#{ The List Of Muses and Monsters }

[mad-hunts]

which subtle way of saying 'i love you' are you?

doing things for them without being asked to.

you're observant and you know your loved ones so well, you know when to do things for them without having to ask (or be asked) what they need. they don't always know how much you do for them; there's no need pointing it out, you're just happy to help.

you do things simply to make others feel better and lighten their burdens, and expect nothing in return: their happiness is enough for you, even if they don't always know you're the one who caused it. still, as good as it might feel to give and give and keep on giving, please allow them to do things for you in return.

people feel better when they're being helpful (you should know this, more than anyone) and no matter how hard it might feel for you to accept help from someone, you should take it when they readily give it to you. you deserve to be loved in the way you love them, too. you won't be a burden -- and remember: a real friend will love you even when you're not constantly being useful, because your company is more than enough.

stolen from: @raisedcold (thank you for introducing me to this <33)

tagging: @question-marked, @twcfaces, @adamanteine, @markhit, and anyone else who might like to complete this quiz!

[stefgagaxo]

↳ INSTAGRAM: @/LADYGAGA UPLOADED A PHOTO

There's no doubt in my mind that I am one of the luckiest people on the planet, in this time and probably of all time. Spending time over the past few days with the media has been incredible, but the most special thing has been getting back to my roots and meeting my beloved Little Monsters. They are the most hardworking, passionate, beautiful people on the planet and to be able to release MAYHEM on them before the rest of the world was a true gift. I have never been happier, this much I'm sure of, than sitting here with my wife waiting for this album to drop for the rest of my amazing listeners. I hope that my music stands as a message to hold onto hope, to believe that your moment is coming even when you're told a thousand times otherwise, and to ultimately let yourself rock out, sing loud, dance like no one's watching (what a fucking cliché, but it's true), and know that the best things in life will be headed for you in life... when you're ready for them. Thank you to my team, my fans, and above all my Jessica. Tu sei tutto per me. Questo è solo l'inizio.

Tagged: @jessicachastaain

[htsdfferent]

:)

[llunarum]

Dante is done raaahhh!!!

and Johannie is back as well!!

[a-muscle-the-size-of-your-fist]

MUSE LIST - UNTIL DAWN

Christopher “Chris” Hartley - Bisexual Biromantic, Ambigamous Cis Male - 21 - FC: Noah Fleiss/Game Model

Name: Christopher Sean Hartley

Nicknames: Chris, Cochise (Josh Only)

Faceclaim: Noah Fleiss/Game Model

Age: 21

Height: 5′11″

Gender: Cis Male

Sexuality: Bisexual Biromantic, Ambigamous

Species: Human

Werepire AU Species: Human

Hair Color: Blonde

Eye Color: Blue

Occupation: Monster Hunter, Tech Guru; App Designer in Free Time

Headcanon Masterlist

After the second year at Blackwood Pines, Chris did his best to try and keep busy. However, hearing that Josh might be alive spurred him into trying to be brave enough to go back to the mountain to save him. While he has tried working out, he can’t quite keep up with some of his more athletic friends. This doesn’t stop him, necessarily, but he does get discouraged on occasion when he can’t keep up. The injury he sustained while being chased by the Wendigos ended up being exacerbated by his continued use of his leg, resulting in a permanent limp and an occasional need for a cane. If Mike needs technical help, Chris is easy to get a hold of and is willing to help most of the time.

Jessica “Jess” Riley - Bisexual Biromantic, Monogamous Cis Female - 21 - FC: Meaghan Martin/Game Model

Name: Jessica Annalise Riley

Nicknames: Jess

Faceclaim: Meaghan Martin/Game Model

Age: 21

Height: 5′5″

Gender: Cis Female

Sexuality: Bisexual Biromantic, Monogamous (VERSE DEPENDENT Ambigamous)

Species: Human

Werepire AU Species: Human

Hair Color: Blonde

Eye Color: Green

Occupation: Customer Service Operator For Nordstrom

Headcanon Masterlist

Jessica became quiet and withdrawn after what happened to her, though perhaps more confrontational. Even she has a hard time figuring out her emotions anymore, but she knows that she’s hurting. Above all, she trusts Mike, and dislikes being separated from him or someone else she knows and trusts. She is closer with Matt, Mike, and Sam than the rest of the group. Being in openly wooded areas scares her, and she is quick to cry when overwhelmed. She has intense body dysmorphia and is most commonly seen wearing an oversized shirt of Mike’s, the green coat she was rescued wearing, and pajama pants that cover her feet/shoes. Jess and Mike are in an open relationship on his side, and she is happy in knowing that Mike is only romantically interested in her and Josh. He refuses to push her boundaries on it, and she appreciates it immensely. They do a lot of cuddling and physical touch, and neither enjoy being out of each other’s sight.

Matthew “Matt” Taylor - Bisexual Biromantic (Female Lean), Polygamous Cis Male - 21 - FC: Jordan Fisher/Game Model

Name: Matthew Blake Taylor

Nicknames: Matt

Faceclaim: Jordan Fisher/Game Model

Age: 21

Height: 5′10″

Gender: Cis Male

Sexuality: Bisexual Biromantic, Polygamous (Female Lean)

Species: Human

Werepire AU Species: Vampire

Hair Color: Black

Eye Color: Brown

Occupation: College Student, Linebacker for the Alberta Golden Bears

Headcanon Masterlist

Diving into football and not looking back, Matt didn’t want to return to the mountain, he didn’t even want to think about it. However, he still does when he’s having quiet times alone, so he does his best not to have any time to himself if he’s worried about the intrusive thoughts. Despite his better judgement, he has kept in touch with Mike and has found himself offering aid when necessary for the other’s monster hunting endeavors. Due to the nature of most of his trauma, he has a fear of the dark and must sleep with at least a nightlight. He keeps a knife under his pillow when he sleeps, even if he doesn’t know if it would actually protect him.

Michael “Mike” Munroe - Pansexual Grey Aromantic, Polygamous Transmale - 21 - FC: Brett Dalton/Game Model

Name: Michael David Monroe

Nicknames: Mike, Class Prez, Darling (Emily Exclusive)

Faceclaim: Brett Dalton/Game Model

Age: 21

Height: 5′8″

Gender: Transmale

Sexuality: Pansexual Grey Aromantic, Polygamous

Species: Human

Werepire AU Species: Werewolf

Hair Color: Dark Brown

Eye Color: Brown

Occupation: Monster Hunter; Wild Animal (Wolf) Rehabilitator

Headcanon Masterlist

After returning from the mountain, all Mike could think about was how he’d left Wolfie (and Josh) there alone. He went back to find them him, hoping to save him and also do something about the Wendigo problem. He became a monster hunter so that people wouldn’t have to suffer like he and his friends did. With Duke (his wolfdog) and Wolfie on his side, he travels North America in hopes of weeding out monsters that can and will hurt people.

He is reckless and often puts himself in mortal danger for the good of others. Mike and Jess are in an open relationship on his side, and she is happy in knowing that Mike is only romantically interested in her and Josh. Mike struggles with romantic attraction to most people, but he has a high libido and struggles more with denying it. He refuses to push her boundaries on it, and she appreciates it immensely. They do a lot of cuddling and physical touch, and neither enjoy being out of each other’s sight. When Mike returned to the mountain, he brought his wolfdog Duke with him. He has had Duke (and an exotic animal license) since he turned 17.

[womanofwords]

Everybody's Favourite (Part 3)

Over the next few days, you and Penguin get really close. Penguin teaches you the ins and outs of business: branding, advertising, pricing. You encourage Penguin to invest in something that people could go to during the day. "Maybe an ice cream place or coffee," you mused. "You can name it whatever you want."

Penguin looked at you with glee. "I like the way you think. Helps me be less shadowy."

Word spread about the kidnapping scarily fast. "Oswald, are the rumours true? Do you really have one of the Wayne kids here?" the Riddler asked, dropping by.

"Yes, Y/N Wayne. I've been trying to get their idiot father to believe that they're in my custody, but no dice." Penguin dropped his voice to a terrified whisper. "Half of my collection has been organised in five hours! Do you have any idea how large my collection is?"

"Yeesh. Do they know that Bruce Wayne is being about as useful as a map drawn in invisible ink?"

"They must have some clue. They were supposed to have been gone by now, but they're still here. They even made a joke about their family wouldn't notice that they were gone."

Penguin spluttered as he gestured at you. You were asleep in a pile of blankets in lieu of a bed. "How would they not know that this little angel was gone?"

"Maybe they really don't care. Not sure how they could come to that conclusion." Riddler looked at you with a small smile. "You know, I have a bet that you can keep Y/N here for two weeks straight without acting suspiciously or trying to hide them and even continuing to ask for ransom money, and they won't do a thing."

"Does the two weeks start now or from the day of the kidnapping? Because they've already been here for four days."

"From the day of the kidnapping. I'm not a monster. Also, what do you want if you win?"

"I'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Until then, I'm ordering more Indian food. I don't know how to cook."

(PAUSE)

Time went on, and more of Batman's rogues gallery paid a visit to the captive Wayne child as if it were a baby shower.

Two-Face was the first to arrive. "You can't be serious. Brucie Wayne didn't want to collect his child? Didn't you tell him?"

"We sent messengers, we called him, we sent stuff in the mail, he just thinks it's a prank." Penguin threw his hands up with exasperation. "Nothing against the little dove, but this is a little longer than I thought."

"I'll tell him," Dent volunteered. "Me and him go way back. Once he knows that it's serious, he'll arrive with something. Either the bat or the ransom, but something."

"Go ahead, but you're gonna lose me a bet," Riddler said nonchalantly.

"What's happening?" you asked.

"We're . . . having some difficulties contacting your family, dollface," Two-Face said. "They're not taking this very seriously."

"They don't take me very seriously," you snarked. "It's not you, it's me. I'm not exactly on the list of people they're concerned about. Titus ranks higher than me."

"Is Titus another kid?" Riddler asked. "No offence, but he has so many."

"None taken, Riddler. Titus is Damian Wayne's dog." You stretched and straightened out your clothes. "You're going to have to put up with me for a while longer. Also, do you have some spare clothes I can wear? I've been wearing my school uniform for the last four days straight and I'm beginning to stink."

"I'll call Harley about it," Penguin said.

(PAUSE)

The clown prince of crime arrived with his harlequin. "You kidnapped Bruce Wayne's child? Penguin, I didn't know you had it in you."

"Where is the little sweetums?" Harley burst in with bags laden with clothes. "I wasn't sure what they'd like, so I bought everything!"

"Uh . . . hi," you said, waving awkwardly. "Who's that for?"

"You, sweetums!" Harley said. "I also brought soap, toothpaste, shampoo, general hygiene products. Everything you'll need to live here."

"Thank you." You smiled up at the jester. "I just wish my folks could be as nice to me as you guys are."

Harley's smile dropped. "I . . . take it they're not the most attentive."

"They haven't bothered noticing my ransom, why would they notice toothpaste?" you snarked.

Joker and Harley looked at each other with horror and pity before turning back to Reader. "OK, kiddo, can you tell me what the Waynes are like to you?" Joker asked, his tone softened. "We need details. Lots."

"But not yet! You need a shower first. A long one," Harley ordered. "Here's the bag with all the bath stuff and here's the bag with all the clothes. Once you're dry and dressed, tell us everything."

You looked at Harley with confusion. "You . . . really want to know?"

"Of course!" Harley insisted. "Think of it as talk therapy. While you're in there, I'll call Ivy. She's the best with hair. And Professor Crane, too. You are not going to be alone with all those thoughts, honey. Let me know when you're done so I can get you a snack."

Your head was spinning. All those people would be arriving . . . and all for you.

How would you ever get used to this?

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3 <- You are here

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Taglist: @tinybrie

[uluru-xavren]

THE MUSE OF A WRITER

Rafayel x Writer!Reader

A/N: Part 2 of the writer!reader series.

XAVIER VER. | ZAYNE VER. | SYLUS VER. | CALEB VER.

Summary: Rafayel can't help but be curious about the way you seem to hide your notebook whenever he walks past you while you're writing. What are you hiding from him?

Tags: Fluff, sfw, a little bit of insecure Rafayel

Words: 1,1k

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼

It was easy for Rafayel to lose himself in his art. It was easy to forget that he needed to eat and sleep when he became obsessed with capturing a specific idea that he knew could slip away at any second. It was easy to forget everything and everyone.

Except you.

You were the summer breeze he needed in his life. Whenever he felt irritated for no reason, he just needed to see you for it all to go away. When he was sad, he called you to feel accompanied. And when he remembered his past, his kingdom and people and how alone he felt, with just one touch from you he remembered that he didn't regret any of his decisions.

He was sure he would do it all again if it meant having you by his side.

Lemurians were born and died to love, it was something rooted in their existence. Rafayel knew that was one of the reasons why people like him and his aunt Talia always worked in artistic fields; they were some of the purest expressions of love and passion you could find. From the most raw agony to the most burning rage, Rafayel found in his paintings a way to capture emotions that had nowhere else to go.

He was an artist, and as an artist, he knew what it was like to need privacy when creating.

You hadn't told him about your passion for writing, he was the one who had asked you why you spent most of your time writing in a small leather notebook. You always came up with an excuse: “The shopping list”, “things to do this week”, “things you needed to do something”, never actually letting him see what you were writing on the pages.

At first he didn't give it any importance, because he really thought it wasn't that big a deal. However, the more time passed, the more suspicious he became of the way you always shrank away from his sight whenever he passed dangerously close to your notebook.

Were you hiding something? Why didn't you want me to see it? Was it really that bad? Could it be that… you didn't trust him?

His intrusive thoughts were a monster that ate at his head until one day he couldn't stand it anymore. He waited for a day when you would go out with Tara to get something to eat; he took advantage of the moment you went to the bathroom to search your bag and secretly take out your notebook. He knew it was wrong, but he was blinded by his hysteria and desperation to find out if you were hiding something from him. He said goodbye to you as always, with a smile and a playful tone. As soon as he was sure that you wouldn't enter his study again, he immediately began to read your notebook. 

It didn't take long for him to sink into a world of poetry he never considered possible. It was like seeing your heart laid bare, the most vulnerable corners of your mind, and he'd never before been overwhelmed by how connected he felt to you. From short poems where you described the most banal things in life, to poems that spanned several pages of sadness and agony. There was happiness, love, anger, sadness, jealousy, euphoria. He read it all. When he liked a poem more than he should, he would read it over and over again, clutch the notebook to his chest to process it, and then read it again.

But what filled him most was when he saw overly specific descriptions of someone, someone he knew was himself. You spoke of him with such love and devotion that it was inevitable to feel overwhelmed. Soon, lonely pearls accompanied him as he read your poems about him with cloudy, glassy eyes.

He had never believed it possible that someone could love him that way. That someone would write such beautiful things about him, about how he made you feel, the happiness he gave you, how grateful you were to the sky, the earth, the gods and the stars for having known and loved him. For a second he considered the possibility that maybe you were part of Lemuria in some way, because he had never felt that amount of love before. 

Lemurians were born and died to love, and he was more sure than ever that he wasn't afraid to love you as much as he could even if it killed him. He would do it again and again, just like in the past.

He sobbed and laughed, and spent all day swimming between the pages of what he considered your heart until he heard that you had arrived.

“I’m home—” You tried to say, but you didn't even finish speaking when you already had his arms around your waist and his face snuggled into your neck. “Rafayel? What's wrong? Are you okay?”

He moved away a little and pressed his nose against yours with his eyes closed, an expression of peace you had never seen before on his face.

“Better than ever, cutie,” he said softly before kissing you so gently as if you were made of porcelain.

That day, Rafayel was more clingy than usual. You didn't hear his sarcastic comments or his usual tantrums, nor did he ever leave your side, always having a hand on you—on your hand, on your waist, brushing his fingers on the skin of your neck or holding a piece of your shirt like a child who didn't want to get lost. That night, he pulled you towards him and held you in his arms with an expression as happy as if he had reached the pinnacle of happiness.

“I love you,” he whispered against your hair. “I love you so, so much.”

You clung to him and wrapped your arms around him. 

Of course, he had to tell you what he'd done. The reason you hadn't found your notebook when you'd gone out with Tara wasn't because you'd forgotten to put it in your bag like you'd thought, but he had been too curious and had not been able to help himself. After ignoring him for a long, cruel, and stormy five minutes, you decided he'd had enough punishment.

“I didn't want you to see it…” You would tell him as you found yourselves snuggled up on his couch, Rafayel resting on top of you.

“Why not?” He'd ask, looking at you as if you offended him. “You deprived me of reading the most wonderful thing I've ever read in my life. How dare you?”

You chuckled.

“I didn't think it was good… I was kinda ashamed of my writing.”

“How could you possibly think that?” He'd pinch your cheek affectionately and snuggle harder against you. “Starting today, I will read absolutely everything you write. No exceptions.”

[clairewritesfanfics]

Villain Creation System Chapter 3

Pairing/s: Invincible x Reader x Invincible Variants

CHAPTER 2: Tutorial Mission START Series Masterlist <<read the synopsis and trigger warnings first>>

For a fake world, the chemistry lecture here was as dull as the real one’s. 

After Mark disappeared to who knows where, you resumed life as a college student and went to class. Biochemistry, a fascinating subject, but the teacher had a voice that could put dragons to sleep. Compared to your philosophy professor, the man detailing the steps to the citric acid cycle spoke without a change in his inflection and was less “discussing” and “more reading from his powerpoint.” 

It was a good thing you–this version of you–took up philosophy. The so-called “hard sciences” are fun, but being human means having limited time, and when buttloads of information is crammed into you without time for processing and then quizzed, the fun tends to diminish. 

The bell rang.

“I will upload the modules for the next session by tonight, and don’t forget to answer the formative quiz for today’s lecture. Have a good day, everyone.” 

You opened your planner. This was the last class for today, and there didn’t seem to be anything else written here, only this semester’s schedule. 

Huh.

[Accurate to the real thing, I’d say.]

“If that is a jab at me then you’re wasting your breath, or whatever energy you use to talk.” You didn’t like social engagements. It would seem this version of you was the same. Good. At least you didn’t have to worry about making small talk with strangers. You had this body’s memories, but they were limited, imperfect. 

“What should we do now?” You asked, walking out of the auditorium. 

[That is up to the Host. ]

[Your will is my will.]

“Is that your way of telling me you’re not gonna help me?”

[ ˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵ ]

You rolled your eyes and opened your phone. The list of contacts you had were straightforward; parents, several family members, some old classmates and friends. Vague figures in the back of this brain’s memory. The system told you not to bother contacting any of them. [It would be pointless] was its reply when you inquired why. 

You checked the apps. Facebook was a thing here but Twitter was replaced by “Z” and Youtube was “WeTV.” A lot of the creators “you” followed were news outlets.

You clicked a WeTV link to a livestream report of a monster attack in Australia, then another in Brazil, and one in the Philippines.

“Geez.” You were never going to complain about being bored again. “Those poor people.”

[Look on the bright side, Host, here the destruction of nations can be blamed on an external threat rather than the political leaders. In your reality, you humans have no one else to blame but yourselves.]

Spoken in a robotic voice with a cheery lilt. It seemed genuine in its attempt to comfort you, so you bit your tongue and continued scrolling.

Monsters, villains, more monsters, more villains. Hundreds of people injured, dozens dead.

Just then, a light bulb went off in your head. “I think I know what I’m supposed to do now.”

The dorm was too far so you went to the campus library. You found a vacant computer near the wall, far from prying eyes. 

[Resorting to cyberstalking, I see.]

“Before I can make him snap, I need to figure out what makes him tick.” 

Judging from his socials, Mark’s popular, not just as Invincible, but as Mark Grayson. He was on the debate team back in high school, played bass at a band called Indigo Muse, and, if the many, many, many posts about him were anything to go by, he was well-loved by the ladies.

When you couldn’t find any family pictures, you decided to study his superhero identity. 

This world’s Invincible wore a black suit with blue accents. Most pictures of him were blurred, which was either on purpose or incredibly fortunate, because he didn’t wear a mask or cowl. 

UNKNOWN SUPER SAVES BUS OF TEENS

NEW SUPERHERO RISES THE RANKS

INVINCIBLE HELPS OLD LADY DOWN THE STREET

Going by the news articles, he’s been a hero for a mere four months. “No wonder the corruption meter is mostly empty.” You’ve seen this play out before, not in Invincible , but in various coming of age stories. This Mark was a fledgling. His morals were still intact, but judging from that 3%, he’s starting to see that the world of superheroes isn’t squeaky clean.

You pushed down the pity in your chest and continued with your research.

From what you can tell, the professional supes were employed by the Global Defense Agency aka the GDA. The veteran heroes were known as the Guardians of the Globe, and there was the Teen Team, composed of younger heroes. Invincible wasn’t part of either. He assisted both groups in the past, usually to evacuate civilians. 

No interviews, no press conferences. 

He was surprisingly mysterious. With how much of a flirt he was, you thought for sure he would be the showboating type, but judging from the poorly recorded videos of him zooming around, he did his job quickly and left before news reporters could hound him. 

There were only so many news articles and blog posts about him before you realized there was nothing else to study. 

You opened your notebook and made a summary of everything you knew so far:

Womanizer

Doesn’t remember me from childhood

English major *shares same philosophy class

Bass player 

Debuted as a hero four months ago

Not part of a team

Popular as civilian and hero 

Home life?

You circled the last item on your list several times. Try as you might, Mark’s parents were mysteries to you. Omni-Man disappeared ten years ago and you had nothing on Debbie Grayson. Her son didn’t have her as a friend on Facebook and he had zero pictures of him and parents.

“Not even a hint?” You asked the system.

System: (づ_ど)

Giving up, you decide to switch topics and begin digitizing your lecture notes.

[You’re actually studying?]

“Not like I have anything better to do. I can’t exactly hack into the Pentagon’s database and my head hurts from all that research, and since someone refuses to be useful, I’m stuck on what to do now.”

[...]

The system fell quiet and let you be.

The minutes flew by as you typed.

“Excuse me.” A feminine voice whispered and your knee jerked against the table.

You gasped in pain, earning a few looks from the neighboring students. 

“Sorry,” the snooper said.

[Ding. The character known as Amber Bennett has made contact.]

No kidding! Couldn’t you have warned me that she was here!?

[Host looked so deeply invested in studying that this system did not wish to disturb you.]

[Fufufu.]

Rubbing your knee, you met Amber’s apologetic eyes. “I didn’t mean to spook you, but uh, your typing’s… a little loud.”

Ah. That would explain the hard glares from some of the people here. “Sorry, I got too excited I guess. I’ll keep it down.”

“Thanks.” She glanced at your desk. “By the way, I can’t help but notice, you're in Professor Gonzales’ class, right?”

When she saw your brows crease in confusion, she added, “Biochemistry?”

“Oh, yeah.” 

“We share the same class then, I’m Amber Bennett.”

“I know.”

She blinked, wide-eyed.

You quickly added, “You’re one of the scholarship students. I saw the university page congratulating you.”

“Yeah, um, about that…” She turned to your monitor. “Your notes are easy to follow. Especially compared to the professor’s powerpoint.”

“I try.”

She grabbed her shoulder. “This is gonna sound weird but are you available for tutoring?”

“Tutoring?”

There was a collective “shhh” from all directions and Amber ducked her head.

“See, I’ve been struggling with chemistry since the first day and I’ve never failed before, but–”

“Okay.”

“Really?”

You nodded.

She beamed. “That’s great! I think we’re already in the same group chat for the freshmen course but just in case–” She pulled out a pen and you pushed a blank page towards her. She scribbled her number.

“I’ll pay you, of course.”

“Sure, we can talk about details some other time.”

“I really appreciate this–”

You gave her your name and her smile brightened. “You’re a lifesaver! I should go now before the rest of the library decides to crucify us both.”

You raised your hand in goodbye and then picked up your notebook.

No, Amber, you’re the lifesaver here.

***

That evening, Amber asked to meet with you at the campus coffee shop. 

The Coffee Mug, more colloquially known as The Mug, was three storeys high and looked far more interesting than any Starbucks you’ve been to. Cubist and art deco paintings lined the bare brick walls, contrasting the wood and iron furniture. Bossa nova jazz played from the ceiling speakers.

“I gotta hand it to the author, or whoever, whatever made this place, they know how to design a good-looking cafe.”

You almost didn’t mind that the person who asked for your help was already eight minutes late. 

You were getting impatient, mostly because it was seven o’clock and you still haven’t had dinner. You had a black coffee to stave off the hunger pangs, but the scent of toasted savory pastries and the sight of cake called out to you like a siren. 

[Just order, Host, don’t tell me you’re waiting for Amber so she could pay.]

“What do you take me for?” You harrumphed. “I’d love to, but it would be rude to start eating without her.”

[!!]

[Really? How so?]

You shrugged.

“But drinking is okay?”

“Yes.”

[You humans sure do like making things harder for yourselves.]

“Tell me about it.”

God, where the Hell is she? 

As you started debating whether manners were truly necessary, your phone pinged. It was Amber. 

Hey, are u at the cafe?

Im so sorry, my group meeting decided to have overtime.

I wired u some money, dinner’s on me. sorry again! 

Well, damn. Guess God does listen. 

Spirits lifted, you got up and practically skipped towards the menu. This place might’ve been called a coffee shop, it had a big menu not unlike a diner’s, and the food selection was listed with colorful chalk on giant blackboards hanging behind the counter. 

You’ve been thinking about what to eat even while you were at the table. But even now you weren’t sure what to get. A sandwich and salad combo? The lasagna? Maybe something from their all-day breakfast? 

[Ding.]

“I recommend their three-cheese omelette.”

You barely had to turn your head to find Mark’s chin hovering over your shoulder. Soft dark bangs tickled your cheek.

“Mark.”

“Gorgeous.” He winked and then approached the counter.

The girl handling the cashier noticed him and her surprise turned to coyness as she pushed back a pink strand of hair behind her ear and smiled. “Hey, Mark.” If this were a cartoon you’d imagine her eyes would be in the shape of hearts right now. 

You couldn’t blame her. Looking around the floor, a mix of subtle and unsubtle staring were aimed at Mark. You understood. Six feet, jet black hair, strong biceps, a pretty waist that led to the most callipygous butt you’ve ever seen. 

That being said, you’d rather not get into the habit of ogling at rear ends without permission, so you walked closer and stood beside him.

Mark leaned onto the counter, flashing a flirtatious smile. “Hey, Kelsey. Can I get my usual, for dine-in, and an om–”

“I’ll get the large grilled chicken salad with honey mustard and one medium choco mint frappe.”

Mark snorted, but didn’t say anything else as he handed her a few dollars.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Don’t be like that, consider this my olive branch.”

“For what?”

“For cutting our date short and not walking you home.”

“First of all, that wasn’t a date, because if it was, then your standards need quality control. Secondly, it wasn’t like I needed to come home. I still had classes.” 

Not wanting to third-wheel, Kelsey put Mark’s change on the small metal plate beside the register and hurried off to prepare the orders.

Without skipping a beat, Mark put the change in the tip box. “Then what is your ideal date?”

You tilted your head.

“You said my standards need to improve, but how do I know yours is any good?”

“I guess you don’t.” You crossed your arms. 

His grin turned mischievous. “Let me guess, you want a fancy dinner? No, you don’t seem like the type who dresses up frequently. I know, is it this cafe? Are coffee shops your thing? Bookish girls like these kinds of places.”

You turned on your heels. “I’m ignoring you now.”

Folding his hands behind him, he trailed after you, remaining two steps behind, pretending like he couldn’t outpace you with those long legs of his.

“Wait, is that why you’re here? You’re waiting for a date?” He watched you take a seat. “That can’t be it though, who orders before their date?”

Refusing to look at him, you opened your phone as you expressed your gratitude, “Thank you for paying, now would you kindly get lost?”

[Host, what are you doing? This is the perfect time to seduce him.]

Yeah, not happening. I need to be five kinds of drunk before I even consider– “What are you doing?” 

He slid into the seat across from yours. “Hey, I’m hungry too.”

“There are other tables, y’know.”

He cocked his eyebrow and you briefly scanned the room. Right. This was a university cafe. Dammit. He did pay for your food, and he wasn’t totally obnoxious to warrant a kick out. 

With a sigh, you opted to just ignore him and kept refreshing your phone.

“So, are you going to study here?”

“...”

“The music’s pretty nice, if a little basic.” 

“...”

“I can’t really stand music when I’m studying, or the sound of people talking. When I’m reading, I’m reading. When I’m listening to music, that’s all I’m going to do. I guess I’m not a multitasker, I like to think of myself as–”

You slammed twenty-five dollars on the table. “Please take this and leave.”

He put his elbows on the table and leaned closer. “Nah.”

Ugh.

“What do you want from me?”

He flexed his arm and leaned his chin on the palm of his hand. “Tell me why else you’re here.”

“To eat dinner.”

“And?”

“To study.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“You want me to leave, don’t you?”

“...I have an appointment.”

“Is the appointment romantic in nature?”

“Not even a little bit. It’s purely academic, and I’d like to keep it confidential, so could you–”

Kelsey arrived holding two trays. “One large grilled chicken salad with one medium choco mint frappe, and one freshly toasted cheese and sausage eggdesal[1] with a cup of black coffee.”

“Thanks, Kels, but you didn’t have to bring it here, I would’ve gotten it.” Mark said. 

She giggled, “Nah, it’s the least I could do. It’s not everyday you stay here to eat.”

“Well, I still feel bad since the place is packed.”

“It’s my pleasure. We’re not super busy right now since most of the students here just buy one drink for their whole stay.”

“You’re a doll.”

“Enjoy your meal.” She smiled at both of you and returned to her station.

He took a sip of the coffee. “Sweet girl, that one. You know, she’s a physics major–”

“How do you do that?”

His lashes flickered over the rim of the cup.

“How can you… charm people so effortlessly?”

Foamy coffee squirted through his mouth and nose and onto his sandwich. Luckily for you, you reflexively pulled your plate back just in time.

You pulled out the pack of tissue you kept in your backpack and slid it towards him. 

He patted his chest and coughed into the tissues. 

You folded your hands over the table and waited patiently for him to regain his bearings. Once his coughing calmed down, you asked, “Well?”

“Wow. You…wow.”

“It’s a genuine question, I think I deserve a genuine answer.” If it weren’t for your unique circumstance, you would have folded like a cheap hooker if Mark Grayson approached you the way he did after the philosophy lecture. The rest of your brain would’ve had no chances in overriding your hypothalamus. Or your loins. 

“I don’t know where to begin, I–”

“Mark?” 

Amber was here.

“Wow,” he breathed, attention switching from Amber to you. “You really did have a meeting.”

She looked baffled but there was no trace of anger or anything. “Why’re you here, Mark? You hate eating here.” 

“I was just about to leave.” He picked up his sandwich. “See ya, girls.” And with that, he departed, leaving you alone with Amber, who was–according to past posts–his ex-girlfriend. 

Amber laid her bag on the now empty chair. “Sorry for being late, I didn’t expect us to take two hours deciding on how to divide a simple report on childhood obesity.”

“It’s okay, ‘cause of you I just found my second favorite place.” The first will always be your bedroom. 

Amber twiddled with her fingers as you poured the honey mustard over the salad.

“Mark didn’t, I mean, he–”

“I didn’t tell him about the tutoring,” you reassured her. “I didn’t know if you wanted people to know, I just told him it was for school.”

“Really? Thank you! But that’s not what I was going to say.” She cleared her throat. “How do you know Mark?”

“We attend the same philosophy class.”

She looked everywhere except your gaze. “This probably isn’t any of my business, but you seem like a nice person so you should know that Mark doesn’t do the girlfriend thing.”

You used your fork to toss your salad. “I see.” 

“Don’t get me wrong, he isn’t evil or anything. He’s a sweet guy, it’s just that, he isn’t boyfriend material.”

You nodded. “Thanks for telling me.”

She let out a sigh of relief. “Good, good. Listen, if you do want to hook up with him, that’s totally your call, I just thought I should tell you.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be too busy for a boyfriend, anyway. Thanks, I really do appreciate it.”

Mark Grayson? Please. Not even in a hundred lifetimes. 

[ Ding. ]

You dropped your fork.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah… yeah, my hand slipped,” you muttered, trying not to gawk at the system’s holographic screen.

[Affection: 12%. Darkening: 3%.]

Glossary: [1] eggdesal: an egg sandwich that uses pandesal, a sweet and salty bread roll. It can be served plain with just the egg (either with scrambled or over easy), or with other fillings like bacon, sausages, and/or cheese.

@weponxwrites @ratkidcalledallie @qxuanii @lilacoaks

CHAPTER 4: Just Cut Their Red Thread of Fate Series Masterlist

MASTERLIST | request rules | ask box

[mad-hunts]

now here's a slightly lighter piece of information for y'all... barton is the type of bunkie in arkham who will cuddle with other muses to keep warm because those cheapskates don't want to actually heat the place. and of course, he doesn't want to encroach on anyone's boundaries, so he'll ask about this beforehand — but if him and his cellmate are at least level 2 friends + they have a nightmare? barton will offer to sleep in the same bed with them if they can't get back to sleep because real friends do that type of stuff for each other <33

[revasserium]

Can I request any windbreak characters (headcanons) of your choosing reacting to their s/o ending up in the hospital beacause if a rival gang targeting them?

reqs are open!

the beautiful and damned

sakura, suo; 911 words; fluff, slight angst, implied bodily harm, lapslock, no "y/n", hurt/comfort kinda i guess?, very!drabble, suo being... suo

a/n: sry i only did sakura and suo... currently i've only got the muse for these two tho i did consider tossing umemiya in there lmao; maybe next time...

falling backwards — sakura

it can take the body up to twenty-minutes to cycle through an average fight-or-flight response though he’s always prided himself in staying for the fight.

seeing you in the hospital bed for the first time was a masterclass in the concept of flight — or rather, in falling. of the ground crumbling beneath him, of his stomach going momentarily weightless before sinking and sinking, of his lungs calcifying inside his chest till it physically stings to breathe.

“i’m alright,” you say, waving him off, but for the first time, his knee-jerk reaction isn’t to punch something — it’s to topple into the chair by the door and bury his face in his hands.

“you’re alright…” he says, his mouth forming around the words like learning to speak for the very first time, and then again, “you’re alright.” the says the words like a prayer answered, like exaltation, like a promise to himself made and broken and mended back again.

you cast him a wide smile, though he doesn’t miss the way you wince and your hand jumps up to the bandage wrapped around your forehead.

“it really looks worse than it is… i just got scratched so they had to bandage up my head but the wound was really shallow so —”

he makes his way over to your bedside and tugs you into his chest, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the harsh, florescent light of the hospital room. for a second, your voice is muffled against his shirt but then you go quiet in his arms, you go soft, and there’s a terrifying moment when he wonders if he’s held on too tight —

“sakura?”

“you’re… alright.”

he slumps down on the bed next to you, reaching for your hands. you let him take them, let him study them. there are a smattering of bruises along your arms, but nothing’s broken, no lasting damage. he leans down to press his forehead to the backs of your hands; you feel the heat simmering beneath his skin, stark and startling against your cool fingers.

“yeah. i’m alright. and… you’re okay too,” you say, flipping a hand over to cup his face, to lift his head up to meet your gaze. he nods, slowly, leaning into your touch.

“yeah… i think i will be.”

here are the monsters — suo

there are a few things suo hayato knows to be true: he’s a good fighter, even one of the best in the freshman year, that green tea should be brewed at 75 to 80 degrees, and that whoever did this will pay.

“tell me who did this.”

his voice is light, almost conversational, and nothing in his expression betrays the bright red fury curdling just beneath the thin veneer of his calm. you eye him warily, and he smiles sweetly, cocking his head to one side as he waits for your answer.

“hayato…”

“hm?”

you sigh, leaning back in your hospital bed and crossing your arms.

“if i tell you, promise you won’t go looking for a fight.”

suo pauses, considering your words, tallying them against his internal list of truths — he knows of the terrible risk of loving someone more than yourself, of the secret strength it grants you. he knows terror too, the kind that seems endless and dark and ever-expanding, a black hole of nothing that threatens to consume him when he’d first heard that you’d been hurt bad enough to warrant a night in the hospital.

but beneath that terror is something else — something with flashing teeth and shining claws that he does not have a name for but has felt flickering there for his whole entire life.

this is the monster, he thinks, that lives in us all.

the minotaur in the middle of the maze of self.

hungry and lonely and howling for blood.

“fine. i promise,” he says, putting his hands up.

you blink at him for a few seconds before your eyes narrow once more. you know him, and you know him almost too well.

“hayato, what aren’t you telling me?”

“i’ll tell you if you tell me who did this.”

after another second’s pause, you sigh and list off a few names — the perpetrators to this great crime. kids, too, from another school’s gang.

“it’s par for the course, isn’t it?” you say, your voice tightening slightly as suo nods and gets to his feet. he takes his time, stretches, leans down to drop a sweet kiss into your hair, “i knew what i was getting into when i agreed to date you so…” your voice trails off as suo makes for the door, humming lightly.

“where’re you going?” you ask.

he pauses by the door, “for a walk and… maybe a friendly chat with some kids at the school the next county over.”

“hayato! you promised you wouldn’t go looking for a fight!”

at this, suo’s expression shifts ever so slightly. it’s in the slant of his mouth and the sharpness of his eyes, the way his voice is smooth as starlight but his words have all their vowels seeped in cyanide —

“oh i’m not going looking for a fight… but you see, the second they put a hand on you, the fight already found it’s way to me.”

---

@houseofsolisoccasum

[palmettoshenanigans]

Promised I'd compile an Andreil Fic List from my bookmarks so here y'all go (everything is AO3)! Updated occasionally - 6/7/25.

Favorites bolded in orange. Top Five marked with [#]

Short and Sweet/Angst and Read Several Times

"loving you is muscle memory" by Talls (sweet)

"boyfriend privileges" by mostly_maudlin (sweet)

"You Might Get It" by likearecord (light angst)

"Translation Errors" by SensationalSunburst (sweet like candy)

"This Roommates Bullshit" by likearecord (sweet)

"temper, temper" by Ominous (sweet and hilarious)

"Killer Bunny" by godless_writer (lil angst)

"Pumpkin Patch" by H_bee69 (sweet)

"Neil Josten Is a Lucky Man" by irls_goaway (sweet)

"Porcupines and Promises" by StellaLuna365 (sweet)

"Neptune" by kanekicure (sweet angst)

"What Did You Call Me?" by Fortheloveofexy (sweet n a lil hot)

"give or take" by bazookajo94 (sweet and funny)

"It's the Thought that Counts" by gluupor (sweet)

"hold your fire" by seasy33 (angst)

"Oh isn't it a bit of luck…" by Willow_bird (sweet and silly)

"Sweet Enough to Eat" by Fortheloveofexy (sweet angst)

"Bunny" by lady_flash (sweet and funny)

"Space In-Between" by kitausu (sweet)

"just curious" (series of 2) by gay_irl (sweet)

"Kisses on Scars" by rememberednoah (sweet)

"my whole life, too" by eeveepkmnfan (sweet)

"definitely something" by bazookajo94 (sweet n silly)

"in bars, in cars" by moonix (sweet)

"Do Not Disturb" by mostly_maudlin (angst n lil sweet)

"it's only you" by sensetia (sweet)

Killing Me Softly With Their Love

"Not Nothing" by TheRainbowElectric

"let the emotions get the best of us" by Ominous

"The Warmth of His Touch" by ANDREILMINYARD

"for good reasons, without grievance" by whocriedwolf

Broke My Heart and Left Me There To Rot

"I'll Take Care Of You" by Justthislazy

"Oh love, I'm sorry if I smothered you" by Ateiluj

Broke My Heart, Left Me To Rot, But Came Back With A Blanket and An Apology

"Odd Eye" by tdashshirts [#Honorable Mention - for the autism]

They Find Each Other In Every Universe (AUs)

"fragile" by likearecord (Radio!AU)

"venus as a boy" by kybelles (Highschool!AU)

"Catfish" by likearecord (Catfish!AU)

"cocoa dust" by djhedy (Coffeshop!AU)

"The Calculus of Nocturnes" by fuzzballsheltiepants (Teacher!Andreil)

"Raised on Little Light" by maqicien (Wymack adopted Neil)

"Touch me, love me, leave me" by BakaDoll (Military!Andrew)

"buried" by bazookajo94 (Highschool!AU)

"And We'll Be Running" by allyasavedtheday (Band!AU)

"boy next door" by foodforworms (Neighbors!AU)

"Smokescreen" by bazookajo94 (Muse!AU???) [#4]

"waiting up for better things" by fuzzballsheltiepants (Guitar Player!Andrew)

"skin deep affection" by mitigates (Speed Dating!AU)

"in another life" by bazookajo94 (Accidental Pen Pal!AU)

"Armies" by nekojita (Mafia!AU) [#1]

"If You Love Me, Come Clean" by sundowne (Exchange Student!AU)

"at least we were electrified" by likearecord (Actor!Neil) [#2]

"Ripple Effect" by Watergaw for AgentCoop (Canon Divergence)

"we were together" (series of 3) by bazookajo94 (Canon Divergence)

"Tastes Like Gold" by pandaseek (Translator!Neil)

"The Gaslights Burn Brightly" by This_Witch_Writes (Met in Baltimore!AU)

"wreck my plans" by Willow_bird (College!AU)

"he's a nightmare" by likearecord (camp!AU)

"april showers, april snow storms" by ephemeralsky (soulmate!AU airport edition)

"prophetic" (series of 2) by Ominous (childhood friends!AU)

"Finders keepers" by honeyyghostt (childhood friends!AU)

THEY TAKE CARE OF EACH OTHER YOUR HONOR

"say something" by Willow_bird

"i’m gonna find my ghost that’s lost in outer space" by cyanica

"lost in the process (out at sea)" by cake_lovin_ace

"The Drowning" by minyardlovebot

"I hate you" by All_for_the_andreil

"A Quiet Night" by kccastner

"Overcome" by czenzo

"The grass between us (the mud under our feet)" by unojonex

"Not a Monster, Just a Human" by ms_masago

"Will you love me for who I am, not for who I was?" by something_boring

"There Now, Steady Love" by jingerhead

"side effects may vary" by willadisastercry

"Neil Fights the Foxes" by This_Witch_Writes

"Tell Me Where To Touch You" by Fortheloveofexy

"Beware Becoming My Partner in Madness" by Justthislazy [#5]

THEY FUCK EACH OTHER YOUR HONOR

"louder than bombs (i break)" by mitigates

"Beautiful" by WhenInDoubtSleep

"attitude problems" by greywarenlynch

"hold on" by starwarned

"Need You Now" by NikNak22

THEY TAKE CARE OF EACH OTHER AND FUCK EACH OTHER YOUR HONOR!!!

"Muscle Memory" by elesary

Did Someone Say Fantasy AU????

"Andrew Minyard and the Intricacies of Faerie Wooing" by carminesunset (Fae!AU)

"monster (under my bed)" by scribbleb_red (Demon!Neil)

"Into The Woods" (series of 7) by Ominous (Werewolf!Andrew) [#3]

"anywhere. everywhere." by moonix (Demon!Andrew)

"Auburn Wings and Golden Dreams" by doodlingstuff (Angel! Neil)

THE MOTHERFUCKING GAUNTLET

"Blame It on My Youth" by youreyestheyglow (1 million+ words) [#Honorable Mention - for the culture]

Bonus: Not (specifically/exclusively) Andreil

Twinyards For The Winyards

"Inevitability" by Aquared46

"Can he play?" by All_for_the_andreil

"Prove your love" by bazookajo94

"an unconventional crossing" by Ominous

Give Kevin Some Boyfriends Or Else

"held me down and sewed your lips to mine" by memeyoozi (vernonsgf)

"cross the patron saint of switchblade fights" by memeyoozi (vernonsgf)

"a brick to the stomach; a bullet between the eyes" by fluorescencx

"it takes three, you and him and me" by orphan_account

[with-my-calamitous-love]

last 5 years running out my mouth

katsuki bakugou x reader

one night, amongst the crowds and the music, katsuki wonders why he’s looking for you- he knows you don’t go to parties, anymore. themes of (katsuki’s) depression and substance usage

i love you 5sos nation 🪐 inspired by you dont go to parties

5 am.

katsuki’s clinging to his couch. everyone on his contact list, and everyone on their contact lists and so forth, stood in his house. red, drunken eyes dart around, as if looking for someone. though he knows its futile. you’re not there. at least, not anymore.

he groans, sitting up. he needs to vomit. this isn’t a good look for a new, fresh-faced hero. he pushes through the crowds, starting to kick people out. he didn’t care where they went, just not here.

he knocked over a vase. he’s probably offended a bunch of people. he’s trying to make it to a place in the apartment that doesn’t reek of alcohol and dead dreams- an ambitious attempt, to put it nicely.

he groans, bumping into someone. he grows even more frustrated when he sees who it is.

“katsuki, you’ve gotta sit down, man.” kirishima says, directing his friend to the bedroom. kirishima is a party goer, but lately, he knows to stay sober enough to keep things in check. someone had to be bakugou’s jailor.

katsuki doesn’t protest, sitting down while the redhead ushers everyone out of the house. he sighs, returning to the bedroom, seeing bakugou sitting there, his head in his hands.

“fuck… i don’t know.” he pinches the bridge of his nose. he doesn’t curse out of anger or hatred; he curses out of sadness. katsuki sits there, like theres vultures spinning around him, waiting for their time to strike.

what a tragedy.

bakugou opens his mouth to say something, but the overwhelming urge to vomit takes over. kirishima walks over, pushing him onto the bed and making sure he lays on his side. he stares, heartbroken, wondering where it all went wrong.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

you prayed he’d just talk to you, about his fears and about his doubts. you wish he’d be honest about his panic attacks, especially after the war. he’d wake up in a cold sweat, remembering the fighting, remembering the tears. but some invisible barricade caged his feelings inside his heart. this had to be his battle.

he’s still there in the darkness, feeling like a heartless monster. he’s starting to come undone, the sadness in his bones seeping into the security and confidence once embedded in him. maybe he isn’t who he set out to be in the first place.

but he’s not gonna let you know that.

“told you i’m find, moron.” he says, spooning you. he hopes you don’t notice how glossy his red eyes are, but you do.

“katsuki, please-“

“i’m fine.”

you bite your lip. if you can’t get him to open up, maybe you can take his mind off of it. a party never hurt anybody, right?

“…denki’s throwing this get-together tomorrow night.” you say, proposing the idea to him. “its a reunion for our class. we should go. it’ll get your mind off of… whatever it is.”

he scoffs, musing that he’s too good for parties. “yeah, a bunch of lightweight assholes i have to drive home? no thanks.”

“oh c’mon, it’ll be fun.” you pout.

it’ll be fun, and because you’re desperate to see a smile on his face again, even if its from laughing at his friends drunken antics. anything that’ll have even a semblance of your katsuki back.

“i’ll think about it.” he can’t say no to that face.

and that was the first time you ever saw katsuki drink.

he can handle his alcohol well, actually. he keeps you close by him, starting with one shot, and then another, and then kissing your neck in front of all your friends while his bitter breath tickles your skin.

he was laughing, enjoying himself. he was surrounded by people who diminished his doubts. a night of partying and fun did him some good.

what you didn’t anticipate, however, was how often he was attending them now.

the fame followed him everywhere. katsuki would end up in different celebrities’s basements, with close friends or even strangers. at first, you went with him. but it were as if the alcohol formed oceans between you two, separating you from katsuki.

he’s spiralling and you can see it. he’d chase down all that pain with shots, and all that trauma with drunken dares and released inhibitions. at first, you went with him to have fun. then, you went with him to make sure he didn’t take his foot off the breaks. now, you couldn’t bring yourself to go at all.

“katsuki, you need to stop.” you say, following one of his nasty hangovers.

he groans, clutching his temples. “don’t… god, you’re making my head spin, [y/n].”

“i’m making your head spin?” you scoff. “no, thats because you were out till 3 last night.”

“it was denki’s birthday.” he tries to excuse himself.

“no, it was sero’s, and they told me you were shitfaced for most of it!” you raise your voice, tears brimming.

his eyes widen, seeing how upset you are. he knows its irresponsible, but he also knows being drunk was a way to feel something, anything other than sad. given the choice between drowning in whiskey and drowning in tears, he chose the one that was capable of poisoning him.

“please.” you plead. “stop with the parties, with the drinking. its hurting you!”

“i have it under control!”

“you don’t!”

he stands up, his hangover more evident than ever. “god fucking damnit, [y/n]. if all you’re gonna do is bitch and moan like a fucking extra, just go!”

exactly 2 seconds in, katsuki realized what he said. but he’s too late.

theres a palpable silence in the air, followed by the sniffling crinkle of your nose as the tears cascade down.

“[y/n], babe, baby, i’m sorry. fuck, i-“

you slap him, cutting him off. his head whips to the side, just taking it. he wants to argue back, but he knows he deserved that.

you pack up your things, and he doesn’t have it in him to try and stop you. he begs in his mind for you to stay. secretly, you’re begging that he’ll beg.

but he doesn’t. and you leave.

subsequently, katsuki’s partying habit goes from controlled to dangerous.

he’s never not drunk, never not out doing something with people he doesn’t know. he’s always staying just a bit too late, but always manages to kick himself out in time to get to work. he’s always irritable, in part to the hangovers but largely in part to your absence.

people are starting to catch on. maybe not the fans, who adore him and his looks no matter what, but his colleagues have noticed a shift. the no-bullshit, toughed out dynamight sunk somewhere beneath his rising blood-alcohol levels.

still, he looks for you. he wonders if you’re still on the couch, singing karaoke with your friends, belting and humming along to the tunes. he thinks you might be in the kitchen, making yourself a drink and calling an uber in advance. or maybe you’re in the washroom, overstimulated, your anxiety taking over. anxiety he knows all too well. the anxiety he tried to hide beneath parties.

some nights, he’ll drunkenly stumble into the washroom, whether its his own or someone else’s. he’ll wonder if you’re there, sitting on the sink, ready to leave with him to your shared home.

but its another lonely night.

you don’t go to parties anymore.

because you’ve stayed at home, crying over photos, wearing his hoodies. everything you’ve learned about katsuki during your split had been against your will. there was silence from him, but the whispers of news and gossip tabloids could scream. you’re mad, yes, but you also pray for his safety.

selfishly so, you hope he still looks for you at those parties. at least there, he cares a little. maybe even more than you realize.

right now, he’s sitting on the couch with kirishima, denki, and sero. though all of them have had a bit to drink, katsuki is undoubtedly the worst of them all. he’s bitching about you, about missing you, about how you left him.

“she just.. got up and fucking left.” he slurs, leaning his head back. the mood is killed, and no one really has the energy to argue. except maybe for denki, who points out the obvious.

“you told her to leave. and she had a good reason for bringing it up to you, dude.” denki says. “can’t blame her for walking out on you.”

silence. the calm before the storm.

exactly 5 seconds later, katsuki is positively losing his shit, yelling at denki who just sits there, dumbfounded. kirishima is holding his friend back while sero attempts to position himself between the two. its one thing to be yelled at. but being yelled at by katsuki bakugou? thats something else.

“i don’t know what to do, man.” sero says, looking at eijirou for answers. the redhead honestly isn’t sure either. one thought crosses his mind, but he’s worried.

“get him to sit down.” eijirou says. “i’m calling [y/n].”

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

“hello?” you say into the receiver. theres a pit in your stomach hearing ejirou’s voice, knowing he wouldn’t call you if it wasn’t an emergency.

“hey [y/n], listen… katsuki’s drunk, and he’s yelling at denki… i’m so sorry, but… you think you can come get him?”

god, its exhausting being a good person sometimes.

“yeah, i’ll be right there.” you huff, grabbing your car keys. eijirou thanks you, knowing you might be the one thing that calms him down right now.

all 3 boys help get him into your car. your heart clenches, seeing just how badly he’s been doing. he’s sick, and he’s tired. his eyes are swollen from crying, you know it.

eijirou leaves you with a long hug, arms embracing you. “take care.” he says. “call me if he acts up. he might need someone to kick his ass.”

you chuckle, for what feels like the first time in forever. “yeah, he could.”

when you re-enter the car, you don’t start it right away. you look over at katsuki in the passenger seat. maybe he’s starting to sober up, or he’s drunk enough where he’s starting to be honest.

“i’m so fuckin’ sorry, babe.” he says. you just nod, eyes welling up with tears, words failing you.

he laughs bitterly, head leaning your way. “i’m a mess, [y/n]. like, a real mess. doctor told me i have depression. i didn’t tell you ‘cause i didn’t wanna look weak. pathetic, right? i feel pretty weak right now.”

you look over at him, already wanting to cry all over again. you should have seen the signs. right now, they are so glaringly obvious- the detachment, the avoidance, the drinking….

“and i miss you more than anything.” he says. “i wish i just… talked to you more. even if its your shitty knock-knock jokes.”

you’re crying, but you do scoff a little, holding his hand. “my knock-knock jokes are not stupid.”

“knock knock.” he says.

“who’s there?”

“i still love you. and thats the worst part about all these damn parties… you weren’t there. i don’t care about parties if you’re not there.”

that might have been the most sober thing he’s said all night.

you don’t say anything, not ready to forgive. but you do place a kiss to his cheek before driving him home.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

a few days later, katsuki shows up to your house at 9 o’clock sharp- a new record considering the recent events. he called in advance, but your heart still skips a little when you open the door and motion for him to enter.

the bags under his eyes have reduced. he’s nor slurring his words, and he’s not snapping at all. he seems… better.

“i uh… brought you coffee.” he says, awkwardly handing you the cup. “i got you some sugar and creamer, cause i didn’t know how you like it.” he shoves his hands into his pocket and takes out the packets.

“katsuki, i have that all here.” you almost laugh at his nervousness. its clear that this has taken a hold on him. as he sobers, he feels the need to rebuild himself again.

“right, sorry, smartass.” he says, he sounds like an asshole, but its a nickname you’ve both grown used to.

physically, he seems like he’s finally gotten some rest. on the inside, however, you can see the turmoil in his eyes. he had spent weeks drunk on distractions. now, he’s facing all the things he’s fucked up.

you think back to what he said in the car. about his diagnosis, about his struggles. you wonder just how long he’s been feeling that tv static in his head, how long he’s been bullying himself. you wonder how strong his demons are, how they’ve got hands and how he was struggling to fight them.

it breaks your heart.

“i… i know what i told you the other night.” he huffs, hands in his pockets. “i remember that much.”

“…why didn’t you say anything?” you dare to utter, wanting to see his pain and wanting to shield him from it.

he pauses, finding the right words. “…i don’t know. i’m a hero, i’m the god damn best. i didn’t wanna look weak.”

“depression isn’t a weakness, kats.” you remind him, that familiar nickname rolling off of your tongue in a way that makes his heart ache. “especially after everything you’ve been through.”

he knows what you mean. the relentless training, the fights, all the times he thought he was going to die. honestly, he didn’t think he’d make it this far. everyday could have been his last.

“it just… hurts.” he admits, wincing at the vulnerability in his tone. “so damn much… like… i don’t know. like i’m trapped.”

his voice cracks at that last part.

“i don’t know what to do. how to deal with this. i just know i’m sick of parties. i’m sick of being away from you. i-“

you cut him off with a hug there, enough to get his eyes misty. he hugs you back instantly, fitting in with you like a puzzle piece. burying his face in your neck, he inhales and lets himself get lost in you.

“you don’t have to know what to do.” you say, stroking his back. “as long as you’re done hurting yourself. i’m here, you asshole.”

you shed a few tears as well as katsuki sobs that he’s sorry. but as you hold him, he admits to himself that vulnerability didn’t kill him- it just brought him closer to you. after days of searching for you at parties, during lonely nights, you’ve got him again.

and he’s never letting you go.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO - Ch: 35 - Gambler's Ruin

Snippet:

She dreams of the Cannery.

Vander is struggling, strapped to a chair. Mylo kneels, picking the lock to his bindings. Claggor hefts a pipe, swinging blows at the wall. Flames crawl up their bodies in glittering second-skins. They don't notice. They keep concentrating on their respective roles, as if struggling and lock-picking and pounding are the only things keeping them alive.

The only things worth dying for.

Vi is braced against the metal door. The Monster is slamming against it. He is ready to break in, but Vander and Mylo and Claggor don't look up. The door vibrates against Vi's spine. Her boots slip on the gritty floor. The Monster keeps up that steady pounding, so she feels it reverberating through the entire building, over and over.

He might knock the door off its hinges any second and get in, his rage filling the air, and they won't be able to stop him because they aren't strong enough, they won't survive because the flames are blanketing everything.

Thump-thump-thump—and it's not a pounding anymore but a clanging, metal on metal, and when Vi glances down, she sees Powder's monkey-bomb taking herky-jerky steps toward her, little cymbals clashing, its eyes glowing pink and then small cobalt sparks pop everywhere, bursting into wild tongues of fire, blisteringly blue and igniting Vi's world.

Thump-thump-thump.

Her heart bursting into flames and Powder's giddy voice furls in her ear.

("To the Moon and back…")

Vi's eyes snap open.

She is in a bed with crisp unfamiliar sheets. Moonlight limns the alien dimensions of a bedroom. It's not a hospital: not sterile enough, and there's a distinct absence of antiseptic smells and beeping machinery. Nor is it Hotel Muse. There's a lack of ambient background noise—the half-comforting, half-grating sounds of a hundred bodies moving inside the same cage of wood, metal and concrete: footsteps resounding in the hallway, doors creaking open and shut, toilets announcing their payload, the asshole upstairs stomping around at 4. a.m. like it's his life's mission to make everyone as miserable as he is and the next-door neighbor's baby screaming its stupid head off because it misses the womb and wants to crawl back in with the rest of the tadpoles.

And Jinx.

Jinx, who'd transformed Vi's suite from a luxurious slice of hell—cameras in every gilded nook and glossy cranny—to a sanctuary littered with sister-spoor: a sprawl of stuffed animals on the couch, comic books fanned on the coffee table, clothes strewn flightily across the carpet.

And Jinx herself: a warm body burrowed under Vi's sheets, the sloping valley of pillow a home for both their heads, the shared bubble of their whispers floating off into dreamland.

Their Safe Spot.

Jinx is gone. There is only a strange bed, and silence. Silence that snakes into an insinuating rhythm.

Thump-thump-thump.

AO3 - Forward, But Never Forget/XOXO

FFnet - Forward, But Never Forget (XOXO)

More Fanfic + Tidbits

Tip Jar

Tagging List:

@the-blue-quetzalcoatl @frostybearpaws @klorophile @kothelina @hannibalcatharsis @tiredblueann @typewriteringalaxy @theillestofomens @erikadarleyensis @testsubject24601 @elviriel @inconspicuouspotatosack @heroinejinx @aliaa-j @zaunite-leo @silcodependent @karnaca78 @aeolid-funkt @me-and-my-hyperfixations @yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy @medic-simp @cthezaunite @evren-d @flower-of-zaun @villainsidechick @spoczkotszcz @realitycanbewhateveridesire @opheliawillowbrook @nogurlstoy @mj678 @revelisms @shahs1221 @gingersforeverbox @inkshine @silcosmoke @ravenkinnie @letters-to-rosie @lbulldesigns @slavicbeastie @constantfragmentation @danally20 @thatlonelyweeb @callmeanifan-blog @thekelpiekid @not-yet-the-wolf @beardedladyqueen @littledollll @gritzzlybear @catgoblinchelly @ohmygoodnesslesbians @aldana-brillantina @fanfic-addict5 @iamredby @calico-bc @misshave-it-all @testsubject24601 @niennaera @sleepdeprivedfireant @crys147 @theflyingforklift @spoczkot

[eddieisashifter]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐆? . . . MY PERCY JACKSON REALITY

a brief tour of the bag I carry around with me in my percy jackson reality! like all my bags, she's old as hell and gone through it too (literally, mind you, i tend to frequent the underworld). I'm one of the people who has everything in their mary poppins bag, so if any campers need something, they know who to ask. (as always inspired by this post by @chaaistained and this one by @hrrtshape!!)

I got my messenger bag for a steal at a local thrift shop in montpelier and modified it with hand painted patches, pins from local pop-culture shops, and keychains.

THE DECOR

— patches that include an my chemical romance front and center, a dazey and the scouts one, and one that says "compost in training", two autism awareness patches (one that says "people not puzzles" and "flappy hands are happy hands". all these were handmade by me. the "easily distracted by shiny objects was bought from a comic shop as was the "memento mori"

— pins including "not flat, we checked" from a trip to the nasa space center, "being polite is totally punk rock", "bored teenager", and "let's talk about music" all from a small business fair

— a plushie dreadfuls autism bunny keychain from my mom, a grim reaper keychain from connor stoll, a "cringe but free" keychain from a small business fair, and an mcr keychain from my friend raven

— finally, a butterfly hairpin that was given to my sister by thanatos before I lost her. I keep it on my bag in their memory.

THE FRONT POCKETS . . . each of which has their own theme for the objects inside.

LEFT POCKET — WITCHY SHIT

— a portable altar in a mint tint for on the go spellwork

— jars of bones and teeth some human, some not. collected over the years

— animal bones I've found in the forest around my house and in the woods around camp. there's nothing more sacred than the effects of death on the world.

— a lighter for candles and bonfires

RIGHT POCKET — FOR MY CAMPERS

— sunblock because this is a summer camp after all and some of these kids don't know how to not get burned, I swear

— mints and gum in a ouija tin because I always get asked for both

— (not pictured) first aid supplies such as bandages, gauze, alcohol wipes and neosporin for wounds that don't require ambrosia or nectar to heal (i teach sparring, this is a necessity)

LEFT SIDE POCKET — PHONE SOLT

— self explainatory, really. if I don't want to keep it in my pockets while sparring or playing capture the flag, it goes in here. unfortunately, this makes it very easy for the stolls to grab and take stupid pictures of themselves on

RIGHT SIDE POCKET — DEFENSE

— a flip out butterfly knife that my mom gave me for my birthday several years ago. not celestial bronze, but I use it more for cutting things that aren't monster flesh anyway. I have my scythe for that.

— a lighter from my father that emits greek fire. very usual, so long as I don't get it mixed up with my regular lighter.

MAIN POCKET . . . where all the important shit goes. also a bit of a complete mess

— my black iPad that i use to communicate with my father in the underworld. he has a matching one he uses to categorize souls and also call me

— my sketchbook. very very important. it's a bit more of an art journal than anything. a mix of proper sketches, journal entries, lists, and actual trash I've saved because I'm a sentimental hoarder who likes to junk journal

— a vampire fang reusable tote bag for trips to the camp thrift, stoll's store of outside junk, the athena kids' greek bookstore, or the muses' record shop

— a digital camera for peak aesthetic photos of my summers at camp and of my friendgroup's shenanigans

— my tarot deck for my daily advice and also to swap reading with the hecate kids, including my friend lou ellen blackstone

— my wallet, because of course that's of vital importance

— a vintage flask I thrifted that's full of nectar, just in case

— my frankenstein's monster pencil case that's literally bulging from being overfilled and falls apart whenever I try and open it. will I take anything out? no, absolutely not

speaking of . . . THE PENCIL CASE

all of my favorite art supplies that I can easily carry with me . . .

— micron fineliners. literally the best pens ever — my tombow fudenosuke brush pens. also the best, especially for ink drawings — pentel brush pen my other favorite brush pen — white posca paint pen for correcting mistakes and adding highlights — mechanical pencils because they're the only pencils I will sketch with (also led because duh) — those multicolor pens that everyone had as kids. I adore them and they're super useful as I don't have to carry around like 10 different pens for color — bone pens . . . from lou ellen. they're pretty sick ngl — a kneaded eraser from lightening graphite — paint brushes and my winsor & newton watercolors with are just *chefs kiss*

inside the top pocket . . .

— my mcr earbuds inside their case, this way they don't get lost in my pockets (nor stolen by clarisse!!!)

—skull bandaids that got shoved in here from my first aid pocket

—hairties because someone always needs them and they will get lost in my pockets as well

—dice for impromptu vibe checks

— literally the best eraser known to man

— and random trash and notes including: psycho killer by talking heads lyrics from raven, "sorry for being a bad influence" from clarisse (given to me with a shit-eating grin on her face), minmalism is dead from some magazine which I cut out ages ago to use and never did, and a receipt from the camp coffee shop from when annabeth and I got lunch (NOT lovebirds, 'phia! don't embarrass me like that istg)

WALLET . . . where all the important shit is kept

— drachmas for interacting with the mythical word

— cash for interacting with the mundane

— a receipt from the muses' vintage record shop at camp

— a "one more chapter" and "go to bed" coin that annabeth gave me. honestly, she needs it more than I do

— photos of my friends from my digital camera!

— a picture of me and my mom from when I was a wee baby — a picture of me and my camp friendgroup (clarisse, annabeth, lou ellen, raven, dorian and I) making a star with our fingers during a camp bonfire — me and (cr bestie) with our son. he is a build-a-bear frog. his name is harold. — a picture of me, annie, and percy when we first start to become friends — another group picture of my camp friendgroup. this one has me, grover, lee, annie, and clarisse in it. — a picture of me and raven posing with the three cheers for sweet revenge cover — the last photo I have with my sister before she died

𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐍 . . . EIRINIKÓS which means "peace bringer" in greek is my scythe. it was given to me by my father, thanatos, and is made of stygian iron. it's discreet form is a ring, in which you rotate a full 360 degrees to activate scythe mode. kept on my person at all times. if not on my finger, than in the pocket of my bag with the greek fire lighter

divider cred: saradika-graphics

. (🎪 back to the circus itinerary. . .)

[greninjazac]

A ninja’s perverted partner (open to female muses/ocs)

Typically, guilds list quest requirements on quest boards for safety reasons, less one person tries to solo a slaying quest that was made for a whole party. Zac typically struggles with this as he was kind of afraid of bringing others with him in fear of someone dying on his watch. He was known around certain guilds as a fairly reluctant to join but highly reliable team member to any party, which had lessened his fears of party death over the years. However, there was another reason why he was reluctant to go on quests with others…..he was a practical magnet for perverted women. It didn’t matter if they were a cleric, mage, human, demi-human, demon, angle that one time, barbarian, that other time with a mindflayer, you name it.

However, he could really do a solo quest this time. The quest maiden said a much as a monster such as a zombie dragon required 2 or more adventurers to accept. Zac simply sighed and tried to look around for anyone up for it. He wouldn’t need to wait for long, but it was a matter of what this person’s class was, whether or not they were human, and possibly how dirty minded this partner was gonna be.

[fluentmoviequoter]

waves of feelings

Adam Karadec x fem!detective!reader request, brief angst to fluff, emotional vulnerability, 3.2k+ words

You don't realize that you like Karadec and he feels the same until Morgan points it out.

High Potential Masterlist | Directory | Request Rules

Karadec is pretty like the ocean during a thunderstorm. At first glance, it seems dark, dangerous, all choppy waves waiting to pull you under and sharp rocks. But, if you wait a moment, linger in the cool sand beneath the clouds, you can find peace in it. The grey clouds reflect off the dark blue water, painting the horizon in a mysterious yet mystifying collision of danger and growth, spouting from the same precipice.

“No, she’s gone,” someone says, drawing you from your daydream.

You blink, and the Major Crimes bullpen comes into focus as the image of sitting on a beach with Karadec fades to the back of your mind. Daphne and Oz are watching you, smiling as you try to catch up with the conversation.

“What?” you ask.

“Oz wanted to know if you had the security footage from the 7/11 across the street from our stabbing scene,” Daphne answers.

“Oh,” you murmur, shaking your mouse to wake your computer. “Yeah, I’ll forward it.”

“Thank you,” Oz says. “Care to share what you were thinking about?”

You shake your head as you focus on finding the video. “Just zoned out.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Daphne jokes. “Here I thought it was daydreaming.”

“Fine,” you sigh, smiling over your shoulder at her. “I was on a pretty beach, far from murder and mayhem, with nothing on my mind but the beauty in front of me.”

Daphne nods as she pulls herself back to her desk, reaching for a lollipop. “Better answer. Which beach? Bahamas?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Daphne sighs, then begins typing, drawn back into the real world. You’re lucky to have this team, you think. You can joke with each other and have fun, but you’re also there for each other when things turn serious. This job is hard enough as it is, and you can’t imagine doing it with anyone else.

“Shouldn’t Karadec be back by now?” Oz wonders.

“He’s with Morgan,” Daphne reminds him.

“Yeah, so however long it would take Karadec, double it and add half an hour,” you add.

“What’s the half hour for?” Morgan asks as she enters the bullpen.

“Fun facts, sightseeing, replacing the lollipop you stole,” Daphne lists.

“Hey, I apologized.”

“Doesn’t replace it,” you muse.

You spare a glance at Karadec, then turn back to your computer. He’s been different lately, and not just because of Morgan. Or maybe it is because of Morgan. Either way, you think he’s found something or someone that has made his life different. You’re happy for him, of course, but you can’t help but wonder why you don’t have that. Flexing your fingers over your keyboard, you remind yourself to focus, then open the video feed from a traffic camera less than a mile from the crime scene.

“Find anything?” Karadec asks, stopping beside your desk.

“The 7/11 had Monster energy drinks on sale,” you answer, leaning back to see him. “Four cans for $5.”

“Ooh,” Oz murmurs. “I might need to find a 7/11.”

“There are approximately 1,900 7/11 stores in California,” Morgan informs, perching on the corner of Karadec’s desk. “Or one store for every 21,000 people.”

“That’s a lot of stores that don’t even sell the best sour candy,” Daphne says.

“TOD was around 11, right?” you check. Karadec nods, so you continue, “Two cars drove by at a high rate of speed at 10:23 p.m., heading toward the scene. I’m trying to find them on other cameras to see if maybe they stopped around there.”

“Good work,” he applauds, nodding. “Let me know.”

“Sure,” you agree, releasing a breath when he steps away.

“Morgan and I found the store where he bought the knife,” Karadec says. "A hunting and fishing store in Rancho Cucamonga confirmed that the knife was purchased there. Apparently, they’re the only seller in the contiguous U.S., and it isn’t sold online in the states. Their legal team is prepping a list of buyers to send over.”

“Doesn’t narrow it down much,” Oz responds.

Karadec shakes his head, his gaze wandering to you. You’ve been distant lately, distracted. He'd ensure you were okay if he could find the right time or place. At the end of the day, when you all go home and the cases are supposed to be pushed out of your mind until you return to work or catch a break, he realizes that it isn’t his business. Karadec has enough going on in his life that it’s easy to forget to wonder about you when he actually has time to slow down and think. Like now, this stabbing case is familiar, almost too familiar, so when he looks away from you, that worry disappears, and he begins analyzing his own past for an idea of why he can’t seem to move past this stall point in the investigation.

“Still a John Doe?” Morgan inquires.

“Oh!” you exclaim, glancing at the clock above Karadec’s head. “I have to go. Meeting with the ME.”

“Need a second set of eyes?” Morgan offers.

“I’m okay,” you answer, gathering your things. “Thanks.”

After you leave, it’s as if a scale has been removed from Karadec’s eyes. Everything is a little clearer, the pieces of the puzzle fit together, as he opens the case file and turns his back to your desk.

While you’re gone, Karadec remembers why the case seems so familiar, why it’s bringing up memories of his field training days. He realizes that the sudden influx of nightmares must be related. Turning toward Oz and Daphne, Karadec prepares to tell them what he knows.

“My first year on the job, there was a series of stabbings,” Karadec begins. “Every victim was left on the side of the road with no wallet, no keys, and no clues as to how they got there.”

“A serial killer?” Daphne asks.

“The Rager,” Morgan says, snapping as she remembers. “They discovered the victims were run off the road and attacked by a man with intense road rage.”

“Right,” Karadec replies. “The speeding cars in the 7/11 video could indicate a similar situation.”

“Is the original killer still in prison?” Oz wonders. “If he got out, started driving again… could be the same guy.”

“He died,” Morgan answers. “Prison riot a few years ago, he was stabbed, passed away the next day. Right?”

Karadec nods, tapping his fingers on his thighs. In his nightmares, people he cares about turn up dead, killed in different ways by the criminals he’s locked up over the years. The vengefulness of wrongdoers has permanently marred his mind. If he had a chance to work some of his past cases again, he’d approach them differently. Maybe this is that chance.

Looking toward your desk, he asks, “Did the traffic cams show anything close to the scene?”

“Closest one was a half mile away, between the scene and the 24-hour grocery store east of it,” Oz replies.

“So, the other side of the 7/11. If the same car or cars passed it, we could get some more information.”

“How did the Rager get rid of the other cars?” Daphne asks.

“He came back for them,” Karadec answers. “Had a friend bring him back, claiming he was picking it up for a friend with a car repo business or something. It was a different time.”

“Exactly,” she agrees. “Today, you can’t just leave a car on the side of the road without someone taking notice.”

“Two killers,” you announce, returning from the ME’s office. You drop your bag in your chair and lean over your desk to pull up the video from the traffic camera. “I’d be willing to bet that we’ll see both cars driving by, going the speed limit, not riding each other’s tails, just going.”

The team gathers around your monitor as you press play, and it’s just as you suspected. You replay the clip, then pause it as the second car enters the frame.

“The bumper is damaged,” Morgan realizes. “They ran him off the road, killed him, then took his car.”

“Run the plates, Oz,” Karadec instructs. “Find our victim’s name and who own the killer’s car.”

“ME confirmed that the stab wounds were inflicted by two different people,” you say. “Likely one man and one female.”

“Nice work,” Karadec applauds.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Oz calls. “Killer’s car is registered to Rager’s nephew.”

Lying sideways across your bed, you let your head hang partially off the side, your hair loose and cascading toward the floor. You move your feet to the rhythm of your favorite song, playing on repeat as you try to clear your mind.

Across town, Karadec looks out of his window, spinning a glass between his hands as he pretends he can see the stars past the smog and city lights. The case is closed, so he could probably sleep without nightmares tonight, but his mind won’t quiet. It’s been years since he worked the Rager case, but he feels like he’s in the same place, back at the beginning, stuck in a continuous cycle.

He looks at the clock as your song ends, and you both sigh before you stand. Sleepless Los Angeles nights call for one of two things: finding someone to spend it with, or a midnight walk on the beach with a prayer you don’t get caught while it’s closed to the public.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you exclaim, pulled from your wonderings about why your life looks so much different than you imagined it would.

Karadec turns away from the ocean, facing you as your mind reminds you of what you’d thought about this morning.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he guesses, walking toward you.

“I’m surprised any of us can these days,” you muse, forcing yourself to look at the dark waves rather than Karadec.

“What’s your excuse? You closed the case, you should be taking a victory nap,” he teases.

You scoff, walking slowly beside him, dragging your feet through the loose sand. “Right, because solving a case is the key to turning your mind off. If that were true, you would never complain about sleep deprivation.”

“Those complaints are our right as detectives,” he argues.

“You… you might have a point there.”

Karadec shakes his head, a close-lipped smile gracing his features as the lights of a pier come into view.

“Come out here often?” he asks.

“Not as much as I used to,” you admit. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately – too much, maybe. The waves drown out some of those thoughts.”

Karadec nods. “Yeah, I’m sure you have a lot to think about.”

“What does that mean?” you inquire, laughing.

“I mean, look at you,” he says, gesturing toward you as if he answered your question.

“I’d prefer not to,” you reply.

“Seriously,” he continues. “You’re a good detective, got a stable job, a nice place to live, you’re pretty. Other than the hazards of our job, you’ve got it pretty good.”

“Yeah,” you agree facetiously. “If that were true, I’d be in a committed relationship, not considering adopting a cat just so I’m not completely alone between shifts.”

“Better to be alone that haunted by past arrests in your dreams,” Karadec murmurs.

You quiet, letting your smile fall as you nod. He’s right, of course, but there has to be a halfway point, where the good and the bad outweigh each other and everything is at the very least okay.

“What do you normally do on beach nights?” you inquire.

“Besides avoiding the patrol trucks?” Karadec counters.

“Obviously.”

“Usually go get coffee or something, stroll through a neighborhood.”

“Okay, midnight coffee is terrible for you, and I’m going to assume that you stroll through a moderately safe neighborhood.”

Karadec shakes his head. “Then what do you do? If my routine is so bad.”

You smile, pointing towards a break between beachfront buildings. “I’ll show you.”

Sitting across from Karadec, you lean back against the cracked red vinyl. The table between you is inlaid with newspapers and magazines from the 1900s, and Rhythm of the Rain by The Cascades plays on the jukebox by the door.

“I thought coffee was a no go,” Karadec says, opening the menu.

“We’re not here for coffee,” you argue.

“Hey, sweetie,” the singular waitress working at midnight greets. “The usual?”

“Yes, please,” you reply, smiling kindly. “And the same for my friend.”

“You got it.”

“The usual,” Karadec repeats. “My midnight go-to is unhealthy, but you can go to a diner every night.”

“You’re very judgy for someone getting a free treat,” you muse.

“I can pay for it.”

You wave, glancing out the window as you fold a napkin on the table.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Karadec invites.

“Not at all. Do you?”

He shakes his head, and you sit in comfortable silence until two bowls piled high with vanilla ice cream are delivered to your table. A long plate with various toppings accompanies them, and you smile as you say, “Thank you.”

“Midnight sundaes,” Karadec says, his brows lifted. “Much healthier than coffee.”

“You’re just jealous I thought of it first.”

It’s nearing two a.m. when you exit the diner and stop out into the parking lot.

“I’m a mile that way,” Karadec says, pointing straight ahead.

“I’m a mile that way,” you reply, pointing over your shoulder.

“Come on,” he invites as he begins walking.

“I just said I’m the other way,” you argue, following him anyway.

“It’s a mile regardless. This way, you don’t have to walk alone at this hour, and I’ll drive you back.”

“But I was walking alone before I found you,” you point out.

“Which is terrible for you,” Karadec deadpans, drawing a chuckle from you as you jog to catch up with him.

The following morning at work, which is only a few hours after you left Karadec, you feel oddly rested. You’ve still got a lot on your mind, but it doesn’t seem as pressing anymore, and you can see where you’ve succeeded in life. Like midnight sundaes, a brilliant advancement from your college years. Karadec comes into the bullpen while you’re scrolling on your phone, and he’s clearly thinking too, not greeting his team as he usually does.

“Are we case-free right now?” Morgan asks. “This is weird, right?”

“It’s never long,” Oz assures her. “We’ll get a call soon.”

“While we’re waiting,” Daphne begins, smiling at you.

You lock your phone and pinch your brows as you say, “I don’t like your tone, Daph.”

Karadec unlocks his computer, then turns his chair, looking between you and Daphne.

“I want to set you up with this guy I know,” she explains. “You’re single, right?”

“Yeah,” you answer slowly. “But I don’t think I want to date anyone right now. I… It’s not the right time.”

“Unless it’s Karadec, of course,” Morgan interjects.

Your eyes widen as you look at her, and Karadec clenches his jaw so hard you can see the muscle in it tighten.

“What?” you whisper.

“You like Karadec,” Morgan says, lifting her hands. “He likes you. You like each other.”

You look away from Morgan, your eyes bouncing left to right as you think. You’ve been evaluating every area of your life over the last few weeks, picking apart your feelings to find what was missing. It makes sense now that you somehow brought Karadec into every musing. When you thought about needing a break, Karadec was on the beach with you, a lighthouse in your storm. When you considered your career success, Karadec was solving cases beside you. It’s so obvious now that Morgan has said it. You like Karadec.

Karadec watches you as you think. He’s more composed following Morgan’s intrusion into your private life, thinking about all the instances in which you invaded his thoughts. After a nightmare, he’d open your text thread, type a message, then delete it, opting to sit with himself and feel hopeless until the sun rose on a new day. Even last night, you’d been on his mind as he stared out at the ocean and asked himself if he was doing a good enough job as head detective.

“I’m going to take this as a no,” Daphne drawls, sitting back in her seat.

“Morgan, I think you broke them,” Oz chides, looking between you and Karadec.

“Gillory,” Karadec begins. “We’re at work. There is never a time or a place for you to interject yourself into your personal lives.”

“Got it,” she replies, nodding. “I won’t be so blunt next time.”

“I just said-" Karadec cuts himself off with a sigh, closing his eyes as he shakes his head.

“I- I’ll be right back,” you murmur before you stand. In the privacy of the bathroom, you look at yourself in the mirror. You’d convinced yourself that Karadec would never like you, and it didn’t take much. Then, you let yourself believe that your entire life was running off the rails. Maybe if you’d just admitted that you had feelings for Karadec, you could have solved cases faster because you wouldn’t have been so easily distracted.

Rushing back into the bullpen, you don’t notice how Oz, Daphne, and Morgan look up, wide-eyed and ready to eavesdrop on whatever moment you and Karadec are about to have.

“We need another case,” you declare. “I think we can crack a cold case.”

Karadec watches you for several breaths, then asks, “Did you have coffee while you were gone?”

“No, that’s your thing,” you reply, smiling. “Tell me I’m wrong. This team can do it, and we don’t have anything else to do today.”

Karadec can’t interrupt you to say that Morgan was right, not with the others watching, so he smiles and agrees. Morgan already has a cold case in mind, and the board is filled with details as you talk everything over, sparing glances at Karadec every chance you get.

You knock on Karadec’s door long after the sun goes down and a cold case has been reopened, solved, and closed. In your cooler, you’ve brought ice cream, your favorite sundae toppings, and everything you saw Karadec use last night. You need to talk, need to clear the air, and address what Morgan pointed out today, but there’s no movement inside, no answer to your knocks. Letting your smile fall, you wonder if Morgan was wrong. The thought doesn’t linger long before the elevator opens and someone clears their throat behind you.

Turning, your smile returns when you see Karadec lift a grocery store bag.

“You weren’t at home,” he says.

“You weren’t either,” you reply softly. “I, uh, I brought sundaes.”

“I brought coffee.”

You scrunch your nose, and he steps past you to unlock the door. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

He pushes the door open, and you step inside, looking around as he sets his bag on the counter. Karadec takes the cooler from your hand, pulls the ice cream out, and sets it in the freezer.

“Morgan was right,” you blurt out. “About me liking you. I guess I didn't realize because I was caught up in the waves of my own feelings - trying to keep them from pulling me under.”

Karadec pushes the freezer closed before he returns to your side. Standing in front of you with only inches separating you, he raises his hand to your face. His touch is warm and gentle, his hand strong and calloused.

“I get it. Don’t tell her, but Morgan was right about more than you liking me,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss you as he kicks the front door closed.