#this reeks of suspicious bullshit

[none-gender-left-man]

Anyway I'm going insane does anybody need anything while I'm out

[notjaexiee]

CHERRY LIPGLOSS SUCKS

Part 1 | Part 2

Summary: You and Regina have a long-standing history together, and now, with your exes pairing up in a new relationship, you are reluctantly forced to work together to win them back. Will the familiarity bring you closer, or will old habits resurface, leading to further tensions?

Warnings: manipulative regina, profanity, beginner fanfic writer:so mid writing, mentions of weed and mozzarella sticks

Words:1.3k

A/N:Thank you so much for all the support on Part 1, especially to that one user who reblogged and said "go read or u suck" I LOVE U.

Regina's words echoed in my mind like a stuck record."

"Ill see you tomorrow, after school, underneath the bleache-"

"Dude!" Mae jolted me out of my thoughts, snapping. My brain instantly refocused on the present moment.

The final class had just 5 minutes left, and I had to meet Regina. I hadn't had a genuine and meaningful conversation with Regina in a while. Our last talk had taken place years ago, and it didn't exactly conclude on the best terms.

-

"Did You really have to be that honest?!"

-

"Y-Yeah?" I stammered as I shook my head, desperately trying to clear my mind.

"Are you even paying attention?" she asked with an eye roll.

Trying to cover up my shit, I responded with a snort, "Of course!" hoping she would buy my lie.

Unconvinced, she asked, "So, when is Anders' soccer game?"

Ander plays soccer?

I gulped, "Tomorrow?" I replied, my voice smaller.

"Ander has asthma, dumbass." She pointed out

My shoulders sagged as I let out a resigned sigh, muttering under my breath, "fuck you, reverse psychology."

"You good?"

I attempted to brush off Mae's concern, replying, "It's nothing."

She gave me a skeptical look, countering, "Bullshit. You didn't even touch those mozzarella sticks I brought you. You love mozzarella sticks."

"I was full," I argued lamely, attempting to defend myself.

Mae raised a skeptical eyebrow, reminding me, "You guzzle down a Red Bull every morning for breakfast. Your 'full' card doesn't fly, genius."

"I'm just not in the mood today, okay?" I reasoned again

"Fine," Mae conceded, slightly annoyed. "I'm going to go help Brynn roll some. Want to join?"

I shook my head, declining her offer.

"Nah, I have something to do," I responded, already turning to leave the classroom.

Mae looked at me suspiciously, raising an eyebrow. "Okay..." she replied, still doubting my excuse.

I was growing increasingly annoyed as I waited for Regina under the stinking bleachers. The place absolutely reeked, and I had been tapping my foot in irritation for far too long.

"I'm a bit surprised you actually showed up."

Regina stated as she approached me with a confident stride.

I responded in a sarcastic tone, rolling my eyes, "Yeah, blackmailing me about my friends really works wonders."

I glanced around, surprised not to see Gretchen and Karen accompanying her, as usual.

I couldn't help but comment, "Where are your backscratching bootlickers?" I raised an eyebrow.

With a slight tilt of her head she responded with a snarky remark, "Your mouth is still as vulgar as ever, i guess some things never change."

"As if you're any better." I mumbled under my breath, too low for her to hear

"Woah woah, dating!?" I replied, thoroughly taken aback. "No way am i going to be your girlfriend!"

Regina quickly corrected me, "Pretend." She rolled her eyes, growing impatient with me. "Do you want Tina back?" She asked, her annoyance clear. "Then there's no question about it.

I wrestled with the idea, questioning if it was even worth the effort.

My face twisted in doubt as I questioned her plan. "How do you even know this will work?"

Regina's voice took on a venomous tone as she snapped, "Can you just shut up and trust me?"

My scoff turned into a mocking laugh. "Trust you, Regina?" I taunted

-

I sat alone in my darkened room, tears streaming down my face as I clutched my teddy bear tightly for comfort. My room looked like a cyclone had gone through it; pillows and blankets scattered every which way, and pieces of paper and pictures torn up. I could hear my mother's concerned voice outside my door, saying Regina wanted to talk to me. I shouted back, my voice shaking with anger, "Tell her to fuck off!"

-

I scoffed in disbelief. "Right, because the last time I trusted you really worked out well for me." The memory of her betrayal still stung.

"Can we not discuss that right now?" Regina replied sharply, but my anger remained.

The audacity of this bitch is terrifying!

"We're going to have to work together, so if you keep bringing it up, you're just making this more uncomfortable than it already is."

My anger gradually faded, replaced by a begrudging acceptance. I hated to admit it, but she was right

— we I couldn't keep dwelling on the past if we were going to make this plan work.

I reluctantly agreed, "Fine," Part of me yearned for an acknowledgement, for her to address the past, but her lack of response just left me feeling disappointed.

Regina sneered disdainfully, her gaze traveling along my entire body, her eyes judging me. "What the fuck are you wearing?" she taunted, as if I had committed a fashion felony.

I looked down at my clothes, feeling a bit self-conscious. "What?" I replied defensively, unsure of the issue.

Regina abruptly grabbed my wrist, her touch surprisingly warm. Without a word, she began pulling me towards her red Jeep.

"where are you tak—" I started, but she quickly cut me off, her words laced with annoyance.

"I am not going to be seen with an outdated loser," she retorted, her grip not relenting as we approached her vehicle.

I stumbled slightly as she practically dragged me along, trying to protest, "It's just a band tee!"

My wrist felt the absence of her touch as Regina turned to open the driver's door of her Jeep.

As she settled into the driver's seat I glanced back at the passenger and the back seat, debating where to sit.

Opting for the safer choice, I reached out for the back door handle before Regina interrupted me.

"Sit in the passenger seat, idiot," she ordered, her tone cutting through the air.

Reluctantly, I opened the passenger door and slid into the seat beside Regina, sitting a slight distance away from her. As she started the jeep and began driving, I turned my gaze towards the window.

I tried once more to get an answer, my eyes still glued to the outside world.

"Seriously," I persisted, "where are we going?"

Regina's response was brief, "Shopping," she replied. "If I'm going to pretend to date you, you at least need some proper clothes."

The cafeteria felt oddly silent as a murmur of whispers surrounded me. I couldn't tell if it was my anxiety playing tricks on me, but the atmosphere felt eerily hushed.

"I hate this," I muttered under my breath, feeling the weight of everyone's gazes upon me. Wearing the clothes Regina had deemed socially acceptable yesterday made me feel even more out of place right now.

My train of thought came to a halt as my phone buzzed with a notification. It was a message from Regina: "Stop standing there like a statue. Come sit with us."

I glanced at my phone, finding a flurry of messages from my friends group chat. "Where are you?" and "What the hell are you wearing" filled the screen. I reluctantly raised my gaze to our usual table, only to see my friends staring at me, bewildered. Swiftly muting my phone, I headed towards the plastics table.

'Took you long enough,' she muttered, as I approached, her eyes glued to her phone, no doubt scrolling through Instagram.

Gretchen, a hint of false enthusiasm in her expression, looks up from her phone. "Why's she here?" she asks, peering at Regina through raised eyebrows.

Regina retorts with a deadpan tone, rolling her eyes slightly, "To sit with us.”

Gretchen, her voice rising in pitch, exclaims, "What?! She can't-" only to be cut off by Regina's firm interject.

"Sit," Regina says, her inflection leaving no room for argument.

I hesitantly moved to sit across them.

"Hey, sorry- uh," I greet, looking between Karen and Gretchen with a mix of confusion and frustration. "Why am I sitting here? This is not part of the plan!" I whisper-yelled at Regina, leaning in closer to avoid being overheard.

With a roll of her eyes, Regina replied, "Just go with it." She set her phone down, adding, "Tina's watching".

I glanced around the cafeteria, spotting Tina seated with her clique, watching me intently. In that moment, our eyes met, confirming that the first step of Regina's plan had been successfully executed.

Step one:Complete

A/N: next part is cadys arrival😱🥶

[cryptidghostgirl]

HII this is the first time I ask one of this request and I would love if you could write this idea that’s been on my mind:3 and sorry if it is too specific but I was thinking of an Alastor x reader inspired on the chapter masquerade from dangerously yours??(only if you know it of course I don’t want to bother you😭)

basically the reader is an angel undercover to spy on the guys of the hotel and their plan for the extermination and the only one who knew this was alastor, but he didn’t say anything since he found her interesting and knew she wouldn’t be a threat if he had her under his watch!! but this changes when they started talking, getting closer to each other to the point he almost forgets why she’s here and what she really is,, but they’re so in love and doesn’t doubt of the feelings she has for him either to care😭

BUT when she(the reader) discovers he knew it all along she doesn’t have another choice but to kill him with an angelic weapon, and Alastor starts rambling about how she wouldn’t do it because she loves him and that kkwjzkxbdk

sorry if it’s too confusing english its not my first language so I tried my best😭😭 feel free to ignore it if you want to!!

A/N I am not sure what Dangerously yours is but I liked this idea and did something with it anyways. I hope that is okay :) Also I know I deviated from the prompt a bit, if you want I can do another.

Masquerade (Alastor x Angel!Exorcist!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Adam. Angst. I think that is it, please correct me if I am wrong.

Word Count: 1,616

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Alastor Master List

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

"I want you down there."

Adam was picking at his teeth with the nail of his pinky finger, not even bothering to look at Y/n as he spoke.

"You what?" she shook her head, aghast at the idea, "Sir, do you really think that is such a good idea?"

"Yeah, that's why I am ordering you to do it?" Adam raised his eyebrows, his eyes meeting Y/n's as he leaned slightly across the table towards her, "I want everything: their plans, their intel, their... fuck, I don't know, their deepest darkest secrets. Just bring me whatever bullshit you're able to find."

"But sir, what if they find out? What if I get caught?"

"Then I'll send someone else to replace you."

His words sent a shiver down her spine. This was the life of an exorcist. Hardened, because they had to be. Afraid because there was no chance of beating their leader. Utterly disposable because there were thousands more of them to be had.

"But sir... I've really never been a good liar and... and..."

"And.. And..." Adam mocked, rolling his eyes, "Get over yourself, bitch! Pack your bags, you leave in ten."

That was how Y/n ended up where she was now, in disguise as a guest at the Hazbin Hotel. It had been scary at first. All she knew about demons was what she had been told, that they were vile, that they were filth. It came as a surprise when she also learned how kind they could be.

Alastor had known from the first moment he met her. It was the defensiveness that did it. That, and that she positively reeked of purity. When Y/n had come knocking on the door to the hotel, there hadn't been a single doubt in his mind about her true nature. Always on the hunt for a good show, he had decided to let it lie. He figured any trouble that would come of this was something he could deal with, that he would keep an eye on the little potential trouble maker. There was a certain pride that rose in his chest at the self proclaimed role of protector, he took the oath very seriously.

At first, Y/n had been reticent, suspicious. She seemed to be in a constant state of running in to Alastor and that set her on edge. He always played it off, was always kind and polite but with the years of learned behavior at her back, Y/n was slow to trust.

It happened that as she grew more comfortable at the hotel and its ragtag group of inhabitants, she also became more comfortable with Alastor. What had started off as little more than formality soon turned into her stopping to talk to him when their paths crossed, even bringing him treats she baked when he wasn't down in the kitchen to enjoy them with the rest of the crew.

It wasn't on purpose. Alastor didn't do a lot that wasn't on purpose. The more time he spent with the angel in disguise, the more he fell victim to her innocent charms. She was excitable, she looked at the world through new eyes. When he walked the well worn streets of Pentagram City by her side, it nearly felt like he was experiencing them for the first time again. There was something desirable in her sense of wonder.

Slowly distrust became friendship and friendship became something else. It was an unspoken bond of shared glances and secret smiles. No one ever talked about the way they would be looking everywhere around the hotel for one of the pair only to find them holed up together in some discrete corner listening to music and chattering away. The worst kept secret in all of Hell. Everyone saw how close they stood, how their hands brushed lightly when they walked side by side.

Y/n knew it was wrong, could feel it in her gut. The guilt ate away at her and still, she was unable to keep herself from indulging. He was magnetic, kinder than she ever could have expected and with an eye for the dramatic which she just adored. On that first night he kissed her, on the balcony beneath the false stars, she felt her divinity begin to slip.

It was a careful dance, a well strategized game of chance. They never said the words, they didn't need to. They both knew the truth, Alastor from Y/n's inability to be anything other than genuine in her joy and Y/n through the fact that Alastor seemed to avoid all forms of intimacy - emotional or otherwise - with anyone save her. She felt like she was drowning but she didn't care. She relished the embrace, the first true kindness she had felt since being forced into the ranks of Adam's army all those years before.

The weight of the lie was heavy on her shoulders, bearing down on her more and more with each passing day. With every soft smile, every hand hold, she felt the mask crack a bit more. Secrets had never been an issue for Alastor on the other hand. He expected to find joy in her slipping facade, some sense of satisfaction in the idea that while his remained strong her's was slipping. Instead, there was only worry. That was when he realized it wasn't a game anymore, it was reality and he was done for.

The line of the tightrope was thin, they both clung to it. Nothing good lasts forever and both knew, eventually, they were doomed to fall.

It happened by accident. Alastor had figured he had at least until the next extermination to make a plan, as did Y/n. Fate had other plans.

"My dear!" Alastor hummed jovially as he materialized in Y/n's room, "Your fellow guests are waiting in the lobby."

It wasn't out of the ordinary for him to just appear, Y/n was used to it by now. He was a man of routine and she knew his schedule, worked her own reports in carefully around it. She should have been suspicious of how well things were going, should have seen the doomed end creeping closer by the minute.

She froze, the portal open before her spinning gold sparks into the room as it framed Adam's face. His eyes flicked to Alastor and then to Y/n. Her eyes stayed stuck on the Radio Demon, grief winding its way through her lashes.

"Oops!" Adam laughed, "Wrong place wrong time, dick for brains."

Either way, it was a lose lose situation. Both Y/n and Alastor saw it. He killed her, she killed him, she didn't kill him and was ousted from heaven or killed by Adam, he didn't kill her and Charlie lost all trust in him. There was one faint future, glimmering with potential, where everything worked out. Y/n saw it in the idea of tricking Adam into having gotten Alastor on her side working against the hotel. Alastor saw it in Y/n falling and the perpetually kind hearted princess of Hell, Charlie, taking her in.

Y/n's sharp intake of breath sent shiver's down Alastor's spine. He watched her carefully, microphone in hand.

"Well?" Adam groaned in irritation, "Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna kill him?"

Her gaze shifted to Adam momentarily, her mask gone and her expression conflicted. She was looking to him for an option, for a way out. Adam gave no such reprieve and she returned to Alastor, her eyes widening in sudden realization of the essence of their situation.

The man in question had made no move to attack. It revealed everything, she took a trembling step towards him.

"You knew?"

The question was soft as rose petals, quiet enough so Adam couldn't quite make out what she had said. Alastor gave a subtle nod.

"God, Lute was right. You are a pathetic little brat, aren't you. Finish. The. Job."

Another furtive glance thrown between the two men and Y/n transformed. Wings sprouted from her back, her demon features fading into nothing as a black halo materialized above her head. Spear in hand, breaths shallow and constant, she turned her anxious eyes and spear to Alastor.

He was blinded, she was beautiful. Alastor had always found her attractive but something about seeing this true nature of hers, the face behind the mask, made him breathless. His mind reeled, he felt only he should return the favor but feared she would mistake it as aggression.

Please.

Her lips formed the word though no voice left her chest.

Run.

Alastor shook his head the slightest bit. Tears began to well in Y/n's vibrant eyes. Stuck between Heaven and Hell, divinity and desolation, love and war. She took a step forward. Y/n's wings splayed out behind her, a fitting backdrop to her inhuman beauty of the moment.

"Get it over with." Adam spat.

She begged him with everything but words. She wanted to do anything. To run, to hide, to lash out, to kill her instead. Alastor just stood there. He let his microphone disintegrate into the air.

He couldn't comprehend what he was doing, what force was driving him to look his much avoided double death head on without fear. Regardless of his confusion, he was undeterred. He spread his arms slightly to the sides, feeling his second form begging for control. He could feel the horns sprouting, the heat from the aiming light of the gun on his brow.

Y/n's expression only became more pained. Taking a deep, stuttering breath, she drew her weapon back.

"I'm so sorry."

----

Tags:

@willowshadenox @i-love-jafar @elfyeet @reader3 @lazygirlfanfic0-0 @kahlan170

[22degreehalo]

God I just keep thimking abt. The season 3 finale. And the Fight. And the Promise.

Because... yeah, Nandor's whole claim that the fight was a ~test~ to see if he was ~strong enough~ just reeks of bullshit. It comes out of nowhere and we have no reason to think Nandor especially feels in danger of anything at this point...? Like Guillermo has already saved them from the whole damn vampire council. What more could he even have to prove lol.

But if not that... why such a sudden change of heart? Is he just embarrassed he got beat and trying to regain his place of authority? But even by Nandor's standards that's such a HUGE leap for such a small thing. Turning Guillermo is the ONE THING he's never even properly contemplated doing up until this point. Also, if he weren't actually fully serious and solemn, there's no way he'd pull off that act. He'd ruin the moment in 2 seconds.

His comment after Guillermo leaves doesn't reveal much, either. Like, yes, he was caught off guard that Guillermo was fast, but is that all he has to say? There's definitely more to this scene, so that's an almost suspiciously obvious statement. Like it's not out-of-character, it's just... the viewer expects an explanation, but doesn't get it.

Frankly, the whole thing kinda bothered me. I just couldn't really get into his head about it. And that's such an important scene I really DID want to understand it. Nandor finally offered to actually turn Guillermo, and I didn't understand why!

But season 5 explains it.

He thought, finally, that Guillermo had what it takes to be a vampire.

That he could be vicious. That he could fight to the death, and kill. Not for the sake of protecting somebody else. But for his own sake.

He saw the killer in him, and he finally let himself believe that Guillermo would be able to live off the lives of innocent people and not break himself in two.

But Guillermo, as far as Nandor understood it, got cold feet. He realised that he didn't want to be a vampire and left him behind.

And even when Nandor realised later that that wasn't the case... for one, the moment's over. And for two, why didn't Guillermo seek him out? Why didn't Guillermo demand that Nandor uphold his half of the bargain? Where did that determined, vicious instinct go?

Godddd I'm trying to remember how it all went but is that why he provoked Guillermo so hard at the night market, too???? He wanted so badly to see that desperate and dangerous Guillermo again, like he might force it back out of him and reveal it is who he really is inside??????

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Beneath Miles of Stone - Part fifteen - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: blood ; near death experiences ; gore ; angst

The wake up period is sore - like a pleasant hangover even though she hasn’t had a drink in a while. 

Because, now, there’s something else to be addicted to. 

It’s gross, but she doesn’t brush her teeth. Just a little longer to keep the residual taste of him in her mouth so she knows that he’s real. 

Michael is sitting at the kitchen table, dressed in business casual, reading something on his phone. 

When she plops down across from him, lazy, pleasant smile carved into her face, he eyes her suspiciously. 

“You seem relaxed,” Michael says, “that’s scary.”

“I-uh-had a good night.” Her throat is wickedly sore.

Michael taps his finger on his chin. “You’re not telling me what happened so I’m just gonna assume he fucked you on Wall Street.”

“He was actually kind of mad,” she says.

Michael rolls his eyes. “See, that’s stupid. He shouldn’t lead you on if he’s gonna get mad about little stuff like that.”

“Lead me on?” Her face scrunches up like she’s trying to get that thought out of her head.

“Sorry, wrong word.” Michael sighs. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.” His look of contemplation turns to a grin, which eases her some.

Now she’s thinking Michael sees something she doesn’t concerning this relationship - thing - despite him not knowing much about it to begin with. She wants to prod, but he’s already changing the subject. 

“So, is he any good?” In a childish gesture that makes her laugh, he inserts his pointer finger into a hole created by his other hand. 

“How do you know we had sex?”

Michael narrows his eyes. “Oh, have you not looked in the mirror?” His angelic features are positively devilish right now as he takes a sip of steaming coffee and points to her hair. “But, I have to commend him. Although this place does reek of man, at least he smells nice, unlike some of them.”

“He does smell nice,” she agrees, longing to bury her face in woodsy, smoked cologne and crisp soap. 

“I’ll have to ask him what he wears if I ever meet him.” Michael bats his pretty eyelashes at her, and she gets the hint. 

“I want you to meet him,” she nods, hopeful for it. 

This is dangerous. Treacherous. Exciting. Insane. Her throat at the guillotine and her heart held at knife point. She doesn’t want Michael involved in the chaos of the situation, but she wants him to meet John so that someone else can affirm that he’s not her imaginary friend. 

“I have to go to work and school, and then I’m going to the bar with the girls later, if you want to come.. With or without delicious-smelling gentleman caller.” Michael slurps the last of his coffee. 

“Maybe.” She smiles softly, grateful for the invite and not wanting to hurt his feelings. “I have to go get groceries and I’ll see where my social battery is at after that.”

Michael nods, and she’s reminded of his understanding nature that makes her admire him so much. “If I give you some cash and a few things to pick up, could you?” Michael looks embarrassed, rubs his temples. “I keep meaning to go to the Whole Foods store, but I’m slacking. I’m so tired of fast food for dinner.”

She agrees. “I hear you on that. Of course I will.” It’s the least she can do for him, after all. He’s been putting up with her bullshit with upmost grace. 

“Are you taking the subway?” Michael asks.

She nods.

He cringes like the subway is the worst thing he can imagine. “Why don’t we just wait until the weekend? I can drive us. Less dirt.” 

She waves him off. “It’s fine, Michael.”

“Okay, okay,” he surrenders, putting both hands in the air. He promises to shoot her a text at some point with requested items, and then packs up to leave. 

She needs to start putting together her own grocery list, so she grabs a pen and paper from her nightstand and begins rooting around the kitchen for missing items. She tries to keep it narrow so she doesn’t have to lug too many bags around from train to train. 

A thudding on the front door makes her jump. She sets her writing items down and goes to answer. 

The miasmic, powdery air that seeps into her apartment raises every goosebump on her skin and sets off alarms that she didn’t know existed in her brain. 

John crumples on the doorframe, looking up at her through half-alive eyes, opens his mouth. “I told you you’d see me again.”

His papery voice barely makes it past his lips. 

“Jesus Christ.” That’s all she can get out as she pushes herself under his armpit, ignores the sticky blood staining her sleep shirt, and lugs him inside.

Grunting in effort, she shoulders him onto the couch, body crumpling down into his, pulled by a limp, hefty arm.

“John, what the fuck.” She sits up, rubs at his cheeks and becomes that much more worried when she realizes that his skin is frigid. 

He hums, unflappable smile taking up the last bit of energy he has, brushes her hair behind her ear with a clumsy, shivering hand. “Told you I’d come back,” he repeats, surprising her by still being able to form coherent sentences. 

“I’m calling 911,” she tells him. 

“No.” He shakes his head, motions to his chest. “Just lost some blood.” 

“Some?” She hisses, eyes taking in his ruby soaked shirt and suit jacket.

He pats her cheek, can’t find the energy to respond. 

She rips his jacket off of him, pressing and pulling his bulky frame, then decides fuck it and grabs scissors and tries to cut his dress shirt open. The damn scissors can’t even clip the start of his lapels, and she remembers Winston saying something about Kevlar, so she just rudely tears the rest of his clothes off until he’s completely bare from the waist up. Panting, throwing the sodden linen onto the floor, not even thinking about the stains that will inevitably transfer. 

Tattoos that she didn’t notice before on his bare back, scars glistening waxen with sweat that collects inside the bruised muscle and tendon of his body. 

Around his left upper bicep, she can see where the blood originates. 

A piece of saturated, red cloth and a silvery blue tie wrapped to keep it in place. 

“I need to fix this,” she tells him.

He swallows an answer, eyes closed, breath fast and short.

She slips on linoleum on her way to grab the first aid kit. Her knee hits the tile with a crack, and she ignores the pain. Limps back to him, rips his self made dressing off. 

The hole just shy of one of the bulging veins in his arms oozes blood. 

She tears a package of gauze open with her teeth, stuffs it in the wound.

John’s eyes roll open as he muffles a husky scream from the feeling of something foreign and scratchy being shoved into the fresh new opening.

“I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry,” she tells him, fingers sticking more gauze inside, other hand holding it in place with enough pressure to indent his skin. “Did you get shot? You gotta get the bullet out. Fuck.” Her hand slips on plasma, tugging down on his moldable, raw flesh. She recovers but not before he lets out a dying huff of agony.

“Took it out,” he tells her through teeth, trying to stay still while she wraps rolls of white web around his arm. 

“You need blood,” she says, eyes boring into his, pleading. 

“Fine,” he says, hand trying to fumble with his pants pocket. She pushes him away and grabs his phone. 

“Who?”

“Doc.”

She dials the number, presses it to her ear, doesn’t give the person answering time to breathe let alone speak. “Please,” she starts out with, “John Wick is bleeding out in my living room.” 

His vision gets dark around the edges, and it’s okay, because this is a good way to die: Bloodletting with her hands on his chest, with her body pressed into his side. He’s not going anywhere without her right next to him. His mind sucks him into a vacuum where it doesn’t have to be this way. A space where she and he are happy. White picket fence. Dogs. Kids. Soft kisses and tickle fights instead of life or death combat. His rapid heart calms and slows. Her hand in his, the only thing he needs. Why he came here. The one person he wants to see before the real grim reaper begrudgingly steals their title back. Death rolls its eyes, clicks its tongue, bored with the Baba Yaga, about time.

Life fades, but he can hear her voice long after his chest stops moving, and he doesn’t deserve such kindness after the things he’s done, but he’ll gladly and selfishly take it. 

———————————————

John immediately tries to sit when he wakes, or at least that’s what he imagines himself doing. It’s strange, being flat on your back when you just felt your feet hit the floor a second ago. 

He’s hallucinating, then. Shivering, twitching. His eyes attempt to close, but  behind them a silver train with white fire headlights rushes toward him at full speed, and they shoot back open right before it can eviscerate his body. 

“He’s awake!” Calls a familiar voice that soothes despite the heightened pitch and anxious urgency. 

He needs a little more to settle the rapid pound of his heart, so he reaches blindly for a handful of flesh. 

She clasps his seeking fingers, puts her other hand on his forearm. Her skin feels like she’s threaded together by silk worms themselves. 

His mouth puffs an indulgent sound. 

“What’s his temperature?” As the world fizzes into focus like it’s a freezing Coke being freshly poured into a glass, he makes out silhouettes of the Doc and her. 

“96.6,” she says worriedly, pressing the tool to his forehead a second time just to make sure. 

It’s strange, that her skin is warmer than his, and this temperature explains it. 

“Right,” doc says, rolling a bright red bag of o negative under the heel of his hand to warm it up. “Give him the Benadryl.” 

John feels a sharp pinch in his right bicep, watches her take the needle away, cap it, and then reaches for her hand again like a clingy, angry toddler. 

She concedes, checks the tubing buried in his antecubital to make sure it’s still dripping while she rubs his wrist in a soothing way and shushes him. 

He wants to smile and say something cheeky, but his body refuses to move save for the annoying, jumpy ants crawling under the skin of his hands, feet, and back. 

He is bedded down under layers of thick blankets, wrapped tight. Her hip presses into his side. 

He holds her fast, now refusing to let go. 

“John.” 

He imagines himself, a mere servant boy, falling at the feet of a generous and kind princess. 

“Hmm?” He asks.

“It’s going to be okay. We’re giving you blood, and he” - she glances over at Doc, weary of what to call him as to not ruffle feathers - “the doctor stitched you up.”

He tries to say something, swears that he at least gets an okay out, but his pale lips stay closed. 

“Two bags should be enough,” the doctor tells her, flicking the IV tubing. “I’d say one, but I have a few extras on hand today.”

She can’t tell if he’s joking or not, so she tries a smile and it must look weird on her distraught face. “Thank you.”

“He owes me money in the form of thanks,” Doc huffs, pushing sweaty black hair off his crinkled forehead. “You hear, John?”

John tries to nod, gets a little tilt of his chin out of the grueling effort. 

“Getting clumsy and sloppy,” Doc mumbles, shaking his head as he turns his back to spike the other bag of blood. 

“Let me do that,” she tells him. 

The older man backs away and motions to his prep table, glad for the break. She tries to go over, but John keeps her there. 

Let him do it, I’m paying him,  is what he wants to quip. He just ends up grunting.

“John,” she tries to warn, but he’s not scared of her wrath in the slightest bit. He pulls her hand as close as his listless limb will allow, rests their fingers on top of the blanket mound over his chest. 

The Doc chuckles, gets back to work. “Is he paying you?” 

She’s too busy examining the bruised cuts on John’s face and the raw, purple skin on his knuckles to pick up on the joke. Her mouth pops open, astonished.

“No.” 

John reminds himself to tell her how fucking precious she is when his jaw will unstick itself. 

“Kidding,” the Doctor says, hanging the next bag of blood onto the portable metal pole. 

“Oh, sorry.” She warms with the awkward tension. “Also, I’m sorry for the other day.” She nudges over her shoulder as if to snuff the past. “That was really stupid of me.” 

The doctor rubs his beard. “I thought it was funny,” he shrugs.

John can barely move, but the glare he shoots is unmistakeable. 

“And it’s fine,” Doc amends. “Rotten kids needed to get whipped. Heaven knows his father never took a belt to his behind.” 

He walks back to his folding table and starts sticking the items left out from earlier into his bag. For an older man, his hands were deft and skilled as he sowed John, sterilized his equipment, and tucked it back into his tool case in one breath. 

Once again, another person for her to envy.

Maybe she’s barking up the wrong tree by asking John to teach her to fight. Wouldn’t it be smarter to utilize her already established skills and have the doctor take her under his wing instead? Wouldn’t that be presumptuous and entitled, though?

She watches his back and thinks hard, brows furrowing in thought. 

A surprising, temperature neutral finger touches the side of her face. 

John is trying to smile up at her. “Hey, honey.” 

Thoughts of combat medicine left behind, she squeezes his shoulders in a timid hug and brushes the sticky hair off his forehead. “I thought you were dead.”

“I think I was,” John grimaces.

“No, you were breathing,” she tells him, squeezing his hand, contradicting her anxiety. “I swear.” 

“I believe you.” His strength is seeping back inside his bloodstream through sterilized tubes, and, by the second, he can feel the haze of purgatory lift from him. 

He opens and closes the fist not gripping her, testing his will. 

“How you feeling?” She asks.

“Starting to get hot,” he admits, shifting his thawing toes under crushing blankets. 

She takes three off, which still leaves him weighted down. He wants to laugh, imagining her tucking him in thoroughly with pounds of linen that could never compare to the shelter that she gives.

He kisses her fingertips, winces as they graze the superficial cut on his top lip.

“Let me fix that,” she asks, trying to pull away.

“Why‘re you always trying to get away from me,” he mumbles, letting her go.

She wants to ask him the same question, but grabs a wet wash cloth and a basin filled with warm water and starts cleaning his face off. 

The doctor is sitting in one of her kitchen chairs that she dragged into her room for him, watching, checking his wrist for the time. 

The caked blood fights against warm water. She avoids pressure and instead uses persistence to rub the grime off his face and neck. The water turns tepid and pink while the battle goes on. 

The doctor comes over, unclamps John’s vein from one bag, and sticks the other into the port. 

John’s teeth chatter while the cool blood pumps through his system.

She rubs his jaw to calm the motion, while her damper hand grabs one of the discarded blankets and puts it back on him. 

He’s just now noticing that he’s lying in her bed, calves hanging off the end of the mattress. “How much blood is there?” He asks, afraid to know the answer. 

“Inside your body, about 3 liters. Maybe a little less right now.” She eyes the last blood bag. “Outside, probably.. let’s say. A shit ton.” She grins at him. 

“I’ll help you clean it,” he offers, apologetic, wide brown eyes enough to get him out of dry cleaning duty.

“Worry about being able to sit up first, tiger,” she says, running the rag over his forehead. 

“We should talk, too,” he replies.

“Once again, your functionality is my main priority.”

It feels far too good - being her priority. He lets the idea carry him through otherwise frustrating silence. 

“I have some Pink Peroxide,” Doc interrupts. “Will cost extra.”

John nods, looking over her shoulder at him.

“Pink peroxide?” She asks, also looking over her shoulder at him. 

“Miracle for stains,” he explains. “Blood stains especially.”

She dabs John’s cheek. “Oh.”

After the bag finishes, Doc takes it down and shoves it into his briefcase. He slips off his vinyl gloves, tucks them into a striped pocket, and hands her a  translucent bottle full of blue pills. “Make him take these.” 

Another temp check and he’s at 98.8, sweat dampening the layers of blanket. He squirms impatiently, attempts to push some covers off himself. 

They don’t notice until he’s got half in a pile around his stomach. 

Doc laughs as she scolds John.

“Stop it,” she says, rearranging bedding so that there’s only two blankets covering him. She tucks edges in. “You’re gonna get cold again.”

“Keep me warm,” he tells her, running his thumb over her cheek bone, trying to manually stimulate her lips into a smile. 

She can’t help the crescent tilt of her mouth. “I think you gave him too much morphine.”

“Yeah,” Doc agrees, “he owes me extra for that, too.”

It might be the morphine, or it might be the fact that he was closer than he’d like to be to a dark, conscious-less void where he didn’t have her and it made him crave her that much more. 

“I’m gonna go get you some water,” she tells John, patting his bicep. “Some toast and butter, too.”

She looks at him, expectantly.

After a minute, he seems confused. “Okay, that’s alright.”

“Uh, you have to let me go,” she says, biting her lip. 

“Oh fuck,” he says casually, releasing her hand. 

She goes to prepare him some things. The toast and butter, a few fresh strawberries leftover from Michael’s pie baking excursion, a tall glass of ice water. Some orange koolaid for immune boost and blood sugar raising. She grabs the jar of peanut butter and a knife, too, balances it on the plate with the food. 

“What time is it, Doc?” John asks, yawning. 

“Six PM,” the Doctor replies, glancing at his watch. 

John’s eyes widen. “I have work at ten.”

Doc examines the second blood bag. “It will be done by then.”

“I thought they missed my artery.”

She walks in, sets his plate and drinks down. “Here,” she says, prompting a glass straw to his lips. He sucks down water and gets Deja Vu from the first time he met her, remembers how sweet she was to think of his base human needs, forgets about work. Or whatever the conversation was about.

“You thought right, but you bled an unusual amount.” This from Doc.

John asks, “Why?” 

“Your blood is thin.” Doc shrugs, matter-of-a-fact. “I would need more tests to figure out why .”

She sits down on the mattress next to him. “You were on an oral anticoagulant - blood thinner - in the infirmary because of strict bed rest. Is that why?” She looks at Doc.

He smiles at her. “Ah, that could be it.” 

John grins. Her pride is his. Smart, resourceful little companion. He wants to ruffle her hair. 

But then, her head tucks down because she doesn’t know if she’s supposed to be telling everyone that John’s an escaped convict. And then , she starts to feel like even when she’s doing something useful, she’s just fucking everything up more, as demonstrated by the past two days. 

John watches curiously as her face contorts, wonders what’s going on in her head and wishes she would tell him so he doesn’t have to guess. Because his guess is something bad. 

That should be worrying. The last time he cared enough to be in tune with someone’s feelings, he was trying to gauge how easy it would be to avoid them after putting a bullet in their boss’s head. In fact, the only time he’s trying to read someone, it’s been for business rather than personal reasons.

He scares the thought into a locked cabinet of his brain, reminds his feelings that rational John needs to buy this woman a passport and get her into a witness protection program where he can’t find her - easily find her. Because, eventually, he will, but it might take some time - and time can birth so many unexpected things.

Blood finishes dripping as John sits up to scarf his toast. It’s whole wheat, soggy with butter, delicious. There’s no time for peanut butter.

She places a steady hand on his back for support, rubs gentle fingers into the knobs of his spine. 

The blankets fall around his waist, alerting him to his completely bare body. 

“Have you eaten today?” He asks her, munching on a strawberry. 

“Did I get shot?” She fires back.

He raises an eyebrow. 

“I will, I will,” she grumbles, “just let me make sure the injured party is good, first. This is simple video game survival stuff, John.”

“What kind of video games do you play?” 

She rolls her eyes and hands him the frosty glass of koolaid. “Sharp-shooter. Just kidding, I don’t. But I haven’t lived in a box.”

The ability to make him chuckle with that dry, sarcastic wit comes with the downfall of jostling his stitches and shooting pain through his arm, into his neck, down his spine. He chokes on a giggle. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she says, wanting to punch herself for humor at a time like this. She stabilizes him. 

The Doc takes the empty blood bag and puts a pressured dressing on the open area left by the IV. 

He points to the pill bottle on the floor. “Three times a day.” 

She nods, diligent, so serious. John hides his amused grin around a gulp of water.

“Where are my pants?” John inquires. His eyes catch the shine of his belt just as he finishes the question. He starts to lean, but she stops him.

“That’s the million dollar question,” she jokes, then curses herself for trying to be funny again. “Hold on, I got it.”

She reaches over and drags his heavy trousers off the floor, hands them over. 

He pulls three gold coins out of his pocket and hands them to the doctor. 

“Saving them for the ferryman?” Doc asks, shoving them into his white coat pocket. 

She bristles, the reference not lost on her.

John chews a strawberry, aloof eyebrow raised in response. 

“Right,” Doc says, “I’m leaving. Be more careful. I think you’re distracted.” He eyes her for a moment, gaze almost judging - if she’s interpreting the stare right - and then takes his leave. 

John rubs her cheek with his knuckles. “Don’t let him get in your head.”

She wretches her eyes from the spot where the doctor once was and looks up at John. “ Are youdistracted?” 

He sighs. “Lately? Yeah.”

“Why?” She asks, folding her arms over her chest, looking up at him, pouting, seeming so strange and out of element while covered in his dried blood, and he decides that he’s the biggest asshole on planet earth for going about this in the wrong way despite having numerous chances to make it right.

“You.” Really? That’s what he can come up with? Years of etiquette training and he’s just a kid on the playground asking his crush to check the yes or no box. “I more than like you. I’m serious about it.” Melting into a puddle of biohazard would be better than sitting here burning with shame from the sheer stupidity of his words.

Despite his self-hatred, her eyes seem to glitter like she’s being dazzled and courted with lover’s poetry. “You do?” She whispers.

“I do.” He cups her face. “Which is why you need to get the hell away from me and never look back.”

“No,” she says. 

“I thought so.” John licks his teeth.

“Are you disappointed?” She asks, still doubting his feelings despite this being the second time he’s admitted them.

“No.”

“So, what now?” 

“I scare you away.”

“Try.” She raises her chin, defiant Pomeranian back in action. 

Every time she opens her mouth, it’s a new emotion wrought upon his aching soul. He loves it - not even secretly. 

He smiles to demonstrate his fondness for the attitude. “I don’t know how to do this.”

She starts to ask him what he means, but it would be useless because she already shares the sentiment. “God, me too.”

“Ask me something,” he starts.

“Why did you come here to die?” 

“I didn’t.” He rethinks. “I did. I wasn’t thinking, I got sloppy, I didn’t know I had lost that much blood. I was dazed, and you’re the person I wanted. It was idiotic. I’m sorry.” He takes a breath, trying to organize his thoughts into words. “If I’m gonna die, I want to be beside you when it happens.” 

She opens her mouth, then closes it, warmth filling her up. “Okay, well.” Her voice is quiet. She’s thinking about whether or not to believe him with part of her brain and beating herself with the other part for not trusting an honest man who’s shown her compassion and protection. She chews her lip. “That’s the main part. And now I don’t feel so bad about also being an idiot.” She swivels back. “Not that I think you’re an idiot. I don’t. You’re not an idiot. Actually, you’re one of the smartest people I know. Just that I don’t feel so alone.”

He tilts his head. He’s absolutely an idiot. Letting himself get shot on the first night back, for one, then, for two, letting his unoxygenated brain lead him, desperate, to her doorstep, despite the consequences. The biggest idiot alive. What she did was noble and misplaced, what he did was intentional and inconsiderate. Comparing their faults is what’s idiotic.

“Can’t you just talk?” She asks. “Your long silences and dark stares are killing me, here.” 

“I’m bad at it,” he admits. 

She gives him a full-fledged smile, finally. Irony is laced into her lips. “Haven’t you ever played show and tell?” 

“I excelled at show,” he says, inching toward her face. 

She inches back, cheeks fiery. “I can tell.”

He scoots over so that they are nose to nose, startling her with the sudden move. She can’t get the nervous laugh out before he steals it with his mouth.

She wonders how many coppery kisses are in her future, and hopes it’s a lot.

[rshmra]

PRETTY BOY!

plot: niki swears he met the girl of his dreams at the convenience store late one night- however, his discovery proves to be misguided. the "girl" he likes is actually just a really pretty boy, and he's the main vocalist of the new and wildly popular boy group of four, X_CAPE.

<- prev. masterlist. next. ->

written: 3k words

chapter seventeen: best buds!

as soon as heeseung had voluntarily offered to drive riki to yn's, the latter instantly knew there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. the man would never do something so helpful and kind of his own volition, and jake jumping at the chance to tag along made it all the more suspicious. but for the time being riki's chosen to just be grateful for the ride, then ultimately make a dash for it upon arrival.

currently, he's sprawled in the middle row with his limbs occupying all three seats. his head hangs uncomfortably to the side as he attempts to locate a suitable angle to hold his phone at, while heeseung and jake (loudly) whisper to each other in the front.

"i can't believe he's growing up..."

"we should give him a pep talk, right?"

"his first legit crush that might actually work out-"

"i can fucking hear you both!" the subject of their conversation unceremoniously shoves his head into the empty space above the center console, and the elder duo have never been so quick to stare straight and close their mouths.

jake sweats. "...we weren't talking about you."

"you reek of absolute bullshit-"

"oh look we're almost there!" heeseung brakes harshly, sending ni-ki tumbling backwards and effectively cutting off any further snide remarks. the boy literally has to transfer the drinks he'd previously situated on his lap into his arms, clutching the box tight to his chest as his super-safe driver performs not three, not four, but five consecutive sharp turns before slowing again.

it takes a full minute for niki to recover from the amount of jostling he endured. "...how much did you have to pay to get a driver's license."

"awwww shitttt, that's the worst whiplash i've ever gotten... worse than that one time on the rollercoaster..." the australian winces, massaging his neck aggressively.

"whoops. sorry." hee isn't sorry in the slightest. "we're here anywa-y..." his voice dies in his throat as X_CAPE's apartment building comes into view, jaw dropping to the floor as he pulls up. "well what the fuck?"

what the fuck indeed. the complex is giant, with a very modern look to it. at least thirty floors are visible, and it spans over a large area. the trio's gazes are synonymously disbelieving as heeseung comes to a full stop, jake being the first to snap out of his awe-induced trance.

"this is so unfair! hybe has favorites?!"

"no shit, and clearly it's not us!"

as the ramyeonz shout and complain due to the size of the tower, riki comes to his senses and realizes this is his best chance to escape without receiving a barrage of nosy questions or something along those lines. "well this is my stop thanks for driving mei'lltextyouguystopickmeupbye!"

"wait, wait, wait." alas, he's a second too late- heeseung's punched the button to lock the doors in a flash, and he finds that he's been trapped. "we wanted to talk to you, first." in perfect unison he and jake have swivelled their heads to gaze directly at their maknae, who curses to himself.

"fuck, so this is what you wanted to do."

"as you navigate through life... emotions are some of the hardest aspects to handle and control." jake's starting off the "heartfelt" speech with a bang. "especially with someone who makes you feel even more different, you might want to cast those feelings aside."

"you may find yourself trying to convince both you and everyone else that they're just a friend to you," heeseung joins in dramatically. "but that is not the solution, young nishimura-"

"i'm nearly eighteen, shut up. and can you stop trying to sound smart?"

"sh, shh, shh." jake hushes him with a solemn expression on his face. he places a hand on ni-ki's shoulder, staring unsettlingly into his eyes. "don't rush to figure it out or pick every interaction apart. just live in the moment and don't worry about problems that haven't come up yet, okay?"

"can i go now? please?"

"i know it may be overwhelming when you're in a situation you've never experienced," hee's still plowing on, unphased. "but trust me, you've no need to fret. yn will definitely like you back!"

"and even if he doesn't, he'll definitely be nice about rejecting you!"

the two share a meaningful glance. "well said, bro."

"you too, bro."

riki's had enough. he shakes out of jake's grip to roll down the window, inhaling a deep breath. "HELP! HELP! HEEEL-"

"oh, don't be like that!"

the boy's about to threaten his seniors to call the police for kidnapping until a familiar voice joins the fray, light and soothing to the ears. "riki?"

yn's slim figure emerges from the entrance of the building, clad in long basketball shorts and a short black top. his hair is pulled up and tied back away from his face, with only a few pieces framing the edges. even in lounge clothes he still never fails to look gorgeous, and niki breaks into a grin.

"my fucking savior!" the window's opening is wide enough that he can slip through (albeit awkwardly) while hee and jake are distracted, snatching his beverage box on his way out.

yn glances up at him weirdly as the taller jogs forward to embrace him casually. "what? why didn't you just open the door?"

"it's locked."

"hi yn!" ni-ki's torturers wave enthusiastically inside the vehicle with a cheery greeting, radiating innocence. riki knows better, though.

"file a restraining order! they tried to lock me in there and kill me!"

"stay far from him, yn. he escape the hospital earlier today and he's deranged and psychotic!"

"now who to believe..." yn releases a puff of breath exaggeratedly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"obviously me. here, i come bearing gifts." riki holds up the beverages, and he doesn't miss the way yn's eyes light up after catching sight of the variety of teas. immediately he grabs the one with brown sugar and slams a straw into the top, reaching for niki's free hand with his own and tugging him indoors at breakneck speed.

"that's an awful thing to do you guys, goodbye!" he hollers over his shoulder at the laughing boys, in the process missing the 'don't fuck this up' heeseung mouths to riki before switching the engine to reverse.

the male glares at the car's backside as it disappears into the distance, yn eventually growing impatient with this behavior and dragging him into the elevator. "you owe me, i saved you from your own members." he smirks as he pushes the button for the top floor, which goes virtually unnoticed.

"but i got you boba, so we're even."

"honestly i can't really refute that logic." he raises his eyebrows at the remaining cups. "why'd you get four?"

"because my mom taught me to never go to another family's house empty handed."

"she certainly raised you right. how's your wallet feeling?"

riki opts for silence, which earns a good cackle.

"aw, you're sweet for that. but you didn't have to!" he hesitates. "not for the other three, at least. absolutely for me though."

"wow, you're generous."

"i know, right? i'm so fucking generous i'll share with you!" yn takes another long sip and extends his straw to riki, who gladly leans down for a taste. "it's so good, did you order from that new place down the street?"

"uh, yeah... it was like, 14000 won per drink."

yn sputters at the sheer price. "holy crap?! now i feel bad, you get unlimited visits to the penthouse in exchange."

"ooh, cool- wait, you live in the penthouse?!" niki all but screeches.

"how do you think i saw you arrive? we get the best view from the top." the elevator chimes brightly, and the interior does not disappoint as the doors roll away. riki is met by the sight of floor-to-ceiling windows as they step in, the main room wall-free and spacious. there are twin spiral staircases farther off in each direction, leading to the open second level, where two bedrooms are installed on both sides with a quaint living area in the middle. kuli and ivory smile warmly at the pair from the kitchen on the right, whereas to the left a separate hall wing and dining space are set up. riki spins in circles, gaping at anything and everything (he's 99% sure that chandelier hanging high above is draped with real diamonds), and the others laugh at his stunned expression.

"how," he manages to form words at last, "did you get this place?"

"the company wouldn't buy it for us in a million years, if that's what you're asking," ivory hums, retrieving some ingredients from the refrigerator.

"yeah, kuli's family is fucking loaded so it's basically their place, but they wanted us to live here and who were we to decline?" yn explains briefly, riki following his footsteps to the kitchen island like a lost chick. how befitting.

"it's not like hybe had anything to complain about either, 'cause my parents pay for pretty much everything and- is that boba?" two sets of laser-focused eyes, one hazel and the other light brown, fixate on the drinks riki's carrying. he hurriedly slides them on the table, getting the feeing he'd be torn to shreds if he held to them any longer and in good time too, because not a millisecond later the eighteen-year-olds have dropped what they're holding to pounce for a tea. kuli chooses taro while ivory takes matcha, and all is silent for a couple beats (save for yn's stifled giggles).

"...the next time i go out i'm making you a copy of our key," kuli concludes finally, ivory nodding in agreement.

"i support this decision fully."

"in other words, they love you and want you to come by as much as possible," yn translates swiftly. niki blinks slowly until it computes, and a wave of relief washes over him. he resists the urge to allow his shoulders to slump, finding comfort in the fact that his lost money lead to benefits in the end. yn picks up on this, casting him a sideways smile and leading him up the stairs.

"are you staying for dinner?" kuli calls from below.

"yes he is!"

"i am?" his friend blanches.

"yes, you are. trust me, you don't wanna miss kuli's cooking, it's to DIE for."

"oh, okay." riki nods, then snickers. "did he really just ask if i'm staying for dinner?"

"total mom line, right? it's in his nature at this point- there's boba, chae!" a blur of motion flits down the opposite stairwell, accompanied by the loud bang of wood against the wall as chaeri sprints at the mere mention of the group's favorite treat.

"watch the fucking door chaeri!"

"thanks ni-ki!"

yn grins fondly at his stupid friends before pulling riki into his bedroom in the closest corner, heaving a sigh. "fuck, they're a handful." he plops down on his mattress to curl up, patting the spot next to him as an indication for riki to sit with him. he's happy to oblige, though in doing so takes interest in the loaf nestled on the edge of the bed-

"your cat!" said pet perks at the exclamation, deciding to observe the newcomer. mandu lazily pads to his feet and paws the material of ni-ki's white sweatshirt a few times, and it's all he needs to approve of the new guest. he proceeds to make himself comfortable on the boy's legs. "well, shit. how am i supposed to move now?"

"easy, you don't." yn snaps a quick picture of the boy while he's distracted and goes to grasp for something on the surface of the wraparound headrest. he tosses a nintendo controller on the blankets and keeps the other, standing to set up the switch console in front. "you can turn to see better, he won't mind." gradually shifting so not to disturb the feline on his lap, ni-ki takes the time to examine his surroundings.

a long panel of stainless glass extends from wall-to-wall on his left, and yn wasn't kidding when he said he got the best view. the point oversees a vast expanse of the city, where most buildings seem tiny in comparison and cars appear to be mere dots. the walls are painted in a shade of warm beige, similar to the color yn enjoys wearing the most, and fairy lights are strung from the ceiling to give the room an even more cozy vibe. potted plants are scattered throughout, and candles can also be spotted at random. (most of them smell like coffee with some being vanilla, which explains yn's signature scent.) a massive army of plushies sit neatly at the foot of the bed, but the one that stands out most is a large black cat squishmallow; the one riki won for yn a while back. he chuckles softly at the memory.

other little additions contribute to the overall charm of yn's room. a sage green bean bag chair. a spotless, fluffy off-white rug on the ground. a small shelf of books, with an LED sign that reads-

niki practically guffaws. "pussy?! yn what the hell."

"my friend yunjin thought it'd be funny to give that to me for my birthday last year," yn snickers.

a few posters are plastered on the walls, yet they're easily dominated by the sheer amount of polaroids and photos that are pinned. riki scans over so many beaming framed faces, some familiar and some not- danielle and hanni, chaewon and kazuha, huening kai and beomgyu, soul and keeho- too much to count. but it's obvious that a particular individual pops up a lot more frequently than the rest, and he's pleasantly surprised to discover that it's his own.

"wow, i must be really important to you or something, huh?" he smirks, admiring the amount of pictures they're both in.

"no shit. what'd you expect?" yn snorts. "you're, like, my... best...bud." aww, fuck. why did i say that? he feels a strong urge to jump out the window.

ouhhhhh... ouch. the dreaded best friend zone. they say time heals all wounds, riki, but that one might take a while.

he chooses to brush it off (read: completely disregard the comment), eyeing the collection of games yn owns instead. "animal crossing, we should play animal crossing! i wanna see your island."

"sure you don't wanna play mario kart? ah, never mind actually. i'd just beat your ass either way."

"is that a fucking challenge?"

it doesn't even take two minutes for the match to quickly get heated, resulting in kuli stomping up and barging in to yell at them to shut up. it also doesn't take long for them to grow hungry and dinner's still being prepared, so they run to the closest convenience store to restock on snacks... which just so happens to be a CU.

"wow, memories." yn snorts, beelining for the drinks as they walk in.

"oh man, i forgot we met in one of these shitholes!"

"now don't disrespect the sacred CU... hey, didn't you forget how to speak to me coherently for some reason?-"

"I WAS JUST TIRED."

"alright, whatever you say."

a half hour later they've returned to the penthouse, having forsaken the nintendo and turned to netflix, particularly a show yn claims he's rewatched 5 times now. "it's fucked up in, like, the best way possible," he murmurs, settled with his head in the crook of riki's neck.

on his end, riki prays that he doesn't notice his rapid heartbeat as yn lies on his chest. don't get him wrong, he's ridiculously cozy with his neck propped up by pillows, an arm wrapped loosely around yn's waist and the sleeping cat stretched out across both their stomachs, but he has to keep reminding himself it's not a big deal not a big deal not a big deal. obviously yn initiated this with platonic intentions, there's no need to think so much of it!

somebody help the poor kid, he's down abysmal.

a knock interrupts his thought process, and chaeri opens the door. "dinner's ready." maybe it's a trick of the light, or he's just imagining it, but niki swears that for a split second the younger's eyes narrow skeptically at him, a sharp spark of distrust flashing in those dark irises. and then it's gone, replaced by the normal chill expression he usually has. yn has no idea, of course, groaning loudly.

"yeah, yeah, we'll be down in a sec." chae nods absently and exits promptly, leaving riki slightly confused.

"...okay," he mutters, once again choosing to disregard that odd look he had received. but as he starts to rise mandu suddenly wakes and presses all his weight onto him, successfully preventing him from going anywhere.

"don't move." yn demands sleepily, eyes shut in relaxation. "i'll get ivory to bring up the food, or something, just... don't move, i'm so fucking comfy."

"okay- i mean, sure. if you wanna. that's cool." if niki's voice cracks six octaves higher than normal then yn doesn't acknowledge it, only caring about his answer. he hums in satisfaction, proceeding to unpause the current alice in borderland episode they're watching.

"chishiya's hot." he remarks offhandedly, and riki blanches.

"you're so fucking random."

"well, you had hair like that before, yeah?"

"are you calling me hot?"

"no, i'm asking you a question."

so they end up bickering for the majority of the series, paying more attention to each other than the screen while fucking spooning.

but don't worry, they're just best buds! you're right ni-ki, that sounds AWFULLY platonic.

notes: CRINGE ASFFFF UHH. ALSO I DID MOT MEAN YO WRITE THIS MUCH ?! so sorry for dipping for 2 weeks IT WILL NOT HAPPEN AGAIN ON GRANDMAMMY. anywhores is it bad to be planning another fic already

taglist: @silkentides @nikikids @totoroblop @winter-world @phantom-butterfly @simsoobean @byu @noredplz @sh0uj0-r3i @onementally-unstabel-kid @thepeachyhub @en-riki @ao5riki @bearseulgs @le0-0nidas @gothhyucks @to-toad @ddeonubaby @nootnootpinguuu @sunseeking-cryptid @priochebun @lanamoonroh @rodygr @mikahrh @mutlishipperfangirl @i9tky000 @heelover5 @cha0thicpisces @xrvrqs

bold can't be tagged!

[pearlescentpearl]

murder cat sword only likes its wielder's boyfriend , one of my favourite SVSS fics of all time! Either Binghe’s perspective on this unexpected Shidi with weird priorities, or a future time stamp a few months in the future?

or a thousand years is a long time to be idle future time stamp, LQG and flower!SY continuing to be disgustingly married/

oh gosh, I haven't poked at scum villain in so long. alright here we go.

When Luo Binghe opens his eyes to a wooden ceiling, the feel of sheets against bare skin, and Xin Mo nowhere near, he's prepared to have a bad day he fully intends to make someone else's bad day. He reeks like the silty end of a river, his hair feels like one big itchy clump on his scalp, and his throat is dry as hell; all in all, raking his claws on some handsy fool sounds like a perfect pick me up.

What looks like a humble bedroom is at least not the worst place he could wake up in. Luo Binghe will give it that.

Stumbling, yanking the sheets around him as he goes, Luo Binghe makes his way to the curtain separating off the bedroom and listens intently.

No one's in the house. Strange. Did a would be thief have the decency to dump his nude self under shelter before abandoning him?

No. Ridiculous. This house looks freshly occupied.

Ah, a window!

Well, Luo Binghe thinks, finding his clothes haphazardly strung up on a clothesline outside, one less thing to take out of someone's hide, he guesses. Not by much though, his nose wrinkles, even from here he can tell they've been improperly laundered.

But he sees also a water pump so he pops the wooden frame of the window out with a brief burst of qi and crawls out. Ah, blessed, clean smelling water on his scalp, sluicing away the filth, how he has missed you. When he razes the world to blood and ashes he'll be sure to spare this pump only.

Now clean and water flash dried to steam with a touch of demon fire, sheet wrapped back around him properly, Luo Binghe follows the faint sound of a voice coming from what seems to be a forge in the back. Strange... Why would a blacksmith live in such an isolated spot? It's not at all practical for their trade.

Suspicious, Luo Binghe creeps on silent feet and peeks in.

The smith's back is turned to him, and-- yes, that is the feel of a cultivator. Nowhere near as strong as himself, but Luo Binghe finds fewer and fewer of those these days.

More importantly, he has Xin Mo and appears to be doing something to it. Why the sword hasn't obliterated the flesh from his hands for touching it is a mystery.

No sense in letting this play out, he hasn't patience for that. Grabbing the sword from the nearby rack, Luo Binghe's slips it in under the man's chin, noting the cultivator-youthful features. Kind of an average pretty boy, but that kind of things gets run of the mill in the sects.

"Good morning?" the smith tries, voice pleasantly clear and low. He must have excellent recitation. "Are you... feeling better?"

Am I feeling better? Luo Binghe mocks in his head. After your cursory hospitality how could I not be in peak condition?

"Who are you and what are you doing to Xin Mo?" He demands, keeping the sword rock steady.

"This one is Shen Yuan of Wan Jian Peak, of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect," Shen Yuan says, like it's not stabbing half a dozen of Luo Binghe's reverse scales concurrently. "I pulled you out of the river this morning. As for your sword; I'm cleaning it."

Likely story! Luo Binghe was born in the morning but it wasn't this morning! He'd only been to Wan Jian Peak the once to get long lost Zheng Yang, but he'd heard all the gossip from Ning Yingying how homebodied and insular the Third Peak was. They were the one of the least inclined to leave the sect before reaching a mastery level in their craft, and that took a minimum of twenty years. This guy hardly felt older than himself, so unless he started in the cradle the only thing he's mastered is bullshit!

"Wan Jian Peak," Luo Binghe repeats, unimpressed. Let's see the liar sweat with holes poked in his story. "I was under the impression none of you ever left the mountain."

"I am a senior disciple expanding my horizons," Shen Yuan says loftily, scowling.  “Now are you going to stop being such an ungrateful guest any time soon? I’d like to get on with my day, please.”

No fear? Odd. Annoying. Who was this that being disarmed and held at sword point on his knees is treated as a mere inconvenience?

He finds his grip on the hilt relaxing despite himself. "Xin Mo doesn't need cleaning."

"That's where you're wrong," Shen Yuan calmly refutes, still in that lofty tone, brazenly pushing the sword away with a single finger. “This poor thing smells like enough old blood to put an abandoned butchery to shame. Did you find it in a mass grave or something?”

Luo Binghe twitches, feeling caught out. That's... too accurate, actually.

“It’s a demonic sword, it does that,” he growls, scrambling to keep control of the situation. And, shit, he said too much!

He can't quite... parse the look the other is giving him. Shen Yuan almost seems to double take, eyes wide and fascinated, like he's just now noticing Luo Binghe properly. But it's too perceptive, it's too knowing, Luo Binghe feels naked before whatever enlightenment is Shen Yuan is having. Really, who is this?

“Still no harm in letting me do my job,” Shen Yuan insists, implacable and unafraid, popping the cork off of whatever poison he thinks will stick to Xin Mo. “If nothing else I can cut down on the smell.”

Should Luo Binghe just kill him now and have done with it? Is he really as weak as he feels and just stupidly overconfident, or is he hiding his strength? A normal cultivator of his strength ought to be cowering before Luo Binghe's might by this point.

He hesitates. Xin Mo pulses hungrily in his senses, angry claws. "Fine." Whatever Shen Yuan uses won't affect Xin Mo anyway.

Or, at least, so he thought. That is... an impressive amount of rancid blood trying to flood the foor.

Shen Yuan arches a brow at him, and it feels extremely judgy.

"Ah," Luo Binghe says, unable to really... defend himself here.

"Ah," Shen Yuan parrots back with a too knowing nod.

[liminalpebble]

Eddie's Education: Chapter 3

Masterlist link

Minor DNI (language)

Chapter 3

It was week 4 of the semester and, finally, Thursday again. The little digital face of Eddie's watch stayed stubbornly at 9:55 pm, no matter how badly he willed it to go faster.

He'd had three car rides with his tutor so far, and each time he felt like he blew his chances a little, mumbling at length about nothing or sitting in anxious silence. Still, she was so understanding, waiting patiently for him to get the words out, listening intently when he did, but he couldn't help noticing how subtly she avoided giving anything away about herself. She always gracefully steered the conversation back to him. He was delighted that she seemed interested in whatever dumb bullshit he was spouting off about...genuinely interested.

No wonder she's a good teacher. She's a good listener, he thought when he should have been thinking about the equations on the chalkboard. It was a rare thing that Eddie the Banished felt like someone listened to him. He was much more used to being ignored, shunned, belittled or disbelieved. He zoned out, listening to the heavy patter of rain in the darkness. The storm broke the stalemate of leftover summer humidity and gave way to a foggy Midwestern autumn and a chill in the air.

“Munson,” the old teacher with the serial-killer glasses barked at him and he jumped, eliciting a giggle from his classmates. She put his quiz down in front of him, still looking disgruntled, but nevertheless said, “good work. You're improving.”

Eddie saw the “C +” written in red on the top of his paper and beamed all the way to Room 66. He bounded up from the stairwell, then skidded his way down the wet floor, Risky Business-style, his cheeks aching from grinning as he anticipated telling Leia the good news. The glad expression abruptly dropped when he noticed her in the hallway, shoulders slumped, talking to dean Ferguson. He was red-faced and berating her, but her expression stayed neutral as she repeated, “yes, sir. I understand,” in a slightly cracking voice. Noticing Eddie, she said, “Hello Eddie, sorry for the delay I'll be in in just a moment, okay?”

“Sure,” he said, with a suspicious glare to the dean as he ambled into the room.

Tonight there were only two other students. (Attendance to the tutoring sessions were hit or miss, even on a good day and even though the students seemed to like Leia as a tutor). One was napping where he sat in workman's coveralls, reeking like a wet ashtray, and the other seemed well on his way to joining him.

“Hey...” Eddie whisper-hissed to the more conscious one, “What the hell is going on?”

The guy leaned over and spoke quietly. “I'm not totally sure, man, but he's really chewing her out...like about nothing. He's not even bothering to lower his voice.”

“What do you mean 'about nothing'?”

“Just bullshit. Telling her to wear more professional clothes and shoes, and to stop letting us call her by her first name...just a whole list of bullshit. Yelling at her for being soaked today and how it looks unprofessional, when it's obviously fucking pouring. What's she supposed to do about that?”

They sat awkwardly as their hour ticked by and they could hear snippets of her dressing-down through the paper-thin walls.

“I understand that, sir. I'll do better about it. It's just that I walk here...and I don't have the money to...”

“I don't care if you take the Orient Express here, Ms. Vespero. On the clock, you better look more presentable. You've been given a generous opportunity as an instructor here, young lady, I suggest you show more appreciation for it.”

“I understand, Mr. Ferguson, and I'll make improvements, but the students only have an hour of tutoring. I really should see to them...”

“See to yourself, Ms. Vespero!” he barked, and then turned to storm off without another word.

Leia bit her lip tightly, feeling the clench in her jaw as she thought of rebuttals she'd never dare to say aloud. Wear nicer clothes and shoes? You think I can afford that on this salary...the one I should be so grateful for? What crawled up this man's ass and died. I'm pretty good at my job. Shouldn't that speak for itself?”

Taking a deep breath and bracing herself, Leia ran a shaky hand through her still damp hair, swallowing the hot lump of shame in her throat and pushing it down for one more hour. Just one more hour, Leia chanted to herself. She put on a neutral expression and crossed the threshold. The teacher glanced around, grateful that her shaming had a small and disinterested audience. “I'm so sorry for the delay gentlemen, but we still have 30 minutes for whatever you might want to work on.”

She suddenly felt incredibly stupid, realizing one of the “gentlemen” she addressed was snoring loudly at her. Eddie wondered for a moment if she would lose her temper and yell at them. He absolutely would, but Leia just shut her eyes a moment, took a deep breath, and walked over to where the unconscious student lay drooling on his desktop. She crouched beside him, shaking his arm gently, saying calmly, “Hey...hey Andy, good morning,” she said with a chuckle.

“Oh fuck, sorry kid,” the old-timer said, rubbing his bleary eyes and scratching his mustache.

“It's okay. Long day at the factory?”

He sniffed and stretched in his chair, “Yeah...yes ma'am. Don't mean to be rude.”

She patted his arm again. “It's okay! Don't worry about it. Why don't you go home and get some sleep? I'll find you tomorrow and we can work on your paper then.”

He nodded in resignation, huffing and stretching his stiff limbs as he shuffled out the door and gave her a lazy little salute, saying “Thanks, kid. Goodnight.”

“Night, Andy.”

Eddie's other classmate raised his hand tentatively. She smiled faintly and nodded. “Yeah I know, Tim. You can go home and get some sleep too...both of you. Just don't tell on me okay? I don't need to be in anymore trouble today.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled and packed up quickly, breezing out the door.

Leia finally locked eyes with Eddie. “You can go too, Eddie. You don't have to stick around.” She swallowed hard, feeling his empathetic gaze. Feeling fidgety, she dug around in her pockets, and kept twitching the damp tendrils of her hair out of her face. This little annoyance was the final straw, as she slapped the desk lightly, biting her lip and closing her eyes, as if she'd just hit her funny bone and was waiting for the pain to stop. When she looked up, Eddie Munson was standing in front of her with a lopsided grin, silently holding out the hair elastic he had borrowed from her. The dark pools of his eyes seemed terribly sad, though he smiled.

She heaved out a shuttering exhale and took it from his hands gratefully.

“Thank you, Eddie,” she said but didn't dare to meet his gaze, worried that it might dislodge the lump in her throat and she would start bawling right in front of him. At her height, her head was right in line with his chest, and she was deeply tempted to rest it there on the soft old tee shirt that smelled comfortingly unexpectedly fresh, like it'd just come out of the dryer before he got here. Leia shook off the inappropriate thought, staring at the text and illustration to avoid his eyes, reading the words Judas Priest over and over again to distract herself.

Eddie had two conversational settings; awkward silence or unhinged rambling. He was dying to say something encouraging but he wasn't sure which setting would be worse for her right now. Bravely, he spoke up, taking a gamble.

“Hey...uh...I can drive you home now if you want. I mean, we only have a few minutes anyway and I'm okay with trig for now. Look,” he smiled broadly, holding up his quiz. “Isn't this metal! I've never ever gotten a C+ before. Think I should call Mensa or do I wait for them to call me?”

She let out a little bark of laughter then covered her mouth with her hand. Her dark eyes were getting misty, but she still held back tears. Leia was terrified that saying anything would open the floodgates, so she smiled and nodded intently to show she was listening.

“You know, Ferguson used to teach chemistry at the high school. Everyone called him Turd Ferguson. That buzz-cut fascist dickhead was awful then but he's worse now. And who the fuck is he to tell you you need new clothes?? He hasn't bought any new clothes since '86...well probably since the 70's, right? I didn't know one human could wear so much polyester. Jesus, don't feel bad though, seriously. He used to chew me out a lot worse than that all the time. Like he'd scream so the whole school could hear it. I totally earned it though, yelling down the halls, dancing on the lunch tables, smoking in the bathroom. Deflating all the basketballs.”

She giggled and her cute round little doll face lit up again, causing his to do the same.

He put a hand tentatively on her arm, afraid she might shrug him off, but instead she looked relieved. Eddie couldn't know how touch-starved she really felt for so long. Even this little gesture warmed her heart, among other parts. “Listen, you didn't deserve ANY of that. Okay? I don't know what that man has against you. Maybe he's jealous that you're young and smart and hard-working and your students respect you...and...and you're just so goddamn nice. You're so....nice...too nice.”

He realized he now had both hands on her arms. Her dress was still damp and he could feel goosebumps over her skin. She must be freezing, he thought, taking off his jacket and putting it around her shoulders. Leia smirked a little. He must not have realized that the cold was only half the reason for her goosebumps.

“I know I sound like a broken record here, but, thank you. This...this really means a lot.”

He couldn't say exactly what he intended, but he found himself leaning closer to her, holding more tightly to her arms. He wanted her pretty head, with all its heavy thoughts, to burrow against his chest and stay there...unburdened for just a moment.

Then Leia's watch beeped loudly, signaling 11 pm. They both jumped back a little. Leia swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “Come on,” Eddie said, “let me drive you home.”

@sunflowerdaydreamer

[ducknotinarow]

"Oh, don't give me that look. I'm not here for Moxxie. I'm here for you this time, Blitz. Breaking someone out, I shoulda known you'd have a few tricks up your sleeve." Crimson sneers, looking up at the taller imp. "Have a seat, won't you?" ( :'3 )

|muse interaction

Color Blitz suspicious but he felt he had every right to be when he suddenly once again found himself being invited back to the greed ring. Wasn't excstly a ring he often. Wanted to be around if he were to be honest. Between mammon and his dumb bullshit he could spot a mile away. To the last trip he had in this area of the place even. Not to mention the fact it brought him face to face with Mox's old man. Yeah it was clear where the looks came from but looks didn't get you that far with Blitz, all things considered and it seems Crimsion knew that himself.

"Oh, don't give me that look. I'm not here for Moxxie. I'm here for you this time, Blitz. Breaking someone out, I shoulda known you'd have a few tricks up your sleeve."

Blitz kept his arms firmly crossed in front of himself as he just kept squinting his eyes over towards the older Imp. Moxxie didn't seem that thrilled with his dad and Blitz wasn't excatly one to say he didn't get the while 'My dad is a asshole' vibes that were just reeking from Crimson.

"Eh I got my skills and trust me I've got quite way more than just a few tricks up these sleeves." Didn't mean he wouldn't eat up a compliment "sooo who ya need busted out anyway?" Not fully taking the deal but he was curious about this deal and hey cash? Is cash and he was in need if said cash.

"Have a seat, won't you?"

Blitz weighed his options for a split second before he shrugs and takes a seat. Tail whipping around the leg of the chair to pull it out before he fell down on the seat, offering his best smile over towards Crimson. "So big boss man whatcha got? I mean there's gotta be a juciey story behind this right? So go on spill your tea sis and help me see why I gotta act like I give a shit about this whole deal yeah?"

Blitz asks, wearing his best smile as he waits for the older Imp to take a seat himself. Idly allowing his eyes to trail over their form. Oh je knew they meant bussnies but that made messing and picking at them over this whole thing even far more fun for Blitz own side.

"Cause I will have ta draw the line on some who I'm willing to let out. I mean ya don't learn to break out of the joint with out ya know screwing a few other over so still gotta cover this ass of mine." Blitz remarks on as he gets comfortable in his seat "sure you get that I mean mafia and all. Ya had to screw over a shit ton of folks." He shoots them a slight flirtous with k before moving to sit up. "Alright let's get into the nit and gritty of this how deal lay it on me."

[variablejabberwocky]

Hi! The thought process behind why people think enby is childish is because it was intended to be the equivalent to girl and boy. Theres nonbinary, or just person, which can be used as equivalent to man and woman, but if you have a group of kids it sounds weird to say boys & girls & nonbinary people. Therefore: enby! It's not infantilizing in the same way as calling someone baby/toddler is, its uncomfortable to some people in the same way that some transmasc people want to be called man and not boy bc they want to be seen as an adult. Doesn't mean the word is bad, it just means it's not for everyone!

...can i get a source on that "it was intended to be the equivalent to girl and boy" bit?

cause this just sounds...incredibly goddamn stupid (not you, just that line of thought). shortening a term is a way to make it easier to use if its too long. and 'nonbinary' hits 4-5 syllables as-is. so making the short form some kind of different term with different connotations is just..."what the fuck were you thinking" levels of stupid

especially since outside of formal situations "girl" and "boy" are usually just ways to refer to "lady-people" and "dude-people" but like chill about it with little to no indication of age status

it also does NOT feel at all equivalent to how trans dudes sometimes dislike being referred to as boy because everything i've seen on that is wrapped up in how its VERY MUCH used by assholes with the age connotations of more formal language as a way of undermining the body autonomy and hm...social status (? not sure how to word what i'm going for here) of trans guys. its basically misogyny playing lip service to their actual gender and yeah, thats offensive as shit.

i do NOT see that with 'enby' and nonbinary people. just being nonbinary AT ALL gets you treated like a kid that doesn't know what they're talking about and is playing make-believe with gender. and i am suspicious as shit about the rise of 'enby' being treated as some kind of offensive equivalent to boy and girl because that shit was starting to spread around in circles right when transmeds/truscum were getting a hate campaign going against nonbinary people (and seemingly everyone was joining the bandwagon). specifically it REEKS of the same kind of "you can't use that term" bullshit that "queer is a slur" rose out of. which is just an attempt to get people to STOP USING THAT TERM AT ALL but hiding it in something 'passably' social-justicy so it doesn't sound like the bigoted bullshit it is.

basically i don't get why everyone else has to blacklist a term from their entire vocabulary forever (regardless of personal relevance) because a small minority of people either 1) are bigoted assholes trying to kill off a group (ideologically if no other way) but trying to be sneaky about it or 2) are unfortunate suckers who bought into the first group's bullshit out of ignorance/inexperience and never learned any different for whatever reason. (yes i am aware some people have trauma. its just not relevant here because the solution is the same:)

(general you here) you don't want to be called something? sure, fine. perfectly understandable. you don't want me to call myself (or my community of same identity people) something? FUCK RIGHT THE HELL OFF

[charleecat-bat]

Very Australian rant

How convenient for all the close-minded wankers that are in charge that the act to vote to change the constitution to better the indigenous Australians was so badly advertised and not given any information that most people either had no idea what was going on to not vote on it or vote no out of uncertainty. Certainly doesn’t feel like an attempt to make sure it flops so they don’t have to change their previous constitution that betters only them. Fuckers

Ugh…

Sorry to get massively political but it just reeks of bullshit and suspiciousness

[fanmoose12]

Levi and Hange had a fight which ended in them breaking up. His friends trying to fix things take them separately to a club, there they meet but they don't talk, they just ignore each other and dance with other people while this song plays in the background but they don't break eye contact with each other.

"Hey Levi."

Sandwich halfway to his mouth, Levi froze, eyes darting to Erwin, who just sat next to him, and mind scrambling to find the solution to the dilemma that had just arose. Should he tell Erwin to fuck off right away or wait until he said his piece?

Having a guess at what the topic of their conversation would be about, Levi came to a decision fairly quickly.

"Fuck off," he mumbled before taking a bite of the sandwich.

Of course, as Levi should have expected, Erwin didn't fuck off.

What's more, he scooted closer, his palm falling on Levi's shoulder, while a kind smile played on his lips.

Levi sighed and put down his sandwich. Apparently, there was no escape from this conversation.

"Levi," Erwin began in that tone of his, the one he used on new interns to inspire them to be a better version of themselves. The very same one that reeked of bullshit. Levi prepared himself for the upcoming shitty speech; from the looks of it, it was going to be a very long one. "You know that so very soon my big day is coming. And I don't think I can or want to do this without you - my good friend and best man."

God fucking no. Not the topic of Erwin's bachelor party. Not again.

"I told you," Levi tried, ignoring the fire of determination in Erwin's bright blue eyes. "It's not my kind of thing."

"But can you come to the party? For me?"

Erwin's voice dropped slightly and his smile, his whole expression became just a little more pathetic. Meaning that, unfortunately, Levi couldn't really say no to him right now.

Which, honestly, made Levi wonder what Erwin was trying to achieve. He knew the man had the ulterior motive, he was one hundred percent sure of it. But what kind of motive? That Levi had yet to find out.

"You know, we've all been worrying about you," Erwin continued, "It's been three months since you and-"

Oh hell no. No, no, no.

Levi was wrong, he was such a fool. A conversation about a bachelor party was so infinitely better than the current one. He didn't wish to discuss what happened three months ago. Ever.

He threw Erwin a vicious glare, translating his displeasure with that particular topic. Erwin, the smart man that he was, caught on right away and promptly shut his mouth.

...Only to open it a few seconds late.

"I just want you to relax and have some fun. I really appreciate that you agreed to be my best man, and since Hange is Mike's and she would also be present at the wedding, I think I ought to make sure that you feel as comfortable as possible."

That was decided, this conversation was one of the worst one Levi had the displeasure of having during lunch. The only other one that could rival it was the conversation he had with Erwin and Mike right after Hange dump- right after their breakup. The desire to escape and hide inside his office was just as prevalent.

So Levi did another attempt at escaping, ending the awful dialogue with a curt, "Fine, I'll come to your stupid party."

He thought it was the end of it. Of course, it fucking wasn't.

"Great!" Erwin beamed, his smile turning from pleading to the one that looked suspiciously smug. "I truly think that a distraction is what you need. I mean you've been hanged up on Hange for so long that I-"

"I don't care about Hange." Levi said, voice tight.

He bolted from his seat instantly, and the loud, unpleasant sound of a chair scratching the tiles of the floor further proved his point.

Without even glancing at Erwin (or the rest of his co-workers who stared at him in confusion and badly hidden amusement), Levi stormed out of the break room, forgetting about his delicious sandwich as he did.

He didn't care about Hange. Not anymore.

___

Except that he still very much did.

He wasn't sad, heartbroken and he absolutely did not pine after her. He didn't spend as much time with his friends as he used to, because work had been piling up lately, and that's precisely why he seemed more tense and stressed than usual. And if his eyes tended to follow Hange around as she walked through the office, he didn't do it, because he was worried for her or because he was admiring her smile, sharp features or beautiful eyes. He watched her simply out of curiosity, waiting to see the sign that Hange was in any way affected by their breakup.

She wasn't. And so wasn't he.

The things between them ended, Hange made it explicitly clear after she called him heartless during a stupid, pointless fight that was caused by their too big egos, and then stormed out of the apartment they used to share. They haven't talked ever since.

And Levi was fine with it. Absolutely fine.

___

What he was not fine with was being lied to.

Come to my bachelor party, Erwin had said. But he had forgotten to mention that his fiance was holding his own party in the very same club.

So when Levi entered the dimly lit, stuffy room and saw Hange, who was sandwiched between Mike and Moblit on the leather couch, laughing boisterously, he had to take a second to draw a deep breath, process it all and grab Erwin by the lapels of his shiny new jacket, hauling the man to his feet and away from their friends.

"What the fuck?" Levi hissed, uncaring of how awfully affected he sounded right now. "Why haven't you told me that four-eyes will be here too?"

Even met with Levi's murderous demeanor, Erwin remained completely calm. Slowly, he raised his arms and showed a goofy grin. "Must have slipped my mind."

So the asshole had planned it all, for what reasons, Levi couldn't possibly fathom. Whatever, he'd find a way to ruin his precious plan, even without knowing its main goal.

"Enjoy your party, Erwin," he glowered, before letting the man go and disappearing in the crowd of strangers.

___

After his second vodka shot, Levi felt decidedly better. His posture was less tense, thoughts about how Erwin and Hange were the most annoying people in this awful world and the reason for all of his misfortunes, and his persistent need to come back to his friends just to see what she was up to almost almost disappeared.

It all had changed, of course, when he made a mistake of turning to face the dancefloor and saw Hange fucking Zoe, dancing with someone.

Someone, who definitely wasn't one of their friends. Someone, who touched her more than a little inappropriately.

His hands clenched tightly into fists. I don't fucking care, he repeated to himself.

But his fists told another story, shaking from anger and damned jealousy.

With a curse, Levi ordered another drink. Then he continued to watch Hange, who was fucking radiant even in the darkness of the club.

Her hair was wild, grin wide and happy, skin seemed to glow, and the tight jeans and shirt hugged her lithe body in all the right places.

No wonder that she had no shortage of admirers that twirled her around song after song.

The fourth guy she was dancing with was the boldest one yet, laying his filthy hands on Hange, whispering in her ear, making her laugh without abandon.

Hange seemed to enjoy herself tremendously, although-

Although the lighting was more than insufficient and Levi's vision was nearly not strong enough to see it clearly, it looked like-

It looked like Hange was staring at him.

He tilted his head, watched her more closely, and after a moment he was absolutely sure - while she danced, while she had someone else's arms wrapped around her, while she laughed and flirted, Hange was looking straight at him.

Feeling suddenly too hot, Levi undid the top button of his shirt and put his drink down.

Two could play this game.

And whether it was the effect of alcohol, or a childish desire to pay Hange back, he didn't let himself to think too hard about it. He picked the nearest person to him and led them to the dancefloor.

As he danced, he didn't take his eyes off Hange. Neither did she.

___

Truth be told, he had no idea how or when did it happen, but over the course of the night, after each of them had switched a dozen or so partners, they've migrated closer to one another, the backs of their partners now almost touching as they continued to stare in each other's eyes, gazes heavy, hot and clouded.

Hange licked her lips just as the song had ended. She spared her partner no more than a single glance and a half-baked smile, before returning her eyes to their previous target.

A moment, a heartbeat later, Hange was standing right in front of Levi, lips now curled up in a grin, hair even wilder than before and face glistening with sweat.

But underneath it all Levi saw what others couldn't - the barely visible signs of anxiety. Her grin was just a little too tight around the edges, hair was so wild from all the pulling at it that she did and a slight blush colored the edges of her cheeks.

Hange was nervous, he realized. It meant that she cared, even after all this time, despite their fight and breakup.

Levi cared too, he always did.

So he took a step towards Hange, put his hands on her narrow hips.

A warm palm landed on his shoulder, and Hange chuckled, so quietly Levi almost didn't hear it. He leaned closer to make sure he did hear it - he had already forgotten how good that sound made him feel.

"Should we continue?" Hange asked, tracing something known only to her on the length of his biceps.

"No," Levi shook his head, showing Hange a smile he reserved only for her. "Let's start again."

___

Watching two of his best friends leave the party early, holding hands and exchanging hopeful glances, Erwin smiled. The little gamble of his worked out, way better than he had dared to hope.

"One less thing to worry about," he murmured, celebrating his success with another mouthful of whiskey.

"Erwin?" Mike fell against his side, already tipsy and a little confused. "What were you saying?"

Erwin pressed a kiss to his fiance's jaw, savoring the sweet taste of his skin and the feeling of his warm body against his own. "Remember how the others day we couldn't decide how to seat our guests at the wedding? Well, we don't have to worry about it anymore. It seems like Hange and Levi won't be bringing plus ones after all."

[batfamcraze]

Idk if it’s just me but I feel like no one talks about how the ableist version of Babs affects Steph and Cass to a detrimental amount...

We literally had Steph and Cass ERASED in New 52 when Babs was Batgirl. Let that sink in. Fans had to beg DC to bring those two back and DC had them gone because of their misogyny, racism and classism. Barbara is their perfect Batgirl because she is a white woman that can be reduced to a love interest.

The best version of Barbara is when she was Oracle PERIOD. She was independent, badass and good representation. When Barbara is Batgirl (Post-Oracle) she is a land mine to all other batfamily members including herself. Which is why it pains me when I see readers shit on the Batgirls comic because I fear that if the comic is not successful, there is a very real chance that DC might try to erase Steph and Cass again. Yes their characterization is fair to criticize but the team can be changed in the future with a better writer/editor who understands these two better.

However, I am 100% against abled Babs but I am suspicious to others who are hating on the Batgirls comic solely for that reason alone when abled Babs is in EVERY SINGLE bat book? You can dislike the comic for their bad characterization (and yes the ableismon DC’s part) but I don’t see the same criticism for abled Babs in other bat books (not as much anyway). It kind of makes me think that you don’t actually want to see Steph or Cass anymore, and use DC’s ableism as an excuse for their comic to fail. Bad comics come out a lot, but no one says that a comic should fail because of a current writer. For example, a lot of people are criticizing Tom Tayl*r for his Nightwing run, but no one is saying that Dick shouldn’t have a solo anymore, people are asking for a new writer and for Dick’s comic to succeed. Abled Babs is also in the comic but fans aren’t saying “let’s not support the Nightwing comic!” They are trying to make DC hold accountability and for a writer change because of Tayl*r’s own ableism (See what I mean?). it’s this weird hypocrisy and it reeks of misogyny/racism/classism. There should be a double standard, we don’t want Steph and Cass’ comic to fail. Steph and Cass DESERVE a solo and they should have the chance to keep it for their sake. (I want to clarify as well that Dick’s solo shouldn’t be canceled either, it’s obviously not his fault).

It’s a very messy situation because I don’t want to support abled Babs but I don’t want to lose Steph or Cass either. These two have dealt with DC’s bullshit just like Barbara does, and maybe even more since Steph got killed off at one point and they got erased from the timeline a few years ago (and still can if this keeps up), but we have to acknowledge that Steph and Cass get affected too when abled Babs is there. That’s all.

I want Barbara as Oracle back, and I want Steph and Cass treated with respect.

[wonderlandleighleigh]

Midge/Lenny—“this is a one time thing.”

"I know it is," Joel mutters softly as he follows Midge into Lenny's apartment.

"And it's no that I don't want to babysit," Midge tells him, carrying Xiulan, all of two, into one of the guest bedrooms where Joel starts setting up the portable crib. "You know that Lenny and I don't mind. But it's so late, and so last minute."

"I know," Joel repeats, annoyed. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't have anywhere else to take her, and there's an emergency at the club, and Mei's on call."

Midge nods. "You're just lucky I didn't have a late show tonight and made it home early."

"Where's Lenny?"

"Late meeting with his lawyers," Midge explains, bouncing Xiulan gently. "He should be home soon."

"Sure about that?"

"Yes," Midge says quickly. "He called an hour ago and said they'd be wrapping up sooner rather than later."

Joel nods as he finishes putting the crib together. He takes Xiulan from her arms and settles her into the bed, pulling a blanket from the overnight bag he'd packed for the little girl. "Okay, good girl. Time for bed."

Midge leaves him to it as she hears the front door open and close, and meets Lenny in the hall. "Joel is tucking Xiulan in, and then he's heading to the club. Something about burst pipes."

Lenny nods, kissing her briefly. "S'fine." He eyes her suspiciously. "You okay?"

"Fine," Midge says quickly. "Just tired."

"Good show tonight?" Lenny asks.

She nods. "It was great."

"Knew it would be," he grins.

"How were the lawyers?" Midge asks.

Lenny sighs heavily. "Terrible, as always, but that's how I get the conviction overturned, so..."

She nods.

"You seem...unhappy," he notices. "What did Joel say?"

"He didn't say anything," she assures him. "I'm just tired, and I didn't expect to be babysitting tonight."

"Okay," Joel says, stepping out into the hallway and closing the door to the guestroom partway. "I really appreciate this guys. I know this isn't ideal, but-"

"What did you say to Midge?" Lenny asks abruptly, narrowing his eyes at the other man.

"What?" Joel asks, confused.

"Lenny-"

"Somebody better tell me," he says.

"I just asked where you were," Joel explains, still confused. "The lawyers sounded like an excuse so I asked if she was sure."

Lenny stares at Joel, dead-eyed and unimpressed. "Okay. You can leave now. We'll see you and Mei in the morning for Xiulan."

"I'm sorry, okay? It just sounded like bullshit."

Lenny rolls his eyes, unwilling to engage. "G'bye, Joel."

Midge sighs softly and leads Joel to the front door. "We'll see you in the morning."

"I'm sorry, okay?" he tells her. "I didn't mean-"

"Goodnight, Joel."

He nods, and steps out, and Midge closes the door behind him, slumping against it and crossing her arms.

"Sorry," Lenny says gently, leaning against the wall and gazing at her.

"You were really with your lawyers, right?" Midge asks softly.

"Yes. All night. I have heartburn from the shitty Mexican food that got ordered in for dinner. It was the most fun you could ever hope to have without having any fucking fun at all."

"Then you have nothing to be sorry for," she shrugs. "You were with the lawyers, and I had an early show, and why do I keep doing Joel favors when he makes me feel like this?"

"Because you like to help people too much," Lenny tells her, walking over to rub her arms gently. "Because you're a very sweet woman."

Midge sighs and closes her eyes. "It's late. We should get some sleep. Hopefully Xiulan will sleep through the night."

He nods and leans in, kissing her softly.

She wrinkles her nose against his lips. "Ugh. You really did eat terrible Mexican food tonight, didn't you?"

"The worst," Lenny confirms. "No woman would fuck me with this shit reeking from my pores."

Midge huffs out a laugh as she leads him towards the bedroom.

[tg-headcanons]

Comrade bestie, do you have any eto/hori headcanons?

WAIT HOLD ON EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP I LOVE THIS

I can imagine them meeting at a book signing, Chie is there as a photographer, and Eto can’t help but notice that she REEKS of ghoul. Well not normal ghoul smell, something fruity and sick smelling and (because she doesn’t know that that’s just what Tsukiyama’s inbred self smells like) is intrigued by her

Eto offers to take her to lunch, claiming to be exhausted from a day of signings and interviews and wanting some calm company, and Chie agrees. Free food is the way to her heart. She’s like the fae, offer her some cream or something and she will listen to your troubles. They get to talking, Eto mostly rambling about surface level stuff a human wouldn’t be suspicious about, but every so often inserting something to test her. It’s weird, she doesn’t react to things that a human who understands that it’s a euphemism for ghoul stuff should, but seems to understand it somehow. Hell, she even averts her eyes and hunches at the right times a ghoul would in a conversation. She clearly knows how to interact with ghouls and is doing it now. Still interested in her, she asks if she can have her number for “future business inquiries,” and Chie gives it to her, then loudly says something about how she’s gonna be pissed if she’s luring her somewhere to be eaten but she’s down to photograph whatever, then left, leaving the most powerful kakuja in Japan dumbfounded

She became obsessed. A human knee what she was, and she’s still alive, not even being hunted. Did she not call the CCG? Was she really as nonchalant about sitting across the table from a ghoul for an hour? What is wrong with her? She calls her eventually to invite her to photograph something, and is even more surprised to see that she showed up to the dingy ass warehouse she invited her to. All Chie did was ask what she wanted pictures of, and Eto, ever the showman, took out her kagune, little by little growing mare and more of her kakuja around her as she questions her on the nature of ghouls and humans, waxing poetic and gruesome as she often does to tease her victims, but the girl just took pictures, even telling Eto to move a large spike up for a better visual effect

Eto can handle a lot, she can twist life and death like it’s nothing, she can cause destruction and survive what would kill others, but apparently, she is completely short circuited by a stupid, tiny human calling the abject monstrosity that makes her outcast from humans and ghouls alike beautiful

She did not kill Hori. She kept her number.

Despite knowing how stupid it is to let a human go running around knowing her name and face, she kept coming back to her. She kept taking her to dinner and asking her why she is the way she is, and Chie answered. She talks like this is all normal despite not having to force herself to be okay with it like ghouls do, she’s honest the way humans never are, when she says that she likes the way Eto looks in her kakuja she actually believes it. Eto never tells anyone about her, and all of Aogiri is too afraid of her to question where she goes, so no one asks where she is when she goes to visit the human woman

Chie loves having someone who understands having an obsession that bleeds into all parts of life and compliments her photographs, Eto loves having someone to talk to and want her. Chie has no stake in the war, Eto has nothing to gain from lying to Chie, both of them know they love one another for their presence rather than anything they can get from them, and when they have romantic feelings for one another it feels natural

It’s an open relationship that works surprisingly well and both are happy with. Chie is sex repulsed and not one to be jealous of an activity she wants nothing to do with, and Eto’s idea of sex is completely detached from romance and would honestly kill a human. Plus the Aogiri members knowing that she’s still on her horny bullshit keeps them from suspecting she has a lover. But the poor idiots dumb enough to think they’d get out with all their limbs after sleeping with her mean nothing, and she always looks forward to going back to her human

Chie has already been friends with Shuu for awhile, so she knows what to expect and what is normal for ghouls. She’s always quick to cuddle her girlfriend when she comes home since she knows it will help her relax, she knows how to rub her shoulders without putting pressure on the overly tender kakuhou, and she knows how much it means when she starts purring around her

The Takatsuki Sen social media accounts have suddenly been getting much better pictures, and right around the time her new book with a photographer protagonist was released who, despite her usual brutal writing, got a surprisingly happy ending

You think you’ve seen protective? Well you haven’t seen Eto. If someone so much as looks at Chie wrong they show up on the news as a ghoul hunting victim. When they’re together she’s making sure no danger befalls her, that she’s happy and warm, and is rubbing up against her to make sure her scent never fades. Oh You should have seen the look on Shuu’s face his friend visited him absolutely reeking of kakuja

When ghouls are decriminalized, they’re finally able to be open about their relationship, and there isn’t a person on earth who wasn’t taken aback. What is Chie doing with a monster like that? What is Eto doing with photography student Peppermint Patty? No one knows how the fuck this happened, but now Takatsuki Sen’s social media has very artfully done photos of her with her kagune out and Chie convinced her to let her ride her kakuja form to work to scare the shit out of her boss

[legends-live-in-memories]

Focus On Me

i want yall to pretend i dont have outstanding wips i need to finish lmao. Have this instead:

Dickinette One-shot 1.9K words

Summary: 

“Dick is pissed as hell after arguing with Bruce.

His solution? Go to an underground fight club to get the shit beaten out of him.”

without further ado

Richard Grayson was many things. He was a professional acrobat. He was a dedicated vigilante. Son of freaking Batman himself. And now? Now he was pissed as hell. The fallout between him and Bruce wasn’t supposed to get this bad. Wasn’t supposed to go on this long. The radio silence was deafening and the cold shoulder burned hotter than any flaming hoop he jumped through as a kid. He knew Bruce had issues about Dick’s decision but that had nothing to do with his capabilities as a vigilante and everything to do with Bruce’s own fears and insecurities. Thinking about it just gets him riled up and he keeps replaying the harsh words they threw at each other before fists started flying too.

He needs to get out of his head for a few hours before he plans what his next move is. No. He needed to get out of his head, yes, but he needs to breathe and maybe punch someone who he doesn’t fear disappointing or someone who hasn’t dumped a ferry’s load of emotional bullshit on him. Planning what comes next can have the decency to at least wait a week. 

Trying to distract himself, he went to an underground boxing club he discovered when he was sixteen. The club was deep in the East End, hidden between the Black Bass Bar and 83rd Street. He’s been sneaking there every now and again when he wanted the time to recenter himself and get grounded before facing the world. It was therapeutic, the bruising knuckles, the blistered lips, the burning sweat in his eyes. It was rough, jaded and unpolished. Everything he wasn’t allowed to be. 

He snuck in through the regular back entrance that was reserved for fighters. The air reeked of tequila and piss and cigarettes. He could already hear the cacophony of roars and jeers from the club’s patrons as a match went on in the center ring. Making his way to the side of the ring to put his name into the bracket, he sees the current fight come to a close with a knockout. The poor guy was lying limply with a twisted ankle and a suspiciously dark bruise forming on his left side. The mat is soiled with blood, spit and what was possibly bile in one corner. Dick swung his gaze over to the fighter left standing. 

His breath feels punched out as he takes in the absolute powerhouse before him. A lean figure clad in simple matching black spandex and sports bra that left nothing to the imagination. Her bare feet were bruised and taped in seemingly random places but Dick recognised an arch to them that was only achieved through professional dancing or gymnastics. She was light on her feet, strong on her toes. Chiseled abs that put Superman to shame were marred by scars on pale skin and a fresh bandage over what could possibly be a recent stab wound resting near her hip. He eyed her wrapped fists that were caked in blood and dirt as she flexed and curled her fingers repeatedly. 

If he was left breathless by her physique then her face left him dead and buried. Bold blue eyes narrowed in concentration with her busted lips curled up in a sneer. Her cheeks were flushed and her entire face was covered in a light sheen of sweat. Her hair is pulled back into a regular ponytail with loose strands framing her face. Her hair, pure black, except for bleached blonde ends, looks greasy and unkept, highlighting her lack of care regarding her appearance. Her shoulders are hiked up to her ears and her muscles twitch and flex with pent up energy. She carries herself like someone who’s addicted to pain and the worst parts of themselves, desperate for a quick fix; the perfect reflection for how he feels right now.  Dick can’t wait to get in the ring.

“I’ll pay you $50 to get me in the ring with her right now.” He turned his neck to the fight coordinator who was counting a wad of cash. The balding man barely looked at him and just held out his hand for the payment. Dick couldn’t get his money out fast enough and before he even confirmed that he was the next fight, he was already taking his shirt off and going between the rope barriers to the floor.

The loser of the last fight was being dragged off with no concern for his well-being, while the victor stood off to the side guzzling some water. She barely side-eyes him, a quick sweep of her eyes without turning to face him, and he already feels himself flushing hot from the attention. He preens and starts stretching out his shoulders, rolling his ankles and warming up his legs at the same time. 

He barely registers the presence of the announcer, ears filled with cotton and eyes narrowing at his opponent. He looks for weaknesses, anything that would get him an edge, as he crouches into a starting position. Her wound is an obvious target and she’s short enough for easy face and neck shots. Hair pulling is also an option if he feels particularly brutish. She mirrors his stance, crouch closer to her feet and legs wider to increase lunging distance, and the full force of her gaze almost bowls him over. His eyes harden into ice shards, not willing to be swayed by twin pools of blue fire. The bell dings. He charges.

He swings an uppercut that just grazes her chin and she recoils, spins back and jabs an elbow in his ribs. He grabs her by the same elbow and twists his wrist. She twinges in pain but the hold doesn’t last long. She follows the rotation of her arm and faces him. He smells faint traces of beer on her lips and his mind swims. Pain erupts in his nose as she smashes her forehead into him. She kicks into his knee and sweeps his other leg out from underneath him. She clasps her fists together and drives them into the protruding knobs of his spine, ramming him into her awaiting knee. She moves to pin him and he uses this to his advantage. He grabs the arm that was about to press into his throat and spins her around on top of him, his chest to her back. He locks one leg around hers and cants his weight to the side, pinning her face first into the disgusting mat; he completely blankets her with his much larger body. This position doesn’t hold for long either. She still has an arm free and she uses it to punch into the side of his head. It’s not a particularly strong hit, but with the pain in his nose, and his brain feeling like it’s underwater, it is enough to disorient him and she pushes him off by her hips. 

Her narrow escape lights a fire under his skin and he reaches to grapple for her again. She slips away, again, and stands. He scurries to stand as well and immediately ducks from a leg swinging for his ribs. 

“What brings you here?” Dick almost gets whiplash from how fast he has to move. He was not expecting her to engage in conversation, much less initiate it. But she doesn’t sound malicious, just curious, and she pauses in her assault in attacks to display how genuine she was.

“Same as everyone else,” he says. He swings right for her head and follows left when she ducks, knocking her in her shoulder. “I want to pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist and get slapped around for a while. You?”

She snickers at his honesty and drops into a leg sweep. He jumps over the leg but clearly she was expecting it. She rides her momentum into a roundhouse that knocks him flat as he descends. She doesn’t hesitate and charges to pin him again. 

He lets her.

“Why does someone as pretty as you want to risk ruining that nice face of yours?” Her face is close, much closer than this pin requires but he doesn’t want to push her away. But the show must go on so he kicks her in the stomach, digging his toe into her bandaged side to get her off. She recoils like a snake about to spring and regards him with cold resentment. She clearly doesn’t like the reminder of her injuries. 

“I could ask you the same thing, sweetheart. What’s a lovely lady like you doing here getting down and dirty with the local dogs?” She is many things he regards, but lovely is not one of them. ‘Stray cat’ would better describe the scrappy woman before him. The address sets her on edge and he almost regrets describing her as such. Almost. Her next series of punches have him on the defensive and he’s pushed back all the way until he feels the ropes rubbing into the bare skin of his back. The flurry of sensations is exhilarating. Suddenly it’s too much and not enough. He ducks the next punch and grabs both wrists. He made the mistake the first time and knows better now. She won’t escape him unless he lets her. Not one to be outdone, she pulls one more trick out. She doesn’t resist his grip and instead leans up closer to his ear. Her chest is pressed flush against him and he knows she’s tipping just to reach him. Her lips, damp with sweat and cooling blood, brush against his ear and a weight settles at the base of his spine.

“Got a firm grip there?” her voice is soft, almost delicate, and he almost doesn’t register the question. His tongue feels like lead and his mouth has run dry; his brain can’t make the right connections to form words. He tightens his hold on her as an answer instead. She gets it though because she chuckles a swift ‘Good’ before she’s leaping and bracing her feet against his stomach. She leans back and uses her weight to pull them both to the ground, then she lifts her feet and flips him over. His fingers loosen and she slips out of his hold again. She follows the momentum of her roll and sits firmly on his hips, one leg pinning each of his down. She grabs both of his wrists in her small hand and uses the other to tip his chin back, his skull crashing into the mat harshly, blunt nails digging into his skin.

Her face looms over his, again closer than is strictly necessary, and she smirks at him. Her tongue peaks out and swipes at the sweat above her upper lip. He holds his breath, waiting to hear what she has to say next. His patience doesn’t reward him that satisfaction, however. A ding echoes into the room, cutting through the shouts and growls of their captive audience. She won. 

Her victorious smile is a thing of beauty, he can’t really lament his loss. Before he could overthink and get lost in his head he takes a dive headfirst and gives into his impulses.

“I’m Richard Grayson. Call me Dick.” He sounds breathless and rung out. 

“I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” her name is perfect like her. She releases his arms and moves to get off him. She offers a hand to help him up and he takes it. Before he could say something stupid she continues her introduction.

“You can call me Nette. I hope to see you next week.”

She will.