#you can tell how far behind i am in my prompts bc anon sent this in when the hotd promo first started

[evebestt]

I LOVE Eve's new hair and I think the style really suits her 😍 ... but like, as soon as I saw how short it was, I immediately felt like there was a fic-idea in this change of hair. Seeing how immaculate Farah's hair always looks, I'm sure she puts a lot of effort and love in her haircare and style and she probably prides herself on it, or like values it as one of her favourite features (I mean, who wouldn't with hair like that). So what if she had to/ someone made her cut it off, or, for even more angst, someone just cut it off against her will? I imagine she'd feel completely insecure afterwards and maybe would even try to hide it, and it would take a good deal of reassurance to make her feel better about it and let her know she still looks breathtakingly beautiful, even with shorter hair ❤️

Hi hon! Thank you for the prompt!! I love Eve’s new short hair too, but I have to admit I do miss her long hair, styled like Farah’s (some of the most gorgeous hair I’ve seen). So I was very intrigued to think about how she would react to it being cut.

Is this incredibly vague as to why there’s a battle? Yeah absolutely. Do I care? No I wanted to get to the good hurt/comfort part 😂 I hope you all enjoy

Read here on AO3 or below. As always, send me an ask or a message to submit a prompt.

Mild warning for descriptions of violence in the beginning.

The Shooting Stars

The battle raged around you, Alfean Specialists and fairies spread across the lawn, trying to force the opposing forces back into the forest from which they came. But it seemed as though everywhere you looked there was another skirmish, another fight, and you were beginning to lose hope as to how the small Alfean forces were going to drive back so many.

You held out your hand as a tall, muscular man ran towards you, willing the earth to swallow his feet before he reached you. Slowed by your magic, you slashed him with your dagger, and when he fell you turned to meet the next opponent.

It was another man, more burly to the other one’s muscular, but still he moved nimbly for his size. You summoned earth again, but he managed to step through it as though it were nothing, leaving you stunned as you stepped back away from his reach. You summoned water and let it mix with the earth to form a pit of mud, the man sinking in up to his chest, and pulling the water away until the earth hardened again, you left him to his fate.

Panting, you turned not to find another opponent, but Farah standing across the lawn, hand outstretched as she threw power out at her opponent, but too late to do anything about the man who grabbed her from behind, one hand gripping her ponytail and the other wrapped around her waist. You tried to run, legs lurching forward, but then you saw the glint of a dagger in her hand only a second before she plunged it into the man’s thigh. He grunted, his knee buckling slightly, but he regained his balance quickly, seeming to just tighten his hold on Farah.

They’re so strong, you thought in dismay, terror seizing your body as you watched Farah struggle. How are we going to win if a dagger to the thigh can’t even loosen their grip?

You lurched forward again, trying to move quick even as your legs were unsteady – you had to get to Farah, had to try, had to save her – but then the man reached for his hip and pulled out a dagger from a hidden sheath, his hand still twisted in her hair. There was a scream, and only belatedly did you realize it was your own, watching powerless as he palmed the hilt.

Then there was the glint of a second dagger – Farah’s this time, but instead of reaching back to stab the man, she blocked his arm before he could slice her throat. They struggled, the man trying to force her arm down with sheer brute strength. She resisted, but you could see her arm quivering, and you knew she wouldn’t be able to hold him for long.

She twisted her arm, so quick that you almost missed it, and then with one quick move, she forced her arm back and drew the blade through her own hair.

The man stumbled back as he lost his grip, and before he could charge forward again Farah had turned and plunged the dagger into his chest.

He stumbled back again, his mouth open in pain and surprise for a long moment, before his knees buckled and he fell to the ground dead, his hand still gripping the long, blonde lock of Farah’s hair.

~~~~~~~~~

It felt like a miracle when Alfea finally fell silent – the enemy driven away and the campus and the students safe.

And then came the aftermath.

Medics rushed, treating everything from shock to serious wounds (though you felt it another miracle that the medics assured you no one would die). A unit from the Solarian army came in helping to secure the boundaries of the school – and then the questioning came. Captains, generals, bureaucrats, all asking the same questions over and over, well into the early morning as you and the other faculty of Alfea did your best to explain to them just what had happened that night.

But after every question had been answered and re-answered, after the infirmary had been emptied except for the few who needed to stay overnight, and after the quiet fell over the grounds again, you finally got to go home.

You found Farah in the main hall of Alfea, , her back straight and stiff as she stared out at the battle-scarred grounds. You touched her arm, and she turned to look at you, blinking as though coming out of a vision, before she slowly nodded at you, and then together you slowly stumbled back to your quarters, the glow of pre-dawn giving you just enough light to make your way.

You moved straight to the bedroom you shared, shedding shoes and jackets along the way, not bothering to put them away. In the room you flopped down on the bed, groaning as you sat for what felt like the first time in days.

“Gods,” you murmured, not knowing what else there was to say. “It’s been a long night.”

Farah was quiet, and confused, you looked over to see her still standing stock still in the doorframe, staring into the vanity’s mirror on the opposite wall.

“Farah?” you asked slowly, suddenly worried she’d been more hurt in the battle than she let on.

“I…” she trailed off, and then reached up with a trembling hand, touching the ends of her hair that fell around her neck. “In all the chaos, I forgot…”

She trailed off again. And then when her lip trembled, you felt your heart crack.

Standing, you padded over to her, guiding her to the vanity and coaxing her to sit. You let out a soft murmur, and gentle enough as though not to startle her, you ran your hand through her hair, scratching her scalp to try and comfort.

Her eyes filled with tears, and she shook her head before they could fall, letting out a wry laugh.

“It’s just silly, isn’t it? Crying over hair.” She ran her hand through it again, and her lower lip trembled again when it stopped so short. “It will grow back, and what’s more important is that everyone is alive and well.”

But there was such sadness in her eyes, a grief you could see she was desperately trying to hide and push away, so much that it made your heart clench. You ran your fingers along her scalp again, your other hand coming to squeeze her shoulder gently, trying to soothe. “It will grow back, yes, but you’re allowed to mourn, too. Just because this is fixable doesn’t mean you can’t be upset.”

She nodded, eyes still filled with tears, and your heart clenched again. She’d never said it aloud, but you knew how much pride she took in her hair — the time she spent caring for it, morning and evening, the elegant styles she put it in every day that were almost as central to her as her personality. She’d had long hair for as long as you could remember — as long as she could remember, she told you, and you couldn’t imagine how exposed she must feel without the armor her carefully composed appearance provided.

But then again, there was no reason her short hair couldn’t become a part of that appearance.

“Can I try something?” you blurted, Farah looking at you curiously in the mirror, blinking away the tears.

She nodded, and reaching for her brush, you slowly worked it through her hair, removing the remaining pins. Then picking up the bottle of mousse, you squeezed a bit onto your palm and worked it through, then carefully parted it to one side. It took a few tries to get it to stay, but finally it did, and it had the volume you’d hoped it would. Then you gathered the hair at her neck up into a sweep and pinned it with an elegant comb she had on the vanity, pulling out a few curls to frame her face.

“It’s not perfect,” you said as you toyed with her hair, pushing it to lay a bit more neatly. “We’d probably have to trim it to give it a little better shape, but what do you think?”

You couldn’t read her expression for a long moment, but then she met your eyes in the mirror, and a small smile slowly spread across her mouth. “I… feel more like myself than I have since this dreadful day started.”

You let out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, relief coursing through you now that Farah’s eyes didn’t hold such grief.

She turned in her chair to face you, bringing her hand up to cup your cheek. “I had been through many battles before I met you. But how I survived the aftermath without you, I do not know.”

You smiled, then turned your head to kiss her palm. “You survived because you’re strong, and determined to continue on despite it all.” You leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head then, linking your arms around her neck as you straightened. “But you don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

“No,” she agreed, leaning in to rest her head on your chest. “Thank the gods I don’t.”

It was a long time before you could let go of her, the solid, warm feel of her a comfort to the visions of her grabbed by that man still flashing through your mind. But eventually the adrenaline of the night began to wear off, leaving you nearly shaking with exhaustion, and you had to step back, pulling her towards the bed.

“Come on.”

She followed you, and uncaring of your dirty clothing or the mousse in her hair, you both collapsed, sighing as you finally lay vertical.

“You know,” you murmured, almost too tired to know what you were saying, “you’re quite rakish with the short hair.”

She snorted, a noise you rarely heard from her until she was over exhausted. “The rakish Headmistress?”

You hummed, eyes closed and half asleep already. “To me. But I’m allowed to think that.”

She chuckled and snuggled closer to you, her nose bumping yours as she settled in. "Thank you."

You opened your eyes a little, seeing the gratitude in hers, and you smiled, reaching up and brushing back a lock of her hair. "If there's anyone who looks good with long and short hair, it's you. You'll always be one of the most gorgeous women I've ever seen."

She smiled sweetly, a light blush on her cheeks, and with that in mind you finally drifted off, the worries of what tomorrow would bring far away from the warmth of your bed and Farah besides you.

[alit0my]

if you're still taking prompts: while in exile Booker dies some death that fucks his brain a bit and makes him lose his memories in a weird way. The team steps in to take care of him in order to prevent the secret from coming out and just care for him bc they still love him. And Booker doesn't remember them but still has FEELINGS from before. And one day he tells them all "I don't remember who any of you are, but I do know that I love you all SO MUCH" and the team is stunned and like "OH GOD"

im always taking prompts anon ;-) i hope you like this!

~

Andy’s cell phone rang in the middle of the night, waking the others as the ringtone blared through the small sleeping quarters. Quickly, she picked up the phone and murmured her apology to the team. 

“Copley? It’s four am, what’s going on?” Andy spoke, knowing the man was on the other end. He was the only person who had the number after all.

“Andy. I’m sorry, but this couldn’t wait until morning. It’s Booker,” Copley said with an urgent tone. “He’s been injured.” 

Andy sat up a bit straighter in her bed, resting against the headboard. “He’s not healing?” 

The others became more awake at her words, glancing at each other in alarm. Booker was still young, there was no way he wasn’t healing.

“Somewhat. I sent him on a simple job to get intel and it went to shit,” Copley sighed. “It’s his memories, they seem to not have returned to him when he woke, and I’m worried that will cause unwanted trouble.” 

Andy’s breath hitched in her throat, her grip on the burner phone tightening. “How far back does he recall?” 

“He thinks he’s back in Marseille, 1800’s. Unsure of the exact year I’m afraid” 

“He’s looking for his family,” Andy cursed quietly, nodding at the others to get ready to leave. “Where is he now? Do you have an address?” 

“I’ll send it through. I’m also not sure if he remembers you, so I’d be weary about busting the door down and putting him on the defensive foot straight away.” 

Andy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Alright, thanks Copley.” 

“What’s happened?” Nicky asked, zipping up his duffel bag. Andy stood and swung her own duffel bag over her shoulder, grabbing the car keys off the bedside table. 

“I’ll explain on the way.”

~

Sebastien stood in front of the land that once held his family home. Finding it an empty field of tall grass made him furrow his brows in confusion. Where was Claire? Louis? Michel? Jean-Pierre? Had they moved and not told him? Surely he hadn’t been away for too long to have the house pulled down and grass to grow. 

He watched as groups of people walked past him, not paying him any mind. Frowning, he tried to find something he could identify in his surroundings, but came up short. 

“Excuse me, can you tell me what happened to my home?” He asked a group that walked by, earning him strange looks. 

“Sir, that has been a vacant block for as long as I can remember. There hasn’t been a property there for years,” One of them replied, smiling even though they were confused. Their answer only made Sebastien just as bewildered. 

“What do you mean? What is the date today?” 

“Um,” the stranger pulled a flat object out of their pocket and then put it back just as quickly. “27th of October, 2036.” 

“20- No, that’s not-” 

Something buzzed in his pocket which cut him off. He reached in, pulling out a contraption that looked familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was called. He gave the stranger his thanks as they walked off, and the thing still buzzed in his hand, so he flipped it open and brought it to his ear. It seemed like the right thing to do with the object. 

“Booker?” A man’s voice came through, shocking Sebastien. How was this possible? 

“Who are you? Who is Booker?” He spoke in French. “Where is my family?” 

He waited impatiently before the other man replied in shaky but understandable French. “Sebastien, my apologies. I understand you might be feeling lost, but I have people on the way to help you.” 

“Who? I don’t want help! I want my wife and children!” He shouted, throwing his hands in the air. 

“I understand, but right now you need to get to the address I’m going to send you. Can you manage that?” 

Sebastien pulled the phone away from his ear as the object buzzed once more. The address that appeared on the screen wasn’t too far from where he was. 

“Sebastien?” 

Bringing the phone to his ear once more, he nodded. “I-I will be there.” 

~

Sebastien walked up to the door of the address the man had sent him, finding the key under the course mat outside. Walking into the house, he was greeted with four strangers. Halting at the entrance, fingers still gripping the doorknob tightly, he chuckled awkwardly. 

“I think- I might be in the wrong place,” he stammered, the French slurring together as he rushed the words. “So sorry.” 

“Nonsense,” the older woman spoke in perfect French. “Come in. We are here to help you.” 

Sebastien hesitantly closed the door behind him as he stared at the group. The two men sat together on the couch, a little too close for what was normal with their knees touching. The younger woman had dark skin and tight braids falling over her shoulders, and the other woman had short hair, like his own. Sebastien blinked and shoved his shaky hands into his pockets. These people seemed familiar to him, but he didn’t know how. 

“You can’t help me unless you know what happened to my family,” he whispered and cast his eyes to the floor, missing the knowing looks shared between the strangers. 

“Book- Sebastien, your family is standing right in front of you.”

He looked up and scoffed. “Non, unless I gained two daughters and my wife cheated on me with darker men, you are not my family.” 

He saw the man with curly hair clench his fists and the young woman clench her jaw. He had hit a nerve, but he was unaware of why. 

“Okay, let’s start with our names, no? I’m Andromache,” the fair woman spoke again, gaining his attention once more. “Everyone calls me Andy.” 

“Nile,” the dark woman said.

“Nicolo,” he said with a strong Italian accent.

“Yusuf,” was said with a curt nod. 

None of the names brought Sebastien any closer to figuring out what the hell was happening. At his blank face, Andromache spoke once more. 

“Can I ask what year you think it is?” 

“1807,” he replied, and he gauged their reactions. 

“Alright,” Andromache nodded, chewing at her bottom lip. “Well, we’re here to help you remember. But I think we should start with dinner?” 

’Remember what?’ Sebastien thought, but nodded, which set everything into motion. 

~

He had learned that they called him Booker. He was unsure as to why, and they refused to tell him, so he paid it no mind. They shared stories of their time together, leaving out his betrayal all those years ago, but Sebastien couldn’t remember any of it, and nothing was flashing in his mind as a reminder. 

Months passed and Winter settled over France, sending chills through Sebastien’s bones even when he was seated in front of the woodfire with a woolen jumper wrapped around him. His fingers shook as he flipped the pages of the novel he was reading and he grunted in frustration, placing the book down by his side and sticking his hands out in front of him, closer to the fire to warm them. 

Sebastien frowned as he absently stared at his hands in front of the flames. He remembered that he loved the cold, playing in the snow and building snowmen with his siblings, all of them returning home with noses and ears flushed red, so he couldn’t understand why he felt so cold now. 

Yusuf -Joe- sat down next to him and silently offered to share the blanket that was wrapped around his shoulders. Only hesitating for a moment, Sebastien scooted closer to Joe and leant into the warmth that radiated off him, feeling the blanket wrap around his shoulders and Joe’s hand squeeze his arm. 

It felt familiar, friendly, loving. 

“Did we ever tell you about Russia?” Joe asked quietly, keeping his eyes on the flames. At the shake of Booker’s head, he continued. “It’s where you first died in 1812, fighting for Napoleon.” 

Booker closed his eyes and tried to remember, but nothing came to mind. He felt frustrated, surely memories would have started to seep through back into his mind, but nothing ever did. Instead, he rested his head on Joe’s shoulder and snuggled closer to him. 

“You.. You were hung for desertion, and you hung for three days before the Grande Armee left camp. We didn’t find you until you were nearly back to France,” Joe spoke softly, and Sebastien could listen to his voice forever. “A Russian winter can be so utterly cruel, and your immortality made you suffer over and over while your comrades succumbed to death. It is why you feel the phantom cold as you are, and a few years ago we discovered that they stop when you are cuddling with one of us as we are now.” 

Sebastien thought over the new information. Fighting for Napoleon in Russia? Surely not.

He didn’t mind the cuddles though. 

“I’m sorry I don’t remember any of you,” Sebastien spoke, voice breaking through it’s lack of use. He found himself not speaking much, preferring to listen to the stories his friends told him and asking questions when he got lost. 

“Nonsense, Bastien.” Joe ran his hand through Sebastien’s hair softly. “We’re here to help you remember, no matter how long it takes.” 

~

The pair had moved to the couch by the time the others had returned home from their shopping, Nile being adamant about having a big dinner for Christmas in a few days. Sebastien was curled into Joe’s side with the blanket still wrapped around them both, and he felt himself flush at the looks they got from the others. 

Nicolo -Nicky, now, remember?- smiled and walked over, kissing both Joe and Sebastien on the cheek in greeting, before crouching down in front of them. “How are you doing, Bas?” 

“Better. Joe is rather warm,” Sebastien replied, curling further into said man’s warmth. 

“He is, isn’t he,” Nicky chuckled softly, grabbing Sebastien’s hands and rubbing his thumbs over the cool palms. “Nile is cooking dinner tonight. Don’t tell her, but I don’t have much faith in her.” 

Sebastien laughed loudly before burying his face in Joe’s neck as Nile rounded the corner with a faux annoyed look on her face. “Hey! I’m a good cook!” 

Nicky moved to sit on Sebastien’s other side, and rolled his eyes playfully. “I’m sure you are, Nile. That soup you made a few weeks ago was seriously under seasoned.” 

“How dare you! Never in my life would I have imagined a white man telling me I’ve under seasoned my food!” Nile scoffed, but it had become their thing to tease the other about their dinners, so Sebastien didn’t intervene. He had each and every dynamic sorted out by now, and he knew this was playful. 

He felt warmth blossom from his chest as he watched them interact, playfully jabbing at the use of spices and ingredients in Nile’s failed soup attempt, and a grin spread across his lips. Sebastien truly felt at home with these people, they made him feel safe and happy and were always there for him.

He didn’t let himself think that maybe it was because of his memories no longer being with him. He didn’t want to tarnish the few months they’ve had together by believing they didn’t want to be around him. 

He was brought out of his thoughts by a dishtowel hitting him flush in the face. “Hey!” 

“Sorry Book! I was aiming for Nicky!” Nile laughed as the towel fell short when he threw it back to her. Andy had joined them in the room, opting to sit on the armrest of the single recliner with a glass of water in her hands. Sebastien didn’t know what it was about the woman that drew these deep feelings out of him, but he didn’t shy away from them. He didn’t shy away from anything he was feeling towards this little group he found himself in. 

“You good?” Andy asked across the room, making eye contact with the Frenchman. Sebastien thought for a moment, going back to how he fit into this little family, and he nodded, smiling as Nile entered the room with a tray of biscuits. 

“I may not remember who any of you are, but I do know that I love you all, so very much.” 

~ 

Weeks passed and Sebastien -non, Booker- still remembered the looks on his family’s faces as he told them he loves them. The amount of tears spilled that night would have filled the Seine, and he wouldn’t change it for the world. They had ended up in a dogpile on the couch, holding each other close and whispering words of affirmation to each other, promises were made and love was shared. 

Waking up the next morning with a stiff neck but surrounded by the four most important people in his life was worth it. 

Booker woke with a jolt, breathing heavy as he orientated himself. Still surrounded by four bodies, all still and silent, he closed his eyes again and took a few deep breaths. His dream was strange to say the least, with all five of them shooting their way out of an extremely white building, with flashes of being strapped to a plinth in a lab fighting to stay in Booker’s recollection. What on earth had happened?

“Book? Are you okay?” Nicky whispered as he shifted by his side. “Hey, you’re safe.” 

“I know, I know, I just.. I had a weird dream,” Booker whispered back, shimmying a hand out from the blanket that was still wrapped around himself and Joe, to rub at his face. 

“Tell me?” 

Booker paused. “We were fighting in a building. It was really white and there were a lot of corridors, and so many bodies. I’m getting flashes of us strapped down to tables also,” he stopped as he gauged Nicky’s face, which had turned sour. “W-What did I do?” 

He heard a soft curse from his other side which drew his attention to Andy. “Of course the one thing you remember is the worst possible,” she mumbled and sat up. 

“What did I do?” Booker repeated. If he had caused them pain, then that changed everything. 

“Something that you have already paid for,” Nicky grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “It was a painful yet brief moment in our lives, but you need not worry about it anymore.” 

Booker frowned but nodded. He didn’t want to argue so he kept his mouth shut, but that didn’t stop him from searching his brain for answers. 

~

The team had taken up a job from Copley, who Booker discovered was the man who had called him that day in Marseille, and were infiltrating a small terrorist hideout. It was meant to be easy; a stakeout had meant that no resistance should have been present when they attacked, but alas, nothing is ever that easy.

Upon extraction, they had been ambushed by a few terrorists who had returned, and all hell broke loose. Bullets flew through the air and swords hacked away at bodies, and they almost made it out without a casualty. 

Almost.

Booker was shot in the chest and went down. He felt the warmth spread under his clothes and he dropped to his knees, feeling dizzy and the world went black. 

Joe cursed and pulled Booker’s body into an alcove, hiding them from the gunfire. Joe had his gun in his hands, half watching Booker and half looking for any threats coming their way. Andy had reached their location and stood guard as Nile and Nicky joined them, guns still raised in case they had to use them. 

Joe grabbed Booker’s hand and squeezed it, praying silently for his friend’s return to life. He waited anxiously and glanced at Nicky, who had the same look of despair on his face. Joe counted the minutes, praying harder as it went over five. 

“C’mon, Booker,” Andy whispered, nudging the man’s arm with her boot gently. “You’re still in this game with me, remember?” 

A moment passes, and with a gasp the Frenchman sucked in a breath and opened his eyes, frantically searching for his family. Not needing to look far, he immediately calmed at the sight of them altogether. 

“Hey,” he grinned, looking at them all. “Hey Boss.” 

Andy let out a strangled sound and knelt down beside him, encasing him in the tightest hug he thinks he’s ever received from her. 

“You asshole. It’s not your fault but you’re an asshole,” she mumbled as they pulled away. “Is everything back? Do you remember everything?” 

Booker nodded as he quickly ran through his brain, picking out key moments in his life that shaped him for the better and for the worse. “I’m all here, Boss.” 

Booker had the breath knocked out of him as Joe hugged him tight, and he laughed softly, returning it in earnest. 

“If all you had to do was die to get your memories back I would have shot you myself!” Joe huffed as he pulled away, smiling as he picked up his gun that was dropped by his feet. 

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Nile interrupted. “But we’re in the middle of a terrorist camp. Can we have a happy reunion when we are, I don’t know, safe?”

Booker laughed and stood with the help of Joe and Nicky and he raised his rifle, fighting with the team seamlessly as they escaped the compound. 

Back at the safehouse, they showered each other in tight hugs and shared memories and alcohol, toasting to their love for one another as they drank the night away.

~

Available on AO3 also: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26527225 

[melchixr]

Curator’s Assistant (Part One)

Anon said: Idk if u still want prompts (((I always am ))) but melchritz w melchi as a art museum curator or something who likes art because it's perfect™ and is super upset when the new assistant moritz comes in bc he's so unorganised it h u r t s but what hurts more is melchior is actually falling in love with this mess against his better judgem e n t Fuck that i’m doing a S O U L M A T E S A U

So anyway, I guess I’m making this into a chaptered story,,,,, i hope ya’ll appreciate that lmao i’m sorry. also first person which i’ve never done before so <<<<<<3333

Words: 1195

Other chapters: Part two  Part Three

I once read that there is a different version of heaven for everyone. And when you die, you go to your own specialized, personalized heaven. Well, if God turns out to be real, and I somehow wind up not getting sent straight to hell, then I would wind up in a heaven similar to an empty museum. The fountain in the courtyard was flowing, and all the lights were on, but there wasn’t a single living soul in the building. Well, besides the girls down at the front desk, and a couple of custodians.

But the halls were empty. No museum-goers or employees roaming around looking suicidal. And no horrific children with sticky fingers swinging at my vases or canvases.

That’s why I’m content with my office being in the farthest corner of the museum, with the modern art. I wandered the empty white corridors with wide windows and into the huge room.

“Ernst!” I called out to the man on the far side of the exhibit, walking around the colorful blocks on the ground and avoiding the massive pelican statues made of trash hanging from the ceiling. The resident artist was setting up paint cans and his large canvas for the ten o’clock live exhibition. He turned around, a goofy smile and a splash of pink paint already on his face. “We’re expecting a big crowd today. I was looking at patron statistics and Wednesday’s have become our most popular days, surprisingly.”

“Should I do another afternoon exhibit then?” he asked, standing and wiping off a handful of brushes on his jeans.

I shrugged, pulling the daily schedule from my book bag, “Well we have field trip leaving at four so wanna do another one in the classical wing at two?”

Ernst just smiled at me the big, warm smile that made me suddenly realize why Hanschen, our head tour guide and art historian, was so happy when they wound up being soulmates.

But I still found the pair perfectly insufferable whenever they were together. For some reason, the now engaged couple always felt the need to retell the story of how Hanschen felt Ernst’s burn first but Ernst didn’t feel Hanschen’s until he had left a message on Ernst’s machine while the artist was at work. The painting was hanging up in their apartment still, with a huge red streak across the canvas and the words ‘HOLY FUCK’ painted on it sloppily.  “Sure thing, boss. Are there canvases downstairs?”

“New shipment came in last night.”

Ernst gave me a plucky thumbs up sign, signalling me to continue on my way and unlock the oak door before me that had the words ‘M. GABOR: HEAD MUSEUM CURATOR’ engraved in gold below the window. “Wait, Melchi, is there a new custodian?”

I paused awkwardly, thinking of all the recent museum news I had stored away. No. No new custodian. And I would be the first person to know.

“No. No, absolutely not,” I stammered out and finally looked over to the younger, much more liberal minded man. “Why?”

“A guy went into your office earlier that I didn’t recognize. But he had keys so I assumed he was maintenence.”

I knew literally every single person who worked here. From Tony in the giftshop, to all ten tour guides, to Pat and Sam, who cleaned up the fountain each night. And last time I checked no one else in the world has a copy of my key besides the owner of the museum.

Ernst saw the cogs in my brain turning so he simply made a shrugging motion and tucked his things into his cart, rolling it loudly out of the room.

I’ve never unlocked my door faster and been more shocked to walk into my own office. My desk was still on the other side of the fairly small room, but the big bay windows looking over the courtyard that would soon be filled with a smatter of art-lovers.  And that was all well laid out and neat.

But right in front of the door was a rickety old desk covered in pieces of paper and a handful of books I didn’t recognize. It definitely wasn’t there when I left last night. The most terrifying thing was the packaging thrown all around at random. Packaging for what  I assumed was the 1345 ink on parchment piece from the Yuan Dynasty I was supposed to pick up today just laying on the ground at my feet. “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!” I barked loudly at the person standing on the other side of the desk. Picking up the art piece as daintily as possible, I looked at the figure that definitely didn’t belong in here. “Who the HELL are you?”

The figure was a man. He was very thin by the look of it, wearing a slightly baggy thrift store dress shirt and slacks. His hair was jet black and stuck out in every direction in frizzy curls. And not curls like my little brown flips. Just an absolute mess.

“What are you doing in my office?” I growled, looking into his eyes. I couldn’t quite tell the color because the bags below them were so intense that it just looked like a void behind a pair of wire framed glasses. “Get out! Get the FUCK out right FUCKING now before I call the FUCKING cops!”

The man was flinching at every word, but when I took a deep breath in before shouting again, he blurted out. “I’m Moritz Stiefel, your assistant!”

The pause for breath gave way into a long pause as I thought back into the hundreds of time where my boss had tried to tell me that I’m stretching myself too thin and need an assistant if I demand on being the only curator in the whole museum.

And the hundreds of time I told them no, I really don’t.

“My assistant….” I muttered and set the art piece down on my own desk. “So I’m thinking that they hired you, gave you the key on the desk without ever thinking of telling me.”

The guy, Moritz, didn’t respond. Possibly out of fear that I’d pull the plethora of books off my wall and chuck them at his head. I continued with a groan. “Anyway, if you’re going to assist, you might as well be a good one, right?” He nodded. “Fine, first things first, clean this shit up. My office is a tidy area and you aren’t changing that.”

“Yessir.”

“Second, don’t call me that.  How old are you? Twenty? I’m not some old man,” I sat at the desk and took a long sip from my thermos. My eyes gravitated towards the little stream of ink on the side of Moritz’s neck. 

It wasn’t rare to see ‘Love Tattoos’ out in the open. Lots of people showed them off proudly, especially when they had already been turned red. I guess it was a badge of honor to have your soulmate say that special dumb fucking phrase. But Moritz’s was still black.

Huh, okay. I dunno why my brain felt the need to focus in on it.

The practical stranger began to pick up the packaging. “I’m uh...I’m twenty-six.”

“God, you look like a high schooler with a sleeping disorder how are you older than me?” I told him in a stern voice and continued. “Anyway, I want you to ASK before you pick up deliveries from me next time. And when you’re done cleaning can you run up to the program manager’s office and give Janet my weekly update?”

“I don’t know where that is and why can’t you just email it?” Moritz said bluntly. I really liked this guy more when he was shy.

Sighing, I stood and approached my new coworker. “Cause nothing gets done in here when you email. And when you’re done, run to starbucks and get me a grande soy latte, triple shot.”

“I’m an assistant, not an intern!” Moritz bit back indignantly.  He was gonna learn really fast not to speak to me like that.

“My assistant. Chop chop.”

[dangan-ronpa-v3-imagines-blog]

Thank you so very much anon! Praise like this always makes my day

Mod Harumaki

-Listen, I like hugs more than the average person

-Even with no idea who you are and a sudden hug as my only interaction with you, I would probably hug back out of reflex unless you look like a serial killer or a kidnapper tbh

-Once you introduce yourself as Anon, I will refer to you only as Anon, and I likewise would not respond to my own name

-You are Anon

-I am Mod Harumaki

-I have no name other than Harumaki

-After that, expect lots of V3 fangirling to compensate for the fact that none of my irl friends are into Danganronpa

-Once I finish incoherently screaming about why Maki is best girl and why Shuichi is best boy and why Ouma is my son and why I would let Tenko beat me up any day ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), I would actually be able to focus on the blog

-”Which one of my imagines is your favorite? Which character do I write the best for? Have you sent in any requests? How can I improve as a writer? Do you think there’s any characters I’m writing as OOC? Are my imagines the right length? Do you think I may have accidentally spoiled something?”

-I hope you have answers Anon because there’s no escape from me when I’m excited

Wow, thanks a ton for the praise anon! It’s a pleasure that people like the new theme I tossed together. Here’s my imagine for if you glomped me, the glorious genius writer…

Mod Iruma

I like hugs, don’t get me wrong! But I would probably flinch reallllyyy hard if some (incredibly amazing) stranger suddenly embraces me in public.

I would probably poke and prod you with questions about the display until you tell me that you’re a fan of mine, in which I would be really excited and happy.

Like. REALLY excited and happy.

Less that you’re a fan of mine, but more that you like Danganronpa and is so passionate about it!

I would first ask if you’re spoiled and if you were, then I would force you to get into a huge discussion with me about [INSERTCHARACTERHERE]’s portrayal and if it was good and what did you think of [INSERTCHAPTERHERE], did you like the executions—

Also, if you weren’t converted over to Makisim, I would make sure to do so. Even if you were unspoiled, in which I would use her stunning personality to win you over.

I would do all of this while you’re still embracing me with a hug. I-I hope you don’t find it too impersonal? I’m not too touchy-feely.

But I love receiving hugs! Even if I don’t show it!

I would try to hug you back, which is… really… awkward.

…But it’s the thought that counts, r-right?!

Oh gee, ‘adorable newbie’ Anonymous, you’re so kind!! Mod Tenko hasn’t even done much on the blog yet, but it’s still good to know that you like the work she has provided so far!!

Okay here we go:

Mod Tenko. >> Don’t worry Anonymous! Mod Tenko also likes hugs!! >> But if you were to suddenly hug her out of no where in public she would most likely scream from the surprise. >> But the moment I realize you’re just hugging me, and you tell me why and how you know me I will gladly hug you back in a big embrace!!! >> I’mma hugger!!!! so hugs are always welcomed within reason :3 >> And if you are to somehow tell me that you are actually a fan of my writing, then, you’re gonna have to deal with a flustered Mod Tenko until one of us leaves the conversation– >> I don’t get complimented often, and getting complimented over something like my writing is REALLY flattering to me!!! thank you >> I don’t necessarily crave praise or anything, just know that I’m very grateful for your kind words! big or small!! they mean A LOT!!! >> And i probably don’t even deserve them tbh but still thanks. >> Also! don’t. compliment. the mod. or you will have to deal with an awkwardly flustered mod tenko who cannot take the kindness of your souulll-- >> sndfioaghdfudagkbadhavksdvsduasyddfnkdshfud– >> I’ll want to progress the convo and will probably trip over my words A LOT since I’m very awkward…but i mean well! and i’m just excited to meet you Anonymous!!!! >> I will ask you tones of questions about the blog and what you think of it!!! >> I barely get to meet internet friends– >> And yes!! Friendship is a must beyond this point!!!!!!!!! >> I’d prob’ly steer the conversing in the way of v3 somehow since i am in love with it!! but i would be very weary of the topic until i know how spoiled you are >> Mod Tenko is also a clinger, so if the chemistry between us is good, i will want to keep the convo going for as long as i can!! [cuz my irl friends aren’t even all that passionate about dr ;-; like at all] >> Friendship. >> \*o*//

Oh um, I really liked doing this! It made me so happy like seriously I couldn’t stop smiling haha ! So here it is and also Thank you Anon

Mod Kiibo

~ I really do like hugs a bunch but don’t have too many because of my anxiety

~ But after the sudden hug you gave me I would definitely hug back with no hesitation

~ After it I would be a mess, just internal screaming a lot

~I’ll introduce myself as Mod Kiibo and you would do your introduction too

~ Then after introductions, I’ll question you as to why you hugged me so suddenly not that I didn’t appreciate it though

~ Once you tell me you are a fan of mine, I’m more of a mess than before

~ Just

~ AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

~ I wouldn’t scream that out loud of course just internally in my mind

~ I would try to bring up Danganronpa to see what type of conversation I could bring up

~ After that little awkward prompting, I would be immediately rambling about everything relating to Danganronpa with full passion along with you and check how spoiled you are so I don’t say anything wrong or spoil you about anything

~ I would make sure I don’t interrupt you and listen to everything you want to talk about

~ I don’t get to talk a lot that often and when someone just wants to genuinely talk to me I get all nervous so I’ll probably thank you for all your kind words and your discussions with me

~ I don’t feel like I deserve much praise at all so nice words like that make me extremely happy

p~ Like I said I do like hugs so if you wanted anymore I’ll give it to you, I wouldn’t do anything that would make you uncomfortable

~ Overall I would appreciate every moment you would spend with me from the bottom of my heart

Mod Ouma

-gets hugged-

……

-awkwardly pats you on the head/back before hugging back?-

-I wouldn’t really know what to do in situations like this….

-BUT that doesn’t mean that I don’t like hugs :D

-So if you told me you were a fan of me, I would kinda hug you back tightly, with your consent off course.

-I would also grin and thank you for taking the time to read my writings…

-….And also for feeding my ego.

(YES……FEED THE EGOOOOOO)

-I would also kinda invite you for food and maybe chat about some other stuff since I like some other fandoms(majority is hetalia and vocaloid and visual novels-),

-I also kinda enjoy talking about other countries and what its like to live there cause I’m WAY too curious about these things.

-In short, my mood would improve tremendously after this encounter for a few days and I would TRY work harder you guys:3

Thank you so much for these kind words! I hope me and other mods provide a lot of prompts in the future! -- Mod Tsumugi

Just like other mods I like receiving hugs! But I also don’t usually feel comfortable with any physical touches. 

So... That would be very awkward for the first time. For the next minutes I’ll try to relax.

Would probably give you a squeeze and maybe even a pat on the back.

I don’t have so many fans to be honest, so I’ll start gushing about it non stop. Then switch for favorite fandom and characters.

If I find out that your taste is similar to mine, you’ll get a free hug from me.

Yet ANOTHER hug if you’re into Tokusatsu.

If not, I’ll try to drag you here! Without being a huge pain in ass.

Maybe even I’ll draw stuff for you, but who knows.

I really do hope that we will bond and become great friends!

I never expected this kind of ask, but alrighty then!

Mod Saihara:

-okay I’m not very used to hugs bc I don’t like physical contact that much

-Hugs in general aren’t really my thing haha

-I’d probably wait a minute before hugging back

-”Who is this human and why are they hugging me this is weeeeeird”

-Once you told me you were a fan I’d probably smile a bit

-”I’m not that active on the blog so you probably would rather hang out with the other mods haha”

-I’ve been told I have problems accepting compliments I’m sorry

-And then I’d ask if you’re into Voltron and Hetalia and stuff bc I need to fangirl with other people over other fandoms lol

Mod Himiko :

. Omg , mod himiko loves hugs ! Maybe even more than an average person ...

. Soo , your hug is gladly accepted ! It’s a bit embarrassing for me bc it’s the first time an anon hugs me but who cares ?! Hugs first !

. I’d probably blushing a lot if you hug me first but I would definitely hug you back !

. I would be a bit concerned about if it was okay for a new mod like me to be hugged since i feel like I don’t deserve such a sweet gest ..

. Once I thanked you , I’d probably be a bit nervous about what should we do but I’ll be super happy and more motivated to show to everyone (and you) my skills !

. Maybe I’ll give you a little smile and then hide behind Mod Harumaki ... Shy Himiko