#AND IF I MAYBE CRIED A LITTLE BIT. SO WHAT????

[rawme-price]

Thinking about gator!reader drinking with the guys, everyone going around and sharing funny stories behind scars.

Because, yknow, its nice to remind urself that not every mark on ur body bears bad news. Sometimes a scar holds a warm and fuzzy memory. Like soap, who has a small burn scar on the outside of his palm. He touched the cooking sheet accidentally while making thumbprint cookies with his mom.

Or ghost, who proudly shows off the scar next to his wrist from the first time he fell off his bike. Cried for hours, not about his wrist, bit because the tire of his bike had popped and he thought hed never get to ride it again.

Of course there's gaz, who rolls up his pant leg to reveal a series of parallel lines, from his aunts cat that he loved to pet as a toddler. He had been so young, a bit clueless about when cats did and didnt want to be pet, but after that day is made sure to be cautious.

Price shares some stories too, mostly from his younger years. He pulls his collar to the side a bit to show three little puncture marks on his shoulder. From when he tried to scare nik only for the Russian to reflexively stab him with the same tool he was eating lunch with.

You hear all these stories, and want to share your own. You've got plenty of scars from ur childhood, but is isnt hard to pick out one you find amusing.

"This," you begin, rolling up ur sleeve to point out a thick line amongst many other scars "is from middle school. Some kid was talking shit and I agreed to fight him. Stupid youngster I was, I showed up bare-handed while he showed up with a knife. Got me good before the cops were called."

The others nod along, sharing glances you dont catch between themselves. You never talk about ur past, so they dont want to scare you off. "I remember my first knife-fight." Ghost finally says, a bit dreamily for a guy talking abt blades "did the cops make you sit in cells facing eachother? Mine did, had to look ar that bastard the whole damn time."

You shake your head, finger tracing over the scar as if fond "nah, kid didnt get arrested, obviously." You say absently. This makes soap tilt his head.

"Wait, why is it obvious? Didn't he cut you, ah feel like thats pretty damning evidence." He asks, ears flicking.

"Huh? Oh, he was human." You take a sip of ur drink, missing the raised brow soap gives gaz. "Everyone knows human kids dont get in trouble for hurting hybrids. Though, maybe its different in scotland." You explain with a shrug, as if thats a totally normal thing.

That information also totally recontextualizes ur scar. Its not a memory of two kids being stupid. That kid tried to hurt you, deliberately. Maybe you dont realize it, but the others pick up the hidden meaning pretty quick. Was that...was that seriously a fond moment, for you? Getting ambushed with a knife then being held in a cell for who knows how long?

Ghost seems sympathetic, price too, but soap and gaz seem outright upset and angry though they try to hide it. They shudder to think of what a bad scar is from if that one is supposed to be happy.

[all-my-love-for-harry]

The Pilot’s Private Song.

pairing; Jake Seresin x wife!reader

summary; How each member of the Dagger Squad found out Jake's been married for over a decade.

word count; 3.6k

warnings: nothing. established relationship, secret/private marriage, found family, fluff, all good stuff.

a/n; i am a SUCKER for a secret relationship trope. this concept is so cute i want to write a hundred different pieces about it. also, if you're reading my jake series, next part should be up tomorrow :))

masterlist

A year after the Uranium mission, the aviators once known as the Dagger Squad were summoned back to Miramar. Expecting another top-secret assignment, they were instead offered something unexpected: a chance to stay on at Top Gun indefinitely. Their answer was almost immediate—a resounding yes, with an enthusiastic "hell yes" from Fanboy.

But when they arrived, one thing was clear: Jake hadn't accepted the offer yet.

"Can't believe Hangman's playing hard to get with Admiral Simpson," Phoenix muttered, eyeing the empty spot where he should’ve been.

"Bet that promotion to Lieutenant Commander already went to his head," Rooster quipped.

"If you’re talking about Jake, he’s coming," Maverick said. "He just asked to report in on Monday."

He left the room without another word. The Daggers exchanged looks, then shrugged. It was Jake, after all—he probably just wanted to make an entrance, with nothing but his damn ego walking through the door first.

When Monday rolled around, he strolled in with that trademark smirk and a swagger only he could pull off. Annoying? Absolutely. Eye-roll inducing? Without question. Missed? More than anyone was willing to admit.

“Be honest—did you tear up a little when you thought I wasn’t coming back?”

Bob and Phoenix.

Bob had a thing for those absurdly healthy smoothies from a place called Erewhon. Overpriced, organic, and influencer-approved—it was his guilty pleasure. Naturally, it wasn’t long before he dragged his favorite front-seater into it.

“What the hell is a Hailey Bieber Strawberry Glaze Skin Smoothie, and why does it cost twenty bucks?”

The line was a nightmare—packed with people who all looked like they drove Teslas, had just come from Pilates, or were on their way to pitch a startup to their fiancée’s hedge fund bros.

Phoenix couldn’t quite figure out what Bob saw in these overpriced green sludge drinks, but she was usually down to try something new, even if her wallet cried a little every time.

“I don’t really get the hype either, but my husband’s obsessed,” You said with a shrug. “If it’s your first time, I’d go with something simple—maybe the pitaya, or the post-workout one is solid too. You look like you work out.”

They startled slightly when you turned around, smiling and introducing yourself after your unsolicited smoothie rant.

“I’ll take your advice—I’m Natasha,” Phoenix said, shaking your hand. It was only then that you noticed the massive emerald-cut ring on her finger, catching the light like it knew it was expensive. Bob followed with a shy introduction, a soft blush creeping into his cheeks.

Sticking to your word, you went ahead and ordered the absurdly named Hailey Bieber Strawberry Glaze Skin Smoothie, along with a few other things. Once you paid, you turned back to them with a grin.

“If you’re free, my husband’s just parking the car—want to sit and chat for a bit?”

“Oh, we’d love to,” Phoenix said, “but we’re running late for a few apartment showings—this line took forever. But we should exchange numbers, maybe grab lunch sometime?”

“I’d love that! We actually just moved here, so it’d be nice to make some friends.” Your smile didn’t waver; wide, bright, and straight out of a movie scene.

After saying your goodbyes, you grabbed your order and stepped out of the line, letting them move forward. With one last wave—bright, effortless—you pushed through the door and disappeared into the sunlight.

Phoenix turned back to the cashier, halfway through her order, when her gaze drifted to the large front window—and froze.

"Holy shit."

Bob instinctively looked where she was staring, and his brows shot up so high they nearly vanished into his hairline.

Jake Seresin was outside, casually leaning against a matte black Jeep Wrangler like he belonged in a magazine ad. Arms crossed, aviators in place, his flight jacket unzipped just enough to hint at the crisp white tee underneath. That usual cocky smirk was on his face—or at least, they thought it was.

But it wasn’t a smirk.

It was a smile—wide, open, and so bright it looked like it had cracked straight through his usual armor. Jake Seresin was glowing. Radiant. Practically lit from within.

And then they saw why.

You stepped out into the sunlight, heading straight for him, holding that ridiculous Hailey Bieber smoothie like it was a gold medal. Jake’s face lit up even more. He threw his head back and laughed, his whole body moving with it—unrestrained, joyful, real.

Then he reached for you, pulling you into his arms with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times. One hand at your waist, the other settling on the small of your back, fitting you against him like you belonged there.

Phoenix’s jaw dropped slightly. Bob just stared.

Jake lifted his sunglasses, pushing them up onto his head, and looked down at you like you hung the stars. The softest expression they had ever seen on his face—like the man didn’t know how to look away. You said something that made him laugh again, and you handed him the smoothie like it was some inside joke.

They must have been staring too long. Jake’s head turned slightly—just enough to catch them in the reflection.

His eyes found theirs through the glass. For a split second, something flickered across his face.

Surprise. Panic. Maybe even guilt. Just enough to register—before he shoved it back down and straightened up, as if nothing had happened.

He opened your door and helped you in, careful not to jostle the armful of overpriced smoothies and whatever else you’d picked up. Then he turned back toward the window, his eyes meeting theirs once more.

A subtle nod. Barely there. But it carried weight—an unspoken request.

Not for secrecy exactly, but something quieter. A plea to let it be. To pretend they hadn’t just seen past Hangman… and caught a glimpse of Jake.

Phoenix and Bob exchanged a long look, sipping their drinks in stunned silence as they tried to process what they’d just witnessed. It was easy to box Jake in as the poster boy for cockiness—the walking embodiment of swagger and ego—but deep down, they’d always suspected there was more.

More to him than the sharp one-liners and smug grins. More than the call sign.

And now, they’d seen it.

Guess this was it.

The next day, Jake showed up with his usual swagger, every step as self-assured as ever. But his eyes—sharp, watchful—carried a flicker of guardedness. It was subtle, the kind of thing only Phoenix and Bob would pick up on.

“Hey, Strawberry Glaze,” Phoenix said casually.

She could’ve let it slide—pretended like nothing had happened—but she couldn’t resist poking at him just a little. Jake shot her a look sharp enough to make most people flinch.

She just laughed.

The words had been soft, low enough that no one else could hear. And the smile she gave him—amused, knowing, a little smug—said it all:

Your secret’s safe with me.

2. Bradley.

Bradley hated shopping. He wasn’t good at it—never had been. He took forever to decide what he liked, forgot to write down what he actually needed, and always left the store with random things and none of the essentials.

This time, though, he had a mission: crockery. At the moment, he owned exactly two plates and three mismatched forks. And if he was serious about settling down here, it was probably time to get his shit together.

Normally, he’d drag Nat along—not because she was a woman and supposedly knew about this stuff, but because she was mean enough to keep him on task. She had no patience for his two-hour deep dives in the mug aisle, where he’d examine every single one before deciding he didn’t like any of them.

But Nat had bailed on him, leaving him to fend for himself. Now he was aimlessly wandering the store, eyeing every dinnerware set like it might reveal the meaning of life, tossing random items into the trolley with no real plan—just vibes and mild confusion.

Ever the gossip, Bradley’s ears perked up at the sound of a laugh he knew far too well.

Hangman.

“Darlin’, if you put one more candle in the cart, I’m gonna start thinking you’re trying to burn the house down.”

“But Jake, smell this one—it’s amazing. And it says limited edition, so they won’t have it next time,” you replied, dropping not one, but two candles into the cart.

Bradley watched, stunned, as Jake didn’t even argue. He just shook his head with a helpless smile and kept pushing the cart like a man who knew resistance was pointless.

“I also saw this gorgeous botanical garden plate set online—we have to get it.”

“Whatever you want, doll,” Jake said, voice low and warm as he pressed a kiss to your temple and gave your hip a casual, affectionate tap.

Bradley was pretty sure his jaw hit the floor. He wasn’t stupid—and he definitely wasn’t blind. He saw the massive rock on your finger and the way Jake looked at you like you hung the stars.

Hangman, married?

The motherfucker was married.

He could hardly believe what he was seeing.

Bradley had always assumed Jake Seresin was the type who’d never settle down—too cocky, too stubborn, too Hangman. Honestly, he’d half-expected the guy to grow old alone, flirting with waitresses and arguing with air traffic control until the bitter end. Harsh? Maybe. But Jake had never given them any reason to believe otherwise.

Yet here he was—married, domesticated, and currently letting his wife toss candles and dinner plates into the cart like she owned the place. And judging by the look on his face, she did.

The man Bradley was low-key stalking from behind a shelf of overpriced wine glasses wasn’t the Hangman he knew from the skies. This wasn’t the ruthless, lone-wolf aviator who treated teamwork like a contagious disease and would rather eat glass than back down in a briefing.

No—this Jake looked… soft. Happy. In love.

And it was messing with everything Bradley thought he knew.

He ducked behind the endcap as you turned down the next aisle, nearly knocking over a pyramid of mason jars in the process. This wasn’t eavesdropping, he told himself—it was reconnaissance. For team cohesion. For morale. For… reasons.

Jake Seresin, hopeless romantic and candle mule, was not something Bradley had mentally prepared for.

He peeked around the corner again just in time to see Jake reach for a throw blanket you were eyeing. Without hesitation, he tossed it into the cart. “Matches the couch, right?” he said.

“Exactly,” you beamed, and Bradley swore the corners of Jake’s mouth lifted in something dangerously close to a fond sigh.

Who was this man?

Bradley had spent years knowing Jake as a walking testosterone complex with aviators and a call sign, someone who’d charm the hell out of a bartender and then ghost her before the first date. The idea that this man—this patient, domesticated, grocery-hauling version of Jake—existed at all was blowing his mind.

And worse? He looked good at it. Like he’d been waiting his whole life to play husband in a West Elm ad.

Bradley finally backed away from the aisle, muttering to himself, “I need to go look at forks before I lose my grip on reality.”

Still, as he wandered toward the kitchen section, a weird feeling settled in his chest—part disbelief, part amusement… and maybe a little bit of envy. Not the kind that stings, exactly, but the kind that pokes at something you didn’t realize was hollow.

Because despite all his jokes, all his gripes about shopping and settling down, maybe there was a tiny part of him that wouldn’t mind someone tossing limited-edition candles in his cart, either.

But first, he really needed more than three forks.

3. Payback and Fanboy.

It was just past 7 a.m. when Fanboy and Payback jogged down the beach trail, sneakers thudding lightly against the packed sand. The sun had barely risen, casting a warm, golden glow over the shoreline, and the waves rolled in slow and steady, their rhythm soft and soothing beneath the buzz of gulls overhead.

It was the kind of morning that made you forget how exhausting the week had been.

“If Mav makes us watch one more hour of grainy debrief footage, I’m walking into the ocean,” Fanboy grumbled between breaths, arms swinging loose at his sides.

“You say that, but last time he caught you checking your phone, he added another hour to the session,” Payback replied, grinning.

“I’m just saying—death by drowning would be less painful than another slideshow.”

They rounded a gentle bend in the trail, where the dunes opened up to a more secluded stretch of beach. The tide had pulled back, leaving wide, smooth patches of sand dotted with seashells and a few early footprints.

Payback slowed, frowning. “Wait. Who’s already out here?”

A large cream-colored blanket had been spread beneath a sun-bleached lifeguard stand. A wicker picnic basket sat off to one side, its lid open and lined with fabric. There were iced coffees, a brown paper bag, a small vase of wildflowers—wildflowers, at the beach—and two people.

One of them crouched near the cooler, pulling out what looked like a container of fruit. The other approached barefoot, holding two drinks, sleeves of a linen shirt rolled up to his elbows, light catching in his sandy hair.

Fanboy’s eyes narrowed. “Hold on a second…”

The barefoot man looked up—and grinned.

Jake Seresin.

Hangman.

Golden-boy aviator, squadroom shit-talker, human ego parade.

Except… something was different.

He stepped forward, took one of the iced coffees from your hand with a quiet thank-you, then leaned in and kissed your temple with the kind of easy, familiar affection that made both Fanboy and Payback freeze mid-stride.

Jake said something with a lazy smile and you laughed, the kind of laugh that came from your belly—bright, genuine, totally unfiltered. Then you plopped down on the blanket, legs curled underneath you, pulling a croissant from the paper bag as if you’d done this a hundred times.

And maybe you had.

Because Jake didn’t hesitate. He shrugged out of his jacket and laid it behind you, just in case the blanket wasn’t enough cushion. Then he sank down beside you, stretching his legs long across the sand and casually slipping one arm around your waist.

Payback immediately ducked behind a nearby dune like he’d just witnessed a war crime. “Tell me I’m not seeing this.”

Fanboy crouched next to him, equally stunned. “What the hell is happening right now?”

Jake leaned back slightly, watching you unwrap something else—probably another baked good—and tilted his head, resting his chin lightly on your shoulder. You fed him a bite without even looking, and he accepted it like it was second nature. Then he reached up and tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

“I’m in shock,” Fanboy whispered. “He just tucked her hair behind her ear. That’s a boyfriend move.”

“That’s not a boyfriend move,” Payback muttered. “That’s a married guy move.”

Fanboy squinted. “Wait—zoom in. Look at her hand.”

A glint of metal caught the sunlight as you reached for your coffee. Simple but elegant. An emerald-cut diamond, gold band. The kind of ring that said permanence. The kind of ring that didn’t come off easily.

“Oh my God,” Payback breathed. “He’s married.”

Jake leaned back again, one hand lazily tracing circles along your knee while you showed him something on your phone. Whatever it was made him chuckle low in his chest, and he leaned in to kiss your cheek before setting the coffee down in the sand.

Fanboy was frozen, processing. “So Hangman—Hangman—sneaks off on weekends for romantic beach picnics… with his wife.”

“And we never knew.”

“I thought he lived off protein bars and sheer arrogance.”

“Same.”

You pulled something else from the basket—what looked like a floral plate set, one of those whimsical ones you’d find in a lifestyle magazine. Jake took it from you with care, set it between you, then reached for the wildflowers, adjusting the little vase so it wouldn’t tip over.

Fanboy stared. “He brought flowers.”

Payback shook his head. “He packed a goddamn centerpiece.”

They both crouched lower behind the dune, as if Jake might sense them. The only thing louder than the waves at that moment was the sound of their worldviews shattering.

Fanboy finally whispered, “Okay, but like… how dare he be this soft and not tell us?”

“We’re his squadmates. This is betrayal.”

“We were supposed to know before the blanket picnics started. There’s an order to these things.”

“I mean—what’s next? He gets a dog and starts doing couples yoga?”

Fanboy paused. “He would be good at couples yoga.”

Jake leaned back, hands behind his head, face turned up to the morning sun as you laid your head on his chest, sipping your drink and humming along to some song playing quietly from a speaker. You looked perfectly at ease, like this was your favorite part of the week.

Like he was.

“Okay,” Payback muttered. “We can’t tell anyone.”

“Agreed.”

“But also,” Fanboy added, eyes still wide, “we are absolutely never letting him live this down.”

“Obviously.”

They finally stood, dusting off their legs, still stunned but grinning. One last glance over their shoulders showed Jake pressing a kiss to the top of your head, like you were the only person on earth that mattered.

Hangman hadn’t just settled down.

He’d crash-landed into love, and apparently? He was thriving.

4. Javy (ten years ago)

The bar was thick with smoke and the smell of spilled beer, its low-ceilinged walls pulsating with neon light and the steady beat of a bass-heavy pop song. The air was warm and sticky, full of laughter, shouting, and the occasional off-key karaoke warble daring to take the stage. Jake leaned casually against the back wall, arms crossed, eyes never leaving the corner where you and your friends were holding court.

You were the heart of the group—laughing without restraint, glass in hand, your voice rising clear and confident above the din. Your friends egged each other on to the microphone, but you owned the room like it was yours, moving effortlessly through the crowd, radiating that kind of joy that was impossible not to notice. Jake’s gaze softened as he watched you—like you were a secret he had stumbled upon, the kind of thing you didn’t want to shout about but couldn’t stop looking at.

Javy, never one to let an opportunity for teasing pass, nudged Jake sharply. “You been staring at her all night, man. You planning to say something or just get a reputation as the creepy aviator?”

Jake barely glanced at him. “I’m just… watching.”

Javy smirked, shifting on his feet. “Right. Watching. She’s having fun—seems like she owns this place. You gonna sing or what? Or just keep mooning over her?”

Jake’s jaw tightened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “I don’t sing.”

“Everyone sings at karaoke night. Even you.”

Before Jake could respond, you stood with your friend, grabbing the microphone like it was a lifeline. The opening notes of a popular pop song spilled through the speakers, and suddenly, the bar seemed to hush just enough to let your voice soar.

You sang with an easy confidence, playful yet sincere, the kind of performance that made people stop talking and just listen. Jake felt his breath hitch—the way you smiled at the crowd, the way you closed your eyes briefly on the high notes—it was like watching sunlight break through storm clouds.

Javy elbowed him hard. “Dude, you look like you’re about to pop the question right here, right now.”

Jake shot him a sharp look. “I just met my wife.”

The words slipped out quieter than intended, but Javy caught them all the same and grinned wider, clearly not buying it.

After your song ended, the room erupted into applause. You laughed, cheeks flushed, and caught Jake’s eyes from across the room. It was a brief glance, but electric—like a door quietly opening.

Jake made his way over, weaving through the small crowd until he was standing right beside you. “Hey,” he said, voice low and just above the music.

You smiled, a little breathless. “Hey.”

Jake nodded toward the microphone stand. “That was… impressive.”

You shrugged, flicking your hair back. “Well, I had a good duet partner.” You glanced at your friend and winked. “But it’s nice to have an audience.”

Jake laughed softly, eyes never leaving yours. “So, what’s your name?” You offered it to him, along with your hand to shake. “Jake,” he replied, taking it. His grip was firm but gentle, like he was trying to make sure you felt it. “And I’m supposed to be focused on training missions, but I can’t stop watching you.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Is that so? What’s more distracting—the music or me?”

He smiled, just a little crooked. “Definitely you.”

You laughed, and the sound was like a spark in the dim bar light. For a moment, it was just the two of you—no crowd, no noise, just the hum of a song fading out and the start of something new.

Javy sidled up, grinning. “I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. But remember, Jake, if you break her heart, I’m coming for you.”

Jake’s grin turned serious. “I don’t plan on breaking anything.”

You looked up at him, feeling a flutter you hadn’t expected. “Good.”

[supersoakerfullofblood]

In light of the desecration of Orc City, let's talk about what actually went wrong. I see a lot of people dogging on this brief introduction, and rightfully so, but we can also learn a thing or two from good-faith critique. Here are my general notes, starting with a few things I think went right:

+ Keeping the Orc city in question unnamed is a smart choice. It signals that the perspective the story is told from is dismissive of the Orcs and lends an off-putting sense of importance to the city in question. It's a little like the "not sane" bit in the opening of The Haunting of Hill House: "No live organism can continue for long to exist under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within." Shirley Jackson obviously does much more to achieve her effects with this opening, but I thought this bit of the Orc city was fine.

+ "Orc city smoldered" is sonically appealing.

+ Unsure if this was intentional or an accident, but Orc being capitalized while elvish isn't may imply a level of actual, subversive authority to the Orcs that the elves lack, akin to the power underground writers and artists have against oppressive regimes. Or is it common fantasy spelling to lowercase races when they're adjectives and to capitalize when nouns?

That's about it for the positives. Now the negatives:

-In his book On Becoming a Novelist, John Gardner talks about his idea of "authority," by which he more or less means "the voice and techniques of the author that make the reader believe the person writing is in fact a 'real writer.'" (I don't have the book on me to find exact quotations--kill me. But read the book if you can. It's excellent.) This opening has none of that authority, chiefly because it overexplains. The Orc city "smoldered," and it was "burned down." Not only that, but the ground is covered in blood and ash. And in case you were wondering, yes, those screams of war are also gone now, because the city is gone. And someone is standing over the city, someone the reader assumes played a part in the city's destruction even before the reader is told that he was "the architect of its very destruction." You get the sense that the author is fawning over the reader like a helicopter parent, making sure they understand exactly how to view the events of the story without making room for any sort of analysis on the reader's part. The author doesn't trust his reader enough to have fun in his story, so he tries to make it sound cool without it being all that cool.

-On that note, the author tries to make this opening sound cool largely from the gratuitousness of detail, but it just comes off as edgy and inchoate. We get it, a battle happened--but why should the reader care? Tell me about a specific Orc character or Elf character before you tell me about the blood, ash, savage cries, etc. This isn't to say that an author can't start a book with this sort of panoramic summary (see the Hill House example above), just that you can't be sweaty about it. All these details make it sound like the author is trying too hard to be appealing.

-The panoramic summary style of narration is its own miss here, I think, but this is partly a stylistic concern. The danger in going with this opening is that you miss a lot of great potential narrative work: who are some of the Orcs who lived in this city, and what was their life like before the war? What are their relationships with the Elves like? Imagine a similar story told from the perspective of an Orc in a region the Elves have been sacking (maybe drawing from All the Light We Cannot See or other WWII narratives?). The reader could follow the embodied narrative of a handful of Orcs making their way through the world, which would make the emotional import of the razing much stronger. (NOTE: going too far down this train of thought leads to a strict adherence to the "show don't tell" dogma that I don't agree with. "Showing" is preferred in narrative, I think, but "telling" summaries like this can work. Again, the biggest issue here is that the author very clearly wants the reader to care about this summary on an emotional level when the novel hasn't done enough work yet to make the reader care on that level. One of my MFA professors always tells us that "a good novel teaches its reader how to read it." Since this is the opening of the book, I haven't been taught anything about the writer's style, so this falls flat.)

With those more existential critics about the opening, here are some technical issues that are easily fixed but also not easily missed if the piece is run through with a fine-toothed comb:

-Redundancy in "smoldered" and "burned down." Could just write "The Orc city smoldered in the wake of battle."

-Can trim the preposition from "burned down" to improve the flow. "The Orc city burned in the wake of battle."

-"Wake of battle" is a little cliche, could easily find some more interesting language to describe a Sodom-and-Gomorrah-esque razing.

-"A knuckle's depth of blood and ash" has some merit, but the weaker quality of the surrounding prose makes this stick out like a photograph in bad lighting. The phrase itself could also be tinkered with to clean out some unnecessary words. Maybe something like "ash covered the ground up to the knuckle"? I think that "depth" word is my issue. It feels just a little too formal.

-Can combine "savage cries" into a stronger noun that doesn't need the "savage" rider. Or could just cut the "savage" altogether--the reader understands the worldview of the Elves vis-a-vis the Orcs lmao.

-"Silent and still" is redundant, just cut one.

-"The architect of its very destruction" is a crazy leap in verbiage. Tone this down, and chop that "very" off while we're at it. Maybe something like "as the elvish king scouted the ruins of the Orc city." Even something that simple works much better (and is much cleaner!)

-That second sentence isn't actually a complete sentence, either. There's no main verb. "The savage cries of its defenders [noun group] now silent and still [adj. group] as its ruin was overseen by the architect of its very destruction [adv. group]." It looks like the "as" in "as its ruin was overseen" is supposed to be the main verb, but since there is no other main verb earlier in the sentence, this reads as just part of the descriptive clause. I think the author is looking for "The savage cries of its defenders WERE now silent and still as its ruin was overseen..."

-Why is the elvish king saying "There is nothing more reviled than the Orc"? Surely the other characters around him understand this already, so it feels like the elvish king is looking directly into the camera and telling the audience this. But the audience also easily intuits this from, y'know *gestures at the blood and ash.* This dialogue is dead weight, and this first bit of dialogue right after the razing could be used to say something really poignant about the story.

-Maybe more of a personal stylistic choice, but I think "reviled" is too fancy a word to use here. It reads like when someone writes in faux-Medieval English to try to match a "ye olde fantasy" mood. I think the real issue here is that "reviled" stands alone in this sentence as being overly purple. If its surrounding words also got across the faux-Medieval tone (i.e. if the novel taught us how to read it), then it would work. But as it is, it sticks out as in in bad lighting.

There's probably more to add, but I started writing this at like 8am and am sleepy at work. Long live Orc city.

the orc city

[nekonaps0]

Deuce and reader that is shameless about being into him. Cue Deuce melting. Any gender is fine

How are you so cool about this?!

✦gn!reader

✦characters: Deuce

✦hehe~ I love writing flirty readers

You weren’t shy about your crush on Deuce.

In fact, everyone in the school knew about it except him. Which was impressive, considering you were constantly flirting with him… out loud, in public, and without the faintest bit of hesitation.

Deuce, meanwhile, was doing his best to not combust on the spot every single time.

Like today.

He was walking you back to Ramshackle after class, arms crossed and head down slightly, trying to focus on his breathing. You had complimented him for how handsome he looked at P.E earlier and told Ace you’d “sell your soul to kiss Deuce’s on a cheek.”

Out loud.

In class.

Now, walking beside you, he was doing that stiff little fast walk he always did when he was flustered and didn’t know how to handle it.

“You okay there, Deuce?” you teased, casually brushing your shoulder against his. “You’ve been quiet since PE. You thinking about my soul-selling offer?”

He made a tiny sputtering sound. “Wh-Why would you even say that!?”

“Because it’s true?” you said with a grin. “I mean, look at you. You’ve got those strong arms, you always help little old ladies carry groceries in town, and your face is stupidly kissable. Like. Rude, honestly.”

He stopped walking.

Just stopped. Like someone hit his off switch. “Rude—kiss—what!?”

“Should I be saying it behind your back instead?” you asked, innocently stepping closer. “Would that be better? Or worse?”

“I—y-you—you can’t just—” He looked like he was about to fold into himself and disappear.

“You okay, baby blue?” you asked, chin tilted up.

“D-Don’t call me that!” he cried, red-faced and panicked. “You’re just messing with me, right?! You can’t seriously—”

“Deuce,” you said, interrupting gently. “I’m really into you. Like. ‘Think about you during potion class and want to hold your hand during stupidity sweet dates’ into you.”

He went completely silent. Eyes wide. Ears bright red. Hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His jaw moved but no sound came out.

And then, barely audible “...Really?”

You took his hand, interlacing your fingers with his. “Yes. Really.”

His mouth parted like he was about to say something else… then changed his mind. Instead, he gently squeezed your hand and mumbled “You’re amazing. I don’t… I don’t even know what to say. But I really, really like you too.”

You grinned.

“Good. 'Cause I plan on kissing your cheeks later, oooor if I get a chance… maybe I stole a kiss from your lips as well.”

Deuce made a strangled squeak and tripped over a rock.

..............................................................................................................................

[eclipse-msoul]

𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

(I own the writing, picture from google)

Yandere! Esper Bat-family X Reader

Tags : Esper-guide world, possessive bat family, cruel characters, yandere, dark bat family, child reader etc

Synopsis : Sometimes the older siblings can't help but discipline their youngest. It's fine, it's your a little lesson.

" Where are you going?”

Your steps froze on sight, your hand trembled and your lips twitched as you turned back and leaped over him, “Brother!”

You were equal to two and half heads so you barely reached him just below his waist. Jason easily caught and raised you high. "You are a little gremlin alright.” he sighed, but the smile over his face betrayed his words.

You grinned back. “ He he~ I'm your sister Jay!”

“ Of course you are.” He put you over his shoulder, and patted your head. “ But what were you doing here Y/n?” As soon as those words came out of his mouth, your heart chilled.

Every bit of joy wiped up from your face.

Your tiny first clenched his uniform, you tried your best not to lose your cool. Taking a deep breath, you looked him in the eye. “ I was bored!”

He raised his brow, examining you from top to bottom.

You hoped he would believe that.

“ Let's get you back to bed.” This time you didn't pretend to be okay, you punched him in the face, which couldn't do much since you were nine and a half but it served as a distraction.

He let out a groan, holding his eye that you hit. “ Y/n wait!” You felt guilt pouring in but you didn't stop. This was your only chance.

Today was one day in ten years where all the Espers had to gather in the Royal ball under his majesty’s order - which meant all your siblings should be gone.

Why the hell was Jason home?

You had no time to think so you kept on moving.

You hid behind one of the furniture when you heard the sounds of guards making a rotation. Their steps made the floor stir and you had to inwardly bite yourself to not make noise.

When they finally left, you got out and ran towards the other Hall. You were about to reach the gate, if you could just cross it. Just a little more-

“ Little wing~”

Winds blew and whisked you up.

Your body was raised in the air and you were left struggling mid-air without any way to get out. The man made way to you , you could feel his voice crawling under your skin.

Tears tripled down as you tried to keep a brave front.

Dick was here.

Your mind kept on repeating - there's no way you could escape now.

Not against one of the kingdom's strongest Espers.

You were a guide and he was an S-class esper - so every point for fighting was gone. But you didn't stop.

You closed your eyes only for them to open forcefully. You made eye contact with your eldest brother. His bright blue eyes shined more menacingly than normal as he took your cheek in his hold and wiped a tear.

He licked it away and grinned. “ I got her!” He shouted using his wind powers to send the message across the palace to all your siblings.

“ Le-Let me go-” You hissed. He looked over at you and put his finger over your lips. “Shu-Shush- ” He whispered, slowly trying to comfort you. “ Calm, little wing.”

His powers had a way to make you calm. Maybe it was an Esper’s gift by nature so that their guide couldn't leave. You almost believed his words for an instant.

“ I need you to keep your voice for the punishment.”

Nature had a way of being cruel.

“N-” your face morphed into one of pain, you let out another yelp completely forgetting your brother's order.

“You should listen to what your big brother says.” he remarked, before letting his power lose and holding you tight in his chest. “Sleep.” He said casting a spell to make you sleepy.

Yet you still struggled and kept on trying to get out.

“ Dick-”

“ -please! I'm sorr-”

“ Big brother-”

“- Espers…You-” you cried.

“- You can't do this to me! I didn't want to be a guide!”

He walked with you - trembling and begging to let you go - until he was standing in front of your room.

That cursed room.

" She wouldn't have tried to escape if you'd listened to me and cut off the tendon in her leg. " You heard Damian mutter.

Tim sighed, " I know Damian, we'll do that this time. "

" Tch-" Damian glared, " Idiot."

Tim grumped before turning to Jason and Barbara. Barbara sat on her wheelchair humming, she already knew you were standing outside.

Her red hair glowed under the moon light, she looked like a goddess under the light. Her blue eyes turned to the door.

Peeking out with her x-ray she couldn't help but be joyful. Her little baby guide looked adorable. Even if she was crying. No worries after all was done, she herself would lull you to sleep.

" She looks so cute.."

Jason placed a hand on her shoulder before looking at the direction where her eyes had been for the past few seconds. " She's here." He announced.

You wished you could cry.

Opening the door, you were greeted by all your siblings grinning and eyeing you like a piece of meat. That's all you were - you thought - a guide - a little lamb.

Your trembling lips laughed -your siblings were going to ruin you.

Comment and send kudos!!!! Love you all and byeee (≡^∇^≡)🩷🪿

Taglist : @animegoddess15

[obsessive-ego]

Skips shadley x reader ramble

Reader has a vagina

Watching and pining 18+

"Oh♡ yes♡ mmmm♡" you moaned, laying in bed after a long shitty work week. You decided to 'treat yourself' with some late night time with your vibrator. It's been a while since you had a moments peace. you needed a jolt of fun♡

So here you were, laying back against the bed, legs spread open, as you pumped the buzzing toy in and out of you, singing its praise.

At the foot of your bed, hidden in the darkness, unbeknownst to you, was the shadow you called a friend.

Skips

And you were giving that scrawny emo nerd one hell of a show, enough for him to have freed his cock from its skinny jeans hell.

"Penumbra" he whines, desperately stroking his cock to match your enthusiastic pace "you are my curse" he gasps, his hips bucking forward.

He wanted you so badly, but hell, he didn't have the backbone to say it. What if he confessed and you left him? He'd be alone again. He couldn't do that again, no-

"Oh god♡"

Your cries stopped the poor shadow's spiraling

"You torment me, my penumbra." he focuses on the toy between your legs, how he wishes that was him, to have you use him, love him, and be so close with him.

He gasped and whined, babbling your praise as he stroked himself, clumsily trying to match the pace you set. Each time you jerked your hips, the poor shadow's cock twitched, his own hips stuttering forward, god he wanted you.

Skips couldn't last much longer keeping up with you, watching you, the power you held over him was too strong "my torment- my- oh- please- I can't finish without you" he whines biting his knuckles

"Ah! Ah? What?"

You sit up and skips nearly feels his shadowy heart leap out of his chest, you cant see him, right? Or hear him, right?

Oh god, what a look that would be. Seeing someone you thought as a friend, not just spying on you alone time, but jerking it inches from you, you'd never want to see him again- or, maybe, you'd ask him to join you? No, that's insane

"Are you joking?"

Skips screws his eyes shut, getting ready for you to tear him apart.

"Fuck off" you groan and pull the vibrator out of yourself

Click click click

Skips opens one eye to see you sitting up in bed fussing about with your vibrator

"Dead? Great" you huffs and toss the toy aside and flop back down on the bed, you stare at the ceiling for a bit before sighing and pulling a blanket over yourself and rolling over to go to bed unfulfilled.

Skips finally breathes, knowing his little activity wasn't found out, but now what? You went to bed without cumming, should he be do8ng the same? The shadow glanced down at his painfully hard cock, pre cum leaking from its tip, you did this to him you should help him right?

The shadow gently picks up the toy that betrayed you, still warm and wet from your body. Although the batteries are dead, this little toy will help that poor shadow feel oh so alive tonight

[preciousbrat]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ dean's favorite

⤷ dean winchester x reader (rough sex, daddy kink, praise/degradation, slight choking, dirty talk, possessive!dean, aftercare)

The bunker was quiet, too quiet. Sam had gone off on a case, and Dean had insisted you stay behind. Said it wasn’t safe. Said he didn’t want you getting hurt.

But you both knew the real reason: he wanted you all to himself.

You barely had time to open your mouth before he was on you, Dean’s body was pressing yours into the table, hot breath at your ear, voice low and possessive.

"You still wearin' my shirt?" he rasped, large hands already slipping up under the hem. "You know what it does to me, sweetheart."

You let out a breathy sound as his hands wandered, calloused fingers tracing up your legs, under the thin soft-shirt pants that barely covered your panties.

“Maybe I wanted your attention,” you teased, looking back at him over your shoulder. “Daddy.”

He spun you around and lifted you onto the table like you weighed nothing. His mouth was on yours, hungry, rough, tasting like whiskey. He kissed like a man starved. His hands gripped your hips tight, bruising almost making you moan at the contact.

“You wanna play like that?” he rasped, lips trailing down your jaw. “Calling me Daddy like a good little girl? You think I won’t take you right here?”

Your only answer was a gasp as he tugged your panties aside, fingers slipping between your folds, already soaked.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “So wet for me. Dripping and I haven’t even touched you properly yet. You needy for Daddy, baby?”

You nodded, breath hitching when his thumb circled your clit, slow but firm.

“Use your words.” he demanded.

"Yes, Daddy," you panted. "Please…"

“Goddamn right.” He yanked your shirt open, exposing your chest. “Look at you. Fucking perfect."

He was unzipping his jeans a second later, cock springing loose, flushed and thick. Didn't tease, didn't hesitate. Just opened your thighs wide apart and positioned himself.

Then he thrust, hard into you. You cried out, fingers clutching the edge of the table as he filled you in one brutal stroke. He didn’t let you adjust, simply kept going, snapping his hips into yours, making the table creak beneath you.

“This what you wanted?” he grunted, one hand coming up to grip your throat, just enough pressure to make your head swim. “To be fucked like this? Used like Daddy’s little toy?”

"Yes...yes, Daddy," you cried, tears streaming into your eyes from the force of his strokes.

He groaned low, eyes locked on yours, voice dark with need. “That’s my girl. Take it. Take all of it. Look so good stuffed full of my cock.”

He bent down, kissing you roughly, tongue sliding against yours. The hand at your throat loosened, and he moved it down to your breast, pinching your nipple as his pace stayed merciless.

“Touch yourself, baby,” he growled. “Wanna feel you squeeze me.”

You obeyed almost instantly, hand moving to your clit, fingers fast and desperate as he fucked into you harder. His eyes burned into you, possessive, proud, devouring.

“Gonna come for Daddy?” he said between clenched teeth. “Come on, sweetheart. I can feel you. So fuckin’ tight around me—”

Your body broke.

You cried out, walls clenching around him as your orgasm hit. Dean cursed and bit down on your shoulder as he came right after, spilling deep inside you with a groan.

Dean stayed inside you for a while, catching his breath, one hand tracing slow, absent-minded circles over your lower back. Your thighs still trembled against the edge of the table, and your whole body buzzed, used, full, and absolutely wrecked.

But then he leaned back, looked at you, and something in his expression softened.

“Hey,” he murmured, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek. “You okay, sweetheart?”

You nodded, blinking up at him, dazed but warm. “Yeah. I’m… wow.”

A smirk tugged at his mouth, but his thumb was still gentle as it swept over your cheek. “That a good wow?”

You gave him a small smile. “Definitely a good wow.”

Dean leaned in, kissed you, slower this time. Less like he wanted to ruin you and more like he wanted to remind you you were his, in the safest way. His lips lingered on yours before he pulled away with a quiet breath.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, baby girl.”

He eased out of you carefully, watching the way your body shivered at the loss. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness, and Dean just shook his head with that same low growl in his throat.

“Fuckin’ look at you,” he murmured, voice reverent. “Can’t get enough of you. So perfect for me.”

You could still feel him leaking out of you as he helped you off the table, one strong arm wrapped around your waist to hold you steady when your knees nearly buckled.

“Woah,” you laughed breathlessly, clutching his shoulder. “Think you broke me.”

Dean grinned, proud and smug, but there was that warm glint in his eyes. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

[inastarlesssky]

Okay, I made myself upset again. Spoilers for 2x05

I will write more on this, but for now, if you needed some excuse to make yourself cry, here's this.

By the end of 2x05, when Morpheus is wandering the beach and finds his son's disembodied head, I will have you know that he is completely and utterly alone. Calliope has left him, Orpheus has rejected him as his father.

In an earlier scene, after Morpheus refuses to help Orpheus, Orpheus speaks to his mother Calliope, and she says "Your father should have gone to the Underworld in your stead. I've left him." What absolutely breaks me is two things:

Morpheus refused to help Orpheus because he loved his son far too much to trade away his life. His refusal was from a place of love for his son. He LOVED Orpheus and that's why he said. His first 'no' is gentle, actually. It's the simple no of a parent telling their child, sorry I can't give this to you because this is not the true good.

Either Calliope supposed that Hades just might do Morpheus a 'favor' and let him escape unharmed and not needing to make any sort of payment OR she is callously willing to throw away the life of her husband for the sake of her son's happiness which speaks a lot to how little she may love Morpheus, if this is the case. Aside from that, the fact she left him almost as a direct result of his refusal to help Orpheus. So essentially, Morpheus chooses to put first his love for his son, in refusing to throw away the life of said son to bring back said son's wife. What father would do otherwise?! Aren't parents SUPPOSED to love their children more than anything? And yet it's expected of Morpheus to, for the sake of his son's happiness, give up, sacrifice, be made bereft of his son. And because of Morpheus' decision, Calliope leaves him. So he loses the two loves of his heart in one fell swoop.

And, this also just occurred to me, but when Morpheus is walking away, listening to Orpheus' cries....is he maybe not also remembering what he's lost? He's lost his son because the boy rejected him as his father. He's lost his son because the boy went and got himself torn apart by the Maenads. He's lost his wife because he tried, out of love for his son, to protect him and that's why he refused.

Yeah, can you tell I'm a little bit soft for Morpheus?

[thattimdrakeguy]

WHY DICK BECAME NIGHTWING--and more character traits to learn!

This post is a continuation of my last major post:

In that one we went over the basics of who he is as a person. The sort of traits he has to his personality from mostly positive, to occasionally negative.

It's a helpful post, but it could've used a bit more meat on it. I've been on a journey to learn as much about every Bat-Family member's 'correct' characterization. Basically who they are at their most intended, because comics are famously bad at consistency. So why not have a little fun and adventure with our comic book enjoyment and search for the closest thing we can gather as truth?

Today, we're onto who Dick Grayson is by the time he became Nightwing, and what convinced him to do it.

Note: This is Pre-Crisis, but Marv Wolfman wrote him both Pre-Crisis to Post-Crisis, and so the story of why he became Nightwing changed. I think because the Batman writers wanted to be in-charge of it or something. I don't honestly know why. I sort of think this is better. But yes, parts of this are probably not canon to the timeline people most commonly prefer, which seems to be, all these years later, still Post-Crisis.

We're more about character here than story-time. So that doesn't matter too much regardless, since Marv's the man when it comes to Dick Grayson.

I kind of like how at this point Dick has a bit more of a mean-streak. Not to the point of being more violent or aggressive with anyone. But you get the feeling he gets fed up a bit easier. So it's sort of fun, and thankfully, not overly done. It's only a few moments this pop up. So don't go overboard with it whenever you choose to write him.

Well verbally aggressive maybe.

Let's focus on this though. The point of the post.

Before they had Batman just give Jason Robin--because--because--Honestly I don't know. This gives Dick way more urgency in himself when it's his decision to do it. And probably also gave Jason an easier time from fans when Dick didn't seem like he had it stolen from him or something.

I guess 'cause he's Batman. I dunno.

But it reflects Dick Grayson's growth as a person, as he becomes a man. Almost not even a teenager anymore.

He feels he can't be his own person when everyone looks at him and still sees Batman beside him rather or not he's truly there.

I'm with Victor though. Stop being a drama-whore Dick. Get to the point.

Dick here puts it better than I could. Have some practice reading a comic for once and apply yourself. A know a good few of you probably never did it yourself before.

This change carries a lot of symbolism to him as well. The end of one chapter, and the beginning of another.

And for this version of the story there was a fun little transitional period in-between where Dick wasn't using any alias. I think it helps it feel grounded and more real. It is a bit cartoony when someone apparently has been preparing for a change and has something different already prepared. This makes these people feel more like they exist while we can't see them on the panel. An honorable writing choice. Plus it builds up anticipation so people spend more money on the big reveal issue.

300 DOLLARS DAMN.

I love the trust he has for his friends and teammates. He really believes in their abilities and does the opposite of second guessing them. They could've easily gone for the drama, that really I don't think I could call cheap because it'd all to understandable, where he gets on his hands and knees and cries over the apparent deaths of his friends.

They don't though, and that shows a lot of character in him. And how he thinks of the people he's around most often.

Though as said before in my last major post on Dick Grayson, the man really is a realist in the end.

Here someone within the comic itself studying Dick Grayson. Saves me some time clicking my fingers against this keyboard.

And as brave as he is, even Dick feels fear sometimes, when the situation is grave enough. He has an iron will, not a cold metal heart.

Dude really does trust his friends. Even when he probably shouldn't.

There's some of that minor mean-streak in him again.

HERE WE ARE THOUGH, FINALLY--

Only took 'em 5 issues. Almost half a year in real world time assuming these comics where monthly releases.

Wait must've been nuts back then for readers.

And why does it look like he has web shooters in his case?

This is where we see the beginning of Nightwing as it's own identity, and not a mystery in the waiting. We get to see the symbolism in the role it gives Dick.

He has truly made this identity as special as it could be for him. Nothing could represent more in his entire life.

It's not just his step further into adult hood.

It's not just the original Nightwing of Krypton.

IT IS EVERYONE HE'S EVER LOVED AND KNEW.

This is for Batman, this is for Superman, this is for Krypton, this is for his parents, this is for Kory.

Dick doesn't forget who helped him on his way. And through this identity he will never forget.

Just for the grand moment to be interrupted by him being confused why Joey is dressed like a disco hobbit with boots and a cape.

Kind of kills the moment. But oh well. We seen the costume on the cover. Not like it spoils the grand reveal for the dear audience.

And oh, hey, look! It's that pride of his we talked about in the last major post I made about Dick. It's still there in all it's beauty. Good to know. Good toooo knooow.

Yeah, weird place to end it, but my tabs are getting cluttered with screenshots again. MAKING THESE POSTS TAKE TIME YOU KNOW. I don't just pull them out of my butt.

But yeah he's not the master of technology.

I miss when Bat-Family members didn't have to be perfect at everything.

Who needs relatability when you got boring slop--

Sorry, I'm rambling.

Anyway, hope you learned something! I did. I'm surprised I hardly see anyone actually talk about the meaning behind Nightwing. They just keep tryna make it sound cutesy, like oooh look at Dickie-Boy being a fanboy of Superman!! Aw ain't it cute.

And then you read it, and it's this powerful, dramatic, massive symbol of the love everyone has given him over the years, and what it means to him.

Of course it meant so much more.

People don't appreciate that though.

So if you learned anything, I hope it's that you learned it's stuff like this, that made these characters fan favorites to begin with. Don't let the fandom shenanigans trick you.

These are truly deep and compelling characters when written the right way.

Hopefully with enough effort we can bring them back to us properly--

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 214 (Vacation's Over)

cw: someone's getting one last pet in this one.

On their last day in Sulani, the Gordons enjoyed a long breakfast in their rental kitchen. Heather made pancakes before tidying up despite the cleaning fee, scrubbing the sink and wiping down the outdoor shower after Conrad was done with it.

The island spirits were active around the lot this morning, but Lavender barely noticed while she played in the wooden bathtub. Heather and Conrad still fretted the deal they'd made with Haumaea, but they decided to tell Ash the truth before they were joined by curious Lavender.

"So you just made a deal with a mermaid to bring her a fairy, and it'll clear the curse she put on the Landgraab name?"

"We're not sure any of it's possible, but we've come this far."

Ash shrugged his shoulders. "I just think it's a little bit crazy," he admitted. "What if the whole point is that Landgraabs could stop cursing themselves if they were just better people?"

"We've definitely thought about the fact this Haumaea could be lying just to get us to do her a favour, but it's not like we're going hunting for fairies. Maybe those legends about whispers on the wind are just meaningless stories. Or maybe, if we're all lucky, there's a water sprite out there somewhere looking to return home to Sulani."

Ash rolled his eyes. "If you say so."

After breakfast, they packed up the rental and handed in the keys. Roan smiled up at his mother. "Home now, mama?"

She smiled before picking up their unproblematic toddler - who didn't spend their trip getting lost in a cave or deal-making with mermaids - for the walk down the hill. "One more stop to pick up baby Iris, and then we'll fly home again."

"Sissy Iris!" he cried excitedly. '"She get my crib!"

"That's right. She'll get your old crib because you're in the race car bed now."

At the shack down the hill, young Rafa, who saw Conrad no differently than family, carried Iris outside in a tight embrace. "Part of me wishes I could say this wasn't for the best, but I know it is. I was always meant to be her uncle, not her father."

Ash held Iris while Heather and Conrad said their goodbyes. "We'll come back once you and Melissa have your baby, to see how you're doing and maybe to give Haumaea what she wants."

"What Haumaea wants is Rafa," said Melissa with a nervous laugh. Rafa blushed, smiling at his longtime partner.

"She's too late," he assured her.

"You guys are going to be okay," Conrad promised them. In truth, he'd worried since Ash reported Ximena's message from the caves. Iris would be safe with the Landgraab-connected Gordons, but not with Rafa. Conrad knew what she meant - Los Tigres would eventually come for Rafa and his family.

Conrad could never let that happen.

"We're okay thanks to your friend Elucea," said Melissa. "I don't know how to thank her for all that baby stuff, but I hope one day I'll have the chance to do it in person. You're sure you don't need any of it for Iris in Brindleton Bay?"

"We've got everything she'll need," Heather promised. "And we'll raise her to love her aunt and uncle in Sulani as much as her aunts and uncles on the mainland."

Back home in Brindleton Bay, the Gordons made Iris comfortable in her new surroundings despite the rain. They tended to her needs and Ash pitched in to help her reach her milestones, as they made sure she felt loved and well cared for.

The cats loved boarding with Catarina Lynx-Munch at Shelly's Animal Haven, but they were thrilled to have their humans back at home. Mayor Whiskers missed riding around on the family's new robot vacuums while they were gone!

Things slipped quickly into a normal rhythm, even with a needy infant who hated being put down. Sensitive Iris was already comfortable with this new and boisterous family, and she could send a wail down the stairwell whenever she woke before the rest of the house - which was pretty much every day.

The first week, Conrad and Heather thought Iris was jet-lagged from the time difference, but it lasted long enough they realized it was just one of her quirks, instead.

One night, soon after the kids had gone to bed, Heather and Conrad heard a familiar sound out back by the chicken coop.

With sad eyes, they came out as Grim appeared to help not one, but two of their chickens cross the rainbow bridge. Grim offered a solemn wave when he spotted them, continuing his usual work with a kind word and gentle pet.

A coastal thundercloud rolled in the distance, and they knew, more than ever, their summer vacation was done. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary | Gen 2.2 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

[ghostlynightpanda]

Hiiii! I absolutely LOVE your works! Especially the way you write Ranpo, it’s amazing! 😭 In fact, my request is about him. I’d love some fluff... but I also really enjoy a bit of angst now and then. Since I’m indecisive, I’ll let you choose! For the fluff, I’m curious about how life would be for Ranpo and the reader, and that reader isn’t part of the ADA. I think it’d be really fun to see how he introduces reader to the others, and their reaction of RANPO having a girlfriend…And also how it goes when it eventually gets to marriage and even pregancy, I mean, I can't imagine Ranpo doing those kind of things so I think the others shocked reactions, again, could be funny, and I’m also curious about how Ranpo himself would act during those moments. As for the angst, I don’t have a specific scenario in mind... maybe something involving the reader’s death or rejection. I’m really sorry if this isn’t super detailed like your usual requests, I don’t have a specific scenario in mind, just something in general😭 but I hope it’s okay! Thank you so much! 💓

Red Shovel Mystery

synopsis: After a surprise reunion with his childhood friend, Ranpo Edogawa finds himself falling in love with you, determined to impress and protect the one person who’s always believed in him. From awkward coffee dates to rooftop parties, surprise proposals, and eventually fatherhood, the Armed Detective Agency watches in stunned silence (and mild panic) as one of their most eccentric members builds a beautifully chaotic life.

content/warnings: Ranpo Edogawa x reader, fluff, -6.688 words

The sun was warm that day, casting long shadows over the playground, and the smell of fresh grass mixed with the sweetness of melting popsicles in the air. It was the perfect afternoon for digging the biggest hole in the sandbox ever—at least, that's what you had excitedly told Ranpo on the walk over, holding his hand like the teacher told you to.

But now you stood together in front of the sandbox, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, staring at the empty space where your favorite red shovel should've been.

It was gone.

Just gone.

Ranpo squinted dramatically, pushing his tiny, plastic-framed glasses up his nose. "Hmm."

You looked up at him. "Ranpo, it's missing!“

"I can see that," he replied matter-of-factly, hands on his hips, like a little detective in corduroy shorts. "This is clearly… a case."

You gasped. "A case?"

He nodded solemnly. "A mystery. But lucky for you, I'm the greatest detective in the whole world."

You blinked. "But you're six."

"Exactly," he said with an air of mystery, already turning his head to scan the playground. "No one ever suspects a six-year-old genius."

You giggled and tugged at his sleeve. "But I want my shovel back."

"And we'll get it," he promised, puffing his chest out. "Now. Let's begin the investigation."

You nodded, and without a second thought, reached for his hand. "We have to stay together. Teacher said."

He blinked at your hand for a second, then hesitantly laced his fingers with yours. "Yeah. For safety reasons. Obviously."

Together, hand in hand, you stepped onto the scene of the crime.

Ranpo crouched down beside the sandbox like he was Sherlock Holmes examining a murder site. "Okay. First observation: there are no shovel marks. Which means it wasn't taken by accident. Someone wanted your shovel."

You gasped again. Ranpo liked that you were always gasping at the right times.

"Who would do that?" you whispered, scandalized.

Ranpo stood back up and pointed dramatically toward the monkey bars. "We begin… with Himura-kun. He's got a history."

You weren't sure what that meant, but it sounded important, so you nodded very seriously.

Himura-kun, a boy with a gras stain on his pants and sticky chocolate all over his mouth, was sitting cross-legged by the monkey bars with a bucket in front of him. And inside that bucket…

"That's my shovel!!" you cried.

"Shh!" Ranpo hissed. "Don't let the suspect know we're on to him."

"But it's mine!"

"And we're going to get it back," he promised, tugging your hand gently. "But with stealth. Like ninjas. Or detectives. Or ninja detectives."

You followed him, crouching way too low and way too obviously, but the teacher supervising wasn't even looking, so it was fine.

Once behind the slide, Ranpo leaned in. "Okay. We're going to trade. I saw Himura drop his cookie earlier behind the swings. If we get it back, he'll owe us."

"Ranpo, that cookie has grass on it now."

"It's the principle," he said, already dragging you toward the swings.

Sure enough, the cookie was lying in a crumpled napkin.

You picked it up carefully, holding it at the very tips of your fingers like it might explode. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Ranpo nodded, completely sure. "Absolutely. This is how adult negotiations work."

You were seven minutes into the greatest heist of your life.

Together, you marched back to Himura, who looked up at you with a big smear of chocolate on his cheek.

Ranpo put on his most serious face. "Himura-kun. We have your cookie."

Himura blinked at it, then at the shovel in his bucket. "Okay."

You pointed at the shovel. "That's mine."

"Oh. Sorry." He handed it over without a fight. "You want the bucket too?"

Ranpo narrowed his eyes. "No, we're just here for the shovel. We don't need to steal extra things."

You beamed as you took the shovel, hugging it close.

Ranpo crossed his arms proudly. "Case closed."

"Thank you, Ranpo!"

You hugged him without thinking, quick and tight. He froze like a statue before his arms awkwardly, shyly, came up to return it.

"It was nothing," he said, ears red. "You were the client. I was just doing my job."

You pulled away and smiled up at him. "You're the best detective ever."

And for the first time that afternoon, Ranpo didn't say anything. Just grinned so wide his cheeks hurt.

Then, hand in hand again, you both skipped back to the sandbox to finally start digging the biggest hole ever.

And somewhere in the back of his young mind, Ranpo decided: One day, when he was older and really the world's greatest detective…

He was going to impress you for real.

Years passed.

Seasons shifted.

Only a few weeks after that, you moved. Just a few districts away, but far enough that you and Ranpo ended up in different schools. Different routines. Different lives.

The phone calls slowed. The playdates stopped. And eventually, without meaning to, you lost touch.

You grew taller, older, a little quieter. Your world expanded with new friends and new places.

And somewhere else in the city, so did Ranpo's.

But every now and then…

When you passed a red shovel in a store window, or caught the scent of melting popsicles and sun-warmed grass—

You thought about him.

It was just another afternoon in the city.

The sun filtered through the gaps in tall buildings, casting golden rays on the sidewalks. You'd taken a rare day off work, wandering aimlessly with a coffee in hand and no destination in mind. The breeze was nice, and the city was humming its usual tune—busy, bright, alive.

You were just about to turn the corner near a little bookshop you hadn't seen before when someone bumped into you, not hard, just enough to jostle your arm, sloshing some of your coffee onto your sleeve.

"Ah! Sorry," you muttered, brushing it off quickly.

"No, I wasn't watching where I was going," the other person replied smoothly, in a voice that was far too confident for someone who clearly wasn't paying attention.

You both looked up at the same time.

And froze.

There was a flicker of something familiar in the stranger's face. That lazy, smug smile. The way his glasses sat slightly crooked on the bridge of his nose. He was taller now, wearing a long black coat and eating a bag of candy with no regard for pace or moderation.

But those green eyes…

You blinked.

He tilted his head, squinting at you curiously. "Wait a second…"

His eyes scanned your face, lightning-fast.

"…Do I know you?"

Your heart skipped. "I think… Ranpo?"

His eyes widened.

And suddenly, you both spoke at the same time:

"Red shovel!"

"Sandbox mystery!"

Laughter bubbled up from both of you, warm and surprised and maybe a little stunned that after all these years, that's what brought it back.

Ranpo's grin widened as he snapped his fingers. "That's why you looked so familiar! I knew I recognized that face! You're still doing the scrunchy nose thing when you think, you know."

"I do not!" you laughed, but you touched your nose self-consciously anyway.

He looked you up and down, not in a rude way, just… as if still processing how real this was. "Wow. You look… older." A beat. "Not in a bad way. I mean. You look… good. You look like you."

"You look the same," you said, half amused, half amazed. "Same jacket, same candy obsession?"

"Same genius brain," he added proudly.

You both stood there for a moment. Strangers again, yet not quite. The city moved on around you, people brushing past, horns honking, pigeons fighting over a bagel crust. But you didn't move.

Ranpo shifted, tapping a finger to his chin. "Well, since fate literally threw us together, I suppose the only logical next step…"

You raised an eyebrow, waiting for his signature dramatic flair.

"…is for you to buy me a coffee so I can tell you how amazing I turned out."

You laughed. "You bumped into me. Shouldn't you be buying me a coffee?"

He smirked, already turning on his heel. "It's not my fault you were in the way. Come on now, there's a good café around the corner with an amazing chocolate cake!"

You snorted. "Still dramatic."

"And still correct."

You followed after him, steps falling in sync like muscle memory. The distance that had once seemed so wide suddenly felt smaller. Familiar.

And as the café came into view, something warm settled in your chest.

You hadn't realized how much you'd missed him.

Until now.

The café smelled like toasted sugar and freshly ground beans, and Ranpo stepped inside like he owned the place—shoulders back, eyes sharp behind those slightly crooked glasses. You followed with a small smile tugging at your lips, watching him lean dramatically against the counter like he was interrogating the espresso machine.

"One caramel latte, extra syrup, two pieces of chocolate cake. And one…" He glanced at you. "Whatever you want."

You blinked. "Are you… paying?"

Ranpo held up a hand with mock seriousness. "Obviously. What kind of gentleman lets his—uh—reacquainted childhood friend pay?" A pause. "Also, I'm rich now."

You tried not to laugh. "Rich?"

He smirked, snapping his wallet closed like a magician finishing a trick. "Famous detective. Elite skills. Solving impossible crimes. People practically throw money at me."

You raised a brow. "Is that so?"

"Yep. Saved the city at least three times. Unofficially, of course." He followed you to a booth by the window, after you gave your order. He plopped down, and kicked his feet up, until the table wobbled and he had to pretend he meant to sit normally.

"Want to hear about the time I exposed a corrupt government official using only two paperclips and a soda can?"

You smiled, sipping your drink. "I feel like I'm about to whether I say yes or not."

"Excellent!" He beamed. "So there I was—surrounded, clearly outnumbered—but I knew. I just knew something was off. I saw it all in ten seconds flat. Everyone was shocked. Obviously."

He went on, spinning tale after tale, voice rising with each dramatic turn. You couldn't tell where the truth ended and the embellishment began, but it didn't matter. It was him. Still the same Ranpo. Larger than life and so full of himself it circled right back to being endearing.

"…And that's when I found the third corpse."

You blinked. "Wait, what?"

Ranpo paused, squinting at you. "Oh. Right. That might've been too early in the story. Doesn't matter. Point is, I solved it."

A silence settled between you, gentle and warm. You stirred your coffee. Ranpo stared at his.

And then—panic.

Inside his mind: total chaos.

Wait. Wasn't something supposed to happen now? He'd talked. A lot. He'd bragged (obviously). He'd paid for the drinks (very generous). But now what?

He tilted his head. Something tugged at the back of his mind. A half-remembered voice.

"You gotta show interest, Kunikida. Ask her questions. Women love that. And don't make it all about you, that's boring."

Oh no.

Oh no.

That was Dazai. Dazai had said that. To Kunikida. Loudly. Repeatedly. While Kunikida threatened to throw him out a window. Ranpo hadn't been listening. At the time, it had been background noise to the sound of potato chips crunching, but his memory was near-perfect. Even the dumb stuff stuck.

"You listen, then you lean in a little and say something like: 'That's amazing. You must've worked hard.' Easy. Works every time."

Ranpo stared blankly into his drink. He'd used up all his dramatic material, and now he was… under-equipped.

No choice. Time to engage.

He turned toward you, stiff like a wind-up toy, and blurted, "So. You."

You raised an eyebrow. "Me?"

"What've you been up to?" he asked too quickly. 

You smiled, and Ranpo tried not to visibly deflate in relief. Yes. Good. Smiling. Keep going.

"Well," you began, "I'm a counselor now. For kids, mostly. I work at a local school."

Ranpo blinked. "Wait, so like… emotions and feelings and stuff?"

"That's the job, yeah."

He stared. "That's insane. You actually help people?"

You smiled softly. "Sometimes. Not always. But I try."

Ranpo opened his mouth, then paused.

He remembered Dazai's voice again, very faintly, like a ghost in his subconscious: "Just say something supportive and meaningful. Like, 'I bet you're amazing at that.' Then look at her like she's made of sunlight or whatever."

Ranpo resisted the urge to gag.

But he also… sort of agreed.

So, reluctantly, he leaned a little closer and said, more sincerely than he expected: "I bet you're really good at it."

You blinked in surprise.

Ranpo blinked, too. Where did that come from?

Then, flustered by his own rare sincerity, he scrambled to cover it up. "I mean, not that I know. But you've got this… calming thing. Like… a pillow."

You blinked again.

Ranpo froze. "Wait—no, that came out wrong. I meant—you're like… emotionally absorbent? No, worse. That's worse—"

You burst out laughing, face in your hands. Ranpo groaned and slumped against the booth wall like he'd just been shot.

"You know," you said between laughs, "you're still kind of a disaster."

He mumbled, "But an impressive disaster, right?"

You grinned. "Yes. Very impressive."

And then, you smiled at him. Really smiled. That same warmth from when you were kids. Ranpo watched your eyes crinkle a little at the corners, your lips tilt up just so.

And he knew. He was so doomed.

He leaned back, smiling like an idiot. "Yeah," he murmured. "Totally working."

"What is?"

"Nothing."

After that accidental reunion at the café, things changed quietly, steadily, like a mystery unfolding one soft page at a time.

Ranpo and you started meeting up regularly. At first, just casual things. Coffee. A walk. An "accidental" lunch at the same spot where you first bumped into each other. You'd talk about work, childhood memories, outrageous theories about the people around you (most of those courtesy of Ranpo, obviously), and he'd somehow always find a reason to mention just how much he had figured out about the world.

It didn't take long before those casual hangouts turned into something more.

You started dating.

It was natural, effortless. Ranpo, who was usually loud, cocky, and unfiltered, was still all of those things, of course. But with you, there was a softer edge. He showed up on time. He listened more. He learned to ask questions without needing to solve everything. He didn't brag all the time. (Okay, maybe just a little.)

At the Agency, everyone noticed something had shifted. Ranpo had become… bearable.

He came in earlier. Ate less candy in one sitting. Didn't complain as much. He even cracked less smug remarks during cases—unless Dazai baited him, which was still often.

But whenever someone asked, Ranpo would just shrug and go, "I've always been like this. You guys are just slow."

So they let it go.

Life continued. Cases came and went. Months slipped by with quiet, persistent contentment.

Then, one sweltering afternoon in early July, Ranpo casually strolled into the Agency's shared office, sucking on a popsicle, and said: "We should throw a summer party."

The room went silent. Kunikida looked up from his paperwork, clearly on edge. Dazai perked up from where he was balancing pencils on his nose.

"...A summer party?" Atsushi echoed, uncertain.

"Yup," Ranpo chirped, unbothered. "With food. Music. Fireworks, maybe. Nothing huge. Just a rooftop thing."

Yosano raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Ranpo shrugged. "Why not? We all work so hard solving crimes and chasing maniacs. Don't we deserve one fun night without someone getting stabbed?"

Everyone exchanged glances. It wasn't that they were opposed to the idea. It was just that… Ranpo was never the one to suggest voluntary socializing.

Dazai, of course, jumped in first. "Ohhh, I get it~" He smirked. "You're trying to impress someone, aren't you?"

Ranpo's popsicle snapped in half in his mouth. "What? No!"

Too late. Dazai was already circling. "A secret date? A mysterious crush? Ranpo, is this your way of getting a summer romance started?"

"Shut up, Dazai."

"Come on~ Let me help! I have so many ideas. Beach themes, party games, synchronized swimming—"

"No one is getting in a pool with you," Kunikida muttered darkly.

In the end, Ranpo didn't drop it. And the thing with Ranpo was: once he wanted something, there was no escaping it. He was annoying, persistent, and borderline impossible to argue with when he got an idea in his head.

So they agreed.

A small summer rooftop party. Drinks. Snacks. A few lights. No weapons. No autopsies. No explosions.

Nothing unusual.

Nothing… too chaotic.

At least, that's what they thought.

The rooftop was lit with soft paper lanterns and a few sparklers leftover from New Year's someone had found in a supply drawer. A small table was lined with drinks, skewers, and an extremely strict "No Poison" sign taped near the punch bowl (Yosano's idea, ironically).

Everyone was there, albeit confused as to why they were there.

Atsushi nervously nursed a soda. Yosano leaned against the railing, sipping something far too red. Kunikida glared at a clipboard titled: Social Interactions - Controlled Chaos Edition. Even Fukuzawa showed up, quietly sipping tea like it was the most normal thing in the world. Dazai? Already lounging on a deck chair, shirt unbuttoned halfway, sunglasses on, declaring, "This is exactly the kind of meaningless frivolity society needs."

And then—

The elevator dinged.

All heads turned and out stepped Ranpo.

But he wasn't alone.

On his arm was you.

You, with that same warm smile, glowing in the orange wash of sunset. Dressed simply but perfectly. Effortlessly radiant.

Ranpo, beside you, wore a smug look that said "I know something you don't." He led you out like he was the guest of honor, basking in the stunned silence around him.

Dazai's mouth actually dropped open. Kunikida forgot how to breathe for a second. Atsushi blinked like you were a hallucination. Yosano straightened, then grinned slowly. And Fukuzawa's brow rose—just slightly. The equivalent of a jaw-drop from anyone else.

"Everyone," Ranpo declared dramatically, "this is my girlfriend." He paused for effect. "Yes. Girlfriend. As in romantic partner."

Dazai, predictably, gasped. "You hired an escort, didn't you?! Be honest—what agency is she from? Can I get a discount code?"

You blinked. "Wait, what?"

Ranpo groaned. "She's not an escort, Dazai!"

You waved awkwardly. "Hi…?"

Kunikida looked genuinely disturbed. "I didn't even know Ranpo was capable of… romantic interest."

"Same," muttered Yosano.

"I AM A FULLY FUNCTIONING HUMAN BEING!" Ranpo shouted.

Yosano took a slow sip of her drink. "Debatable."

You couldn't help laughing. "You weren't kidding when you said your coworkers were… interesting."

"They grow on you," Ranpo muttered, then caught himself and added, "Don't get too close to Dazai. He does bite."

Dazai grinned. "Only the pretty ones."

Ranpo immediately stepped in front of you. "Bite me, then."

But even Dazai seemed too stunned to properly tease. Instead, he stared between you two like he'd just discovered a new species of animal. "You two… actually like each other. Genuinely."

You and Ranpo shared a look. That soft kind of glance that said, I see you. The type of look that passed between two people who knew each other deeply and comfortably. Your fingers brushed his, then laced together like it was second nature.

"Oh no," Dazai muttered. "It's real. It's disgusting. I hate it."

Kunikida was scribbling furiously in a notebook. "Unexplainable anomalies in Ranpo's behavior… confirmed romantic involvement… possible side effects: increased functionality, improved teamwork, less candy theft—"

"You're welcome," you said with a smile.

And from that moment, the party changed. Everyone asked you a million questions. Yosano especially, who immediately tried to recruit you for a "shopping intervention" to prevent Ranpo from buying another pair of bright green socks. Fukuzawa offered you a subtle nod of approval that made Ranpo beam like a child. Even Atsushi shyly asked how you two met, though Ranpo made up at least half of the story.

But the most surprising part?

It felt right.

You didn't just fit with Ranpo, you fit in with the Agency.

By the time the stars came out and someone inevitably set off a small firework upside-down, no one even questioned how Ranpo—of all people—had ended up with someone like you.

Because watching him laugh so freely, his hand in yours, they saw it too.

He was happy.

Really happy.

And for once… that was all the mystery anyone needed.

Time didn't rush with you and Ranpo, it settled.

After that rooftop party, there was no more pretending, no more hiding. Everyone at the Agency now knew Ranpo was in a relationship. A functioning, stable, genuine relationship. That fact alone left some in quiet disbelief for weeks.

But as the days rolled on… it simply became normal.

You would drop by the Agency sometimes—sometimes to bring Ranpo lunch (because of course he'd forget to eat anything besides sugar), sometimes to walk home with him, sometimes just to say hi. The first time you showed up with homemade pastries, Kunikida short-circuited and declared you a "positive influence with practical homemaking skills" in the same breath.    

The Agency grew used to you. And more than that, they grew fond of you.

Yosano took an instant liking to you. It started with a shared eye roll at something Ranpo had said, and soon bloomed into something more. Regular shopping sprees. Spa days. The occasional conspiracy-theory-laced coffee break. She declared you "too pure for this world" and vowed to protect you from all horrors… except maybe Dazai.

Speaking of Dazai—he never missed an opportunity to flirt (which Ranpo never missed an opportunity to block). Still, even Dazai seemed to enjoy your company, in his own weird, chaos-gremlin way. His teasing toward Ranpo doubled, but there was less bite in it now. He liked the way Ranpo smiled more with you around, even if he'd never admit it aloud.  

Atsushi, Kenji, and Kyoka absolutely adored you, often turning to you for advice or showing up at your place with wide eyes and sheepish smiles whenever they needed "adult help" — whether it was with laundry, budgeting, or figuring out how to change a lightbulb without electrocuting themselves. Before long, it became a routine to have them over for dinner at least once a week, where you'd cook them a warm, homemade meal — something they rarely got.

Atsushi and Kyoka couldn't cook to save their lives, and Kenji… well, Kenji was a walking kitchen disaster. The only thing he was remotely skilled at, food-wise, was slaughtering animals — a skill he proudly demonstrated one evening by plopping a live chicken from his family's farm onto your kitchen counter. He meant well, but after that incident, he was permanently banned from helping with meal prep ever again.

Even Fukuzawa respected you, something that shocked Ranpo the most. When the director, one day, offered a simple "Good to see you again" and meant it, Ranpo nearly choked on his snacks.

And as for Ranpo?

He was thriving.

He still bragged. Still showed off. Still lorded his intellect over everyone. But the edges were softer now. His arrogance had turned charming. His teasing had warmth. He still gloated, but only until you nudged his side and he broke into a sheepish grin. 

Eventually, the two of you moved in together.

It happened naturally. He kept forgetting things at your place, you got tired of visiting his candy graveyard of an apartment, and one day he just didn't leave. You made a home out of cluttered bookshelves, mismatched coffee mugs, and weekend mornings spent wrapped in blankets with mystery novels half-read and tea gone cold beside you.

No drama. No huge declarations.

Just Ranpo sitting beside you one night, cheek pressed to your shoulder as he mumbled, "I don't want to go home."

And you replying, "You are home."

From there on, the days blurred into a soft routine. Rainy evenings spent watching old detective shows. Late-night arguments over snack rankings. Solving grocery store mysteries just for fun. You started recognizing the signs when his mind was racing. He learned the look in your eyes that meant "take a break."

Time passed.

Seasons changed.

And still, it was you and Ranpo. Steady. Deepening. Real.

Two years.

That's how long it had been since Ranpo waltzed into the Agency with you on his arm and introduced you as his girlfriend.

Since then, everything had changed—and yet, somehow, nothing had. He was still Ranpo, still brilliant and loud and smug, still addicted to candy and still annoying in the most charming way. But now he was also… grounded. Sweeter. Somehow more human.

The Agency had adapted to the "Ranpo in love" era with impressive speed. By now it was normal, seeing him walk in every morning with a smile and a pastry you'd made tucked in his bag.

So when Ranpo burst through the office doors one bright Tuesday morning, dragging you behind him by the wrist, there was a beat of silence… and then the slow ripple of uh oh.

You were smiling, a bit sheepishly. Ranpo, however, looked ecstatic—no, smug. Smugger than usual. Dangerously smug.

"Good morning," you greeted with a little wave.

Ranpo came to a sudden stop in the middle of the room, a mischievous glint in his eye. Without warning, he pulled a party popper from his coat pocket and set it off — a sharp pop! echoing through the office as a cloud of confetti burst into the air.

Several Agency members jumped, hands halfway to their weapons, instincts kicking in at the unexpected noise.

"Ranpo, what now—" Kunikida began, exasperated.

"I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT!" Ranpo cut him off dramatically, lifting your joined hands above his head like a victorious championship trophy. His grin stretched from ear to ear. "SHE SAID YES!"

A pause.

A blink.

Then chaos.

"What?!" Atsushi nearly fell out of his chair.

"'Yes' to what?" Yosano asked with a sharp grin, already reaching for her phone.

"Yes to marrying me, duh!" Ranpo beamed. "I proposed last night! Cleverly! With puzzle clues and coded messages and—well, she cried. I made her cry. With brilliance."

"I cried because you knocked over the candle and almost set the curtains on fire," you murmured.

"And because of the brilliance," he insisted.

Kunikida choked on his own breath. "You're getting married?!"

"You're surprised?" Ranpo blinked, smugness fully activated. "Look at me. Of course someone wanted to marry me."

Dazai, lounging lazily on the couch with an amused smile, tilted his head. "So you finally listened to my advice, hm?"

Ranpo clicked his tongue. "Please. I didn't listen, I just remembered a few things. Maybe."

"You're engaged…" Yosano said slowly, eyes flicking to you, then back to Ranpo. "And you're happy about it?"

Ranpo stared. "Why wouldn't I be?! She's perfect! Smart, sweet, way too good for me—though I am a genius, so it balances out. Oh, and she makes excellent snacks."

You flushed, laughing despite yourself. "He's been dying to tell someone since last night."

"I barely slept!" Ranpo admitted proudly. "Too busy reliving every second of the proposal. I wrote a ten-page report about it. Annotated."

"You're impossible," you whispered, elbowing him.

"I'm adorable," he whispered back.

Fukuzawa eventually stepped out of his office, eyebrow slightly raised. "A proposal?"

Ranpo saluted. "A successful one, sir."

Fukuzawa studied him for a moment, then looked at you. His gaze softened. "Congratulations. I expect you'll still show up to work on time."

"Define 'on time,'" Ranpo muttered.

Yosano had already begun grilling you with wedding questions, Kunikida was muttering about efficient seating plans, Atsushi looked overwhelmed but thrilled, and Dazai…

Dazai was smirking like the devil himself. "Who would've guessed it. Little Ranpo, all grown up and ready to sign his life away in legal documents."

Ranpo turned, crossed his arms smugly, and declared, "You're just mad because I found someone and you're still single!"

Dazai clutched his chest. "Low blow."

"Effective," Ranpo said, grinning from ear to ear.

And just like that, the Agency was swept into engagement fever.

That day became less about mysterious cases and more about flower colors, cake tastings, whether or not Yosano should be allowed to officiate the ceremony, and if Dazai would be legally permitted near your family. (Spoiler: no.)

It was loud. Messy. Ridiculous.

And you loved every second of it.

Because Ranpo, flushed with pride and fingers constantly intertwined with yours, was glowing. And in the middle of all the teasing and chaos, his eyes met yours with a look so warm, so content, so unshakably in love, that you knew—

This was only the beginning.

It wasn't extravagant. Ranpo had insisted it could be ("I know people, I can rent a castle, or maybe a crime scene museum!") but you wanted something simpler.  Something quiet. Personal. Soft in all the ways that mattered.

So in the end, the wedding was held just outside the city, in a renovated barn surrounded by swaying meadows and tall pine trees that whispered with the wind. The kind of place that smelled like summer and nostalgia, wrapped in sunshine.  

The guest list was small but meaninful: close friends, coworkers, and family. The entire Armed Detective Agency was there, naturally. You'd grown close to them over the past few years, even Fukuzawa had become a fatherly presence, often watching your relationship with quiet pride.

And now, as he stood at the front of the barn's open-air archway with soft hanging lights and dried flowers behind him, he was the one officiating the ceremony.

It was something Ranpo had begged for. "It has to be Fukuzawa," he'd insisted. "He's basically my dad. And he wears a kimono. It's classy."

Fukuzawa, always composed, only nodded. "I would be honored."

The day itself was perfect.

Yosano had done your makeup with surprising tenderness. "You're going to cry," she warned, applying waterproof mascara. "And don't worry, I packed smelling salts in case Dazai tries anything stupid."

Dazai, naturally, tried many things. He flirted with your cousins, your sisters, even your mother — who politely smiled and said she already had a husband, thank you. ("Temporarily," Dazai whispered before Kunikida smacked him upside the head with the wedding program.)

Atsushi gave a heartfelt speech that made everyone teary-eyed.

Kunikida's gift was a perfectly organized marriage journal with checklists for future plans, finances, and communication exercises.

Kenji showed you a picture of a sheep he wanted to gift you — his original plan was to bring it along, but Kunikida firmly forbade it.

And Ranpo?

He looked beautiful.

No, radiant.

Dressed in a sleek brown suit and a pair of candy wrappers sticking out of his pocket like a secret joke. He'd never looked more proud in his life than when he saw you walking down the aisle.

You didn't have a traditional march. Instead, your song was a soft piano version of one of your favorite childhood anime themes. Only you and Ranpo understood the significance.

The vows were chaotic.

Ranpo had written his on napkins — four napkins — and somehow managed to include the words "candy," "crime scenes," and "the time you fell asleep on my shoulder during that museum exhibit." He ended with: "You're my greatest mystery. And I don't want to solve you. I just want to love you."

You didn't even try to stop the tears.

You both laughed and cried and kissed too early, which earned you a deadpan "Not yet" from Fukuzawa and then finally a "Now" that made the entire barn cheer.

You danced. You twirled under fairy lights. Ranpo tripped during your first spin and blamed the uneven floorboards. ("Not me, I've got perfect balance. The barn is tilted.")

Dazai tried to catch the bouquet. Yosano caught it first and threatened him with a scalpel.

And when the stars rose, glittering across the clear summer sky, Ranpo pulled you close beneath the warm string lights and whispered, "I used to think the best thing about my life was my mind. But now I know it's you."

You pressed your forehead to his. "You still solved the greatest mystery of all."

"What?"

"How to make me fall in love with you."

His smile was impossibly soft. "Easy. You were already halfway there when we were kids."

And that night, as the barn quieted and your guests drifted home and you danced one last time with just the crickets and moon as your witnesses, you knew:

You hadn't just married Ranpo Edogawa, the world's greatest detective.

You married your best friend.

It had only been a few months since the wedding.

You and Ranpo had just started settling into married life, which — to no one's surprise — looked suspiciously like your dating life, except now he called you his wife every five seconds and insisted on signing everything "Edogawa & Wife, World-Class Detective Duo" (even though you had no idea when you became a detective).

Things were blissfully chaotic.

And then it happened.

You found out you were pregnant on a quiet Sunday evening. Ranpo had been munching on strawberry Pocky, sprawled sideways across the couch, half-asleep and still wearing his pajamas (with mismatched socks, of course). You'd stepped out of the bathroom, blinking back disbelief, and he immediately noticed something was different.

"Your pupils dilated," he said, sitting up sharply. "You're not sick. No fever. No signs of allergic reaction. But your hand is shaking."

You held up the test.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Ranpo Edogawa was silent.

Then: "I did this?"

You burst into laughter. "Yes, Ranpo. You did this."

He blinked once. Then a slow, dopey grin stretched across his face, wide and bright.

"I'm gonna be a dad," he whispered.

You nodded.

And then everything spiraled into chaos.

The next day, the ADA was already bustling with noise when Ranpo stormed in like a tornado, kicking open the doors with a force that nearly gave Kunikida a heart attack.

"I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT!" he bellowed.

"Oh God," Atsushi muttered. "Is it another engagement?"

"No, it's worse," Dazai said, glancing up from the couch with a grin.

Ranpo marched to the center of the room, climbed on top of a desk, and shouted, "This office is now a WEAPON-FREE ZONE."

"What?" Kenji asked confused.

"Effective IMMEDIATELY," Ranpo continued, dramatically pointing toward Yosano's medical bag. "Surgical tools? Locked away. Guns? Out. Knives? Hidden. No explosives, no syringes, no sharp pens! We're going FULL baby safety mode, people!"

Yosano narrowed her eyes, suspicious. "Why would—?"

"She's pregnant," Ranpo declared, puffing his chest out with pride. "My wife is pregnant!"

Another pause.

Then: "Oh no," Kunikida whispered in horror.

"Wait, like… you're going to be a dad?" Atsushi asked slowly, voice squeaking at the end.

"I am a dad," Ranpo corrected smugly. "In the making. My genius is hereditary. You're welcome, world."

Yosano blinked. "A child. With you."

"Me!" Ranpo said proudly, patting himself on the chest.

As the others spiraled in various stages of shock, worry, and the five stages of grief, Ranpo stormed around the office with red-and-yellow caution tape, yelling things like "BABY COMING THROUGH!" and "This corner is too sharp — get me foam pads!" and "Does this coffee table spark joy? No? It goes."

"Look at this!" he shouted, yanking open one of Kunikida's meticulously organized drawers. "There's a loaded gun in here! Just sitting there! Unlocked!"

Kunikida froze mid-sip of his tea. "Wait—Ranpo, don't—"

Too late.

Ranpo held up the handgun like a game show prize, waving it around with the triumphant energy of someone who had just solved a triple homicide using cereal box clues. "This—this is exactly what I'm talking about! How is this safe for a child?!"

Everyone panicked simultaneously.

Yosano ducked behind a chair.

Atsushi shouted, "PUT THAT DOWN!"

Kunikida shrieked, "THAT'S NOT A TOY—!"

"Relax!" Ranpo chirped, swinging the gun in a wide arc. "It's perfectly safe. I know how to hold it. See? Finger off the trigger, pointed up—wait, is this the safety?"

BANG!

A single shot fired with a deafening crack, echoing through the office like a thunderclap.

Everyone froze.

Atsushi blinked once… then again… before looking up at the fresh, smoking hole just inches from his head in the ceiling.

He opened his mouth to say something.

Then slumped to the floor in a dead faint.

Kunikida screamed. "YOU SHOT A HOLE IN THE CEILING!"

Ranpo peered upward, blinking at the charred edge of the plaster.

"…See?" he said brightly. "And that's why guns don't belong in drawers! Exhibit B!"

"You almost killed Atsushi!" Dazai laughed, practically crying with joy. "Oh, this is the best day ever."

"I told you it was dangerous," Ranpo added, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder with total calm. "Good thing I'm a responsible adult now."

"YOU'RE HOLDING A LOADED WEAPON!" Kunikida screeched.

Ranpo promptly turned and offered him the gun. "Here. You should probably lock this away. A drawer is not child proof."

The gunshot still rang in everyone's ears. Smoke curled lazily from the hole in the ceiling, dust drifting down in gentle flakes onto Atsushi's unconscious body.

Yosano muttered something about needing to sweep the floor. Kunikida was on the brink of cardiac arrest. Dazai had crumpled into a wheezing ball of laughter. Chaos, as usual, had made itself at home in the Armed Detective Agency.

And then the door to the inner office slid open.

Fukuzawa stepped out with his usual calm air, though his eyes were sharp and narrowed.  He looked at the group. Looked at the ceiling.

Looked at the gun now sitting in the middle of Kunikida's desk.

Then leveled his gaze on the most likely culprit. "Why was a firearm discharged in the middle of the day?"

A tense silence.

Kunikida opened his mouth to speak, likely ready to begin a thirty-minute explanation with a full PowerPoint and accompanying heart monitor readout.

But Ranpo beat him to it.

Actually, Ranpo launched forward, practically knocking over a chair as he bolted to Fukuzawa, eyes glossy, arms wide.

"Boss!!" he wailed, and without another word, threw himself into Fukuzawa's arms.

The whole room gasped.

Even Dazai sat up, stunned.

Fukuzawa blinked, stiffening as Ranpo grabbed fistfuls of his coat and buried his face into his chest like an overwhelmed toddler.

"I'm—" Ranpo hiccuped, voice cracking. "I'm gonna be a dad!"

The room held its breath.

Fukuzawa, to his credit, didn't flinch. He gently placed a hand on Ranpo's back, steady and firm, like he had many times when Ranpo was younger and too brilliant for the world's sharp edges.

"You… are?" he asked, eyes softening just slightly.

Ranpo nodded against him, sniffling. "Yeah. We just found out yesterday. And—and I know I shot the ceiling but I was just trying to explain how dangerous that drawer is! It's not locked! A kid could—!"

"I believe you," Fukuzawa said calmly.

"You do?" Ranpo peeked up at him.

"I also believe you should never touch Kunikida's gun again."

Ranpo sniffled. "Fair."

Behind them, Dazai whispered, "I didn't know Ranpo could cry."

"I didn't know he had tear ducts," Yosano added under her breath.

But none of that mattered. Ranpo stood there, clinging to the man who had practically raised him, the only real father figure he'd ever known, and beamed through his tears.

Fukuzawa gave him a rare, soft smile. "Congratulations, Ranpo."

"Thank you," he whispered.

It was the quietest Ranpo had ever been in the office.

And in that moment, as the dust settled, Atsushi began to stir, and Kunikida started scribbling down a strictly enforced weapon storage policy, the Agency all quietly agreed:

If Ranpo could grow up enough to start a family, then maybe, just maybe, there was hope for the rest of them, too.   

(Except Dazai. No one had hope for Dazai.)

Masterlist

[xdarkestdesirex]

Metempsychosis - Before

Jinu x f.reader

n. the supposed transmission at death of the soul of a human being or animal into a new body of the same or a different species.

Reincarnation? Ha! Yeah right, I don’t believe in that. . .

Wait. . .

Am I dead? No, I’m alive, but I’m. . .

Different.

I’VE DIED AND REINCARNATED AS RUMI FROM KPDH?!

This writing contains highly sensitive topics like violence, gore, mental health, death, manipulation, smut, and other mature themes. If you click keep reading, you're agreeing to reading something that’s potentially triggering. Reader discretion is advised.

WC: 3,281 | prev | next

Three years later

I’m three years old now, and my life has been good, well, except for when I found out that I was reincarnated as Rumi from KPDH. I had a mental breakdown for about a week straight, and my poor mother had no idea what was wrong with me. One doctor's trip later, I decided I was being dramatic, and it was unfair to the woman who was caring for me. It also dawned on me that at some point during my childhood, my mother would pass away, so from that point on, I was well-behaved and the best little girl I possibly could be.

I also felt bad that my mom was on her own. After my birth, I never saw my father again, and my mother didn’t seem surprised by his disappearance. There are so many questions that I have, but being only three, I still don’t talk well. There’s also the fact that asking such complex questions would be weird coming from a child. I mean, can you imagine your daughter asking, “Mommy, did you love Dad or did he manipulate you into sleeping with him?” 

Yeah, no. That would be too weird. Maybe I can ask something simple like “Where’s daddy?” I doubt my mom would tell me the full truth, but even a sweet version of the truth could tell me a little bit as to why my father was a demon.

But it seems I’ll never get to ask her that question. 

The second Celine came rushing into the daycare center to pick me up, I knew what had happened. The older woman's face was distressed, and salty tracks stained her flawless cheeks. This was the first time I’ve seen Celine look broken. The mantra she lived by, “Our faults and fears must never be seen.” Was one she followed to a tee. Celine and my mom were best friends, so I’ve been around the two often, and Celine always held herself together. During moments where she might crack, I would hear her repeating those words.

The tall, beautiful woman picked me up and squeezed me tightly in her arms. Her tears stained my shirt, and as a child, I had to act like I didn’t know what was happening. I lifted my little hand and rested it on Celine’s dark hair, and ran my small fingers through the thickness of her locks. 

She brought me back to her home and sat me down, doing her best to explain to poor three-year-old me, no three-year-old Rumi, that her mother died. I cried. We spent the night cuddled up together, and I couldn’t tell who needed it more, me or Celine. Miyoung was a part of my life for three years, but I lived a whole twenty-four years before those three. I also had two loving parents. It was hard for me to see Miyoung as my actual mother; I saw her more as Rumi’s mom, but that didn’t change the fact that I still grew attached to her. I think I mourned more for Rumi as a little girl who lost her mother than for myself, who lost a second mother.

——————————

Two Years Later

Celine has started to teach me how to sing, and teaching me about demons and the honmoon. She tells me it’s up to me and the next set of girls she finds to strengthen it even more, but she also makes me hide myself. This was something I was always aware of. I know she told Rumi to hide her patterns, to not let anyone know that she was half demon, but being told those things over and over again for the past two years messes with your mentality. It’s hard enough as a twenty-four-year-old, but as a five-year-old, that’s detrimental. I can only imagine how much Rumi despised herself for being half demon with all the things Celine has said, I mean, fuck, I’m starting to hate msyelf too. In my past life, I struggled with insecurities and things I didn’t like about myself, but this is on a whole new level. I feel disgusted. Looking at the patterns on my shoulders makes me sick.

All these thoughts are running through my head as I sit in front of Celine. We’re in the garden that connects to our house, and we’re about to start a sparing session. For about a month now, Celine has been giving me fighting lessons and has even started with some dance lessons. She’s getting me ready to become a hunter. The thought of having to fight demons scares me, but I won’t lie, learning how to fight, dance, and sing is pretty fun. I feel like a badass, and I never got to feel this way in my past life. But it does come with a lot of downsides, like being depressed at five years old!

“Here, let me do your hair.” Celine's soothing voice seeps through my ears.

This has become a routine of ours.  Before any lesson, she does my hair, braiding it, and she has me sing the song of the hunters. It’s supposed to get me in the right headspace, but it honestly relaxes me more than anything. Also, it reminds me of the scene in Tangled when Rapunzel is getting her hair brushed by Mother Gothel when she's younger, and her hair glows. Which, now that I think of it, probably isn’t a good sign that I connect these two things. Oh well, I just wish my hair would glow too. 

Celine grabs a brush and begins getting the knots out of my hair. I start by humming the tune of the song, and once she starts braiding, is when I begin to sing the words. 

“We are hunters, voices strong, slaying demons with our song. Fix the world and make it right. When darkness finally meets the light.” 

 Celine joins in and sings the last part of it with me, and I can’t help but turn around and smile at the older woman. Her voice is so angelic that it gives me chills. That’s when I remember the scene in KPDH when it shows that part during a flashback. My face fell as I remembered what had played out. It was a moment where little Rumi was looking for some sort of acceptance, to be told her patterns weren’t bad, but again, Celine says she must hide them, and it must feel like the only way Rumi could be fully seen is when the Honmoon is sealed. When it’s turned golden. 

“Celine?” I turn around to face my mentor.

“Yes, Rumi?” Her face softens as she looks at me.

“Could we visit Mother today?” My voice comes out small and uneven as I speak.

The dark-haired woman looks at me with care and nods her head. She pulls me into a warm hug and places a kiss atop my head. 

“Of course.”

Once we were done with training, we made our way to my mother's grave. Sitting in front of the stone, I think about everything that’s happened. My past life, my death, my rebirth, and my new life. It’s hard to wrap my head around that this is my new reality. Even after five years of living with it. I could be stuck in a convincing coma spell for all I know, and wake up one day to find out none of this is true. 

A small laugh rips me out of my thoughts. My eyebrows knitted down in confusion as I glanced at Celine, who was giggling at me. 

“What?” My small voice felt foreign in my throat. 

“You’re a mess after training.” The dark-haired woman motions for me to come closer. “Let me fix your hair.” 

I do as she says, and she undoes my braid just to do it all over again. 

My mind goes back to what little Rumi asks, and I decide to ask my version of it.

“Celine, do all demons deserve to die?” I want to see if her response to this is the same as what Rumi asked in the movie (i.e., “Do Hunters kill all demons?”). 

“Yes,” Celine answered with no hesitation. 

My shoulder’s sagged, and my face screwed up into a mixture of sadness and dissapointment. I lightly lift the sleeve of the cardigan I was wearing to look at the small number of purple patterns that covered my shoulder. 

“So anything with patterns deserves to die?” My voice gives away all the mixed feelings inside of me. 

Celine quickly grabs the sleeve of my cardigan and pulls it down, hissing, “Cover those up!” She flinches at her harshness and takes a deep breath before trying to explain, “You only have those because-” 

“My dad was a demon.” I cut her off by saying what I know. We don’t talk about my father or why I have these patterns. The only thing I hear day in and day out is how they should stay hidden. 

Celine pulls me into her chest with a deep sigh, “You’re not a demon, Rumi. You are a hunter.” The older woman's face turns serious, and she grabs my chin to turn me toward my mother’s grave, “Like your mother.” Celine smiles softly, “Once the Honmoon is sealed, demons won’t be able to walk on this world, and your patterns will be gone with them.” 

The dark-haired woman gazes down at me with hope. I offer her a small smile, but deep down, I’m disappointed. I was hoping for a different outcome, but what did I expect when nothing about this timeline has changed?

Maybe that’s what I was put here to do: to change the future of KPDH. But how would I do that for the better?

——————————

Six Years Later

One day, Celine showed up with random girls who looked around my age. At first, I was so confused, but it took only a second for me to realize it was Mira and Zoey. I was so excited to finally be meeting them that I squealed so loudly and pulled them into a group hug. 

“I can’t believe I finally have sisters!” I yelled out.

The two girls were very confused, not knowing exactly what they were here for besides Idol training, but Celine chuckled, knowing I’d been waiting a long time for the two girls she would choose to fight beside me.

I’d already been training for six years, and now I’m eleven and my skills are better than most people my age. Mira is a year older than I, and has been taking classical ballet lessons since she was three, thanks to her rich family, but has always wanted to do hip-hop. She loves dancing, but never liked being confined to a box and standards that suited others and not herself. Her family was, unfortunately, very happy to let Celine take her off their hands. Mira was becoming a ‘problem child’ and they didn’t want to deal with her.

Then there’s Zoey, she’s a year younger than me, and knows her way around words. Celine read one of her poems in a newspaper that Zoey won an award from, and knew her words would touch the souls around her. She just lacked in the singing and dancing department, but that’s something that training can help with.

Since that day, an unforgettable bond has been made.

Training with them was better than when I was alone, and when our voices mended together, it was ethereal. The first time we made the Honmoon light up with our voices was one of the best days ever. We were extremely proud of ourselves because it felt like we had finally reached the goal of becoming the real hunters we needed to be. 

Celine would even have us busking to see if our voices would reach the souls of those listening to us, because it is the light that comes from the people that strengthens the Honmoon and gives us the ability to fight the demons. Without the people, our fans, we wouldn’t be able to do any of this. The feeling of each accomplishment only strengthened our bond together, and the faith in what our duty is as hunters. 

But as time passes, I feel the weight of not being able to do everything I’d want to with my friends since I’m confined to hiding who I am, especially from them. From the moment I reincarnated, I knew the one thing I wanted to change was not hiding my patterns from Mira and Zoey. I just couldn’t tell them right away because I need them to know me as a person first, and for us to have a bond strong enough that they wouldn’t just turn on me. 

——————————

Two Years Later 

I finally feel like the time is right for me to come clean. I wasn’t going to bother with asking Celine's permission, because I already know what she’ll say. This secret is my secret; I get to choose who I share it with, and I choose my two best friends. If they can accept me in the future, they’ll accept me now, I hope. 

It's Friday, which means we get the weekend to relax with no more lessons and training. It’s also sleepover night! If you look at the fact that we all lived together, then technically every night is sleepover night, but on Fridays, we set up a blanket fort in the living room, eat junk food, watch movies, and have deep conversations. There’s no other night that would be perfect to have this conversation. 

It’s hitting around two in the morning, and we’re getting low on snacks, and we’ve cuddled up with our blankets and pillows and have started talking about our lives, things that have hurt us, crushes, and silly things. The conversion finally takes a serious turn, and Mira and Zoey have already shared a few deep things that they haven’t told anyone before. Their eyes land on me. I nervously nibble on my lower lip and grip onto the teddy bear that's in my arms to keep my hands from shaking, or at least being noticeable. Any time my body fills with anxiety, I start to shake uncontrollably, and I can’t stop until I’ve finally calmed down. They’re not big shakes, and can be hard to notice unless you’re paying attention. Which, Mira, is very perspective and has caught me in this state a few times. 

I take a deep breath and finally speak, “I have something I’ve been keeping from you guys, and I don’t want to hide it anymore.” 

Zoey reaches out and rests her hand on my arm, smiling sweetly, “You can tell us anything, Rumi.” 

Mira nods her head, face stoic as ever, but her eyes shining with care, “Yeah, we’re here for you.” 

It took everything in me not to start crying right away. I can’t have my hopes up that they won’t hate me, telling them this early could be beneficial or ruin everything, but I feel like it’s a risk I must take. 

“You guys already know about my mom and how she was a hunter with Celine, but I haven’t told you about my dad.” I pause for a moment to look at their faces; they’re listening intensely while holding my hands. 

“My dad, he, uh,” My gaze drops, “He was a demon.” 

Zoey gasps loudly and grips my hand harder while Mira lightens her hold on my hand, her face contorting in confusion, but she doesn’t let go. 

“What does that mean?” Mira asks.

A silk robe was wrapped around my body, hiding the patterns on my shoulders that were given to me by my father. I slowly push the silk fabric to rest around my elbows, showing the two girls the markings that have haunted my existence. 

“I’m part demon.” My head hangs in shame as I finally tell them my secret, “Celine told me I needed to hide it, but I couldn’t keep this from you guys. I- I would understand if you hate me or can’t trust me.” 

Zoey throws herself into my arms and hugs me tightly, “I could never!” 

Mira sits off into the side, face set in deep concentration, “Never,” She shakes her head, pink hair falling in her face as she does, “I guess I just have some questions.” 

I nod my head, scooting closer to the girls, “Ask me anything, I’ll tell you what I know.”

“How did your mom end up with a demon?” Zoey asks out of nowhere with her head tilted to the side as she looks at me.

“That’s a good question,” I pat the younger girl's head, “I never got to ask my mom how that happened, and Celine doesn’t talk about it, so if she knows the reason, then she hasn’t told me.” 

“Is there a chance you could become a full demon?” Mira asks the question I know they both are worried about.

I sigh deeply and run my hand through my hair, “As far as I know, no, but I’m not entirely sure. My patterns have never left my shoulders,” My fingertips gaze over the skin where my patterns are, “But Celine says that once we seal the Honmoon and banish the demons below for good, then my patterns will be gone.” 

“Really? That’s good!” Zoey squeals in excitement, “We’re totally meant to turn the Honmoon Golden.” The younger girl smirks.

A smile spreads on my face, and I nod my head, “You’re right! We’ll be the ones to seal the Honmoon!” 

The three of us yell in excitement and squeeze each other in a group hug. When we pull away, there’s just one more thing I need to say. 

“If there is a chance I ever become a full demon, I need you guys to promise me you’ll get rid of me.” 

Mira and Zoey share a look and turn to face me, speaking at the same time. Zoey yells, “Never!” while Mira says, “Yes.” With the blankest looking face I’ve ever seen. We all share a look, and I blink a couple of times at the two answers, then we all burst out laughing. 

——————————

Five Years Later

“Alright, girls, I think you’re ready.” Celine looks at us proudly. 

We’ve been training hard for a long time, our minds, bodies, and souls are finally ready to take on the task of being hunters alongside being K-pop stars. Our first album is finished, and we’ve been waiting for Celine to give us the go-ahead. We’ve filmed a few video diaries to upload pre-debut to get fans excited, and everyone's anticipating the debut of the hottest rookie group. 

“Remember, the world will know you as pop stars,” Celine looks into each of our eyes, “But you’ll be much more than that, you’ll be hunters, and it’s your voices that will create the golden Honmoon. Don’t forget your true purpose.”

I reach out and grab Mira and Zoey’s hands, interlocking our fingers as we speak in unison, “Yes, Celine.”

Celine nods her head in approval, “Tomorrow you’ll be meeting with your manager Bobby, and you guys will go over your debut. Congratulations, Huntrix.” The older woman smiles warmly at us. 

We finally break from the serious atmosphere and jump up and down while cheering. Our hard work has finally paid off, and it’s time to do what we’ve trained so hard for. Everything is looking up, and I just hope I don’t die like I did in my previous life after things started going good. Now, I just have to make it to canon. I wonder how long it’ll be till then?

——————————

AN: Here’s the before! I know it skips a lot of time, but I just wanted to hit some important points. I wanted to include the scene of Celine and Rumi in front of Miyoung's grave, and give a little insight into Rumi’s younger self. Also, instead of Rumi’s mom dying when she was an infant, I changed it to her dying when Rumi was a toddler. There’s a reason for that that will be explained in a later chapter! There’s not a lot I wanted the reader to change before the movie, but the main and most important thing is telling Mira and Zoey about being a half-demon. This will change A LOT of things, but will it keep them from falling apart later on? Who knows? Actually, I do, hehe. ;)

[lemondoddle]

There's something so Heathers about Marble Hornets. What do I mean by that?

Yeah.

[roukabi]

it's for real this time you guys trust me it's really gonna happen

[skitskatdacat63]

2023 Brazilian Grand Prix - Fernando Alonso & Oscar Piastri exchanging helmets

[gemallass]

I have said it before and I am saying it again: Ford should get to be a bit of a crybaby when regressed, as a threat 👏

He can unlearn the shame of crying better (speculation/hc since he's a man in his 60s--or late 50s if you want--that grew up in the 60s with a toxic father figure. I don't have a single doubt that Filbrick would've taught his children that. One way or another, even) when he's feeling small.

Plus, rather than supressing his fears, anxieties and etc he could just, let it out. It would be good for him, me thinks.

Yeah obviously it doesn't mean he would have a 180º change in attitude once he's done, and, hell, I think he would still try to supress it even when he's regressed and such, but I think the key difference is that he would struggle more to do so at that moment, and so he would end up in a puddle of his own tears.

And then later the shame comes since "boys don't cry", "men don't cry" and blah blah blah, but ya know, baby steps.

Or if he's with someone else he gets a nice hug and pets while he lets all the stress out.

He gets to be vulnerable, and soft, and to be the protected, as a threat.