life of disappointment and pain. Peter deserves better than him as a Mate, and one day Peter will understand. It’s Better This Way. But is it really?(Peter is Andrew Garfield)

Use Me Peter wants to help Wade. Wants to make him feel beautiful, wants to make him feel wanted... Wants to put out the fire in his own gut whenever he sees the merc for what he really is. He does.

Double Mint Gum Wade decides that only one of his fine-ass self just isn't enough 

Spider Spidey (SPIDERY SPIDEY!)

Bleed the Water Red Peter and Deadpool are held captive by a super-villain that has an inclination for torture. After she boasts her untarnished record at never having hurt a child or teenager, Peter is forced to break the truth to both her and Deadpool.“Did you know I have a perfect record?” The villain collects a rusted pocket knife, tracing it up Peter’s arm, over his shoulders, down to his collarbone, as though considering where to cut. Peter focuses on controlling his breathing, fear twisting awfully in his belly. “You may look down on me, Mr. Spider-Man, but for all the righteous suffering I inflict, I’ve never hurt a child. Not once.”“Y'know, I don’t think you do,” Peter blurts. At his words, Deadpool's stare intensifies. “Have a perfect, non-child harming record, that is.”

Don’t Keep Me Waiting Peter's 90% sure Wade likes him. Or at least he was sure. When you almost jerk off in front of the friend you're definitely not pathetically pining for and they never mention it again, it makes you doubt yourself. Peter knows he should probably just ask what the fuck is going on, but where's the angsty fun in that?

Sometimes When We Touch Peter answers a Craigslist ad for someone who is willing to pay for some unspecified physical contact/sex because he's just that broke. He's surprised to find out Wade Wilson is the one who posted the ad, but thinks he can still manage just fine even when the man explains he'd like him to wear a special costume for the occasion. Of course things become a little more complicated when Wade reveals the outfit he's chosen: a shockingly accurate Spider-Man suit

Sunflower 26 and standing at the head of Parker Industries, Peter feels young in every way. He doesn't know himself, he lacks a lot of experience, and he's struggling to get a grip on what he thinks of the merc with the mouth, an absolute force who has starting pushing his desires in a direction that terrifies him.He desperately tries to come to terms with sexuality, even when it means dragging Wade flat on his face.Takes place after the dance scene in Spider-man/Deadpool, with important plot details omitted. Follows these two through extreme character growth.

Two Thirds of a Whole (I honestly felt weird about this one, but eh, maybe someone who’s into it would appreciate it) Peter Parker and Wade Wilson, finding Vanessa dead and having never met, assume the second body is their other soulmate. When they meet in a market ten years later, they both have a chance they never thought they would get again-- a chance at love.But can they find a way to be happy as two thirds of a whole?

Holding Back The thing about not being able to die is that it makes everything so dreadfully boring. Seriously, immortality's a bitch. So, you gotta keep things interesting. How else are you supposed to get through the day without going insane? Well, more insane.Wade wants to be a hero, but fighting bad guys isn't enough to keep things interesting. Wooing Spider-Man might help, though. And exploring his kinks definitely will. Of course, he never thought anything would come of either of these things. Boy, was he wrong!

Missed You  (Imagine me covering me shyly covering my face for this ehehe) “Wade,” Peter whines, pulling off Wade’s mask and catching his lips in a deep kiss. All he can smell is leather and sweat and gunpowder, and he’s already embarrassingly hard. Wade comes home from a mission. Peter missed him. A lot.

Big Peter can't stop looking at and thinking about Wade's great big arms and shoulders and hands and back. He's fine. (He's not fine.) 

 Slip of the Tongue Sometimes Peter can forget how big Wade is, how much presence he has. Right now is not the time. His heart rabbits in his chest as he swallows, looking up. There’s always something there when Wade’s looking at him, something predatory, that makes Peter nervous and wanting, shivering hot all over.

Wade The Cat  “Aw don’t be afraid little buddy, it’s okay, he’s gone”Wade almost cringes at how someone is talking to him, what the hell?! He’s not a defenseless animal. Wait. No, yeah, he is.Wade looks a little alarmed, stepping back as the man crouches next to him, smiling sympathetically “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you. You okay?”Wade holds his breath, gives an once over at the guy, beautiful chestnut eyes, the adorable smile, the red face probably resulting from the cold and the brown humid hair stuck to his forehead as he holds his umbrella for both of them and yep, ladies and gentlemen if he wasn’t before, Wade is right now a defenseless animal because “Meow” Wade says wiggling what should be eyebrows “Honey, I’d let you take care of me all night long” Wade purrs.

Gonzo Journalist (It belongs to a series “We fell in love in October) A young photographer working for The Daily Bugle hears about the tragic fate of an ex-soldier and decides to write an article about his cause to help him out. Maybe more than in one way.

The Man in the Mask When Wade is unceremoniously dropped off into the custody of one Dr. Parker, he assumes the man has only the worst possible intentions for one of the world's last remaining mutants. But it turns out, the universe still holds plenty of surprises for them both.

You Wear My Name Over Your Heart Like It’s Invisible "Why don’t you ever let me see it? If you have the name already, why can’t you tell me whose it is? I thought we were best friends."Everyone gets their Name when they turn twenty-one. It isn’t their own name either. It’s the name of their Soulmate. When Wade Wilson wakes on his twenty-first birthday, he looks down at his chest and sees Peter Benjamin Parker. He stares for a moment then shrugs, gets dressed, and doesn’t think about it for another six weeks.

Parachute, Please Peter unexpectedly goes into heat after an Avengers mission, which could have been fine, but the ride back is 2 hours and he's stuck on a plane with his closest friends and family.At least there's one person he can call at times like these for relief. And in comes Wade.

Peter Parker’s Home for the Wayward Villain A really long redemption story.

And Words Are Futile Devices Peter doesn’t think he’s lonely. He’s too busy to be lonely. He’s twenty-two, working on his PhD and holding down a shitty job at the Daily Bugle, not to mention his nightly extra-curricular activities. He’s too busy for friends, and he’s certainly too busy for romantic interests. And yet, shockingly, apparently everyone in his life thinks he needs to stop being an anti-social recluse and get laid.So Peter enters the wide, wonderful world of online dating. He doesn’t expect to find his soul mate, or even a friend, and he’s definitely not looking for hook ups. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, really, until one Wade W. Wilson catches his eye and captures his heart with risqué dog pics and a concerning obsession with cannibalistic serial killers.This is a love story. A sweet, inevitable journey towards each other. There is humor, and melancholy, and a touch of both gravitas and levity to the weeks that trickle by. But really it’s just an account of the slow, magnetic movement of Peter towards Wade, and Wade towards Peter.

Strays Wade finds Spider-Man unconscious on a roof top. Score!Or: Spider-Man has lost his memories, some of his vocabulary, and all of his social conditioning. Wade is losing his mind.

The Inverse Deadpool doesn't have to try very hard to hide his second gender anymore because ever since Weapon X, no one in their right mind would ever believe that Wade Wilson was an omega. It doesn't matter anyway, because Wade knows no Alpha would keep a male omega. No alpha WANTS one, much less one that's as scarred and unstable as he is. Apparently, Spiderman was born to break every rule Wade has ever known.

The Body Remembers When the Mind Forgets When people need a mate in their life, it isn't usually because they've forgotten they already have one. 

Half Your Age (Plus Seven) In which Deadpool has oddly specific and frustrating morals, Spider-Man has excellent friends, his lab partner has an opening for a bassist, Johnny Storm has the warmest feet, and everyone has had enough of hearing Peter talk about Wade Wilson (except Aunt May: she’s always glad to hear he’s back in town).

[slitherofgold]

Don’t know if your taking requests but a Sam fender one to do with I’m a celebrity get me out of here where your both on it 🙃

This was such a good idea! I love I’m a celeb and Ant and Dec are basically my spirit animals. I wasn’t sure what kinda celeb you wanted the x reader to be, so sorry if it’s not quite up to your standards, lol. I Hope you enjoy :)

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You don’t know why you’d signed up. At the time, you thought it would be a good idea, maybe it would push you out of your comfort zone a bit. Now on the boat, ready to meet the other celebs, you already regretted your decision. Nervous would be an understatement. 

You didn’t even know who you were gonna meet. Who you were gonna share the next gruelling few weeks with. You hoped, prayed, that you’d know someone. That someone would be able to support you through those nasty challenges and tasks, that they wouldn’t laugh at you for being homesick or squealing at the idea of kangaroo balls for dinner. As the boat neared the shore, you made out a figure in the distance. That meant you were the second person to arrive. Well at least you weren’t the first, you thought. The producers had put in you in a green floral dress, completed with wedged shoes and the perfect accessories. Your hair was curled naturally, with the the front sections pinned back, and you had opted for natural make-up, just enough to enhance your favourite features. This was the last time being glamorous before the whole country would witness you at your worst, so you wanted to make a good impression. The figure in the distance grew, and you realised it was a man. Your heart skipped a beat. A very good looking man came into view. Then as you squinted your eyes against the harsh Australian sun, you discovered it was none other than Sam Fender. 

The sailor escorted you to the deck, holding your hand steady as you nervously stumbled out of the boat. Before, you could even look up to greet Sam, you heard him wolf whistle by the table of drinks, causing you to blush. You quickly hid it with a broad smile, trying to plaster on some false confidence. He picked up another flute of champagne and walked over to you, a big grin on his face. You were star-struck. Sam Fender had been a huge inspiration to you, and you were probably one of his biggest fans. You never actually met him before but you’d been to many of his concerts and had secretly dreamed of this moment. You hoped he knew who you were, otherwise it would be kind of awkward. He handed you a glass. “Omg I canny believe I’m gonna be in the jungle with the y/n y/l/n”. You internally let out a sigh of relief. “I expect you to be singing songs round the campfire Sam.” You smirked as you took a sip of your drink. He barked out a laugh and his eyes were drowned in mischief, and by the looks of it, relief too. “You know who I am?”, he asked, his head slightly tilted. “Of course I do, will we talk is an absolute banger.” 

Soon the other celebs arrived. The line-up consisted of soap stars, singers, dancers, models, reality TV stars, You-tubers and of course you and Sam. Thankfully, you knew most people and surprisingly they knew you too. The fact that these people were astonishingly nice put you at ease, and already you were happy to be sharing this experience with them. The friendly chit-chat soon ended when the final boat arrived presenting Ant and Dec. You had almost forgotten that you were about to enter the jungle, and they were the two who were going to send you to your impending doom. “Celebrities, welcome to Australia!”

One week later and you and the other celebs had all grown closer. Since you’re introductions, each of you had had to endure some of the worst experiences that none of you would have ever imagined, but thankfully you were all able to laugh about it around the evening fire. You, in particular, had to go through the most bushtucker trials, since you had expressed your fear for spiders on your first day. A fools mistake since doing that only encourages people to vote, your fear entertaining them. Sam had supported you through it all though. Motivating and boosting your confidence every morning, congratulating and hugging you tightly when you returned to camp with most of the stars, even though you smelled rancid. He even let you have his hammock, since he hated the idea of you sleeping on the floor when you provided the camp with most of their meals. The two of you had definitely become close and you were grateful Sam was there to support you through it all. 

You were just washing up, after your (surprisingly decent) meal of the night, when you heard footsteps approaching. “Only me” Sam said as he walked through the abundance of bushes. Without saying much more, he grabbed a tea-towel and started drying up. “You don’t have to do that”, you said. “I know, just thought I’d help out a bit.” He glanced over to you and smiled, his teeth and eyes bright in the darkness. “It’s like we’re already an old married couple”, you laughed. Then you realised what you had said. It had just slipped out. You hoped he wouldn’t take it the wrong way, that it wouldn’t make things awkward between you. His smile grew. From that, you could predict the teasing and taunting he would make you go through in the upcoming weeks. “Old married couple ay, well you could’ve at least taken me out on a date first.” You rolled your eyes. “Very funny Fender, though I think my dads got a better sense of humour than you.” He whacked you with the damp tea-towel and you squealed before flicking dishwater into his face. Little did you realise that the other celebs were watching on around the fire, witnessing your little fight. The reality TV star spoke up. “I swear if they don’t get together after this, I give up”. The other celebs mumbled in agreement. 

The next morning, Ant and Dec strutted into camp, announcing yet another bushtucker trial. This one however, needed two celebs. After a tense three minutes, it was revealed that you and Sam were to do the trial. Already you knew you were gonna get all the stars, with Sam by your side, nothing was impossible. The two of you walked to the clearing, laughing along the way, trying to calm yourselves before being presented with the task. The clearing had nothing but a table and two chairs. An eating challenge. “I guess this will be our first date then”, Sam quietly mumbled. You glanced at each other and desperately tried to suppress a laugh. Dec explained the challenge, which seemed simple enough. Eat whatever they presented and you’d earn a star. Sam pulled out your chair, “Such a gentlemen”, you joked, causing Ant to chuckle. Sam took his place across from you and the two of you waited for the first course. 

“This delicious delicacy is sheep’s brain”. You could almost here the smugness dripping off of Dec’s voice, glad that he wasn’t the one to be eating this. You looked up and made eye-contact with Sam. He nodded, his way of telling you that you could do this, that this was a piece of cake compared to the things you’d already endured. It was like he had the uttermost confidence in you, which urged you to pick up the brain and shove it down your throat without another thought. You wanted to be sick. The texture, the taste, even the smell of it made you want to heave. But you quickly chewed and swallowed to then reveal your empty mouth to the two hosts. “How was it?” Dec asked out of curiosity. “Delicious”, was your only reply before rinsing your mouth with water. 

10 minutes had passed and so far you and Sam had swallowed brains, balls and eyes. Despite the horrible food, you were still able to crack out a few laughs, making the most out of the situation. Finally, the last course arrived. As the lid was lifted, you shuddered in shock. A live spider was sat under a glass, ready for you to consume. Everyone knew you hated spiders. Just from looking at it you wanted to scream. With it’s long hairy legs and sudden movements, the thought of it in your mouth made you want to cry. Sam reached across the table, grabbing your hand, forcing you to focus your attention on him. “Hey, it’s alright. We’ve already got enough stars, the others won’t mind sharing.” You were conflicted. You wanted to conquer your fears, to get ALL the stars, but you also didn’t want a spider in your mouth. Sam noticed your inner battle, “I know you can do it, I know you have the courage to eat it. But do it for you, don’t think of the others”. You didn’t realise he’d been tracing small, comforting circles on your hand, as you slowly pulled out of his grasp and shakily moved your hand towards the spider. The clearing was utterly silent. Not even Ant or Dec spoke, as you swirled the glass and tipped the spider down into your throat. You quickly bit down, before you could comprehend there was a live spider in your throat, and continued chewing as quick as you could, pretending that you were instead munching on some crisps. After you had swallowed the remnants of the spider and revealed your empty mouth, the clearing erupted in cheers, proud of your achievement. Sam cheered the loudest of all, and sprinted out of his seat to embrace you. “I knew you could do it.” He mumbled against your head. 

Later that night, Sam was retelling your heroic tale to the rest of the camp. The other celebs were equally as proud, patting you on back and praising your bravery. You were proud of yourself too, though the thought of the spider still sent shivers down your spine. Soon the camp died down, and people began heading to bed, tired from the days hot sun. Sam plunked down next to you on the log perched by the fire. You sat in comfortable silence, embracing the crackling heat and the sound of nightlife, when you remembered something. “I don’t think I’ve heard you sing around the fire yet”, you lightly nudged him, chuckling to yourself. You hadn’t expected anything from him other than a snort, so you were happily surprised when Sam started to quietly sing will we talk, careful to not wake up the others. It was beautiful, your own private concert as he poured himself into a typically unromantic song. The fire reflected in his eyes as he stared into it longingly, reciting his own lyrics. His voice was beautiful. He was beautiful, and you couldn’t help but stare. The song rounded off and you had nothing left to say, you were speechless, utterly in awe with the man in front of you. He looked at you, his eyes so blue and bright, alive with something but you couldn’t decipher what. He scratched the back of his neck, was he nervous? “What do you say to going on a proper date after all this, me and you?” You blushed, damn your stupid cheeks for giving away every emotion. “Proper date? You mean we won’t be eating brains and balls?” He laughed, his nerves instantly dissolving. “Not unless you really want to, personally I’m never really in the mood for them” You grinned. “Shame, I thought we could share some on our first proper date.” Sam wrapped his arm around you, bringing you closer into his warmth. “As long as you share”, Sam replied. You rested your head on his shoulder, smiling to yourself as the fire’s flames entranced you, carrying you into the calm, Australian night.