#☆ A Pocket Full of Miracles; Aesthetic

[7thmiracle]

[yesimwriting]

Falling Angels

A/n this literally poureddd from me, might be bad bc recently i’ve hated everything i’ve written (my drafts are full lol)

--

Series Summary: Y/n is a rising star in the most famous circus in Ketterdam because of her ability to see the future. Unfortunately for her, Kaz Brekker knows more of her backstory than he should, and he’s willing to use that to his advantage. The one thing he’s not betting on? That he doesn’t know her entire story

Chapter summary: Y/n gets a visitor before getting tricked into the most dangerous show of her life. 

Pairing: SOC x reader, Kaz Brekker x psychic! sunshine-y! reader

Warning: mentions of sexual harassment, slight cursing, near death experience 

--

Enjoy it, because it doesn’t last. That’s what the older girls whisper, mock casualness attempting to disguise bitter undertones as I walk past them. They say this, sharp nails ready to be covered in blood as red as their lipstick, because the pile of gifts from my ‘admirers’ keep coming. Circus hands keep approaching the long vanity in the dressing room tent, tapping me on the shoulder politely to shove cards and bouquets of flowers in my lap. They don’t understand that the praise isn’t because the patrons of our performances find me more beautiful--they’re desperate for my favor. They’re desperate to know their future.

Looking at myself in the mirror, the pageantry of it all has not yet grown old to me. My hair is still in the process of being styled, my stage makeup is half done, and I am not yet coated in that golden shimmer Senia always dusts across my cheeks and shoulders. But I am more enhanced than I normally am, eyes made bright by thick coats of mascara, cupid's bow made prominent by ruby lipstick. The lip look is more daring than I’ve been before, but there can’t be much harm in change. Not when half the women here keep looking at me like I’m the saint of virginity. 

It’s not my fault that the Ringmaster thought an angelic aesthetic would work best for the fortune teller who walks around before the show, reading palms so that people can have their pockets picked. It’s not my fault people want an angel to take the stage and call people down from the audience to get a detailed reading around the crowded circus tent. I don’t pick the costumes, and while I acknowledge that mine shows the least amount of skin, the Ringmaster found a way to dress me as suggestively as possible without ruining the illusion of innocence. 

At least the flowing tulle wings that are stitched into the back of my costume are beautiful. It’s easier when I enjoy the good. 

“Y/n!” The familiar call of Senia. I turn my head, beaming. “You’re a vision, and all of those jealous girls--you can tell them to take their wrinkling faces and--” 

“Seria.” For someone so much like a mother, she often needs to be reminded that not everything needs an aggressive rebuttal. “Think about it from their perspectives--their entire existence is dependent on how sellable they are, how attractive they are to men who only want to use them. If that makes them mad at me because they feel like my youth and novelty is taking from them, then that’s okay.” She raises a fine eyebrow. “I can take a few mean words.” 

Seria purses her lips. “Okay, but I’m just as old and tired and you don’t see me trying to poison you.” 

I roll my eyes. 

“Look, it's our very own saint.” I roll my eyes, Via’s shrill voice piercing through me like an annoying papercut. “And in such a scandalous lip color--has the Ringmaster finally taken you to the ivory tent?” 

Ivory tent. It’s been mentioned to me before and always in jest. “Where he takes me is none of your business, if not being the favorite hurts you so badly ju--” 

She laughs, the sound is pure vile. “Being the favorite is the worst thing you could be in a place like this. You’re shiny and new and soon you’ll be as used as the rest of us--Seria’s use is waning, what happened to her today is proof of that. Soon you’ll have no one to protect you.” 

When she looks at me I see more pain than hatred. “I think we’d get along better if I had it in me to hate you.” 

She raises an eyebrow before shaking a cigarette from a small box into her palm. “You’ll get there, princess.” 

The nickname leaves me burning. There’s nothing more consuming than fire. “You better pray to the real Saints I don’t.” 

via laughs, lifting the cigarette to her lips and lighting it with her abilities. She walks away, turning my threat into that of a child’s. 

“She’s right on two accounts.” Seria hums, “The Ringmaster will kill you if you wear that lipstick and Ketterdam turns people like you into people like me. We could save up, pay off your indenture--get you out.” 

Seria doesn’t need to make sacrifices like that. Not for me. Besides, there’s no leaving Ketterdam for me. Not anymore. “Being like you wouldn’t be a bad thing.” I scratch my arm, see through material wrinkling as a result. “And I can’t--I can’t just leave. I’m a psychic, no Grisha can see the future. I need the facelessness of Ketterdam.” Her lips thin in protest. “And don’t think I didn’t hear what she said about you--what happened to your foot, and what’s in the ivory tent? People keep saying it, whispering it like there’s--” 

“That tent is nothing that will ever concern you. I’ve given you my guidance, and the one thing I ask is that you never ask or go to the ivory tent.” 

I swallow once, the intensity in her eyes leaving me raw. “What if he tells me to?” 

“He won’t.” Seria breathes. “He doesn’t like that for you.” 

This isn’t an argument I can have now, not with two minutes until the show starts. “And your foot?” 

She shrugs, holding up a bandaged ankle. “You get older, your ligaments like the tightrope walk less and less. I’ll be fine.” 

“You’re not tightrope walking like that--” 

“Yes, I am. The Ringmaster doesn’t know and he can’t--if I start giving him performance trouble--you don’t know what happens to the girls who can’t pay off their indenture by performing.” 

I swallow once. “You’ll be careful?” 

“Always,” she grins, “Besides--one day you’ll know enough about tightrope walking to help me on days like this.” 

The last time I trained on the mini-tightrope had proven me to be a disappointment. Still, I smile at her softly. I open my mouth to respond, but a quick tap to my shoulder silences me. 

“Miss,” a circus hand I recognize begins.

I smile politely. “Please leave any gifts on my vanity--” 

“It’s not a gift,” he mumbles, voice taut, “You have visitors.” 

Something solid pushes itself into my chest, wedging itself between my lungs. Have they found me? “I-I don’t take visitors. Not before shows, if someone wants a private reading they’re to go to my tent at the front--” 

“We’re not here for readings or any of the other lies you sell.” 

...Surprising. I let my gaze move from the face of the circus hand and towards the individuals behind him. A man, tall and dressed in business attire--hat and all. His face is all sharp angles and his eyes are emotionless. His leather-gloved hands grip the head of an intricate cane. Next to him is another tall man, dressed a little more casually, with dark curls. Lastly, there’s a girl, with oil-black hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. 

“Then what are you here for?” 

Seria, never one to leave me unattended around strange men, takes a step in front of me. “I know who you are, Dirtyhands, and I know there’s no business you could find with her.” 

What? Dirtyhands? Can people in Ketterdam ever just be normal? 

“I wouldn’t speak so certainly.” I don’t like the way his eyes narrow at Seria or the way his grip on the cane tightens. 

Thoughtlessly, I stick a hand between them, forcing Seria back slightly. “I apologize, she’s protective--always assuming the worst in people. Though considering she called you ‘Dirtyhands’, maybe that’s what you want.” 

Ugh. All I do is ramble when I most definitely shouldn’t. “Want what?” 

Eyebrows drawing together, I force myself to hold his gaze. “For people to assume the worst.” 

The response seems to confuse him. That’s okay--I’ll take anything over aggressive. “The only people I want to assume the worst are those I want to be right.” 

Okay. Dramatic was a fair assumption. 

“Seria.” Oh no. I know that voice. I know that voice too well. “They tell me you're injured.”

Seria stiffens, as does every performer when he addresses them. “Not too injured to perform, sir.” 

The Ringmaster sneers. “I can’t risk you falling and embarrassing me. Perhaps tonight you’ll make your money by spending the entire show in the ivory tent.” 

The way she hardens wrenches my gut. I press my hands to avoid reaching out for her. “I can do the tightrope.” The Ringmaster’s gaze shifts towards me. “I can do it--and I can do it well and I’ll give the profit to Seria.”

He tilts his chin, regarding me in a way a woman should never be regarded. He’s a predator and I’m a lamb that’s lost its way. Still, I hold his gaze. I don’t flinch, even when he moves to brush his knuckles along my cheek. His touch is acid. Pure, burning acid. “The wings I placed on your back are decorative.”

“I don’t need them.” Total bullshit. 

“Hm,” he breathes, letting the smell of alcohol fill the space between us, “I’ll allow it.” The Ringmaster drops his hand to his side. “Wipe that lipstick off your face before someone mistakes you for one of these common whores.” 

How I don’t throw up at the sight of him is a miracle in itself. By some small mercy, he turns and walks away before I have to respond. 

“You’re an idiot--you know you’re not ready for the tightrope.” 

“There’s a net,” I try to keep my voice light, dismissive. She remains tense. “Seria, I had to.” 

“No, you could have--” 

“It’s not fair that you’re always a shield for me. When the opportunity to shield you for once comes, I’ll take it.” Turning before she can protest, I try to walk forward. The stranger places his cane where I intend to walk, intentionally warning me that he decides when our conversation is over. Unfortunately, I used up all my patience with the Ringmaster. “130 kruge.” He raises an eyebrow. “That’s the estimated amount I’ll make tonight, unless I’m late and excluded from the show. Either make up the deficit you’ll be costing me or let me go.” 

His eyebrows draw together, shifting his expression from neutrally calloused to something much darker. “Kaz.” This comes from the girl. She takes a step forward. “Look one step ahead.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Everyone thinks you’re not supposed to look down, but looking up is just as impractical.” She pauses, expression strangely mesmerized, “Look one step ahead--not at your feet.” 

My genuine smile shocks me. “Thank you.” 

“I should be thanking you, Sankta y/n.” Her head bows, hands held together as if in prayer. 

Oh. She’s one of the religious that believes me an actual Saint. “I appreciate the sentiment, but if I was a Saint I’d be able to help people.” No matter what I do, no matter how much blood I offer, I can never help people. “And as you’ve seen--I can’t.” 

--

The crowd’s roaring is a different world to me. On the platform, feet away from the other wooden structure acting as solid ground, everything is different. I am now in a world where the only thing to believe in is a taut rope. The net is beneath me. I’ve seen it--I’ve checked it. 

“And for our grand finale!” The Ringmaster calls, voice billowing over an excited crowd. “Our very own angel defies death!” 

An odd way to phrase the tightrope walk. It’s never called ‘defying death’.  I had been surprised when I was told that tonight the tightrope walk would be the grand finale--I assumed it was because it featured me. I’m always the finale now. I try to move my foot off the platform but it’s planted firmly. No. I need to see Seria--I need to see who I’m doing this for. I force my gaze to the ground, panic rising in my chest. 

Instead of Seria, I see Via--her smirk apparent even from here. Spite’s a decent motivator. My foot descends off the platform, touching the tightrope cautiously. And then I move my other foot. All of me is now on this damn rope. I hadn’t been unforgivably horrible during practice, but I hadn’t been graceful either. 

Don’t look down, don’t look up--only look one step ahead. One step ahead--one step at a time. Balance. I take another step. The room is so silent there’s no doubt in my mind the sound of my bones cracking would be heard from the back row. But there’s the net. There’s always the net. I take a second step. And then a third--eyes focused on only one step ahead. 

And then the phantom of flame comes to claim me. Fire. The world around me is burning. Damning the consequences, I let my gaze fall to the world beneath me. The net--the Ringmaster had an Inferni light the net on fire. Via--that explains the look. 

I can’t fall--the guilt would kill Seria. 

Panic twists my stomach as I continue forward. One step ahead. One step ahead--the flames lick upwards, promising pain and grief all over again. One step ahead. One step--that’s all there is to it. The warmth of the fire calls to me. Burning. Burning--and one more step. This isn’t forever. This isn’t permanent--either way this will soon be over. 

There’s no miracle for me. No good grace, no wings that would let me save myself. There is only balance. 

One step ahead. And then another step. And then I see the other wooden platform. Thank the Saints. I grip the ladder of the platform as quickly as possible. The cheers mean nothing to me as I scurry down the ladder. 

I feel a sharp breeze, a Grisha putting out the flames. Anger pools in my chest as I move towards the exit of the tent. 

“Y/n.” No. Not him again. That man--Kaz, Dirtyhands, whoever he is--needs to go away. “Y/n.” I turn sharply, anger pulsing through me. My expression must be feral, because he stalls. “They didn’t tell you that they were going to burn the net.” 

The fact that he can tell--that he can see my panic and how close I came to death twists my anger into something more fragile. “No.” My posture straightens. “I need to go now, I do--I do readings after shows.”

“Y/n.” He repeats, firmer. 

My nails dig into my palms. “I’m going--” 

“I know what you are.” 

Tensing, my breathing stalls. “What?”

[losyanya]

For @racketghost​‘s 13 days of Halloween, prompt Legends. Just a little art & ficlet combo. Now also on AO3!

-       Angel? Angel, where’d you go? Are you fawning over the plants again? Come on, we talked about a balance of proper discipline and whatever you wish to call your coddling—

-       Well-deserved praise.

-       Whatever, but you can’t overdo—Oh. Um. 

-       Just studying this lovely piece. Certainly not my style, but it does make a nice accent of white among all this gray, and fits into your… aesthetic.

-       R-right. Thanks.

-       I have not seen it here before.

-       Mmmhm.

-       But you know, it does remind me of something...

-       ...Yeah?

-       I do check the news from time to time, Crowley. I will admit that access to The Inter-net that you so insisted on has been useful at times. And I do recall a certain article—a series of articles, in fact—about the disappearance of an ancient, not widely known but locally much prized relic from—southern China, was it? A very large snake skull. 

-       Nnnnmmm-ungkh.

-       Just like this one here. Do you happen to know anything about that?

Shuffling sounds of a human-shaped demon assuming a less-human shape of a tangent function along the wall. A fine crackle of dimensional fibers rapidly stretching inside a pair of womens jean pockets, struggling to accommodate a pair of fists thrust into them with much more vigor than the laws of physics and fashion permit.

The ground underneath Crowley’s feet (well, the floor really, multitasking as the ceiling to the flat below) considers opening up voluntarily and preemptively, rather than waiting to be forced to do so, but holds still under a silent command. “Not time to panic. Yet.”

-       You know, that skull has quite a history. It was the focal point of a local legend, a tale of conflicting villages banding together to defeat a giant snake terrorizing the populace- 

-       wasn’t terroriz— 

-       Which brought long-standing peace upon the land, so it was held in high regard by their descendants, and it’s most understandable they are rather upset by the fact that it was stolen— 

-       ‘t wasn’t stealin’— 

-       And would be even more upset if it was purloined solely to fit a particular aesthetic in someone’s decor. And at what time! Just when this artifact gained the long-deserved spotlight, and a national institute was dispatching a team to study it properly— 

-       that’s exactly the probl— 

-       And what a pity for them to be robbed of this opportunity! There were plans to - if I recall correctly - gene test the skull and some other curious intention… to carbon date it!- 

-       well no one asked if my skull is interested in dating—  

-       And now it will nev—oh. Oh.

Aziraphale stills, big bright eyes growing yet bigger and brighter.

“Is it time?” wonders the floor, but is left hanging. “Must not be just yet…”

-       Crowley, that’s—I’m sorry, I did not realize—did not even consider that in serpent form you had ever—oh dear.

-       Angel, it was so long ago, I just couldn’t let scientists get ahold of it, they have their hands full with the dinosaurs anyway— 

-       Then the legend—it is true?

-       Eh, no. Wasn’t terrorizing anyone, just—a bit of a misunderstanding. And the account of the humans’ martial prowess was terribly exaggerated.

-       Then how—?

-       perhaps that of the serpent too, not that it was even relevant— 

-       Given that size—you would have been quite powerful— 

-       Well, not having hands did get in the way of pulling miracles— 

-       I’ve seen what you can do as a serpent and— 

-       Look, can we maybe just NOT talk about it?

...

-       So, my dear... now that it is back in your possession, what do you intend to do with it?

-       No big plans, really. Jus' leave it there, on display, I think? It’sss under the lamp...  makes a nice basking spot...

-       Your own. Skull. For basking? You don't find that a touch morbid?

-       Big fan of morbid. So a good brooding spot also. Alas, poor Crowley...

-       Pity Will cannot witness that monologue.

-       It does make a nice reminder.

-       Reminder—of this incident you don’t wish to recount?

-       Nah. Reminder of this, er, possibility. Kinda warning.

-       Warning?

-       A cautionary tale. Gotta be careful, you know, despite our inherent advantages. Cause I don’t s’pose any further replacements are forthcoming...

-       Oh, Crowley… Yes. Of course. You are right.

-       N-no need to dwell right now - come on, angel, I had the film picked, the wine is getting all lonely... Let’s jus’ say the relic got rehoused for a better purpose than aesthetic, alright? Just—carries a deeper meaning, like an art piece.

-       Very well. Speaking of art—perhaps then you could enlighten me on the deeper meaning of that statue in the hallway? With what appears to be a demon on top of an angel? I've been wondering for a while...

“Now”, the thought rolls across the floor. “Now is the time to panic.”  

[iamtheempress]

Highly Motivated~

Lets Talk: part 2

A week is all it took, alot faster than Dabi expected. 

The league took her in as one of their own and it was comforting to say the least, just as comforting as any detached homicidal family could be to someone who was nothing but sweet and a change of pace… almost innocent in a twisted sort of way.

Toga had taken a liking for her almost instantly, Chiaki's charming and womanly disposition really stood out to her and grit drew her in quickly; gossiping and having another woman around made Chiaki feel a sense of camaraderie, a sisterhood almost, made her heartache to see her little sister again. 

While still under the watchful eye of the men of the group, the same men she fought against with the other UA students and under the same monicor of being labeled a pro hero… so the wary behavior was quite understandable. Kurogiri had made it very clear she was to stay within the hideout until further notice to figure out what the hell to do with her, to quell Shigaraki's nerves and to act as the designated healer and if god forbid anything happened. 

Chiaki obliged respectfully, head low and a sweet little smile on her face-unlike Himiko’s whose toothy grin was unmistakable and sinister to everyone- granting her a bit of positive attention from the men of the group after she displayed the extent of her quirk and its versatility.

That notice went up about 2 days into her stay in the hideout, this being exactly what Dabi had wanted from the beginning, he knew just the tip of the iceberg of what this girl could bring to the group.

Her assistance was needed in the worst way possible, upon receiving contact from Compress she was notified that Spinner and Twice were injured the day after she had shown up. 

Twice being worse for wear than Spinner. She ordered him to lay down in the living room of the hide out, after complying to do as she says he lain back and watched her, his vision shifting in and out, with gentle hands and a deep breath placed a hand directly on an open wound that punctured his lung, which in all reality should have killed him.

 By some miracle it didn't- and she spent 50 minutes concentrating on making sure he was healed up, relaxing him with a hot towel and the most comforting tone of voice she can muster, within what felt like several hours, she healed the puncture wound and had made sure he had the ability to breathe, even keeping a conversation with him talking about anything and everything, sometimes talking about her family and sibling. 

Impressed with her quirk he commended her and thanked her profusely, calling her an 'angel' of all things, making the ex pro brim with relief and exuding pride from every orifice, Dabi remaining close to her to see her in action. Also because she had a natural radiant pull to him he couldnt put his finger on, he chalked it up to her being so sweet and generous to a bunch of nightmarish degenerates like the league. 

Shigaraki, on the other hand, kept his distance, eyes trained on her like a Tiger to prey who knew of his whereabouts, skeptical and wary of her in general, a hero turned villain in such a short time is jarring, he couldn't trust it- to say the least, but she had to fit into work with them.. when she was around his dialogue with her was short and curt, staring too long at her made her feel nervous, he liked that, knew her place with them in the league and where she stood as a villain.

It was a particularly long Saturday night, the rain coming down like a monsoon, some members of LOV had just returned with their spoils after robbing a convenience store of all their food and necessities, Toga had taken advantage of her quirk to go 'shopping' as a nobody student from UA for new clothes, disguises, and snacks for her new friend.

 Toga was cryptic about this surprise since the moment Chiaki woke up that morning, she had insisted on hanging out with Chiaki to take her attention from the tall dark and handsome man who had yet to return since Twice was still gone with him.. Toga stood outside of the bathroom, keeping her ear pressed flush against it listening to her try on clothes.

"Chiiiiaaaaki-chan? Put your new threads on yet, beautiful?" Toga called to her getting changed in the bathroom, she had taken the liberty of 'borrowing' a couple hundreds of dollars worth of clothes for her to wear so she's not wearing only the hoodie she came in. 

"Almost.. did you have to get me a pushup bra?" She chirps behind the door pulling the tube-topped romper up her body and snapping on her chest, a simple but… really expensive looking purple, white, and yellow flannel shirt she pulled on, followed by kitted out combat boots with metal plating on the toe and heel, some shiny steel running up the sides as well whether for aesthetics or for actual combat she didn't know yet.

 "Well ya know Dabi and I need something nice to look at too, hun. Who knows maybe if you put out more maybe you'll get lucky"

 Chiaki snorts loudly, while Chaiki and him were not that serious yet...she shares his bed and even goes out of her way to make sure he's healed and ok when he returns which was twice this week alone, it was a welcomed sort of comfort he never knew he needed, a sense of being and safety, that sort of life is very fleeting. Especially for criminals like him and he knew this, he didn't have any plans of making her anything more than his accomplice, a partner in crime for when the day comes where he leaves the League.

Chiaki exits the bathroom in the outfit that fit her too well, her long two-toned hair down, she actually killed the look pretty nice. 

Toga’s eyes widened and a giddy look on her face sprawled from ear to ear, the girl bounced over to her and took her by the hand. 

"oooo! You're such a looker! I think the girls here could be showier but I can tell you want to leave a little to the imagination, I  think Dabi would like to see more skin~" she winks and gives a little tug to the front of the suit, the new little pieces of Jewelry that were given to her hung just shy of the swell of her chest tinkled at the movements

  "I mean like i guess. I can’t just parade around with them on full display, how much of a spectacle do you want me to be?" 

Chiaki says as she notices Himiko staring right over her shoulder and up Chiaki gulps and whips her head around to see Dabi, dripping in water looming behind her like a shadow, his thumbs thrusted into his front pockets, arching forward as the shirt clung to his front from the rain as well as his spiky inky black hair to his forehead, all while grinning like a Cheshire cat down at the woman he shares his room with.

  "I wouldn't mind that, little mouse." His sweet velvety voice humors her and chuckles to himself moving to loom above the woman, examining her pretty face for any sign of protest as his hand slid into his pocket and one into his wet hair.

Chiaki blushes brightly as well as Himiko thoroughly enjoying the little trap she set up, Himiko's hand finding her own cheek and winking devilishly. 

"Hehe oops! Mighta saw him the whole time behind ya, Chiaki-chan~ my bad! Seeing you flustered is super cute anyway.. Ill see you two later." the little homicidal girl turns on her heel and trots away "you suck Toga."

  She calls out tucking platinum-blonde hair behind her ear and crossing her arms over her chest, foolishly avoiding the bright blue eyes that bore holes through her head.

"So...Toga went 'shopping' for you? That's sweet.. I’ll remember to look for things in your size when I’m out again." Chiaki lifts her head and cocks a brow at him and gently pokes a finger into his chest, the white tee he sported always looked as if it was about to fall off him from how low the cut is. 

"Oh c'mon now, you wouldn't know what i'd like to wear if it hit you in the head, your clothes look like they'll turn to cinders at any moment" she pulls the loose tee from him and lets it stick back to his belly. “Pff.. when they're not soaking wet like i went for a swim, maybe.” He chuckles “How the heck could men even walk around like this and not feel uncomfortable.. I get even a little water on me and I feel like I need to change." He stands back and wrings some water from his shirt out onto the floor, listening to her words and keeping mind of how her voice dips when she questions him like a mother worried for her child's health.

 “Unlike women i don't have a reason to cover my chest all the time, not that i'm saying i've looked or anything but that sweatshirt you came in didnt do you much justice.” His voice remained flat and his lips lined straight as if he didn't just make a jab at the fact she's physically ‘gifted’. 

“It was raining that day and i wasn't about to take a whole wardrobe with me, and I can't tell if your being charming or an ass” Dabi’s eyes remained trained on the woman before him, pretty sapphire eyes that made her nervous, they were occasionally void of emotion but when he looked at her she saw some little twinkle in his eye, like he had plans for her he just didnt know what for yet; another reason why she's so sweet and chummy with him. 

“Could be both could be neither, got a problem with that, mouse? I could just go around shirtless all the time” She rolls her eyes and leans all the way back and her brain flashes back to the first and only time she's seen him shirtless, the first night they met and she stayed in his bed. 

The rest of the nights she would go to sleep without him to accompany her, his little solo missions going without her knowing where he was or when he would return; he did however return and when he did he would watch her sleep with the tv on and watch whatever movie she had on. 

Getting to know her interests while she slept was easy to do, sitting up late and having a cigarette, making fun of the way she snores and mumbles in her sleep. Down to looking at the 8 gold earrings in her ears, little gold hoops that hugged her lobes from the top of her ear to the bottom. This sort of thing was a part of his plan to get to know her alittle bit more, his future accomplice. 

The strange young ex-hero raised hundreds of questions for him.

"But of course I think you would have a problem with that,” He commented, startling her from her thoughts, he shook remaining water from his choppy black hair and glowerered down at her with a heady look in his eye, whether it was actually him becoming flirtatious or joking around is left up to debate, maybe ti was just to mess with her and make her flustered. “I wouldn't want to.. 'be a spectacle'... a man has to leave at least 'a little to the imagination'." He chuckled darkly, his smile returning to his face to make her more flustered then she already is.

Chiaki’s face became more flushed pink, Dabi closed the gap, and left only about a foot or so between them both, the gesture purely meant to make her nervous and give him all her attention, since she seemed momentarily distracted. 

Despite the height difference she had an impact on him he couldn’t overlook, both with her quirk and her charm. Chiaki had an appeal to her that was new and one he wasn't even close to becoming bored of. 

He didn't know much of her yet but he desperately wanted to break down those walls and get to know her at her most raw, have some control over something in his life, something consistent. 

"I dont think wet clothes… constitutes as little to the imagination, Dabi.." she feels her heart get momentarily caught in her throat.

Dabi looked her up and down, his hands anchored on either side of her head making Chiaki's eyes widen and a blush creep up her neck, his face dipping down abit closer to fluster the woman before him 

“Hm.. so you’re saying you’d prefer to see me shirtless more, eh?" His head dips down just slightly, his intense blue eyes never wavering from her own. "Th-Thats not what i meant! I mean I have looked but… cant blame a girl for looking, Dabi..." She rises to her tippy toes finally working up enough courage to kiss him, Dabie remained unmoving but parting his lips with his eyes half lidded, before the moment is cut short by Kurogiri placing a hand on her shoulder and pulling her attention from Dabi in a snap.

“Huh?” She jumps and looks the second in command in the face with a blush. “Our leader has returned and has some injuries that needed to be tended to. See him immediately.” He commanded and left her shell shocked for a moment, eyes flickering from Kurogiri back to Dabi, embarrassment coursing through her veins and she wished for a split second she could fade away and vanish like her mom's quirk allows her. Dabi rose back up and sneered, peering down the hallway to where Kurogiri left. “it's about damn time he asks to see you.. Talk about timing huh?” He rasps and backs away from her.

“I-I'm sorry we can-” He shakes his head, with a light chuckle. “Not now, little mouse, besides…” He pinches her soft cheek between his thumb and index finger, she closes her eye and his hand flattens gently against her face, long fingers with calloused pads graze over her skin and the cold staples touch her cheek.

 “I dont think your ready for me yet… dont need you making a mistake and ruining this little companionship we have going on so far,” He holds her chin when he sees the look of sadness wash over her eyes. “Hey.. im not rejecting you, silly little mouse. We sleep in the same bed for fucks sake.. Besides.. We have alot to talk about after your done with...the flaky motherfucker upstairs…” His thumb swipes her bottom lip and he pulls away. “Pretty lips like yours need to be savored, appreciated in time…now.. go to him before he bitches and moans…” He growls and uses the heel of his hand to bump out a cigarette and light it with his fingers. 

She turns on her heel red in the face and trots to the opposite side of the building to the door with the most… dust on the floor. 

Chiaki contemplates how she holds her fist to knock and raps on the door, her sweet voice calling to the evil hidden behind it. “Shigaraki? It’s Chiaki… Kurogiri sent me to take care of your wounds.” She goes to open the door only to be met with resistance to the doorknob and it being opened quickly, a leering face hovering inches away from him, followed by white and blue toned hair. He was a lot less intimidating than he presented himself to be. She couldn’t describe it properly..

 “Oh. It’s you…” He turned his back to her, the blood seeping through his shirt as he staggered back into the half-darkened room a hunch to him. “I told Kurogiri I’m fine but if he’s going to.. Make a big fucking deal about it...get in here and shut the door, Ikeru...” He commands and she follows him. 

The tall gangly man striding right in and sitting on the edge of his bed moving his controller to the side, he had a tv on with a video game paused awaiting him with heavy metal coming from the tv itself. 

She looks around and furrows her brows when his shirt is lifted above his head, a loud hiss comes from his chapped lips. 

“God.. dammit… shit stings.. Augh you better be worth the trouble…” He groans, moving and wincing, she kneels on the bed behind him and within seconds he’s got the controller back in hand.  “Just relax. I know what i'm doing, Tomura..” she cracks her fingers and a soft glow emits from her palm as she looks over the wounds in his back.. They were fatal at best.

 Deep gunshot wounds and even some exit wounds from his front. “How the hell are you not dead..” She says placing a hand on top of the open wounds earning a snarl and a loud expletive. 

“FUCK! Warn me when you do that!” She recoils her hand as he whips his head around. His high pitch grating voice startling her and shaking the room almost, the look of fear in her eyed as he flexed his hand open and close. She looks down and nods her head apologetically. “I wont do it again ill let you know, Tomu-” she starts and lifts her head to look at him and he interjects. “Its boss to you.. Got it?” His voice becomes grave, she takes in a breath and offers a weirdly out-of-place smile.. “Yessir.” 

His whole body cringes at the very sight of her being so calm about the situation.. His attention is redirected to the tv screen and hes back to playing his game. “Im gonna touch that spot again, boss.” He groans annoyed already, she warns and places that hand on his back and he flinches instinctually from the contact. She watches over his shoulder, him playing a violent video game, his character decked out in the most overpowered armor and weapon he can find. She lets out a breathy chuckle watching him struggle with a boss and get killed, he cracks his jaw and shakes his head. His free hand going to his neck to scratch in frustration. 

“I used to play that game a lot. Still do actually. You do know there’s a dual axe weapon on top of the spire to face that boss right. Greatswords don’t do shit to him.” She boasts behind him, concentrating all her energy straight into his back. Shigaraki’s eyes grew wide and he turned his head slowly to look at her.

 “You play videogames?” He stared wide eyed at her,  Chiaki shrugs and smirks.

 “Yea, played alot while i was in UA.” She chuckles and it only makes him narrow his eyes and slowly turn his head back around, his tongue sucking his teeth and paying attention to the screen as he went in the direction she mentioned. “Other hands going for your back.” She states, Shigaraki grunts and furrows his brows as her other hand meets his hard back, his musculature was strange; skinny but dense muscles. 

He claims the dual axes and checks their stats and he nods and leans a bit back into her hands. “Thanks…” He mutters and goes to face the boss he was struggling with, succeeding after the first round and he snickers awkwardly and goes back to complete silence. “Y'know probably would have dusted this controller had you not told me that.” The ex-pro beamed and her very essence radiated from her to the point Shigaraki shook and raised his shoulders in a weird feeling of discomfort. The positive energy was all too unfamiliar to him, he noted this being a part of her quirk, making him cringe.

 “Thank you, boss, happy to help.” He scoffs and feels her wipe the dried blood away. “Heh. Shut your mouth, don't be an ass kiss, bitch.” he growled and when she pulled her hands away from his back she shot back at him with a laugh “Not so much an ass kiss more of which just bein genuine.” “GENuine...that’s new,” He laughed, his high pitch voice dropping an octave as he puts his controller in his lap as a cutscene starts up for the next level.

 “If you couldn’t tell already, I'm not so much...used to people being nice or…*genuine*. Mostly used to people being conniving and doing for themselves.. The amount of people who joined us to try and do something idiotic is at best impressive and fucking stupid… coming in trying to call shots to people who already know what they want and know where there going.” She listened sitting beside him on the bed, his voice straining when he spoke of people doing things for themselves, his fingers flexed and curled when he looked at her, she knew what disaster those very hands can bring. 

It made her wary and extremely aware of her own mortality. 

“When Dabi mentioned you about a couple months ago, we couldn’t find a damn thing about you… why is that?” He sits back and his voice wavers in the sentence emphasizing words to make her wary. She did her best to not bend or falter.

 “You're not like AllMight or any of the other pros so why couldn’t we find a damn thing on you...You're out in the public eye every time we looked up news coverage of you. Everything seems surface level, your name, age.. hero name..hell we’ve even fought you on numerous occasions, almost had all 5 fingers around that neck of yours.” His eyes were staring at her beyond the long hair.

 As if analyzing her face for any sign of any irregularities, she caught his eye and almost jumped out of her skin.

"Well, Im 19 and i was like.. Not even a year into the whole pro hero thing, I worked for the heroes society as something fresh and new.” She rubbed her palms together nervously, Shigaraki nodded his head looking forward. 

“i guess you could say, since i am kind of young to be a pro I had this demeanor of being easy to manipulate so they sought me out for big trafficking rings and elaborate mafia rings, find escape convicts to bring back to Tartarus or other Quirk Prisons. I was roped in to be the ‘beacon’ for the agency or me to round them up on my own and bring em in, and with my dad… being a fuckin awful person and a vigilante and my mom being one of the retired pros from America, they wanted to ‘make a new face for heroes’ or whatever..” His entire back was arched forward, hunched to the point where the vertebrae in his back shown through the dense scars that litter his flesh, Chiaki bared her truth and admitted while she put up her hands, showing herself to be vulnerable in the situation, Shigaraki is the most wanted criminal out there anyway, and most volatile as far as lethality goes.

 “I came at my own volition and I hope that.. You find my presence positive in your league, and you find me more than just a ‘private nurse’ and send me out every once in a while, I mean hell I don't even know where we are!” Shigaraki absolutely preened externally, his chest puffing up.. If she was an asskiss-or as good of an accomplice as she entails, he keeps that thought on the forefront of his mind. 

“Don't press your luck. We will find a place for you and you will see plenty of bloodshed, and as far as our whereabouts right now stands,” He turned his head and lifted it back as he directed his focus to the television once again, his red eyes blank and face deadpan, he let out a rumbling breath his chest rising and a wolf line grin spreads across his face, his lips splitting as his teeth ground back and forth. “Before you get to chummy with your boss... “Let's keep it that way, Ikeru Chiaki…” He cracks his fingers long fingers. 

It’s within an hour that Dabi has become antsier, waiting for the woman he's been bunking with to exit Shigaraki’s room, he was seated in the main area where the fully stocked bar was, peering up the stair case for the little woman, no such luck yet.

 He tapped his cigarette and took a long drag of it and turned back forward to look at his reflection in the bars mirror behind the bottles, contemplating if she found solace with Shigaraki over him. It actually made his blood boil as he closed his eyes and put his forehead in his hand, pushing the emotion he was desperately trying to drown out.

Puffing the smoke from his nose he opened his eyes to see Toga standing close to him in the reflection of the bar mirror, it made him jump.

 “Did you see what's been on the news on repeat?” Toga asked him, grabbing his arm and lightly shaking him. 

His eyes were bored and flat. 

“No.. more about us I assume.” He put it between his two tone lips and took a shallow inhale, “No its about Chiaki-chan!” Dabi raised an eyebrow and snuffed out the cigarette, he grabbed the remote and turned on the television hanging up in the bar, the 32 inch tv clicked to life to show the news anchor man with a picture of the hero in her normal gear, In bold text beneath the anchor “PRO HERO WITCH GONE MISSING: DAY #7”

 “The search for the pro hero is still ongoing! She was reported missing in the middle of the night from her friends who came to talk to her, after the fight that morning with the villain known as ‘BlueFlame’ where they were seen to be on common ground, before the building collapsed killing 5 people,” Dabi focused on the tv screen as Spinner, Compress, and Twice entered the room watching the screen of that day. “ the new infiltration specialist is of much importance to the hero society and has a hefty reward for her return alive, her father Negate, offers no word on her return besides the statement ‘she won't be happy to see me’-” Dabi tuned everything else out and stood up from his chair. 

“Infiltration Specialist… you think perhaps she'd be working against us?” Compress asks Dabi who continued to stare at the staircase. “I don’t think she would betray us like that… she has no idea where we are anyway..” After a moment of agonizing silence, he had one thought in mind, and then a foolproof plan, his face remained stoic and unwavering. 

Infiltration specialist. His interest in her is only blossoming.. Beautiful, fresh faced, and new to him, his intentions may be malicious in the long run none of those malicious plans ever involved going against her… in fact he saw her at his side...made his heartthrob in his chest, making him stumble briefly.

He makes it to the door and before he could even knock he heard a familiar female voice curse from behind the door, followed by the bed creaking. His eye twitched and he leaned his head against the door.

 “Goddammit did you have to have the biggest one…” She questioned Dabi's imagination going into a tailspin, he brought his head from the door with his brow furrowed, his head moves closer to the door to confirm if what he heard was actually what he thinks is going on beyond the door. “Bitch, you know i wouldn’t be the best without it...now hold still and this will end quickly.” 

Shigaraki chuckles followed by the bed creaking and him cursing. “Fuck you!” She whines and Dabi pulls his head away from the door his vision going red and his fists clenched as he swung the door wide open only for his heart race to slow down and his hands stopped burning blue as he focused on a shirtless Shigaraki leaning his elbow on Chiaki’s shoulder as they played that goddamned video game.

“Oh hey Dabi! Sorry, i didn’t come out sooner, Tomura gave me another controller-god fuckign damn you and your stupid ultimate!” She cusses as she loses against Shigaraki, miserably at that… Shigaraki groaned loudly as he pinched his brow, grabbing a shirt that she gave him that he neglected to put on. Shigaraki puts his controller down and turns to look at him. “What do you want.. Better be good for barging in like that, Dabi…” He glowers teeth clenched tightly in his jaw, punctuating his name.

 “So that wasn't…- anyway, so when you were a hero… you were an Infiltration specialist… That's why we couldn't find anything on you. Right?” she nods and tilts her head confused 

"y-yeah how'd you know that? I only just told Shigaraki." She questioned, Shigaraki's eyes flickering over to her, knowing this already. 

"Your secret is all over the news." Her eyes widened and she blunk quickly watching Shigaraki turn on the other tv and flick to the news shown her face and the news caster. "Ill tell ya.. if you were still a hero id say your cover was blown by whatever shitty agency revealed to the world that your a covert type'a hero, sucks honestly." He tsks and returns his attention to Shigaraki, a  knowing grin spread slowly across his face. 

"What the hell are ya lookin at me like that for, eh?" Shigarakis eyes narrowed and his voice became raspy and on edge. 

"I have a plan… and this little ‘pro’ is at the core of that very plan." Shigaraki tilts his head and looks to her his jaw tightening once again. "Can you two plan… not in here… if you're thinking how I think your… thinking… i'd like to dwell on it.." Chiaki moves from near Shigaraki to Dabi’s side, his eyes following her, a little glimmer of pride rose in his chest when she stood mere several inches from his side, her presence really is something, and damn sure didn't want her positive energy anywhere near Shigaraki of all people.

"You almost said think again, did you?" he bit his tongue and scratched at his neck. "Grr… Get the hell out." He points to the door. 

Within seconds Dabi was back at the door and holding it open for her,. Shigaraki sat back down and spoke up, his high pitch voice catching her attention and annoying Dabi.

 "Chiaki." 

She turned to look at his head half turned, as he starts up again. "Ill need another player two sometime so don't be a stranger, bitch.” He let out a noise something close to a chuckle as Dabi closed the door back on him. Shutting the Leader away in the other room. 

“You have a plan involving me, you say?” She bumps his arm and follows him down the hall, side by side, who tucked his hands again in his pockets, his eyes trained ahead and unblinking like hes analyzing his plan in front of him. “Mhmmmmm, but you have to keep it between you and me for now, got it.” He says beneath his breath, slowing down to keep pace with her, he notes how much smaller he is compared to her. 

”Yessir! As long as i can actually do something ill be happy with it.” She chirps, almost excited, excited to be a part of something then just being a nurse. Dabi hums at her exuberance and pushes the door open for her, getting a good look at her back as she walks right in; her flannel fluttering behind her.  

“Hm, don't get used to saying that, i might like it.” Dabi turns on the light and points her to the rolling desk chair where his computer was set up. “Step into my office, Witch, I have some questions for you.” She rolls her eyes at the mention of her hero name and plops down into the rolling chair of his desk, her legs cross in a very womanly fashion as he starts to pace infront of his bed. “Alright you have my attention what the hell do you need me for.” She asks moving the seat back and forth rotating her waist and facing forward to occupy her brain as she stared straight ahead at him.

 "First." He stops and extends his pointer finger up, not meeting her eyes just yet, his voice still remaining flat and unreadable. 

"I need abit more information about your, specialty here…” His eyes flicker over to her, his hands facing upward and looking to the calluses on his fingertips. “How in the hell have we not heard of this infiltration unit. Is it that covert that there's actual heroes in the agency dont know about it.” He questions facing her entirely, he leans against the desk, absentmindedly rubbing his fingers together as if they were covered in dust.. “As far as I know.. I'm the first one they indicted into the program. Again, due to my age and my quirk its kinda easy to give people a good idea about me but most of the time i dealt with kind of simple minded characters.” She states, her eyes looking at his hands, mildly distracted by how much larger he is in comparison to her. 

Dabi openly flexes his hand allowing her to see the way the staples pull at his textured flayed flesh to his normal hand, hes much closer in fact she has to look almost fully up at him. His entire body silhouettes the white light behind his head, making him look more sinister to the untrained eye, his face however read genuine curiosity, not a sign of threat anywhere on his face. 

“Mind telling me why you haven't turned tail and ran when you met them all.. Any sane person would have split the second they saw any of us.. No less Shigaraki.. you know what they have done, you saw the very day that we met what all of them can do… and you stayed and spoke to them on common ground… even fuckin introduced yourself.” He broadly gestures the same hand up into the air and lets it fall back down to his hip with a thump. She listened to him speak.. His voice soothed her in the strangest way imaginable, that and Dabi kind of liked to hear himself talk. “A pretty face mixing in with abunch of grimy villains.. Most of us driven by Stains ideology like some cultish fanclub gone awol..heh.. Hell you even got mixed up with the zombie man of all things.. Like a beauty and the beast type bullshit…” Dabi leans his head back and she watches his adam's apple bob in his throat as he clears it, his chin lolling back down to make eye contact with her, again making her feel small..

 “I had thought it would take months for them to accept you as their own but… you fit in like a missing link, your gonna make this plan act quickly and i can feel it!" he grinned widely to the point where the staples on his mouth strained and it pulled at the flesh of his face. 

“I do however would like to know: You are being real with me are you? I can trust you with everything I am about to ask of you..” She took a shallow breath and nodded,  "O-of course! I haven't done anything to prove otherwise! I dropped all communication and everything with everyone i knew hell even my old friends from UA to be here.. And you already heard my whole thing with why I wanted to join." He pointed right at her and nodded his head, almost solemnly.

Dabi's eyes shut and he took a deep dramatic breath, "Y'see, this whole thing still makes me hesitant and i don't want to be hesitant with you.” He dragged her and the chair away from the desk and to the center of the room to draw her attention to him as he sauntered around her hypnotically. “Do you, my lil mouse have a single bad bone in your body..” He spins the chair with her in it as he circled her like a shark in blood infested water, she would sometimes look to his gnarled and scarred arm. 

“Answer me.” She snapped his fingers in front of her face, she shuddered and her attention was once again drawn to sapphire blue eyes as she gulped her dry tongue. “Not as much as i would like to admit… no..” She looks down away from him, feeling like a fraud in the face of professionals. “That doesn't change how you see me right?” He halts fully and grabs her shoulder a large hand engulfing her hard musculature..  Her eyes floating back to his face as if magnetically. “Just a bit, not negatively of course, mouse, hell i wasn't born bad.”

 His fingers gently entwined in her light locks, letting his fingers thread through her thick hair slowly each wave going through his fingers slowly as he noted the cold shiver when he allowed it to flutter back down to her shoulder.

“I need you to understand: when I send you on this mission you will come back to *me* with a motivation, a purpose, while it may not be like everyone else here, where most of us are natural born psychopaths and dregs of society, failures, monsters... You will be our little eye into the hero society, to throw a wrench in their plans in the worst way… our wildcard.” He promised her a week ago HE will bring out her potential.. Is this truly where it began? A moment of happenstance where her position as a former Pro can benefit her..  She barely registered the fact hes encircling her again.

 “So.. what exactly is this idea..�� She finally questioned him.

 “Getting to that, mouse, getting to that...We have a person in the top 5 who is actually a part of us..A silent partner if you will, You might know him actually from working in your field.” He states bluntly, her eyes widened at the notion.. Top 5… who the hell.

 Before she could even ask, she was cut off. “He has no idea you are even here, he has no idea you're even a blossoming little villain… for all he knows you're a scared little hero who went missing for a long time…He doesn't even come to the base if that says anything about him.. He needs to prove his worth before hes able to join us.. As the number 2 pro hero he needs to stay at arms length.. For our sake and the bases sake..”

Hawks. 

“Winged hero.. Hawks?” She gawps and goes wide eyed. “The very same..”  he sparks up a cigarette and places it betwixt his lips, he dragged her chair to the edge of the bed and sitting down as his knees framed her legs as he spreads his long legs out, he flicks her forehead, in a teasing fashion, making her pout cutely.

 “We have our reasons as to WHY he can't come to the base.. Being number 2 hero publicly being that reason and we can't risk everything to bring bird brain here or our goose is cooked, so to speak.” He chuckles and takes a drag of the cigarette, blowing the cloud out of his nose like a dragon. 

 Dabi leans forward flicking ash on the floor, maintaining eye contact with her as he drops a bombshell on her.

“My plan is to return you to the Heroes.” 

He says flatly and it makes her head jolt back, her eyes widening and her heart clamoring to her throat. 

“Really?” her voice raises a pitch as she cocks a brow, a cute little nervous gleam in her yellow eyes made him almost lose it laughing. "Yup. I'm going to hand you off to Hawks in 2 days and make it look like you were kidnapped, fucked up that big brain of yours, and on the plus side your little friends will be very excited to see you again i'm sure… the big shots will be asking you questions.. Getting intel from you..”

 She looks him over confused. “Isn't that bad though?” “No because you don't know where the hell you are… and.. You have been in the confines of these walls all this week.. Just answer them.. Just don't mention your wanting to become a villain.. Youll look crazy and they will stop questioning you..” He grins knowing exactly what could come from this.. His eyes hungry for the moment she realizes the heroes are nothing but scum of the Earth..

“Are you my mouse?” He tilts his head and raises his eyebrows feigning innocence. “I'm your girl…” He grins widely and takes her hand “Hmph, i knew you were.. Thats my lil mouse…”

The following day came and went, bringing about the evening and Dabi fleshing out his plan to Shigaraki who welcomed it but internally, he fucking loathed it now that hisnew found friend will be missing in action, however if its to get what they desired and to pinpoint locations on where the heroes reside, privately...It was underhanded. Conniving, and mostly her idea.. She knew where to go and how to get there.

After rejecting smokes for about an hour between the villains who sat around and listened to the new recruit eagerly mention how this was her specialty and she wont let any of them down, the mischievous gleam in her eye really captivated Dabi and drew him closer to her.  

At some point early in the evening, hard alcohol was busted out and drank at the bar and Shigaraki was piss drunk passed out on his bed, his shoe stuck in the door frame and what looked like his shirt lain on the floor, the only one looking to be untouched from the obscene amount of booze being Compress and Kurogiri..and for the most part Dabi, whether it be high alcohol tolerance or being ‘designated villain wrangler’ they will never admit what it was.

Chiaki was buzzed.. More then buzzed, three sheets to the wind... Never touching alcohol or hard liquor in her life, it felt freeing, except for the fact the entire building was moving around like a ship at sea and she never got her sea legs.. Dabi on the other hand had a much higher alcohol tolerance then her, practically providing the young woman bottle after bottle of Fireball.

The first shot she described as the hottest thing she ever drank, only for Himiko to make some snide comment about something *Else that could be hot that she can drink*, then another about how sweet and warm her blood will run after some liquid courage in her veins, all while twirling her knife between her digits.

Dabi quickly shut her up with a glare and a menacing threat. Soon she killed the entire bottle with Dabi, leaving it forgotten on the bar as she stays clung to his hip, and for the most part his jacket. He didn't mind, he dragged her up the stairs and scooped her up bridal style when she tripped at the second stair, avoiding her googly eyes that lolled back and forth in her head, he kept her head against his chest with ease, his destination his bedroom, to keep her at ease and keep her under his control.

 While walking to the bedroom he stepped over 3 passed out versions of Twice, one piled on top of the other and one folded down the staircase upside down; that being the actual Twice..Compress nodded to Dabi. “Still not fully knocked out?” He chuckled and dragged Spinner by the ankles into his room. “She was like me when I got plastered the first time… except she kept her clothes on… and didnt barbeque the bar.. Or fucked the barmaid.” Dabi jokes, making the pie-eyed young woman slur something that sounded like a laugh, it made him smile.

He pushed open the bedroom door only to see the little woman look up at him and giggle in a slur. “Heh.. heheheh! Dah-Dahhbiii..” She reaches up to his face and misses entirely, her arm plapping the side of his warm face, his eye blinks and he raises his brow comically . “May i help you, you shitfaced lil mouse.” He lowers her to the bed, her eyes blinking slowly and her eyes going drowsily going back and forth in the room. 

"Why aintchu fucked up.. you drank almost wha I had" she inquires her voice fumbling to make it passed red raw lips. Hereyes trained on Dabis knees as he stood point blank infront of her, her googly eyes focused on the White belt under his white shirt. 

"Self control, mouse.. and you kinda lost it after your second shot." She was shrouded in darkness for a split second before her head popped out of a black hoodie hole that smelled like burnt fabric, she moved her arms into the sleeves and noticed it wasn't like the one she came in. 

She sniffed it and fell backward to the bed, as Dabi stepped away to disrobe his clothing in a room with an open door. "Mmm.. smells like you.." she murmurs, loud enough for him to hear and make his eyes widen, blood surged through his veins getting a wicked lil idea.. "oh it does?" He calls out leaving that room shirtless and now dressed in sweatpants only. "Y'smell like sulphur and-" she takes another whif staring up at the ceiling. Hugging this oversized hoodie to her, he dimmed the lights with a flick of the switch beside him. Leaving one other light on. "Pork? Like.. musk too" he laughed loudly at this causing her to jump. "Thats burnt flesh. Humans smell like pork when fire is strong enough to cook it." Her eyes narrowed at the statement. "Huh.." was all she could muster from her lips. "Dabi.. yknow how easy it is to make people feel good when your me.. super easy.. my quirk i guess is kinda like wiiiiiiildfire." She mocked his voice and flattened her legs out to the end of the bed; he paid mind to where he sat as  he sunk down on the other side of the bed facing away from her as he turned on the tv for a movie.. some white noise wouldn't hurt. "Do ya care if i take this suit off." She mumbles as in her drunken state she fumbles to pry off the body suit from under the sweater. He paid no mind to her thinking she was just mumbling to herself.

Dabi chose a movie and flattened his hair back for a moment with his free hand, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders from side to side. He saw the suit hit the arm of the couch and blunk just realizing what that was. Then another article followed it. Her bra. 

Dabi amusedly chuckled and turned back to see the doe eyed drunken young woman sipping from a sake bottle she found in his room, sith her legs concealed beneath the blankets.

 He tsked and took it from her hands "dammit.. had to find my stache did you, mouse.." he scolded her and capped it, a scowl when he found it only about 2 shot glasses worth missing from the bottle. 

"whaat! I cant have more?" He turns his head to her half expecting her to have food in his bed and only meeting the sweet drunken face of the ex pro, hair all disheveled and some strands of hair in between her pretty pursed lips. This attraction and want was still fresh to him. He assumed it was part of her quirk that made him feel like this, all warm and fuzzy inside.. another weird feeling that made his stomach feel queasy, couldn't say he didnt like it though.

 "Would much rather not have someone die from alcohol poisoning again in my bed *again*, please…" he tosses it between his hands and stows it under the bed again. "No more."

He states firmly when he brings his head up she's in the center of the mattress and looking at his skin "take a picture, mouse, it lasts longer." She shuffles closer to him and touches his back making him jolt, his brows furrow, absolutely not expecting not even her to touch him where he couldn't see, his very body getting warmer to the touch, at the very point she's touching.

 Almost like in self defence. "D'sit hurt?" Her voice is blunt and almost not even close to a full sentence but he understands drunk speak clearly, he looks at the back of his hands "no. Some spots are more sensitive than others." His voice lowered, almost solemnly, old scars that have long healed on lean dense muscle.

 She pulls her hand away when the heat becomes too much, he hears her squeak. "Don't touch open flames.. might get burnt lil mouse.. i get too much in me and I could lose control of my quirk." He laughs and moves back to be with her, as she shuffles back beneath the sheets.

 "Don burn me like that puleaase" she pouts and flops into the pillows. "Pfff. Wouldnt imagine wanting to unless you have a thing for that." He winks down at her and pushes bright blonde locks from her face and pulls some strands from her lips. 

A wet pink muscle darting out to wet her alcohol dried lips, he watched almost transfixed on the pretty woman in his bed. "Your eyes are prrretty" she draws out the word pretty and a blush creeps across her face, dreamy eyed staring at him. Dabi rolls his eyes and throws an old shirt at the light switch to turn off the light, shrouding them both in semi darkness. "Shuttup." He grumbles, keeping the distance between them reasonable.

 "M'serious, when we first met i thought you were really my type, very sweet and charmin’." He humors her and props his head up on his hand, looking into her pretty yellow eyes, only visible by the light from the tv. 

"Tsk..Stop butterin me up.. Makin me feel like less of a villain and more of a softy.” He scowls and the light from the tv illuminates her once again, she pulls the blanket further up her body making the sweatshirt hike up her thighs abit out of Dabis sight. “Y’kinda were though hehehhe!” She giggled, Dabi humored her to hopefully shut her up. “Its the rugged handsome look or is it the monster look?" She looks away from his face for a moment. "Would you believe its bofadem." He scowls and his eyes narrow again, a growl in his throat, not satisfied with the answer, he doesn't know if he likes an honest drunk all that much..but her flirty behavior was not going to be left alone not by a longshot. "I's an added bonus too. Also your not too bad lookin shirtless." she reaches out to touch his flesh where his collar bone is burnt, with a breath and an irritated growl he snatches her hand, all her attention then turning to his massive hand that caught her small one.

She looks abit hurt when he rejects her advances to touch him, but calms down thinking she's going too fast. 

He sighed and allowed her to look his hand over, unbothered by the fact she's several inches away from him, he analyzed her eyes for any discretion that she could be bullshitting him about his looks.

 It's why hes the most antsy and guarded.

She turned his hand over and dragged her fingertips and nails slowly down the lean forearm, his eyes twitch and his hand splayed open at her touch, graceful fingers moving independently in a dance for her eyes only; all the while, surrendering control of his arm unto her to see what she will do. "Y'know..I cant heal.. ol scars.. can only heal fresh ones.. wish i could help ya out with these..." Her voice is tepid and gentle, only for his ears to hear, it wasnt feigning innocence, it was innocent. "I know what you can do mouse-" He makes an attempt to sooth her. “Im multitalented..i only use my talents on the people i like.. And i like you alot..”

Chiaki slides her hand up to press their palms together. A giant hand dwarfing her own by how simply long his fingers were. Callused and hot like the rest of him, he controlled himself enough to not produce too much heat where she will pull away. He truly didn't want that..

He can feel her pulse hammering in her fingers as he gently curled his fingers bending hers backward slightly and looking back down to her. God the way she looked at him drove his mind in circles, not like a monster, a killer or anything negative.. But someone she adored..

Eyes glazed over in bewilderment. "Hmm.." she hums sweetly, like honey upon his ears.. "what?" He asks "yer hands are be yoo tiful.." he puffs hot air out of his nose. "I feel like your perceptions of beauty are skewed from your binge, mouse…" he teases and she laces their fingers together in a sweet gesture that stuns the Villain in his place, her lips found the juncture of the knuckles of his hands and kissed them lazily, the intimacy and sweetness of the moment lost on him.. He slept with plenty of women, used them and kicked them to the curb.. This one was different.. It sparked something in him..and didn't go out. Like a trick candle on a cake.

 "Hey, hey.. don't start something mouse.. not in the state you're in.." he grumbles and stares down at her, not making any attempt to stop her.

"Why cantchu let me dote on you.." she pouts keeping the back of his hand to her face. His face grew closer to hers the smell of straight alcohol still lived rent free on her breath, "i want you to be conscious to what you and i do… hear me? Its below me to take advantage of you in a state where you can't remember and run.." his voice is grave and serious, it almost makes her frightened if not for the fact hes holding her hand so tightly. 

She nods and shifts her body weight closer to him, he hears her yawn, she releases his hand after another kiss to the scarred flesh. He clears his throat and brings himself over her with just his torso and looks down at her, the covers only covering his back, but from here she can see the extent of the scarification to his neck and chest and just how extensive it was. 

“See. don't look comfortable when you're in that position.. you dont want to be shit faced and being taken advantage of..” She shakes her head and opens her glassy eyes. “Not r'lly...” He nods and lays back down beside her, "thought so.." he pokes her cheek and pries his eyes from her.

 “Sleep. We're going tomorrow.” He yawns and before he could say another word or even look her in the eye, she was asleep. 100 percent zonked out and asleep. He sighed and smirked warmly, he moved to the center of the bed beside her and touched her leg with the pads of his finger tips.. They gently dragged across the smooth flesh of the outside of her thigh to her knee, he became more brave and repeated the motion with his whole hand, slower.. gently digging his fingers into the meat of her leg for a moment. "What the hell did you do to me, Chiaki.." he mumbles, his hand taking in her warmth and radioactive positivity from her quirk ripple into his hand like electricity. 

“Fuck..” He cursed and leaned forward to press a gentle smooch to her forehead..pulling her body close to his, falling asleep with her in his arms.

The morning came and with that.. so did Chiaki's unbelievable hangover, Dabi heard the girl shuffle to the small bathroom he had, he could tell she was crawling, unable to even stand and threw up violently the door to the toilet cracked as she emptied the contents of her stomach. With that he knew his day had just begun as he swung his legs out of bed and stood up, following the sounds of an esophageal exorcism taking place, and laughing at her expense. "Too much booze, hon?" He asked as he held her hair up, collecting pretty long locks in his fists as she got sick, it was almost too sweet for him to do this. He loomed above her. 

"Yup… fuck that sucked.. head hurts.." he chuckled and helped her to her feet. “Don't remember a damn thing of what happened last night do ya.” He raised a brow and turned on the sink letting her wash her face off abit. Cold water replenishing the color to her cheeks. “Not a damn thing...wanna remind me please?” She asked gargling water from a bottle he handed her and spitting some out in the sink to clear her breath abit. “Well if you havent noticed you kinda took off your pants and uh.. Your bra is on my couch.” He tugged the sweat shirt that almost showed off her perky asscheeks to him.

 Her hands darting to the end of the sweat shirt and her eyes going wide. “Did we-” She asks red in the face, her eyes darting to him in the mirror. “Nooo.. I said it last night, its below me to take advantage of someone like you.” She sighed and nodded her head turning back to him. “Thanks…” Dabi rolls his eyes and turns on his heels quickly. 

"No gettin soft on me today, alright mouse? Cmon get dressed. We got things to do today.." he ordered, his tone changing quickly.

The rain was pouring. Just as hard as she met Dabi, thunder roared over head as he summarized the plan over with her, provided her with an implant in her ear to record everything, down to the whereabouts and specific names and places.. Fool proof was an understatement, with her status it was the perfect storm. 

“How long will I be gone from you all..” She asked as he bound her wrists to her back tightly, making sure to make it look uncomfortable, as much as it pained him to see her wince in pain. “As long as we get the information we need.. And we'll come get you, mouse, why.. Sounding a bit nervous.” He asks leaning over her shoulder, guiding her into a cellar and securing a blindfold over her eyes, allowing Dabi to guide her wherever the hell he needs her to go.

 “Kinda. I know this is precautionary but is this necessary?” She asked, hearing a loud wrought iron gate opening and then followed by a vault door, entering a sewer system with water running down the center of the drainage system. 

“If they break you and get where we're at, there's no coming back, mouse. I should be asking you how the heroes interrogate their capture shouldn't i..” He jokes and holds her arms making sure shes walking forward, every so often his hand touches her back, keeping her warm using his quirk effectively in the cold, she moved closer to his side and found his arm hooked over her shoulder, his face still emotionless.

After about what felt like 15 minutes of silent walking they found themselves at a busted out hole in the wall, big enough for bodys to worm their way through. 

“Easy does it..” he mutters, pushing her through the hole to the outside world. 

The only thing indicating to her it's the outside world is the telltale sound of wind whipping around followed by fresh rain on her face. “Cmere, we're here..” SHe followed the sound of his voice and allowed him to guide her into a building. The creaks and moans of the old establishment made her wary and nervous, He stopped her directly inside of an old gas tank, hollowed out from neglect and time passed. “Can I take this off now.” She whispered so her voice wouldn't carry. “Hmhm.. of course.” he undid her blindfold and was greeted with his face again. “Happy to see me?” She shrugged. “Perhaps.. When is he coming..” She asked as he looked to the old burner phone he kept on hand. “10 minutes.. I always show up early, hes more than punctual.. It's borderline annoying.``

 He states stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Well when you're called the fastest hero you kinda have to live up to those expectations.” He rolls his eyes and waits patiently. 

“Gonna miss me?” He scoffs and replies deadpan at first. “Like the flu, nah im joking.. I will. Your company changed the group significantly. Quirk or not your...different.” He winks at her, she shuffles to him to rest her head on his chest, making it a mock hug, he puts his palm on her head and ruffles her pretty dark brown tresses up top.. “Heh.. god your always affectionate huh.. First you get me to appreciate you then you get Twice, Compress, Fuck even Spinner.. Shigaraki was a bit of a shock to the system.. Thus why we got all fucked up that night.”

 He laughed enough to where she saw the staples separate from his mouth for a moment. “Anyway.. In a couple of days… I'll give you your burner back.. And we can chat if ya miss me that much..heh, might even go ‘shopping’ like i promised ya, getcha somethin nice to wear when you get back.” He half pulls the burner phone she used earlier a week ago from his pocket. 

There's a gust of wind and feet tamping on the metal beams above their heads. Dabi raises his finger to his lips and leaves the confines of the empty tankard and looks right up at the hero.. The two exchanging a look before hawks can swoop on down, the longest feather in hand and eyes narrowed. 

“Took ya long enough.” Dabi spoke up his hands leaving his pockets. “It's been hell the past week and a half, I don't want to hear it.. You have been avoiding my calls and everything. What gives.” Hawks questions annoyance and exhaustion plaguing his speech. “I don't have a clue what this problem would be, but in regards to your calls, let's just say we've been busy.. Couldn't really speak amicably with the rest of the League up my ass.” He chuckled much to the hero's chagrin, the tired look on his face said it all.

 It was perfect. “If you must know.. Since that one little dust up in the business district with that Nomu and you.. We haven't seen Witch..” Dabi rocks back on his heels upon the mention of the ex-pro. 

“Ah… Witch.. That pretty lil piece of work.” He chuckled sinisterly, as the feather rose to his neck,an intense scowl splashed across the pros face, Dabi outturned his hand, threateningly. “Ah ah, Hostile already?” Hawks eyes narrowed, like he was at his wits end with people as of late. “Shes been gone since then.. My allegiance with you and the league still stands but the fact shes gone without a fuckin trace since she last saw you makes no sense, where the hell does a PRO go without a trace and all signs lead back to.” Dabi interjected, raising his brow and tilting his head back psychotically. “Back to us huh? Awfully presumptuous of you heroes..”

 Dabi  let his head drop forward and he raised his brow and cocked his head, confused on why the normally level headed hero would be so high strung. He ‘poked the bear’ and asked. “You mentored her, I assume? Were you two love birds.” Hawks scowled. “No. she was my partner for a bit if you must know so the workload wasnt as hectic as it has been lately. But now with crime rate so high the damn commission wont get off MY ass.” 

Dabi boredly pushes the feather blade away. “Tsk.. seems were in the same boat… but in regards to your lady friend i may know something” He turned on his heel and grabbed her from the tank, exchanging one last look between them before Dabi turned her out to see Hawks. The pro took a step back and his face went white, like he saw a ghost.

He went wide eyed, . “Holy shit, kid.”

~~~~~~

Authors note: Ive decided unanimously im making a fucking series and im gonna have fun with it. Enjoy Chiaki shes my gal uwu

[retvenkos]

amends pt. 7 // ricky bowen

High School Musical: The Musical: The Series - Slow Burn Ricky Bowen x Stage Manager!Reader Fic. Summary: That’s asking a lot of the theatre gods. Then again, it does include a lot of drama, so maybe it might just work out. pt. 1 // pt. 2 // pt. 3 // pt. 4 // pt. 5 // pt. 6 // pt. 7 // pt. 8 // pt. 8.5-ish // pt. 9 //  unfinished

You hated to say it, you really did, but maybe Miss Jen almost losing her job was just what the show needed. You looked around at everyone in rehearsal, and for the first time since this seemingly cursed production started, could smile.

Kourtney was matching the blue boa for “Bop To The Top” to the set decorations (which were finished weeks before opening night - the first time in high school theatre history!), Miss Jen was helping Gina and E.J. get the dynamics for their characters correctly, Carlos was leading Ricky and Nini through the choreography for “Breaking Free,” and they cast was clicking. The leads looked like friends, again. Close friends that would band together to save their dying show; close friends that joke with each other about things that had happened in the past without digging up skeletons in the closet. What you noticed most of all, though, was how Ricky absolutely beamed.

“So, months later, is the musical finally the escape I promised it would be?” You slowly ambled toward Ricky as the song ended. You tried your hardest to come off as cool and casual, but the butterflies in your stomach were bruising your ribcage and they slammed into it, full force - a development that you couldn’t decide whether it was something you hated or loved.

Ricky laughed good-naturedly at your comment and you felt your heart swell with pride. “Well, being an East High Wildcat is definitely different than being and East High Leopard-” Ricky cut himself off to catch a water bottle that Nini tossed to him, “-although neither is terrible at the moment.”

You nodded happily at his words. Everything was coming together - it really was. “And being Ricky? How’s that going?” You were careful with your choice of words, but your tone was light, as though it was nothing.

Ricky capped his water bottle thoughtfully, the ghost of a smile on his lips. You did your best not to stare, but with each passing day, your efforts had to be stronger for the same result. Luckily, Ricky was too lost in his thoughts to notice. “Well, I’ve made amends with Nini,” you both nodded and when he looked at you, his eyes were soft, “and I’ve moved on from her too.”

“Really?” You hated yourself for the hope that snuck into your words. How pathetic could you be? “I mean, that’s huge!”

“Yeah,” Ricky laughed sheepishly, averting his eyes. “I, uh, had a talk with Gina on the night of Homecoming. She helped me realize a couple of things.” He looked back up at you, the corners of his mouth pulling ever so slightly upward. You looked into his deep brown eyes and were trapped.

They were particularly lustrous under the stage lights, and even though they were full of hope there was something fearful in them - almost as though he was afraid to be exposed for too long. They crinkled sweetly in the corners from the smile that had started to break out on his face.

It occurred to you after a moment that you had been looking too long, but when you tried to find words to disrupt the moment, nothing came to mind. Part of you was glad; if you could stay here for the rest of your life, you would be happy.

The ping of your phone interrupted the moment.

You saw Ricky blink twice and you muttered an apology sheepishly as you tugged it out of your jeans pocket.

from: red (4:37 p.m.) If you keep looking at him I am going to gag and fall off the catwalk.

Your face was suddenly full of heat. You cursed under your breath and turned to Ricky. “It’s Big Red - he needs help with the lights.” Ricky nodded, downing another water bottle. “Keep up the good work!” You shot him a thumbs up before running off to where the ladders were.

Yes, Big Red was aware of your not-so-secret crush on Ricky. Honestly, it was a miracle that he hadn’t spilled her secret yet. And the number of looks he shot your way when the three of you were hanging out? You would kill him if he wasn’t a vital part of stage crew. He killed it on the soundboard.

“Are you going to try and out me every time Ricky and I are together?” You crawled across the catwalk, careful not to hit your head on any of the low hanging lights above you. Big Red turned his head toward you as you came closer, the biggest Cheshire grin on his face.

“I think you’re quite capable of doing that yourself.” You slapped his arm playfully with one of your gloves, careful not to compromise the position he was - moving the light to illuminate the center of the stage. “But honestly, you should just go for it!”

You scoffed and tilted the light a bit, trying to get his mind back on task. Big Red just looked at you momentarily before rolling his eyes. “Maybe I will,” you mumbled under your breath. From your vantage point, you could see Ricky below, practicing his lines with E.J. They were still a little stiff together, but Ricky was comfortable enough to pat him on the back as he laughed at one of “Chad’s” lines. A smile crossed your face as you watched him.

“Y’know, some might consider that stalking.” You scowled at Big Red and he smiled innocently.

“Just you wait until you have a crush. I’m going to make it hell for you.” Big Red laughed at your scowl.

“That’ll be the day.”

…

“Hey, E.J.?” You jogged to catch up with the tall senior, and he turned at the sound of his name. You bit your lip nervously. “Um… What’s going on in rehearsal? You don’t seem to have the positivity you used to.”

He looked around the backstage area as if he was trying to find a way out. You sighed. When Miss Jen had asked you to confront E.J. about his ‘lack of enthusiasm,’ you weren’t too jazzed either. But it was your job as a stage manager - and you knew it was for the better of the whole production.

“Yeah, well it’s hard to be positive when your world is crumbling around you,” his words were flat - not because he didn’t care, but because he was tired of pretending. “Nini hates me, and half of the cast won’t talk to me.”

“Hey,” you tried to catch his eyes, which were now glued to the floor. “I know some stuff has gone down these last couple weeks-” E.J. laughed incredulously and you shrugged a bit, “-but that doesn’t mean you can’t change. And don’t worry about Nini or the cast - worry about you. Once you start being better, Nini is going to come around. So will the rest of the cast. I promise.” E.J. looked at you hopefully and you gave him a reassuring smile. “We need you, E.J., don’t forget that.”

E.J. muttered a thank you before turning and walking out. You sighed, tipping your head back to look up at the ceiling. Even when things were getting better, there was still damage control that needed to be done.

“How does it feel being a personal therapist to 40 angsty teenagers?” Gina’s voice cut through the silent room and startled you a bit. You turned around to find her leaning against the set piece for the New Year's Eve party, her signature grin on her face.

You laughed and she chuckled softly as you walked towards her. “Yeah, well at least I never have to worry about you.” You smile good-naturedly and she forced a smile back. “At least one person on the cast has it all together.”

Gina let out an exasperated sigh and you could already feel yourself start to regret your choice of words. “Looks can be deceiving sometimes.” You looked at her and noticed something almost sad in her eyes.

“Is everything okay?” Your voice was little more than a whisper, but she heard it.

“It will be.” Her face hardened with every word. “I just… can’t get attached, y’know?” She smiled sadly at you and you nodded silently.

“See you later, Gina.” The woman in question held up a hand in farewell as you walked out. You turned around before you officially left and watched her look fondly at the sets around her. There was something sad in her movements, something that lent to the fact that there was something else happening.

You grabbed your phone out of your pocket, contemplating what to do for a moment. With a decisive nod of your head, you pressed Ricky’s contact and listened to the phone ring as you left the school.

“(N/n)?”

taglist:

@room-3o4, @dinsey-chanel-deactivated202001​, @ruefulposts​, @mightdielater​, @ggukstoe​, @wallacetdog​, @onceuponafanfiction​, @goodnight-n-dayglow​, @prttybitchin​, @loyalucas​, @hxney-bunches-x​, @hxzstxles​, @parkeroffline​, @madamestarlet​, @parkerharrington​, @fudgemesteveharrington​, @hobistigma​, @farfrom-peter​, @fangeekkk​, @tori-marie​, @amxx44​, @onceuponafanfiction​, @softpeteparker​, @filmqvakers​, @wcnderwoo​, @stitch-flo​, @liberty01​, @kxhliforniaa​, @ilymarkchan​, @complete-trash-101​, @strangerxhunters, @dystopianchic13​, @allaroundaddict​, @hannarudick​, @sweetmilki​, @aesthetics-andfandoms​, @byuncaa​, @write-from-the-heart​, @spiderbibby​, @captainlarsonn​, @ssuddenn​, @buckybearsblog​, @awkwardnesshabitat​, @whiteskinnyboysandmemewhore​, @shawnandconnor

[filmbefore]

electra sohn , a member of the yale's elite , they're twenty and a sophomore majoring in theater and performance studies . they are as starry-eyed as they are non-committal . ( park chaewon ( gowon ) / she/her / cis female )

STATISTICS .

FULL NAME : electra hope sohn . NICKNAMES : el , elly .  AGE : twenty . BIRTHDAY : july 29 , 2000 .  ASTRO : leo sun , gemini moon , scorpio rising . SIBLINGS : one “ older sister ” . ( you will see why that is in quotation marks ) SEXUALITY : bisexual + biromantic . HEIGHT : 5′1″  HAIR COLOR : blonde . HOMETOWN : savannah , georgia .

BLACKMAILS .

electra’s mother had her when she was very young and decided to let her parents raise her baby girl. instead of being truthful about the situation, everyone told her that her mother was a much older sister. electra has actually been raised by her grandparents her whole life.

before attending yale, she used to manipulate her theater teacher into giving her nearly every lead role in school productions by promising to expose him for pocketing money from the school’s drama budget. she has barely earned any of the roles on her resume that actually got her into the theater program at yale. 

PAST .

electra was born in savannah , georgia to a teen mom who was completely unprepared to raise a child . but she couldn’t just give up this precious little baby , so instead ... she decided to let her parents adopt her daughter so that she could stay in her life . instead of being honest with electra , her family just decided to tell her that her biological mom was her older sister and that she was their miracle baby that had come many years later ! 

like many southern little girls , electra grew up on female country music icons . she was constantly singing hits by loretta lynn , patsy cline , and shania twain in the bedroom she had in her parents’ trailer . but the singer that she idolized the most was none other than miss dolly parton .

electra was obsessed with dolly’s over the top looks , the sparkles she wore , and the unabashed confidence she had . like nobody compared in electra’s mind lmao

after watching the movie , steel magnolias , at the local drive in theater , electra then became obsessed with the idea of following in dolly’s footsteps and getting into theater , dramas , and the film industry . and before you know it , the girl was auditioning for any productions that would have her . 

but after continuing to get cast in small roles , electra kind of had it and was looking for SOME way to sneak her way into the spotlight . ( instead of like , putting in some extra work and just getting better at acting but whatever i digress )

during her sophomore year of high school , she “ happened ” upon some information regarding her theater teacher pocketing drama budget money and used that as leverage to secure lead roles the rest of high school . 

those roles , paired with her grades , scored her a spot in the yale theater department ! which was PERFECT because she had also been OBSESSED with the elites since she was a little girl , loving the picture of luxury they had . and she figured she may as well try to finagle her way into the group .

PRESENT DAY / ELITES .

electra used a childhood picture she had with a former elites member and edited herself into some more recent pictures with them , somehow convincing everyone that she was a legacy’s goddaughter . and if that wasn’t enough , she also told some white lies about co-directing drama productions and being a lighting technician a few times in order to make her resumé a little more interesting . and just like that , electra lied her way into the elites !

now , she is heavily involved in the theater department at yale and still BUMPIN two doors down in her headphones as she walks to elites meetings . 

she has also altered her current style in order to fit into the elites a little better . like ,,, she really tries to wear clothes that she has seen deemed as “ chic ” in movies like clueless , but with that southern lady colorfulness that she just can’t get rid of . like she is fully dressed like cher horowitz on her way to a rodeo every day .

electra is SUCHHH a try hard when it comes to the elites tho like are you a senior member ? you want a coffee ? she will be bringing you one asap . oh you think the salad she’s eating for lunch looks good ? here its yours . a kiss ass really

PERSONALITY .

miss electra is a picture perfect dilettante . loves the art heaux aesthetic , actually knows very little about art in any form . she has a superiority complex though because of ability to score lead roles in drama productions and musicals on campus . but she’s just very flighty and as i mentioned ,, non committal . good luck holding her down for anything . she’s just kinda like a moth and will fly to any flame she finds interesting and not think about anything else in the process . just generally very dramatic and intense idk bro !!! good luck haha !!

[mostweakhamlets]

weird request but could I ask for something domestic? it can be canon or any au. just imagining those two like haggling at a farmer's market or picking out new furniture for the south downs

Not exactly domestic, but kinda domestic. They were supposed to leave the house, but I got carried away thinking about them staying in 

vlogger au:

--

Crowley suggests they explore town their first weekend in the South Downs. Aziraphale is eager to ger his personal library set up, but Crowley insists that they get out for a breath of fresh air. It’ll be better than digging through boxes for another day. 

“You packed up all your dust with you,” Crowley says, a sneeze caught in his nose. “Let’s go, angel. Your books will be here when we get back.”

Aziraphale looks around his room. To enter his library, one would need to enter through a regular door in the hallway. It would appear to be nothing more than a closet before stepping in. Then, it would appear to be an architectural mix of the world’s greatest libraries--all of Oxford’s, Cambridge’s, a touch of Alexandria. It would be breathtaking and stretch on for ages. 

The shelves were currently mostly empty, and old cardboard boxes all over the floor ruined the aesthetic. But Aziraphale looked quite at home, sitting on the floor, surrounded by his books and he unboxed them. 

“I don’t know, dear. Isn’t it supposed to rain later?” 

“It’s always going to rain. It’s England.”

“But I wouldn’t want us to get caught in it. Not when it’s warm and dry in here.”

Aziraphale smiled up at him. Crowley was weak for that smile. It was the smile that got Aziraphale dinners at the Ritz, extra bottles of wine, and little pastries from down the street in London. It was the smile that got Crowley to sit next to him and open a new box of books. 

“This is very kind of you, my dear,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Crowley knew that Aziraphale was anxious about moving for the first time in centuries. When they drove away from the bookshop, Aziraphale had kept his head turned to his window, but Crowley could see that he was blinking back tears. Crowley made sure that he bought a new CD for their trip so that Aziraphale could have comfort music. It had since turned into The Best of Queen, but Crowley had collected spares that the Bentley hadn’t seen yet. 

“We could see if there’s any nice restaurants in town,” Aziraphale continued. “Whatever you’re in the mood for. And we do have more wine, I believe. Somewhere in the mess in the kitchen.” 

“We can look for it later,” Crowley said. “I don’t know why you wanted to buy so many pots and cooking... things.”

“I’d like to start cooking, my dear. It’s been ages since I’ve done it, but I don’t think I’ve lost my touch. It might be a while before we actually see results, though.”

“It’s fine.” The kitchen, like the library, was full of boxes and only a few unpacked necessities. “We can find places in town in the meantime.”

Crowley pulled out his phone from his back pocket and began looking for nearby restaurants--something he knew Aziraphale would enjoy. Maybe sushi or a place with an extensive dessert menu. He would insist that it was what he was in the mood for, but it would truly be to see Aziraphale wiggle happily in his seat and hear him admit that he was enjoying their new home. 

After 30 minutes of reading reviews and scoping out menus, Crowley noticed Aziraphale was 50 pages into a book. 

“I thought we were unpacking.”

“We were, but I thought a break would be nice,” Aziraphale said, turning a page and then another only half a minute later. 

Crowley pulled the book away from Aziraphale’s lap and replaced it with his head. Aziraphale smiled down. He put one hand on Crowley’s chest and the other played with his hair. 

“Let’s talk then,” Crowley said, lacing his fingers over his stomach and crossing his ankles. 

“About what, dear?”

“Do you really want to be here?”

Aziraphale blinked. His hands stilled. “What do you mean? Of course, I do!”

“Then why stay inside all day?” 

“We’re still settling in.”

“But I’ve been more social than you have. That’s not good. We have neighbors who want to meet you.”

“They’ll have to wait. And I’m not that social of a person. You know I like keeping to myself.”

Crowley scoffed. “You love meeting people as long as they’re not trying to take any of your precious books.”

Aziraphale was quiet. Crowley’s stomach felt wrong. Maybe it wasn’t the right time to bring it up. Or the right way. Maybe Aziraphale knew that he was being a shut-in and just needed time to work through it himself. 

Crowley fiddled with a button on Aziraphale’s waistcoat. The fabric around it was worn down. Threads were torn and frayed. No matter what, Aziraphale refused to get it fixed or allow Crowley to miracle it back to how it once looked. He had fussed the day a button finally broke free of its last stitch until he managed to sew it back on himself. Suggesting getting a new one just made Aziraphale roll his eyes at Crowley with a comment about how he wouldn’t understand not needing to change and update his life every time there was a new human trend. 

Crowley thought of it more as a need to not change. Ever. 

“I’ll try to be better,” Aziraphale finally said. “We can start going out, and I can catch up to speed.”

Crowley shook his head. “No, that’s not what I’m saying, angel. I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable. If you want, we can pack back up and be in London tonight.”

“I’d like to give this a chance. But...”

“It’s too fast?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Just a touch.” 

Crowley reached up to touch Aziraphale’s cheek. Aziraphale leaned into it until Crowley was stroking his soft jaw. 

“Let’s stay in for tonight,” Crowley said. “And then tomorrow we can go on a walk.” 

“That sounds like a fine plan.” 

“You can finally meet the neighbors, and they can finally stop asking me about you.”

“Oh! What have you told them?”

“Just the basics.”

“Good.”

“But I did tell them all something different about you.”

Aziraphale pulled Crowley’s hand away from his cheek. “I don’t suppose you told them a single truth?”

Crowley smiled. “Come on, angel. What’s the fun in telling them the truth?”

[lizzieraindrops]

Your chance to make the sun rise thrice (Chapter 3)

that a garden will grow (11,143 words)

"There are no happy endings, because nothing ends." - The Last Unicorn, Peter S. Beagle That does not mean that there is no joy.

Veera is alive.

Also on AO3  |  Playlist soundtrack  |  Aesthetic sideblog

Happy autumn equinox, everyone.

When I started this story as a oneshot back in 2016, I had no idea that it would turn into a series spanning four years of new life for these characters, much less that it would end up taking me nearly the same amount of time to write it.

I wrote the first part during the darkest yet time of my life as an abstract fantasy of being in a better place. I finish writing it today from a better place, physically, mentally, emotionally, and even spiritually. If I've learned anything from this, it's that your own creativity saves you and is powerful enough to call the better things that seem so impossible into existence.

This is my tribute to Veera as a character and everyone like her and anyone who has identified with her. She changed my life. Even with all OB's many, many flaws (dear god there are SO many), without the explicit representation of Veera's neurodivergence in the Helsinki comics, I don't know how I would have figured out that I'm autistic. That has been both the biggest hurdle and the greatest blessing in the trajectory of my healing. Since it's been so central to this story and its writing, I've included a link to some resources for autism spectrum self-diagnosis.

Part 1: Herbs on the windowsill

Part 2: Someday colors

Part 3: Your chance to make the sun rise thrice  |  Chapter 1  |  Chapter 2  |  Chapter 3

***

Veera wakes gently, early, unexpectedly so. As she sits up, her weighted blanket slips off and crumples around her waist like a shed skin. Bands of muted morning coming through the blinds slide over her as she rises from the plane of the bed. The summer sun has still risen first, of course. True dark never falls here in the summer, at this high a latitude. But right now, its light is softened and diffused by a thin veil of cloud over the city. Listening, the others aren’t up and moving yet.

Slight shifting of her relaxed limbs makes the softness of the sheets into an extravagance. She’s in a rare, delicately balanced state, one where her senses have sharpened just enough to turn ordinary sensations exquisite without overwhelming her. She’ll have to spend some time listening to music – and with Niki and Beth. That was the plan anyway. But the others aren’t up yet.

Today, there’s a restlessness in her. Most days, she gets up slow, simply waiting until her body is ready to go about the day. Yet a quiet kind of discomfort has made a home in her core, nudging her to get moving. The feel of it is neither full nor hollow, not exactly painful yet nothing like comfort. It’s just there, a subdued directionless yearning.

But her mind needs to go at its own pace waking up. Inertia drags at her when she tries to move too fast or cut corners in her daily ritual. Subtle distress quickly follows that inertia if she tries to press the issue. It shows in the incrementally increasing fine tension of her muscles, slowly winding her up like clockwork. So she sits with the feeling. Motionless except for her breath in the middle of her bed, she thinks.

Light. Leaves. Home. Hunger. She should eat soon. They’re out of cereal, though. There’s a farmer’s market a few blocks away that should have fresh summer fruit. She could go. She does, sometimes, early in the morning like now, before Niki wakes up, and just wanders around. As long as she keeps it short and doesn’t talk much, she should be able to manage it without giving herself a headache.

Twenty minutes find her feet traversing muted pink granite. Neat rectangular stone cobbles pave the street below her living room window. The rumble of a loud truck passing right by close makes her flinch, but she manages to shake the discomfort out of her neck and shoulders easily enough once it’s gone. Other than that, the streets are unusually peaceful. Most people like get out of the city this close to midsummer.

She steps lightly over the stone in snugly laced canvas shoes, toes touching down first. There’s some sort of bird hidden in the trees lining the street, singing two repeated notes on a slow loop. A flycatcher, she thinks.

Being in motion somewhat soothes her restlessness as she slips through broad swathes of clouded morning light between the shadows of buildings. The persistent sensation is nothing so strident as the hypervigilance that used to keep her so high strung. But its subtle company has been constant, lately. She can tell she’s internally processing something, but she can’t quite pin it down. Maybe that’s why she’s been waking up so much earlier than normal.

Lately, a strangeness has been gently tugging at the edges of her mind. In part, she knows it’s a growing awareness of how much things have changed since four years ago. It’s happened so gradually. It was nigh invisible until she cast far enough back along the path of her own footsteps to see how far she’s come. She almost died, but she didn’t. She’s no longer in a desperate race to survive. Now, she’s alive. The question of who and what she is now is an unnervingly open one.

These days, she wakes within a body that is soft and scarred. She is both a wounded creature walking this world with strange steps and a thing healing yet already whole. More often than not, she finds her shoulders loose and her chest open, instead of curled tight into a semblance of stone. They can still seize up when her fears circle back around to worry at invisible scars. But it’s not an endless anxious state. It isn’t everything she is anymore.

Likewise, her nightmares don’t spend as many nights haunting her. Weeks pass between them, sometimes. When they do steal back to the surface of her psyche, the quiet fear they stir up saps all her energy and trails lazily through the daylight hours like an oilslick. She spends those days baking something sweet in the apartment’s warmly lit kitchen. Or she takes inventory of the shapes and textures of the leaves that hang suspended in the air of every familiar room.

It helps, even if dreams or memories linger smoldering in the back of her mind the whole time. The sensations and sense of space keep her grounded, both within herself and outside of the fickle fear and pain that flares and fades and keeps returning. Of course, nothing is so immediately comforting as the presence – and, in this searingly ephemeral moment, presences – that remind her she is not alone. But even when they aren’t there, the space itself reminds her that she lives with and in this place she’s chosen to call a home.

The apartment is the first home she can remember that feels the way she suspects one is supposed to. It fits around her, small and enclosed enough to know every inch without uncertainty scratching at the bounds of her awareness. Tucked away up on the third floor, it nests in a quiet old brick building that’s as comfortably worn in as her favorite hoodie. Its wide windows spread big and bright in every room, reminding her to breathe freely. She is no longer a creature caged. Shadows are soft in this place, and the sunlight is as much a part of it as the walls. Its radiant forms lance through glass and smile through aches, never failing to wrap her in warmth.

Leaves unfurl gently in every window. She likes to run the living silken or waxy greenness of purposeful growth between her fingertips. Perhaps their green faces are outnumbered by all the strangely familiar human ones in the photos along the whitewashed walls, marking where friendships have germinated. But then again, perhaps not. It’s a close call, and there’s always more of both growing. They’re still something of a miracle to her, after so long alone.

Low murmurs of outdoor conversation bring her back to the pop-up stalls of the market hovering just ahead. She’s there.

There are somewhat fewer visitors than normal, but the market still appears to be proceeding about business as usual. Early on, this Saturday market tends to be quieter than the Sunday one, not quite as full of people. It's that perfect balance of un-crowded enough that she can keep to her own internal world without interruption, but bustling enough that she doesn't stand out. She's just another woman at the market. Once in a while, gazes will slide over the scars on her cheek, or her upper arm if she’s wearing short sleeves (not her leg or ankle, as she never wears anything except pants). Her skin begins to remember to crawl - but then the eyes keep on sliding past, on to the peppers or the green beans or the fresh cut flowers.

Weaving her way into the dispersed crowd, she heads for the egg stand first, just in case they run out. They often do. With a dozen blue and brown eggs in tow, she roves about until she finds a stand with peaches she can smell from several paces away. Their sweet tang fills the air as she picks them out. She also gets some fresh apricots, brushing her fingertips over their velvety little coats of fuzz. She tucks the stonefruit and eggs safely into the backpack she brought and keeps moving. A yeasty oaf of fresh bread for picnicking later joins them. The rounded tip of the long loaf pokes out the top of the zippered pocket, hovering just behind her ear. She leaves the top of its paper wrapper open so it stays crisp.

Live music rolling out from the street corner captures her, pulling her out of her trajectory mid-stride to swing toward the unadorned sidewalk stage. The resonance of shimmering metal strings and singing wood flows over her and through her, and she simply sways with it, part of it. It sparkles over her skin and hums along her bones, making her flutter her fingers in pleasure, and it’s blissful. After everything she’s been through, the long gauntlet of near misses and fires and nightmare flames, it still seems wrong somehow for things to be this okay, to feel this good.

That’s why, when visceral self-consciousness swoops down on her again without warning, its familiar fear is as much something like relief as it is a thorn in an old wound. Nothing even causes it, really: just a stray passing glance from a stranger that slid over her hands instead of her scars and didn’t even linger. But it makes her remember the oddness of the ways her hands move, when she’s happy, when she’s stressed. It makes her stand out if she doesn’t make the effort to hide them – or if she takes a little too long to think in a conversation – or if she lets on that she can be hurt so easily by the smallest, normally inconsequential things.

In more dangerous times, standing out could have ended very badly for her. The feeling of being hunted might have retreated to the back of her mind, but it has never truly left. In moments like this, she still snaps back into old habits. Her fists clench into stillness, her mind into sharp wariness, her whole self into the ache of immobility except for consciously calculated movements. It’s not quite the old full-body taut-wire tension of terror. Nonetheless, it’s a painful tender twisting inside, pulling things skewed and wrong in her chest.

The thing is, she knows she’s one of the lucky ones. For so many people, the fear never gets to recede at all. Either the danger remains ever-present in the casual cruelties of the world, or their wounds never get the care they need to heal. Not everyone can be set free by toppling a single old castle of corruption into the sea. Veera gets to try to heal, as impossibly hard as it is and always will be. She has support to fall back on now, kind hearts that hear her, arms that will hold her when she hurts. Though they’re rare, she has days where she doesn’t feel like she has to hide at all. It’s so strange. Even before the Helsinki fire, she spent so long becoming acquainted with the wariness of attracting too much attention. She’s still trying to understand who she even is if she’s not hiding.

That’s why she’s doing the work she does with CYGNet. They’re all muddling their way toward healing from their one-off odd brand of hurt, but the support system they’re building could be useful for so much more. In her mind, they’re just the beginning. One day, maybe they can expand to help even more people beyond the Leda project. The Beths with different faces but surviving the same family history. The Nikis with different nightmares but recovering from the same betrayal. The Veeras with different scars who are just as overwhelmed by the everyday world, but deserve just as much of a chance to experience it without having to hide their truth in shame and become someone they’re not.

Well. Maybe one day. For now, one thing at a time. She has to take care of herself and her own healing if she’s going to make any progress down that distant path. Sometimes, the path she’s on right now still seems to stretch so much further ahead than she can fathom.

Eyes closed, Veera takes a breath into her tense stillness. To her own fragile heart, she whispers, It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. She breathes; it passes.

Giving herself a few minutes more to listen to the music, she waits until the grip of physical memory lessens. The sound is still lovely, even if she can’t quite fall back into the two-piece symphony the way she did mere moments ago. She calms further as she carries herself onward again down the tent-lined street. Under the surface, though, in the same hollow where her restlessness lives, her heart remains sore where something still won’t settle into place.

Fortunately, there are other good things at the market that help soothe the ache. Even for someone like her who needs to limit her exposure to overstimulation and crowds, they make it worth braving all the bustle now and again.

A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth at the sight of a profusion of green fronds leaning out from beneath the awning of the stand up ahead. It's bursting with foliage in more shades of green than she knew existed, and chock full of rows of those knobbly little succulents she loves so much. The vendor is a quiet man with a ponytail and a kind face. He merely smiles at her whenever she comes by. He’s one of those strangers who are friends by the shared appreciation of silence. Sometimes words get in the way.

He nods at her in recognition as she ducks into the stand to avoid a loud group of shoppers. Though there are people in there, something about the vendor and the greenery keeps things calm. The tiny forest is an island in the flow of people. It’s nearly on the opposite end of the market from where she started, and it always provides a brief respite where she can recover a little before heading back. Besides, she likes to look over the lacy ferns and trailing philodendrons and all the tiny succulents in every color of the rainbow, even if she already has too many.

She still leaves most of the houseplants to Niki to look after. But to her own surprise, she’s quite good at taking care of the succulents. For the most part, she leaves them somewhere sunny and ignores them. They love it. Sometimes they even treat her to little shiny-papery flowers in brilliant pink or yellow.

Ranks of mini succulents line one of stall’s tables. She’s barely skimming her fingers over the surfaces of a row of flat, stone-like lithops when she sees it. One of the tiny pots is filled with what appear to be little green spheres like peas. Looking closer, they’re round, succulent leaves attached to thin trailing stems. Sprouting from the end of one string of them is a long, spindly stem curving up to a closed flower bud that bobs in the breeze. She’s never seen anything like it.

The man running the stand notices her looking at it. Veera points at the plant and tilts her head in a question. He smiles and extracts a sheet of paper for her from a messy pile half tucked under the cash box. Its a care sheet for Senecio rowleyanus, or string of pearls.

Veera did promise Niki she’d stop bringing home so many succulents. But the plant man’s pressing the little pot of pearls into her hands, waving her wide eyes away with a smile when she reaches for her wallet. This one will have to be an exception. Her small smile and wave of thanks receive another nod in acknowledgement and farewell. Cupping the pot in both hands, she ventures back into the mid-morning river of people to take herself home.

On the way back down the street, the plant cradled against her chest draws smiles from the crowd. They often transfer to her as well. Something about the green thing in her arms softens people’s expressions, even when they see her scars. It makes it easier to walk softly, and to carry her dull ache of residual fear just as gently.

As if struck, she stumbles when she remembers that today, she gets to go home to her two best friends in the entire world. The ache that knowledge calls forth is just as arresting as the kind that comes with the clinging oilslick fear, yet different. This is far stronger and far sweeter, its truth a soft clarity. Veera clutches her plant close to her chest with one hand as she catches her balance on a fruit-covered table with the other. A handful of little oranges roll off as she bumps into it.

Stammering apologies, Veera scrambles to gather up the fallen fruit. A nearby woman browsing the citrus in a purple sweater kneels down to help her. Veera wasn’t planning on buying mandarins, but she can hardly knock them all over the ground and run off. She hopes she has enough cash left. Straightening up, she looks for somewhere to sit the fruit down so she can check her wallet.

But the woman in the sweater holds her hands out for them. She’s already put the ones she picked up in a canvas bag.

“I’ll take them,” she says. “I was gonna buy some anyway.” Her sweater is a few shades bluer than the warm purple of Veera’s own hoodie.

Veera blinks at her. “Are – are you sure?” She holds out one of the mandarins, showing its dented skin, fragrant with released citrus oils.

The woman gives her a small smile. “Yeah. I’ll eat that one first.”

“Oh. Um. Okay.” Veera delicately hands three more mandarins over. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Don’t worry about it.” The woman’s voice is like her smile: small but kind.

Veera whispers her thanks again, then hurries home before she can be waylaid by any more painfully kind gestures from strangers.

***

Veera’s so relieved to walk through her own door into the kitchen that she doesn’t realize someone’s in the living room, not until she hears a soft sob. Her head snaps up. Niki’s on the couch with her face in her hands and Beth next to her with an arm around her. Alarmed, Veera drops her bag on the kitchen counter and begins to make a beeline for her. But she hesitates. She’s used to offering Niki comfort whenever she can, but is she interrupting?

Too late. Beth makes a small sound of surprise when she notices Veera hovering halfway into the room. Niki looks up too, but she wipes her eyes and gives Veera a watery smile. It’s okay.

Niki holds a hand out as Veera makes her way over to the couch. Gladly, Veera takes it. As Veera stands there before the scruffy secondhand sofa in the hazy light from the window, the three of them are briefly an interlinked chain. Beth watches the other two with soft, understanding eyes, her arm steady over Niki’s shoulders.

Niki heaves a shaky sigh. Then she gives Beth’s knee a thankful squeeze and uses Veera’s hand to lever herself up to standing. She briefly embraces Veera, who returns the gesture. “I’m okay,” Niki whispers. Veera nods. Then Niki slips away into the kitchen and starts bustling around, half-seen behind the half-wall that divides it into an alcove off the main room. Presumably, she’s taking a moment to collect herself while unpacking Veera’s groceries. She does that. Niki doesn’t mind if Veera sees her cry – or Beth, apparently. But she always takes a moment alone afterward to put herself back together.

Veera shakes her head to clear away the traces of her second unexpected fright of the morning. In its wake, the empty spot on the couch is too inviting.

She flops onto the cushions next to Beth with a sigh and goes limp. Maybe going to the market was a little too ambitious for today. She’s already had too much excitement this week with Beth visiting, and she hasn’t slept well because of it, which only saps more of her limited energy. Even good things can be so exhausting. She knows she needs to get more rest than most people do, especially when there’s so much happening. But that’s so hard to remember when she knows that this moment is such a rare blessing. Both of her most important people are right here with her right now. It’s so hard to not throw herself completely into every possible joy she can have, in this transcendent sliver of time.

She rolls her head where it rests against the back of the couch to look at Beth sideways. “I got breakfast,” she offers.

“Looks like you wiped yourself out doing it.” Beth leans against the arm of the sofa to look at her. “Morning.” Her own tired eyes twinkle.

Veera smiles. She tries to fix this moment into memory: the wisps of Beth’s unbrushed hair catching the light, the wooden clatter of Niki opening and closing cabinets in the kitchen.

“Are you okay?” Veera asks.

Beth runs a hand through her hair. “Yeah. We were just talking, about,” she waves a hand around, encompassing all the faces in all the photos on the walls, “everything. We’re so different. But some of the stuff, it’s the same. The things we’re all going through. You know?”

Veera does.

The kitchen clatter intensifies as Niki starts moving pots and pans around and clinking them down on the stovetop.

“How many eggs do you want?” Niki calls, voice more steady now. When Veera and Beth come over to investigate, she’s already got a skillet out and is debating with herself whether to start a pot of porridge, too. Veera’s always in favor of porridge no matter what, and Beth’s never had proper Finnish porridge before, so that settles that.

Niki starts scooping the mixed grains into the pan without measuring, like normal. She fills it with an unknown amount of water from the sink with some arcane skill of estimation that Veera has never understood. It always turns out fine. As Beth gets to work slicing some of the fresh fruit, Veera sidles up to Niki and lays a light hand on her arm.

Niki meets her questioning eyes. “I’m okay,” she says again. But she leans into Veera’s touch and stays there. Veera says nothing, just strokes a thumb over Niki’s shoulder and holds the space. Oats and rice swirl in the saucepan as Niki stirs them into the water with a wooden spoon.

“I was talking to her about what happened with Aleks, and mum and dad.” Niki’s voice goes soft, but not hushed. Her words aren’t directed at Beth at the other counter, but they’re not hidden from her, either. “How it made it so hard to trust anyone anymore. Especially Suvi, ‘cause she was there before. And you know how that gets me all... ugh.” She twiddles her wooden spoon in the air. Then she leans even more into Veera, into the arm that curls around her in half an embrace. To think, that Veera is someone who offers such gestures now with hardly a hesitant thought.

“She just gets it, you know?” Niki continues. “Not that you don’t, but it’s different. Like, you understand about how people are always expecting things from you. People see what they wanna see, and only take you seriously if you play along with it. It’s so frustrating. And it’s bullshit! I’ve never met anyone who understands that better than you.” She stirs the porridge again.

“And Beth... she was telling me some about her dad. She knows about having someone close to you just pull the whole rug out from under your world.” Niki pauses her stirring, and looks at Veera. “I’ve always been amazed, how you just landed on your feet and hit the ground running, when you found out. I couldn’t have done that, if I was alone.”

Veera shrugs, incidentally squeezing Niki sideways. “I never was very close with Matti.”

Watching her, Niki’s face falls a little. “I’m glad he didn’t hurt you that way. But I wish... I don’t know. I wish you’d had someone who was there for you, then. Everyone deserves that.”

“Huh.” Veera blinks. “I’d never thought of it that way.”

Arms suddenly wrap tight around her middle, a face tucked into the crook of her neck and shoulders. The handle end of a wooden spoon presses into the muscles between her shoulderblades.

“Niki!” Veera exclaims softly.

“Hey, look.” Her voice is sniffly again. “I’m having a day, okay, let me just –” She holds Veera tight.

“Nikiii,” she cajoles. “I’m fine.” Her eyes flick toward Beth over Niki’s shoulder. Her hand hovers over a peach on the cutting board as she meets her eye. Veera tucks her head down a little, embarrassed. But Beth’s smiling, if also looking a bit watery.

“I know,” Niki says into her shoulder. “I know you’re fine. You’re wonderful. But I’m here, okay? You’re always here for us. But we’re here for you, too.” Niki reaches an arm out blindly toward Beth until her fingers make contact, then gathers her in as if calling in backup. Beth gladly lays down the knife and joins the impromptu embrace next to the stove.

“Um.” Veera automatically relaxes under the extra pressure. It’s nice. But she’s still flustered. And the vociferous burbling of the porridge is getting a little concerning. “I think the porridge is going to boil over.”

Niki releases her with a groan. Veera’s sure she’s rolling her eyes, even though she’s a little too overwhelmed to look at either of them.

“That doesn’t mean you’re getting out of letting us be nice to you,” Niki says as she returns to the stove. Soon, the porridge is placated and eggs sizzle in the skillet, providing a crackling accompaniment.

When the food’s ready, they crowd around the table squeezed into the little kitchen nook below the window as if they do this every day. They pick slices of ripe peach and apricot off a cutting board in the middle. Spoons click in bowls as they do their best not to elbow each other. Stonefruit and cinnamon mix in the air with the light sulfur of fresh eggs and the pervasive aroma of the basil in the windowbox.

After a languid breakfast and a long morning spent simply enjoying each other’s company, the cloud cover is well on its way to burning off. The three head out to the nearby park, determined to make the most of the sun while the two Finns show off the splendor of the Helsinki summer to Beth. They pack up the fresh bread and cheese and the rest of the fruit for a picnic later.

Veera’s companions’ eyes are bright and animated as they leave behind the crisscrossing tracks of the train station and step into the shelter of the park’s old trees. Boughs bend and leaves whisper lazily in the light wind breathing over the bay. Veera follows them. With the hood of her jacket pulled down, the cool and verdant breeze caresses her short hair. Shade and sunlight dapple the grass between the footpaths and spatter the old blanket that they throw over the green, the one that usually lives on the couch that Beth’s currently taken over. They’re exposed to the open sky and anything else that might wander the earth with them. But branches lace and lattice across the blue, and the handful of other park-goers are too immersed in their own summer reverie to pay them any mind.

It’s surreal, almost. Niki basks like a lizard, looking like she needs nothing else in the world to keep her happy. Beth keeps running over to stick her toes in the salt water of the little bay. She takes every deliberate step into grass and gravel as if both she and the world are fresh and new. Peace settles into Veera’s bones. She spends half her time watching the others while reading an old fantasy novel in the shade. The other half, she looks upon the scene as if watching herself, absolutely bewildered by the way she both sees and cannot see the pain that still lives in the three of them, even as she still feels the scores it left trailing across her heart.

It's a long and lazy afternoon in the best understated way. By the time they return home sunwarmed, though, Veera’s starting to feel the effects of having been out all day doing too many things. Her skull is beginning to ache. But it’s familiar and cool and quiet here. She can rest.

Once they unpack the remains of their picnic, Niki makes good on her earlier threat of not letting Veera get out of being fussed over. She chivvies the other two into the living room and onto the couch. To Veera’s mild bemusement, Niki sits next to her, across from Beth, looking far too pleased with herself.

Then Niki pulls all three of them into a cuddle pile with Veera caught in the middle.

Veera lets out a little squeak of surprise as she’s smothered in limbs and warm laughter. Beth’s only too happy to help Niki tag-team her, the traitor. She squeezes Beth’s wrist in retaliation, but all that gets her is Beth slipping out of her grip just enough to tangle her fingers with her own.

With a little shuffling, Veera ends up with Niki pressed comfortably up against her side leaning her head on Veera’s shoulder. Niki also tucks an arm around her, as natural and necessary as breathing. Curled up against her other side, Beth backstops her. She lets Niki play with the ends of her long dark hair with the hand that reaches around Veera’s shoulders. Beth’s still holding onto Veera’s hand, steady like she’s never planning on letting go. The intense late afternoon light slants into the room, sending stars refracting off of the glass bottles on the sill that trail green-leaved vine cuttings.

Veera doesn’t know that she’s ever been as happy as she is right now. She watches herself in half-believing wonder, then stops. She breathes. She feels the others’ breathing like her own. She reminds herself to just be here, just exist.

But the restlessness that she awoke with doesn’t cease, even now with the two presences she treasures most on either side of her, tucked almost as close to her body as they are to her heart. It still aches and whispers in her ear with a soft insistence. Something about the fragile intensity of this moment calls to that unknown quantity like its own.

This little apartment on the edge of the city was never meant to be more than just enough for her and Niki to carve a safe space out of a terrifying world. And it has been that. But then there was more. There were the herbs keeping the kitchen and the succulents dotting the shelves. There were the colors covering the floor in rugs and memories covering the walls in photos. There was ample quiet to replace chill silence, and the fullness of kind words spoken like truth. There were pancakes. There was sunshine. There was Jade and Justyna and Janika and Sofia and Sarah and Helena and Katja and Aryanna and Danielle and Alison and Cosima and Jennifer and Tony and Femke and Fay and Krystal; and there was Beth, and there was Niki, and there was her.

Perhaps that’s the strangeness that keeps plucking at her mind. Not only have her situation and surroundings strayed so far from what her life used to be, but she herself is someone different now. She emerged changed out the other side of the two fires that consumed her entire life. Maybe the flames were bookends. She doesnt remember anything from before the first, and the space between them was long and lonely. The person she became during that in-between time is still fused into her foundations.

And yet, so much of the structure of her self has shifted. New parts of her unfurl daily. Being within her own body feels both utterly familiar and completely new. She can look back at the strange girl she once was and still recognize parts of her as the strange woman she is now. Now, she’s someone who gets called Veera with a voice full of love and Mika with sense of wonder and Leda with mild curiosity, and they are all her.

The unexpectedness of being given so many names still leaves her bemused. There’s a surprising intimacy to them, the way people speak them like they’re describing the shape of her in so many other lives. She’s unaccustomed to it. As difficult as people can be, what she has now is... good. When she thinks on it too hard, it makes her ribs feel like they’re closing in on her heart even while her lungs expand to take in the whole sky in an single endless exhilarated breath.

She’s thinking about it now. It’s not just a thought. It’s a longing and a fulfilling, an ache and a balm, a memory and a future, a call and response. It becomes all of her in this moment, and she shivers with its intensity. The shiver ripples into the bodies nestled on either side of her. Only a few years ago, she could never have imagined being so close, or wanting to. Sometimes it’s still too much, even with Niki – even with both of them, now, who are both so inexplicably easy to be around. The companionable solitude bathes her soul like the green breathing of a forest in eternal spring. She thinks about the unlikeliness, the flouted impossibility of it all. The feeling that it calls into bloom from her seed of a heart is almost too much.

“Veera?” Niki turns to face her in response to the shiver, her golden head catching and holding the gilded afternoon light.

“You alright, Veer?” She blinks at the new sound of the new name spoken in Beth’s softest-leather voice. It fits, too.

Veera inhales to speak, but words evade articulation. She releases the breath again to its own wordless purposes. The hand that’s been interlaced with hers squeezes gently as Beth makes a little questioning sound like a cat and shifts the comfortable weight of her knees in Veera’s lap. On Veera’s other side, Niki leans even further into her than she has been and rests her chin on Veera’s shoulder.

The press of their affection and concern envelop her in dearest aching, and it’s so much. She wants to stay right where she is. But she’s hardly slept for the past two nights and she’s tired and aching from overextending herself and her words have left her again. The immensity of feeling blooming inside her on top of everything else is just too much. She won’t be able to stay like this much longer. She needs to be by herself, to quietly sort through the backlog of everything she’s experiencing that’s stacking up faster than she can process it.

First, though, she needs them to know how much this means to her. Her ears pick up every breath and brush of smallest movement, and her world is filled with little strokes of sound that fall across her skin and hum in her chest as if painted there. They’re closer and dearer to her than anyone has ever been. Veera lifts Beth’s hand with her own and sweeps Niki’s hand into her grasp as well. Then, she presses both of them hard against her heartbeat. She bends her head down and locks her arms over her own chest to hold them there. No sound escapes her except a minute whimper.

Wordless murmurs and small shufflings to stay close tell her that they understand what she can’t say right now, and tell it back to her twofold. She sniffles a little, then begins to untangle herself without yet letting go. She doesn’t want to leave. But if she doesn’t, the waves of overwhelm that currently shove at her will become a tide that pulls her under and leaves her head pounding.

Niki’s voice, low. “You getting overloaded?”

Veera nods.

“Okay,” she says gently. “Go wind down. We won’t be loud.” Niki’s always been so understanding, right from the very first moment she’d shared her strangeness. Secret for a secret, she’d said, guarding Veera’s like her own and holding her trust like a treasure.

“Take care, Mika,” Beth says, mimicking Niki’s tone. Beth’s never been here here for this before. But Veera has texted with her at length numerous times in the past, when she can’t bear conversation out loud but still wants company. Veera can still hardly believe that Beth’s really here, proving herself as compassionate through soft sounds and touches as through a keyboard. “Don’t worry,” she adds as Veera still hesitates to let go. “We’ll be here later.”

Veera breathes out and nods again. She manages to stand, still holding one hand in each of hers. She squeezes them one more time, one after the other. Then she picks her way around the blue-and-brown mess of clothes spilling out of Beth’s suitcase onto the living room floor and steps softly into her own room. She closes the door.

With the blinds half shuttered against the afternoon light coming through the west-facing window, it’s cooler, dimmer, quieter than the main room. Veera likes it that way. She needs its restful seclusion as much as she needs the sun-glazed warmth of the rest of the place. Filled with muted purples and greens, there’s no dizzying array of photographs here. The only picture on the walls is a large cream and gray poster of a detailed sketch of the moon with all its craters arcing over its surface. Stubby succulents dot the heavily book-laden shelf and her cluttered desk in front of the window. They sort of glitter in the sunlight. The beams catch the water stored in the overlarge cells of their chunky little leaves, brightening their soothing shades of green, grey, dusty lavender, and mauve.

Nerves spangling, she changes out of her jeans into something softer without looking at what she’s doing. Sometimes, even just looking at things gets to be too tiring. Her hands know exactly where she keeps everything stashed in her dresser drawer, and her fingers are familiar with the texture of nearly every piece of clothing she owns. She doesn’t need to see them to tell them apart.

Veera sinks into the soft give of the comforter spread over her bed with a sigh. When she pulls the weighted blanket at the foot of it over herself with the rain-like rustle of plastic beans in its quilted pockets, it wraps her in gentle even pressure from above and below. The heaviness of it flattens out the frayed edges of her nerves. Laid out flat on her back with her arms floating loosely on either side and her elbows bent upward, the blanket covers everything except her face and hands.

As the creeping tension begins to trickle away, another sigh escapes her lungs. It’s a slow process. With how large her emotions are now, and with all the excitement and exhaustion of the past three days, it will take a few hours to wear down the worst of it. The tightness of her shoulders and the pinched feeling in her neck will fade. But they won’t completely disappear for a day or so – and that’s if she does nothing but rest her body and mind. The strain is mental as much as it is physical. Her brain just does what brains normally do, only sometimes slower and sometimes faster, and getting there via unorthodox roads. When rushed, the process only gets backed up, the road blocked, the paths tangled. Pushing it is like trying to run with a twisted ankle. It only makes it worse.

At times like this, it’s even easier than usual for the world to turn into sandpaper on her soul and senses. Overexposure to the riptide of existence all around rubs her nerves raw, living faster than she can think and burning brighter than she can bear. Sounds become ocean waves with weight behind them and lights fill her eyes with their intense brilliance. Gentle touches catch her skin like fire, while firm pressure forms a gravity well that could either pull her into a stable orbit or sling her satellite round reeling. It’s so easy for her to get overwhelmed by pain and pleasure alike. The line between them is faint and fluid.

To some degree, that vibrant intensity was always going to be part and parcel of the way she experiences the world. She was always going to be strange. Maybe if she hadn’t been put through two fires, it wouldn’t be quite so overwhelming quite so often. Probably. But she doesn’t know where the scars end and the inherent self begins, because they’re the same now. Whatever the cause, the person she is now is someone subject to both exquisite sharpness and terrible softness, captivated by so many infinitesimal pangs of ache and grace. It’s a lion’s share of pain and wonder across a lamb’s shoulders.

She wouldn’t change it, if she could. She didn’t choose it, but it’s hers. It’s her. It’s given her an unprecedented ability to be gentle in just the right ways with the people who need it most. That comes in handy considering how many traumatized Ledas she works with. Besides, she’s found all sorts of unusual yet efficient ways to do what she needs to do, because the normal ways don’t work for her. Sometimes that results in really neat new things, like the advanced cyber-security system she personally designed for CYGNet. It hasn’t been beaten yet, and if her constant updates have anything to say about it, it never will. If she ever gets tired of co-running the organization with their board of Ledas, she could always actually go into the tech field.

Right now, ever leaving CYGNet seems such a remote possibility. After a couple years of a reduced workload so she could actually finish school and take a few courses in database management to supplement her work, she’s finally returned in her full capacity. It feels good. Between her responsibilities managing the sheer volume of information DYAD had surrendered to them and protecting both it and their secure communication network, she has plenty to keep her mind busy and satisfied.

Now that Sofia and Aryanna take care of most of the administrative work, things run a lot smoother, too. Sofia’s steadied into tenacious steadfastness as her confidence grows, and she’s got a level head and a killer knack for budgets. Aryanna’s a great project manager and she’s got plenty enough charisma to handle the public-facing parts of CYGNet that Niki used to wrangle.

Niki’s stepped back a lot from CYGNet since Veera came back full time. She’d only been involved out of circumstance and necessity in the first place. For years, Niki had been the smiling face of Leda to the world, giving their story the life it needed to be told. Veera doesn’t know how she’d ever have done any of it without her. But really, all Niki wanted was a quiet life with the people she loved. So now that things were steadier and the world’s scrutiny had moved on, she was taking more time for herself. She worked part-time in a cat café downtown a few blocks away from the park, went on dates with Suvi around the city, and came home smiling to Veera and their little apartment.

Niki seems softer these days, happier. It’s like she’s settled into her natural gentleness, rather than defiantly clinging to it like a lifeline after the fire tried to burn it out of her. Her recovery is a thing of beauty. Sometimes Veera is stricken into stillness at the sound of Niki humming to herself in the next room, or at the sight of her smiling to herself while reading in a patch of sunlight, her legs stretched out on the couch. Sometimes, the memory of almost losing her so soon after finding her four years ago floats forth, casting Veera’s current joy in a sickly shade.

But they’ve talked through that fear they both have, many times. They’re both here, alive. They both care too much about the closeness they’ve created to ever choose to be too far apart. Anything else that might separate them will just be the ebb and flow of life, and that’s always true for everyone. Veera tries not to worry about it too much. She’s lucky to have Niki in her life. And these days, Veera’s gotten better at believing her when she says she wants to stay.

She finds her mind going unfocused, her body gone heavy like she needs a nap. It’s been an eventful day. Veera curls up on her side under the blanket, burying the rough texture of her scarred cheek in the softness of her pillow. To see her now, anyone might assume she was one of the others, marked only invisibly. Instead, a chapter of her story is written all down the right side of her body in curlicues of too-light ridges and and too-dark indentations, dappled from face to elbow to ankle. People don’t always read past that page to reach the rest of her. Much of the time, she still can’t, either. But at least there is another chapter now. It’s right here where she’s living in this strange new moment.

Her already heavy limbs go slack. Thoughts shift and sift and slip over each other half-defined. Maybe there will be more chapters she can’t even imagine yet, even better than this half-healed, aching glory.

***

When she wakes once again, Veera finds evening falling in its long, slow descent. It’s late. The sky glows with that particular kind of soft, omnipresent golden glow that only comes with the midnight sun at the height of summer. Niki and Beth have probably gone to bed already. They’re both early risers, and Beth is adjusting relatively well to her jetlag. As usual, the evening belongs to Veera.

Evening here is a half-seen time, gilded in twilight in the summers and shrouded in restful darkness throughout the long winter. Her eyes get a reprieve from the sharp definition of day among the soft placement of shadows. Even in winter, she rarely turns on the lights. Navigating the familiar space is easy by the sound of her feet on thin carpet and linoleum, by the brush of her fingertips on the matte whitewashed walls. She’s usually the only one awake.  Even when Niki wakes up with bad dreams and seeks her out for comfort, they don’t talk much. Voices are kept low. Most of the time, it’s a space for her to be alone with her thoughts, turning them over and laying her experience of the day to rest before she sleeps.

Cautiously, in case Beth’s asleep in the living room, Veera pries her door open so it doesn’t clunk in its uneven frame. Sure enough, Beth’s curled up in her nest of blankets on the couch. Niki’s bedroom door is ajar, and through it she can just catch the barely-heard sounds of an occupied room, the imperceptible breath or rustle of presence simply felt. It’s the difference between quiet and silence. It's subtle, but worlds away from the dullness that permeates an empty space. Having grown up roaming two floors of dim, silent rooms with only the click of the keyboard from ‘uncle’ Matti’s office for company, Veera is endlessly familiar with that emptiness. This is something else: a living seed hidden under the soil; a flower that’s closed its petals for the night.

Pulling the hood of her well-loved purple hoodie up to shield her ears from the mechanical hum of the fridge, she slips out of her room and heads into the kitchen. Things are less sharp now, but she's still unusually sensitive, especially her ears. Retrieving a tall glass of room temperature water and a tin of chicken soup tipped into a bowl takes only a minute. She doesn’t heat it. The quiet is worth more to her than the warmth, in this comfortable stillness. She retreats to her room with the bowl clutched in her hands and curls up at the foot of her bed for a quiet dinner.

She’s far more relaxed and grounded now than she was earlier. But, checking the clock, she’s just woken up from one of her exhausted five-hour recovery naps. She’s too awake, if in a mild and focused sort of way, to go to sleep like she normally would around now.

Well. Though she’s mostly taking the time Beth’s here off from CYGNet work, she has been checking once a day just to make sure nothing critical or time-sensitive has come up. She hasn’t done that yet today because she was absolutely and completely passed out and dead to the world for half of it, so she might as well get that done now.

She cracks her door partly open so that the presences of the others can better keep her company at a distance. Then she boots up her computer and dials down the display to a dim setting in the endless dusk.

Everything looks fairly normal. There’s nothing of note in the security reports, just the usual bots automatically blocked. Other than that, there’s only two messages in her inbox that have been flagged for immediate attention by her custom filters.

The first is a notice of identity confirmation for Jennifer Fitzsimmons in the States. She filed a request not long ago for all her information retrieved from DYAD to be destroyed. It’s one of the solutions they originally came up with to make sure CYGNet didn’t just replace DYAD as a repository of excruciating detail. The whole point of the organization was to help them all reclaim the autonomy that had been stolen from them. That meant making sure every Leda had full control over their own records. CYGNet couldn’t do much for those who didn’t contact them except seal and guard their data in case they wanted it someday, which Veera did dutifully. But they could make sure that anyone who heard about the organization knew they had the option to cut that unauthorized tie.

Veera was surprised how few chose to do so - only 34 of the 113 Ledas in contact with CYGNet. Many seemed to simply consider it a comprehensive if unnervingly detailed medical history that they could refer to for their own use. Others, like herself, saw the data as a window into otherwise lost parts of their lives. After she’d decidedly parted ways with Matti, she had no one to tell her anything about the times she was too young to remember. Still others, like Beth, wanted nothing to do with their records, but chose to preserve them as proof of their ordeals.

On the other hand, a minority including Jennifer had made contact for the exclusive purpose of requesting their data be destroyed and didn’t seek any engagement with it. CYGNet verified their identities to make sure the files in question pertained to the one who was actually making the request. But they made a point of doing the verification by traditional means. They’d all had enough of blood tests and lab rats.

It was more common for people to decide to delete their data after actually accessing some of their records, the way Niki did. After confirming the identities of her monitors, she’d wanted nothing to do with any of it. She said all it did was hurt. She’d already experienced enough of the sharpness of betrayal without knowing the prickly details of every last lie. Her DYAD records were the first ones they erased. Veera deleted the digital files, and Niki burned the hard copies herself, her smile strangely grim yet satisfied as she set them alight with shaking hands. She seemed lighter, after, and less wary of the warmth of flames.

Veera spends a few minutes completing the second half of double-authorizations for Jennifer’s digital and physical record destruction (permanent removal needed confirmation from two board members) before initiating file deletion. She watches the progress bar creep toward 100% while sending the requisite forms off to Danielle in record storage. She’ll put the hard copies in the incinerator. Set to its lowest volume, Veera’s computer gives a small congratulatory bloop as Jennifer’s digital data disappears for good.

Finally, the only other thing that needs her attention is a request for the general Leda health packet from a new sender, dundorsetsilver@webmail.com. Piquing Veera’s curiosity, it specifically asks after the packet’s chapter on the autism spectrum and common comorbids, even though the sender “would hardly deem it necessary, but my new psychiatrist wants to be thorough.”

As she delves further into the odd letter, it hurts a little to read. It’s laced through with the kind of disdainfully certain air of superiority that reveals just how deeply someone has internalized the cruel views that the world holds of certain ways of being. Veera’s found that this attitude is particularly common in people who actually are on the spectrum, but have been taught since before memory, consciously or unconsciously, to suppress every natural expression of their own differences from the norm. They’re more likely to notice and disparage any deviations in others, specifically because they’ve spent so long trying to disavow their own. They’ve gone so long unsupported, learning to see support only as a weakness instead of as a natural and too-often-denied necessity.

It’s heartbreaking, because Veera’s recognized so many of her own eccentricities in so many of the others, and hardly any of them know what it probably means. She sees it again and again, over CYGNet video conferences and at the occasional Leda meet-ups. Cosima’s hands dance while she talks in much the same way that her own flutter when she’s nervous. Tony’s always blasting his music like his life depends on it, and as far as sensory regulation is concerned, it probably does. Rachel deliberately tilts her head in just such a way that Veera can tell she’s masking, trying to remain poised while she takes an extra moment to process and adapt to a situation.

It’s not that surprising, really, since they all share the same genetics. Most people don’t notice, though, because they only know the broadest and most inaccurate stereotypes. That’s why Veera had insisted on adding the neurodiversity chapter to the health packet.

Veera lightly skims her fingers back and forth over the keyboard without pressing down, thinking. The clicks of the barely jostled keys clatter out a tiny rhythm. Normally, they’d want new contacts to establish a secure CYGNet account. This email’s tone and its throwaway address, though, suggests that it’s either from someone who either isn’t comfortable making contact, or who is struggling too hard with internalized shame to ask for help without doing so anonymously.

It’s an easy decision. Veera attaches the health packet PDF to her reply and sends it along with just a few words of her own.

 Hey,

 Here’s the health packet, including the neurodiversity chapter. Whether or not any of it applies to you, I hope it helps you find your way closer to yourself. We’ve all got a long way to go if we’re going to build lives we can call our own.

Veera’s fingers hover over the keys. She wants to somehow tell whoever this is that it’s okay. It’s okay to wonder, to look into their own strangeness, to perhaps embrace it. But they’re probably not ready to hear it.

 If looking into neurodivergence ends up being a path you need to walk to do that, you’re not alone. I’m here, and so are a lot of the others. You know where to find us.

She signs off as merely MK, hoping that whoever it is might feel more comfortable with another semblance of anonymity. That’s all she can do, and for herself, that’s enough.

All at once, weariness weighs her down. Synthesizing such a delicate appropriate response takes so much effort. She’s gotten better at it, especially when she has time to compose and distill her thoughts. But such nuances don’t come naturally to her. She sags, shoulders loose. Though the light is still golden, it’s actually past midnight now. She hadn’t realized how long she spent trying to craft her words into the right shape. She folds her laptop away and sits on the end of her bed, opening the blinds to stare at the glowing amber of the summer night sky.

Now that her senses are less flooded than they were this afternoon, they itch in the way that means they’re craving some kind of input to regulate them, to calibrate her back into balance. Her vast collection of shared music is her go-to for that. There’s really nothing for it quite like becoming a song for a little while. It lets a steady measured flow of clean water smooth down the troubled riverbed of her nerves, torn up by the passing of the flood.

With her headphones on, she’s bathed in a swell of sound that washes over her like the cool sea on a warm day and just as refreshing. Her widely varied tastes change from hour to hour and minute to minute, but she always comes back to metal. The density and intensity of it literally drown out everything else with that single symphony of sensation. Now, she sways to its current in much the same way she wanted to at the market earlier – was that just this morning? Except now she can because she’s alone, and the only people near are the ones she trusts most. She lets herself dance in it, soothingly rock herself back and forth within its waves, shake out her hands along its endless ripples. She forgets the passage of time for awhile, existing only in the sound and the single present moment.

She emerges from her reverie far more relaxed and substantially more grounded. Setting the headphones aside and stretching her spine out along the bedspread, her limbs have gone soft and slow. Even with her long nap earlier, her overload was exhausting enough that she can probably manage to sleep again til morning. The thought is barely formed before she’s already drifting off.

***

She knows what’s different, when she wakes in soul-deep stillness. Lingering tendrils of vague golden-glazed dreams might just be yesterday’s memories. They retract from her consciousness like opening petals, only to birth her into that same sunlight. She can see the brightness without even opening her eyes, warmth flooding into her room through the door she’s left open.

It’s not just that she’s different now; it’s that she’s actually okay, sort of. And even after years, she’s also clearly not. And somehow... it’s enough.

The truth of it holds her in stillness for a nascent moment, like gentle hands around the wings of a bird about to be released into the sky. Then her eyes open to a room washed in brightness. Her neck and shoulders still ache, but her sight is sharp and clear. The bedroom is the same it’s been for years now, furnished simply, with a mess of cords spilling over her desk to the power strip and the too many favorite books crowding the shelves. But she can see it now, the way it’s filled with life in a way that these traces only barely begin to show. It’s not alive because she moves things around and grows plants in it now. She grows plants in it because she is vulnerably, tenaciously, heart-breakingly alive. She is what is filling the space.

Her life is now full of joy in ways she once could never have imagined. Her happiness feels strange because she is not used to it. She is healing, but she is also just beginning to understand the shape and nature of the scars on her heart and mind. They are just as deep and real as the ones on her skin. They may never truly leave her, and she has made peace with that. But that has done absolutely nothing to stop beauty from seeding her life and springing from every fracture like grass from cracks in concrete.

The restless discomfort that’s been plaguing her has been nothing more than her own hesitance, holding back from fully inhabiting this current joy. Some part of her must still believe that it’s undeserved, or that it’s impossible until she is completely okay.

But it’s not. It’s right here and already making itself hers, as broken and whole as she is. She’s been looking at every new leaf wondering if she’s allowed to love it, even while it’s sinking roots into her life and breathing life into the air.

Few people like her get the opportunities she has; to heal, to help, to grow. She’s already trying so hard to give back as many of those chances as possible, even if it's just to the handful of Ledas she’s been able to help. But that doesn’t change the fact that these opportunities are hers; and yet she’s still half holding back.

She could take them. Not from anyone, but for all of them – and for herself. She could choose it in the unknown names of all her people who have been so lost and alone and longing, the ones who never will be found and the ones who are still hoping. She could believe for all of them that she deserves the joy right in front of her. Maybe this whole time she’s been trying to help the others, she’s been trying to heal herself.

It's a terrifying prospect. But maybe doing right by people like her means doing right by her self, too. Maybe it’s as simple, as impossibly hard, as just letting herself be where she is.

With a shock that catches her breath, she realizes that she’s already made her choice. Somewhere deep inside, something has already shifted like a flower turning toward the sun. She has changed.

It’s never going to be easy. She is going to be healing for the rest of her life. Not to mention, she’ll have to do it in a world where she knows all to well that people are often cruel. But there are also people it’s easy to be around. People like her, and unlike her, but kind people, understanding people, even strangers like the plant vendor at the market and the woman with the oranges. Perhaps she needs to mourn the fact that it took her so long to find any. But now... oh, now.

She tumbles out of bed in yesterday’s clothes. She makes her way out of the room past the crusty soup bowl that she left on her desk last night. Brushing past the great glossy leaves of the swiss cheese plant like a forest creature through the undergrowth, she steps into the central room that’s blazing with light and color and life.

As she enters the kitchen, she ignores the twin cries of greeting from the stove. She casts about for her new little pearls plant. Looking around, she spies it in the kitchen window half hidden under the canopy of the basil. She marches right up to it and into the vault of sunlight streaming in.

One by one, each round little bead of a leaf leads up to the stem holding its spindly floating flower - and it's actually a compound flowerhead. It’s opened up several miniscule pinkish-white flowerets with five pointed petals each. They’re giving off the most incredible, intense smell that fills that whole corner of the kitchen and seems like it couldn’t possibly be produced by something so tiny. Her hands flutter near her shoulders in absolute delight. As she breathes in, the little flower’s fragrance mixes with the pungent aroma of the herbs growing next to it. She drinks it all in deeply, breathes in the smell until it fills her lungs. Sometimes she feels as if she could survive on the richness of such things alone, like a hummingbird subsisting on nothing but nectar.

Nonsense. Her world is so much larger than she ever thought it could be, and she wants it, chooses it. Unlatching the window, she flings the shutters open wide to the trees just outside dancing in a kaleidoscope of green and brown and gold and the sunny city beyond and the blue sky above. The summer breeze that rushes in ruffles her messy hair with a wonderful effervescent sensation.

She laughs out loud, then turns around and practically throws herself at Niki and Beth with arms outspread. She seizes them both in a messy hug that somehow manages to include that wooden spoon again. Veera still laughs, and she feels tears on her cheeks, too.

“Whoa! Hey, girl.”

“Oh, shit! Hi Mika.”

“Hey, Veera, are you okay?”

No. Yes. Always. Never. She finds herself crying harder than she’s ever cried in her life. But she’s still smiling, steeped in a deeper kind of joy and certainty than she’s ever felt before. Someone threads their fingers through her hair and strokes her head until the tide turns and sets her free. And then, still, she is held.

None of this will last. Nothing does. There is more elation and agony and monotony and uncertainty and wonder up ahead. And yet, they’re still here, and she’s beyond grateful. She’s never stopped being here. Maybe this really is exactly where she needs to be. Maybe all she needs to do is tell the garden of her heart that it doesn’t have to stop growing.

When she can, Veera breathes in deeply, her ribs pressing against the arms circling her. She feels the way her exhale blusters soft and warm in the small space between her face and the shoulders she leans it into. The yielding soft pressure of the embrace engraves itself into the very bones of her arms, and she will never ever be able to forget the ache of it and will never want to.

Fuck the fires – this is what’s real now. She wants this to be what makes her who she is. This dance of joy in strangeness can be the story she makes of the rest of her life. All she needs to do is remember her choice, and make it, again and again and again.

“Hey, there, hey... there you are,” Beth murmurs. “You’re here. I’m here. We’re here.”

She is; they are.

They are.

[annafm]

(MEDALION RAHIMI, NONBINARY) - Have you seen ANNABEL MAJIDI? ANNA is in HER/THEIR JUNIOR year. The LITERATURE + INVESTIGATIVE JOURNALISM MAJOR is 22 years old & is a SCORPIO. People say SHE/THEY are DILIGENT, ADROIT, CYNICAL and AUSTERE. Rumors say they’re a member of WINTHROP. I heard from the gossip blog that THEY ARE FAKING BEING A PSYCHIC. (JAMES. 21. EST. THEY/THEM.)

hllo this is anna i hvnt .. played her in a while <3 bt thts okay i think she is very fun 2 play bt like in the way tht she is <3 serious n mean a bit ... bt its okay .. LHKDSGFHLKSDHLKG im sorry this is long this is. an old intro i hvnt rly changed much >.>

CAR ACCIDENT, INJURY TW

aesthetic.

falling feathers darkened at the tips, tweed and pinstripes, red trenchcoats and plaid skirts, worn ballet shoes covered in dust, smudged eyeliner and unruly hair, boxing gloves, ornate canes and pain medication, bandaged hands, classical music floating throughout an empty ballroom, worn jackets and awkwardly cut t-shirts, spilled ink and stained hands, glasses skewed, sneers and jabs, constant fighting, smog in a city, spotlights and encores, piles of books and a long line, backless dresses and sitting alone at a bar, wariness.

basic.

full name: annabel odeda majidi

nickname(s): anna, annie (father only), anna-banana (father only)

b.o.d. - october 31st, 1997

label(s): the catalyst, the charlatan, the minefield, etc.

height: 5′6″

hometown: nyc, ny

sexuality: bisexual

pinterest

stats

favorite song: you’re dead, norma tanega / now, your hope and compassion is gone / you’ve sold out your dream to the world / stay dead, stay dead, stay dead / you’re dead and outta this world

background.

born to two high schoolers who never married, firoj majidi and parvana banai. they were head over heels for each other - when firoj graduated he took up two jobs alongside community college to support their family, until parvana graduated and took on the arts.

growing up was tough - living in the city wasn’t cheap, parvana’s art rarely sold and the two often went without eating in order to provide for annabel. as a child she’d often wear hand-me-downs from extended family.

was taught to be a hard worker and it was reflected in her schoolwork - anna excelled in all her classes but especially english. her love for writing grew at a young age, and as a child she saved up enough money to buy herself proper journals.

the only thing that she grew more passionate towards than writing was ballet - she caught the image of girls flying through the air and landing on their toes in the window of a dance studio on a walk home from school one day and that was it - something clicked inside of her.

that same day she would spend hours prancing about their tiny apartment, trying to mimic what she’d seen. it was easy to spot the passion anna had for the dance - and within a few months they had saved up enough money for a month’s worth of lessons.

anna was ecstatic - her slippers were old and found in the back of a thrift store by an odd miracle, but she put her all into the lessons regardless. she was quick to pick up on each move, and by the end of the month it was clear that anna had a natural talent.

parvana picked up a job in order for them to keep affording the lessons, month after month - they weighed down on their pockets, but it kept anna happy.

flash forward a few years - life was good. money was still a struggle but they were tight knit.

or rather, anna thought they were tight knit.

firoj and parvana split up when anna was twelve - an event that rocked the young girl’s world, something that she couldn’t understand. they had kept up a front of love when anna was home from school or ballet - but behind doors, they had been growing apart.

anna viewed their separation as parvana running off with another man - an art collector who had a fascination with paravana’s paintings. she viewed this as the end of the world. she viewed this as the death of love.

when anna was twelve, she swore she would never fall in love - refused to believe in its existence. she couldn’t wrap her mind around the simple separation.

her father got a third job in order to keep up with payments, and anna pushed herself in both ballet and school - not being able to handle an empty apartment. she decided to get a job - to help ease her father, but was too young.

so anna decided to do what any average 12 year old would do. she started scamming people.

she’d sell store-bought lemonade as if it were homemade, stole ceramics from art class and sold them to neighbors. she found an old girl scouts uniform in the back of a goodwill and for the next month, she sold knock-off girl scout cookies from the dollar store - going door to door.

her personality had changed drastically - anna went from a sweet, optimistic girl with warm brown eyes and an infectious laugh to cold, calculated, and downright cruel. she knew what she wanted and how to get it.

she got an invitation to a prestigious private school, full scholarship, before she hit high school - originally wanted to reject it as the thought of being surrounded by new york’s richest teens was appalling, but their ballet program was a one-way ticket into the american ballet theatre. anna ultimately accepted the scholarship.

high school was immediately hell for her - pretentious rich kids who all shared a collective brain cell and her secondhand uniform being a prime target for them.

ballet got extremely competitive - anna was a threat to every dancer in their program, bullying and sabotage became standard - but anna retaliated when possible.

this all, however, suddenly stopped when anna picked up her latest scam: faking psychic. through a small network of ‘bees’ she’d pay to gather information (gossip, rumors, etc. etc.) she was able to accurately ~see~ into students’ past, present, and potentially future affairs. the money was very worth it.

from that point forward, people were intimidated by her.

when anna was 16 she was handpicked to join the american ballet theatre’s studio company, alongside 11 other lucky individuals. her dream from that point forward was to become the youngest principal ballerina for abt - and she was going to start by winning over the role of clara in their production of the nutcracker.

she was 17 when she was chosen, much to the dismay of the other girls. she had momentarily quit her ‘psychic’ business in order to dedicate the entirety of her time towards rehearsals & practice.

the final week before her first performance as clara, anna got into a car accident heading home after another tiresome rehearsal. knocked unconscious, anna woke up three days later with no recollection of the accident - and her leg freshly operated on.

it was a devastating event that should had killed her - maybe she would had been better off if it had - but instead, it had effectively destroyed any chances of her dancing professionally.

it took two months of extensive physical therapy for anna to walk again - now relying heavily on a cane.

with ptsd and depression weighing heavily on her shoulders, anna turned back to writing - mostly as a coping mechanism, but it soon became the fierce passion it once was when she was younger.

for the remainder of her high school life, anna dedicated the majority of her time towards recovery, her writing, and directing her school’s theatre productions. oh - and claiming that almost dying had given her the gift of mediumship. it wasn’t too far off from her psychic claims - her peers believed it well enough to either stay away, or pay her for a small amount of comfort.

decided to attend yates for their reputation despite her hatred for pretentious schools (very ironic because she herself is pretentious) & also. she had a scholarship <3 so. 

in the midst of writing her first book that’s based heavily on her experiences as a low income student at a private school but like. she’s side-eying all these societies and seeing a Big Money Grab if she were to. write abt them instead

still can’t dance any longer, but she works as a ballet assistant for one of the dance instructors & still tends to barge her way into theatre rehearsals to <3 give her unwarranted opinion

personality & facts.

she’s not the friendliest person. knows what she wants and how to get it, and will not hesitate to use people or push them out of her way in order to achieve her goals.

her cutthroat nature was the reason for her success in academics and dance - tends to intimidate the students in the ballet classes she helps out in.

horribly stubborn - if she’s got an idea of you already in her mind, then it’s hard to convince her otherwise.

still uses a cane - in fact, she can’t really walk without it - unless she wants to be in pain.

it’s sturdy, ornate, and pretty fucking solid. doubles as a weapon if need be - has definitely … hit people with it before, though she’s calmed down now that she’s a little older.

used to be very angry, very defensive as a teenager - is still the same, just … less intense. will not hesitate to speak her mind and let her opinions known - especially in the face of injustice.

doesn’t really have the best … relationship with authority, mainly because of where she was raised and her con-artist businesses. tends to be snarky and sarcastic to anybody in charge - or really, anybody in general.

pretty distrusting, pretty emotionless on the outside, doesn’t like to be seen as weak or somebody to be pitied. keeps herself closely guarded and doesn’t really let others ‘inside’ due to her own comfort levels.

she’ll sleep around but dating is out of the question, for the most part - she’s been on a few blind dates, a few casual get-togethers - but she’s always the one to break things off. is more of a careful hook-up kind of gal.

still does her psychic medium business !! sometimes she wonders if she’s a bad person because of it - but ultimately, it’s on her customers for believing in all that nonsense anyway. anna herself is a skeptic - doesn’t believe in anything unless she can see it and feel it.

is actually … a pretty sentimental person, doesn’t take anything she’s got for granted, and is hugely appreciative of her father. sends him money when she can. hasn’t spoken to her mother in years - pretty sure she’s got a step / half-sibling or two but she’s never met them.

a lone wolf and likes it that way, but she isn’t super opposed to friendship - even if she won’t necessarily call anybody a friend. appreciates others who are similar to her - got their head on right, and knows what they want in life.

has a pretty bad fear of driving - will uber if she needs to go anywhere - even then, being in cars makes her pretty anxious. still has ptsd-induced panic attacks, though she’s managed them pretty well.

doesn’t really do drugs! will smoke weed to ease the ache and her nerves, but otherwise she only takes what is prescribed for her. doesn’t drink anything hard, either. big fan of beer and wine. probably gets wine drunk home alone late at night … like … two times a week.

goes between being high strung and uncaring - she’s not especially moody ( rather, is just consistently angry for whatever reasons ) but she definitely tries to bottle everything up.

probably keeps pepper spray on her at all times, even though she’s got her cane. has cat ear brass knuckles on her keychain - took advantage of the archery club at her private school. she’s not paranoid, she just likes being prepared.

has a soft spot for children, animals, and soft women. kind of person who will put herself in the line of danger in order to protect others - even if she doesn’t necessarily know them too well.

also the kind of person who’ll set something on fire - or do something because you’ve told her not to. incredibly spiteful when wronged. will raise hell if need be.

morally ambiguous tbh.

wanted connections.

who do u think i am ;; either uh. people who have seen her around campus being a bit of a freak like <3 kick someone’s tire in a small fit of rage <3 or spend 20 minutes trying to coax a cat near her so she could pet it <3 or having a that’s so raven moment <3 or someone who tried to help her out with something and she was like. excuse me. what the fuck. get away from me freak loser. maybe threatened them.

slowburn but make it evil ;; uh. when i played her as older she hd a plot where she <3 ws engaged n then broke it off bcos her fiance cheated <3 so i wld like another. plot where she actually <3 tries to enjoy someone else’s company and presence and it just ends up hurting her n reaffirming her idea tht love is? fake n dumb n stupid. thank u.

ykno ... a little dash of spice ... ;; uh. yknow just hookups. hateships <3 or they never talk abt what happened <3 or an awkward drunk one night stand <3 maybe a pregnancy scare and shes like Ah. motherhood Scares me. because she <3 hates her own mother <3 LDSLKFHLGSHLK. it leaves their relationship rly weird the whole ordeal ... maybe even just a blind date <3 or someone she ghosted

read my future ;; customers very classic uh. just people who come to her for her psychic readings <3 and her uh. talking to the dead <3 but also alternately. skeptics ?? people suspicious of her ?? very epic. 

like actually Die? ;; enemies. she hates them so bad. maybe its one-sided. maybe theyre an annoyance. maybe she annoys them? very bad not very good. 

and we dance dance dance, dance dance dance <3 ;; this is just. fr ballet students. or, hold up, consider this: someone who recognizes her frm this. very tragic event where she cld no longer b a ballerina bc i think it ws. like not the Biggest deal bt if ur muse ran in private school circles ykno ??

pet the feral cat ;; these r the soft <3 normal connections <3 someone she’s soft for / protective of. friends that she doesn’t completely hate. 

i Do Not Know ;; i will. take anything. please. weed dealers, people she’s totally sus about for no reason. she steals and reads their mail. they have been rivals for years. they hv a special bond. they r strangers but they get stuck in an elevator. she’s tutoring them bt she wont let them take a break n she keeps making them recite fucking. shakespeare. anything is sexy and fun n cool

[novemberhush]

Lucky Beans

So this was inspired by the prompt words grind, decline, tight as provided by the @sterekdrabbles blog on 11/9/19 (Hoechlin’s birthday!), but the story took on a life of its own so now I’m submitting it to the @sterekdrabblesgonelong blog instead. I’d also like to dedicate it to @princecharmingwinks whose birthday it is today (1/2/20) and who it has been my pleasure to get to know the past few months. Happy Birthday @princecharmingwinks ! I hope you’re having a lovely day (or evening, as it’ll be in your time zone now).😘

*

Lucky Beans

No, no, no, no, no.

This couldn’t be happening.

Not here, not now.

Stiles had known money would be extra tight this month, what with the new textbooks he’d had to buy on top of his regular expenses, plus what he’d had to shell out for essential repairs to the Jeep when duct tape just couldn’t cut it anymore, but he’d figured he’d enough left to treat himself to a coffee from his favourite place, The Rise and Grind. (Yes, he’d come in for the name, but he’d stayed for the quality java and ridiculously beautiful, if somewhat taciturn, barista).

His declined credit card said he’d figured wrong.

“It’s on me,” said Derek, a.k.a. the ridiculously beautiful barista, shyly.

“You don’t have to do that,” Stiles whispered, mortified, rifling through his pockets in the hopes of finding a few stray bucks, or, hell, even nickels and dimes, to cover the bill.

“Well, it’s my break soon and I’ve been trying to pluck up the courage to ask you to have coffee with me for weeks now, so…”

“You have?!” Stiles spluttered out, hands stilling, his search for loose change forgotten in the wake of this shocking announcement.

“Yeah. I have,” Derek replied, drawing himself up to his full height, voice a little more confident than before, but crossing his arms defensively across his chest, as if to shield himself from a rejection that Stiles knew wasn’t gonna come.

“Okay, then. I mean,... um... thanks. I’d like that.” Now it was Stiles’ turn to be shy.

“You would??” And now it appeared to be Derek’s turn to be shocked.

Stiles heard a muttered “Oh, for God’s sake!” somewhere to his right and looked up to see Laura, another of the coffee shop’s preternaturally pretty employees (seriously, Stiles wondered, was everyone who worked here taking a break from strutting down the runways of Paris and Milan just to see how the other, less aesthetically pleasing, half lived??) rolling her eyes in their direction. He was about to get offended when Derek spoke up.

“Just ignore her. My sister lives to mock me.”

“Not my fault you make it so easy, little brother,” Laura retorted and Stiles couldn’t believe he hadn’t put it together before that they were related. This family had definitely hit the genetic jackpot, he thought. But Derek was the one he wanted to get lucky with. Now, through some miracle of miracles, it seemed like maybe the feeling was mutual.

Stiles grinned at their bickering before asking if he should grab a table for him and Derek.

“Yes, please. Preferably one as far away from the counter and the prying eyes and ears of my sister as possible,” Derek responded, throwing a halfhearted glare his sister’s way. Her answer came in the very mature form of sticking her tongue out at him. Both Derek and Stiles snorted and Laura gave them both a dazzling smile.

“Go on,” she sighed, shooing Derek out from behind the counter. “You can start your break early. Grab a seat with cutie patootie here and I’ll bring you over your usual.”

Stiles both blushed and beamed at the ‘cutie patootie’ comment. Sure, it wasn’t ‘sizzling sex god’, but he’d take it.

Once settled at a table by the window they sat looking at each other for a few moments and Stiles, fiddling nervously with his coffee cup, feared things were gonna get real awkward real quick. But then Laura appeared with some frothy coffee confection for Derek (Stiles would have thought he’d be a black, no sugar, no frills, kinda guy, but was charmed to discover otherwise) and two delicious-looking cupcakes that made Stiles’ mouth water just looking at them, breaking the air of tension between them.

Stiles found his words again at last, talking a mile a minute, telling Derek about himself, his dad, his hometown back in California, his best friend, Scott, and his studies here at NYU, but remembering to ask Derek questions about himself too and really paying attention to the answers he gave. He discovered that the coffee shop really was a family affair. Laura had bought it using her share of an inheritance their late uncle had left them and now she, Derek, their little sister Cora and cousin Malia all worked there.

Well, Derek was only there part-time because he’d gone back to college to get his degree (there was clearly a story there about why he hadn’t gone straight after high school, but for once in his life Stiles didn’t push, trusting that Derek would tell him in his own time) and Cora was just back for an extended visit, have spent several years living in South America with distant relatives. She was saving up to go back again because she’d fallen in love with the place and it felt more like home now than the States did.

Derek couldn’t deny he was disappointed she wasn’t home to stay, but he wanted her to be happy and he knew South America had been good both to her and for her so he wasn’t gonna stand in her way, no matter how much he might miss her. Stiles found it difficult just being on a different coast from Scott, the closest thing he had to a sibling, never mind another country, so he could sympathize.

“You’re a good brother,” he told Derek, sincere, and sure of his words. Derek just shrugged his shoulders and ducked his head, that shy side of him that didn’t know how to handle praise that Stiles had picked up on during their conversation as well as previous interactions coming out again. Stiles had to fight the urge to reach out and slip his hand over Derek’s where it lay on the table between them.

Sensing that a change of subject would be appreciated he instead sat back in his chair again (he hadn’t even realized he’d been leaning forward, hanging on Derek’s every word) and launched into an explanation about his embarrassing current lack of funds.

“Thanks for the coffee. I’m not a mooch, I swear. I’m usually much better organized than this when it comes to my finances. I have to be, being a poor, humble college student and all. But it’s been an expensive month, between textbooks and repairs to my Jeep. Plus, I lost my part-time job a few weeks ago when the place closed down and I haven’t managed to find another one yet.”

“It’s okay. I get it. College is expensive, especially in New York,” Derek said, biting delicately into one of the cakes, his adorable bunny teeth on full display and doing weird things to Stiles’ stomach. “But what about your dad? Wouldn’t he help you out if you really needed him to? It sounds like you two are close.”

“We are, and I know my dad would send me money in a heartbeat, but he does so much for me already that I hate asking for more. I’d rather stand on my own two feet, make my own way in the world, like he did at my age, you know?”

“I do. I’m from a pretty close knit family myself. As you can probably tell from how many of us work here. I love them, but sometimes I think Cora has the right idea. That maybe we shouldn’t all live in each other’s pockets so much.” He shrugged, before continuing, “I got pretty lucky in the parent department, though. My mom and dad are that couple who are still as sickeningly in love with each other now as when they first got married. It’s embarrassing sometimes.”

Derek chuckled then, shaking his head. ‘Ah, who am I kidding? I love it. I love that we’re all so close, that we see each other practically every day. I love that whenever I get good news I can’t wait to share it with my parents and sisters, knowing how happy they’re going to be for me. I love that my mom can still put that gooey look on my dad’s face, the one she’s always been able to give him for as long as I can remember. I love that my dad can still make my mom blush with just a smile and a wink. I love that I got to grow up never doubting their love for one another, or for us kids. I want that for myself. I want what they have, for me and for my future kids, if I’m blessed enough to have any.”

Stiles just stared in wonder at the man before him, unable to curb the stream of images flooding his mind. Images of the two of them, holding hands, kissing, curled up in bed together, cuddling, making love, getting engaged, getting married, buying their dream home, adopting a brood of kids, growing old together. Images of them, strong together, but always weak for each other. It was too soon to be thinking about things like this, he told himself, but apparently his heart disagreed because it sang at the thought of having all those things. Having all those things with Derek.

“Dude,” Stiles breathed, and Derek flushed bright red, breaking eye contact and looking out the window.

“Sorry. Too much for a first date?” He chanced a look back at Stiles before quickly looking away again, shoulders hunched, turning in on himself. This time Stiles didn’t stop himself from reaching out and placing his hand on top of Derek’s.

“Usually it’s me asking that question,” he said with a rueful smile. “Not that I’ve dated that much. I can be… a little overwhelming. For some people.”

Derek smiled again, shoulders relaxing. “Well, not for me. Consider me the perfect amount of whelmed. Not underwhelmed, not overwhelmed, just… right.”

Stiles snorted. “I’m really glad to hear that. Like, really glad. You have no idea how glad. I just wish you hadn’t made me sound like the bowl of porridge Goldilocks stole when she broke into the Three Bears’ house.”

Derek huffed a laugh in return. “Yeah, sorry about that. Besides, you’re clearly Little Red Riding Hood,” he said, gesturing with his free hand, the one not currently turning over to take hold of the hand Stiles had laid on top of it, towards the red hoodie Stiles was wearing.

“So what does that make you? The Big, Bad Wolf?” Stiles shot back, relishing the glint in Derek’s eyes and the feel of Derek’s hand in his as he replied with a casual shrug of his shoulders that seemed to say ‘maybe’.

The moment was broken by the shrill sound of the bell above the door behind Derek as someone entered the coffee shop. The noise startled them both, making them both jump back in their seats and let go of each other’s hand. Stiles missed the contact immediately, but wasn’t confident enough to reach out again just yet.

Derek watched the person who’d just entered make their way to the counter to give Laura their order before clearing his throat and looking back at Stiles, that curious shyness come over him again. “Where did you work before, anyway?’ he asked, picking at his cupcake.

“Hmm?”

“You said your last place of work closed down. Where was that?”

“Oh! Coach’s Coffee House, over on 5th. You know, the place with all the sports memorabilia on the walls?” Stiles took a bite of his own cupcake and felt like he’d just tasted heaven.

“Yeah, I know it. Or knew it. Great atmosphere, but lousy coffee.” Derek winced at his own honesty. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Stiles laughed. “Don’t be. You’re right. The coffee sucked. And they didn’t have anything anywhere near as good as the baked goods you guys have here. Seriously, this is so good I wanna marry it and have its little cupcake babies.”

As if to drive his point home Stiles took another bite of the treat before him and moaned at how good it was. It took him a minute to realize Derek was looking embarrassed and blushing furiously. He wondered if he’d gone too far, nerves stealing in again to whisper in his ear that he was always too weird, too loud, too much.

But then Derek smiled, a tiny, adorable (and Stiles should really find another word to describe this man in front of him, but none other fitted half so well), little thing that nonetheless made Stiles’ entire stomach flip over.

“I, um, I actually made these,” Derek said, equal parts shy and proud.

“You did?? No way! Holy crap, they’re amazing! You're amazing! Marry me!” Stiles exclaimed, bringing the blush back full force to Derek’s face. Hit by a wave of self-consciousness as his outburst Stiles blushed deeply too. “Um, I mean, these are really great. Like, ‘the best thing I’ve ever tasted’ great. You’re a mean baker, Mr… uh,... huh. I just realized I don’t even know your last name.”

“And yet you still proposed,” Derek teased, making Stiles blush all over again, before relenting and, licking some frosting off his thumb in a very distracting way first, holding out his hand. ‘The name’s Hale. Derek Hale.”

Stiles shook the proffered hand. “I’m Stiles. Stiles Stilinski.”

“Huh. I always figured Stiles was your last name.” Obviously noticing Stiles’ confusion, Derek elaborated, “Whenever I asked you for a name for your coffee you always just said ‘Stiles’ and I just figured it was your surname.”

“I wish!”

“So Stiles is really your first name then? Your parents actually named you Stiles Stilinski??”

Stiles groaned. “No, it’s just a family nickname that I kinda adopted for myself once I’d outgrown Mischief.” At Derek’s quizzical look he shook his head and sighed, “Don’t ask. That’s an at least third date kind of story.”

Derek grinned, bright and glorious and maybe just a tad predatory. “Well, then, I look forward to hearing it.”

Something settled between them then. Something soft and fond and full of hope. Stiles didn’t have much dating experience, but he knew things were going well here. Derek was relaxed and open around him in a way he suspected he wasn’t with many people. As for Stiles, he felt comfortable in his own skin for the first time in a long time. He didn’t feel like he had to tone himself down, make himself smaller, quieter, for Derek. Derek seemed to like him just the way he was. Feeling emboldened he threw caution to the wind and slipped his hand into Derek’s once again. The way Derek’s fingers immediately curled around his made him feel giddy and reassured him it had been the right thing to do.

“So you have experience working in a coffee house, then?” Derek asked, surprising Stiles.

“Um, yeah. I mean, I can’t whip up a batch of these little beauties,” Stiles replied, nodding towards the half-eaten cupcakes on their plates, “but I can work the register, make pretty much any coffee order that’s thrown at me and I’m pretty mean with a dishcloth when it comes to wiping down tables. Why?”

“Well… I don’t wanna push you into anything, but there’s actually a job going here. One of our employees, Jackson, just handed in his notice today. He’s moving to London with his boyfriend apparently. So, yeah, there’s an opening here. If you’re interested.” Stiles had a feeling Derek was asking about more than just the job.

“Oh, I’m definitely interested all right.” He squeezed Derek’s hand in what he hoped was an encouraging manner. Judging by the smile Derek sent his way he guessed he’d gotten his message across.

“Good, because I’ve got some sway with the management, and I-“

“No, you haven’t!” Laura’s voice rang out in a singsong manner, a teasing grin on her face, and Stiles wondered how she had even heard what Derek had said from where she was standing behind the busy counter.

Derek turned to look at her then and Stiles couldn’t see his expression, but Laura’s exclamation of “Oh, you are not giving me the puppy dog eyes right now, Derek Sebastian Hale! That may work on Mom, Der Bear, but I am immune to those babies, do you hear me? Immune!”

Stiles suppressed a smile, already sensing the waver in her resolve. He was gonna have to look out for these puppy dog eyes or else Derek would have him wrapped around his little finger. As if he doesn’t already, whispered Stiles’ heart. He couldn’t find it in himself to deny it, or to care. He was so gone for this guy and he knew it.

“Okay, fine, he can have the job,” Laura said, resigned. “It’ll save me the bother of advertising anyway. But you’re getting up extra early tomorrow to bake me a batch of those cinnamon apple things I love but which take so much work to make!” She pointed at Derek, narrowing her eyes, but the fondness leaked through. Stiles didn’t try to hide his mirth this time, laughing at them both before gushing out his thanks.

“Are you busy this evening? Around closing time?” Laura enquired of him. Stiles just shook his head. “Okay, come see me then and bring a schedule of your classes. I’ll need to see it to see when you’re free and we can work your shifts around it? Okay? Sound good?”

“Sounds great!” Stiles replied. This day may not have started out all that great, but, boy, had it staged a comeback. A job and a date with Derek. More possible dates in future. The possibility of maybe, one day, not too far away in the future, getting to call Derek (Der Bear! The nickname was so cute it made him want to squee!) his boyfriend. Maybe he should do the lottery. If he could scrounge up a few bucks from down the side of the Jeep’s seats or the beat-up couch back in his apartment.

Laura turned away then, returning her attention to her customers and the smooth running of her coffee shop. More people had filtered in and Stiles knew what Derek was going to say even before he said it.

“I should really get back to work now…”

“Yeah, this place is really filling up. And I wouldn’t wanna piss off my new boss by keeping her best barista all to myself.” Stiles grinned, albeit not as wide as usual. He understood Derek had to go but was still sad that their date was drawing to a close. He thought he sensed a reluctance in Derek to end the encounter as well, but reasoned that might just be wishful thinking on his part.

Derek got up out of his chair but hovered over the table still. Stiles heard someone (the cousin, Malia, he thinks) call Derek’s name and they both turned to look at her. She gestured impatiently to the queue of customers waiting to be served and Derek sent her an apologetic look, holding up a finger and mouthing “One second” at her.

Turning back to Stiles he looked even more nervous than when he’d suggested they have coffee together earlier.

“So, um, I’ll be here at closing too, when you come back to work out your shifts with Laura. You think maybe afterwards you might wanna go out to dinner with me?” He looked so young and earnest and just about the best thing Stiles had ever seen “My treat!” he hastened to add.

Stiles smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d love to.”

Derek beamed back at him, relief etched across his features.

“But you’re really gonna have to let me pay for everything on our third date,” Stiles winked, enjoying the blush that brought to Derek’s face.

“Deal,” said Derek, softly. “I’ll see you later then,” he added, tapping a knuckle against the table top.

“Yep. Definitely. Later,” Stiles replied, watching him back away, not turning around, eyes never leaving Stiles’, for one, two, three steps. Stiles was just about to call out a warning to watch out for the table behind him when Derek gave him one last blinding smile and turned around, neatly sidestepping said table.

Stiles admired his grace, knowing if that had been him he’d have ended up banging into the table, toppling over and making an all around spectacle of himself. But he didn’t care anymore if he was a klutz. Because Derek Hale liked him just the way he was. Derek Hale had asked him out. Derek Hale, who was back behind the counter again, apron back in place and hands reaching for a cup to fill the next customer’s order, but who was still looking at Stiles, bright smile on his lips and soft look in his eyes.

Screw the lottery, Stiles thought. He’d already hit the jackpot.

[vagrantblvrd]

Can I get some Freewood love with the not!fic prompts?

Friend, omg, yes!

I was thinking about various ideas for these two and was blanking on something that didn’t fizzle out after the first bit?

But I woke up to snow this morning (we usually don’t see a lot of it where I live) and I was like !!!

Because, look, okay. Those snowed in fic tropes that often go hand in hand with a ~remote cabin?

But also I’ve been thinking a lot about bounty hunter-y AUs lately. (I blame all the cheesy movies/tv shows I grew up on).

SO.

FAHC-ish AU where Ryan starts out as this bounty hunter-ish guy. Works with Michael after there was a Situation that amounts to your typical buddy cop kind of deal?

(Loose cannon/idiot Ryan who ended up in the business after some shenanigans that’s part of his Tragic Backstory and somewhat less of a loose cannon Michael who was just tracking down this asshole who owed him money and got dragged into the whole thing and realized he wasn’t bad at it/kind of liked the work? And then like. They started a business together because that’s what happened in a lot of those terribad movies/tv shows I watched I guess?)

ANYWAY.

Bounty hunter Ryan who’s gaining a reputation for being a creepy bastard – that sense of humor of his and jokes that don’t land right with certain audiences. Also, doesn’t talk a lot on jobs because as Michael’s pointed out flubbing his words makes him look like a dumbass? (More of one, anyway.)

So he channels the Cool Guys from terribad 80s movies and such when he’s working, and there was that time the masks came into play because Bigger Baddies and it was a panic!moment and there was a mask kiosk right there, it’s not like he fucking planned it, Michael. (Being the nerd he is, though, he immediately gravitated towards the skull mask and now it’s part of his aesthetic. Because reasons.)

Michael’s back in Los Santos dealing with paperwork and recovering from their last job – took a nasty spill off a low roof and sprained his ankle/fractured something/whatever works as a legit Plot Reason for him not going with Ryan on this latest job.

Hacker who got into stuff he shouldn’t have – businessman or politician or other Upstanding Citizen who has all these Rumors floating around them that went to Ryan and Michael about their problem.

Offering them a shit-ton of money to bring this hacker in, no questions asked and all. Best not to, really, because the little weasel is just full of lies and would say anything to save their skin. Honestly, just trust the businessman/politician explicitly and ignore the hacker’s lies and it’ll all be fine.

(Yeah, not sketchy at all, but the guy’s got some muscle-bound goons with him and they’re definitely the kind who’d have no problems killing a couple of nobodies like Ryan and Michael and what pleasure it will be to do business with them, yes indeedy)

Anyway.

Of course this asshole hacker is Gavin and of course he went digging into stuff he shouldn’t have and oh, God, he should have taken Dan up on the offer to visit him earlier.

Now he’s being chased all over the place by this lunatic in the leather jacket and nothing he does seems to slow him down for long.

Traps and lies and doubling back and hiding and whatever else that ends up with them up in the mountains somehow? Gavin running to this little town – supposed to be able to find a small airport nearby and a plane he could ~borrow to put some space between himself and all these bastards in Los Santos only to find out it was all in vain.

The plane he was told about rusting away, bullet holes all along the fuselage and ripping through one wing and he doesn’t know what happened here, but it can’t have been pleasant.

And then Ryan showing up, all Scary Spooky with his stupid everything (no mask because it really was a one time thing, why won’t you drop it, Michael?) and the piece of junk car Gavin stole to get out there and this ridiculous ~chase up a winding mountain road.

Up high enough for there to be snow, a light dusting of it on the ground and too focused on not dying to notice the storm about to hit, and anyway, anyway.

The car dies halfway up the mountain and Gavin makes a go of it on foot for a bit. Remembers seeing a cabin or such on a map he looked at way earlier, or maybe a gas station attendant mentioned it at some point, whichever.

He gets a fair distance away, Ryan bitching as he gives chase and at the start of this whole merry chase Gavin was !!! but as things went on and Ryan stumbled/fumbled along behind him grumbling and complaining and such he’s more ??? because who the hell is this guy?

Not like the other people this businessman/politician sent after him – those were more likely to just kill him and bring his body in, real unpleasant bastards, but this guy?

Gavin doesn’t even know.

They’ve had those intense face-to-face confrontations that could have gone Badly a time or two, always interrupted by some unsuspecting passerby or stray jumping out of hiding to startle them enough for Gavin to slip away.

Just enough for Gavin to wonder if maybe this one won’t put a bullet in him so he can’t run – one of the others tried that and thank God Gavin stopped by an Ammu-nation before hand to grab some body armor under his clothes or he’d be very, very dead, wouldn’t he?

Make him curious, because for all the inconveniences and such Gavin tosses his way, all the angry yelling and bitching and complaining Gavin catches wind of? He hasn’t decided to hell with it and shot Gavin when he had the chance. (Or worse, because wow there are all these ways he could have killed Gavin by now.)

Anyhow, Gavin’s still running, yes, but he’s not flat-out terrified the way he was at the start. All the traps and whatever else he threw at Ryan intending to slow him down, but no real concern about any injuries that might be inflicted in the process.

Now Gavin finds himself dismissing things that might do serious damage to Ryan even if means Gavin could actually escape. (Stupid, stupid, stupid, because no way to know if he’s right about Ryan or if he’s just looking to collect on a bigger payday for bringing Gavin in alive, but yes.)

And then!

In their run through the woods or whatever is taking place, Gavin has to cross this rickety bridge over a river and is terrified the whole time it’ll give way under his weight, but by some miracle it doesn’t. He gets across just fine, and is almost out of sight when Ryan comes charging across, and of course that’s when the damn thing gives up the ghost.

Gavin pulled up short by Ryan’s startled yelp, turning around just in time to see him swept away by the current and almost, almost taking the opportunity to get the hell away.

But, no.

Because of course he damns himself for being an idiot, a fool, and runs along the river bank after Ryan. Keeps track of him as he pelts along until there’s a safe(ish) spot for him to fish Ryan out, pull him to solid ground.

Ryan who’s been doing his best not to drown, trying to remember all the things you’re supposed to do in that kind of situation and certain he’s going to die out here and Michael will bitch about how fucking stupid he was for the rest of his life, because of course he would.

And then there are hands grabbing at him and he’s being pulled out of the water and onto land and he gets a glimpse of a too-familiar face (annoying as hell and goddamn Ryan hates the little shit so much) before he passes out.

Wakes up who knows how much later in this dusty, rickety old cabin in the middle of nowhere freezing his ass off and also kind of without the clothes he was wearing earlier?

Musty blanket and jacket he doesn’t recognize thrown over him and someone (with an accent) muttering to themselves as they struggle to start a fire and what the hell happened?

He must say something or make too much noise while getting his bearings because the hacker whips around clutching a sad little book of matches in his hand and looking like a trapped animal as he watches Ryan nervously.

“Ah, hello,” the hacker says with this awkward little laugh. “You’re awake?”

And then, you know.

Ryan finding out the hacker dragged Ryan all the way up here just as the snowstorm hit and did what he could to warm him up. Was just starting to work at getting a fire started to warm things up faster when Ryan woke up and looks like they’re going to be stuck up here for a while, you know?Ryan half-frozen and clearly in no shape to hike down the mountain even if the storm wasn’t shaping up to be a bastard of a storm. (Supposed to last a couple of days, dump a significant amount of snow and no one in their right might would be out in it.)

And Gavin is still staring at him warily, keeps out of arm’s reach and skittish as hell and with the flickering light from the lantern Gavin managed to light Ryan can see how tired he looks?

Exhausted and run ragged (literally) and just as beat up after the last however long he’s been on the run. (Way before Ryan and Michael got pulled into things, that’s for damn sure.)

“Oh,” Gavin says, and fishes Ryan’s phone out of his pocket. “Michael wanted you to call him back when you woke up.”

Which.

What.

Gavin shrugs and explains that after he ~borrowed Ryan’s phone off him earlier that day, the day before in one of their face-to-face confrontations Michael called it expecting to get Ryan.

Turns out he’d been doing some Investigating, talked to a hacker buddy of a friend of his (Matt and Jeremy, respectively) and found out the asshole businessman/politician who hired them didn’t tell them everything.

That oh, hey, maybe it would be a good idea to keep Gavin alive and meet back in Los Santos somewhere to discuss what their next move was because they’re pretty much guaranteed to end up dead if they don’t. (The businessman/politician intending to double-cross them and either get them thrown in jail or outright killed rather than risk loose threads and such. What with that being the case with all the others they sent after Gavin and just. Yeah.)

And of course Gavin was like, ??? and talked to Michael about things and they’ve got this truce/understanding thing going on and Michael telling him Ryan’s a stubborn fuck and it might take a while for him to come around. (Also, don’t let the idiot die if at all possible.)

Gavin wary of a trap, but also this tiny grain of hope maybe things wouldn’t end with him dead, and then the bridge and the river and that moment of hesitation he feels guilty/ashamed of as he hands back Ryan’s phone.

Battery’s almost dead and there’s a sliver of a signal up this high/remote location, but the fact Gavin gave it back is…promising?

Not exactly trust but pretty damn close, and Ryan calls Michael and isn’t sure if the asshole hears him or what, but he tells him about their current situation and a place they could meet in a few days before it completely cuts off/dies and then, well.

Then it’s him and Gavin and this cabin in the middle of nowhere and ALL the huddling for warmth and sharing stories and FEELINGs.

Soft looks when Gavin falls asleep somewhere in there, exhausted as hell and the kind of trust/nothing left to do so in Ryan’s presence after everything they’ve been through.

Usual romcom stuff and when the weather clears and they make their way down the mountain to meet up with Gavin run into some baddies and have to fight their way free.

Another day or so to get to the meeting spot with Michael – small town nearby and this abandoned gas station or something like that on the outskirts.

So of course the asshole businessman/politician and his musclebound goons show up. There’s all these veiled/not-so-veiled threats thrown Ryan’s way when it’s obvious he Knows Too Much.

But maybe, the asshole says. There’s a way out of this for Ryan, because the asshole businessman/politician could use resourceful people like Ryan and Michael. Just let him have Gavin and keep his secrets and he and Michael could be looking at a lucrative job offer, if Ryan knows what he means.

Gavin getting all twitchy and fidgety because it’s a good deal, and really, they’re not friends, him and Ryan and Ryan would get to live. (He wouldn’t blame Ryan at all for accepting the offer, maybe tells him with this odd little smile it’s a good deal, you know? Ryan would be a fool to turn it down.)

Ryan watching Gavin who won’t meet his eyes and of course he’s going to tell the asshole businessman/politician to go to hell – even if he hadn’t caught feelings for Gavin he would have – but Gavin seems to think he won’t, and that’s just.

Ryan doesn’t know, really, because one of the goons gets impatient and goes for Gavin and Ryan just reacts – no conscious thought to it at all – and the goon’s on the ground howling about the knife in his leg and Ryan sweeping Gavin behind him before the shooting starts.

They get pinned down and have that Intense Eye Contact Moment where they’re sure they’re about to die and ~confess their love?

But that’s when Michael and Jeremy barrel on in, driving one of Jeremy’s ridiculous Rimmy Tim-ified vehicles and maybe hitting a goon or two along the way.

More shooting and yelling, but this time the odds are more in Ryan and Gavin’s favor and by the time the smoke clears the asshole businessman/politician’s escaped and the goons he left behind are super dead.

Also, the realization they’re all fucked now, because the asshole businessman/politician is definitely going to spin things to make them the villains of the story and him as the Upstanding Citizen most people know him as and, wow, okay, not cool?

But whatever because Ryan and Gavin are being totally obvious about their mutual feelings to the point Jeremy who doesn’t even know them can see it. (And he’s an idiot, as Michael can attest to. Like. Christ, it took forever for Jeremy to realize Michael was flirting with him and they were living together for months before the asshole caught on to the fact they were dating??? Like fucking Christ, what is Michael’s life???)

They end up having to ~go underground in Los Santos to avoid being murderized by various peoples, and people think they’re just another gang/crew in the city so why the hell not live it up, or something.

Hitting back at the businessman/politician by going after his ~unsavory allies and from the outside it looks like any other criminal squabbles, you know?

Rimmy Tim was a joke, but it becomes Jeremy’s Thing. Mogar happens when Michael picks up the leather jacket with the snarling wolf’s head at a thrift shop and someone asks him a dumb question and things go from there.

Gavin is just. He makes the most of being a little shit, and everyone despairs of the day he and Matt meet properly because oh, God, no.

Ryan embraces the stupid skull mask because Michael still won’t leave it alone (and also keeps people from recognizing him). Gavin’s the one with the idea for the face paint, some stupid joke that suddenly wasn’t one day.

(And oh God. Gavin being the one to do his face paint that first time, before they got their shit together and the intimacy of being that close to one another and touching Ryan’s face? Getting him to turn his head for a better angle to work with using a light press of his fingers and sudden  awareness of everything about something like that and FEELINGS and maybe, maybe, that’s the first time they kiss?

OR.

Some awkward throat clearing and eyes being averted with all the !!! of realizing the oh, no he’s hot thing is NOT going to go away anytime soon, what do???)

At some point Geoff and Jack and the people they stole away from Burnie and the Roosters happen and they join forces because wouldn’t you know it? Part of the reason Geoff and Jack and everyone they brought with them are even in Los Santos has to do with the asshole businessman/politician.

Bastard making a grab for Rooster-held territory and/or interests to the point they felt they needed more of a presence in the city, which is where the Fake AH Crew comes in.

And then just.

A lot of shenanigans and assholes getting along too fucking well for anyone’s peace of mind?

Also, also.

Ryan and Gavin finally getting their shit together and smooching the fuck out of each other. (Maybe there’s one close call too many, or Pretend Married for a job, or just. Absent-minded kiss and then the !!! and following panic before they’re like.

WAIT.

Realize they’re basically an old married couple at this point and are like >:((((((((((((( at all the time they wasted when they could have been smooching and so on instead and decide to make up for it.

(The others go from being amused to exasperated to annoyed as fuck in quick succession because goddamn they’re the worst, okay. Sappy motherfuckers who are also assholes and do what they can to make everyone’s life a misery, sometimes even intentionally.)

[jadedstephens]

𝖏𝖆𝖉𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖕𝖍𝖊𝖓𝖘

      “doubling down in the face of imminent death? ballsy.”

aesthetic  —  sunflowers in mirrored vases. staying up late and sleeping in. off-key singing in the shower. the warmth of the sun on your skin. leather & lace. organized chaos. messy hair, don’t care days. standing outside during a thunderstorm. half finished bottles of whiskey. smudged eyeliner from the night before. oversized sweaters & ripped leggings. guilt warring with need. wanting to be better than you were before.

compare to : sybil crawley (downton abbey), ambrose spellman (chilling adventures of sabrina), alice cullen (twilight), ellie sattler (jurassic park), margaery tyrell (game of thrones)

— basics

full name : jade rose stephens nicknames : jade age : 18 (physical) // 29 (actual) gender identity : cis female, she/her pronouns sexual orientation : pansexual, but also ladies tho species : vampire occupation : research assistant in vampiric studies & first aid assistant family : amy stephens (mother), jason stephens (father), adam stephens (older brother), violet stephens (older sister) positive traits : hard-working, observant, charismatic, compassionate negative traits : regretful, stubborn, rebellious, lonely

— background (trigger warning: mentions of death & a car accident)

jade had a fairly typical upbringing, almost picturesque. she had two loving parents, an older brother and sister, and even a golden retriever to complete the picture of a perfect family. and for the most part, they were pretty damn perfect. they were sunday morning pancakes with her father reading the comics from the newspaper to the kids while her mother hummed whatever song came on the radio. they were family trips every month and game nights every friday night. her parents made it to every baseball game and recital and school spelling bee. there were the typical sibling arguments over dumb things, but jade remembers those times fondly, especially since she knows she won’t get those back again.

she was always the honor roll kid, the one who had top grades and obeyed every rule her parents gave her. her brother & sister were both in college by the time jade got to high school, and while it was somewhat difficult living up to their glowing reputations, she managed to have a pretty good time in high school.

her high school had a emt training program and she joined that as soon as she was able at 16. she’d always known she wanted to do something in the medical field, and her plan was to become an emt after graduating high school and continue her college education to eventually become a doctor. things didn’t happen the way they were meant to obviously.

when she was barely 18, she went to a party. it was one of the few she went to, but this one turned out much different than ones she’d been to before. she remembers getting in the car with her friends to head home. she remembers her friend screaming. she remembers a stranger offering her his blood. and she woke up in the morgue the next morning with sunlight burning her skin and nearly scaring the morgue attendant to death (though he didn’t survive very long either with her hunger growing). all she had on her was a phone number in her pocket that directed her towards the salvatore boarding school. 

she spent a year there before the incident happened. jade had been doing fairly well, though she was more than a bit bitter about how her life had turned out. all her parents knew was that there’d been some sort of accident, but that jade had been given a scholarship that would take her far away from them. she hated what turn her life had taken and wanted to live a little more than she had before. in her mind, she’d always been just the good girl who would  make her parents proud, and look where that had gotten her? dead. 

it’s almost ironic that the two worst nights of her life was when she was branching out and going to parties. the first got her killed and the second ended with her killing the girl she was interested in and shutting off her humanity for ten years. the prison world was hell for her, and leaving it behind was nothing short of a miracle. she’s determined to be better than she was in the past, to try to move past her guilt over what she’s done.

in the missing year, jade was working on studying vampiric lore, but specifically focused on rippers and what makes them different. she wants to find something that explains the why and how behind it when it seems so random. she also helped in first aid when needed because sometimes using magic isn’t the answer, ya know. not that she remembers working on any of that now.

she’s more than a little pissed to have lost more of her life. in her mind, she lost ten years in the prison world, stagnant at age 18, but now she’s lost yet another year of her life that could have been spend on growth and bettering herself. she isn’t sure she knows how to move past that bitterness that clouds her compassion.

— personality

jade isn’t honestly entirely sure who she is now. she spent a decade of her life with her humanity shut off, being cruel and sadistic towards her friends and an enemy. with her humanity back on, she’s bitter of what she lost and the now eleven years that were stolen from her, but she’s grateful for another chance to be better than she was before. she’s hard-working and will always put in 200% effort in what she does; she enjoys working towards her own goals and the satisfaction that comes from finally achieving them. she’s kind and loyal towards her friends, but isn’t above using charm to get what she wants. she was rebellious after becoming a vampire, and that much hasn’t changed. she was fairly stifled in her human life (though she was never mad about it), but she released some of her more negative traits after becoming a vampire. her guilt over her actions has definitely stamped down some of her impulsiveness, but she’s still sort of wavering between wanting to just have fun and make up for lost time and wanting to make up for her actions over that time.

— connections

listen i’m horrible at thinking of wanted connections, but i’m down for almost anything. would love maybe some friends she’s made, vampires she’s bonded with over how much it sucks, maybe another ripper to commiserate with, some connections she made over the lost year and is now like wtf.

the one thing i would like to mention is that, like mentioned on the main regarding jade/josie, i’m not super comfortable with jade being interested in someone so much younger than her. while she did lose a huge portion of her life and is physically 18, i don’t see her ever being romantically/sexually interested in anyone significantly younger than her or someone she knew when they were a child. that’s just not it for me, ya know.

[magistralucis]

In the snow! Missing the other! Soft gop bromance, please :D

In the snow, missing the other // Gopnik AU Bromance (Soft ver.)

---------------------

“Oh, how I’ve missed you all!”

So Mike calls as he abandons his valise in the kitchen, rushing out into the garden. Since moving to Krasnodar this is the longest he’s been away; Louis laughs, fondness swelling in his heart, as he switches on the kitchen light and leans against the door to watch him. Outside it is fast getting dark, but Mike insists on bidding his doves hello, his breath streaming behind him as he wades out into the snowy garden and into the aviary.

“You came in time, they’re still awake, but only just. Should I prepare something?”

“Tea would be nice!” Yes, tea, and a full course of dinner. Louis takes note but does little with it for the time being, breathing out carefully as he enters the garden as well. Thank God for the memory of columbidae: the doves are absolutely delighted to see him, cooing and preening him as soon as he’s inside, trying to land on his arm. “How many are here? One, two, three... not a single one gone, thank God! How have you been, Lyova? Masha, Vanya, Ksyusha? And you, Immanuel? I’ve been studying at your namesake!” Lyubochka, the ever-beautiful cocoa and white one, settles on his shoulder. “Sweet ones… my darling girls… Milaya ty moya!”

Inside the house are the king pigeons Mike still needs to say hello to. But right now, he’s absolutely covered by living beings that love him and he looks so happy - well, there’s no hurry, he’ll have as much love later indoors. Lyubochka comes to say hello to Louis as well. He pets her crest, the snow-white feathers so soft they seem to be of another world. Her aesthetic also makes Louis grin uncontrollably because it reminds him of something that happened on their way home. Mike had come straight to the cafe from the airport, and they were hurrying back home, when they stopped at a traffic light and Mike said, off-handedly: “Give me konfeta.”

“W-what?”

“I saw you grab a handful from the kitchen!” Mike had laughed then, his eyes shining in the sunset; Louis blushed, the glossy red Moskvichki caramels burning a hole in his pocket. “I haven’t eaten half the day, I need some sugar. Just one, please.”

So he got konfeta. As this was the same reason Louis took the caramels in the first place, they both had one. The chocolate shell was crunchy and the snow was soft and the whole thing felt like something out of a novel, and Mike was back home with him, and it was good.

That’s the reality of it sinking in, that Mike is home. They were both very matter-of-fact about his going, but actually feeling the length between his presence and absence is different. When Mike bids the doves goodnight and steps out of the aviary, he takes his beloved by the waist and embraces him warmly, kissing his hair and along his neck. “Feels good to be back?”

“Goodness, yes!” They spin around and fall down to lie together in the snow. It was untouched before Mike returned, so there’s a nice thick cushion which built up last night. “Thanks for taking care of everything while I was away. I can’t wait to caress you and curl up in our bed.”

Well then, why wait? Louis says as much, before he pulls Mike close and kisses him. The soft down of his coat covers them both. They love to kiss slow, because they didn't get to their first time. Mike is boyishly receptive, shy to begin but soon eagerly reaching for more, wrapping one arm around Louis's shoulders while his other hand strokes down his back. The darkness makes him bold and he kisses Louis again and again: small pecks against his cheeks, his eyes, his forehead, all before he sinks into the snow and surrenders to the other's lips once more. He tastes like caramel liqueur. Louis's fingers tease through the sweet dark curls of his hair. Mouth on smiling mouth, silent and content, only their doves cooing softly in the dark.

No matter what goes on outside, the world is gentle here.

Eventually they have to break apart for breath. Louis obviously thinks this is a real shame, and if anything, pulls Mike even closer to him in the anxiety they've been exposed too long to the cold. Though he need not worry; they're both breathing a little heavily, their cheeks flushed. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too.” Mike's fingers are delicate against his stubble. He cups Louis's cheek and presses one last kiss on the corner of his lips, his catlike mouth soft and warm. He tucks himself happily into the other's arms and they sit together for a while, gazing back into the house. The garden brims with gratitude and pleasure, only the dim golden light from the kitchen tickling their feet, a silken twilight of love. Yes, this is good. “Kaliningrad was beautiful, but here everything is vibrant, more alive. I rather believe it has something to do with you. What have you done with the colours of my life?”

“Added some, I hope.” Louis laughs, then stands up, lifting Mike easily out of the snow. He tries for a playful squeeze of the backside as he carries him back into the house, and receives blushing protests in return. “There, see? From pale to healthy pink, all because of me.” He kisses Mike's cheek. “Truly I am a miracle worker.”

"You're very strange, is what you are.”

“But not so strange I can't love you like you deserve.” Louis counters as he sets him down, chuckling as Mike nuzzles lazily against his shoulder. “Come then, Misha. I'll get the dinner started.”

[stanskzseungmin]

Operation Miroh | Stray Kids Mafia! AU ~ Chapter 12

Masterlist

Ongoing Missions

Side Ops 1: Recover Han | Han Jisung's personal effects // I.N | Yang Jeongin 

Mission Briefing

Location: Unknown Settlement

Weather: Rainy

Date: 20XX 

Time of Day : 0145

Mission Objective: Undercover gun deal to uncover info about the "Desert Fox"

Mission Partners: Seo Changbin, Lee Felix

Jisung, if you were here, what would you do?

        Your mission report shook everybody. The entire base fell silent to the point where a pin could be heard dropping. Changbin and Felix were loitering in the lounge when a wounded Hyunjin and a sobbing you burst through the door. Finally at home in safety, the adrenaline ran out. Your lungs were burning and your legs felt as if it was pierced with several knives and needles. Despite your physical ailments, the pain did not come to par with the pain lingering in your heart.

    You knew the adrenaline had subsided for Hyunjin as well. The wooden crate of syringes slipped out of his hands, dropping on the ground with a loud thud. It bounced a bit from landing on its edge, tipping over and finally stilling to a stop as the syringes cascaded out. Hyunjin slumped forward as darkness overtook his body as he dropped to the floor with a loud thud exposing his torn and tattered, bleeding back void of a wing and a damaged second one. 

    Upon seeing both your physical and mental state, Changbin and Felix rushed over. One pulling you into his arms and the other placing a hand delicately on Hyunjin’s shoulder trying to shake him awake. 

    “Jisung… Jisung,” you gasped out, choking on your sobs as tears kept flowing.

    With wide eyes as the understanding finally settled in, Changbin bellowed out.

    “Hyung! Chan hyung!”

    Felix’s head snapped up and joined in. “HYUNG!”

    A set of loud thunderous footsteps echoed throughout the walls as a very worried Seungmin burst through the door. Seungmin’s eyes widen at the sight of you and Hyunjin. Your trembling form caused a wave of pain to erupt within him. Seungmin rushed forward, shoving Changbin and Felix aside, and delicately cupped your cheeks in his hands as he delicately brushed your tears away. 

“Dummy?” Seungmin whispered. “Dummy, what happened?”

You couldn’t respond as you were still choking on your sobs.

Another pair of footsteps came your way as a very panicked, sleep deprived Chan stumbled into the room. Judging by your pitiful states, Chan immediately knew what was the outcome of the mission.

Jisungie, would you forgive us for moving on?

 From then on, the base was in unrest. Chan quickly retreated back to his office to gather as much intel on the Desert Fox. Jeongin immediately departed onto his side ops mission without saying a single word, without sparing a single glance as he grapple hooked his way out of the front entrance. Seungmin looked at you a final time with an unreadable expression as he hoisted the unconscious medic onto his shoulders and jogged off. Changbin quickly followed after gathering the scattered syringes and Felix running over to you and pulling you into his arms.

It isn’t that we don’t care, you understand that, right?

“Y/N, Changbin, Felix,” Chan called out after the three of you have been summoned to his office. “Talk in District 9 has stated Desert Fox by name. Last known location… about a few clicks north of District 9.”

The three of you listened intently as Chan continued tapping away at his laptop. His laptop is now connected to his larger monitor as you three try to focus on the various pop ups of texts, maps, geographic readings, etc. It was a miracle how Chan is managing to condense and process this mass of information in such a compact amount of time despite his handicap of sleep deprivation. 

“The latest geographic screening and surveillance from… Han’s… ,” Chan hesitated. His voice cracked and dropped slightly at the mention of the fallen’s name, but he had to continue on.  “-survey beacon from his reconnaissance mission showed that was some strange activity located within the mountain. Recently, there has been an influx of incoming shipment of cargo.”

“Weapons transport?” Changbin inquired.

Chan nodded. “Most likely linked to the supply run Y/N and Hyunjin disrupted. Changbin, if this is a weapons deal, I need you to go undercover and infiltrate the run.”

Changbin nodded in understanding as he quickly bolted out not prior to Chan tossing him a radio earpiece. Changbin easily caught the small black box and inner ear piece behind his back as he slipped past Chan’s door. 

“Felix, if the Desert Fox is indeed there, you have full authority to kill on sight,” Felix nodded, walking forward, grabbing a hold of a black box and earpiece as well as headed out the open door.

“And what about me?” you whispered.

It’s that… we have no time to mourn.

Chan paused momentarily, letting his shoulders drop as he let out a shaky exhale. Chan was weighing his options, what could you do? Not that he had a lack of faith in you, but there were too many variables to consider. There were too many jobs, too many dangers and only one of you. Chan slumped into his hand resting on his desk. His eyes darted around back and forth taking in the rapidly incoming information and live updates pinging Jeongin’s exact location while simultaneously playing different scenarios in his head and deciding what would be the most beneficial but with the least opportunity cost.

“Channie?” your voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

“I.N has been sent to briefly scope out the place, you will meet up with him for the rest of the briefing,” Chan stated.

“Chan-”

“Find out about the Desert Fox, gather as much information as you can,” Chan interrupted with a low voice. Chan rubbed at his tired dry eyes as he ran a hand through his bleached locks.

You frowned as the stinging pain washed over you again.

“Chan,” your voice cracked, understanding the underlying intentions of your mission objective.

“Dismissed, Y/N.”

You were replacing Jisung.

 You then met up with Changbin and Felix in one of Stray Kids’ supply warehouses. It was a bit on the smaller side compared to the massive warehouse solely for chemicals, metals, medicine, etc, including all of Hyunjin’s medicinal and lethal experiments, Minho’s endless supplies of empty and filled glass bottles of his outdated experiments as well as Seungmin’s massive gunpowder collection and recently fertilizer and cement (unfortunately, Seungmin has caught Hyunjin’s contagious disease of laziness opting with an easy explosive with the latter two resources rather than an intricate concoction of chemicals and oxides.)

The smaller warehouse the three were currently in had weapons galore dating back to Changbin and Jeongin’s illegal black market dealings when they all were within the accursed walls. There were rows and rows of wooden crates stacked upon each other. Atop of each crate was a small and simple weapon stand that displayed a gun indicating what was in the crates that the display was sitting on. A wall was dedicated to display several bladed and blunt weapons and several harnesses and slings, many of them are customized to fit the member’s needs. For example, Felix’s harnesses have overkilled with many loops and slits to carry as much ordnance and weapons he possibly can, Minho’s have more regular and adjustable loops to strap on his gaseous concoctions and reactant reagents, Chan’s harnesses have special metal hooks and straps just so he can have his laptop on his body at all times whether it be flush against his chest or on the small of his back, etc etc. You get the idea. Another wall was dedicated to Seungmin’s and Jeongin’s (mostly Seungmin’s) joint efforts in customized and personally built weapons. You cringed awkwardly spotting your god awful pistol and customized suppressor on display. Finally there was a vast lot of empty space set aside in the far corner just for Hyunjin and Seungmin to dump their failed engineering experiments. You still don’t know why we kept all of Hyunjin’s and Seungmin’s prototypes for Hyunjin’s mechanical wings and your eyes narrowed in confusion when you spotted Chan’s corpse of a laptop on the floor along with the wings. Strange… Chan usually repairs his laptop rather than replacing them…

Felix was checking the chamber of his pistol to make sure it’s loaded as you walked up to him. Felix noticed your presence and proceeded to holster his pistol somewhere under his white sweater behind his back. Felix wore somewhat… revealing clothing. He shed his normally black attire for a white loose fitting sweater. It was cut down to size thus exposing a bit of his toned torso and with the waistband of his boxers barely peeking over his dark jeans. In his exposed skin, you saw slight elements of a leather harness hidden under his oversized sweater. You can probably imagine what’s attached to the harness: knives, small hand held pistols, possibly some ordnance and most definitely gun magazines. You never truly know, but he’s always well geared up and he’s always manage to hide so many weapons and supplies all over his body. 

Changbin, however, was more modest. He wore a simple white tee with a black vest thrown over it along with black jeans with several aesthetic tears and slashes. He was currently crouched in front of two empty crates back facing you as he added hay as padding for the many weapons he was about to bring. You shook your head lightly at the sight of his black battery pack for his earpiece stuffed into his waistband rather than his back pocket assuming he was too much in a rush and had difficulties sliding it into the pocket and thus, opted for his waistband. You walked forward and slid your palm along the curve of his bottom into his pocket to create space eliciting a loud surprised, totally manly yelp of sorts from him and slid the battery pack into the pocket.

    “Is that all you’re bringing?” you gestured at the two crates.

    “Customized,” Changbin grumbled, patting down the hay and adding in another customized weapon. “All the more to incentivise.” 

    “Are you sure about that?” you inquired, fully knowing Seungmin’s customized weapons were exceptionally made and highly effective and deadly.

    “Relax, little one. The guns are faulty anyway. I made sure of it,” Changbin stated, getting up to face you. “It’s the gunpowder that can’t be faked.”

    Changbin made a small head movement to Felix and he nodded in understanding, waltzing off to the neighboring warehouse for a crate of Seungmin’s gunpowders. Changbin walked towards you a bit and clasped his hands on your shoulders and looking deep into your eyes.

“Are you going to be ok?” Changbin’s voice was soft.

You nodded hesitantly. 

    But is Jisung going to be ok? Being replaced…?

“Jeongin,” Changbin greeted. 

“You’re late,” Jeongin stated sternly with a straight face with his lips curved slightly upward in a small smile. He stood from his previous crouched position. He had a dark scarf wrapped around his head in lieu of a hood. His red fringes brushed against his lashes as the breeze went by. Jeongin wore a simple black tight shirt that was wayyyy too short exposing his toned and lean midriff. His black jeans were also a bit short, his cuffs barely extended past his knee exposing his pale calfs down to regular combat boots. Within his hands was an extremely large and hefty custom .20 millimeter sniper rifle that was forged and assembled by Seungmin. 

“That’s no way for you to talk to your hyungs,” Felix chuckled.

Jeongin responded with a sarcastic and forced smile. 

“Apologies, but I have my own mission directive,” his tone was dripping with false and forced politeness.  

“Innie,” your voice was stern, but sent the message across just fine.

“Beyond that rock formation,” Jeongin gestured with his finger. “-is cave entrance. Within that cave is a hidden underground settlement.”

“Civilians?” you inquired. 

“Many. I believe it’s a front. It’s a pretty well established settlement.”

“A well hidden location for a well hidden underground dealings,” Changbin muttered. 

“With civilians as a cover,” you finished. Jeongin nodded.

“There is no natural light, only torch light. The area is mainly clear of guards with the exception of the far back of the cave. The guards you may pass in the walkways are more than likely to be off duty and is unlikely to actually be doing their job, so they won’t be much of a worry,” Jeongin continued, turning to face you. 

“Thank you,” he nodded as he grappled away and disappeared behind the cliff.

“I’ll wait here with the crates,” Changbin stated. “Y/N, go in and locate the weapons dealings and gather information. Felix, go in after and dispatch the off duty guards.”

You and Felix both nodded as you both turned away and climb up the rock formation. Lo and behold, the cave entrance Jeongin spoke of. You were awestruck at the marvelous sight. It was a marvelous sight indeed Felix agreed with his equally awestruck expression. It was a vast underground cave with a center stone structure that was lit ablaze at the top. The flames lit up the settlement in a calming warm yellow and orange light. It appears to be many well constructed buildings made of mud and clay but the integrity is impeccable. While the other villages and the walled cities had an atmosphere of looming danger and impending doom, this one has a calm, peaceful lighthearted atmosphere. Almost like “paradise,” but without the sheer number of armed guards.

“Paradise?” Felix turned to you.

“Too soon,” you mumbled, shoving Felix causing him to stumble over the edge and land on his feet at the bottom with a soft thud.

“Thanks,” Felix stated sarcastically as he quickly went to work disappearing into the darkness of the unlit or poorly lit areas.

You quickly follow and jump off the edge as well, landing with a small grunt. you reach down to grab a discarded piece of fabric and dusting it off.  You wrapped it around your face and pulled up your hood making your way in. 

“I have overwatch,” Changbin’s voice buzzed over intercoms, a faint clicking and sliding could be heard in the background.

“I have line of sight,” Felix confirmed. “Got you covered.”

You continue making your way deeper into the settlement, walking with your head high. Whispers erupted all around you as the people looked you up and down. You were obviously an outsider with your hoodie and jeans in comparison to the people’s functional rags.

“Hey!” a guard off duty noticed you. His head slung back as red erupted from contact.

“Got you covered,” Changbin buzzed in, Felix popping out of the shadows to dispose of the body. 

“Alley to the left,” Felix buzzed in. You followed his orders walking into it seeing a man positioned there. “Get his attention.”

You continued walking forward. “Hey! You can’t be her-” Felix busted out from the doorway of the building, stabbing the guard in the neck and pulling him in closing the door behind him.

“Keep going,‘ Felix ordered.

“Lost line of sight,” Changbin buzzed in. “You’re on your own.”

“I got you,” Felix reassured.

You made your way into the building to see a man having a smoke. You smirked to yourself as you continued walking and purposefully bumping shoulders into him.

“Huh? Ah-” Felix rushed in and kneeing him in the back. The guard was sent into the wall as Felix stabbed his blade directly center of his neck. You walked out of the door to witness a fight gathering. It seems both civilian and guards were attracted. You could see snippets of two bloodied people pitted against each other.

“A fight club?” you whispered. 

“Don’t think so,” Felix said. “More like dog fights but with people.”

“How awful,” you muttered.

“Stay focused,” Changbin reminded.

“Felix, what are you doing?” you hissed at the Aussie who emerged from the shadows walking towards the fight.

“Joining the fight,” he muttered, pulling out his earpiece and battery pack and hiding it in shadows.

“FELIX!” you hissed.

“Leave him,” Changbin interrupted. “This is an undercover mission. Felix can fight his way to the top and get information. You should get info as well.”

“Alright.”

“Head to the main road, so I can watch your back,” Changbin instructed. Doing as he’s told, you snuck past the fight and head back to the main road. You walked in a brisk pace towards the center stone pillar. 

“I can’t see past that pillar,” Changbin buzzed in. “Can you get up the pillar and see what’s on the other side?”

You obeyed his command silently. Your fingers grasped at all the cracks and protruding  rocks as your toes find purchase of the rough surface. You managed to climb up to the weak wooden walkway, but thankfully, you were light enough for the wood to support your weight.

“Report.”

“Just as Innie said, the back looks heavily sheltered off and guarded,” as you were watching over the guard patrols, you noticed a small gate in the back corner with two men trying to pass crates to each other.

“Careful!” one scolded when the other dropped the crate. The lid popped open as the contents came spilling out, revealing a couple of knives and grenades.

“Binnie, I may have found the weapons supply lines. 2 o’clock far corner.”

“Understood. You’re fine on your own right?”

“Of course.”

“Alright, Changbin out,” Changbin buzzed off.

Your back slumped against the stone structure as you felt the loneliness and grief kick in.

I’m sorry, Jisung. This is supposed to be a time of mourning, but it is a luxury we can’t have.

“Oh shit,” you hear a small voice under you. You were snapped out of your thoughts when a woman spotted you and began bolting. You tilted your head to the side as you pursued, jumping down from your elevated position and landing straight on a mud protective railing on a rooftop. As the woman kept running in and out of the alleys, you jumped from roof to roof keeping her within line of sight.

“Why are you following me?” she called out.

“Why are you running?” you responded, trying to catch your breath.

“Ok, hold up,” you retorted, jumping off and landing directly in front of her. You winced at the sharp stinging pain shooting up your legs. You never understood how Jisu- Jisung.

“Jisung,” you whined. “How do you always manage to land on your feet without destroying your legs?”

“That’s because I bend my knees, stupid,” the squirrel chuckled, flicking your forehead.

 You shook your head preventing your wandering thoughts.

“You’re here to kill me, aren't you?” the woman whispered backing up at bit.

“What gave you that impression?”

“Your clothes,” she pointed out. “You’re not one of us. The Desert Fox sent you, didn’t he?”

Your eyes widen in bewilderment. “The Desert Fox sent...me? You’re not one of Desert Fox’s?”

“No. Never. Not anymore,” she whispered. “I see we have a common enemy?”

“It appears so…” you whispered, eyeing her up and down as she did the same to you as you circled each other. “Let me guess, this settlement is your hideout?”

“Yes, to hide away from the prying eyes of the Desert Fox.”

“You mentioned ‘not anymore,’ you used to work for him?”

“Yes, but I have never met the man. He would send codes with instructions.”

“Supply runs…?” you tried to insinuate the weapons dealing happening right this moment.

 “Disruption mainly. The one we have now is for our own personal use.”

“Freedom fighter?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “The Desert Fox is a cruel miserable man with complete disregard for human life. He does not fight for a cause. He fights for death count.”

"Are you going to kill him?" She spoke up after a lengthy pause.

Jisung's smiling face came before you in a vision.

"Yes. He's the reason for the death of someone dear to me."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. You nodded solemnly as your gaze fell upon a familiar brown sack with a skull mark hanging off the woman’s waist.

~

Felix panted as he bounced on the balls of his feet, swapping stances. Screams and cheers erupted all around him. The woman he was fighting against spat at his feet. She rushed forward attempting to throw a punch with Felix quickly jerked his head back. 

"Who's this guy?" Felix's ear picked up. 

"Don't recognize him," another continued.

The woman rushed him with a flurry of attacks, Felix kept his eyes glued to her fists as he dodged every attack with grace and poise. The woman changed her stance, spinning on the ball of her foot. She was preparing for a heavy punch, Felix easily saw through it. He immediately ducked, her fist barely grazed the top of his head as her forward momentum brought her closer to Felix. Felix easily bounced back up headbutting the woman's nose. Her head few back as her hands flew to her face trying to stop the red spew. She bowed down, backing up and waving her bloody hand signalling "no more"

"Dancing like the devil is he?" a guard in the crowd, mumbled. Felix couldn't pick up any other of his murmurs, but his ears most definitely picked up a soft 'Desert Fox.' "It looks like we have our best man here!"

The guard walked up to Felix with an outstretched hand to pat his shoulder, only for Felix to shrug his hand away. The guard chuckled pointing at him.

"Is there anyone willing to take on this current reigning champion?!" The crowd cheered around him as Felix warily eyed the man. "Remember to keep it a fair fight and no weapons allowed!" 

The guard chuckled walking back into the crowd. Five other guards emerged from the crowd, each equipped with a bladed weapon. Felix's shoulders slumped as he stood up straight and tilted his head with a disapproving gaze.

"What are you going to do now, pretty boy?" the guard in the center snickered.

Felix sighed, tilting his head the other direction menacingly. "I'm going to be beat a cheat."

~

Changbin dropped both crates to the group with an exasperated sigh as he stood up rolling his shoulder to loosen the knots forming there.

“Hey kid,” the man leading the weapons deal called out. “Aren’t you a little young for this?”

“Gotta do what I got to survive,” Changbin put up a plastic smile and played along with the youthful looking man. The man had dark locks that was tied back with a rag. His clothes were loose and in tatters making him look homeless in comparison to Changbin’s clean clothes.

“Right on man,” the man smiled. “Let me see what you have to offer.” The man jumped off the crate he was sitting on and walked towards Changbin with a knife. Changbin eyed the blade waringly as his hand reached for his concealed pistol under his shirt in self defense. The man merely crouched in front of Changbin’s crate and pried open the wood with the blade. Changbin relaxed slightly, but he kept his hand on the grip of his gun.

“We don’t have the most advanced of weapons but we make do with what we have. We have molotovs, trip wires and semtex and a couple of automatic weapons,” the man informed pulling out the hay from the crate. “What are you hoping to get?”

“Information,” Changbin responded bluntly. The man paused to look at Changbin.

“I don’t know what you mean? We’re just people who are trying to survive-” the man’s breath hitched upon sight of the weapons in the box.

“What is it?” Changbin asked. 

The man looked up to Changbin with wide eyes as he backed up to his buddy and whispered to him. Both men eyed Changbin up and down. An uneasy feeling bubbled within Changbin as he got into a defensive stance. Instantly, the two men grabbed two guns from their  crate and pointed the weapon at Changbin. Changbin gasped and backed up, throwing up his hands. 

“D-don’t shoot,” Changbin sputtered trying to keep up his act. Changbin smiled awkwardly and chuckled. “Please, I just need to-”

“I know why you’re here,” the man growled, voice dripping with venom. “Leave or I’ll shoot!”

“But-” Changbin interjected.

“I say we shoot him.”

Changbin glared at the man as he noticed him very quickly getting surrounded. Both guards and other men and women started appearing from the shadows, each equipped with a weapon pointed directly at Changbin.

Too many. Changbin thought to himself. He could hold his own, but not with this many and not without cover. 

“Shit,” Changbin cursed. With reflexes almost quicker than the eye, Changbin kicked over his crate: the weapons, hay and several metal canisters tumbled out. Using foot and friction against the dirt floor, he dragged the pin out of the canister and kicked it towards the two men in front of him. The quickly opened fire but Changbin was quicker and dove to safety behind other wooden crates. The metal canister finally went off after what felt like an eternity. The immediate area was engulfed in a bright white light and Changbin easily disappeared within the chaos.

“Get him! Kill him before he gets to Desert Fox!”

~

Your heart was pounding in your ears. You were panting heavily as you ran down the street. The people were grumbling and gasping at your sprinting form. Many jumped out of your way. Some expressed outrage towards your lack of respect.

“S-sorry!” you quickly apologized bowing your head quickly as you ran into the alley.

You could hear distant cheers and the distinct sound of fleshy impacts and bone crushing blows. You turned the corner and slid to a stop, the soles of your feet grinded across the ground.

“F-felix!” you gasped out. 

The blond Aussie was engrossed into his fight. A guard went to stab him, but Felix easily jumped back, narrowly dodging the blade. Felix grabbed the guard’s wrist and pulled him forward connecting his knee to his face. Another guard tried to do a top down swipe; Felix sidestepped, the blade pathetically whiffing past the Aussie as his fist connected with the man’s jaw in an uppercut. A third tried to take advantage of Felix’s turned back, but Felix threw back his elbow connecting to his face, the nose collapsed and broke with a loud crunch. 

“FELIX!” you called out his name, Felix quickly snapped his head towards you with wide eyes. “We got a problem!”

“That fighting style. That movement. I’ve seen it before,” the supposed ringmaster guard whispered out.

Felix pushed past the remaining two guards, ignoring the booing crowd and not caring that he’s forfeiting the fight as he briskly jogged to you.

“Get them!” Felix and you snapped towards them. “Kill them both! They’re Desert Fox’s!”

The guards all unsheathed their blades and readied their guns. The crowd scattered in loud screams of terror upon hearing the Desert Fox’s name, the name of the monster they’re hiding from. The crowd quickly dispersed each screaming the Desert Fox’s name. 

“Felix,” you whimpered, grabbing at his white sleeve. “We need to go.”

“Yeah,” Felix agreed, grabbing your forearms and pulling you in the opposite direction.

“Kill them! Don’t let them get back to Desert Fox! Do whatever it takes to stop them.”

“We need to get to Changbin!” Felix called out, sprinting in and out of buildings. The building’s inhabitants yelped in shock from the two intruders. Felix easily vaulted over a random woman’s kitchen counter as he hopped out the open window and you barreled out the door. You both stilled to a stop as a sprinting Changbin passing by you. Changbin scrambled to a stop as he realized who he passed. 

“We got a problem!” you three shouted simultaneously. “They think we’re Desert Fox!”

A loud explosion rang in the background. The cave walls shook as unsettled dust dislodged from the ceiling. The hanging stalactites shook, threatening to fall. The entire settlement was in unrest. Screams of the people echoed within the cave. More and more explosions rang out and the hanging rocks began falling and collapsing onto the buildings.

“Guys,” Felix pointed out sticking a finger in the direction of the back of the cave. You and Changbin turned towards the back where there were black smoke emitting from the various explosions, but there was a problem. There was also a mist like gas that was a discerning mustard yellow/algae green color. 

You recognized what it was. “We need to go! NOW!” The three of you started to sprint towards the cave entrance along with the fleeing crowd. It was what Hyunjin was afraid of: the sacks of strange green crystals from the supply run, the exact same sack the woman had. Several similar sacks were thrown into the escaping crowd as the contents of each sack were agitated and erupted in the similar mist.

“Don’t breathe that in! It’s poison!” you warned, pulling up your makeshift hood onto your nose and mouth.

“They’re gassing the entire place just to kill us?” Changbin called out into the crook of his arm, coughing every other word.

One by one, the people fall to the ground. So many voices would no longer made a sound. You tripped and stumbled over your feet as you fell to the ground. Everything seemed to echo in your ears. The world seemed like it was endlessly spinning. Dots of blacks appeared within your vision. Felix and Changbin were calling out your name, but you could barely make out their voices. You could barely make out the sounds of the two desperately coughing and gasping for air only to inhale more of the poisonous gas. You slumped down to the ground as darkness enveloped your vision. The last thing you could make out was Felix on his knees hacking his lungs out and Changbin crawling towards you. 

The next series of events went by like scenes of a movie. You weren’t fully unconscious, your world was flashing in and out of darkness. You only caught glimpses of what happened before it all went back again. You saw both Felix and soon after Changbin collapsing fully to the ground. Then you could faintly hear a whizzing sound. Afterwards, you saw a figure swinging into your line of sight from a grapple hook. The figure stopped momentarily to grab ahold of Felix within an arm and Changbin across the shoulders. You could barely make out a splash of red before grapple hooking away. Next you saw a dark silhouette appear within your sight.

“Oh my god. You’re ok… you’re ok...” you could barely make out his voice before your world went dark again. You then awoke in the man’s arms and attempted to look at the man’s face. His arms felt familiar. Being in his hold felt normal and… at home. You tried to make out features, but your brain was mush and your vision wasn’t any better. You were unable to make out any noteworthy features before the world went dark again. Finally, you awoke lying on vibrant green grass. Your eyes squinted shut from the bright light. Cracking an eye open, you noticed the clear blue skies before finally realizing both Changbin and Felix on the grass before you unconscious. You spotted the red headed sniper propped up on a rock. His head was bowed down as you was coughing furiously into the crook of his arm. You could hear him wheeze every single pause he took to gasp for air.

“Jeong...in...” you tried to call out weakly, pathetically attempting to crawl towards him. “You… saved us...”

Jeongin panted, dropping his arm. His breath was weak, you could hear the wheeze after each and every one of his inhales and exhales. 

“Did..didn’t save you...” Jeongin wheezed. “Some...one… else...I..don’t… I don’t-” Jeongin erupted into a fit of coughs again.

“What...?” you whispered breathlessly in disbelief. You fully fell to the ground again, the side of your face made into contact with soft grass, your arm fell limp beside you. Jeongin fumbled with the pouches on his body. He pulled out a small box and popped open the lid and placed it in front of your face. Your eyes made out a faint glint of the object’s shine. You could make out it’s slim, long and circular shape with it ending in a sharp point.

Your heart shattered even more if it was possible as you broke out into weeps recognizing the metal objects.

~Voting Opportunity~

Do you want to take Han | Han Jisung’s metal claws for yourself?

Yes: Gain the ability to climb fully vertical walls without the need of hand and feet purchase, gain the ability to use the claws as weapons.

Or

No: Will be left as memorabilia alongside Porcelain Mask at the SKZ base. Warning: You will not have access to the claws from this point on if you choose this option.

~Voting Opportunity~

Do you want to see Hwang Hyunjin?

Yes or No

~Voting Opportunity~

A/N: I know I haven’t left out any clues or hints about what the next mission is, but from this point on, I want you all to keep in the back of your mind who you think the Desert Fox is and what is the Desert Fox’s relationship to Stray Kids based on the hints I left in this chapter. 

Which Stray Kids Member do you want to send on your next mission?

Kim Woojin [Status: AWOL*]

Bang Chan | Bang Christopher Chan 

Lee Know | Lee Minho (Heavy injury)

Seo Changbin (Will not be available until 3 members have gone)

Hwang Hyunjin (Heavy Injury // Will not be available until 2 members have gone)

Han | Han Jisung [Status: Deceased]

Lee Felix (Will not be available until 3 members have gone)

Kim Seungmin (Will not be available until 1 members have gone)

I.N | Yang Jeongin (Will not be available until 4 members have gone)

* : AWOL = Away on leave, but Woojin will return when called upon.

A/N: You can vote through asks if you wish.

[emperorsfoot]

Inconvenient Arrangements chapter 4. 

Hordak and Entrapta continue to be the least romantic couple in the universe. 

Meanwhile, we get another flashback of Keldor and he’s all like

...

The royal gardens of Eternos were very different from the Imperial gardens on Horde World. While the gardens of the Imperial palace were filled with bushes and grasses from all over the universe, carefully tended, tripped and shaped to be aesthetically pleasing, and impermanent and replaced after every bad storm, the gardens of Eternos looked almost wild. Tall trees with thick trunks and dense branches, ground vines climbing out of the beds and up the walls, flowers of every variety growing wherever they pleased as if just allowed to take root wherever the wind blew their seeds. Hec-Tor was not used to something that was supposed to be part of a royal property looking so… unplanned.

The Prince sneezed, wondering if he was allergic to something in the gardens and if an epinephrine would react adversely with his medications.

Next to him, Keldor yawned. Board. His intended was board of his company. Not that Hec-Tor found the other Prince particularly riveting either. They had little in common and little to talk about aside from their pending nuptials and one could not fill an entire afternoon of contract mandated bonding discussing how much you hated said contract forcing you to bond. Keldor looked behind them at their escorts. The robotic diplomat Dylamug, and a Gar warrior named Sy-Klone. They both looked about as board and uninterested as Hec-Tor and Keldor felt.

Noting just how disinterested their chaperones were, Kedor grabbed Hec-Tor by the hand and pulled him off the grass-grown gravel path.

“Wha-!?” Hec-Tor was about to demand an explanation for the sudden action, but Keldor placed a blue hand over his mouth.

“Shh!” He hissed, ebony hair falling in front of one pointed ear. “Follow me.”

Keldor began to climb up a vine-entangled tree with low-hanging branches and dense leaves to hide them from view. But when he saw that Hec-Tor was not immediately following him, he grabbed the other man’s hand and practically had to drag the Horde Prince up. They sat on a one of the boughs, Keldor leaning around the trunk to make sure their escorts were not suspicious. As far as he could tell, they were laughing at the idea that Keldor had dragged Hec-Tor off for a bout of pre-nuptial… affection.

“What are we doing up here?” Demanded the Imperial Prince.

“Don’t you wanna get outta here?” Keldor asked.

Well, actually, yes. Hec-Tor did want to get off of Eternia and away from this arrangement. But Brother really wanted Eternia for some reason and to get it, Hec-Tor had to marry Keldor. So he could not leave. A fact he could not believe he had to remind his fiancé of . “What we want is immaterial in this matter.”

Keldor only rolled his dark eyes and tucked a strand of hair behind his delicately pointed ear. “Wow. They’re got you really well trained.”

“I beg your par-!” Was insulted, but the offense quickly turned to dismay as Keldor pushed him backwards and Hec-Tor found himself suddenly falling.

The sound he made was not Princely or dignified.

Eyes wide, talons clawing at –a wall. What he thought was a bush or part of a hedge maze, was in fact a vine-covered wall, and he was falling down the outside of it. Talons cut through leaves or scraped over exposed patches of stone, until he was able to finally gain purchase on a vine strong enough to hold him. Hec-Tor clung to the wall as if it were the only solid thing in existence.

Keldor slid down next to him, but more controlled. “First time ditching your keepers?”

“What have you done!?” Hec-Tor demanded.

“I told you. We’re getting out.” His intended scoffed as if this should have been obvious. “Don’t tell me you were actually having fun on our ‘quiet and leisurely stroll through the gardens’. He slid down the vines a fraction of a meter, expecting Hec-Tor to follow him. “C’mon. I’ll show you the real Eternia!”

Hec-Tor looked up at the wall, gauging the distance he’d already fallen. He could climb that easily. Get back inside the castle, go to Horde Prime and made his brother see that this Prince Keldor of Eternia was not a suitable partner for a member of the Imperial family. But after he pulled himself up a little short of a meter, he began to feel woozy, the warning of an on-coming faiting spell, and decided that he would rather be much, much closer to the ground. Hec-Tor followed Keldor’s example and used the vines to slide down the wall.

Their boots touched ground in a narrow alley behind the castle. It stank of city waste and there were vermin skittering over the stones. Hec-Tor leaned against the wall and breathed in the noxious air, hoping the dizziness would pass without him losing consciousness in the middle of a filthy ally.

“You having a panic attack or something?” Keldor asked.

Hec-Tor cast a sideways glare at him. Crimson eyes glowing in the dim ally.

Keldor did not seem the least bit impressed. Apparently, Hec-Tor was not very intimidating when he looked –and felt- like he was about to pass out. Keldor grabbed his hand again. “C’mon. There’s a bar I like down this way.”

Hec-Tor could not drink alcohol. It reacted badly with his medications. But he also could not pull away when Keldor dragged him down the ally and around a corner.

They came out on a semi-crowded street full of a diverse variety of Eternian races and alien visitors. It was more people than Hec-Tor had ever been around at one time and he suddenly felt inexplicably anxious. He held tighter to Keldor’s hand and closed the distance between them, almost pressing his whole body against the other man’s side.

“You afraid of getting lost or something?” He teased.

“I am unused to… this.” All of this. Being in a crowded street. People not automatically making space for him and giving him a wide birth out of respect. Defying protocol, evading their chaperones, and stealing out of castle grounds. All of it. Hec-Tor was unused to all of it. What kinds of things did they teach their Princes on Eternia for Keldor to even know how to do this!? Never mind actually do it.

The other man only laughed. Keldor seemed to do a lot of laughing at him and Hec-Tor was concerned by the fact that he did not hate it. “C’mon, we’re almost there.”

He pulled Hec-Tor into a dimply lit tavern that stank of stale grain, alcohol, and the funk of perspiration from a vide and diverse variety of organisms. Hec-Tor had to cover his nasal cavity with his hand. It was rank and offensive to smell. How anyone could drink anything from this place was a mystery to him.

Keldor dragged them both right up to the bar, laid two silver coins on the counter, and grinned at the bartender when she asked how old they were. “Old enough to be married.”

(The age of consent on Eternia was younger than the legal drinking age.)

The bartender continued to glare at them. So Keldor slowly placed a gold coin on the table along side the silver. The silver coins were placed in the bar’s till, the gold coin disappeared into her pocket, and two tankards of some frothy grain-alcohol replaced them on the counter. “Just don’t make any trouble.”

Keldor gave a mock gasp. “Trouble? Me? Well, I never-!”

The bartender rolled her eyes again. “I know who you are, and I have Man-at-Arms on speed dial.”

Another gold coin was placed on the bar counter.

“But silly me forgot to charge my com last night.”

Grinning, Keldor pressed one frothing tankard into Hec-Tor’s hands and led him to a table in the middle of the room.

Hec-Tor sniffed the drink cautiously. “I cannot drink this.”

“Sure you can!” Keldor insisted. “Just put it in your mouth and swallow.”

“I mean, it will make me very, very ill.” Hec-Tor clarified.

“Yeah…” Agreed the other man. “But you’ll have a lot of fun first!”

Setting his tankard down on the table, Hec-Tor pushed it away from himself. “I would like to go back to the castle now.”

Keldor was already chugging his drink. He had a froth mustache when he lowered the tankard. “Aw, but we only just got here! I haven’t even gotten into a bar fight yet.”

Hec-Tor raised a baled brow at him. Princes were not supposed to slink down narrow allies, or get into bar fights with common drunkards. He opened his mouth to remind Keldor of this fact, and also made a mental note to inform Brother of this little escapade as evidence that the engagement should be called off and the alliance with Eternia sealed some other way.

But he didn’t get the chance to.

At that exact moment, a large Qadian came up to their table. A dark scowl on his feline face, arms crossed over his chest with disproval. “You, Gar,” he hissed, “you’re at my table.”

“Never mind.” Keldor smirked at Hec-Tor, “I’m right on schedule.” He turned around to face the cat-like alien –although, to Keldor he wouldn’t be an alien, Qadians were native to Eternia- “I am? I’m so sorry, I had no idea this was your table, Mr. Torg Sisters Wholesale Furniture Warehouse! That is your name, I assume, as it’s the only name written on it.”

The Qadian’s whiskers twitched asymmetrically. “You can’t sit here, Gar.”

“I can’t?” He gasped, as if truly and honestly shocked. He looked down at his chair. “By the Goddess! It must be a miracle. Look! I’m sitting! Here!”

Losing patience quickly, the Qadian grabbed Keldor by one of the belts crossed over his chest. “Listen, you Blue Bastard, we don’t want your kind here!”

Hec-Tor shot to his feet. No one grabbed a Prince like that! At least, in the Empire, no one would dare!

“What kind is that?” Keldor asked, not appearing to be intimidated by the hostile feline. “Gar, young people, or someone who can hold his liquor probably better than you.”

“Let him go.” Hec-Tor commanded, putting all the regal command of his station into the words. For half a second, to his own ears, he sounded just like Brother. A Horde Prime. Commanding, and strong. He stood up. Then immediately felt the same faintness from a few minutes ago when Keldor pushed him over the castle wall. But he tried to ignore it.

“And what are you supposed to be?” Scoffed the Qadian, unimpressed.

Not many people outside of Horde World actually knew what members of the Imperial Family looked like. They were so many generations removed from the original Horde Prime, and each suffered physical defects that sometimes altered their appearance, that none of them looked like the clones of the Horde military.

“I am a-“

“This is my fiancé, uh… Hordak!” Keldor cut him off before Hec-Tor could announce that he was a Prince of the Horde Empire and that Keldor was Prince Keldor First Born to the House of Miro. Apparently, that would spoil his fun. “Hordak, sweetie, say ‘hi’ to the nice kitty.”

Hec-Tor frowned.

“Are you making fun of me!” Demanded the Qadian. He did not appreciate being called a ‘kitty’, anymore than Keldor appreciated being called a ‘blue bastard’.

Keldor only smirked. “I’m usually making fun of everyone.”

With a hiss and a snarl, the Qadian threw Keldor at the table.

He caught himself on its edge and used it for balance while he ducked a fast punch from the Qadian.

Hec-Tor, acting more on impulse rather than any conscious strategy, picked up the whole table and threw it at the Qadian. The feline alien had to jump to dodge the projectile furniture. His fur all puffed out, he hissed again.

But the action brought on another wave of dizziness. The physical exertion just a little too much for him. Hec-Tor’s vison blurred as his body did what it had been threatening to do almost all day. He passed out.

He didn’t get to see the rest of the fight. He wasn’t sure what happened, exactly. But when he came to again, he was slung over Keldor’s back like a sack, and the other man was carrying him down the same ally they’d first dropped down into from the castle wall. Hec-Tor groaned.

“You’re awake.” Keldor put him down. He had a swollen lip and a bruise on the side of his face, but nothing was bleeding and all his teeth were still there. “Wasn’t that fun!”

“We got into a fight!” Hec-Tor was not fully recovered yet and getting worked up was not what he needed right now, but this Prince Keldor was… wild. He examined himself for injuries. Apart from the familiar soreness that came from laying on a hard floor, there were none. They must have ignored him once he passed out.

“Fighting is fun.”

“Fighting is for clones.” Hec-Tor corrected. He massaged the sides of his head. His vision was still a little blurry. “Why are you even getting into fights anyway? You’re not a warrior. I was told you’re a sorcerer!”

Keldor only shrugged. “Two things can be true.”

“I should not have helped you.” Hec-Tor shook his head.

“But I’m glad you did.” Keldor told him. “You’re supposed to be able to depend on your spouse. Married people should help each other.”

…

Contract mandated bonding time with Entrapta was just as much of a whirlwind as his first few months with Keldor, but in a different way. Entrapta did not push him over walls, or drag him to seedy bars in the slums, or get into bar fights with the absolute scum of the planet. Entrapta insisted he take her on a tour of the shieldwall that ran the perimeter of the city.

She wanted to walk the narrow service shafts the maintenance workers used to keep it in working order. She wanted to see the gear housings that lifted and lowered the shield for a storm. She wanted to examine the turbines that collected the storms’ energy. She wanted to watch the generators in action, powering the city with the raw power of the harsh world they lived on.

The interior of the shieldwall was almost as dirty and grungy as the outside. Rust on the exposed pipes, painted signs and safety markings sanded down to the base metal they were painted on, discolored wall panels, dust collecting in the corner where the wall met the floor.

But Entrapta seemed to be having the time of her life.

Wearing those baggy overalls again, looking like any other maintenance worker, several of the regular staff assumed she was an intern or a new-hire before they saw that she was in the company of an Imperial Prince. Hec-Tor had counted five people so far, who had approached Entrapta to ask her where she was assigned. Was she lost? What was she doing at this part of the wall? etc., before they noted Prince Hec-Tor Kur trailing behind her, his spine straight, and arms clasped behind his back. A perfect pillar of Imperial discipline and command. Then the stuttering and near incomprehensible apologies would start tumbling out of their trembling mouths.

Entrapta seemed oblivious to this, however. The moment she was approached by anyone who actually worked there, she would bombard them with questions. How many people per shift did it take to maintain the wall? How many shifts per day? Were they all skilled workers? What was the most common problem that occurred working on the wall? What steps did they take to address these reoccurring problems?

That actually wasn’t that bad. It was about what Hec-Tor was coming to expect from her.

Then she stretched out a tendril of her prehensile hair and lifted herself up onto one of the large pistons that lifted the wall and the shieldwall staff all nearly fainted. Entrapta swung from piston to piston, and between gears, examining the moving parts –that were currently not moving- of the shieldwall. It was actually a little refreshing to know that Entrapta was shocking and uncomfortable to other people as well as him.

Most people, when they visited Horde World and wanted to tour the shieldwall, they wanted to ride hover bikes along the top and see how many laps they could do around the city in a day (the max to date was one and a half). See just how tall it was, how far into the dessert they could see, how small the buildings of the city looked from on top. Or see how many members of their species they could fit standing shoulder-to-shoulder across its width. But all Entrapta wanted to do was measure the cogwheels that could crush and kill her if they suddenly started moving.

She was nothing if not unique. Hec-Tor could give her that. Brother certainly had a talent for finding the most unusual partners possible for him.

Hec-Tor yawned, mouth stretching wide, displaying sharp crimson teeth. It felt like they had spent the whole morning here. He checked the chronometer on the wall. They had spent the whole morning here. It was afternoon now and Hec-Tor would need to take his medications.

“Entrapta.” He called to her.

“Just a second!” She answered. Swinging from one impossibly large piece of machinery to another.

“Princess Entrapta.” He tried again, putting stress on her title in an attempt to remind her that she had duties and responsibilities to attend to and could not spend all her time on leisure pursuits and hobbies.

Swinging on her hair again, she did a seemingly unnecessary mid-air summersault and landed directly in front of him.

Gosh! She was so short! Standing on her feet, without her hair adding any height to her, Entrapta barely came up to Hec-Tor’s sternum.

“Did you need something?” She asked.

“It is time we break for lunch.” He informed her without inflection.

“Oh. I’m not really hungry.” She shrugged with her shoulders and made a dismissive motion with her hair.

Entrapta struck him as the kind of person that –when they were interested in something- would continue to focus their attention on that thing and ignore meals or not notice that they were even hungry at all. That, however, was not an attitude anyone in his family could afford. Every single Kur –including Imp, the most healthy of all of them- relied on medications and supplements, the vast majority of which had to be taken with food. Hec-Tor could not afford to skip a meal, and since they were required to spend time ‘getting to know each other’ before their wedding, she could not afford to skip a meal either. After they were married, she could do, or not do, whatever she wanted. But, for right now, she had to follow his schedule as strictly as he himself did.

“But I am.” Hec-Tor informed her. “We will break for lunch then you may return to your study of the shieldwall.”

“Oh. I’m pretty much done here.” She announced, much to Hec-Tor’s frustration. If she was already done, why did she make it seem like she didn’t want to leave?

Lunch was served on an observation deck atop the wall.

The servants quickly set up a collapsible picnic table, covered it with a table cloth brought from the palace, and laid out the meal that had been prepared ahead of time. Complete with a covered ceramic cup that contained the battery of pills Hec-Tor had to choke down three times a day.

Entrapta seemed to ignore the table setting and the meal, however. Her attention was focused on the view. Finally, a normal thing visitors did when they came to Horde World. Admire the view.

The previous day’s storms had thrown up the sand into many high-peaked dunes. Heat waves could be seen rising off the sides where Horde World’s yellow sun glared down on them, baking the already burnt sienna landscape. Frost could just barely be seen sparking in the dark shadowed side where the suns could not reach. Horde World was a planet of extremes.

“It’s really amazing anything managed to thrive on Horde World at all.” She exclaimed. “I mean, apart from the dragon-roaches and the super-bacteria.” Her gloves were pressed up against the observation glass that enclosed the deck. “What’s the ambient temperature outside right now?”

“Inside the city, or out in the desert?” Asked Hec-Tor.

He selected several of the tiny items of food the kitchen staff had prepared for them. It took eight of them to equal the size of a normal bite of food for him. Why did the kitchen staff make them such tiny food? The morsels were so small, in fact, that he barely had to swallow. With something already on its way to his stomach, Hec-Tor tipped his dose of medications in his mouth and washed them down.

“The city has climate buffers that regulate the temperature, right?” She asked. “That’s how people can walk around without freezing in the shade or getting cooked in the sun. But what’s the rest of the planet like?”

It took him a couple of swallows to completely clear his throat of water and medications. Then another moment to remind his body that it was not choking and did not have to trigger the gag reflex. He took another sip of water just for good measure. “The average daytime temperature in direct sunlight is over 500 degrees Kelvin.” He informed her. “Two-hundred seventy degrees Kelvin in the shade.”

“That’s so wild!” Entrapta did a theatric little twirl, her hair spiraling around her. She flopped down in the empty seat provided for her and popped a morsel of tiny food into her mouth. “Horde World is like one of those planets that doesn’t have any atmospheric layers. Nothing between it and space to buffer the solar radiation or insulate the landscape. But it does have an atmosphere. We’re breathing it right now! And it’s not like the city is under a dome or anything. It’s just dummy harsh outside.”

Reluctant though he was to admit it, Hec-Tor did have to agree that Horde World was unlike any of the other –inhabited- planets he’d been to.

“The planet’s previous owners did irreparable damage to its environment. So much so that they changed the climate to be completely inhospitable to their breed of life.” He grabbed another handful of tiny food portions and shoved them in his mouth, just to be sure there was sufficient food in his stomach with his medications. “What is Etheria like? I am sure it is… mild, compared to Horde World.”

Tapping her chin with a strand of hair, Entrapta thought. “Well… I wouldn’t call it ‘mild’. It’s certainly more diverse than Horde World. But Etheria has got its own extremes. The Northern Reach is a permanently frozen tundra. I guess you could call it an Ice Cap. Then the Crimson Waste is a lot like Horde World, a vast desert, dry, hot, no surface water, it just doesn’t have your temperature extremes.”

“And Dryl?”

“We get a lot of weather in Dryl.” She answered distractedly, picking up two tiny morsels and popping them into her mouth one at a time. Then washing them down with a carbonated sweet drink Hec-Tor refused to taste.

“And what does that mean?” He raised one bald brow, confused.

“Dryl is mostly a temperate zone.” She supplied. “We get all four seasons and all the weather that comes with them. Snow in the winter, rain and storms in the spring, absurd humidity in the summers, thunder and lighting in the autumn, lots, and lots of lighting, I swear, the mountains add extra charge to the atmosphere! –then back to winter snow!”

“That does sound like… a lot of weather.” He agreed, not knowing what else to say.

“I spend most of my time in my lab, but I’m told it can be fun.” Entrapta informed him. “Skiing in the winter, rafting in the spring, camping in the summer, festivals in the fall. I’m not much of an outdoors person, but if you are you might like it!”

“I…” Because of his condition, Hec-Tor preferred not to do anything too strenuous if it could be avoided.

Skiing and rafting sounded absolutely terrible to him. Camping was a word that had different meanings to different people he found. For his family, ‘camping’ was rouging it in a slightly smaller palace or castle with limited servants and fewer amenities. That was not what the word camping meant to the vast majority of other people Hec-Tor met. And fesitvals… Hec-Tor had mixed experiences with festivals. Experiences ranging from ‘we just have to light the brazier, then we can go home’, to ‘I just bought these two pills off some guy, let’s pop ‘em and see what happens’, and everything in between. (Attending festivals with his brother and attending festivals with Keldor were two very different experiences.) The outdoor activities of Dryl did not sound appealing.

“When I am not working I usually spend my free time servicing or improving upon my armor.” An activity that was also spent indoors.

Entrapta instantly perked up. Fuchsia eyes focusing on him with an intensity he was unused to. Showing an unfettered interest in him –not his planet’s technology or adaptations, but him- for the first time. “Oh? Did you design your own armor? Are you an engineer? Robotic designer? May I take a look at your armor to see how you’ve integrated the prosthetic tech into your organic body?”

Her interest was almost too intense for him and Hec-Tor found himself physically leaning away from her. “We manage our own… defects.”

She blinked at him, not fully comprehending. “You mean, you came up with that design to manage your condition all on your own? And maintain it all on your own? No one heled you. Even when you were a child? C’mon. You can’t expect me to believe that you don’t take care of Imp, or Horde Prime doesn’t take care of Prince Zed! Everyone needs help sometimes! And married people should help their spouses.”

[crimson-lili]

OLYMPIAN AESTHETICS.

APHRODITE.   laughter loving.   sweet smiles.   dressed in silk and satin. flower in their hair.   sees the world as a runway.   unapologetically sexual.   the sea washing their ankles.   in love with love.   stirrer of passion.   cunning concealed by painted lips. secret daggers.   doves.   revolution in their kiss.   delighting in the waves.   flirtatious winks.   strolling along the beach.   staring wistfully from a balcony.  this is how to be a heartbreaker.   wants to be adored.   gets turned on by danger.

APOLLO.     glitz and glamour.   art galleries.   turning the volume up.   being made of gold.   neatly organized music sheets.    notebooks filled with poetry.   bathing in the sunlight.   the powerful urge to create.   collecting vinyl records.   beautiful cover of wonderwall.   playing multiple instruments.   tasting like sunshine.   healing touch.   speaking in prophecies.   smile mingled with wrath.   shunning lies.   sporting shades.  hanging out at music festivals with their friends.   sleeps naked.   arrow to the heart.   paint brushes.   probably has a tinder account.

ARES.   armed for battle.   wants to raise a dog with their significant other.   soft spot for children.  gives piggyback rides.   scarred body.   blood on their hands and face.   willing to fight the world for the ones they love.   fights against injustice.   warm hugs.  well worn combat boots.   boxing gloves.  bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles.   fist raised in protest.   ignites revolutions.   fear is a prison.  more sensitive than what their tough shell would have you think.   exhausted.   damaged goods.  force to be reckoned with.   red roses.   curses under their breath.

ARTEMIS.    keen sense of a hunter.   freckles like constellations on their skin.   piercing eyes.   disheveled braid.   moonlight peeking through the shadows.   the calm of the forest at night.   lying on the grass and staring at the stars.   mother doe and her fawn.   protecting their kin.   the moon shimmering on a still lake.   quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree.   running with wolves.   bonding while circled around a campfire.   not being much of a people person.   arrow hitting a target.   popping egos.   patience on 3%.  touches heaven and returns howling.

ATHENA. discerning gaze.   unreadable face.   quiet museums.   owl perched on their finger.   armour that intimidates.   eye for architecture.   plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses.   studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid.   big fan of logic.   loves brain teasers.   ancient buildings.  sweaters in neutrals and cool colours.   hair done up.   can kill you with their brain.   heads to the library often to research.   sharpened pencils.   abs that can cut steel.   stoic statues.   pottery classes.

DEMETER.     soil covered hands.   smile that can bloom flowers.   skin loved by the sun.   being the mom friend.  can lift you and your friends.   flowers kept in the pockets of overalls.   takes pride in their beautiful garden.   speaks to their plants.   leaves rustling in the wind.   stalks of wheat.   picking fruit.   greenhouses.  heart as strong as a mountain.   values simplicity.   daisies dotted across a collarbone.  curls crowned with flowers.   folded pile of sweaters in warm hues.   pulling out fresh baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air.

DIONYSUS.     drunk shitposter.   on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second.  seductive smirks.   untamed curls. rich fabrics on dark skin.   sleek furred panthers.  theatre masks.   stage productions.    receiving a standing ovation.   rose caught between their teeth.   being the baby of the bunch.  wild parties that last from sundown to sunup.   creeping vines.   inspiring loyalty.   grand opera houses.   masquerade balls.   rolls of film.   shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine spilled floor.   pouring champagne into flutes.   lives for the applause.

HEPHAESTUS.    the calloused hands of someone who knows labor.   sweaty brow.   flame burning in their eyes.  inventive mind.   broad shoulders.   steampunk goggles.   nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes.  ashes.   striking a match.   blueprints for future projects.   fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades.   wrestles with bitterness.   work boots have seen better years.   wrinkled plaid shirts.   iron melted in blazing fire.   huge jackets.   crafting masterpieces.   greased stained overalls.   fascination with robotics.   pain is fuel.  stack of weaponry.   even their muscles have muscles.

HERA.   resting bitch face.   dressed to the nines.   cows grazing on a pasture.  cool rain.   loving and hating fiercely.   hand clutching a string of pearls.   large chandelier with glittering crystals.   plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims.   romance to realism.   pictures of the sky while flying on a plane.   files that under fuck it.   downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix.  like their selfie or you’re grounded.   knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man.   dark eyes that penetrate your soul.   marble and gold.

HERMES.     devil - may - care smile.   always up - to - date on the latest technology.   will steal your french fries.   does it for the vine.   shitposter.   puts googly eyes on everything.   meme hoarder.   long drives on the highway.   ma and pop diners.   spontaneous road trips.   folded maps.   fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop.   shooting hoops on the basketball court.   chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations.   goes jogging in the morning.   mixes redbull with coffee.   menace on april fool’s.   hoodies and sneakers.

POSEIDON.   storm with skin.   colorful coral reefs.   waves crashing against the shore.   stroking the soft fur of a cat. their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop.   tousled locks.   clothes smeared with paint.   owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns to own more.   leather jackets.  fondness for diy projects.   handwriting that flows across the page.   nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin.   velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams.   mood as ever - changing as the sea.   the roar of a motorcycle.  compass with a spinning arrow.

HADES.     walking home alone in the early morning.   back alleys.   drinking alone in a graveyard. crippling loneliness hidden by sarcasm and cynicism.   crows picking a carcass.   untended dead flowers.   the black sheep of the family.   black coffee.   money can’t buy you happiness.  murder mystery dinner parties.   blood on your shirt collar.   dust illuminated by sunlight.   classical music. dogs are better than people.    a quiet wrath.   shady business deals.   taking what you are owed.   paint it black.  seasonal affective disorder.   popping the suit collar.   grey rain on a cityscape.

ZEUS.     thunder in their heart.   running on coffee.   flash of lightning.   unnatural charisma.  eloquence.   badass in a nice suit.   aficionado of history.   force of nature.   lennyface.  nightmare - filled nights.  proud arm around their lover’s waist.   high - rise buildings.   planes soaring through a cloudless sky.   technician on the piano.   maintains order.  strong handshake.  juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with ease.   expensive watch.

tagged by: @miracle-doll

tagging: Everyone!