#I’ll add this to ao3 later but then I actually have title it

[aquared46]

Happy ao3 downtime. Have a little andreil fic. As a treat.

It was only because Neil recognized the cadence of the footsteps downstairs that his pounding heart calmed. He untangled his legs from the blankets, but didn’t rise from the bed. He listened as Andrew locked the front door, the pounding in his head and the sickness swirling in his stomach indicating he only managed about an hour of sleep. Vague images clung to the backs of Neil’s eyelids, a nightmare that slipped from his waking mind. Something Andrew had saved him from before he was even in the room.

Andrew wasn’t supposed to be back in South Carolina for another two weeks, obligated to spend time training with his team between games. Neil himself should’ve been on campus, ready for practice in the morning. Instead, Coach took one look at him yesterday afternoon and sent him away with orders to get some sleep. To give his vice captain a chance to practice for the real thing once Neil graduated in a few short months.

Neil couldn’t get any sleep at the dorms, but his and Andrew’s bed in Columbia called to him. Neil made the trip and collapsed into it, his mind wandering to the countless firsts they shared there rather than the onslaught of memories March brought.

Neil had survived three Marches since the riot, since his father’s people had delivered him to the basement in Baltimore. His fourth March should’ve been no different.

Except there was one thing Neil hadn’t accounted for: Andrew wasn’t there.

Neil was in his final year, Andrew was playing on a professional team states away, and Neil had never realized exactly how much he leaned on him in times like this. How the shared cigarettes steadied his hands, how Andrew’s palm on the back of his neck halted the crawling beneath his skin.

Objectively, he knew Andrew helped, but it was also something Neil should’ve been able to do on his own. It wasn’t something he wanted to burden Andrew with, something that pulled him away from his responsibilities because Neil couldn’t manage to get through just a few fucking days without nearly falling apart.

And now Andrew was standing in the doorway of their bedroom in Columbia, the light from the hall flooding into the room and illuminating Neil in all his disgrace. The sweaty skin, the greasy hair, the circles under his eyes, the t-shirt Neil had bundled under his head.

Neil had found it wedged between the nightstand and the bedframe, undoubtedly tossed aside carelessly on a good day that involved lots of kissing and touching. It smelled a bit like old sweat, but Andrew’s scent also clung to it, and Neil was far beyond denying himself such a simple comfort.

Andrew kicked the bedroom door closed, and Neil listened to his footsteps as he approached in the dark. There was a click as Andrew tugged the chain of the small lamp on the nightstand. Andrew always hated how bright the overhead light was.

Andrew gestured to Neil’s entirety. “This is not fine.” He snagged the shirt from under Neil’s head, wrinkling his nose before tossing it aside.

Andrew had called him just two days earlier. They’d talked as they always did, exchanging stories and sometimes just sitting in silence, knowing the other was there and listening. Except this time Andrew had explicitly asked how Neil was holding up, and Neil had said he was fine.

“I meant what I said.” Neil mourned the loss of the shirt, but tucked his face closer to the pillow, where some of the smell had transferred.

Andrew’s jaw tensed. “I thought you weren’t going to lie to me anymore.”

“I’m not.”

“Then you’re lying to yourself.” Something settled in Andrew’s gaze as he examined Neil, the tension in his shoulders easing. “And you’re an idiot if you think I’d make you bear this on your own.”

Andrew emptied his pockets on the nightstand, and Neil felt something loosen in him as well. As Andrew peeled off his jeans, Neil scooched over to make enough room on the bed.

“There were no games scheduled, so I got cleared for this time off weeks ago,” Andrew said as he slipped under the covers.

The relief Neil felt from his proximity didn’t lessen the weight of his glare. “And you’re telling me this now?”

“You should’ve known I’d be here for your yearly mental breakdown. At least you keep a consistent schedule. I was curious whether you’d be honest with me, but now I have to ask: Was it a lack of self-awareness or sheer bullheaded stubbornness that kept you from telling the truth?” Andrew was close enough Neil could feel the warmth radiating off him. “I didn’t believe you then, and your current appearance only validates that assessment. If I asked again what would your answer be now?”

Neil ignored his first impulse, which was to say he was fine. Not only was it the answer Andrew didn’t want, but it certainly wasn’t true. Frustratingly, everything Andrew said was right. The way Andrew could peel back his layers and see what was underneath used to be unsettling, but nowadays Neil found it reassuring. Even if it pissed him off. Even if Andrew told him things he didn’t want to hear.

“That I can’t sleep,” Neil said through gritted teeth. “That he’s the only thing I see when I close my eyes, and that I wish you were here.”

“That’s better,” Andrew said. “Certainly more believable.”

Andrew reached for Neil, settling his arm over his waist and tugging him closer. Neil sagged into the contact, shuddering with relief as he tucked his head under Andrew’s.

Neil breathed him in. “I should be able to bear this on my own.”

“You don’t have to. I’d rather be here when you don’t need me than be away when you do.” Andrew tightened his arm, tangling Neil’s legs with his.

Neil had been holding himself together by threads for the past few days. In Andrew’s arms, he was safe enough to let himself fall apart. His chest was tight, and he gradually lost the steady breaths he forcibly maintained.

Andrew held him through it, his fingers tapping an irregular rhythm on Neil’s spine. It was something Neil could focus on, something he could latch onto to draw himself back into his own body. Exhaustion crashed into him as soon as he did, but not before he made Andrew a promise.

“I’ll do better next time.”

“I know.”

[melancholy-of-nadia]

heart on the window #1 (m) | ksj

title: heart on the window (m) pairing: ksj x reader(f) rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; roommates au / streamer/cam boy au / office worker au, childhood rivals to awkward roommates to lovers? au summary: You lost your job, got cheated on by your boyfriend, and had to give up your home—all in the span of a few weeks. Life hasn’t been kind lately, and just when it feels like you’ve hit rock bottom, your mom suggests an unexpected solution: move in with Seokjin, her friend’s son, who you vaguely remember as your annoying childhood rival. You haven't talked to him in like 15 YEARS. But begrudgingly, you agree, hoping for this to be a temporary fix, only to find yourself in a more complicated situation when you discover Seokjin has some dirty little secrets. As you attempt to rebuild your life under his roof, tensions rise, boundaries blur, and you’re forced to confront not only your messy circumstances but also your growing fascination with the man you thought you once knew. note: i actually didn't plan to drop something so soon post me starting my new job, but i had this mostly done but had to edit it up a bit. i've been debating to write a roommate au but couldn't decide which member, until i read @daegudrama's moon over flowers fic where jin is a "content creator" ;) also that jin dating simulator game that released yesterday was a perfect combo to add this with warnings: mild language, roommate! seokjin, stressed out reader, fluff, emotional vulnerability, jin being jin, jin's college frat buddy! namjoon cameo, drinking, implied sexual fantasizing, implied adult content live streaming (camwork), very descriptive solo mast*rbation, voyeurism, dirty talk drop date: November 28th, 2024, 9:00pm pst word count: 7.9k crossposted on ao3 here -> chapter 2

–

This is the state of affairs of your life at the moment. 1. Your boyfriend cheated on you. 2. You lost your job (not your fault) 3. Andddd now you have nowhere to live.

Well… it’s not that you don’t have a place to live, but you don’t want to crawl back to your parents' home after making a very big declaration when you were 18 that you would not be coming back to live there. 

Now in your mid 20s (that are slowly creeping into your late 20s), you regret being that loud mouth girl that didn’t understand a damn thing at that age.

You should’ve been smarter about your decisions, starting with your taste in men. You should’ve listened to your friends warnings about Mingi. 

You’re on the phone listening to your mom scolding you over your stupidity and lack of preparedness. You roll your eyes as you continue packing your items into boxes. She suggests you coming home, just as you figured she’d do, but you tell her that you feel bad about coming back at your big old age. “Then why don’t you live with Sunghee’s son?”

Who the fuck is Sunghee? “Who?”

“You don’t remember? The mother of the Korean boy you went to school with in elementary school?” You have no clue who she’s talking about. This is something that happened like 15 to 20 years ago. You can’t believe she remembers something so obscure. “I still don’t have a clue.”

“Agh, i’ll go search through some of your old elementary school photos and send you the photo of him later.” You hear some shuffling on her end, probably guessing she decided to get up and go look at your old photographs in the living room shelves.” But I recently saw his mom at a coffee shop! And she told me her son was living in the same city as you and was looking for a roommate. I mentioned that you were in some situation where you might need to move soon and she gave me her and her son’s contact info.”

“I see.”

“Oh wait, hold on, I found it.”

You hear her snap a photo and within a few seconds, you see the notification on your phone peep behind the call. You click on it and when you open the message, the memories of long ago have finally clicked.

“SEOKJIN?! That weird Korean kid?!”

“Weird kid?! You were friends with him, weren’t you?”

You scoff, “Barely, I mean, he and I were always at each other's necks because he always tried to one-up me in any way that he could.” Recalling those annoying memories from that era was making you get upset all over again. If it wasn’t him completing the times table tests at a faster speed than you, it was him showing off the Pokemon cards that you didn’t have. If it wasn’t that, it was him showing off his level and ranking in Maple Story. That damn nerd.

It’s been years, but the thought of it still urks you.

She sighs, “Well, if you’re willing to look past that at your big old age, this is probably the best option you have.”

Could you do that? Maybe. But knowing how he was back then, he’s probably grown to become some loser virgin shut-in with no life. Maybe he’s a tech bro, which would make this even worse now.

“I think about it, but this is probably the last resort option I’d even consider––”

Your mom cuts you off with a sharp sigh. "Fine, suit yourself. But you don’t have many options, do you? Just call him. He might have changed!"

You don’t answer her right away because the idea of calling Seokjin still doesn’t sit well with you. You’re stubborn, yes, but the universe has also served you a big slice of humble pie lately. It’s probably time to stop holding on to petty grudges from a childhood you barely even remember.

"Okay, okay, I’ll think about it," you mumble reluctantly.

The call ends after a few more half-hearted lectures from your mom about responsibility, and you toss your phone onto the bed, glaring at the contact info she forwarded. You can’t help but click on Seokjin’s number. There’s a photo of him attached to the contact, and for a moment, you don’t recognize him at all.

He’s…hot.

You blink. This cannot be the same kid you argued with over best MapleStory boss (Seokjin opting for Pink Bean, while you said Guardian Angel Slime). The Seokjin in this picture has flawless skin, sharp cheekbones, and full lips curled in a smirk that screams confidence. His hair is styled perfectly, and his outfit—a crisp button-up and a fitted blazer—makes him look like he just stepped out of a magazine.

"No way," you mutter under your breath.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you find yourself typing his name into Instagram. It doesn’t take long to find his profile because he has mutual followers and a blue checkmark.

Huh? Why a blue checkmark?

…he has 200,000 followers?

Scrolling through his posts, you see screenshots of video games, clips of intense gameplay, and the occasional selfie with gaming equipment in the background. His captions are filled with gaming slang and memes you barely understand, but the sheer number of likes and comments on every post is undeniable.

One clip catches your eye—a short highlight from a League of Legends game where he pulls off an impressive play, and the comments are flooded with people hyping him up. “JinGod strikes again,” one comment reads. Another says, “Of course he’s the best mid-laner NA. Who else?”

Curious, you dive deeper and discover he has a Twitch account. 

Oh! So he’s a streamer?!

Not just any streamer, either—he’s big enough to have sponsors and a massive following. His Twitch bio is straightforward:

Seokjin | Variety Streamer | Big laughs, bigger Ws | 1 PM KST

His stream schedule includes games like Elden Ring, Valorant, League of Legends, and even Getting Over It. There’s a link to his YouTube channel with clips of him absolutely demolishing opponents, mixed with funny moments of him raging at frustrating games.

You stare at your phone, trying to reconcile this version of Seokjin with the kid you used to fight over the last Uncrustables sandwich at lunch. This Seokjin is smooth, funny, and clearly thriving in a world you know nothing about. The comment section on his posts doesn’t help—it’s filled with people thirsting over his voice and his “handsome gamer vibes.”

“Great,” you mutter. “He grew up to be a famous nerd.”

You hate to admit it, but you’re impressed. And irritated. 

Of course, Seokjin grew up to be that guy.

You put your phone down and stare at the pile of boxes scattered across your room. It’s not like you have a ton of other options, and if you’re being honest with yourself, the idea of moving in with Seokjin suddenly feels a lot less horrifying. Maybe he’s not the same insufferable kid you remember.

Or maybe he is, and this will be your worst nightmare.

Before you can chicken out, you force yourself to pick up your phone and dial the number your mom sent you. It rings twice before a deep, smooth voice answers.

“Hello?”

“Uh, hi. Is this…Seokjin Kim?” you ask awkwardly, suddenly hyper-aware of how unprepared you are for this conversation.

“Yes, who’s this?”

“It’s, um, [Y/N]. You probably don’t remember me, but—”

“[Y/N]?” he interrupts, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “The same [Y/N] who used to cry every time I beat her at anything in elementary school? Of course I remember.”

There it is! The Seokjin you cared about so deeply.

 “I did not cry!” You roll your eyes, grip on the phone tightening. 

He laughs, a low, rich sound that’s somehow both infuriating and…nice. “Sure, you didn’t. So, what’s up? Why are you calling me after, what, fifteen…twenty years? Where did you even get my num–”

You take a deep breath, already regretting this. 

“My mom said your mom said you’re looking for a roommate.”

There’s a pause, and then he says, “...I am. Why?"

"I need a place..."

There’s a long pause, and for a moment, you think he’s going to hang up.

“Ah, well why do you need a roommate?” he asks finally, his tone careful, almost guarded. “I thought someone like you would have, I don’t know, a penthouse or something by now with the amazing corporate job my mom told me you have.”

Now this is going to suck to explain to him that whatever decent apartment you had earning a 72,000 salary at your old job is… nonexistent.

You blink at the assumption and quickly fumble for a response. “Haha, not quite. Most places are too expensive in this economy and I’m, uh, downsizing.”

“Downsizing?” he repeats, skepticism dripping from the word. “Why?”

“Because I want to focus on… minimalism.”

There’s silence on the other end, and you can practically hear him trying to decide whether to believe you. 

Oh this was a terrible decision to make. Now he must think you’re a fool!

You glance around your room at the boxes piled with all the clutter you couldn’t bring yourself to throw away and wince. Minimalism is definitely not your thing.

“Minimalism,” he echoes, his tone still doubtful. “Right. Well, I do have an extra room, but I’m not sure you’ll like it here.”

Your grip tightens on the phone. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Let’s just say I stay up late…,” he replies vaguely. 

He must be referring to his streaming career that he isn’t telling you about right now. Wonder if he’s embarrassed by it.

“And I don’t really have time to deal with a high-maintenance roommate.”

The audacity! You did not ask to be attacked right now.

The jab makes your jaw tighten. “I’m not high-maintenance!”

“You sure? Last time I checked, you were the type to lose it over someone messing with your stuff.”

“That was elementary school! I’ve grown up since then.”

“Hmm,” he says, the sound light but still noncommittal. “We’ll see. Come check the place out tomorrow. Noon okay?”

You pause, thrown by his sudden shift. So he’s actually down with you as a roommate? Let’s not get high hopes up now. And if that doesn’t work, you know what? That’s okay.  You will find a way… you hope.

“Yeah, that works.”

“Good,” he says, then hesitates before adding, “And bring references.”

“References?!”

“You can never be too careful,” he replies smoothly, but there’s a faint edge in his voice that you can’t quite place.

“Fine,” you snap, already planning to forge something if necessary.

“Great. See you then.”

The call ends before you can say anything else, leaving you staring at your phone. Something about the conversation feels… off. You can’t tell if it’s his hesitance, the cryptic mention of odd hours, or the subtle curiosity in his tone when he asked about your situation.

Or maybe it could be that it’s been around 15 years since you last talked to him so this entire situation feels like a fever dream.

Whatever it is, you’ll find out tomorrow. One way or another.

The next day arrives quicker than you’d like, and before you know it, you’re standing in front of a massive gated complex that looks like it was ripped straight out of a luxury lifestyle magazine. The building towers above you, a blend of sleek modern design and Mediterranean touches. Creamy stucco walls, wrought-iron accents, and lush greenery climbing up the sides of the buildings make it feel more like an exclusive resort than an apartment complex.

The entrance is lined with tall palm trees swaying gently in the breeze, and the scent of freshly mowed grass mingles with the faint floral fragrance from meticulously arranged garden beds. A stone fountain, its water cascading in perfect tiers, sits in the middle of a circular driveway where luxury cars are parked like they belong in an auto show.

You glance down at your outfit, a simple pair of light wash boyfriend jeans and a blue collared sweater, suddenly feeling underdressed.

“He’s living here?” you mutter under your breath, squinting at the address Seokjin sent you last night again to make sure you’re in the right place.

As you shift awkwardly with your bag slung over your shoulder, the wrought-iron gates buzz, and Seokjin steps through.

If the apartment complex wasn’t enough of a surprise, he certainly is.

Gone is the awkward kid from elementary school, and in his place is a man who seems perfectly at home in his expensive surroundings. Dressed casually in a fitted white shirt that clings to his broad shoulders and a pair of ripped jeans that look way too good on him, Seokjin walks toward you with an easy confidence. His dark hair is styled effortlessly, and even from a distance, you can see the faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“[Y/N],” he calls out, his voice smooth and unmistakably amused.

You shift your bag again, suddenly hyper-aware of how you must look standing there in front of the grand gates. “Seokjin,” you reply, your voice coming out a little more clipped than you intended.

As he approaches, he looks you over, his smirk growing wider. “You’re on time. I wasn’t sure if you’d actually show up.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, his tone teasing. “Maybe because I’d be the last person you’d want to ask for help.”

“Desperate times,” you shoot back, ignoring the way his eyes glint in amusement.

Seokjin chuckles and gestures for you to follow him. “Come on, let’s see if you can survive the tour first.”

He leads you through the gates, where a polished path lined with greenery opens into the main courtyard. The sound of water trickling from another fountain fills the air, and you catch glimpses of the complex’s amenities—an infinity pool that looks like it belongs in a five-star hotel, cabanas with flowing white curtains, and a fitness center with floor-to-ceiling glass walls showcasing state-of-the-art equipment.

“This place is ridiculous,” you say under your breath, craning your neck to take it all in.

Seokjin glances back, his smirk still in place. “You’re not wrong. But wait until you see the inside.”

As you step into the lobby, you’re greeted by marble floors that gleam under the warm glow of chandeliers. The air smells faintly of citrus and something luxurious you can’t quite place, and the concierge greets Seokjin with a polite nod as he leads you to the elevator.

“You’re really living the dream here,” you say, unable to hide the note of disbelief in your voice.

He shrugs, leaning casually against the elevator wall. “With the jobs I have. it has its perks.”

The elevator dings, and as the doors slide open, you catch a glimpse of the hallway—plush carpeting, modern art lining the walls, and soft lighting that makes everything feel impossibly serene.

“Ready?” he asks, stepping out and turning to look at you.

You hesitate for just a second before following him. “As I’ll ever be.”

Seokjin leads you down the hallway, his footsteps silent on the plush carpeting. You’re still processing how this guy, the same kid who used to shove his Pokémon cards in your face, is living in a place so fancy it makes your last apartment look like a broom closet.

“This is my place,” he says, stopping in front of a sleek black door with a digital keypad instead of a regular lock.

He types in the code, the lock clicks open, and he pushes the door wide to reveal his apartment.

Your first thought is that it’s huge.

The open-concept living room stretches out before you, its floor-to-ceiling windows flooding the space with natural light. The view outside is stunning—a panoramic sweep of the suburban city skyline and the sparkling blue ocean in the distance. Inside, the place is immaculate, every piece of furniture modern and deliberately chosen. The couch is a neutral gray sectional big enough to seat a small crowd, and there’s a massive TV mounted on the wall, flanked by minimalist shelves filled with what looks like expensive collectibles and gaming gear.

The kitchen is just as impressive, with marble countertops, a matching backsplash, and stainless steel appliances that gleam under the recessed lighting. A sleek island with barstools separates the kitchen from the living room, and you can’t help but wonder if this is where Seokjin spends his time making whatever expensive coffee you saw on his Instagram feed.

“Well?” he says, stepping inside and kicking off his sneakers near the door. “Don’t just stand there gawking.”

You snap your mouth shut and step in, slipping out of your shoes and placing them neatly next to his. The polished hardwood floors feel cool under your socks, and you hesitate, unsure where to stand.

“It’s… nice,” you say finally, trying to keep your tone neutral.

Seokjin chuckles, clearly amused by your reaction. “Nice? That’s all you’ve got? Most people would be drooling right now.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” he says, his grin widening. He crosses the room and gestures for you to follow. “Come on, let me show you where you’d be staying.”

He gestures toward the main living area, leading you down a short hallway on the left side of the apartment. “Your room would be down this hall,” he says, motioning for you to follow.

You step into the guest room as he opens the door. It’s spacious, with a queen-sized bed dressed in crisp white linens and a tall, minimalist dresser tucked against one wall. A sleek desk sits by a large window, which offers a view of the glittering cityscape and the ocean beyond. The soft gray walls and warm lighting make the room feel both modern and inviting.

“There’s an en-suite bathroom,” Seokjin says, pushing open another door to reveal a compact but luxurious bathroom with marble finishes and a rainfall shower.

“This is… nice,” you admit, turning to glance at him.

“Only the best,” he replies with a shrug, leaning against the doorframe. “Your hall is completely separate from mine. My room’s on the right side of the apartment, so you won’t have to worry about me invading your space.”

He nods toward the opposite end of the living room, where another hallway extends. “My room’s down there on your left. I have a bathroom in front of it too. Oh. and you’d also have the laundry room and a storage closet near your side.”

You glance back at the main living area, noting the layout. His section of the apartment seems just as private, and you can’t help but feel a little relieved that you won’t be tripping over each other.

“It’s set up pretty well for roommates,” you say carefully, trying to keep your tone neutral.

“Glad you think so,” he replies, leaning casually against the doorframe. “This room used to belong to a friend of mine. He was here for an internship a little over a year ago, but he didn’t stay long. Left everything the way it is in case other friends needed a place to crash.”

“That makes sense,” you say, looking around the room again. “So why are you looking for a roommate now?”

Seokjin hesitates for just a second, his eyes flickering toward the window. 

“Well, it would help with a couple of expenses,” 

Your brow furrows. Expenses? You glance around the luxury apartment, mentally tallying the rent for a place like this. With what you know about Seokjin’s successful streaming career—and the office job your mom mentioned—he’s probably doing more than fine financially. But you decide not to press him on it.

Instead, you nod. “Makes sense, I guess.”

“And…” He trails off, his expression softening. Oh, so he is going to explain. “I don’t know, as I’m getting closer to thirty, I guess it might be nice to have someone around. Keeps things from feeling too…quiet.”

The honesty in his voice surprises you, and for a brief moment, you see a different side of him. One that’s not teasing or smug, but… a little lonely, maybe.

You nod again, this time more slowly. “Fair enough. This does happen as we age.”

Seokjin straightens, the moment of vulnerability passing as quickly as it came. “Anyway,” he says, his tone shifting back to its usual playful edge. “We can talk about me more later.”

He gestures for you to follow him back toward the living room.

“Why don’t we sit down and talk first?” he continues, his smirk fading slightly as his expression turns unreadable. “Just want to make sure we’re on the same page before I let you move in.”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. “Sure. Let’s talk.”

You follow him to the couch, your curiosity about his reasons for taking on a roommate still lingering in the back of your mind. 

As you settle onto the couch, Seokjin sits across from you in a sleek armchair, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp. It’s like he’s studying you, trying to piece together the situation without asking directly.

“So,” he begins, leaning forward slightly, “I already know you lost your job.”

You freeze. The words hang in the air, and your stomach sinks.

 “How do you know that?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He tilts his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “My mom told me earlier today. She’s the one who convinced me to even think about this arrangement.”

Heat floods your cheeks, embarrassment prickling at your skin. Of course. Your mom couldn’t just leave you well enough alone so she told his mom.

 “Oh,”

“It’s not a big deal,” he says quickly, likely noticing your discomfort. “Things happen, you know? Besides, knowing you, you probably have some savings tucked away to cover rent, right?”

His words hit harder than he probably intended. Sure, you’ve got a little money saved, but it’s dwindling fast. The thought of handing over any of it feels like admitting defeat, a glaring reminder that you’re not where you thought you’d be at this point in your life.

As Seokjin keeps talking, his tone casual and reassuring, his words blur into the background. You’re trapped in your own thoughts, spiraling.

How did it come to this? 

Broke, jobless, and now sitting here asking for a place to live like some helpless kid. You remember being so confident, so sure of yourself when you left home. You went through grueling years of studying finance in college and graduating. Now you’re here, facing the reality that you’re nowhere near where you thought you’d be.

It’s just so pathetic.

You don’t realize you’re crying until a tear slips down your cheek and lands on your hand.

Seokjin stops mid-sentence. “Hey,” he says softly, his voice cutting through your haze. “Are you… crying?”

You wipe at your face quickly, but it’s no use—the tears are falling faster now, and you’re too overwhelmed to stop them. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, mortified. “I don’t even know why—”

“Don’t apologize,” he interrupts, his voice gentle in a way you didn’t expect. He shifts forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watches you carefully. “It’s okay.”

You shake your head, still swiping at your cheeks. “This is so stupid. I just… I hate being in this position. It’s not where I thought I’d be, and it’s just…” You trail off, your voice breaking.

For a moment, Seokjin doesn’t say anything. Then, he reaches for a tissue box on the coffee table and holds it out to you.

“Here,” he says simply.

You take a tissue and dab at your face, trying to pull yourself together.

“I get it,” he says after a pause, his tone softer now. “Life doesn’t always go how we plan. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

You glance at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “Really?”

He nods, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah. But you’re not alone, okay? And if you need a place to figure things out, I’m offering you one. No strings, no judgment. But knowing how you’d feel bad for not paying back, just pitch in for some groceries or takeout every once in awhile.”

His words hit you harder than the tears, and you feel a small spark of hope for the first time in a while. Maybe, just maybe, this could work out.

You take a deep breath, the tissue in your hand crumpled from how tightly you’ve been gripping it. “Thanks, Seokjin,” you say, your voice shaky but genuine.

He gives you a small smile, his usual teasing edge softened. “Don’t mention it. Seriously. Just don’t leave your dirty dishes in the sink, and we’ll be fine.”

A faint laugh escapes you, surprising even yourself. “I think I can manage that.”

He stands up, stretching his arms overhead before motioning toward the hallway. “If you need help with your stuff, just let me know.”

You nod, feeling a little more grounded. “I will.”

The next morning, you’re standing outside your old apartment building, the last of your boxes stacked neatly by the curb. Before leaving the day before, you did ask Jin if he could help you move some of your stuff, and he somehow kindly agreed.

You’ve barely had time to double-check everything when you hear the rumble of a truck pulling up. Turning toward the sound, you see a sleek gray Ford truck roll to a stop in front of you.

Seokjin hops out of the driver’s seat, dressed casually in a lavender hoodie and dark wash jeans, looking every bit the picture of someone who’s done this a hundred times before. On the passenger side, another guy climbs out, taller and broader than Jin, with dimples flashing in a warm smile.

Woah, he’s kind of cute.

“Morning,” Seokjin calls, striding toward you. He gestures to the other man. “This is Namjoon. He’s here to help out with the heavier things.”

“Hi [Y/N],” Namjoon says, his voice deep but friendly as he extends a hand. “Jin told me you needed an extra set of hands, so here I am.”

You shake his hand, still a little taken aback. “Thanks. Nice to meet you, Namjoon.”

“He’s an old college buddy,” Seokjin explains, leaning against the side of the truck. “We were in the same professional fraternity back in the day. That’s how we met.”

Namjoon chuckles, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Yeah, Jin somehow convinced me to join since we were floormates. Said it would look good on my resume. Ended up being one of the best decisions I made, though. The networking was great, and we had a lot of fun.”

“Too much fun,” Seokjin adds with a smirk. “I think we spent half our time organizing events and the other half trying to keep Namjoon from breaking stuff.”

Namjoon groans, his dimples deepening as he laughs. “Okay, that was one time—and it wasn’t even my fault!”

You find yourself smiling at their bickering and brief memory despite the stress of the day. Their banter feels easy and natural, a dynamic that’s comforting in a way you hadn’t expected. It’s nice to hear Jin had a pretty cool college experience.

“Well,” Namjoon says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get started. The sooner we load this up, the sooner we can get everything settled.”

Between the three of you, the boxes are loaded into the truck in no time. Namjoon lifts the heavier ones like they’re nothing, while Seokjin teases him about showing off. You carry the smaller items, grateful for their help and relieved that the process is moving quickly.

Once the last box is secured in the truck bed, Seokjin glances over at you. “Ready to head out?”

You nod, brushing your hands off on your jeans. “Yeah. I’ll follow behind you guys with my car.”

As your car and his truck pulls away from your old apartment, you find yourself feeling a little lighter. It’s still hard to believe this is your life right now, but it doesn’t feel quite as overwhelming. Maybe, just maybe, this new chapter won’t be so bad after all.

The move-in process is exhausting but efficient. Seokjin and Namjoon take charge of the heavier boxes while you focus on the smaller ones. Your room starts to take shape, with your bed frame set up in one corner and your essentials arranged along the walls. The other boxes you don’t need immediately are stacked neatly in the living room, ready to be taken to your parents’ place for temporary storage later.

After two hours of hauling, unpacking, and arranging, the three of you are sweaty and starving.

“I think that’s everything,” Namjoon says, leaning against the couch and wiping his forehead with the hem of his shirt.

“Pizza?” Seokjin asks, already pulling out his phone.

“Pizza,” you and Namjoon echo in unison.

“And chicken wings,” Namjoon adds with a grin. “We earned it.”

“And beer,” Seokjin finishes, smirking. “That sounds good to you?”

You nod happily.

Within half an hour, the smell of pepperoni, garlic, and fried chicken fills the apartment. The three of you gather around the coffee table in the living room, the TV playing 30 Rock quietly in the background. You sit cross-legged on the rug while Seokjin and Namjoon sprawl on the couch, all of you diving into the food like it’s the best meal you’ve ever had.

“So, Namjoon,” you start between bites of pizza, “what do you do now? Not breaking stuff as Jin mentioned, right?”

He laughs, a deep, warm sound that makes you smile. “Thankfully, no. I’m working in publishing now, managing creative projects. Still a little chaotic, but at least it’s not as physically dangerous.”

“Only mentally,” Seokjin teases, raising his beer.

“True,” Namjoon admits, clinking his bottle against Jin’s.

“What about you?” Namjoon asks, turning the attention to you. “What do you do?”

You hesitate, picking at the crust of your pizza. “I worked at a fashion company, but the company underwent some layoffs. So this is kind of…a transitional period for me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I know it’s been a tough market, but with your focused attitude and experience, I’m sure you’ll find something new soon.”

“I hope so.”

After a few more slices and some casual conversation about work, gaming, and travel, the beers start to settle in. The atmosphere grows looser, and the conversation takes a turn into more, juicier topics.

“So,” Seokjin begins, leaning back against the armrest with a mischievous grin. “Getting into a more interesting topic…Relationships. What’s the story there?”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “All of a sudden? Why do I feel like this is a setup?”

“It’s not a setup. We’re just curious. Plus easy topic to become closer.”

Namjoon chuckles, “Don’t bring me into this, Jin,” 

“Well…” You pause, debating how much to share. The buzz from the beer nudges you toward honesty. “Without going to deep into it, let’s just say my last relationship ended badly. Cheating, lies, the whole package.”

Seokjin winces. “Ouch. That’s rough.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t fun,” you admit, swirling your drink. “But honestly, it’s probably for the best. I’ve got enough on my plate right now without dealing with that kind of drama.”

Namjoon nods thoughtfully. “It’s hard to find someone who’s actually worth your time these days. Everyone’s either too focused on themselves or doesn’t know what they want.”

Seokjin chuckles, a slightly bitter edge to his tone. “Or they’re just not ready to commit, no matter how much they say they are.”

You glance at him, intrigued by the shift in his demeanor. “Speaking from experience?”

He shrugs, taking a sip of his beer. “I plead the fifth.”

Namjoon raises an eyebrow at him but doesn’t press further. You decide not to either.

“What about you, Namjoon?” you ask, redirecting the spotlight. “Any tragic love stories to share?”

He grins, shaking his head. “Nothing tragic, thankfully. Just a lot of learning experiences. I’ve been too focused on work to really put myself out there lately.”

The conversation continues, flowing easily despite the heavy topic. As the night stretches on, you find yourself feeling unexpectedly comfortable. Seokjin and Namjoon’s company has been a comfortable change of pace from prior weeks of being alone and dealing with the aftermath of your ended relationship and job. Being all alone with your thoughts hasn’t been easy. Lost in a whirlpool of negative thoughts. And with your closest friends, Yunjin and Wendy, living miles away, even leaning on them hadn’t been an option.

But for the first time in a while, you could even say you feel happy to be around others.

The clock on the wall creeps past 11:00pm, and Namjoon glances at his phone with a small sigh. “I should probably get going before it gets too late.”

“Already?” Seokjin teases, though his tone is more playful than serious.

Namjoon chuckles. “Some of us have a really early morning commute tomorrow, Jin.” He stands, stretching his arms overhead before reaching for his jacket. 

“I do too, you know!”

“But hey, this was fun. I’ll definitely swing by again. I’ll see you for your monthly Marvel movie nights, right?”

Seokjin grins. “You know it. You can’t miss those!”

Namjoon laughs, shaking his head fondly. “Yeah, yeah. Let me know when the next one is.”

You and Seokjin walk him to the elevator, chatting casually as you descend to the ground floor. Outside, the air is cooler, a light breeze stirring as Namjoon’s Uber pulls up to the curb.

“Thanks for helping out today,” you say, offering him a grateful smile. “I don’t think we could’ve done it without you.”

“Anytime,” Namjoon replies warmly. “And welcome to the apartment. I’m sure Jin’ll keep things interesting for you.”

Seokjin snorts. 

Namjoon smirks. “See you both soon!”

With a wave, Namjoon climbs into the car, and you watch as it drives off into the night.

You and Seokjin linger outside for a moment, the hum of the city quieting as the car disappears from view.

“Well,” Seokjin says after a beat, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Guess it’s just us now.”

“Looks like it,” you reply, feeling a strange mix of ease and uncertainty.

Well you did just unload some emotional baggage about your shitty past relationship earlier. The alcohol running through your veins isn’t helping either.

“Come on,” he says, nodding toward the entrance. “Let’s get back inside. You’ve had a long day.”

You follow Jin back to the apartment, the soft hum of the elevator ride and the quiet hallways lulling you into a peaceful state. Once inside, the two of you automatically start tidying up the coffee table and living area, picking up empty beer bottles, wiping down surfaces, and folding the napkins that had been left scattered. It’s a quiet, easy rhythm, and before long, the space looks just as pristine as when you first arrived.

“I think we’ve earned a good night’s sleep.”

You nod, stifling a yawn. “Agreed. Thanks again, Jin… for everything.”

He shrugs, his expression light but genuine. “Don’t mention it. Get some rest, Roomie.”

You laugh, “Will do.”

With that, Jin heads down the hallway to the right, disappearing into his room. You make your way to the left, to your room, the soft padding of your steps on the hardwood floor the only sound.

Once inside, you close the door and lean against it for a moment, letting the day’s events settle in your mind. Your room is still sparse, with only the basics unpacked, but it feels cozy enough. The bed, made with fresh sheets, beckons invitingly, and your unpacked boxes wait patiently in the corner, reminding you there’s more work to be done tomorrow.

You slip into something comfortable, wash your face, and settle under the covers. The bed is surprisingly soft, the kind that you could sink into and never leave. But despite the exhaustion tugging at your body, sleep doesn’t come right away.

Your thoughts drift, unbidden, to Jin’s easy demeanor since you’ve started talking to him again. His kind words. His quick, charming smile and laughter. His height—tall enough that you had to tilt your head to look him in the eye. And those plump lips of his…

Huh? No, no wait a minute!

You blink at the ceiling, catching your thoughts veering dangerously south. What the hell is wrong with you? Maybe it’s the beer, or maybe it’s the fact that kindness from a man feels so foreign after everything you’ve been through. Whatever it is, your brain is doing laps around something you absolutely should not be thinking about.

Gross. Stop it. You scrunch your face in frustration, trying to shake the image of Jin’s stupidly handsome face from your mind.

This is Seokjin, your childhood rival, the annoying kid who used to show off his stupid gaming collection and beat you at literally everything. That’s all he is. That’s all he’ll ever be.

He is just kindly letting you stay with him, but you know he’s going to be waiting for you to move out soon enough.

With a groan, you roll over and pull the covers up to your chin, willing your thoughts to calm down. Sleep. That’s what you need. Just sleep.

With a groan, you roll over and pull the covers up to your chin, willing your thoughts to calm down. Eventually, you manage to quiet your mind, and your eyes drift shut. Slowly, the tension in your body melts away, and for the first time in what feels like ages, you fall into a deep, uninterrupted sleep.

It’s the kind of sleep that cradles you, soothing the jagged edges of your worries. The stressors in your life—the layoff, the breakup, the uncertainty of your future—haven’t disappeared, but for once, they feel distant, safely tucked on the backburner. This new chapter isn’t perfect, but at least one major burden has been lifted, and that’s enough for now.

Until it isn’t.

The urge comes on suddenly, pulling you from the cocoon of rest. You blink groggily, your senses slowly catching up to reality as you register the weight pressing against your bladder. Turning your head to the side, you squint at the clock on your phone: 2:33 a.m.

You need to pee.

You groan softly. Of course. Why wouldn’t your body choose the middle of the night to interrupt what was probably the nicest sleep you’ve had in months? Throwing off the covers, you shuffle out of bed and head for the bathroom, still half-asleep and stumbling in your room as you walk inside the en-suite bathroom.

The cool tile under your feet jolts you a bit closer to full consciousness. The soft hum of the apartment at night feels oddly soothing, even as you fumble to turn on the light.

After finishing up and washing your hands, you pause for a moment, the dryness in your throat making itself known. Great. Now you’re thirsty too.

The memory of Jin mentioning the case of bottled water he keeps under the kitchen sink stops you. Sighing, you quietly slip out of your room, padding into the darkened apartment.

The space is eerily still, the shadows from the streetlights outside casting faint patterns across the floor of the living room. You make your way to the kitchen, carefully navigating around the furniture, not wanting to stub a toe or knock anything over.

Opening one of the cabinet beneath the sink, you find the water bottle case Jin mentioned. The plastic crinkles as you grab a bottle, and you wince, hoping the noise doesn’t carry too far. Closing the cabinet as quietly as you can, you straighten up and twist the cap open, taking a long, refreshing sip.

As you stand there, your gaze drifts toward the living room and the hallway that leads toward Jin’s room. You notice light seeping from below the doorway. Is he still up? Shouldn’t he be sleeping? He did mention something earlier about needing to head into the office in the morning.

Well… maybe he’s streaming? Jin has been kind of hesitant to talk openly about his side hustle, but after your harmless sleuthing on his Instagram the other day, it makes sense to have this type of scheduling. His posts, the tags, the casual mentions of late-night work—it all points to streaming. And why not? No shame in being a streamer. Plenty of people are wildly successful doing it. And he’s probably catering to overseas fans in Asia during these hours.

You shrug to yourself. Whatever he’s doing, it’s not your business. 

Deciding not to overthink it, you turn to head back to your room. But after a couple of steps in the living room, a faint noise catches your attention.

You freeze.

A voice… soft, low, and unmistakably a moan.

Your breath hitches as the sound cuts through the stillness, sending your thoughts racing. What was that…?

Haha… you must be overthinking things.

For a moment, you stand there, unsure whether to move or pretend you didn’t hear anything at all.

But now, from this angle, you notice something else. Jin’s door isn’t fully closed. It’s very, very slightly ajar.

The realization makes your pulse quicken. You’re not sure why—it’s not like you were planning to barge in or anything. But the faint glow spilling from the room and that sound… it feels like you’ve stumbled into something you weren’t meant to witness.

Your eyes dart to the gap in the doorway, then back to your water bottle. Just go to bed, you tell yourself. Whatever Jin is doing is none of your business. You’ve already overstepped enough by loitering here in the middle of the night.

But your feet don’t move.

Instead, you find yourself stepping a bit closer, trying to make sense of what’s going on. The soft glow of a screen flickers against the walls, accompanied by faint, muffled sounds—another low moan, followed by a voice, Jin’s voice, quiet but distinct.

He’s probably just streaming, you reason, though your mind betrays you, replaying the noise you just heard. That didn’t sound like any gaming commentary you’ve ever heard.

Your curiosity battles with your better judgment. This is weird. This is weird. Go back to bed, you scold yourself. Yet, you find yourself taking a hesitant step closer, your bare feet silent against the floor.

Peering at the slight crack in the door, you catch a glimpse of Jin sitting at his desk, his back to the door. He’s wearing a loose-fitting hoodie, the hood pulled halfway up, and his headphones cover his ears.

You hesitate for just a moment too long, your eyes flickering back to the gap in the door. Jin shifts slightly in his chair, and that’s when you see it—his hand moving slowly, deliberately, along the length of his member.

Oh my god…

Your breath catches in your throat as the realization slams into you. 

You catch yourself lingering, unable to look away despite every nerve in your body screaming at you to turn back. Jin’s hoodie hangs loosely over his broad shoulders, the fabric shifting slightly with his movements. His hand moves with deliberate intent, wrapping firmly around his length as he strokes himself in a slow, unhurried rhythm.

The motion is mesmerizing, almost practiced—his grip tightening subtly at the base before sliding upward, then loosening as his hand glides back down. His fingers flex with precision, coaxing soft, breathy moans from his lips, barely audible but enough to make your skin prickle.

He shifts in his chair, angling himself slightly toward the camera, his movements smooth and calculated. His legs are spread comfortably apart, the outline of his frame illuminated by the soft glow of the monitor. The confidence in his actions is undeniable, as if he’s done this countless times before, every motion intentional and deliberate for the audience he can’t see but knows is watching.

Your heart pounds harder when his strokes pick up pace briefly, then slow again, teasing, calculated. His chest rises and falls in measured breaths, and every now and then, a low groan escapes, richer and deeper than the softer sounds he’s been making.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” Jin murmurs suddenly, his tone smooth and teasing, almost playful. You jump up slightly from the sudden spoken words. His strokes grow a fraction faster, his hand tightening briefly before loosening again. “Bet you’ve been waiting all day for this.”

The faint click of his mouse follows, likely scrolling through the flood of comments. A soft chuckle escapes his lips, and he tilts his head as if he’s reading something amusing.

“Oh, you want me to go slower?” he says, his voice dropping a notch, rich and deliberate. His movements follow suit, his hand sliding torturously slow along his length, eliciting a low groan from deep in his chest. “Patience. You’ll get what you’re asking for. Just keep watching.”

He shifts in his chair, leaning back slightly, his free hand brushing over his thigh. “Such a needy audience tonight,” he adds with a smirk, his tone dripping with mock indulgence. “But I guess I can’t blame you. You love it when I take my time, don’t you?”

Your breath catches as you hear the faintest hitch in his voice, a sign that even he isn’t immune to his own ministrations. “Mm, that’s it,” he murmurs, his strokes quickening again as his chest rises and falls in heavier breaths. “Keep telling me what you want. I can’t get enough of it.”

The chat on his screen is moving so quickly it’s impossible to follow, but he clearly can. His responses are measured, tailored, and completely immersed in the moment.

“You’re spoiling me tonight,” he says with a breathy laugh, likely reacting to a particularly generous tip or comment. His hand slows again, teasing, his thumb brushing over the tip of his length in a way that draws a soft, shuddering groan from his lips. “Guess I should return the favor, huh?”

His voice lowers further, almost a whisper, intimate in a way that makes your heart pound. “Let me know how much you’re enjoying this,” he says, his words melting into another low moan. “Because I’m not stopping anytime soon.”

Your pulse races as you watch him lean back slightly, adjusting his position to maintain his pace, his focus entirely on the screen and the comments it displays. The intimacy of the scene feels almost overwhelming, and it’s enough to snap you out of your trance.

You step back, your breath hitching as you force yourself to retreat. Whatever this is, you weren’t meant to see it! 

And yet the image is burned into your mind as you close your door, your thoughts swirling in a storm of confusion, embarrassment, and curiosity.

Oh my fucking god… 

The soft click of the mouse breaks you from your trance, and you realize you’ve been standing there far too long. Before Jin can notice anything amiss, you step away from his side of the apartment as quietly as possible,  your heart pounding like a drum in your chest.

You retreat down the hall to your room, shutting the door behind you with trembling hands. Leaning against it, you try to catch your breath, your mind racing. Jin, your childhood rival and now your new roommate, is apparently living a double life you never could have anticipated.

Never mind.

This new life that you’re living, will not be easy at all.

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a/n: happy thanksgiving!! this is another very short series i plan to make with around 3-5 chapters. i'll keep brainstorming and slowly writing this along with my a(myg)dala fic series... but this is very brainrot not too heavy focus on plot so i probably won't take long to continue it compared to the other series hehe!! thank you all for the support and for reading!

➸ let me know what you think OR join the taglist for future works! ➸ check out my masterlist for other fics I have made

[elliethefroggy]

Roy Kent: Minder Extraordinaire

(for those of you who prefer reading fanfics on tumblr instead of ao3)

Ch2

Summary:

What if Jamie had actually done as Roy had asked all the way back in season 1 when Roy told him to get Colin and Isaac to stop messing with Nate? Or Roy Kent accidentally becomes Jamie Tartt's minder and regrets every step of the process until he doesn't.

Chapter 1: Roy Kent Has Regrets

The first reluctant step in their respective redemption arcs.

When Roy goes up to Jamie to ask him to get Isaac and Colin to leave Nate the fuck alone, he doesn’t have much hope that the little prick will listen to him.

When said little prick laughs in his face, Roy considers glaring at him into submission or knocking his teeth out.

Instead, Roy finds some relic of self-control within himself, a pool of patience so shallow it might as well be called a puddle.

“Look,” Roy says, “I get that you don’t give two shits about Richmond—”

“And you do?” The prick interrupts him. That puddle gets a lot smaller. “The way I see it, you give about as much a shit about Richmond as I do. I’ve been here for months, and what? Now you’ve decided to act like the fucking captain? Finally remembered that there’s actual shit that comes with that fancy title? That Alzheimer's really kicking your arse, innit?”

“Just fucking do it,” Roy says. Pauses. Very reluctantly adds, “Please.”

Jamie looks at him, eyebrows raised, a fucking bewildered expression on his dumb fucking face. And yes, okay, Roy doesn’t say please much, he’ll admit to that, but the twat’s been here for a while now; Roy has definitely used that word in front of him. Right?

“Yeah, alright,” Jamie says, looking at Roy like he’s got something contagious, “If it means that fucking much to you. I’ll take care of it; Nate’s a good lad.”

And because the magic fucking word was so effective, Roy decides to use another one, see what that can get him.

“Thanks,” he says, and walks away, leaving Jamie to his weights. He catches Jamie’s face as he steps out of the gym. Definitely one of the funnier expressions he’s seen on that prick. All scrunched up and confused.

The things is though, in some dark little corner of his mind, Roy knows he’s being a shit captain (not that he’ll ever say that out loud because fuck if he’ll admit that Tartt is right). He’s too stuck in his own head to give a shit about Richmond, too worried about how bleak his fucking future’s looking. Retirement striding closer and closer every time he steps onto the pitch with his bum knee.

The great Roy Kent, too busy raging over the end of his fucking career to actually do his fucking job properly.

And some not insignificant part of him thinks why bother putting in the effort now. Why not just finish up his career coasting at Richmond like he’s been doing, and then fuck off to become irrelevant like so many footballers before him. It’s practically a right of passage in this life.

However, now that Ted Lasso has come to darken the club’s doorstep, that plan is looking less and less feasible as the days go by.

(He decides to ignore that somewhat less insignificant part of him that’s relieved by that.)

Later, Roy rounds a corner to the locker room and sees the prick talking to Isaac and Colin. Roy backs away before they can see him and peaks his head around the corner.

“You’ve had your fun. It was a good laugh. But maybe ease up on Nate a bit, yeah?” Jamie says, doing that stupid thing he always does with his shirt, hands tucked underneath it, stretching out the fabric, “Don’t want the gaffer to think we’re a bunch of animals, right?”

Colin and Isaac look almost as confused as Jamie did in the weight room, but they nod solemnly and say ‘yeah, no problem’, before walking away, Tweedle-dumb and Tweedle-fucking-dumber.

Roy steps back into view, “Now, was that so fucking?” he asks and takes great satisfaction when Tartt jumps out of skin like the little baby he is.

“Fukin’ hell!” Jamie clutches at his heart, the dramatic idiot, “The fuck you doing sneaking around like some senile old ninja?”

“Making sure you keep your word.”

“Keep your fucking tartan socks on, grandad. I did what you fucking asked.”

“And I’m sure it must have been very painful for you. Are you alright? Did you pull something? Do you need to have a sit down?” Roy asks because he’s mature like that.

“Fuck off,” Jamie says, and storms away, further proof that he’s a fucking baby.

Roy thinks that that’s that; Nate can rest easy, Roy can congratulate himself on his good dead for the year, and he can go back to ignoring Jamie ‘The Prick’ Tartt. Except, of course, fucking Lasso has to go and put his moustachioed fucking nose where it isn’t wanted.

Sitting at the same table as Jamie fucking Tartt, about to be sold off like fucking cattle all in the name of the children was not Roy’s idea of a good time. Fuck Ted Lasso. And fuck his fucking moustache. Roy would pay the fucking charity triple whatever he was sold for if it meant he could go home and leave this fucking farce behind. Unfortunately, that wasn’t allowed; he’d checked.

Though admittedly, messing with Tartt, telling him he would have to fuck that old lady was fun enough, until Tartt stormed off again, Keeley chasing after him. The little prick has been doing that a lot lately.

But then Roy starts thinking about what Jamie said. About Roy being a shit captain. And watching Jamie walk further and further away is no longer fun. And no amount of beer seems to make it fun again.

After a while, Roy sighs and, against his better judgement, decides to be a decent fucking person tonight.

He regrets getting up as soon as he’s on his feet. Regrets every step that takes him closer to the prick.

He finds Jamie at the bar, peeling off the label from a beer bottle and ripping the paper to tiny, little shreds, Keeley nowhere in sight. Roy stands next to him and regrets it. Jamie doesn’t look up, his eyes fixated on the beer label, the bits of paper getting smaller and smaller. And Roy realises something (he regrets that realisation).

“This auction really bothers you, doesn’t it?” Roy watches as Jamie tenses, just enough to be unnoticeable had Roy not being properly paying attention.

“Fuck off.” Roy watches as Jamie’s hands let go of the shreds of paper and try to worm their way underneath a shirt that isn’t there. Jamie’s hands drop when they don’t find the fabric.

More than anything, Roy regrets that he’s starting to get concerned about Jamie Fucking Tartt. The world really is going to shit.

“You don’t actually have to sleep with them, you know,” Roy says.

“Yeah, I’m not fucking stupid.” But Jamie had believed them, hadn’t he? When Roy and Keeley had ganged up on him. He’d believed them, and he’d looked panicked.

And Roy is feeling shittier and shittier the longer this conversation goes on.

“Anyway, it’s just sex, innit,” Jamie says, “Not like it’s a big fucking deal.”

Except this was starting to look like a big fucking deal, because Jamie was still so tense, and if Roy looked hard enough, he could just about see Jamie’s hands, fisted at his side, shacking slightly.

“You don’t have to fuck anyone you don’t want to,” and Roy doesn't know why he says that, doesn’t know why he’s reminding a fucking grown adult about fucking consent. Only with the way Jamie’s acting, it’s starting to feel fucking necessary.

Silence, and then, “Yeah,” Jamie says. And Jamie took too long to answer, and now Roy's really starting to get concerned, and being concerned about Jamie Tartt feels fucking awful.

But before Roy can get into whatever the fuck that’s about, the auction’s about to start, and they get called back to their table.

Roy has many, many regrets.

Roy doesn’t even think when he does it. He’s starring at Jamie up on that stage looking as uncomfortable as Roy’s ever seen him, their conversation and the fucking awful implications behind it playing a constant loop in Roy’s head.

Then that perverted Shetland pony matriarch bids five thousand quid. Jamie starts looking desperate. Roy feels himself lift his arm up.

“Six thousand.” Those words come out of his mouth before his brain can even kick in and decide that no, that’s a fucking stupid thing to do.

He sees Keeley look at him as she places her unused paddle back on the table, bemused as fuck. Because of fucking course Keeley was going to bid on her own boyfriend; she’s the nicest person he’s ever met even if her taste in men leans towards those who are pretty and shit in equal measures.

And he knows that Jamie’s digging holes into his head with those fucking eyes of his much like Cheryl fucking Barnaby is doing, only he refuses to look at Jamie, because what the fuck is Roy even doing.

“Well, well, well,” Fucking Rupert Mannion opens his mouth, and why is he even here? “It seems the Richmond Captain wants a bit of one on one training with the gorgeous young man to my left.” And why the fuck did he say it like that?

Cheryl Barnaby bids seven thousand, probably wondering what Jamie looks like on a fucking Shetland pony. And because Roy’s already started this, he’s fucking finishing it.

He bids ten thousand and decides then and there that he’s disappearing off the face of the earth and moving to some fucking remote village in South America where nobody’s ever heard of him.

Cheryl keeps her mouth shut and doesn’t lift her paddle again.

Roy’s won.

Fuck.

Roy goes back to the bar and finds Jamie where he left him last time. Roy leans against the bar, his shoulder jostling Jamie’s. Neither talk for a moment.

“The fuck was that about?” Jamie asks after the silence becomes awkward enough.

“I was being fucking nice; it happens sometimes,” Roy says. You looked uncomfortable, Roy doesn’t say. “Unless of course, you want to spend a night with Cheryl Barnaby, Shetland pony breeder extraordinaire.”

“Fuck no,” Jamie says immediately. He takes a drink, so does Roy. Then Jamie asks “Was I, like, meant to return the favour?”

“Fuck no,” Roy repeats Jamie’s words, “This is weird enough as is.”

“I’m not going to fuck you no matter how much you paid for me.”

“Did you not hear that whole conversation we had about consent?”

“Just saying.” And then more quietly, “Thank-you” so quietly Roy barely hears him.

And Roy doesn’t want to thing about the vulnerability leaking into Jamie’s voice, so instead he changes the subject because Jamie is looking small and uncertain, two things that Roy refuses to associate with Jamie under any circumstance.

He brings up his old dickhead teammate, Doug Stashwick, and thankfully Jamie follows the change in conversation.

By the end of it, they’re both smiling and laughing together which is fucking weird but at least Jamie doesn’t look so small anymore.

Though, knowing that the prick had a poster of Roy on his wall when he was a kid makes the whole Jamie situation just a little bit shittier.

Ch2

[shenglingyuan]

title: words of wisdom and whatnots (ao3) pairing: togame jo/sakura haruka summary: sakura asks advice about his new bf from a certain senpai. his friends also tease him a lot (and tried to give him advice) if you were following my previous two togasaku fics, this happens in between them ;3;

The recent days have been quite a revelation for Sakura.

Even more so than friendship, dating someone is a completely new realm for him. Not that things have drastically changed between him and Togame ever since the festival. Instead, every single interaction they share now makes Sakura feel even more fuzzy all over. He can’t quite put a word on it, but it is a good feeling.

“Remember the bread Umemiya gave last time? It’s really good.” Togame’s leisurely pace in talking is a perfect company for walking. “I’m planning to go to your side of town later so I can buy a freshly baked version.”

He figured out early on that the guy isn’t too big on messages, which honestly is something he agrees with. Their phone calls even got more frequent, especially in the mornings when Sakura walks to school. It’s a welcome addition to his daily routine.

“Do it after my class, I’ll go with you. Call me when you’re on the way.”

“Afraid I’ll get lost?”

“The bakery’s literally along the same street as the entrance to the pub street.”

“You don’t have to come with me, then. I should be fine.”

“People will get worried if they see someone new roaming around in a different team’s jacket. I’ll go with you so you they know you’re not a troublemaker.”

“Almost thought you were worried for my safety.”

“Hah! As if someone here can actually endanger you.”

“Then I’ll take you up on that date. It is a date, yeah?”

“‘Course it is!” The words almost effortlessly come out from Sakura’s mouth, except that his cheeks started to warm up and his lips twisted into a pout, probably jumbling up his syllables. “What else would it be?”

Togame chuckles on the other end of the phone. “Can’t wait for it. Well, Choji’s calling for me. I’ll talk to you later, Sakura.”

The call drops just as Sakura turned to the street that directly leads to Furin. He’s learned from Togame that not everyone in Shishitoren actually goes to school. In fact, only a minority does, and Togame isn’t a part of that minority.

Must be nice to not have any extra responsibilities. He personally feels like Bofurin can still protect the town without having to attend school, but then most people would probably lose a reason to join Bofurin if they didn’t have to go.

Maybe he can afford to skip school one day and check how Shishitoren go about their daily life? Of course, it’s not just an excuse to see Togame. If he wants to be on Bofurin’s top one day, learning about other teams seems like an invaluable piece of knowledge. Right?

Togame Jo…how should he even treat him differently now that they’re actually dating?

With his mind circling back to Togame, he recalls their moment underneath the fireworks and the warmth of his hand as it tightly held his own, and the heat on his cheeks raises a degree warmer.

“—ning, Sakura-san!”

“AAH!” Sakura instinctively jumps a few steps back with a loud yelp. It’s Suo and Nirei, waiting for him by the gates of Furin. “How are you two always creeping up on me?!”

“We weren’t,” Nirei looks particularly offended, “We saw you from afar so we decided to wait for you here.”

“Ugh. Let’s go.” Sakura briskly walks ahead of them, slightly aware of his burning ears.

“What are you smiling about, though?” Suo asks as he catches up with Sakura’s steps. Of course, he’d be quick to notice and tease him about it.

“I ain’t smiling.”

“It’s actually a rather wide smile, Sakura-kun.”

“If it’s making you that happy, I don’t know why you have to hide it,” Nirei unhelpfully adds.

Sakura decides to ignore them until they finally reach the classroom and settle down on their chairs.

“You’re always like this, Sakura-kun.” Yet Suo is still not done pestering him. “I remember you were also like this last time after Umemiya-san talked with you about our fight with Shishitoren.”

“Oh yeah, we were calling you so many times across the street but you didn’t notice us until we were right in front of your face.”

“Sakura-kun blushing and feeling happy…by any chance, have you started dating someone?”

“Huh?! Who told you that?”

His outburst overpowers the buzzing noise in their classroom, resulting in a sudden silence all around them. Some even throw pointed quizzical stares towards their direction. Eventually, everybody returns to their own conversations, a bit used to Sakura yelling at the most random things.

“Nire-kun, he did not deny it.” Suo quietly notes when the attention on them finally dissipates.

“Whoa, you’re actually right.” Nirei is already pulling up his notebook to record this one-of-a-kind scoop on Sakura.

“Don’t write that! It’s none of your business.”

“Aha! So, you really are seeing someone. How impressive.”

“But, Sakura-san, you’re always blushing whenever there’s anything remotely romantic within your sight. I can’t imagine you being functional in a romantic situation yourself.”

“Is that a dig on me?” Sakura forms a fist in front of his face, his eyes throwing daggers towards Nirei’s direction, “Fight me outside, you little punk.”

“Let me guess who, Sakura-kun,” Suo smiles at him leisurely, carefully putting his raised fist down as Nirei uses his back to shield himself, “If I don’t get it right on the third try, I’ll grant you one fight where I go all out.”

“And what if you guess it right?”

“Hm, well, knowing this kind of information is prize enough. I’m not so cruel that I’d ask for more out of this.”

Now this is a deal that’s worth his while. Suo has always been avoiding a fight with him, not even for a sparring. He leans forward in excitement, a smug grin forming on his lips. “You have a deal.”

“Great!” Suo clasps his hand together, “Then, my first guess…”

He can’t wait to beat the shit out of Suo for all the times he teased him.

“…is Togame-san.”

…What the hell!

“You knew!”

“Oh? I was right?” Suo looks sincerely shocked, and behind him, Nirei looks like he has forgotten how to breathe. “I was just guessing, especially after he helped us a lot. You could have denied it, you know. But well, you’re still too young to know trade secrets. I told you gathering information is my specialty.”

“You—!” Got him played for a fool!

Just as he’s about to give Suo a beating right there and then, the teacher finally arrives, foiling his plan of revenge.

By break time, Sakura immediately escapes from further interrogation by running out of their classroom before Suo could make another remark. He contemplates skipping the rest of his class for the day, but Tamon 1-1 has patrol duty after class and he probably wouldn’t hear the end of it from Hiiragi if he missed that.

With nothing to do in the next thirty minutes, he finds himself heading down to the second year floor. There’s a lingering question in his mind which he knows that asking either Nirei or Suo about will lead him nowhere, they’re probably just as inexperienced. And besides, even if he does ask Takanashi who always talks about his girlfriend, his relationship with Togame will probably spread like wildfire if he talked about it to someone outside his closest circle.

Not that he wants to hide it, it’s just that he has enough teasing from Suo already. He can imagine that the whole class will pile on him if they knew and it will definitely bring him endless teasing. His classmates can be so rowdy, after all.

He arrives in front of the 2-1 classroom and peeks through their door. Kusumi sees him and understands at once, getting Kaji’s attention.

In the end, Sakura decides he should go to someone who seems wise enough to give him insight but will not tattle about the matter just to anybody.

That certain someone steps out of the classroom as he pulls down his headphones to his neck, “What is it?”

“Can I talk to you about something?”

“Is it gonna take a while?”

“Not really, but...” He looks behind him where Kaji’s classmates just noticed that their treasured grade captain has been called for again.

Kaji nods in understanding, “Alright. To the rooftop we go.”

They both leave before Kaji’s classmates could even begin to horde around them like before. Upon arriving at the rooftop, Kaji raises an arm to stop him. “Wait here, let me check.”

He quickly surveys the vicinity, and upon seeing that the coast is clear, waves for Sakura to follow him. “Lock the door behind you. Don’t want anybody eavesdropping on us again.”

Then they settled right under the cherry blossom tree with the view of the city before them. The summer wind blows steadily, much warmer compared to the last time they talked on this rooftop. The matter back then was more serious, of course.

“Well, what is it that you wanted to talk about? Got a problem in class again?”

“No, it’s not like that,” Now that Sakura’s in this position, he suddenly feels that it’s too silly to ask Kaji something so personal. “I wanted to ask if…if you were newly dating someone, how would you treat them?”

“Ha? Why are you asking me that kind of question?”

“You seemed the type to know.”

“Relationships aren’t part of grade captain duties; I don’t understand how you came to think that I can advise you on this.” Kaji bites at the last of his lollipop, feeling a bit annoyed to have been brought up here for such trivial matters.

“It’s not just because we’re grade captains.”

Kaji pauses at these words.

So, Sakura seems to see him as a senior, after all. Not only for matters related to Bofurin, but also in general aspects of his life. Sakura could have gone to the third years for advice as they seem to be more attached to Sakura compared to him, but Sakura chose to seek his advice.

Not that he’s any good but, being recognized like this, who wouldn’t feel a bit moved? He knows that Sakura has been alone for almost all of his life before coming to Furin. He’s also aware that Furin itself has reliable seniors from whom everyone, even he himself, rely on. But now, the role of a reliable senior is being placed onto him.

Last time, he had Hiiragi’s wisdom to share. This time around, he is on his own.

“Kimura from our class has a girlfriend, he’s always talking about picking her up after school and walking home together. Asami had one before, I know he loved cooking for his ex before they broke up. I don’t have personal experience, so I can only share what I know from others,” He scratches the tip of his nose, feeling a bit embarrassed for what he is about to say, but he reckons making it more personal will give his words meaning. “But if it was me, I’d spend a lot of time with that special person. Doesn’t matter what we’re doing. Being in the same space would already mean a lot to me.”

“But…they don’t go to school with me. And I’m still bad at cooking.”

“You don’t have to do that same things that I mentioned. What I’m trying to say is, each person will have a different way to express their affection, and their own way to receive affection, as well. You just have to figure it out on your own, just like with everything else.”

Sakura cranes his neck, confusion still on his face.

“You fought with the deputy leadership of Shishitoren, didn’t you?”

“H-huh? Yeah. Why?” For some reason, Sakura suddenly looks flustered, a touch of pink shading his cheeks. What doesn’t fluster this guy, really?

“I’m sure the seniors told you something about having the desire to know your opponent and wanting to know more about them. Umemiya-san loves that piece a lot. I guess relationships are just like that: get to know the other person, let the other person know you. But this time, the other person is not an opponent.”

Finally, some semblance of clarity settles on Sakura’s face. Kaji realizes he should have framed his dilemma in the context of fighting from the get-go. This guy is too simple-minded, in the end.

“Well, make sure your dating woes don’t get in the way of your duties.” Kaji opens up another lollipop and turns on his heel, “But since that person is now important to you, then they’re important to Bofurin, as well. If you need help, make sure to let us know.”

His talk with Kaji was surprisingly productive. It’s just amusing how Kaji implied he can ask Bofurin’s help to protect his important person. Togame’s the last person who needs protection.

But if I grow even stronger, then I can be someone who protects him? Seems like a sound plan for Sakura.

The rest of the day ends without a hitch, what with exams coming up and their teachers trying their best to get the whole class be able to receive at least a passing mark. Unfortunately, they still had after-school patrol duties.

He can’t avoid Suo and Nirei forever. And for some reason who must definitely be Suo, Kiryu and Tsugeura found out about him dating someone and have been pestering him about it all the time they are doing their patrol at the other end of town.

“But the most important thing is,” Tsugeura hooks an arm around his shoulder and pulls him close, spectacularly failing to whisper his next question, “Have you kissed yet, though?”

“K-k-k-what!” Sakura sputters, the image of himself kissing Togame forming inside his mind and the tips of his ears burning up. He shoves Tsugeura away from him. “Of course not!”

“Why not?” Kiryu asks with an almost disappointed tone.

“Have you kissed anybody yourself?” Sakura says defensively.

“Well, I would have, but I really haven’t gotten a girlfriend. A gentleman’s lips are only for his beloved, you know.”

“Oh, Kiryu-kun that’s so romantic of you.” Tsugeura says with an enthusiastic nod, “That’s a great virtue.”

“Of course~ Ladies love romantics.”

On the side, Nirei writes everything down in his handy notebook. “Never been kissed. A true romantic.”

“It’s not like it’s important,” Sakura finally says when he has felt the warmth from his cheeks finally dissipate, “We just started going out.”

“Well, it’s expected of our Sakura-kun. He’s a very pure boy, after all,” Suo smiles innocently at them.

“You’re really asking for a beating, aren’t you?”

“Since when have you been going out, Sakura-san?”

“…Since the summer festiv— Don’t write that down!”

“A festival confession!” Kiryu claps his hand in delight, “Wowee, Sakura-chan, you’re even cooler than expected. Then, I’ll teach you something important. If you’re too shy to go for an actual kiss, you can try an indirect kiss.”

“W-what’s that?”

“It’s when you drink from the same cup or bottle that your girlfriend is drinking from, so technically, your lips indirectly touched each other because you drank from the same spot. It’s very common in romantic media, but I guess you don’t watch many of those, Sakura-chan.”

“It’s not…,” Sakura speaks up, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Despite his reservations, he’s determined to clear up the confusion. “Not a girl.”

“Oh,” Kiryu gasps, but there’s no judgment nor malice behind it at all. “Sorry for assuming. Should have realized someone of Sakura-chan’s charms would attract attention from everyone.”

“Is he from Furin?” Tsugeura, on his part, is suddenly even more curious. “It’s probably not anybody from our class, so is it our senior? Didn’t think your type would be someone older.”

To their credit, Suo and Nirei remain mum about what they knew…which is kind of inconvenient for Sakura because now, the decision to disclose this information relies solely on him. They usually handle information-related tasks as vice captains. But for Sakura’s personal matters…Kiryu and Tsugeura look at him expectantly.

“Sakura-kun, you don’t have to tell it to them if you’re not comfortable, you know,” Suo suddenly says, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly.

“No, it’s not like I want to hide it,” Sakura scratches the back of his neck and looks away, “I just…didn’t think it’d be this soon.”

“Then it’s okay. You don’t have to tell us who it is now.” Kiryu smiles, then turns to Tsugeura, “Right, Tsuge-chan?”

“Of course! Forcing information out of a friend is not one of my virtues. You can tell us when you finally want to share.” Tsugeura adds with a thumbs-up.

Sakura finally relaxes, thankful that the two other guys aren’t as sharp or as forceful as Suo when it comes to extracting information.

The rest of their patrol was filled with unsolicited words of advice from four inexperienced first years to an even more inexperienced classmate. If someone was listening on to their conversations, they’d definitely think that they are a bunch of hopeless romantics. Sakura thinks of running away from them from being overloaded with “dating” tips, it’s too much. Just too much.

As he is one advice away from actually bolting away, he sees a familiar set of monk’s clothes heading towards their direction.

It’s Togame, walking casually along the shopping street with his orange Shishitoren jacket hanging folded on the crook of his arm. He raises a hand when he saw that Sakura has noticed him. The other four notice him at the same time.

“Isn’t that Togame Jo of Shishitoren?” Tsugeura asks, “What’s he doing here?”

“Oh, Sakura-san, didn’t you have some matters to discuss with him?” Nirei suddenly says, an overly bright and obviously nervous smile painted on his face.

“Yeah, we should go ahead,” Suo interjects before Sakura can reply. “We’re almost done with our patrol anyway.”

It takes Sakura a moment to realize that his vice captains are helping in dragging Kiryu and Tsugeura away so he can go to Togame in peace. Turns out, the two of them knowing the truth early on can come in handy like this.

“Then I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

With a final farewell, Sakura parts ways with the rest of his group and strides towards Togame’s direction.

“I told you to call me when you’re on the way.”

“Was going to but I saw you from far away with your friends. You’re so easy to spot, you know.” Togame smiles as he ruffles Sakura’s hair. “Did I disturb your time with them?”

“Nah, just finished up patrol duty. Why aren’t you wearing your jacket?”

“You did tell me it will cause people to worry if I did. I don’t look like a troublemaker now, do I?”

Sakura shakes his head, smiling despite himself. Over three months ago, he had no one. Now, he has trustworthy friends and reliable seniors. There’s even someone he can call his special person. And yet, nothing feels out of place. He realizes that he has been worrying for nothing.

Just a moment with Togame and he knows, everything after will come naturally.

“You still do, but I’ll keep you in check.”

“Right. To the bakery, then?”

“Let’s go.”

[iheartgod175]

So, that Star Fox x KonoSuba idea…

It’s had an insane grip on my brain. To the point where my good buddy @blazing-shadows had to spam me with fifty messages, haha XD

Basically, this is what happens when you get your yearly itch for one of your favorite franchises and add in the game that you’ve been playing religiously for a few weeks ^^

I’ve decided to title this silly story “God’s Favor on This Not-Yet-Retired Veteran!” It may be subject to change, though!

This particular crossover idea takes place during the Assault/Command timeline. Why? Because I absolutely ADORE Star Fox Assault, especially Peppy’s portrayal in that game, and while Command is a whole mess, a few ideas/characters were pretty neat (*cough* Lucy *cough*). That, and I wondered what would happen in an alternate scenario where Peppy dies for real during the tail end of the game (a question that has been answered by several authors, actually!).

So the basic gist is that Peppy dies for real after sacrificing the Great Fox, but receives a second chance at life when he meets Aqua, who revives him and sends him to Axel. That second chance at life involves a world where cabbages fly, ranking works like a video game, and the people there are somehow are even bigger a-holes than in the Lylat System. Oh, and he ends up being in a party with one of those a-holes. Not Kazuma—although he’ll definitely meet him later. That would be Dust, the resident town punk, and his long-suffering party consisting of Rin, Keith and Taylor. With his chances at retirement permanently shot, Peppy now has to navigate his new life of being one of the oldest adventurers in Axel, and try not to either rage quit or kill Dust in the process. Meanwhile, in the “real world”, Lylat is reeling from the Aparoid Invasion when the Anglars make their debut, and the fractured Star Fox team must face this amidst team struggles and without their beloved mentor.

It’d be easy to have either Fox or Falco in this scenario, since their personalities would mesh with the craziness perfectly (I personally would nominate Falco for this position since in-universe he’s super competitive), but even before I got into KonoSuba, the idea of Peppy ending up in an isekai situation—especially in this world—was too hilarious to leave alone. Also Peppy’s my favorite character, so that’s a no brainer, lol XD

Also, the main reason I had Peppy team up with Dust is for two reasons: 1. As much as I like Kazuma’s character, I wanted to challenge myself with writing an ensemble cast outside of the main one. Kazuma and his party will definitely get their chance to shine, but I wanted to focus on a different set of adventurers for this story, and the team that’s the opposite of Kazuma’s seemed to be a fun choice. 2. Dust is one of my favorite characters in KonoSuba, which happened completely on accident, lol (more on that in the KonoFan post I’ll make soon). And just imagining the headaches he’d cause Peppy was hilarious.

This being KonoSuba, hilarious shenanigans ensue, but there’s also a little bit of seriousness due to, well, Star Fox. You can’t expect a battle-hardened veteran like Peppy to just be dumped into a crazy world like KonoSuba and pretend none of the canon in his universe didn’t happen, lol. I told my buddy that this little story is gonna be full of humor, drama, tragedy, a smudge of romance, and lots of wholesomeness, because although I put him through the ringer a bit here, Peppy needs a bit of a break after the stuff that happened in canon ;_;

If y’all like this idea enough—or if I can’t shake the brain rot off, haha—this might be something I’ll post on AO3! Let me know what you think in the replies!

[inquisitor-gayfax]

✨ Fic Planning and Outlining ✨

Outlining is a huge part of my writing process and something I love talking about, so since I’m currently suffering something of a writer’s block, I’ve put together a step-by-step explanation of my process below. It is important to note that there is no right answer or best way to outline; as with most things it’s just a matter of finding what works best for you!

I would love it if other folks chimed in and added to this with their own tips and tricks!

Let’s learn from each other!

Outlining Tools & Overall Organization

To start with, I use OneNote to organize everything, but there are a ton of programs out there, and you could even do this with different .txt/word files! The main reasons I like OneNote: (1) oo pretty colored tabs (2) tab folders for making sense of the giant pile of WIPs:

So, I have all the things I’m “actively” working on out in the open, then squirrel away everything else in one of five categories: completed (yay!), short, medium, and long WIPs, then a catch-all category for everything that doesn’t really fit anywhere else.

The Outlining Process

To demonstrate and (hopefully) have a little fun, I’m going to pick a half-baked idea from the “WTF – Miscellany” category and create a new tab as if I’m actually going to write it! So, without further ado, let’s dive in and begin outlining for a multi-chapter AU fic wherein Rogal Dorn and Perturabo are high school girls’ volleyball coaches!

First Page: Tags ‘n Such

I often hear that tags can be the hardest part for writers, which is interesting because this is usually where I start! Something about seeing my fic in the summary format it will eventually appear in on AO3 is very motivating to me, and helps guide my writing. You can always add/change later.

Here is the template I use for easy copy/pasting!

Title: Fandom(s): Rating: Category: Archive Warnings: Relationship(s): Character Tags: Other tags: Summary:

And here’s a screenshot of my first pass for this WIP:

This gives me a chance to talk about one of my FAVORITE writing hacks, which is… [BRACKET TEXT].

I don’t know about everyone else, but my brain consistently feels the need to get everything perfect on the first try, which is very unhelpful and actively counter-productive! I’ve found that when I can’t get the phrasing of something just right, or I’m still not sure what I’m going for, putting some brackets around the text in question and just scribbling whatever’s in my mind at the moment allows me to move on without getting bogged down.

If it’s in brackets, I give myself permission to be silly, OOC, anachronistic, or messy, and boy is it a lifesaver sometimes.

Once I have the AO3 info fields done, I draw a little line below the summary and start filling in what I call the “brainstorm space” (that inevitable turns into a mini-outline I need to move over to another page at some point). This is another place I allow myself to be messy. I scribble down thoughts on narrative structure, inspirations, setting, key moments/scenes, themes, motifs, stuff I absolutely need to include, and any overarching things that will be helpful to have before planning in earnest.

Here’s what it looks like for this fic:

Not much there now, but it’s a start, and that’s what outlining is all about!

Second Page: Detailed Outline

A bit of a note here – I used to have a separate page for a “mini-outline,” i.e. a less detailed version, but the brainstorm space basically serves this purpose now, so it’s less common.

This is where the actual structural planning starts to take place. I’ve gotten into the habit of using bracket text here, too, to serve as shorthand summaries of each point. For a multi-chapter fic, I’ll also make sure to note where I think the chapter boundaries will fall, though obviously this is subject to change.

So, a barebones one for this fic might look something like this:

There’s not much there right now, but that’s fine, because (1) it’s in bracket text and (2) this is just the skeletal structure for what comes next: filling it in as you get inspiration.

My brain tends to want to write longfics, but never linearly, of course. Sometimes I get raw bursts of inspiration for scenes, so the way I work with this is to scribble (on my phone, on the computer, in a physical notebook) whatever it is down at the moment I get it, then plug it in to the existing outline later. This way, I end up building a pretty comprehensive plan for the fic before I even open a word document, and it’s easier to make big choices like chapter contents, scene order, and story progression without feeling like I need to tear apart something that’s already fairly set in stone.

Here's an example of what a partially filled-in outline looks like, from my Celefax Gothic Mystery AU WIP:

Note that this one is in chart form, which is what I usually go with for longfics for better separation of scenes and ideas.

Pagestravaganza: Additional Pages for Longfics

For one-shots and shorter multi-chapter fics, typically the Tags/Brainstorming and Detailed Outline pages are enough to get me ready to write, but for longfics, there’s a lot more to think about, and additional places to take notes can be helpful.

Here’s an example of all the pages in the tab for that Celefax AU I mentioned above, which has a lot of characters and worldbuilding and all sorts of things that would be difficult to encapsulate in an outline alone:

For one of my other longfic WIPs, I also have a page where I write down revision notes for the parts I’ve already written as they come to me, so it’s easy to refer back to during the editing process (which I could write a whole other post about).

Another thing I sometimes like to do, especially for one-shots or fics that are from only one character’s POV, is write out a paragraph or two about character emotional arcs. Plot is great, but it can be hard to know where that takes you if you don’t know where each character is starting out and where they end up.

To summarize: The sky’s the limit here. Whatever you need to do to make sure everything comes together, however you need to organize it, however little makes it into the final draft, your outlining/planning document is for you, and you shouldn’t get too bogged down into what needs to be there or whether it’s clean and pretty. As long as it’s helpful to you, it is serving its purpose admirably, and even if it isn’t you’re still learning what does and doesn’t work for you. The way I outline is a constantly evolving process, and different things work for different fics. Feel free to play around!

Writing the Dang Thing

This is the end result, the task for which all your outlining has (hopefully) prepared you!

I’ll be honest: I loathe first drafts. (See above comment about everything needing to be perfect the first time around.)

It’s probably for this reason that I outline so fastidiously, because when I plop my bracket text outline and any pre-written snippets into my first draft, it feels so much less daunting than staring at a blank page.

I can start to fill in the pieces I neglected (scene setting, always), figure out where there might be a need for more connective tissue, and tackle the bite-sized chunks my bracket text outline has created one at a time.

I keep doing that until, ta da! A workable first draft emerges, and we move on to editing, my beloved.

Hopefully this has been interesting/helpful, and please please pleeeeease feel free share your own methods and thoughts and funny bracket text!

[fairydares]

fuck it, new fic. let's do this.

(there's a 'keep reading' line so don't worry, this isn't too long.)

Title: Chasing Tails (AO3 Link) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3)

Fandom: Fairy Tail

Rating: E (Explicit) because I'm almost positive there will be eventual smut. I'll be clearer about this as I actually decide what I'm going to write lol. Overarching Warning for Graphic Depictions of Violence.

Categories: 2nd gen fic; adventure, humor, romance, fluff, and angst in approximately that order. i guess.

Pairings: Nalu, Gruvia, Gajevy, Jerza, Miraxus+Fried (don't know what that ship's called sorry), Chendy, Sting/Yukino, Baccana-- next gen has pairings, too, but I don't want to reveal those yet.

Tags/TW's: The first chapter contains UFC/MMA-esque violence as well as some implied street violence. There may be more TW's I need to add later, but I honestly haven't written the whole story or decided everything, so that's all I can give you for now. I'll do my best to tag appropriately as I go.

Summary: It’s been almost 12 years since 17-year-old Layla O'Neil was found living alone on the streets and put in foster care, and she likes to think she’s done a pretty good job of forgetting the past. She doesn’t remember her birth family, the name “Nashi [*1] Dragneel,” or where she heard the absurd stories she told the police who found her. Stories about Wizard Guilds, flying cats, and–most cringey of all–her self-proclaimed status as a “Fire Dragon Slayer.”

But the past becomes pretty impossible to ignore when it confronts her in the form of some middle-aged, pink-haired stalker who won’t stop calling her the ridiculous name she’d nearly forgotten, and trying to convince her to come back to “Fairy Tale.”

Oh, and claiming to be her dad.

Like Layla doesn’t have enough problems! The last thing she needs is some delusional freak following around. Especially one who’s starting to make her want to take his hand…

Yep, this is a Second Gen (and therefore post-canon) fic. The idea took root and just would not let go. I’ll warn you ahead of time that the premise is somewhat dark. That said, I’m the kind of writer who likes (and tries to write) stories with sad beginnings, hopeful middles, and triumphant ends. I don't want to give too much away, but you shouldn't expect major character deaths or anything like that, though their may be some forms of lightly implied abuse.

Feel free to reblog, make your own additions with commentary, whatever. I'm quite lax with stuff like that. Hope this was comprehensive enough, and that you enjoy!

Chapter 1: Dragon-Slaying Aliens

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“That’s correct…a world that exists independently from the one we know. And, unfortunately, a world that’s begun losing its Magic…unlike here, in Edolas, Magic is a finite resource. Without limits on its use, it will one day disappear forever.” -from Episode 78, “Edolas”, (English dub, ~00:09), Carla’s line [*1]

------------------------------------------------------------------------------To say this mission had gone sideways was a big-ass understatement, and even Natsu had to admit it. 

It had started well enough. A relatively small mission. Not even S-Class! Puny wannabe Dark Guilds like the one Shirotsume needed dealt with–what was it called? Bony Jewel or something? Anyways, they were a dime a dozen, these days. Hell, Natsu was pretty sure he and Happy took out, like, a billion of them in the past seven years by pure accident. So how the hell was he supposed to know that this time, he’d get blasted to another world–one even Team Natsu hadn’t wound up in? 

And he was positive they’d never been here. He may have had a bad memory (something he’d begrudgingly been forced to actively acknowledge as he grew into a man) but he was sure he’d have remembered somewhere that made him feel this bad. It wasn’t just that he couldn’t use his Magic. If it had just been that, this might have been fun. Hell, a lot of the worlds Team Natsu had visited–even Edolas–had been fun.

This one sucked. 

If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought he’d been transported to the future–one where FACE had been activated and all the Magic had been dissipated. Because it had felt, truly, like all the Magic was being sucked out of him. When he’d woken up on the forest floor, he’d felt as if he was dying. His lungs had burned with each breath (and not in the good way). His limbs had felt like lead when he tried to rise. 

He’d quickly realized that couldn’t be the case, though. Even if the Dragons hadn’t destroyed FACE, if all the Magic had been sucked from Earthland he’d have Magical Deficiency Syndrome. He’d either be down or in forced into his END form. 

He’d wandered around the small forest he’d woken up in alone, trying to focus through the stink and noise he was only capable of perceiving through what felt like about a hundred layers of thick blanket, and calling for his best friend as long as he could. It hadn’t been long before he gave up and left; Happy had never shouted back (something he considered fortunate, at this point; hopefully Happy was back in Earthland) his stomach was trying to eat itself, it was dark–and, worst of all–he still couldn’t use his Magic. At all.

Actually, scratch that: the absolute worst part was when a glance at his (as usual) bare shoulder showed him that his guild mark had vanished. It was just gone. So was his scarf, and so was his Mini Communication Lacrima. Obviously, his guild mark and scarf were bigger deals personally, but the Mini Comm was a bigger loss in immediate, practical terms. After That Day, seven years ago, Laxus–now Fairy Tail’s Master–had started putting Navigation Enchantments on everyone’s Comms so that anyone who went missing could be traced. There was a 3D map of Earthland and Edolas visually tracking everyone’s movements in the Master’s Office. It could even find them in Edolas. 

Now, Natsu’s was nowhere to be found. No one would be able to find him, wherever he was, and any hopes of contacting them were obviously dead in the water, too. 

He was gonna have to find his own way back, somehow. He only prayed his scarf was somehow back in Earthland, and that Happy had grabbed it for him. 

As he hobbled down the weird, too-neat walkway he’d found, he had to believe that whatever was preventing him from using his Magic was what kept him from sensing anything beyond the general–the stink, the sound, the pain, the hunger. Normally, with his better-than-normal resilience and enhanced strength, his pain would have mostly taken care of itself by now. Usually, making himself move helped. Now, it seemed to be making things worse. 

After finding the pathway, he’d kept shouting for his little buddy a whole bunch of times, but all he’d gotten were several loud verbal confrontations and one physical one. He’d expected to beat the massive brute towering next to the smaller woman beside him–and he had. But it hadn’t been as easy as he’d expected. His movements had been slower than normal. His limbs had felt like lead. His strength had been lesser. Every time he tried to call up his Magic, a wave of dizziness and lethargy had overcome him. It was like he’d feel the rushing up inside of him only to sputter to coldness at the last second; he hadn’t seen so much as a spark since he’d woken up. 

In the end, it was only experience and determination which had allowed him to level the much larger man, and hard-earned wisdom which had seen him running from the screeching woman and the gun-wielding, uniform-wearing soldiers her screeching had drawn. Yet the punch he’d taken to the nose had made it bleed and the kick to the thigh had made him limp. 

It wasn’t just that his Dragon senses had vanished, making him woozy, making it difficult to stand and excruciating to move. His strength was gone as well. Not even sealstone would have weakened him this much.

He’d wandered, now, for what felt like several hours. The number of Magical Vehicles around were astounding–astounding, and nauseating; just looking at them made Natsu want to vomit. The one good part of having an empty stomach was that he had nothing to give up. He meandered in a stupor, through unbelievably thick crowds, dodging Magic Vehicles and their honking, and glaring down anyone who yelled at him for not understanding something, occasionally barking back to scare them off.

He’d never been so disoriented, and the worst part was that deep down, he knew that there was no one to blame but himself. 

Lucy and Happy had asked him, point-blank, if the Quest he’d chosen had anything to do with his search for their long-lost daughter and kitten. 

It had. Of course it had. 

However, Natsu had denied it. Because if he hadn’t, he and Happy wouldn’t have been able to leave right then. Lucy would have forced him to bring someone else along; she was busy taking care of their son, Luke; the Perve-sicle was already out on his own mission/search for Juvia, and Erza was away, which meant he’d have had to ask someone outside Team Natsu. 

No thanks, he’d decided, covering up the fine print on the mission request with his fingers before holding it up to Lucy’s nose. 

Now, as he snarled at yet another person yelling at him for being in the way, Natsu was starting to consider the possibility that he just maybe should’ve been more upfront, and even that he should–perhaps–have waited for the stripper to get back before taking on Bony Jewel or whatever alone.

But how the hell was he supposed to have known it would end up like this?! It had been going fine–in fact, it had been going great! A couple opponents had offered a real challenge before their Master had shown up. Natsu had been laying down brick in that fight, too. Yet when the guy had been on his last legs, he’d whipped some creepy, sparkly rainbow skull from nowhere (now that he thought about it…that might have been what the Guild was named for!) and shot one last attack. One so big, Natsu had been unable to dodge–though, of course, he’d made to both block and finish the fight with an enormously powerful Fire Dragon Wing Attack. 

Based on his current predicament–he had to assume it hadn’t worked. Even though the skull had shattered in the heat of his flames at the last second, the blast had still hit him. His one consolation was that he was pretty sure his little buddy had heeded his final warning to get back. So he was almost definitely still back in Earthland.  

It had taken Natsu several pathetic attempts to stand. Getting here felt like a blur. Now, he had no idea what he was doing. What he should do. Their money had been in Happy’s knapsack, and without his precious nose, finding food was basically impossible anway. 

Man…Lucy’s gonna kill me, he grumbled internally, grunting at another group who shouted at him for bumping into him. 

Okay, yeah, maybe he should’ve been honest. Maybe he should’ve waited. But how could he do that when the lead was so good? When there was even the smallest chance he might finally find Nashi [*]? 

At the thought, his footsteps halted temporarily. He ducked his head, bangs shadowing his eyes. He balled his fists at his sides. The thought of the missing daughter he’d never stopped searching for never got easier to bear. 

It was the worst thing that could happen to a parent, to lose their child. Something he wouldn’t have wished on Fairy Tail’s most vicious, evil enemy. He and Lucy understood that too intimately. Still, he didn’t let himself get bogged down, not when it might hold him back, not when it might keep him from finding her. Seven years, she’d been gone. Her, Wendy–so many of their nakama and allies. Time had neither hindered nor halted his search for any of his missing comrades, but especially his little girl. She’d be twelve, now. He’d gotten better with birthdays and anniversaries when he married Lucy. He’d woken up and started crying on April 14th this year, the same as his wife. 

Still, even on that day, he’d spoken of her. When he was with Luke, Lucy, and Happy, he talked about it. He talked about how he’d find her and Harley–Happy and Carla’s kitten–how they’d be a family again. He spoke of the future to give it power, just like Igneel had taught him. Just like he’d taught his own kids. Wherever Nashi was, he was sure she must be doing the same; speaking of how she’d find them again, the same as he strove to find her. 

But he couldn’t continue his search (covert or not) until he got home. So getting home was definitely at the top of the to-do list. Right after eating. 

He kept walking.

Wherever he’d wound up was seedy, dark, yet strewn with lights that made paths across his newly-sucky eyes when he looked at them directly. Gross and smelly, too. The people he’d just bumped into started shouting back at him, something about bumping into someone’s girlfriend, and he huffed irritably. Normally, he’d never back down from a challenge like this, but believe it or not, he was too lost, confused, hungry, and tired to deal with another fight–not when the injuries he’d sustained from the previous one were still hurting this much. 

It was humiliating. He’d always been the type of person who refused to back down from a fight, no matter how outmatched he was. These days, a lot of fights were honestly pretty boring for him. Erza would always be scary, and Gray was admittedly pretty strong (if not badass enough to stand up to him, or so he would always insist). He could proudly admit to having achieved (at least) Gildarts-level strength without the clumsiness to make him dangerous. 

Now, he was balking out of fights with people who weren’t even using Magic. 

There was something viscerally terrifying about how much his injuries were troubling him. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t limp without worsening whatever injury that asshole had doled out on his knee. His nose felt bigger than his head. 

He stumbled on, brooding. 

The guy whose girlfriend he’d bumped into got louder, closer. Obviously, the freak wasn’t gonna let it go. Cursing, he started hobbling more quickly, turning the next corner. To his relief and curiosity, bright lights, loud voices, and a huge crowd–littered with food stands he might be able to beg food from–appeared. He made his way into the thick of it, ignoring the shouts behind him, and ducked and wove between people. It took him several seconds to realize he was still trying to find food by his nose, which barely even freaking worked. Frustrated, he turned his attention to the source of the light, which seemed to focus down on whatever sat in the middle of the crowd. 

Curiosity shoving past the numbness and hunger, Natsu pushed his way towards it. 

“Ow!” 

“Hey!” 

“Watch it, freak!” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Natsu grumbled. “Watch your damn selves!”

He still felt like shit, but the crowd was oddly invigorating. As he crashed through the thickest (front) lines of the crowd, more lights came on while the darkness behind him fell deeper. Natsu winced, blinking. It took him a few moments to register what he’d stumbled upon: a roundish sort of stage, elevated a few feet off the ground and bordered by some kind of chain-link cage thing. Two corners were open to be entered, but fended off  by some big dudes in black suits, holding back the crowd. 

“WELCOME, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” boomed a voice that came from everywhere and nowhere at once, making Natsu flinch again and the crowd start chattering loudly. 

Match? Natsu wondered despite his disorientation and exhaustion, thinking of the Grand Magic Games. He shoved aside every stranger who tried to take his place at the front of the audience, looking around with wide, curious eyes, shoving his gnawing stomach to the backburner.

“FIGHT FANS! ARE YOU REAAAADDDDYYYYY??!!! ” 

Fight? Natsu thought, perking up, conveniently forgetting his injuries in a burst of excitement. Several people started chattering at the crack of the loud voice that was everywhere and nowhere, making Natsu look around even more fervently. 

“BECAUSE THIS LONG-WAITED MATCH-UP IS… ABOUT…TO…BEGINNNN!!!”

The cheering got louder, the shoving got more aggressive, and Natsu got more aggressive right along with it. He’d be damned if he was going to miss a good fight. Besides. He needed to see what the Magic here was like. He was being smart. So ha! How about that, Lucy?!

“INTRODUCING: OUR FIRST FIGHTER!” the voice shouted while Natsu continued to elbow and shove, anticipation rising. Music rang out, a dude’s loud, snarly voice backed up by a bunch of deep bangs and booms which had Natsu trying to decide if what he was listening to was awesome or fucking awful–nope, definitely fucking awful. For the first time, he was glad he couldn’t hear properly since he got here. 

A light flashed at one corner, drawing his eye. “UNLIKE HIS OPPONENT, THIS FIGHTER IS WELL-ESTABLISHED IN THE SEMI-UNDERGROUND OCTAGON! HAD HIS PERFORMANCES BEEN FORMALLY JUDGED WHILE THE UNDERGROUND WAS STILL ACTIVE, HE WOULD LIKELY HAVE LONG-BEEN PERMANENTLY DISQUALIFIED! YET, IN SPITE OF A CONTROVERSIAL CAREER, HE HAS REMAINED A STAPLE OF THE SEMI-OCTAGON FIGHTING WORLD FOR TWO YEARS!”

“Er, feels kinda harsh?” Natsu muttered to himself, sweating slightly. Though he didn’t really get what “controversial career” meant. 

“WHILE THIS IS NOT FOR THE CHAMPIONSHIP TITLE, DUE TO HIS HISTORY, MANY WILL NO DOUBT VIEW HIM AS REIGNING CHAMP AND DEFENDER! INNNNTTRRROOODUUUCCCINNNG… ‘MAD BULL’ MATTHEW BRON!” 

A door Natsu hadn’t even seen was slammed open as if it had been kicked, and an enormous man–even bigger than the one that had managed to tag Natsu just a little bit ago, a man built like that potato head guy from Lamia Scale, and actually bearing a similar-shaped bald head–appeared, yanking off headphones and chucking them over his massive shoulder one of the lackeys who’d followed him out. The much shorter guy jumped, barely catching them and fumbling a lot once he had. “Mad Cow” or whatever grinned maniacally as he stormed for the ring, dark eyes wild.

The response from the crowd was mixed but mostly positive, Natsu quickly noticed as he glanced around. His eyes skated quickly over the group next to him (which was booing, unlike most of the crowd) then returned his focus to the stage-circle thing. He could see well enough, he was glad to note, even if his vision was nowhere near as sharp as it was back on Earthland. Big Guy took his place at the corner of the ring and immediately started pacing, lifting tree-like arms and roaring as he did so. Meanwhile his lackey scurried for the bit of protected corner behind him, trying to shout for his attention and getting nowhere as he continued to pace. 

Natsu quickly decided he didn’t like the looks of this guy, intro aside. He was the type of asshole Natsu lived to knock down a peg, and despite his injuries and exhaustion, Natsu found himself appraising the big bastard, hands twitching. Sure, he wasn’t in the best shape, but since when had he been one to turn down the chance to kick some ass? It was more a reflex than anything. For about the billionth time since he’d landed here, he tried conjuring up some fire only to curse internally as all he got for his efforts was a wave of dizziness and a wash of helplessness. 

“NOW FOR OUR CONTENDER,” the voice boomed. “SHE’D ONLY BARELY ENTERED THE UNDERGROUND BEFORE IT BECAME THE SEMI-UNDER, BUT WAS ALREADY MAKING WAVES! THIS FIGHTER HAS SPARKED INTENSE DEBATE ABOUT WHETHER WOMEN SHOULD BE ALLOWED TO FIGHT MEN–IN ANY OCTAGON!” More mixed din. Natsu frowned in confusion. Was it for the other fighters’ safety or something? Because someone should ban Erza from contributing to the guild hall violence. Oh, yes. That was a great idea. He’d have to bring the idea up to Gray when he got home. 

“BUT IT’S DIFFICULT TO ARGUE WITH HER HANDY VICTORIES!” the voice boomed. “THANKS TO HER NEARLY-UNBROKEN STREAK OF INSANE WINS, SHE HAS BEEN NICKNAMED THE THE ‘PHOENIX’, ‘UNDERDOG’, ‘TENMEN’...AND HER PREFERRED NICKNAME…” 

A new song started, and this one was undeniably cool, in Natsu’s opinion. Something hard, fast, and catchy, punctuated by an angry-sounding woman singing something about “not giving a damn” about something or other. The door at the opposite end of the ring swung open. A girl came swaggering out, and Natsu froze.

“THE DRAGONESS, LAYLAAAAA O'NEEEILLLLL!!!!”  

It wasn’t his daughter. It couldn’t be. Her name wasn’t Layla. Her name was Nashi. His Nashi would be twelve, and this girl was in her late teens–maybe even her early twenties. The fact that her fighting nickname was “The Dragoness” was a nasty coincidence, but that’s all it was. This couldn’t be Earthland’s Nashi.

But it was this world’s Nashi. Of that, there was no doubt. And Natsu couldn’t make himself take his eyes off her, couldn’t even make himself blink as he stared, ignoring the cheering and booing all around him. 

A couple strands of unruly pink hair at her bangs had broken free of their tight braids, as adorable and predictably unpredictable as his little girl’s. They clung to her forehead, bouncing as she strutted towards the monster still pacing, practically frothing at the mouth, and Natsu vaguely registered the sound of several peoples’ alarmed murmuring. If he hadn’t been so distracted, he’d have understood; she was about half the guy’s size and about -50% as insane-looking.

Not scared, though. 

And…she looked like Lucy. She looked so much like Lucy that it hurt. He could still remember times when he’d call his little girl’s name, she’d turn around, and he’d gasp–because it really was like an adorable, wild little pink-haired Lucy turning to look up at him, her whole face lighting up like he was the greatest thing in Earthland. The memory choked him up, a feeling he’d gotten used to over the past seven years. He swallowed hard.

But that wasn’t Lucy’s smile. Natsu felt like he had seen that smile somewhere but he wasn’t particularly interested in thinking about it all that deeply, because what mattered was that it was her smile, his little girl’s, big and toothy and unmistakable–a little lopsided, the corners of her lips characteristically curling. 

It hit his chest like a shot from Zeref, making him briefly clutch at his waistcoat’s dirtied fabric. 

Natsu knew, firsthand, just how similar other worlds’ versions of his loved ones could be to his. Hell, Edolas Lucy had chopped off her hair to make it a little easier to distinguish herself from Earthland Lucy. 

That didn’t make it hurt any less to suddenly see another world’s Nashi– Layla, this one was called. That was Nashi’s middle name. It made sense, when you thought about it. Names were one thing that seemed to sometimes differ slightly between worlds, as he’d learned on the 100-Year-Quest [*3]. Her canines were sorta sharp, maybe, but they weren’t Dragon Slayer sharp, like his and daughter’s. Besides. Edo Nashi and Fireball’s canines were a tiny bit sharper than normal, too. 

It couldn’t be her. It couldn’t be. Looking at her still felt like being punched in the chest by Erza. Yet he couldn’t stop watching as the music, cheers, and boos faded, she stripped off her sweats (to much catcalling and whistling) to reveal a black sports bra/shorts getup sort of like “Mad Bull’s” shorts, revealing a body packed with much more muscle than any of Fairy Tail’s women would’ve allowed themselves to accumulate. She looked pretty badass, he decided. 

The voice that was everywhere and nowhere boomed on:

“NOT ONLY A CHANCE AT THE UPCOMING TITLE ON THE LINE, BUT–POTENTIALLY–THE FUTURE OF MIXED SEMI-UNDERS. TWO CHALLENGERS, SQUARING OFF FOR A CHANCE AT THE SEMI-FINALS. THIS IS A GIGANTIC CULTURAL MOMENT IN THE HISTORY OF THIS SPORT… ‘MAD BULL’ MATTHEW BRON VS. THE ‘DRAGONESS’ LAYLA O'NEIL!” 

“‘Dragoness’ is fucking right!” Mad Cow or whatever roared while he hugged one arm across his chest, grinning ferally at his much smaller opponent. “Here hoping some man will look at you, fugly?!” 

Several people in the audience laughed. Even the announcer chuckled. Meanwhile, Natsu’s blood boiled. On some level, he knew he needed to separate himself from this. From this fight, from this “Nashi.” Especially when he was this powerless to do anything about any of it. But it was impossible to listen to someone say that to another version of his daughter and not have every protective instinct in his body flare, especially when the spectators apparently thought it was fucking hilarious.

However, her grin didn’t even flicker. “Like you’re one to talk!” she cackled. “You look like Popeye fucked Bigfoot!”

Natsu didn’t flinch at the language like many people in the audience seemed to. In fact, he found the disapproving murmurs confusing. The other guy hadn’t exactly been polite, but he hadn’t gotten the same reaction. Still, a solid number of people were laughing their asses off, including the group next to him which had booed Mad Cow. 

He also had no clue what the hell she’d just said even meant, but the way Mad Cow’s smile dropped off his face, a handful of people started howling with laughter, and the commentator’s chuckles cut off abruptly was enough to make Natsu grin. 

Some random guy in some sort of black, collared uniform entered the arena, signaling to the loud, annoying commentator. Unlike her opponent, no one had followed This Nashi into the arena; she was all alone. So she ran back to her own bit of protected yet empty corner and threw her clothes and a water bottle over the chainlink fence, then ran back towards the middle of the arena. There, she  hopped up and down, shaking out her arms. Stretched them above her head. 

“OUCH!” The commentator finally seemed to recover, though he sounded somewhat vexed. “WELL, ONE THING’S FOR SURE, THE CHALLENGER CAN TALK GAME…WHETHER SHE CAN LIVE UP TO IT IS ANOTHER QUESTION.” 

“God, I fucking hate when Hansis commentates,” the guy next to Natsu muttered, his friends snorting in agreement. Then he glanced at Natsu–only to double take. “Oi, are you related to the Dragoness or something?!” he asked, eyes on his hair. 

“Uhhh…” Natsu chuckled nervously, feeling himself start to sweat. He may have been what Erza would (and frequently did ) call an “impulsive idiot”, but he had no clue how to explain that he was the father of her other self. “Something like that.”

“Whoa, seriously?!” The guy’s friend leaned around him to look at Natsu with wide, shining eyes, then continued, “I won’t ask anymore, ‘cause obviously you’re trying to protect your identities or something, but that’s so cool! We’re huge fans!” 

“Hmm…” Natsu said, scanning their apparel–t-shirts and hats emblazoned with her face and silhouette–and what looked like homemade signs of her name, written in fiery letters. “I can see that…what is this, exactly?” He asked this while looking around at the lights, spectators, an unfamiliar kind of money being exchanged and counted between several people.

Natsu tilted his head, blinking. “No?” he said. 

“The semi-underground tournament?” the only girl in the group said, eyes almost as wide as her friend’s. When Natsu only continued to look confused, she said, “What, do you live under a rock?! You’ve at least heard of MMA, right? Mixed Martial Arts?” 

He perked up at this. “Like a fight?! Hell, yeah! How do I get in on this?!” He grinned, cracking his knuckles, his earlier scuffles and empty stomach completely forgotten. 

“YOU DON’T!” the entire group shouted, eyes bugging. 

The dude who’d first started talking to him huffed, sweating slightly. “The ‘semi-underground’ octagon used to just be called ‘the underground fights,’” he explained loudly, Natsu still having to lean in to catch what he said with his new, bad ears over the increasingly excited din. “It was illegal, but, like, illegal in the ‘everyone knows but won’t squeal’ way, you know?” 

Natsu nodded, fully getting this. After all, how many times had soldiers arrested him only for Queen Hisui to let him off with a finger-wag. Of course, his luck on that front had run out seven years ago…

“The feds finally cracked down on it,” the guy continued, “but didn’t prosecute any of the fighters. Now, it’s called the ‘Semi-Underground’...it’s got no weight-classes (which is why the Dragoness can fight big dudes like Mad Bull). All genders are free to compete and fight each other. It’s a bit more for entertainment than pure fighting prowess– that was different, before,” the guy added with a wistful tone. “But still! You can’t just go waltzing into the octagon, you know? Back in the basement where this used to happen, you could’ve gotten away with that, but now you’ve gotta work for it, you know? Seriously, do you live under a rock or something?” 

Irritated, Natsu opened his mouth, but his response was cut off when a loud voice–not as loud as the announcer, but still–redrew all their attention to the ring. “Alright, fighters,” the black-collar guy said into a microphone which was smaller and not as loud as the commentator’s, quieting the audience. “We’ve been over the rules. Protect yourself at all times. Follow my instructions. We’re going to have a clean fight, you hear me?” He glared at Mad Bull, but This Nashi was the only one who dipped her chin in recognition. Natsu’s eyes narrowed along with hers when her opponent refused to acknowledge the guy’s words. “Now, touch gloves at this time, and come out ready to do this!” 

Both fighters instantly danced away from each other. Black collar guy scowled. Both the commentator and the audience made sounds like “ OOOOOOOH!” 

“NO TOUCH!” came the commentator’s gleeful voice, “I REPEAT, NEITHER FIGHTER TOUCHED GLOVES, AND SO FAR, NEITHER ARE REALLY MOVING FOR EACH OTHER–” 

“SAY YOU’RE PRAYERS, BITCH!” Mad Cow roared. “YOU’RE DEAD MEAT!” 

“BRING IT!” This Nashi roared back, and Mad Cow lunged, swinging in immediately with a big, dramatic overhand hook that would have knocked her out immediately if she hadn’t skated out of its way. It took about three similar exchanges for Natsu to sag in disappointment. 

“Oi!” he shouted, utterly let down, “Where the hell’s the magic?!” 

“Geez!” the guy next to him laughed. “The fight’s only just started: give them a minute to warm up! Then we’ll get to see the cool stuff.”

“What, they’re not allowed to use it at first or something?” Natsu asked, still staring as This Nashi fended off huge, devastating blows raining down from above and leapt back from the powerful kicks, eyes narrowed and expression tight. 

“...Er, what?” the guy asked. 

“Magic–duh!” Natsu huffed, flickering wide eyes between the guy and This Nashi, who was now darting backwards around the round-ish ring, still fending Mad Cow off, weaving and ducking with a speed few could hope to match. “You know?! Fire, Ice, Celestial Magic…?

The guy stared at him for a second along with his companions, all of whom were also sweating. It was then that Natsu knew: 

Something more was going on here. Something he didn’t understand. This place…wherever he was, it was like Edolas. Not now, but back when he, Lucy, and the others had gone there. Magic didn’t just not exist, here; was some kind of… taboo on it.

“Oh, sorry,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. Trying to keep his voice as quiet as he could over the crowd, he continued, “I didn’t mean to say something that would get you in trouble...” 

The group’s only response was to sidle away from him surreptitiously, glancing at him and sharing looks with wide eyes. Natsu was thrown for a loop once more. Ooo- kay, talk about overly-suspicious. Were there guards listening in on their conversation or something? As discreetly as possible, with his hand still at the back of his head, he looked around, eyes narrowed. 

Yet…he saw nothing to warrant their suspicion. An unruly crowd…and an astonishing lack of guards. At the Grand Magic Games, there’d always been a ton of guards. Way more than he wanted to be there, honestly. Did this have something to do with the whole “underground” thing? 

He looked at the group again, then realized something important: it was him they were looking at nervously. Nervously, and like…he was crazy or something. 

It had taken time, but the years had made Natsu wiser–cooler–about situations like this. Even as his stomach sank with the realization that getting home was going to be a much harder task than he’d initially realized, he acknowledged that he’d need to be careful about mentioning Magic here. Dropping his hand, he forced a small smile at them then turned his attention back to the arena, where Mad Cow continued to chase This Nashi around the edge of the arena. Meanwhile, his mind continued to reel, loud to himself and no one else. 

“–IT’S ONLY A MATTER OF TIME BEFORE SHE’S CAUGHT IN A CLINCH, HERE, AND THEN OUR NIGHT WILL BE OVER!” the commentator was blaring. It was sort of surprising, how easily he’d been able to tune out when Natsu’s ears were registering so little. “I HATE TO SAY IT–” (Based on the glee in his tone, Natsu doubted that.) “–BUT HOWEVER MUCH OF AN EXTRAORDINARY FIGHTER SHE IS, SHE’S STILL A FEMALE FIGHTER. HER OPPONENT HAS WELL OVER A HUNDRED POUNDS ON HER [*4]. AND, AGAIN, I HATE TO SAY THIS–BUT THERE ARE JUST PHYSICAL BARRIERS NO CHICK FIGHTER WILL EVER BE ABLE TO OVERCOME! RIGHT NOW, THIS IS A DOG FIGHT, AND NOT ONE SHE CAN KEEP SCRAPPING IN! SHE’S NOT GOING TO COME OUT AS THE ‘UNDERDOG,’ THIS TIME–”

“Man, she’s getting her ass beat!” someone from the group broke the awkward silence as This Nashi was swept aside by a blow that caught the guard at her ear. 

“Maybe she’ll make a comeback!” another guy said, tremulous but hopeful, as a log-like shin crashed into her stomach. 

“She definitely will!” the guy who’d first spoken to Natsu said, though there was a distant note of doubt in his voice as she barely reeled from an arrow-fast straight right. 

Despite the awkwardness of their last interaction, Natsu couldn’t help appreciating these people, who were so devoted to this world’s Nashi. He decided to end their night more positively. “Is that what you think?” he asked in a somewhat bored tone, eyes on the girl still gliding backwards, dancing away from the hits and kicks or else blocking them. He felt, rather than saw, the group’s eyes jumping to him, some of them quickly leaping away only to dart back. 

“What do you mean?” the first guy ventured when he said nothing else, edging a little closer once more.

Natsu crossed his arms over his broad chest, eyes thinning as Big Boy brought down a hailstorm of fists on This Nashi’s head. His eyes tracked the way a particularly big hit caught her forearm–but only barely, seeing as she’d slid out of the enormous range even as she blocked. Just like he’d thought…

His stomach churned uncomfortably. It was eerie and cruel, how much her movements and the memories aligned–

“OUCH! That hurt, Daddy!” After the exclamation, Nashi began grumbling, vigorously rubbing her forearm where his fist had just him. 

“Woops!” Natsu chuckled sheepishly, “My bad!” 

Despite the fact that she was still rubbing the arm he’d tapped with a light hit, the little girl who barely came up above his knees scowled. 

It was midday, now. In their front lawn; his and Happy’s house, now much larger with the rooms he’d added for Lucy and their kids. 

“But–” He grew serious. “–you think your enemies will take it easy on you, Nashi? You think they’ll give you a break because you say ‘ouch’?” 

She dropped her arms to her sides and scowled–pouted, really. She was so cute, he couldn’t have kept his lips from quirking into a grin if he tried. Strutting forward, he planted a hand on top of her head, rubbing the unruly locks. He only grinned wider when she turned her scowl/pout up to him. “Sorry, kiddo, but they won’t!” 

Lucy would have lost her mind, if she saw the interaction. Natsu could just hear her now: “NATSU, WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?! SHE’S FIVE! BE CAREFUL, WOULD YOU? BLAH BLAH BLURGH BLAH– !” 

He never really got Lucy, when she acted like that. Nashi was a Dragon Slayer, like him. She could take much more than a normal human, but would never learn that she could if he didn’t show her! Not to mention that Igneel had been way tougher on him, when he was five. Besides, he didn’t want his kid to be some weakling! What father did want that? 

Not any good ones, that was for sure. Especially not when their kids had Nashi’s determination and drive. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he apologized again, still rubbing her head affectionately. “But you’ve got to understand…if I hurt you, it’s because I know your enemies will hurt you the same way…I don’t want it to surprise you. I want you to be able to fight back, still. You do still want to be a big-time Dragon Slayer, don’t you?” 

She stared up at him dubiously, but the smile caught on quick. She’d never been able to resist smiling back at him. 

“...Yeah,” she admitted finally, feigning reluctance. 

He lifted his hand off her head, cupping it around his ear and leaning down towards her. “What was that?!” he shouted. “I couldn’t hear you…what was it you want?!” 

“I–pfft–I WANT–” Her small smile turned to a grin–the big, corner-curled grin only his daughter ever could or would achieve. The one that always melted his heart. 

“I WANNA BE A DRAGON SLAYER!” she managed to roar through her grin. “NO–I MEAN, I WANNA BE THE STRONGEST DRAGON SLAYER EVER!” 

“HELL YEAH, YOU DO!” he roared back, the pride managing to make his chest burst even as he squared up again, preparing for more training. An adrenaline only teaching one’s prodigy could spark electrocuted his system. “IF THAT’S REALLY TRUE, THEN COME ON, NASHI! YOU’VE GOT MORE IN YOU! I KNOW YOU DO!” 

“OH YEAH? WELL I DO! I GOT WAY MORE IN ME!” She dropped into the stance he’d taught her, grinning for everything she was worth. The sun illuminated her smile. 

He somehow managed to grin even more widely. “Right, then listen up!” he commanded. “When Dragon Slayers fight, they got one big advantage: they can take a whole bunch of hits–then still get up. So that’s exactly what you’re gonna do.” 

“...Huh?!” The little girl’s eyes bulged out of her head. “You’re sayin’ I’m gonna let myself get hit?!” 

“Well, not too hard,” he elaborated. “And not too much…you’re just gonna play defense for a while, see?” He moved for her, throwing a fist much more slowly than he normally would have. Automatically, she wove away, eyes wide on his face. His right fist was followed by his left, then a kick–all too sluggish to be real. She easily moved around and blocked all of them. “This way,” he continued, throwing another kick. “You can learn the guy you’re fighting, how step, how they breathe…” 

“How they step…how they breathe…” she repeated to herself in a murmur, eyes flickering all over his body as he continued to pantomime a real fight. Natsu couldn’t help but grin. Nashi was a distractible kid, but when it came to fighting, she was always on the ball.

Natsu didn’t mind one bit when Lucy blamed him for that. 

“...how they fight,” he finished. 

“...how they fight!” she whispered. 

He started speeding up his movements. Let her orient before he lit up his fists. She mirrored him, flames igniting her much smaller fists. Their dance became even faster “That’s it, Nashi!” he praised as she leapt back from a kick, only letting it clip her shoulder. “Get into the flow of it! Read my movements! Remember, breathe, and–” 

“She’s reading him,” he murmured, voice softer than he’d meant it to be. “Fending him off and waiting for the right moment; his hits are only clipping her.” His hunger was catching up with him again, as was his pain. He ached. He wanted to sleep. And…

…It hurt. It hurt too much. Knowing it wasn’t his Nashi…that just made it hurt more. Each hit, each block, each flash of those brown eyes…they felt like shards of glass piercing his heart.

I can’t stay here, he realized. 

��What was that?” the girl in the group asked, venturing closer to him. 

His heart was heavy, sinking as he watched the girl. Embarrassment washed over him as he realized that had been a stupid thing to say in the first place. This wasn’t his Nashi. She wasn’t using what he’d taught her because he hadn’t been the one to train her. Hell, she probably wasn’t even gauging her opponents’ movements; she was probably fighting for her life, here. 

She would lose. 

“Nothin’,” he replied thickly, dropping his arms even as he watched the girl roll away from a rather impressive and extremely long-ranged crescent kick, not even the man’s big toe catching her at all. “I was wrong…enjoy the rest of the fight, guys.” He used the ensuing beat of silence to stare–for just one more second–at the girl. This world’s version of his girl. 

Without thinking, he went to heft up his backpack, only to sigh in quiet defeat–the exhale almost visible even in the warm air–as he remembered it wasn’t there; he was just a weakling in this world. That’s why his back (and whole body) felt so heavy. 

“Oh, you’re leaving?” the first guy who’d spoken to him said as he turned away, pushing back through the crowd. His tone was an odd mixture of relieved and disappointed. Natsu said nothing, merely waving. 

Overhead, the booming voice–which he’d tuned out during the competition–continued to sound off. “–AN ADMITTEDLY UNBELIEVABLE DODGE, BY ,” it said, clearly shocked, as Natsu pushed past a woman who was obviously excited to be moving closer to the arena. “BUT THE NEXT FLURRY OF BLOWS LANDS, ALTHOUGH IT APPEARS SHE’S BLOCKED MOST OF THEM–” 

“YOU’RE DONE, BITCH!” roared Mad Cow, so loud that he managed to drown out the commentator–who went silent, anyway. This made Natsu pause, his brows knitting with fury. 

It doesn’t matter, he reminded himself. She’s not your daughter. He refused to look back, forced himself to take another step, then another. She’s just some fighter from another world who’s, apparently, out of her league. She’s not–

A loud slam, like a body falling on a mat. “SHE’S DOWN! I REPEAT, ’S DOWN!” 

Natsu smirked. “See, dumbass?” he murmured to himself. 

“IT’S ALL OVER, FOLKS! SHE’S–” 

All of a sudden, a fleshy CRACK rang through the air, followed by an enormous chorus of gasps and cries of surprise from the crowd. A deafening silence ensued. 

“... HOLY– UNBELIEVABLE!” the commentator managed. “A KICK FROM THE GROUND–AND O’NEIL'S BACK ON HER FEET! THEY’VE GAINED GROUND FROM EACH OTHER, AND MAD BULL–MAD BULL IS NOW TRYING TO RECOVER!”  

Despite himself, Natsu slowed even as he urged himself to keep walking. Even as he continued to force himself not to turn back. Looking back is only a distraction. It’s not Nashi. That is not Nashi. It’s not–

“Man, I really hate guys like you, you know that?” 

The seething voice was what made him stop, closing his eyes. There was just…something about it. A growl. A fire. Something that punched right back into his memories:

“Remember, breathe, and keep your eyes on my chest! That way, you can see my whole body at the corners of your eyes!” A combo, one which he pumped more speed and power to than before–throwing her off on purpose. 

“Oof!” she grunted as she landed on her butt. 

“There, when you fall– that’s when you make your comeback! Now that you’ve watched your opponent, and tricked him into thinking you’re down– now is when you get back up and blow them away! That’s how a Dragon Slayer fights! That’s how a Fairy Tail Wizard fights!” She stared up at him with huge eyes, shining with admiration, and flushed cheeks. 

He grinned. 

“So?! Get up! Always get back up, Nashi! I’m not asking the impossible of you–you can do this! I know you can!” 

“I–I will!” she scrambled to her feet, fists blazing with gold heat as she lunged for him. “I’ll always get back up! No matter what, I’ll–” 

His chest seized. He clenched his jaw, knowing he needed to make himself keep walking, but unable to do it. Even as people churned around him, trying to push past him, he found himself shoving them off, refusing to move from exactly where he was. One foot planted in front of the other. Half-hovering. Eyes still closed. 

Whatever just happened had quieted the crowd, an anticipatory sort of silence that made him clench his fists, eyes still closed. 

And then, Natsu’s world flipped upside down: 

“You didn’t even bother to study my previous fights, did you?” Her growl carried across the hushed crowd. “Tch, typical…if you had, you’d know: You’d know I always get back up!” 

His eyes flew open. 

He whirled back around and watched, wide-eyed and world rocking, as the pink haired girl rose. Rolled her shoulders against her ears, one at a time. The grin was gone, a heavy, intimidating scowl having taken its place as she recovered, getting her feet back underneath herself, her stance back in place. Her nose was wrinkled in fury. Her eyes burned. 

Natsu’s lips parted on a gasp as he stared. 

Mad Cow scoffed, hunched and rubbing his chin with a hand like a mitt. Natsu guessed that This Nashi must’ve caught him there–probably with a kick, given the size difference. That must have been what made the crowd react with shock. They were recovering now, though, getting louder.

“And why the fuck would I bother to do that?!” Mad Cow shouted, dropping his hand. “I don’t need to! Every guy you’ve faced could’ve beaten you easily if they’d quit acting like even more of a little bitch than you! You shouldn’t fucking be here anyway…fucking birds, knowing dudes will take it easy on you so you can take advantage of it and collect the reward…well I’M NOT ONE OF THEM!” He roared the last part. The bitter fury in his voice was a kind Natsu was familiar with. 

“Studying what you can find of your opponent’s fighting style–that’s basic! And you wanna sit here and bitch about how I don’t deserve to be here, you lumpy-headed fuck?! ” 

“The FUCK you just call me?!” McCow snarled back. 

“YOU HEARD ME, SHITWIT!” 

“THAT’S IT!” the man shouted. “I’ve had it! I was gonna take it easy on you, but–” 

“THAT’S MY LINE!” 

It seemed that was both their limit. 

They flew at each other. But now, everything was different, and Natsu doubted that anyone without a trained eye and fighting experience like him could recognize it. 

Apparently, the commentator was one such person: “THIS IS–THIS IS INCREDIBLE!” the voice boomed, full of disbelief, as the girl caught the fist rocketing towards her face with a hard elbow, making Mad Cow let out a roar of pain. She kicked away an arm flying towards her head, and launched a sidekick at his now-uncovered stomach–one that landed hard. She built on the damage, bearing down on him as he stumbled backwards, tripping over his own heels. A right roundhouse followed by a left to his head. Despite the fact he was obviously disorientated, he caught the first one– blocked it and tried, unsuccessfully to catch her foot–but not the second, which cracked into his ear and made him stagger, her chasing him and hammering him with surprisingly powerful blows. Each one of her hits accumulated speed and strength.

The commentator picked up again, saying something or other about “striking machines”, but Natsu didn’t hear. His eyes were wide, now, and glued to the girl cracking her shin into her opponent’s nose, teeth bared. The expression on her face…the fire in her eyes…the speed of her hits…her fighting style…it was like he’d begun watching the fight currently happening through one eye and a stream of memories through the other, his breath going still in his lungs–

“–No matter what, I’ll always get back up!” screamed the little girl, running forward and hammering him with fiery strikes, kicks, and even elbows. They’d only just started elbow work. Natsu staggered back with each good combo she landed. He put in the effort to make it look convincing, pride swelling within his chest. 

“That’s it! Build on it! Faster…harder! C’mon!”  

This Nashi slipped underneath and into one of Mad Cow’s big overhand hooks, the corrected trajectory of his fist barely skidding over her shoulder as her right fist tore up, slamming into his chin. Even as his eyes rolled and he staggered backwards, her expression was so mutinous it was almost funny. 

But as good as the uppercut was, it turned out to be a set-up: 

“LOOK AT THIS COMBO…CROSS, HOOK–WHOA! AN ABSOLUTELY DEVASTATING LEG KICK! CLASSIC MUAY THAI-INSPIRED COMBO FROM TURNING–” 

“FUCKING BITCH–!” Mad Cow roared, but his opponent cut him off with a voice like thunder. 

“I’M THE BADDEST BITCH YOU’VE EVER MET!” 

“I’LL ALWAYS GET BACK UP! I WILL! I’M GONNA BE A GREAT DRAGON SLAYER, JUST LIKE YOU! NO–I’LL EVEN BEAT YOU, ONE DAY!” Nashi took a deep breath, and Natsu grinned, allowing the pause in the fight, because he knew what was coming. The catchphrase both like his and not. Inspired by him, but all her own. 

Her fists blazed brighter than ever. The sun illuminated her grin.“JUST WATCH ME, DADDY! DON’T EVEN BLINK! BECAUSE I’VE–” 

“–GOT A FIRE IN ME THAT YOU’LL NEVER PUT OUT!”

Mad Cow’s eyes were wild with fear as he desperately swung for another, big lead cross–one which spelled his downfall. The Dragoness leapt off her left leg–her back leg. Her right shin cracked into his already dipping head. 

He fell forward and bounced off the mat, limp as a ragdoll, while the audience screamed all around him. 

Even as the giant fell still, she made for his prone form, fist raised, but didn’t fight at all when the black-collared man appeared seemingly from nowhere, grabbed her around the waist, and practically threw her away. Instead, This Nashi– The Nashi skipped backwards, smirking, and raised a wrapped fist. 

And that was the realization which thundered through Natsu, now gaping up at the victorious, pink-haired fighter stalking towards the edge of the cage: not This Nashi. The Nashi. 

After seven, grief-filled years, Natsu Dragneel was absolutely sure he had just found his daughter.

*1. Yes, there will be quotes from the original series (the anime dub, sub, or the manga depending on whichever version I like best) at the beginning of each chapter. HOWEVER. The quotes are not spoilers and are often only tangentially related to my plotline. The one for this chapter, for instance, is specifically about Edolas, but is not actually true of the world where Natsu has landed.

*2. Yes, I know the canon Edolas Nalu child is “Nasha.” I decided on “Nashi”, instead, for reasons which will be explained later.

*3. Sorry in advance, but I pretty much kept what little I remembered/liked from 100YQ and ditched everything I didn’t. Same with the original story, but way more with 100YQ. Idk what it is but even though I’ve read the whole thing, 100YQ has this unique quality where a lot of what happens slips straight out of my mind as soon as I’ve read it. In one eye, out the other. So you’ll just have to roll with me, sorry.

*4. Real-life inspiration for Layla (/Nashi) comes mostly from Ronda Rousey, whose biography I read and happen to have on hand, along with Kaoklai Kaennorsing (especially his fighting style). Those are the two main ones. If you’ve read My Fight, Your Fight, you’ll understand how Layla (/Nashi’s) personality is inspired by her–especially as you go on. I highly recommend looking up the Thai kickboxer/Muay Thai fighter Kaoklai Kaennorsing. He has been called the Giant-Slayer because he did, in fact, defeat opponents who had over 100 pounds on him. Watching his fights is just an incredible experience. Other inspirations include Rose Namajunas, Connor McGregor, and some others. There are also several fictional inspirations including and outside Fairy Tail which I won’t bore you with (some of them I’m sure fellow anime fans will be able to guess lol).

[ultimateluckystudent-writes]

You Suck (So Passionately)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Komaeda and Reserve Course!Reader can't stay away and can't stand each other, so he gives you something to think of him by when you leave. Everybody wins and loses in this game of cat-and-mouse.

Or, in which the idea of hate-sex with Komaeda is rotting the author's brain.

Word Count: 4.5k

Content Warnings: Hate Sex, Power Dynamics, Under-Negotiated Kink, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Heavy Themes of BDSM, Degradation, Insults, Humiliation, Slightly Possessive Behavior, Unhealthy Relationship, Use of Vibrators in Public, Semi-Public Sex, She/Her Pronouns for Reader When Applicable, Female Reader

General Tags/Themes: Brat!Reader, Brat Tamer!Komaeda, Reserve Course!Reader, Masochism, Sadism, Classroom Sex, Seriously He's Mean in This One, Orgasm Delay/Denial

A/N: I have.... two other wips of Reserve Course Reader and Komaeda... I'm trying to fit them into a Reserve Course Cinematic Universe, so I may add more chapters to this but it works as a stand alone, but I'll update it if they see the light of day <3

READ ON AO3

“Listen, uh, can we like… speed this thing up?”

Nagito paused mid-thrust.

“What?” He fixed you with the look he gave you every time you did something as stupid as he thought you were.

“It’s just that I have-” You interrupted yourself with a yawn. You really had no idea why you let him drag you out of bed so early in the morning when he demanded you come back to his room again basically every afternoon anyways.  “I have class in twenty, and I can’t-” He just laughed like you made a joke, then continued to fuck you at the same pace. Perhaps even slower, actually, and deep enough to elicit a squeak from your mouth at the sudden feeling.

“Are you seriously asking me for something for your pathetic excuse for classes?” He scoffed. “What does it matter if you miss ten minutes? Or thirty for that matter? What separates any of you from useless, normal, high school dropouts but the pity this school takes on you?” He purred the words like dirty talk, and if you didn’t find that so alluring, you certainly wouldn’t have been doing this- whatever this was between you and Nagito- for as long as you had.

“I hate your fucking guh- ah-” His teeth sunk into you, sending your nails into the skin of his back. You could feel his sharp smirk curled around your collarbone.

“What was that? I couldn’t quite make it out.”

“God, you’d fuck so much better if you stopped talking.” You growled. The smirk tensed just a bit into a sneer. Unfortunately for you, instead of making him speed up like you’d hoped, he only slowed more. You groaned in disappointment, both from your worry about the clock, and the loss of sensation.

“You won’t be able to trick me. Nothing scum like you could come up with could fool me. I’ll take my time with you how I’d like, just how I always do.” The slow drag of him, in and out, was like torture. You could do nothing but wrap your legs around him tighter, fruitlessly, and look up into his stupid, smug face. “In fact, I think you might actually be more useful as an Ultimate’s toy instead of sitting in your play-pretend classes.” He practically giggled. You couldn’t help but moan at the title, which he more than noticed. “See, doll? I think you agree.” He continued his pace, picking apart the threads keeping you together with each movement of his hips.

By the time you had both finished, you already knew you were going to be late for class. You let yourself take the smallest breather before stumbling up and pulling on your clothes. He’d thrown them around the room like he was trying to make it difficult for you. He simply watched you, drumming his fingers over the spot on the bed where you had just been, that infuriating look on his face you knew meant he had something planned. You pretended not to notice as you moved towards the door.

“Okay, later-”

“Wait.” He ordered. Your hand was on the doorknob. You grit your teeth. You knew he had waited for the very last minute just to fuck with you.

“What, Komaeda?” You turned around, glaring openly at him. “I need to go-”

“I know.” He sat up and began casually looking through his bedside drawer. It wouldn’t have surprised you if he’d begun to hum a tune to himself. Right as you opened your mouth, he pulled something out. It was a small, pink device made of silicone-

“No.” You said at once, shaking your head fervently. “No, no, no, no, no-”

“Put it on.” He said simply, holding it out for you to take. His tone was so serious that you almost obliged.

“Why? I would just leave it off anyways.”

“Do you ever feel ashamed about the questions you ask?” He cocked his head. For a split second, you almost thought it wasn’t a rhetorical question, only embarrassing you further. “Obviously I can control it. I’m not giving you something just because I think you’ll miss me. Now go on.” You glared at him, unmoving. He met your eye, as calm as ever. As always, this was a battle of wills. 

As always, Nagito won.

*****

“(L/N)-san, this is the second time this week you are more than fifteen minutes late to class.” Everybody in the room had their eyes on you. ‘God he should have just taped a ‘kick me’ sign to me. It would have been less fucking embarassing.’ “I’m afraid you know the policy. That’s detention tonight.” Your homeroom teacher frowned at you. You took the detention slip she wrote you without a word and took your seat with your eyes pointed towards the ground. As you sat there, book cracked open and immediately zoning out, you felt your anger grow towards Nagito instead of inwards.

‘That fucking freak. Getting me detention just to stick this thing in my panties.’ You felt much warmer than usual. In your panties was the small vibrator he had eventually coaxed on you in your effort to minimize your tardiness. ‘There’s no way he’d actually do it, right? It wouldn’t be fun to mess with me if he can’t even see it.’

Despite that, you could still feel it pressing against your most sensitive spots the entire day, shifting when you fidgeted, moving as you walked. You felt as though everybody must have been able to see how hard you were blushing, but not even your friends said anything. Besides that, you waited all day with baited breath and a hand ready to shoot up and loudly announce you had to go to the bathroom. You thought of at least six different excuses, each worst than the last, just to cover the potentially loud buzz of the device. By mid-day, you knew you had soaked through your panties, and you were terrified it was going to slip right out and onto the floor with how wet you were. But the clip held up, only to torment you some more.

When the last bell rung, you were the first out the door.

‘Just detention left, just detention left, just detention left and then I can go to the restroom, mop up, and go home.’ As you hurried over, your phone buzzed. It was a text from Nagito, as curt and demanding as it always was.

‘My room. 30.’

You snorted as you tapped out a response.

‘Yeah, no. Some asshole caused me to be late again today, which means I’ve got detention. Nice work, idiot. By the way, I think your stupid toy is broken. I didn’t feel anything all day. You’ll have to find another way to mess with me.’ 

‘What makes you think that I’d turned it on yet?’

“Cell-phone in the bin, please, ma’am.” A sunny, orange-hair woman who barely looked old enough to be out of the Academy herself said. It snapped you out of the slight sense of dread and shame as you read the text. You shook your head and obliged. You didn’t recognize her, or know what she was doing here. Usually, your homeroom teacher was the one who ran detention. As if she were reading your mind, she said, “I’m filling in for the usual teacher. I’m Yukizome-sensei. Please, take your seat and sit quietly or do some work.” You glanced around. A couple of other kids were already there too, most of them with their heads down. You weren’t usually allowed to sleep through detention. You decided this was a stroke of luck. You gave her a polite smile and gave her your slip, watching as she checked you off of a list. You sat down, glancing at the clock.

In your haste and smugness, you didn’t even think about removing the vibrator before you left, so it sat there as a firm reminder of the temper you’d surely be met with when you responded to Nagito. For the moment, however, you took off your blazer and arranged it into a sort of pillow, getting comfortable when-

“Ah, hello, Yukizome-sensei!”

‘No fucking way.’

“Komaeda-kun! Good afternoon, what are you doing here? Did you manage to get yourself detention somehow?” She seemed to be jokingly scolding him, but you knew it was only kind of a joke. The sweet smile on Nagito’s face was foreign to you. He floated in like he didn’t have a care in the world. You noticed that his hand was bandaged, and that it hadn’t been this morning. ‘Serves him right. What the fuck is he doing here?’

“Oh, no, I simply saw you as I was passing by on my way out. I didn’t know you ran detention.” He took the opportunity to glance out across the classroom. Nobody else seemed to care about what was happening up front. He met your eye for just a second too long, inscruitable, before turning right back to her. You did your best to act normal, knowing full well he was merely there to taunt you.

“Not usually- I’m filling in for another teacher. If you’re just here to chat Komaeda-kun, why don’t you come see me before class tomorrow-”

“Well, actually, I went to your classroom to see if you could help me out with some work I got today, but you weren’t there. I seem to have lucked in and caught you here! Would it be alright if we go over it for just a few minutes?” His smile was angelic, wholly innocent. You almost couldn’t believe that the sadistic man who’d once made you grovel and kiss his shoes just for kicks. Not that you hadn’t enjoyed that. You wondered what that smile would have looked like from that lowly angle-

“Of course! That’s no problem at all.” Yukizome said, making the pit of nerves in your stomach knot further. You didn’t know what Nagito had planned, but he always had something planned. You knew trying to sleep was a waste. You huffed a defeated sigh and pulled out one of your textbooks to begin working, doing your best to tune out the voice you could pick out of a crowd talking about algebra like he would anywhere else.

As you’d finally become a bit successful in your offer, your panties began to buzz.

At first, you were more alarmed than aroused. It was a strange sensation, and you almost couldn’t stop yourself from looking around to see if anyone had noticed, but you were rows away in every direction from the nearest person, and they were sleeping. You drummed your fingers on the desk. 

‘Okay. Okay. If I just… just shift this way, I can’t feel it as much-’ Right as you adjusted yourself, trying to move it away from your clit, but you jumped as the vibration increased and it backfired. You let out a small squeak, causing Yukizome’s eyes to drift over to you for just a second. Next to hers, a pair of cold, green, grey eyes lingered on you. You couldn’t tell if you imagined his smile being more predatory than before. 

‘This is fine, this is fine, I can just- I can just-’ But no matter how you moved, it was simply too much. Your insides twisted with the fear of your peers noticing, yes, but knowing that Nagito was here to watch you front and center was nerve-wracking. ‘That fucking sicko! He planned this all! He fucking knew! I’m gonna gut that twink like a god damn fish hnngahh-’ All of your thoughts short circuited as Nagito began a different pattern. You looked up, you had to know how he was doing this. In his hand was a small, pink remote. In the other, he pointed at something at the page and asked Yukizome a question.

And the truth was, you wanted him to watch you keep your composure. You hoped it would spite him. You grit your teeth together and tried even harder to focus on your work. You could tell by the way he simply kept clicking the speed up and up. You eventually had to bite down on your book, giving up on the pretense of work and now simply trying not to let your eyes roll up and into the back of your head.

The feeling was building and building, and truly nobody but you and Nagito seemed any the wiser. You were at the back of the room, and you’d kept pretty quiet so far. You began to consider letting yourself cum from this, and it only became more and more appealing of an idea as he toyed with you.

It seemed like he could tell exactly when you wanted to let your dignity falter and considered letting him win. He raised and lowered the speeds accordingly, keeping you on the brink, frustrating as always. But part of you didn’t even mind. You knew you could keep up the silence like this for the rest of the period, as exhausting as it would be. What you didn’t know was if you could when you came.

Still, every time you approached the brink, you got closer and closer to teetering off the edge, and soon you were barely even considering the consequences. Per usual, Nagito took cat and mouse to a whole new level. He batted you around until you were limp, helpless in his hands, though he always found the fight you put up entertaining. You could almost hear the annoying monologue he would surely give you if he ever heard you thinking like that.

‘And just like in the metaphor, the cat is simply stronger than the mouse. Everyone knows it will win in the end. And frankly, it’s almost sad it would struggle in the first place-’

“(L/N)-san? Um, are you feeling alright, dear?” Yukizome-sensei was looking right at you. You realized you’d been practically panting, red-faced and almost sweating. You couldn’t even imagine the picture you must have made. You couldn’t even look at Nagito.

“Ye- Yeah, I’m-” You croaked, your mouth dry.

“You look feverish. Come here, let me feel your forehead.” She waved you up. You felt your eyes widen in fear before you could cover it. Nagito did absolutely nothing about the vibrations. You shook your way to your feet and miraculously began to walk towards her. “Oh dear, does your stomach hurt?” Yukizome was clearly fretting now. She looked down at your hands, which were clutched over your stomach. It was completely subconscious, but hey, whatever you could work.

“Yeah.” You nodded quickly. You leaned over her desk to let her feel your forehead. Nagito’s eyes were boring into you, as palpable as Yukizome’s cool hand, but you completely ignored her.

“You’re really warm.” She confirmed. The laugh that escaped Nagito made you want to melt into a puddle, and your lower half seemed to have caught the memo. “Why don’t you go to the nurse’s office?”

“What?” Nagito scoffed at once. He gave you a quick once over. “She’s clearly just another Reserve Course making a pathetic attempt to fake her way out of detention.”

“Komaeda-kun!” Yukizome scolded. “Your Reserve Course peers are just as much a part of the school as you are.”

“Just as much a part of the school’s budget, perhaps.” He muttered quietly.

“Alright then, why don’t you escort her to the Nurse’s Office and make sure she makes it there?” Nagito opened his mouth. In that brief instance, your eyes met. A silent conversation was had. Your stomach twisted and turned into knots just looking at him, but maybe that was the toy too.

“Yes, Yukizome-sensei. Thank you for all your help.” He finally relented. He began to pack his work up slowly, and with a dramatic sigh. “Come on then.” He nodded towards the door. You stumbled out after him.

He said nothing as you walked into the hallway. You felt both more and less worried about being too obvious here next to him. He didn’t adjust the speed. However, he was walking slowly as you neared the end of the hallway, letting you catch up.

As soon as you turned the corner, however, he grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you away. You stifled a groan as he practically hauled you into the nearest empty classroom. He locked the door behind him.

“Woah, Ultimate classrooms lock?” You couldn’t help but look around in awe. He laughed, like he always did. It’d slipped out before you thought about it.

“This is a lab. Of course it locks.” He rolled his eyes. “God, you worms really don’t know anything about what it’s like not to crawl.” Even if you’d known nothing about him, the way he licked his lips with that glint in his eyes would have given away his perverted enjoyment. He wasted no more time, taking quick, sure strides to you and pressing you into the desk behind you so hard your back bent as you tilt yourself to meet his lips. The moans you’d been holding back came out in an embarrassing, guttural noise.You wrapped your legs around his waist, sliding back and sitting on the table.

His hands roamed over your body, groping you forcefully. His tongue found its way into your mouth with no hesitance. You couldn’t help but give into him. It seemed as though he was so sure that you were simply his, and he always had been.

“Turn around.” He ordered, like he wasn’t already moving your hips into the position that suited him best. You let him flip you over and push you onto the desk, hissing in pain. His hands quickly found their way under your skirt and under your panties. Things always moved quickly between the two of you, and today seemed to be the most rushed of all. Nagito finally, finally turned the vibrator off, pulling it from your panties with a wet noise. 

“Look at this-” He laughed, breathless as he held it up between his fingers right in front of your face. It shone in the sunset pouring through the windows. It would have been oddly beautiful if it weren’t just a luridly pink way for Nagito to fuck with you. You turned your head away, blatantly and needlessly disobeying him. He seemed less than impressed. He took your cheeks with the hand not holding the toy and angled your face towards him. It was a strain on your neck, but he just smiled at you. You hated that you had long since been able to determine what most of Nagito’s smiles meant. “If you don’t want this, then I suppose I could take it and leave.” 

“...then I guess you can stay.” Your words didn’t come out with nearly as much force as you wanted them to. His expression didn’t change. He simply made a soft noise of agreement, put the toy down on the desk carelessly on the desk, and plunged two fingers within you all at once. You practically shrieked, clutching onto the edges of the table with your nails.

“Ahaha… you’re dripping. I can feel it all the way down your thighs.” He purred. “I honestly didn’t even expect you to keep it in for a class, much less through the entire day.” He began to fuck his fingers in and out of you at a lazy, uncaring pace. You could barely focus on what he said. You’d covered up all day, and you simply didn’t have the energy to anymore. You could feel just how deep you needed him at the moment, and it had long since gotten uncomfortable. You shamelessly rocked your hips against his long fingers, hoping you could do it yourself if he wouldn’t. “Look at you! You’re even more desperate than usual. I’m sure you could have thrown yourself at any of those boys in your class.” He sneered, his pace quickening, as if it was your fault his imagination had angered him. Regardless, it was a welcome side effect. “I’ve seen the way they leer at women- at you- and you were so wet I think I could smell it-” 

“Shut up.” You whined, pressing your hips even more insistently against him. “God, you say such embarrassing shit!” You hissed, and if you weren’t already flushed, you likely would have gone red from just the way Nagito had phrased it.

“Shut up?” He repeated, tone even. His fingers completely stilled, just an inch of their tips still inside of you. You squeezed around them, bemoaning the loss. “Alright then, speak.” He grabbed ahold of your hair and pulled you up by the painful grip so his mouth was right by your ear. “I know you’re not above fucking in bathrooms and classrooms and even outside- so why not take one of them?”

You knew what he wanted. That was the only thing that made this violate, almost hateful thing between the two of you work. You always knew what he wanted, and he knew the same for you. You’d gravitated towards each other like the first look was a shared, whispered confession.

“I’m not interested in any of them.” You denied it to him. His grip on your hair tightened. The noise from your throat was frustrated, pained, and deeply aroused.

“Ah, no one from the class of rejects was interesting enough for you? Shocking.” His laughter was cold and mocking, the outburst of sound almost loud enough to be painful right by your ear. “But you don’t exactly show a propensity for interesting conversation, yourself.” He taunted. His hand slipped out of you, but around immediately to roughly grope one of your breasts. After only a moment, he slid it under your shirt and pulled down your bra. His fingers circled your nipples gently at first, which still threatened to cause your knees to give out on your over-stimulated body, but that only lasted a moment, too. He pinched and tugged, making you gasp and press your chest further into his hand. In that moment, he sank his teeth into the new bit of neck you’d just exposed as if he knew exactly how you’d react.

“You’ll leave marks-”

“What does it matter?” He cooed. “No one you’re interested in, right?” He licked the whole way up your neck and ear with the flat of his tongue, a warm, slimy feeling accompanying the filthy action. Despite that, you couldn’t help but want to get even closer to him, to feel that tongue over any inch of your body you could get it-

“Komaeda,” You grabbed at any piece of clothing you could reach behind you. “Komaeda.” You pleaded.

“Hmm?”

“I- I-” You knew exactly what he wanted to hear. You knew what he wanted. Always. “I don’t want them, I don’t want any Reserve Course guy-”

“Of course you don’t, who would?”

“No, no, I- I don’t want any Ultimate either.” The two of you had begun grinding against each other. You could feel his hard-on through all of your clothes. He was panting and moaning softly in your ear as you spoke. “Fuck, I- I want you, nobody else can- god, I want the way you fucking wreck me-”

There was a split second of unfastening and tugging and then-

“FUCK!” You shouted, making Nagito immediately clap a hand around your mouth at the reaction to his first brutal, perfect thrust. But even if he had had the capacity to scold you, you certainly didn’t have it to listen. Instead, you moaned unabashedly, though muffled by him, and spread your legs even wider. You wrapped your foot around the back of one of his calves and he set a pace that began to rock the desk with each thrust. You could do nothing but hold on as he gave as much as he got.

“Yes, yes, yes, my perfect, reprehensible pet,” Nagito babbled to his captive audience. His blazer had long since begun to slip off of his shoulders, and now he let it fall onto the floor. The sound of his hips hitting yours is almost louder than his voice. “You’re mine, you’re mine-” Even as you were connected intimately, he grabbed and squeezed whatever his wandering hands fell upon. “Mine to use, mine to make beg- they’re going to see your marks and know you belong to someone and not know who- like,” His crazed giggling broke his words apart. “Like some sort of stray with a collar!” He was laughing at you once more, but it felt only like another one of the overwhelming sensations about to make you cum. He grabbed your leg and put it on the desk as well, only going deeper within you. On the most lovely side of painful, he took you apart. Your mind blanked save for the feeling of his hands, his breath, his warmth against you-

With you tensing around him, he followed shortly after, his own moan unfettered by anything. The first thing you took note of was when you snapped out of your daze was the feeling of his cum inside of you. You were still too far gone to do much but moan, however, and slump onto the desk completely. Neither of you said anything when Nagito did the same, pressed up against and inside of you.

Deep cutting insults, praise that had been twisted and perverted, even the necessary intimacy for sex were easy for the two of you. The conversation that followed never was. More often than not, you gave up on it, letting the ringing in your ears speak for itself as you fixed yourselves to go back out to the world.

“Hey, um, where should…” You trailed off, holding up the toy. Nagito took it and stowed it away in his pocket. 

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Silence lingered on, and so did the two of you. You’d never admit it, but you always put on your clothes slower than usual when it was time for you to leave Nagito. To say you enjoyed his company was still a bit of a stretch, but right after you parted, the space around you always seemed so much more… empty. For a split second, your mind conjured an image of walking out holding hands, of going to grab dinner together-

“See you.” You said instead, shrugging your backpack over your shoulder, composed as you could while dismissing the man whose cum was still inside of you. He barely acknowledged you, a small nod and a twitch of the hand. You slipped out from the classroom, refusing to look back as you hurried your way down the dark, empty hallway.

[goodlucktai]

give me something that’ll haunt me when you’re not around

chapter two: stuck on the thought of you

rise of the tmnt pairing: leoichi (leonardo / usagi yuichi) word count: 2k title borrowed from sunroof by nicky youre and dazy post-movie

(previous) (next)

read on ao3

x

Yuichi lasts another whole day before his scraped-together willpower completely fails him. Okay, half a day. At work he approaches Sunita in that lull between the lunch and dinner rush while she’s folding linens for the tables and makes his daring move.

Her phone is propped up against the napkin holder, playing a music video by a human performer Yuichi is unfamiliar with. Sunita is bopping along to it and doesn’t notice Yuichi until he’s standing directly in front of her.

When she does, she jumps about a foot in the air, yelping loud enough that a few of their coworkers on the other side of the dining room turn and shoot them judgemental looks.

“I’m so sorry!” Yuichi fumbles. He’s constantly accidentally sneaking up on people, but just watch him try to sneak out of the house on purpose to go joy-riding with Chizu and Kitsune. He gets caught nine times out of ten, usually before he’s even halfway out his window. It’s a joke.

“Ugh, I spend all my time with ninjas these days and I still get spooked,” Sunita says, patting her chest where her heart must have leaped in surprise, but her tone is good-natured. “You’d think I’d be used to people popping up out of nowhere by now, with how often my girlfriend’s little brothers do it, but nope! Anyway, sorry, did you need something?”

“Uh, hi,” he says at length. To his alarm and dismay, he doesn’t actually know where to go from there. It’s very possible he didn’t think this through. “I mean, I just wanted to say hi.”

Sunita saves him with a smile, her visible eye crinkling with the force of it.

“Hi, Usagi,” she says brightly. “Lunch was wild, huh? Did you make good tips?”

“Yeah, actually. It almost made my ten-top worth it.”

His coworker laughs, commiserating the way only a fellow server possibly could, but her eyes drop back down to the napkins. She mentioned to him once that she has to split her focus constantly, to be sure not to leave slime residue behind on everything she touches.

Yuichi is finished with his side work for now, so he reaches for a stack of the linens and drags it across the table toward himself, settling in to help. Sunita seems happy to have his company and doesn’t mind leading the conversation, his brief, generally one-word contributions no deterrent at all. It’s always been easy to talk to her.

“Um, hey,” Yuichi says very casually when he’s bolstered enough courage. “I was wondering if you had Leonardo’s number? I don’t have it, and—it’s been awhile since I’ve seen him.”

“Oh!” To his immediate disappointment, Sunita looks apologetic. “Oh, I totally would, but it’s not really a good time? Things are kind of touchy right now.”

Yuichi focuses very hard on the napkin he’s folding because otherwise he’d probably stare at her as if he’s hanging off her every word, and that. Well that would make him seem desperate. And he’s not desperate.

“Because of the invasion?” he asks. His friend nods, her bubbly good cheer displaced.

“Yeah. It was really bad. I don’t know all the details but April and her boys were right in the thick of things. And after—well, after, Leo wasn’t doing too good. It was pretty scary. So his siblings sort of just closed ranks around him.” She slimes the napkin she’s holding and makes a face at it, balling it up in her hands. She finds another smile for Yuichi and adds, “Hey, how ‘bout this? I’ll text April and see what she thinks, okay? I’ll bet Leo would love to hear from a friend!”

Sunita is the best. He’s buying her boba tea after work tonight. And maybe, if she gets him Leo’s number, he'll buy her boba tea after work from now until the day they die.

Later that night, when he’s helping wash dinner dishes, Yuichi’s phone starts vibrating like it’s fighting for its life. When he checks it, he finds messages from Sunita rolling in. She’s a quintuple texter on a good day.

SUNA: hey ₍ᐢ.  ̫.ᐢ₎ SUNA: good news!! SUNA: april says she’ll meet up with you tomorrow SUNA: you’re off right? i said you’d come to the restaurant SUNA: she has classes in the afternoon so it’ll have to be before 11

Yuichi notes right away that there was no mention of his potentially not meeting up with April tomorrow. He gets the feeling he doesn’t have a choice.

Usagi: That’s great. I’ll ask auntie but I should be free. SUNA: okay april will see you there at 10 am sharp !! Usagi: Thanks, Sunita. I owe you one. SUNA: no prob!! ☆૮꒰ˊᗜˋ* ꒱ა

The bunny emojis would rankle if they were sent by literally anyone else, but from her they manage to be adorable. Yuichi locks his phone and sets it face-down on the counter, then clears his throat.

Auntie glances at him, rubbing a sponge around the inside of a casserole dish. Two of his cousins are parked at the counter with coding manuals and coloring pages but two is better than the full audience of five, so Yuichi just goes for it.

“Would it be okay if I skipped my morning chores tomorrow?” he asks quickly. “I know the farmbatto still needs fixed but I promise I’ll get it done!”

“You stay far, far away from my robot,” cousin Botan says loudly without even deigning to look up at him, little seal point face buried in an unethically-sourced textbook thicker than Usagi’s arm. “It’s still holding a grudge from what you did to it last time.”

“It was an accident, and it was as much Momiji’s fault as mine!” Yuichi shoots back.

Momiji sends him a look of absolute betrayal, her russet-colored fur bristling in offense. “Was not! You were the one who said we should play samurai!”

“Alright, enough,” Auntie says with a clap of her hands that causes little dishsoap suds to scatter. Botan and Momiji both settle down, but considering they’re ten and six years old respectively, it’s not much of a victory. “Yuichi, what are you up to now?”

Yuichi twists the dishtowel in his hands. “Uhhhhh, so you know—you know Leonardo?”

His cousins both snort. Yuichi whips around to pin them with a glare. “What was that? Why did you do that?”

“Do we know Leonardo?” Botan asks dryly. He’s very sarcastic for such a tiny rabbit. “Hamato Leonardo? Gee, I dunno. You only bring him up nine billion times a day.”

“I do not!”

“Ignore them, baby,” Auntie says, amused. “What’s this about Leonardo?”

“Uh, well, he hasn’t been around lately. And I work with his big sister’s girlfriend, so I asked her about him, and she told me that he was—I mean, I guess he got hurt during that invasion. She couldn’t tell me much, so I was going to meet his sister tomorrow morning.”

Auntie drops the sponge in the dishwater and braces her hands on the edge of the sink, brow furrowed. “What? That poor boy was hurt and you didn’t tell me until now?”

“I didn’t know until now,” Yuichi says. Then, a little desperately, he adds, “Please be normal about this.”

“I’m making him a care package and you’re making sure he gets it,” Auntie steamrolls over him in her most no-nonsense tone. She abandons the dishes left in the sink and starts bustling around the kitchen. “If you’re seeing his sister in the morning, I’ll need to get started on it now.”

Yuichi gazes out the window at the darkening sky, praying that his ancestors will smite him on the spot, but unfortunately he lives to see tomorrow.

Also unfortunately, April doesn’t cancel or blow him off the next morning, and is even earlier than their agreed-upon meet-up time. She’s standing outside Run of the Mill when he gets there, her arms crossed and her mouth set, and if she’s nervous about all the big yokai milling around on the street, opening their stores or heading down to the market, she doesn’t show it at all.

She picks Yuichi out of the crowd with steely brown eyes and he steps up his pace a little bit, Spot trotting faithfully at his side.

“Good morning,” he says, hoping it’s a safe enough start when she seems annoyed with him already.

“Yeah, you too,” April replies. She considers him for a minute, then uncrosses her arms and stands a little taller, squaring her shoulders and jutting out her chin. “Sunita told me you wanted Leo’s number. Look, if this is some kind of joke, I’m not laughing.”

Um. What? Dumbly, Yuichi parrots, “A joke?”

“Leo may be the absolute worst sometimes, but he’s still one of the best people I know all the time,” the human goes on hotly, as if they’re both on the same page here. Yuichi has the sinking feeling that they’re reading completely different books. “Whatever you’re trying to get back at him for, it ain’t worth it. You do anything to hurt him and his brothers would go on the warpath, and frankly so would I.”

“I’m not trying to get back at him for anything,” Yuichi blurts. Honestly the only thing he wants payback for is all the real estate in his brain that Leonardo takes up, but that’s not something he’s willing to admit, out loud, with his mouth, where someone might hear him. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you can’t stand Leo,” April says plainly. “You always look pissed off when he’s around. I know he can be annoying as hell, but if you can’t see how good he is, too, then that’s your loss.”

Something in Yuichi’s chest folds right in half. Wow, it hurts a lot.

Historically, resting bitch face runs in his family. Usagi Miyamoto was known for many things, one of which was his dark, glowering expression. He isn’t smiling in a single painting of him that exists. Yuichi is usually very proud of every single trait that he’s told he inherited from that famous samurai, but maybe he could do without this one.

Now he’s combing through every interaction he’s ever had with Leonardo, every conversation. He’s picking apart each exchange and trying to look at it from a third party’s point of view. Did it seem like he didn’t want Leonardo around? Is that what Leonardo thought?

The striped turtle had a way of plowing unceremoniously through uncomfortable silences, of carrying the conversation when Yuichi’s tongue was all tied up, and it seemed as easy for him as it always was for Sunita—her vibrant personality and Leonardo’s charming one, filling the gaps Yuichi’s social awkwardness tended to create.

But maybe it wasn’t that at all. Maybe it was easy for Leonardo to talk to Yuichi because he figured he had nothing to lose—because he thought Yuichi disliked him already.

Suddenly, the only thing Yuichi wants to do is go back home, march up the stairs to his loft, climb back into bed, and stay there for approximately a hundred years. Spot leans his head against Yuichi’s leg, sensing his downward spiral the way hounds are trained to sniff out foxes.

“That’s not true,” Yuichi says. It sounds weak to his own ears.

He doesn’t know what else to say, and Leonardo’s sister isn’t willing to fill the silence the way Yuichi’s friends are. He looks everywhere but at her, flexing his hands, then remembers what he’s holding.

“Oh. This is from my aunt,” he tells the ground, holding out the embroidered bag Auntie forced upon him before he could slip out the door. “Sorry. I told her about—and she—yeah. Please tell Leonardo it’s from anyone else. Tell him it’s from Señor Hueso.”

“He’ll know it’s not from his tío at a glance,” April says. She sounds surprised and agreeably lifts the bag out of his hands. Huffing a laugh at how heavy it is, she gazes at Yuichi thoughtfully, then takes a peek inside. 

He probably should have seen that coming. Yuichi does his best to sink into the ground and disappear as she takes in the tupperware containers and plastic-wrapped pastries.

April looks back up at him. Some of the ice in her eyes has thawed.

“I’m definitely telling him it’s from you,” she announces.

“From Auntie,” Yuichi stresses desperately.

“Right,” April says. She’s grinning outright now. She shoulders the bag like it weighs about as much as a handful of grapes, and props her free hand on her hip and says, “You got your phone with you?”

“Uh-huh,” Yuichi says, dazed. Is this what whiplash feels like? He felt sort of like this when he crashed his bike in the watermelon field last year.

“Give it.” April makes a grabby gesture, swiping his phone from him immediately when he holds it out. She taps at it for awhile, then tosses it back. Her own phone chimes from the pocket of her jacket, cluing Yuichi in to what she was doing. “There. You’ve got my number and I’ve got yours. If Leo likes his present, I’ll pass your digits along.”

Her tone has warmed considerably. She winks at him and Yuichi has to remind himself sternly that it would not be cool to bury his face in his ears and hide there until she went away.

Is Leonardo’s entire family like this? Because it feels like Yuichi has just survived a tornado or tsunami or some other terrifying force of nature, and this conversation wasn’t even ten minutes long.

April waves cheerfully and takes off at a brisk jog, weaving through the Hidden City streets like she was born and raised here. Yuichi sinks onto a bench, presses his forehead against his knees, and calls Chizu while he’s still all curled over into a yokai pretzel.

“I’m calling in a favor you owe me,” he says by way of hello the second she picks up. “Meet me at the market street.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” she replies dryly.

“It involves getting ice cream and making fun of my life choices.”

“We’ll be there in twenty.”

Yuichi ends up blowing the rest of his pocket money for the week on parfaits from their favorite street food stall, and his friends definitely don’t hold back laughing at him when he unpacks the latest installment in the befriending Leonardo saga, but it doesn’t seem as hopeless with the three of them around.

Gen in particular, big softie that he secretly is, hoists Yuichi up to ride on his shoulders as they make their meandering way back to Usagi Farm. It’s the rarest of gestures. Not even Kitsune’s best doe-eyes gets her a shoulder ride.

His friends make Yuichi feel ten feet tall.

And the next morning, he wakes up to nine new texts from an unknown number. A lot of them are just strings of exclamation points and emojis. He knows exactly who this is.

Yuichi’s fingers tighten around his phone as his ribs seem to tighten around his heart. A grin spills across his face before he can help it, mirroring the relentless summer sunshine pouring in from the window above his bed.

[phoenixyfriend]

Commander Buir: Chapter 4

Read on AO3

In which Anakin nearly gets them all killed by accident

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

Fett turns up hours later, looking haggard and hunted. He’s got his helmet off. Cody doesn’t ask, just folds his arms and nods to Shmi. “You owe her an apology.”

“Just her?” Fett asks, the rasp in his voice speaking of privately expressed emotions that Cody doesn’t want to know about. “Didn’t take you for the forgiving type. I’m certainly not.”

“I’m not you,” asshole, Cody carefully does not say. “I provoked you. Skywalker helped. Most of your crimes to me or him haven’t happened yet, and the ones you have committed, well, we’ve forgiven people for worse.” Cody fixes Fett with a stare he hopes actually gets through. “But Lady Skywalker wanted to offer you tea and defended you against me, a person she actually knows, and you threatened to shoot her kid and scared the crap out of her by escalating to violence. I’ve already apologized to her, and so has Skywalker. Do your damn part.”

Fett’s shoulder flexes, and Cody catches the clench of the man’s fist out the corner of his eye. He doesn’t shift to stop him, though, just waits for Fett to recognize what a bad, pointless call that would be. Fett, to his credit, does.

Cody steps aside, because Skywalker isn’t warning him of ill intent in the Force, and Fett moves on through. They’re both deadly aware of each other, but they don’t acknowledge it. Fett comes to a stop in front of Shmi, determinedly ignoring the tiny Force Demigod standing on the bed behind her, clinging like a limpet.

Fett shifts from one leg to the other, and then says, “I… behaved rudely, miss. I’m… sorry.”

“That was karking painful, Prime,” Cody drawls. Fett shoots him a look. Cody ignores him. “Skywalker—”

“I want him out,” Skywalker whines.

“So do I,” Cody mutters, making his way past Fett to sit down at the desk. “But he’s more likely to get us passage to Coruscant than we are on our own, so let’s see if he can be useful, first.”

Fett twitches, clearly unhappy with this, but his eyes keep landing on Cody and Shmi and the karking wall in turn. He’s not uneasy enough to shift his weight again, but Cody’s sure he’s nervous again.

Anakin huffs. “He should pay f’r your armor repairs.”

Fett does not make a face. He eyes Cody. “You should at least have durasteel.”

“Plastoid was good enough for my brothers, and it’s good enough for me,” Cody says. He relishes the facial journeys that everyone experiences. “But if you’re paying, then sure. I’ll take durasteel.”

“Do we have time for fittings?” Shmi murmurs.

Cody shrugs. “If something is wrong, I can get it fixed at Little Sundari. The General mentioned they have at least a few classically-trained armorers there.”

“Better in Little Keldabe.”

“Well, one of those is two hours away from where I’m planning on staying, and the other needs an overnight trip,” Cody snips. “So I’ve got my preferences, Prime.”

“Can you not call me that?”

It’s what you are, Cody thinks. “Fett, then.”

Jango hesitates, and then, “You could take the name yourself.”

“I’ll pass.”

There is no direction to take that, not for Fett.

Cody’s never had a last name. He isn’t sure what to do for one. ‘Fett’ would make sense, but he doesn’t want that. He’d accept Mereel, if Fett offered it. Maybe Marshall, like his title, or Ghost, like his favored forward company…

He’ll workshop it, if it turns out necessary.

“I can get you passage coreward,” Fett finally says. “I’ll see what I can do for armor.”

“C’n you get us all the way t’ Coruscant?” Anakin asks.

“I’ll work as security if that’s what we need for the trip,” Cody adds. “It’s what we’ve done so far.”

Fett visibly stops himself from making a face. There is a twitch. “I’ll see who’s on-planet.”

--

Leaving Denon has them acting as security and backup engineering on another transport ship, this one heading for Kuat by way of Corellia. They get a room for the three of them, though it only has the one bed for all three to share. The cargo is primarily raw materials, but also some factory droids. Cody does his best not to acknowledge how often he feels his paranoia spike in response to seeing rows of regimented robots, inactive and not even baring any particular resemblance to the ones that he’s nearly died to so many times, but… but…

Anakin has the same reaction, and he loves droids. Cody can’t pretend this isn’t… what it is.

They have a birikad, now. Fett had given it to them, when he said goodbye. A Mandalorian baby sling, large enough for a toddler.

Shmi holds Anakin, after her time on-call is over. When Cody joins them, shucking off his kit and dropping onto the bed, she gestures him closer, and he… well, he doesn’t want to reject that. It’s nice to have a friend. Weird, because she is neither brother nor Jedi, but nice. He finds himself leaning against her, or letting her lean against him, and trading Anakin back and forth as he decides what kind of comfort he needs that night.

He needs more sleep than either of them do, and so there are more nights than not that find Cody and Shmi reading or working in bed, toddler between them.

Sometimes, they talk.

“How old are you, really? How has your age worked?” Shmi asks. “You are twelve. You are also twenty… five? But you said you aged faster than your brothers…”

Something like that. “Standard troopers grew double-time until nine. So one of them would be eighteen at nine, but then nineteen at ten. Speed us to physical maturity, and then don’t lose the effectiveness. They didn’t get it right at first—one of the Alpha batches got a tweak that put them permanently at six-time aging, so they’re all old men by ten—and the rest of the Alpha batch got stuck at double aging, too. Started off as a gene edit or something, then they switched over to force growth tubes instead. Something about ensuring the client would get their money’s worth.”

Shmi tilts her head, brow furrowed. “So, at twelve and a half, you should be… twenty-one? Twenty-two? Anakin’s age, in that future. But you’ve given your age as twenty-five, and you look it.”

“Command class got more than double-rate, at the start,” Cody says. He can’t remember if he’s already told her this part. “Theory was that if we looked older than them, even by a few years, they’d be more inclined to listen to us in the field. Less hesitation means less deaths in battle.”

“So they stole even more of your youth from you,” she says.

Cody shrugs. He doesn’t know how to address that, really. It’s something to vent about with brothers. It’s not something to discuss with natborns, even ones that shared certain experiences. “I’m an adult in every way that matters, as far as I’m concerned. I fight. I manage hundreds of thousands of lives. I can sign paperwork in my own name. I’ve had sex. I’ve had alcohol. I’ve had my skills in standard topics tested to ensure I was educated to the level of a grown natborn. I feel older than twenty-five, just because of the degree of responsibilities I have, even if I don’t look it.”

He doesn’t know what to do, so he shrugs again. “My childhood was shit, inasmuch as it even was a childhood, but… it’s not like I’m interested in those things now.”

“I understand that,” Shmi says, “though…”

He tenses. He isn’t sure if she notices. “What?”

She looks away from him, shrugging. “I never got a chance to really enjoy being young. I was always a slave, and eventually a mother. And I think part of me would revel in the opportunity to… collect dolls, or something of that nature. A childlike thing I never would have had the resources to do.”

He can understand that. Sort of.

“Have you something like that?” she asks.

Does he?

He doesn’t know.

He barely knows what constitutes as childlike in the first place. His understanding of a natborn life is very focused on what he’d like to do, as an adult. Is there anything…

“I’d like to take classes,” he decides, “on arts. Not high fine art, or what have you, just… painting basics. It’s not necessarily childlike, as you described it, but…”

“Something for yourself,” she summarizes. “That you couldn’t do before.”

“Ice cream,” he adds. “Only tried it a few times. I’d like more.”

“Didn’t have much of that on Tatooine,” she half-jokes. “I’ve had it twice, I think.”

“We’ll get some on Coruscant,” Cody says. Almost without thought, his hand goes to Anakin’s head, and he plays lightly with the child’s fine hair. “The General will know a place, I’m sure.”

She’s silent for a long time. Cody almost starts to drift off.

“How long was he on Coruscant?” she asks.

“Ten years, before the war started,” he tells her. “Or something like that.”

“And he had… a parent?” Shmi presses, hesitant. She turns sideways in bed, eyeing him with something that isn’t quite hurt. “You’ve mentioned a Kenobi, but Anakin won’t talk about his life. He’s always so vague about things, and I can’t figure out what this Kenobi situation was.”

“I once heard Skywalker—Anakin—call Kenobi the closest thing he had to a father,” Cody tells her. He turns in bed to face her more fully. “I’d say they were more like brothers, but whatever they were, they were close. He’d lose his mind if Kenobi was ever truly hurt, and General Kenobi was… more collected, certainly, but there was no question that Anakin was one of the most important things in his life. The only people Anakin was more protective of were Padmé and Ahsoka.”

(Continue on AO3)

[jamesisthesun]

jegulus headcanons (in honor of jegulus week)

happy jegulus week!! the amount of times I’ve cried about them this week alone- let’s not talk about it. Anyways feel free to add your own headcanons, I would love to hear them. I’m thinking of making playlists, I’m starting with a jegulus one I’ll add the link on here later on. also if anyone has fic recs please tell me!! just please tell me the title and author (especially if it’s on ao3) just to let you all know, some of the songs might not fit this exact headcanon but they do fit other headcanons, I’m a very indecisive person so I have multiple headcanons, especially revolving around the break up. And I made it a collaborative playlist, so anyone can add songs, just please don’t delete any. -Maria<3

here’s the link<3

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2Hm6RTG4EIiDwPi6xVa6a9?si=LrU5AGLPR6qgzk5CzIV6Cw

enemies to friends to lovers

it all started one night at the astronomy tower

James fell first.

it was awkward at first, but after a while of “coincidentally” finding each other there, they got comfortable with each other

that’s when James realized that Regulus is actually really talkative

they were both talkative, could, and did, spend hours talking. jumping from one subject to another.

by the end of the night they didn’t even remember what they started talking about in the first place

they started talking in James’s 5th year and Regulus’s 4th and started started dating in James’s 6th year and Regulus’s 5th

it was great. although James hated lying to the rest of the marauders, especially Sirius.

but for once, he wanted to be selfish, he wanted to put his happiness before he put everyone else’s. so he did.

and God was he happy

it was weird for him at first, since he had a crush on Lily for years.

their banter continued, especially on the quidditch field

James tried to convince Regulus to run away, but Regulus refused. especially after Sirius ran away

Regulus knew that for Sirius to be safe from their parents he had to stay behind

so he did

James’s offer was still up though

the moment James knew he was in love with Regulus was when he made Regulus genuinely smile/laugh for the first time

Regulus knew he was in love with James while he was rambling about something and James listened to him.

no one had done that before, at least the way James did

he liked it, he loved it. he loved that he was able to talk about his interests and his passions, he loved that the person he was talking to actually listened and seemed genuinely interested in the conversation.

that’s when they first kissed, Regulus made the first move

James froze, he didn’t know what to do

Regulus thought that he ruined what they had, so he pulled away, rambling apologies

he quickly stopped when he felt James’s lips on his

they always met up at the astronomy tower

sometimes in abandoned classrooms

Lily knew about them

she was actually the one that would give James advice

it was great, they were happy

James always called him ‘love’, ‘small star’, ‘baby black’, ‘reg’, ‘Reggie’, etc

James had an infinite amount of nicknames for him

Regulus had some for James to

especially in French, James loved it when he spoke French

‘mon amour/my love’, ‘chéri/darling’, ‘love/amour’, ‘golden boy’, etc

James also loved it when Regulus played the piano

James knew how to play the piano, he learned when he was a kid

he pretended he didn’t

he asked Regulus to “teach” him

he loved to hear Regulus talk, Regulus putting his hands on top of James’s

it was romantic, James was a helpless romantic

Regulus walked in on James playing the piano perfectly one day

to say he was shocked was an understatement

he loved it

they played together all the time

then Regulus got the dark mark

he broke it off with James

didn’t tell him why, James was heartbroken

everyone noticed of course

he didn’t eat as much

he either slept a lot or not at all

never played piano again, he used to always play

he tried to hide it, hide his heartbreak

he tried to be “golden boy” again

he was able to fool almost everyone

but Sirius, Remus, Peter, Marlene, Mary,his parents. they noticed something was going on

he never told them, Lily was the only one that knew

Regulus noticed too, it broke him

James eventually found out about the mark, he was mad, upset, heartbroken all over again

Regulus wasn’t doing much better

as much as he regretted breaking up with James, he knew he couldn’t keep him. It was too dangerous, he couldn’t risk James’s life not that it mattered in the end

it was hard but they were getting through it

then James and Lily started dating

Regulus was heartbroken again but he was happy

he was happy for him

because for the first time in a while, James looked happy

then the war started

they never truly got over each other, especially Regulus

Regulus found out that James and Lily got married and were expecting a child

he was happy for them, worried too, but overall happy

when he found out Peter was a death eater and that Peter had betrayed them he knew he had to prevent it

so when he found out about the horcruxes he knew he had to destroy it

for James

he came up with a plan (with Pandora’s help because they were platonic soulmates and you can’t convince me otherwise)

in his last moments, Regulus thought about James

he had hoped that he saved him, it was the least he could do sinceJames saved him

he thought about how proud Sirius would be

he died peacefully other than the painful fact that he was quite literally drowning knowing that James was going to be fine

he wrote a goodbye letter to James explaining everything

James was heartbroken when he read it

his parents died the same week

it wasn’t easy

he never stopped loving him

they were meant for each other, but they weren’t meant to be together

they were two worlds apart

he also wrote one for Sirius

he never opened it

lastly Halloween 1981 happened

James’s last thoughts were of Harry, Lily, Sirius, Remus

he wondered if Peter was okay

he thought about Regulus, he was finally going to see him again

might make a wolfstar, flowerpott, dorlene, and just different headcanons for different characters in different fandoms so…

also my tiktok is @marvelsfallingkink (same as my tumblr)

[lemonlillybee]

Sicktember Day 1: How To Take Care of a Peter Parker

Sicktember Day 1

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41403822/chapters/103829082

Title: How To Take Care of a Peter Parker

Prompts: #1 ‘Do You Know How To Take Care of a Sick Person?’ , #2 Homesick and #16 Care Package

Fandom: Spider-Man (MCU)

Word Count: ~1300

A/N: I combined three @sicktember prompts for my first fill of the month! HAPPY SICKTEMBER!

Ned : Hey

Ned : Do you know how to take care of a sick person?

Ned : Because Peter is super sick and gross  

Ned looks over at Peter, asleep in his bed and snoring so loudly that Ned almost doesn’t hear his phone chime with MJ’s reply.

MJ : Be right there

–- 🕷 –-  –- 🕷 –-  –- 🕷 --

MJ : Peter is sick again

May Parker : aww poor thing. 😭 he was just sick last month!

May Parker : I’m at work for another 8 hours. I can call Tony?

May Parker : does he need me?  

May Parker : I can try to get off early  

May Parker : how sick are we talking?

May Parker : he won’t say it, but he’s definitely going to want campbell’s chicken noodle soup and juice  

May Parker : does he have a fever?

MJ : No fever, coughing a lot. He’s asking about you but he’s just a little homesick, I think, no need to leave work. Ned and I are taking good care of him. I’ll keep you updated. Thanks!

May Parker : I know he’s in good hands, thanks sweetie! ❤️❤️❤️ I’ll text Tony

–- 🕷 –-  –- 🕷 –-  –- 🕷 --

May : hey, sounds like Peter is sick. I’m not even halfway through my shift or else I’d drive there right now

Tony Stark : Again? Damn, poor kid

May : do you think you could pick up some things for the kids? maybe check in on them?

Tony Stark : On it. Thanks, May.  

May : ur the best!! 😘

–- 🕷 –-  –- 🕷 –-  –- 🕷 --

May : hi sweetie! sorry you’re not feeling well. I larb you!

Peter : Thanks, larb you too. I’ll call you later if I have a voice

May : u better!!

May : ❤️❤️❤️

–- 🕷 –-  –- 🕷 –-  –- 🕷 --

Peter is napping again, this time curled up against MJ, when Tony calls.

“Hi,” MJ answers, moving her hand to run her fingers through Peter’s hair when he blinks awake at the sound of her voice, looking confused and sleepy. “Yeah, he just woke up. I’ll put you on speaker.”

“Hey, Underoos. I hear you’re feeling a bit under the weather?”

Peter tries to croak out a response, but his voice doesn’t cooperate and he ends up coughing instead. He clears his throat several times before he’s able to get anything out. “Hey.”

“Oh, you sound awful,” Tony says, unable to hide his surprise. “How’d you get so sick?”

Peter coughs some more, then sniffles, sounding miserable.

“It’s actually not too bad,” MJ says, rolling her eyes when Ned scoffs in disagreement. “I mean, he’s coughing a lot and he basically has no voice. It just sounds a lot worse than it is.”

“He’s still a walking germ factory,” Ned adds from his spot in the corner, the farthest he can get from Peter while still being in the same room.

Peter and MJ both snort, which makes Peter cough again. MJ rubs his back and grabs his water from the nightstand for him to drink.

“Do you need anything, Peter? I can come out there?”

MJ hesitates, watching tears well up in Peter’s eyes. She keeps rubbing his back, waiting for him to answer and frowning when he scrubs his sleeve over his face and sniffles wetly.  

“Just wish I was home,” he mumbles, voice hoarse and cracking on the last word.

“Want me to send Happy? He can pick you up and take you home. May is at work but she’ll be there tonight.”

MJ watches Peter’s face light up at the mention of May, but he quickly closes his eyes and stuffs down what sounds like a whimper, shaking his head.  

“No,” he whispers congestedly. He digs a knuckle into his right eye and heaves a raspy sigh, then clears his throat. “I’m just being a baby. I’ll be fine. I have MJ here and she’s taking great care of me,”

“And me!” Ned chimes in, eyes flitting to the bottle of hand sanitizer next to him when Peter pulls the blanket up to cover his face before sneezing three times.

“Bless you! Well, I have no doubt MJ and Ned are both taking great care of you,” Tony says as Peter begins to cough again. “I’m going to let you kids go. Get some rest, Peter.”

“Thanks, Tony,” MJ says, hanging up and pulling Peter in close, rubbing his back and letting him sniffle into her shirt until he falls back asleep, not missing the single tear that falls from the corner of his eye before he does.

–- 🕷 –-  –- 🕷 –-  –- 🕷 --

Tony : Just talked to the kids. Peter sounds terrible but he’s in good hands with MJ

Tony : What time are you off?

May Parker : aww 🥺

May Parker : 7pm

Tony : Want to grab dinner tonight? I’ll have Happy pick you up

Tony : Also, can you send me a list of things Peter likes when he’s sick?

May Parker : sure, can’t wait!

May Parker : chick noodle soup

apple juice (NO orange)

tissues. like a ton. double what you think he might need lol

cough drops (the cherry kind only)

harry potter movies

hot chocolate

blankets

cherry jello

Tony : Thanks, you’re the best! See you tonight

–- 🕷 –-  –- 🕷 –-  –- 🕷 --

MJ : Thanks for calling earlier. Peter took a long nap and he woke up feeling a little bit better

Tony Stark : He doing okay?

MJ : He gets a little homesick when he’s not feeling well. We’re going to call May when he gets his voice back

Tony Stark : I’m with May right now, I’ll let her know

MJ : Perfect, thank you

Tony Stark : Hope he can get some sleep tonight with all that coughing

Tony Stark : Make sure you and Ned are getting rest too

MJ : Will do, thanks!

–- 🕷 –-  –- 🕷 –-  –- 🕷 --

In the morning, MJ checks her mailbox and finds a slip indicating there’s a package for her in the office. Brad, the RA on duty, hands her a large box with an overnight shipping label on the side.

“Someone paid a lot of money to get that to you,” Brad comments, eyeing MJ curiously. “Know what it is?”

“Nope,” MJ says, lifting the heavy package and leaving Brad to wonder alone.

As she walks back up the stairs, her phone vibrates in her pocket, and she shifts the box under one arm so she can pull it out.

Tony Stark : There’s a package for you kids, it should have been delivered this morning

Tony Stark : Mostly just a few things for the sickie

MJ : Yep, just got it!

MJ : Just a few things? It’s heavy, I’m counting this as arm day lol

Tony Stark : Sorry, I know it’s a lot. Hope it’s not too heavy to carry

Tony Stark : How’s Bug Boy doing this morning?

MJ : No, it’s perfect, it’s sweet of you to send something

MJ : He still doesn’t really have a voice and he’s super stuffed up, but I think feeling a little better. I think he had a low grade fever last night but he’s back to normal temp as of 30 minutes ago

MJ : He also almost puked but I think it was just from all of the coughing

Tony Stark : If he changes his mind, I can be there in less than an hour. Just call or text, any time of day

Tony Stark : Take care of yourself too. Send Peter my love

MJ : Thanks, I’ll let him know. He’s lucky to have you in his life

Tony Stark : Not as lucky as I am

–- 🕷 –-  –- 🕷 –-  –- 🕷 --

Tony : How are you feeling?

Underoos : Better, almost have my voice back!

Underoos : Ned freaked out when he saw the lego set  

Underoos : Thank you

Tony : Anytime, kiddo  

Tony : You feeling up for a visit from May and me?

Underoos : You don’t have to come all the way out. I can video call?

Tony : Or, you could open the door?

–- 🕷 –-  –- 🕷 –-  –- 🕷 --

Tony : Just dropped May off. Thanks for the visit. Feel better, love you!

Underoos : Love you too, Dad

[candlewaxandp0lar0ids]

if I can never give you peace — two || Jungkook

Pairing: Jungkook x reader // Word count (chapter): 5.8k // Genre: Mafia AU, Hybrid AU, enemies to lovers // Ao3

↳ It starts like quite a few stories do, in your world. Girl meets boy, who happens to be a hybrid, girl buys him at an auction where hybrids are sold, boy falls in love with her, girl gets bored of him. Then it’s not so typical anymore, when the boy ends up forced into illegal fighting rings, until he makes a wrong move and the girl’s father decides he needs to be killed.

Where does that leave you? Well, you’re the one who handled Jungkook’s fight and generally organized his life, and, when the girl’s father, your boss and mafia leader, tells you he wants him ‘put down’, you’re the one who has to get it done. Except, instead, you let him escape, and everything turns out fine.

Until he comes back.

Warnings and tags (chapter): Descriptions of violence, Threats, kind of dark in general

First · Previous · Next

The car is late, you think as you smooth over the fabric of your skirt, your mouth twisted in a disapproving scowl. Annoyance is one of the few emotions that ever appear on your face, and you don’t even bother to hide it. You have only been standing there, waiting, for a few minutes, but it already disrupts your perfectly well-oiled routine. This is just one of the many changes that have come with Jungkook taking over, but it could be the one you are the least fond of.

You used to have the routine down to a T. You knew exactly when to leave your apartment so that the car would stop in front of you right as you reached the pavement. There were small hiccups every now and then — traffic, last-minute phone calls —, but most of the time, it went perfectly. You liked that. Having that kind of control, when your life had always been completely out of your hands, was comforting.

That went out the window the day you started working for Jungkook.

When the car stops in front of you, five minutes, that’s three-hundred seconds, after the agreed-upon time, you take a short breath before opening the door and stepping in.

There, of course, is your new boss, sitting with his legs widely spread on the leather seat. He changed your discreet sedan for a limousine, which you find obnoxious, but you didn’t protest. You liked to think that you were better than that at picking your battles

“Mr. Jeon,” you say with a nod, voice even.

Jungkook grins when you call him that. You know he enjoys the title, the power it indicates, particularly since hybrids are supposed to only ever have the same last name as their owners.

“Lot of work to be done today,” he comments, and you know he’s just saying that to rile you up. You used to report to Mr. X, but you worked on your own more often than not. Now, you’re basically Jungkook’s glorified secretary. You wouldn’t particularly mind the change if it didn’t mean that you had to sit and watch him superbly ignore your carefully crafted schedule, as he had every single day for the past week.

“Indeed,” you reply without batting an eyelid. “This morning, you have a meeting with Suga,” this one he should go to, he never misses them, “then you are supposed to eat with Fred Lucas,” chances were he wouldn’t show up to that and make you take him to a fancy restaurant instead, and you would be the one to have to handle the situation with him, “and later today I think it would be important for you to pay a visit to the Mystery Room.” That place was one of the few legal aspects of the business at the moment, if you ignore the drugs that get sold there, and it was not a location you should lose right now. “They have been quite… difficult, since the change in direction.”

That last one is new, and you’re not sure how Jungkook will react to it. Of course, there is plenty more work to do, but you’re trying out new methods to get him to do at least what really matters. You don’t understand why he would hire you if he doesn’t let you do your job, but hey, at least you’re alive. And so is your family.

You don’t know how long that will last, though. Unless Jungkook seriously gets his act together, it won’t take long for someone to think that they can do the same thing he did, and have him murdered. You’re even mildly surprised it hasn’t happened yet. That’s the thing, when a leader gets killed. It weakens the whole structure, and it gives people ideas.

The grin disappears from Jungkook’s face and he nods gravely at that last piece of information. That catches your eye, because it’s new. You tell yourself that maybe, just maybe, he spent the last week riding the high of his victory against Mr. X, and that he will be efficient if there’s trouble, at least.

“Cancel that second thing,” he says. “I want to eat at that restaurant I went to last week. You should get me a reservation there.”

Or not.

“But you can go meet him,” he adds, and you blink.

“Mr. Lucas is expecting to see you,” you say, in case you weren’t clear.

“And he doesn’t get to demand my presence like that,” Jungkook snaps. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from wincing. His voice sounds harsh, cutting. Dangerous. “Did he think that I’d go ask for treats because a human joined us? That’s not how that shit works.”

Okay. He’s not wrong here, but you don’t know about this— approachto the situation. Fred is, indeed, one of the two human leaders who decided to immediately join Jungkook when the news of the death of Mr. X and the uprising of hybrids in various parts of your branches in the city spread. You wouldn’t be surprised if he expected a treatment of favor for that, too, but you’re not sure letting him know how little his gesture was appreciated was the way to go.

“I don’t think—”

“He’s replaceable,” Jungkook says with a dismissive movement of the wrist. “I’ll swap him for one of my men the second he makes a mistake. It would be a lot better if no one forgot that.”

The look he gives you makes his message crystal clear. You feel your mouth getting dry, but you know nothing is showing in your expression, and that at least is a relief.

“I’ll go to the meeting and get you your reservation, then,” you say, pulling out your phone. “Does the rest of the schedule work for you?”

Jungkook frowns, and the tiniest feeling of satisfaction spreads in your chest. You know he’s just applying pressure and waiting for you to crack, but you won’t.You’re used to contorting yourself to please everyone. You’ve made it work for years, and it will take much more than those childish games for you to snap.

Or, at least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself for the past week.

“Fine.” Then he closes his eyes and leans back in the seat. You raise an eyebrow at the sight. You know it’s not because he trusts you, but because he doesn’t think you have the guts to do anything to him — and because, even if you did, he’s pretty confident he wouldn’t have any trouble stopping you. You hate that you find something endearing in that vision. Jungkook was genetically designed to be handsome, and he is.More than that, though, when you look at him right now, even though his long bunny ears are skillfully hidden under a headband, he looks cute.

And he could — and would — take less than a second to snap your neck.

“This afternoon should be fun at least,” he mumbles under his breath, and you hide your grimace.

Shit. That can’t be good.

It’s been clear to you from the very first day that Suga knows exactly what he is doing. It’s also been clear that this isn’t his scene. Being at the forefront of operations, taking the lead — it’s obvious that he would much rather stay in the shadows. You’re not sure how important he was to Jungkook’s organization before, since no one has bothered trying to inform you of that, but you suspect that he’s usually more the type to be in the field.

Right now, though, he’s standing in front of a small group, exposing what the recent developments have been. Sitting behind Jungkook, you listen to him attentively. Those reunions should become less frequent, but right now things could still change completely, and you cannot afford to be taken by surprise.

You are, however, starting to feel less and less comfortable with the fact that nothing seems to be coming out of them. Sure, Yoongi informs you of the people who have sided with Jungkook and of those who are openly opposed to him — a minority, so far — but there is a large group in between that seems to be in no hurry to take position. And you don’t like it.

It hasn’t been long since Jungkook has taken over, but you should at least have gotten someintel by now. You’re not sure what isn’t working here. For now, you don’t want to risk provoking anyone by offering your services. Worry is starting to gnaw at you, though. You could all be driving into a dead-end street at full speed, and that stupid struggle you’re having with Jungkook just isn't worth dying over.

“So not much has changed,” Jungkook comments, tapping his fingers onto the table. He looks nonchalant, but you notice a muscle in his jaw twitching. You wonder if he understands more than he lets on.

“Things have been stagnant,” Yoongi admits without batting an eye. “There hasn’t been any open rebellion, but communication is lacking.”

“That needs to get better.”

“We’re working on it.”

They probably are, but it doesn’t look like that’s going well. Word has reached your ears that some of the branches have been keeping hybrids at bay as discreetly as possible.

“What about that Mystery Room thing?” Jungkook asks, frowning. “What’s going on over there?”

“The what?” Yoongi frowns.

Jungkook looks puzzled — pissed, actually — for a second, then glances at you over his shoulder, and the attention of the whole room suddenly shifts to you. You straighten your back, swallow.

“The owner of the bar has missed a payment to us,” you state calmly, “and it seems that he has no intention of making it and is trying to get out of his contract with us. It would be better if we didn’t lose it right now.”

“What do you mean, ‘it seems’?” Yoongi asks, narrowing his golden eyes at you. His voice sounds more like a hiss, and this time, you struggle to hide your reaction. You haven’t forgotten what it felt like, when you thought he was going to kill you. It’s affected you more than you’d like to admit.

“I have a contact who—”

Yoongi clicks his tongue, and you close your mouth.

“I’m going there today,” Jungkook informs him, and Yoongi nods.

“I’ll be around.”

The two men have a silent exchange of looks. Their relationship is somewhat atypical, not something Mr. X had with anyone. It looks like they genuinely rely on and trust each other. You suppose someone else would find it touching, but you don’t have it in yourself. Especially not when that means they both have it out for you.

“Haven’t you been following what we’ve been talking about here for the past week?” Jungkook snarks at you, and you blink. “Any information you get from now on needs to get to Suga so he can factor it in.” At that, you give him a disbelieving look. That just won’t work. It can’t. Not for the first time, you wonder how much he underestimates you, exactly. If he knew anything about the way you work, about how many contacts you have and how much information you’re usually juggling with, he would never ask that of you.

Yet you nod. You don’t know yet if you’ll send a believable amount of intel to Suga, or just absolutely drown him under it until they tell you to stop, but once more, this just isn’t worth fighting over.

Especially when fighting over something can so easily mean dying over it, in your current situation.

“Will do, Mr. Jeon.”

He looks displeased, and you know it’s because all he’s waiting for is for you to slip.

“I shouldn’t even bring you to these meetings. You’re not even taking any notes. That’s fucking useless.”

It takes everything in you to bite back a scoff at that. You could tell him you don’t need to take notes when Yoongi is talking about minimal changes in a landscape you know on the tip of your fingers, that maybe you would if he said anything of value, and that this wouldn’t be an issue if people actually feared him.

You marvel at how annoyed that quip makes you. You suppose you don’t like it when your competence is questioned. You don’t like the threat either, though. You don’t want to risk falling out of the loop.

“I’ve gotten you a reservation at that restaurant,” you say. “If things are done here, I’ll be on my way to meet Mr. Lucas.”

Changing the subject. Deflecting. Trying your best to live to see another day. It seems like it’s all you’ve been doing for the past week. You know you can keep it up for a long time, you’re patient enough. You also know that this game is set up to make you lose.

Right now, as Jungkook looks at you, clearly not amused by your attitude, there is a terrifying moment during which you fear that he might just drop the charade. The only point of this whole thing is to get rid of you. He could decide he only wants to do that any second.

“Yeah, right. Be on your way.”

He dismisses you like you’re some low lackey, but that, at least, isn’t anything new, and you know how to handle it. You bow politely, then exit the room.

“You really wanna keep her around?” Yoongi asks once you’re gone, and Jungkook groans.

He doesn’t know why he had expected you to break easily. He’d seen you work for Mr. X, do that same shit he makes you do and survive as long as you had, so he should have known you’d be good at it. He supposes he’d been used to you making decisions for him, back then, and had thought that was a normal thing for you, that you wouldn’t enjoy being in the position of taking orders. But you were, after all, just someone who worked for others that whole time.

Not that he gives a fuck about it. He couldn’t care less why you did the things you did. All he wants is to give you a taste of your own medicine. Dangling a false chance of survival in front of your eyes and let you handle the rest yourself. So as long as you push through… well. He’ll let it slide.

It’s not like you can keep doing it forever anyway.

Fred Lucas worries you. He’s always smiled too widely, been too loud, made too many jokes. You know Mr. X considered him to be some sort of buffoon, but also kept his distance from him. Mr. X didn’t like people who pretended to wear their hearts on their sleeves.

“Always a pleasure to see you, (Y/N),” he greets you warmly when you walk up to him and you give him a nod. If he’s upset that Jungkook isn’t there, he doesn’t show it, just like you don’t show your distaste for his use of your first name. “I’d like to discuss with just you, though,” he adds, eyeing Hector, who’s standing beside you. The fact that you still have him by your side is the only good thing that has come from working for Jungkook so far.

You don’t like that. You’re all too aware of the fact that this is his land, and that the only reason why he’s saying that is that Hector is a hybrid. If that gets back to Jungkook, it wouldn’t be good for Fred — but you don’t think he’ll go down without a fight. You glance at Hector, who looks as placid as always and offers no help. The gears in your head are turning fast. Before, you were protected by how indispensable you were considered by Mr. X. That is clearly not the case anymore, but Fred likely isn’t aware of that. Yet.

On the other hand, sending Hector away would show weakness, and you can’t afford that.

“Hector goes where I go,” you say.

Fred’s smile widens even more.

“Of course, of course, can’t trust anyone those days, can you?”

You wonder if it’s a jab at you and how quickly you changed sides, but he is more or less in the same position, so you could just be paranoid.

“Come on, come on in, let’s get ourselves a drink.”

You don’t want a drink, but you do follow him in. The sooner you do that, the sooner you will be out of here.

Fred has a lot of things to say. Most of it isn’t relevant to anything that is happening right now, but you’ve never been able to tune things out. You always worry you’ll miss an essential piece of information. So you listen as he babbles about his business — getting weapons in and out of the city, something he is decently good at — but also about his family, his friendships, and his favorite kind of alcohol. You let him pour you a glass, even if you have no intention of touching it.

“I hear you,” you manage to interrupt him, “but I am curious to know why you wanted a meeting with Mr. Jeon. It seems to me that you have the situation here under control.”

Flattery has always worked on Fred, and you have no issue in using that against him.

“Of course we do,” he gloats. “It’s just— There are a lot of rumorsfloating around those days, you know?”

You do know. You suspect Fred has heard the same things as you. You also suspect most people have been very careful not to let those things reach Yoongi’s ears.

“People are talking about a ‘human opposition’ forming,” Fred gasps dramatically. “Can you believe it? Some people are really not happy about being led by a hybrid.”

That seems to be more concrete than what you’ve heard, which means that Fred could be exaggerating things… or that he was contacted to join that opposition. And you don’t like that second possibility, not at all. You trust Fred about as far as you can throw him, and that means you certainly don’t trust him to not try and play both sides.

“That was to be expected,” you reply calmly. “I do not doubt that Mr. Jeon knew such a reaction was coming.”

Fred narrows his eyes at you, trying to gauge what you knew then and what you know now. Which isn’t much, but that’s not something you plan to let slip out.

“Do you know of anything specific?”

You see from the glint in Fred’s eyes that he knows the game is on. If you know something and he doesn’t tell you, he will look suspicious, but he could also reveal too much, and you doubt he wants to play his cards so soon.

“I— don’t, unfortunately,” he finally says, and you nod. Either he hasn’t heard of the Mystery Room, or he is voluntarily hiding it from you. Regardless, that limits how useful he is to you. “But the word on the street is that Jungkook may not know what he’s doing all that well.”

You send him a sharp glance. He’s taking a risk in telling you that, you both know it. That doesn’t make the information any less precious.

“I see. And, again, I don’t suppose you know where this— ‘word on the street’ is coming from?”

He shrugs, a true picture of innocence, and maybe you’d have believed it if Fred hadn’t been in the business for longer than you. He knew, he just wasn’t telling because he wanted to preserve his opportunities if something happened.

“I have to go, then. Thank you for the drink, Mr. Lucas.”

“Please,” he says, holding out his hand. “Call me Fred.”

That won’t be happening.

“Goodbye, Mr. Lucas.”

Once you’re out, you take a second to collect yourself, Hector following like a shadow and waiting for you silently.

“Is everything okay?” he asks after you’ve mulled over the conversation that just happened for several minutes.

“It’s fine,” you say as a reflex. You couldn’t stop thinking about how Fred had taken a gamble when he’d proclaimed his allegiance to Jungkook. He’d bet on him coming out on top, and yet you didn’t trust it. You couldn’t think of a reason why he would do that instead of carefully waiting to see how things would go, like everyone else. You didn’t like this. Not one bit. “We need to get to Mystery Room,” you add.

“Of course,” Hector nods, gesturing towards the limo, and you don’t bother repressing a groan this time.

“God. That’s so tacky.”

That brings a smile to Hector’s lips, but you don’t smile back. You never do. Instead, you climb in, roll your eyes at the whole thing, and let yourself be driven away. You can’t come to a conclusion about Fred Lucas just yet, but you have no intention of forgetting about him either.

It takes you a few seconds, once you’re out of the car, to understand that something isn’t right. You’ve never been good with feelings — instincts, as hybrids call them — and the air doesn’t feel particularly tense or charged to you. Hector stands a little close to you for comfort, and you piece things together from there. There are a few cars around, but not too many, which isn’t surprising considering it’s the middle of the afternoon. Still, you can hear voices from inside, and you know there’s an argument going on there.

“Let’s go,” you say with a decided nod, and Hector leads the way, shoulders tense, ready to pounce if needed. You trust him to do his job, and that’s a lot, coming from you.

You frown when you walk into the bar, taking a few seconds to let your eyes get adjusted to the lack of luminosity, and that frown only deepens when you hear the argument going on and recognize Jungkook’s voice. God. The concepts of subtlety and discretion are completely lost on him, aren’t they?

Making your way through the room, you try to evaluate the situation. Yoongi is leaning against a table, looking bored out of his mind, though you’re sure he doesn’t miss anything from what is going on in the room. As if to prove your point, his golden eyes flick towards you for a second when you approach, before looking away, clearly uninterested. Other than him, it seems that the only other people present are the owner and various employees. You think it’s stupid and dangerous that they showed up here basically alone but, for the millionth time today, you grit your teeth and don’t say anything.

There are five men around, including the bouncer and a security guard. They’re probably armed, and that’s to say nothing of anyone you cannot see. Outside of Yoongi, though, no one pays attention to you, not until the bartender asks loudly “Mojito, as usual, Miss (L/N)?”

It’s a bit early for that, actually, but you give him a nod. The Mystery Room isn’t quite your scene — you’ve always been one to prefer classy restaurants — but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re well-known here, and everywhere, actually, which is something that everyoneknows, except your own boss. That is obvious by the way people’s attitude shifts when they see you. The owner bows to you politely. You acknowledge it with a curt movement of your chin. Jungkook raises an eyebrow at that. He doesn’t look happy about it.

You wait until you have your glass in your hand to say something. The silence that fills the room is heavy, and you can feel Jungkook’s anger emanating from him, having lost the men’s attention. He’s the man who murdered Mr. X, took over half of his operations without anyone noticing, and their fucking boss, and they’re still treating him like a low-life hybrid.

“You haven’t been paying what you owe us,” you say, almost lightly, when you get your drink. “Has business been slow?”

You know it has. You know people aren’t too sure what to think of Jungkook yet. You also know they’ve still made money. Better yet, you’re sure the men in the room know youknow that. You’re giving them an obvious way out. All they have to do is say “yes”, and you’ll come up with something. You won’t let them go off scot-free, but there’s no need for this to end in a bloodbath, either.

“That’s not the issue,” the man says, voice raspy, and you don’t let it show, of course you don’t, but you’re still taking the hit. They’re underestimating Jungkook.

This might be the last mistake they make.

“I think it would be better for everyone if we could work through whatever issue there is,” you say slowly.

Better for them, really, especially because this is you giving him a second chance. There won’t be a third one.

“I’m afraid we don’t, uh, approve of the recent change in direction,” he replies, a stupid grin on his face. He’s mocking you and your infamous overly procedural speech. You know people say you can’t accept who you’re working for, that you can’t take the idea of having blood on your hands.

You may not care, but you’re well-aware of it, and you really don’t appreciate him saying that to your face. You’ll have to make an example out of him.

You sigh and shake your head at his answer. You’re not going to enjoy this. You’ve seen people’s attempts at rebellion against Mr. X, even if those were few and far between, and no matter how much of a fight they put up, it never ends well. For them.

You’re prepared to just leave the place and arrange for it to be set on fire during the night, when Jungkook’s voice snaps you out of it.

“What’s your problem with the change in direction, fucker?”

The mood changes immediately. Hector’s hand on your shoulder gently pulls you back, and Yoongi hops off the table to come stand next to Jungkook, hands in his pockets. He looks nonchalant and relaxed. He could probably easily kill everyone in this room and not get a drop of blood on his jacket.

The owner squares his shoulders and walks up to him. He’s slightly taller and much larger than Jungkook.

“Listen, bunny…”

You barely have the time to widen your eyes at the word, to think about all the ways Jungkook has made it clear that he’s not your typical rabbit-hybrid before his right hook connects with the man’s jaw, so fast you would have missed it if you’d blinked.

A moment of stunned silence follows, during which the man stumbles backwards, hand coming to cup his face in disbelief. And then, he seems to decide that it’s a good idea to retaliate. The dozens, hundreds maybe, of fights you’ve seen Jungkook win flash before your eyes. He doesn’t stand a chance.

People start moving around you, but it seems like it’s only a fistfight. No guns are drawn, for now, and you’re reminded of how much you fucking hate watching people fight. You take a step back, bored already at this stupid display of strength and violence. Still, you can’t help it when your eyes are drawn to Jungkook. There’s a— curiosity within you. How much has he truly changed, in the past two years?

For one, he certainly isn’t pretending this time, isn’t trying to make this fight last for a few more rounds. There iscertain showmanship there, though, you note. He’s giving time for the owner to recover while he takes out some of the other men with hits of surgical precision. He wants them to seewhatever he’s going to do to their boss. Hector and Yoongi keep the fight contained, don’t let anyone escape or call for help, but Jungkook doesn’t need their help. No one here is a threat to him, and it doesn’t take long for the men to be on the floor, groaning in pain.

The owner pushes himself up, spits some blood on the floor. Jungkook turns to face him and beckons him closer with a flick of his hand. He looks amused.

“You fucking piece of—”

This time, Jungkook doesn’t go for the head. His fist gets the man in the ribs, and that first punch is followed by dozens of others, not giving the man any respite, not letting him breathe. When the man falls back, Jungkook doesn’t stop, though the hits slow down, based on what you can see and hear. You have to clench your jaw to stop yourself from grimacing at the sound of flesh hitting flesh, of the bones underneath clashing. It was drowned out, back when he fought in a ring, but knowing it was there disgusted you back. You don’t know why, you just hate it. It makes you sick.

When Jungkook finally gets back up, he hasn’t even broken a sweat. There are five men on the ground, clenching different parts of their bodies and crying out in pain, and he isn’t even out of breath.

“You should fucking reconsider,” he spits out.

They won’t have to. This place will be gone soon enough.

His eyes meet yours as he walks out, and his expression turns to a disgusted scowl. It almost draws a scoff out of you, but you hold it in, and instead, you follow him dutifully.

Jungkook doesn’t speak to you in the car, eyes instead on his bloody knuckles. It will heal fast, you know, and that’s probably why he doesn’t bother taking care of it. When the car stops, you look outside and find yourself faced with your own apartment building. It’s not even five in the afternoon yet. You turn around to give your boss a quizzical look.

“You’re not needed anymore,” he shrugs. He doesn’t sound like he’s playing this time, though you’re still sure that he wants to get on your nerves.

You hate that it’s working this time.

“The day isn’t—”

“I think you’ve proved exactly how efficient you are today,” he says, obviously dismissing you. “I have no fucking idea how you got this job.”

You bite your tongue not to reply. You don’t care about the job, you don’t care about his opinion of you, you barely even care about the Family. You should just nod, give him the usual “yes, Mr. Jeon,” and walk out. But something keeps you in place a little longer than it should, and that’s how much you hate jobs that aren’t well done.

Your voice sounds distant to your own ears when you say what you’re supposed to, your body doesn’t feel like your own when you walk out and close the door. Your breathing quickens while you hear the car leave behind you like it’s all happening in a dream, your head spins, and you stand frozen in place, staring right in front of you.

Is this your life now? you wonder, feeling your heart thumping like it’s trying to get out of your chest. Are you going to let yourself be so disposable, so mediocre, let everything you’ve spent years building fall apart? This isn’t the time for pride, you’re well aware of that, but it’s still eating at you inside.

You walk back to your apartment like you’re in a trance. There’s a heavy weight on your chest, and you realize you have to make a choice. If things stay like that, you suppose Jungkook will have your head at some point. This is a fight of patience. One you cannot win. But if you make yourself indispensable, then maybe, maybe you can survive it. You’ve done it once already.

You brush aside the little voice mocking your reasoning, telling you that you’re doing this because you don’t want to lose your status. Not because it’s wrong, but because you know that’s not enough of an incentive for you to take a risk. You need something stronger than that. Even if you know it’s a lie.

That doesn’t stop your hand from trembling as you dial Yoongi’s number. You’re happy there’s no one to see you, because God, you couldn’t take your carefully crafted facade crumbling right now.

“Yes?” he answers quickly. If he’s surprised to hear from you, it doesn’t show.

“What are the plans for the Mystery Room?” you ask, satisfied that your voice doesn’t quiver, even if you’re a mess right now.

There’s a silence at the other end of the line, and you suspect he’s considering not answering you, so you take the initiative.

“You need to at least replace the owner,” you say, kicking off your shoes. “You can convince him to sell to us,” — convince, one of your favorite euphemisms — “or get rid of him and get the place from his family. Burning the place down is also an option. We can’t let what happened slide like that.”

“Hmm,” Yoongi says.

“Also, it would better if Mr. Jeon could avoid fighting with people. The last thing we want is people who think they can challenge him.”

“He can take them.”

“That’s not the issue. If people think they have a chance, they’ll keep trying. We don’t want them to do that.”

Another, longer silence.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because he’ll listen to you.”

“And you think I will listen to you?”

You roll your eyes. It’s strange, you know you’re gambling your life right now, but the tension you were experiencing earlier has been replaced by an eerie calm. You feel detached from everything.

Maybe you’ve been doing this for too long.

“You don’t have to,” you say, “but this is my job. I’m good at it. If you just let me do it, it would be far more efficient than whatever has been going on for the last week. I know you don’t trust me, but you can probably come to the same conclusions as me in this situation at least.”

Your heart is hammering in your chest. This is an explicit critique, something you would never have risked with Mr. X, and it’s the most open act of defiance that you’ve ever done — and it’s to convince them to let you workfor them.

“We’ll see about that,” he replies dismissively, and your shoulders fall at first, but then he adds, almost reluctantly, “I’ll take what you said into consideration.”

“Good. We also need to talk about tomorrow’s meeting. I’ve gotten some important information about the opposition to Mr. Jeon, and I think—”

As you explain the situation to Yoongi, you feel yourself calming down. Maybe it’s because you’re doing something that’s familiar to you, you’re not sure, but you can breathe again, and that solidifies your conviction that you’re making the right decision.

Finally, you’re ready to take back your life.

Tag list: @chaiwivluv @mintyrae @btswdwsmhrdt @xxquenwxtchxx @fekitza @kimmieloveswho @deeepvibes @lonleycoffee @gookiebts @kpop-baka @taecallsmenoona @mimiinluv @dabbingangels @jooahchu

[alexandrite-dragoness]

Persona 3 HEX: Before the Dawn

*rubs hands together* Ok storytiiiiime!

Read Hex: Before the Dawn on Ao3!

Spoiler-free Q’s & A’s:

What is Persona 3 HEX? Before the Dawn??

Persona 3 HEX: Before the Dawn is a fanfiction story taking place in an alternative universe where Strega didn’t get experimented on by the Kirijo Group. Instead, they have been happily adopted by the school Chairman himself, Shuji Ikutsuki. From then on they start to have an average normal childhood with their adoptive father and be actual kids that they can be, and after awakening to their Personas naturally they join SEES as their allies.

The title ‘HEX’ was something I threw in in reference to the Dark Hour being a ‘curse’ and Strega being another word for ‘witch’. The ‘Before the Dawn’ subtitle is based on the more or less infamous phrase, “The Darkest Hour is Just Before the Dawn”, and I think it’s fitting given the whole theme of the supernatural era is literally called the Dark Hour.

I’ve also been calling this AU a “Gekkoukan!Strega AU”, due to them also attending the same school as the rest of the characters, so you may expect seeing that phrase over and over again in my other blogs too.

So what does that mean for... you know?

This will mean that the differences will happen in this story. First off, there won’t be an actual Strega group for SEES to face! Meaning Shinjiro won’t die by the hands of Takaya, and Chidori will be happier and live in pursue of her dreams and love from her family (and perhaps not die either, lol). To be fair not everyone is going to be saved in this matter. Death will still be an ongoing event (just not as much) in the story, just happening in different ways and with different characters. I’m keeping this blog spoiler free so once I start posting the chapters up... you’ll know!

And yes, I’m very well aware about Ikutsuki, and I have plans for the guy. I mean I have been changing my mind over and over with how things would unfold, first being completely angst to an actual twist of something else entirely! But I’m sure I’ll stick to one of the plans later down the line, and it’ll be a bumpy ride throughout.

Are there going to be Junpei x Chidori then? What about other ships?

Yes! I’m planning to add some Jundori in the story! Their way of meeting, interacting, confessing, etc. will be modified to fit the story better, but yes they will be together, and it’ll be a slow burn (heh, get it? burn as in... ah nvm!). Just as a heads up there will be a rarepair within this factor too: Jin and Fuuka! I’ve been head over heels over this pairing since I put them together as a crackship at one point... and then I ended liking them for real. Also there will be some ShinHam (FeMC x Shinjiro) moments here too, not as much as the others but they’ll appear here and there. Other than that, that’s about it. While I’m also a fan of ShuYuka and AkiMitsu too, I’m not planning to have them as much of a pairing?? I don’t think?? I figure with less ships in the story the less complicated it’ll be. Just my thoughts on that.

So you’re adding Hamuko/FeMC in the story too? With her Orpheus Persona?

She’ll be in the story, but with a separate Persona. Since it would be weird for two characters to have that same type of Persona, I’m giving her a different one to differentiate them. Hers will be based on a Greek Goddess known as Hestia, one who is the goddess of hearth, or ‘fireside’ if you will. Since her elements has been fire, I thought the persona works for her in that sense. However, with her and Chidori added to the party, that makes a total of four? Five fire users? Which is a lot, but I’m going to dismiss that extra thought since they’ll still have their own unique abilities. Also her name will be Kotone in this story, since I prefer that name over Hamuko.

Are Gekkou!Strega’s Personas going to remain the same? Why?

I have given some thought that they would at least maybe awaken to a different Persona due to the fact the deities based on them are children of Nyx, and play more of the antagonist roles altogether. However, my very knowledge of Greek Myth is veerrryy little and I hate the idea of choosing the wrong ‘Persona’ for each of the three characters if they were to represent them. Besides, Ken’s Persona is also a Nyx child so I don’t see this as much as a problem, and there will be those second awakenings that, yes, the three Strega ppl will have one later on in the story. So that’s something to look forward to!

What would Gekkou!Strega’s roles be then, based on their skills and abilities?

With their addition to the team at least two of the three characters will have their respective roles in the team. Instead of Mitsuru as navigator, that role will be split among Chidori and Jin, with Chidori as the main navigator and Jin being the one to pinpoint weaknesses and resistances from enemies. And while that may not sound to be the most ideal for some readers, this is my way of giving them their own moments in battle. Mitsuru in that case will be already in the team of the other Persona users early in the story.

Takaya himself will be part of the main offense team too, and his skills will be similar to his canon counterpart in consists of Megido skills. I will be adjusting other things with them regarding movesets and stats that will be mentioned in the story for them to be more... unique, to put it.

Who is this ‘OC’ character in the story? What do they do?

Ah, yes, there will be an original character in this story, but he is not my OC (if that makes sense). This character, named Izumi, is based from a Japanese Persona 3 novel known as “Shadow Cry”, and he is really just a book-exclusive character who is one of the survivors out of the hundred children from the Kirijo Group experiments (and is real good friends with Jin and Takaya, but from what I’m gathering mostly Jin). This book unfortunately never got localized or officially translated for the english readers, though I figure some would say it’s not part of the P3 canon by any means (which is understandable, but I’m taking this as such cuz the lack of Strega content saddens me personally). The first chapter, however, has been fan translated from a user called chuuni from LiveJournal, and if any of you are interested I totally recommend giving that part a read, just for you guys to get a perspective of Strega and the Izumi character a bit more!

What will we learn about Gekkou!Strega? Is there going to be some backstory about their pasts?

Yes, of course! Absolutely! Including bits with how each of them will ‘naturally’ awaken to their Personas! There will be random points in time where there will be flashbacks regarding the Strega children and how they experience with the Dark Hour, and also how they interact with the other SEES members in the dorms (I will even put the respective dates down on where those take place). Now they won’t always be in chronological order, as they may mainly appear in the story in relevance to the current event happening in the story (or maybe not, if I have the need to squeeze some flashbacks somewhere). But surely they’ll all connect to each other and hopefully they may make more sense along the way.

Are you planning to ‘replace’ Strega in terms of position of rivalry?

Hmm, yes and no. I’m not going to give too much out about it, I don’t want to give anything away too soon. But there will be some scenes where certain events of canon Strega would be replaced by something else. Not in a sort of rivalry like a gang or anything, so I’ll keep it at that. But there will be something going on here and there, that’s for sure.

Ok but— about Ikutsuki tho...

Hey, I said it’s all good, remember? There’s going to be some good dad moments between him and the adopted children throughout the story, with them in flashbacks and how they grew up together than such. But not too many though, I don’t want to make this story too long, lol.

Conclusion

I know not many people really care for Strega and how things would’ve ended differently for them (with the exception of Chidori, ofc). But when I started to getting to know them and found the book more about the group (aka Shadow Cry), I wanted to express my inner joy by writing this story up! Hopefully I keep up with it, I’m planning to post them once a month in accordance to the actual in-game months (After the Prologue the second chapter will take place in April, third chapter takes place in May, etc etc,). While this would be somewhat of a rehash to P3′s plot, expect some of the similar scenes from the games. The major differences would be Gekkou!Strega’s moments and flashbacks during those events and even in new scenes for the story. I would also be taking various scenes from the movie, game and manga for what I see fit, and even switch around some characters in those situations that have been shown before.

And as expected the story will be rated M, just like the game rating. So expect content like strong language, blood, death and such. Overall there will be family/friendship moments, romance, angst, and feels. Lots and lots of feels <3

I do hope I actually write all the chapters and post them accordingly as planned, but most of all I hope everyone else coming across this story will enjoy it just as much as I would ^-^

[mxbeezkneez]

Graveyard Companions

Chapter 2: i'm coming back from the dead, and i'll take you home with me

Link to ao3: x

Warnings: Blood, Minor Injury, Cursing

Fandoms: The Addams Family

Relationships: Gomez Addams/Morticia Addams, Gomez Addams/Morticia Addams/Reader, Gomez Addams/Reader, Morticia Addams/Reader

Tags: Vampire, Vampire Turning, Human/Vampire Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Married Couple, Blood, Polyamory, Eventual Romance, Eventual Relationship, Pre Relationship, Cursing

Summery: “I’m a vampire… a goddamn vampire,” you whisper.You wake up in the living room of a gothic house, and are told you were found unconscious in a graveyard. They claim you are a vampire. As crazy as it is, you can't help but start to trust the couple who found you.

Chapter notes: hi i'm back! i started thinking about the addams family, and well my interest in vampires didn't rlly diminish much... this chapter's pretty long, so i hope you enjoy! i apologize if my french or spanish is bad, i don't speak french, and i only speak a bit of spanish! i actually have like a whole plot n stuff planned, so i'm pretty hyped for this fic! hope u like it! :) (the title is from it's not a fashion statement, it's a fucking death wish by my chemical romance)

You wake up to a loud bang, bolting straight up out of bed. “What the hell?”

You rub your eyes before slipping out of bed. The night before feels very far away, almost unreal, but being in this room confirms your memories. You’re staying in the Addams’ house and are… a vampire. You take a slow breath before grabbing new clothing. You find a pair of black pants to match a dark sweater. While near the dresser, you look out of the room’s window. It’s dark outside, the sky a navy blue sprinkled with stars. The graveyard behind the house is illuminated by the moon shining over it.

You leave your room, deciding to try and find the living room once again. You wander through the halls before finding it. Inside you find Wednesday, the small girl, playing with a younger blond boy. She’s talking to him while holding a headless doll in her arms. You walk farther into the room, stepping on a squeaky board, alerting the children of your presence.

They both turn their heads to stare at you. You nervously chuckle.

Wednesday points at you, “That’s (y/n),” she tells the boy, “I heard father say they’re a vampire.”

“Wow really?” the boy exclaims, “Is it true? Do you drink blood?”

“Um,” you stammer, “Well, I am a vampire, but I haven’t been one very long so- no I haven’t drank any blood. Uh… what’s your name again?”

“I’m Pugsley,” he reaches over and offers his hand.

You shake it, “Well, nice to meet you Pugsley. What are you guys up to?”

“We’re playing the French Revolution,” Wednesday answers flatly.

You chuckle, “Huh. I mean I guess it was an exciting time. Who’s your doll there?” you point to the headless doll in her hands. To be honest, the beheaded doll was very unnerving, but the children themselves seemed nice enough, so you push your nerves to the side.

“Marie Antoinette” she says matter of factly.

“Oh,” you pause, “Explains the lack of head I guess.”

You stand there awkwardly for a moment, unsure of how to exit the conversation. “Do either of you know where your parents are?” you ask.

“I saw them in the dining room earlier. Uncle Fester was there, but I think he went upstairs to play with his dynomite caps,” Pugsley replies. Uncle Fester? Dynomite caps? There’s too much to unpack there, so instead you decide to find Gomez and Morticia.

“Okay, thanks.”

You head out the door, realizing you have no idea where the dining room is. You go to turn back, but the children are playing animatedly and you don’t want to interrupt, so instead you look for it yourself.

You find the dining room, and sure enough, Gomez and Mortica are seated next to each other at a long table. You walk over and take a seat near them.

“(Y/n)! How’d you sleep?” Gomez greets you.

“Like the dead,” you say flatly. A second later what you’ve said hits you and you blink slowly, “I mean, I slept well, thanks.”

“You did seem rather tired last night,” Morticia remarks, “I’m glad you got some rest.”

“Wait, did I sleep through an entire day?” you ask.

“Yes, though we did tell Lurch not to disturb you,” she answers, “We thought you needed the sleep. How are you feeling?”

“I feel…” you take a moment to survey yourself, “I feel okay. I think if anything I feel a little hungry.”

“We can get that squared away! Mama makes the best yak stew.” Gomez springs from his chair and over to a rope hanging from the ceiling. Remembering last night, you brace for a loud noise. Sure enough, once he pulls it, the house shakes as the ringing travels through the house.

“You rang,” Lurch grumbles.

“Yes Lurch, a bowl of yak stew for our guest!” Lurch groans and exits.

“Thank you,” you tell them, “You’ve both been very hospitable, I’m thankful you were the ones that found me.” You feel sincerity in that statement, you were not only grateful for their help, but another part of you has some feeling when you’re near them. You’re not sure what the feeling is, though you can confidently say you didn’t mind the couple, or hell, the weird household in general. Even if it is kooky, you can’t say you’re not charmed by their life.

Lurch comes back with a silver platter that he sets on the table. On it is a bowl of stew that he places in front of you.

“Thanks,” you say, before grabbing the spoon and looking back at the meal. Lurch takes his leave. You’re unsure about eating yak, but you are also hungry and the stew looks fairly appetizing. You take a scoop and put it in your mouth, surprised not only by the flavor of the soup, but also the feeling of chewing. It’s like you can feel your canines rip through the meat faster than before. In the time where you’ve been thinking, it’s completely slipped your mind that you probably have fangs now. That you’ve changed.

“This is- this is actually really good,” you remark.

“I told you, Mama is a culinary genius! Nothing beats her yak stew!” Gomez gleams.

You smile at Gomez. Something about him just makes you want to smile in a soft admission of admiration.

You turn your attention back to the stew, eating it quickly until there is nothing left.

“I’m glad you enjoyed Mama’s cooking,” Morticia smiles, “I’ll have to tell her you enjoyed it. It’s not very often she gets to feed guests.”

“It is very odd, usually most people never come back after eating her food… I can’t imagine why…” Gomez says with a puzzled expression on his face. You chuckle. You notice that you find yourself enjoying the Addams’ company immensely. A part of you feels sad that you will eventually have to leave.

“Ah, c'est la vie (that’s life) ,” Morticia remarks.

“Tish!” Gomez’s head swivels quickly to face her, “That’s French!” he exclaims, grabbing her arm. He begins to kiss it, from her hand to her shoulder, though is interrupted by Morticia, “Darling. We have company. Later,” she says with a sly grin. Gomez raises his head to meet her eyes, a dazed look on his face. “Later.” he remarks, before finding himself back in his seat, “So, Hester, any plans for the night?” he asks casually.

“Um…” you stutter, flustered by the show of passion from the man sitting across from you, “I- I don’t really know… I mean, I’m a vampire now so- does that mean I have to act like one too? I’ve never been in a situation like this, I don’t really know what to do,” you admit, staring at your hands. You look up towards Morticia, “Didn’t you mention you’ve known vampires before? Could you maybe help me?”

“Of course, darling.” Morticia says, “Why don’t we talk in the living room? If you’re alright with it, the children would enjoy listening, they are curious creatures.”

“Yeah, that’s alright. They asked me a question or two when I ran into them earlier. I don’t blame them for being curious,”

“Pugsley’s been very interested in nonhuman creatures lately, ever since that run in with that werewolf he’s been wanting to know more. Wednesday’s been teaching him some things, she’s always had a firm grasp on certain folklore!” Gomez said proudly.

The three of you walked to the living room and sat down, them on the couch, and you in a chair facing them. The children were still in the room, sitting on the floor. You fidget with your hands nervously. “So, do I have superpowers or anything now?” you half-heartedly joke.

“Vampires have very fast healing capabilities,” Wednesday states, “They are very difficult to kill, they must be stabbed with a stake to the heart or decapitated.”

“Very good Wednesday,” Morticia smiles.

“Huh,” you respond, “Alright, that’s not too bad.”

“There are certain weaknesses that should be mentioned, such as sunlight, garlic, crucifixes and running water.” Morticia adds.

“Wait I can’t eat garlic anymore?” you ask, “That kinda sucks, huh.”

“Well technically you can eat anything if you try hard enough,” Gomez says offhandedly.

Morticia cocks an eyebrow at him and sighs, “It’s not so much deadly, it’s more like a food allergy.”

“So I can still eat things with garlic in it?” you double check.

“As long as you aren’t a coward!” Gomez says enthusiastically.

You let out a laugh at Gomez. Wednesday is rolling her eyes, though Morticia just keeps looking at him lovingly. For a moment you forget about the obvious question hanging in the air.

“So…” you start, “I have to drink blood now?” you ask nervously.

“Yes, all vampires must ingest blood to keep themselves alive,” Morticia says, “You’ve got to be hungry by now I imagine,”

“Yeah… but I just ate.” you reply.

“You can still eat food, it just will never fill you. In order not to starve you have to drink blood.” she explains.

You look down at your shaking hands. Everything before now had felt unreal, but this? The seriousness in her voice is making everything too real for you. How could you possibly do that to someone?

“I- I don’t know if I can do that…” you voice shakes, “I mean- how… how could I?”

“Children,” Morticia addresses them, “Why don’t you go play with Uncle Fester while we talk with Hester.”

“Awwww, do we have to?” Pugsley complains.

“A vampire’s eating habits are quite personal Pugsley. I’m afraid so.”

“Alright,” he sighs and follows Wednesday out of the room.

“If you need help procuring someone, you just have to ask. Gomez and I would of course be willing to provide.”

“Provide…?”

“Bodies of course.” Gomez affirms.

“Human bodies,” you repeat, your mind reeling. You had noticed the family was quite odd, even creepy at times, but what they were offering? It sounded too close to murder. You suddenly become very aware of where you are: in a strange house with strangers. Your hands become clammy.

“Is everything alright darling?” you hear Morticia ask. Your throat swells up. You try to force words out, but nothing will leave you lips, leaving you in what is now panic. Finally something spills out, “You can’t kill people for me! You- you can’t!” you sputter out.

“Kill people?” Gomez repeats, “Why we’d bring them alive of course.”

You let out a breath, “Okay, alive. I mean- I just still don’t think I can…”

“Well I suppose there is another option,” Gomez adds.

“What? What is it?” you ask, hopeful.

“Animal blood! It doesn’t work as well, but it’ll do in a pinch.” he explains.

You perk up, “I can do that. That works.” you feel relief.

“Should we make some arrangements? The children could fetch some for tonight.” Morticia asks.

“You have been so kind, really. I would appreciate it, at least for tonight. Tomorrow I’ll work on leaving, I’ve been here long enough.”

“It’s been our pleasure,” Gomez responds, lighting a cigar, “It’s been so long since we’ve had guests.

“Well you certainly are great hosts,” you smile. Despite your situation, you’ve found yourself fairly comfortable here.

“Thank you,” Morticia says, “Now, we ought to ring for Lurch to get some blood. I’m sure the children would love to accompany him.” As she reaches for the bell, you ready yourself for the loud ring. Lurch walks in, “You rang?”

“Yes Lurch, could you gather the children and find some animal blood for our guest here?”

“Yes, Mrs. Addams,” he drawls. He leaves the room in search of the children. A quiet silence falls over the room. Deciding to strike up conversation, you pipe up a question, “So, when did you two meet?”

“Oh, on the best day of my life,” Gomez grins proudly,

“We met at a funeral,” Mortica explains, “It was a lovely day. Grey clouds filled the sky, thunder rolling in the distance.”

“Oh cara mia, I remember it like it was yesterday, our eyes meeting over the coffin,” Gomez starts, “I swear the whole funeral party had to be half as enchanted with you as I had been.” You notice the two of them becoming more enveloped in their memories of each other. You can’t help but smile at how truly in love they are, even if that love meant that you would sit there awkwardly wondering if they were going to just make out in front of you.

“Oh mon cher, you are as charming as you were back then.”

Gomez’s eyes dart up, “Tish! That’s French!” He grabs her arm and starts kissing it.

“Gomez darling,” she warns, “Later.”

He looks up dazed, “Oh yes, our guest. Where were we?” he asks.

“I think you’ve answered my question,” you smile awkwardly.

“Do you have anyone special back home?” Morticia asks politely.

“Well…” you begin to explain“There is this one guy, my roomate, I guess… but I don’t think he likes me like that.” you explain.

“Tiene que estar loco si no le gusta, eres muy guapo. (He must be crazy if he doesn’t like you, you are very handsome.) ” Gomez comments under his breath. You feel your face heat up. He must not know you speak Spanish, judging by how offhandedly he said it. You look over to Morticia who nods ever so slightly, making you even more flustered.

“Uh… gracias, pero… sabes que hablo Español, sí? (Uh… thank you, but… you know I can speak Spanish, yes?) ” you ask. Gomez’s hand, which was placed on Morticia’s knee, now grips it somewhat tightly. Morticia looks over to him in curiosity. His face seems flushed.

“¿Comprendes lo que yo digo? (You understand what I’m saying?) ” he asks tentatively.

“Sí, aprendí a hablar en Español en la escuela. (Yes, I learned to speak in Spanish in school.) ”

“Oh,” a breath leaves his mouth. His eyes keep darting back and forth like he doesn’t know what to do. You can tell his weight has registered onto the balls of his chair like he is about to leap off his seat, but something is keeping him grounded. You look back at Morticia, who seems about as intrigued as you. A heavy silence fell over the room as everyone sat on edge.

Breaking the awkward scene, Lurch walks in with heavy footsteps holding a platter, “Your blood.”

He sets the platter down on the table, removing the lid. On the platter is a wine glass with a dark red liquid in it. As soon as you see the glass you can smell it, the blood. Rather than smelling rancid, the metallic scent smelled like everything you could ever want. You quickly grab the glass with both hands and hold it up to your lips, gulping down the liquid. The taste of it floods your mouth, though some of it dribbles down to your chin as you frantically consume it. You drink the last drop and set down the glass, looking up.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath. You wipe off your chin with the back of your sleeve. “Sorry, I- I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s quite alright,” Morticia affirms, “You’ve just been turned, I’m surprised you’ve gone this long without blood… well I guess there was last night.” You wince at the mention of that encounter. Trying to change the subject, you ask, “What happens if I can’t get blood?”

“Well, either you go to any length to get it out of pure hunger, or if you don’t, you die,” Morticia explains, “So it’s best you feed regularly.”

“So is that why I…” you try to think of a way to phrase it, “Why I don’t feel much restraint when I see blood?”

“Yes, though you’ll get more constraint as it goes on.”

“Oh, okay. By the way, I’m not keeping you up, am I? It has to be pretty late. I mean, I guess I’m already a night owl, so this isn’t too unusual for me, but you two probably should sleep, right?” you ask.

“If you don’t mind, I would like to get some sleep. Perhaps tomorrow if you plan on leaving, we can help you get back?” she asks.

“Yeah, that’d be great. And of course, go get some sleep. I’ll just hang out for a bit.” you say, putting on a small smile.

“Alright, good night then,” Mortica says.

“Goodnight Hester.” Gomez says.

“Goodnight.”

You stay in the living room much longer after they leave, lost in your thoughts. The weight of your new life- or death has started to sink in. Your mind drifts to drinking the blood earlier. The feeling of it had been great, though immediately after your chest felt heavy. You don’t suppose it has anything to do with your newfound changes. No, instead you recognize the feeling as the weight of your guilt.

You can’t help but wonder what kind of creature feeds off the life force of others. You try to reason with yourself by saying it’s like eating animals, yet you can’t accept the notion. This had felt different. Looking back to having Morticia’s blood makes your face flush, but you can’t also help but notice the difference from tonight. While the animal blood was good, and mostly filling, Morticia’s blood, human blood, brought a type of euphoria.

You didn’t need Morticia to spell it out for you. Using animal blood works as a substitute, but you know deep down you are now meant to feed on humans. The realization hits you as you think that. You are no longer human. On this thought your heart aches. What does this make you. Confused? Scared? Yes, those both applied. You feel lost.

You feel anxious thinking about going home tomorrow. Going home means it’s real. It means you have to face your roommate who you’re in love with and somehow not let him know you’re a vampire. You let out a huff. God, how are you supposed to do this? You take a small amount of solace knowing you have the Addam’s help. You’re glad they’ll help you get back home, you don’t think you could do it alone. You know even if you never speak to them again, their impact will be left on you forever.

You get up off the couch, deciding to go to sleep. You trudge to your room and plop onto the bed with a sigh. Eventually you drift off to sleep.

[izaswritings]

Title: who we are in the aftermath

Fandom: The Owl House

Synopsis: Belos falls and the Golden Guard survives. It’s a new world and a new day, and sooner or later Hunter has to figure out where he fits in it. 

Or: in which Hunter stays at the Owl House, becomes a (very, very reluctant) apprentice, continues to have accidental sibling shenanigans with the annoying human, and finally finds a place where he belongs. Probably.  

AO3 link is here.

[Next chapter is here!]

.

chapter one: battling birds

. 

They give him a room near the east side of the house, stuffed full of broken things and a miscellaneous number of random items. It’s not the human’s old room, and not Lilith’s, either—there’s too much dust and too much stuff for either option. Hunter can’t tell if he’s grateful for this or not. He’s still deciding on whether he’s grateful for the room at all.

There’s no time to set up a bed. He spends his first night here on a blanket, restless and half-awake and lying so still he’s half-convinced he’s shaking from the strain of not moving at all, not making a single sound. He can practically taste the dust on every inhale—does the Owl Lady ever clean, Titan help him—and by some godawful midnight hour Hunter gives up on sleep entirely and sits up, carefully, to whisper to his palisman. 

Nothing important. None of the real questions that are swirling around in his head, like what am I even doing here and why am I still here and what am I supposed to do now, do you know? Instead he just says nonsense things, useless things, like “If I shine a flashlight in that little demon’s face do you think I could get him to chase the dot?”

The palisman coos and chirps and sings nonsense back. Red is a pretty color. I like tulips. If we iced over the Boiling Sea could we make human rain? 

“None of those answers make sense,” Hunter tells it, and then writes a small note about the sea and rain connection on the dusty floor, if only because that’s actually kind of interesting and he wants to check it out again later. 

Red tulips are tasty, replies the palisman, and nuzzles his fingers when he goes to pet it. Its feathers are soft and its eyes are luminous in the moonlight. Nonsense, all of it, but the nonsense helps—familiar as a friend, safe and easy. Better than thinking of Belos. Better than wondering what he’s doing here, sleeping on the floor in the Owl Lady’s house.

The human has left. He could walk out right now and she’d never know, not that her disappointment has any bearing on if he chooses to stay or go. She’s vanished back to the human world, probably gone forever. This house means nothing to Hunter—the Owl Lady is annoying and dislikes him about as much as Hunter dislikes her, and as endearing as the weird little demon is, that isn’t enough to make Hunter want to stay. 

He could leave easily. He could go anywhere. He has nowhere to go.

“I don’t know what to do,” Hunter tells the palisman, at last, hours later. It is almost morning. The sunrise has only just begun, the peace of this dusty attic room wavering thin and fragile in the light of early dawn. It is a quiet admission. He says it very soft. “I don’t know if I know anything.”

I love you, says the palisman.

“That’s not an answer either.” 

Oh, well.

Twenty minutes later, the Owl Lady’s weird bird-worm security creature bursts through the window and sings good morning loud enough to shatter eardrums. Hunter grabs his staff, throws a blast at the thing on instinct, teleports to the kitchen in a panic, and smacks the Owl Lady in the face with his palisman first thing in the morning.

.

The easy explanation is this: the castle falls and Belos dies and the Golden Guard somehow survives it all: portal collapse and half-realm merge and everything, which means when the dust settles, ultimately Hunter is left with absolutely no idea of what to do with himself. 

“You should work with Eda!” says the human, in the aftermath. Given she says this in the ruin of what was once the Emperor’s castle, barely a half hour after—everything—Hunter feels pretty justified in his response. Which is to say he strangles his broken mechanical staff in his hands, takes a deep breath, and says in a very tight voice: “No.”

“But—!”

“No. No, no, no. I can’t even believe I did this, I don’t… it’s not happening. No.”

The human—he does actually know her name by now, after all they’ve been through, but also given all of This Nonsense she has lost name privileges—does not take that well. Of course she doesn’t. She’s so fourteen it makes Hunter want to die inside.  

“Why not?” the human says, petulant. She has her hands on her hips and everything. 

Hunter is kneeling in the rubble of a castle he’s called home for almost all his life. Somewhere down there is the throne where Belos used to sit; somewhere down there is a body. It’s not a surprise, really. It’s not a shock. From the moment the palisman fluttered into his life and Hunter let it stay, he always knew, deep down, that one day he was going to have to choose. 

It does not make breathing any easier. “I don’t want to,” he says. 

“You can learn wild magic! And, and glyphs! Eda knows a lot—”

“Does the Owl Lady know you’re offering up her house to an old enemy?” 

“Eda won’t mind. Well, okay, maybe she’ll mind a little, but— she’ll let you stay if I ask her!” Yeah. The Owl Lady probably would. The human has that witch wrapped around her little finger; Hunter almost snorts. “Please, just hear me out. I’m sure we can—”

“No.”

“Hunter…”

“Don’t talk like we’re friends,” Hunter hisses. He drops the broken remains of the mechanical staff and stands, his hands curled to fists. “Don’t talk like you know me. You don’t know anything. You don’t—” He can’t breathe. He drops back to his knees in the rubble and rubs a hand over his eyes. “Just stop. Please.”

The human doesn’t say anything for a long time. On his shoulder, the palisman, thus far staying silent, flutters its wings and hops down to his knee, nudging his hand with its beak. It sings nothing. Just stays there.

After a moment, the human kneels next to him. There is blood on her face and dirt staining her leggings. “I know,” she says, and she suddenly sounds very tired. “I’m sorry.” 

Hunter doesn’t say anything.

“I just—” the human starts, and then she stops. “I don’t know how else to help you.”

She looks small and weirdly sad, which makes no sense at all, because she hated Belos and never really understood why Hunter did not. (Hunter is not sure why either. If that is still something he can say. If you can betray your uncle and fight against your uncle and—and— and do these things, do everything Hunter has done, and still say that this feeling isn’t hatred.)

They aren’t friends, Hunter and the human. They have barely been allies. He doesn’t need her help, and she probably knows that as well as he does. But Hunter looks at her then, and despite the rubble and the ash and the blood on his tongue, for some reason instead of digging himself a makeshift grave he says—

“…Okay.”

Which still doesn’t really explain anything, but then, that’s just how it goes.

.

“Okay!” says the Owl Lady, smacking down her second cup of apple blood on the table. She does it too hard—a good splash of blood escapes the confines of the cup and adds yet another stain to her already-stained dining table. Hunter raises an eyebrow. The Owl Lady glares back. “House rules.”

There’s a red mark on her cheek, still, from where Hunter had hit her with his staff, and a stain all down her side from when, upon being hit with the staff, the Owl Lady spluttered and cursed and accidentally spilt the first cup of apple blood all over herself and the floor. She looks… barely awake. 

“House rules,” Hunter echoes, dryly.

“Your scorn is noted and not appreciated.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” His palisman pecks his hand lightly. “Ow.”

“Luz, you owe me one,” mutters the Owl Lady, and takes a really deep drink of her apple blood. Hunter rubs at his hand, peeved, and eyes the palisman in case it gets any more hand-pecking ideas. The palisman blinks innocently back. Hmm.

“So. First of all.” The Owl Lady raises a finger. “Break any of my stuff and I end you.”

So just like the castle, then. Hunter sees where this is going. He settles gingerly back against the chair—why, why is all of her furniture stained—and rests his cheek against one fist, already bored. “Noted.”

The Owl Lady puts up a second finger. There’s a long silence.

“…Seriously?” says Hunter.

“Quiet, you.” She snaps her fingers. “Hah! Got one! Hurt King or Luz or Hooty or anyone I like in any way and I’ll destroy you. Yeah, that works.”

Hunter gets the sneaking suspicion these house rules are being made up on the spot, and are also only for him. He knows better than to say that aloud. “Fine.” Wait. “How am I supposed to know which random people you like or dislike?”

The Owl Lady grins. Her gold fang glints. “That sounds like a you problem, don’t you think?” She cackles a little. “Guess you’ll just have to find out! Or, you know. Maybe don’t attack anyone? That’s a start.” 

Her owl palisman coos a little. Her nose wrinkles. “What? What do you mean that’s hypocritical? Stay out of this, Owlbert, I’m teaching life lessons or something.” Her eyes turn to him. “Anyway. You get the gist.”

Hunter’s hand is curled white-knuckled around his knee. His palisman flutters from the table to his shoulder, singing nonsense again. Red tulips, so tasty. Its feathers brush against his cheek. 

He pries his grip off his knee one finger at a time. “…Understood.”

“Good.” The Owl Lady stands and stretches, yawning wide into one hand. “Anyway, I’ll give you a pass for this morning, because Hooty can be…” She trails off. Outside, muffled by the front door, the bird-worm creature shouts “HOOT” at full volume and then smacks into a tree.

“…a lot,” decides the Owl Lady. “But seriously, keep the windows locked. I don’t want you trying to blast him and burning my house down. I just got it back.”

Hunter says nothing. The Owl Lady squints at him and then picks her mug back up. “Riiiight… well, good talk, I guess. Get some more sleep, kid, you look worse than Luz after an all-nighter.” She waits. Hunter raises an eyebrow at her. “Ugh. I don’t know why I agreed to this.”

At least Hunter isn’t the only one second-guessing everything. Still, that reminds him. “The human.”

“Luz,” says the Owl Lady, unimpressed. 

“Yeah, whatever.” He links his fingers. The palisman flies down from his shoulder to his cupped hands, and hops a determined circle in his palm for no apparent reason. Hunter watches it play. “…Is she coming back?”

“What, tired of our company already?” 

“Yes,” Hunter says, because obviously.

“Rude. Well, can’t say the feeling isn’t mutual.” There’s a long silence. The Owl Lady sighs. “Luz… she promised she’d come back. You were there, weren’t you?”

Yeah, he had been. Standing in the back of the group, on the fringes of the goodbye. Two hours after the end, and the human had already roped the Owl Lady into letting Hunter live in her stupid owl house, and also somehow run around hugging pretty much everyone. And then she’d stepped through the mirrors that were all that remained of the realm-merge between her world and theirs, and not come back since. 

She had, indeed, promised to return. But that was hours ago; that was yesterday. The mirrors are gone and no doors remain. And Hunter does not put much faith in promises. 

“And when,” he asks the Owl Lady, a little lofty, a little snide. “When, exactly, do you think she’s coming back?”

The Owl Lady’s eyes narrow. Her lips press thin. For a moment he thinks she might snap at him, but then her shoulders slump, and in the end she just looks away.

“I don’t know,” the Owl Lady admits. 

Useless, Hunter thinks. But he doesn’t say it. Just nods and turns away to head back upstairs and make that stupid dusty storage room somewhat presentable, because if he’s going to be staying here for—for—for whatever amount of time he ends up staying here, he’s going to breathe actual air instead of dust, thanks.

“Remember, kid! House rules!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hunter says, and teleports back up the stairs without a single glance back.

.

Hunter manages to shove all the junk into one corner and make the start of a fairly presentable bed in the other corner by the time the human re-arrives in the Boiling Isles and throws open his door hard enough to smack it against the wall.

“You took my advice!” shouts the human, at the top of her lungs.

“Hiiiiii,” says Hunter, hands over his ears. The human takes a deep breath. Hunter closes the door in her face. “Byeeee.”

“Hey!”

“Why are you yelling.”

“I can’t believe you’re here!”

It’s just nonsensical enough to get him to open the door. Why does this always happen to him? Why is the human like this? “You said I should come here! You said—”

“Psh,” says the human and flaps a hand in his face. Hunter stops mid-word, gritting his teeth, practically feeling his whole face turn bright red with rage. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way! I just— I didn’t think you would actually listen! But you’re here!” She’s beaming. Hunter looks away. Her smile fades. “…Are you okay?”

He can’t sleep. His eyes are hot and burning like he wants to cry and he has no idea why. His uncle is dead. 

“No,” he tells her. “No one in this house dusts. I’ve forgotten what air tastes like.”

“Psh-haw! I’m sure it's not that…” The human steps inside, inhales, and chokes. “Oh. Ay Dios mío. Wow, this room has not been dusted.”

“I noticed!”

“Oh, man.” She hides her nose in her elbow and sidles outside again. She’s wearing her weird human clothes and her palisman staff strapped to her back. She looks tired, and a little like she has no idea what she’s doing here either. She lingers in the door almost awkwardly, rolling back and forth from her heels to her toes. 

Hunter watches her for a long moment. “You came back.”

“Haha. What gave it away?” But the smile she gives is small and blinding, brighter than the sun. “Watch this.”

“Watch wha—” The human lifts her hand and trails it through the air, dragging her fingers down in a straight line. Golden light follows her fingers. It breaks the air like a fractured mirror, a rift sparking to life in the hallway, the dark greens and blues of a galaxy intertwined with a burning glow. Hunter’s voice dies in his throat. 

“If I push at it, it opens. Like a door. It leads me right home.” She’s smiling so wide it must hurt. The portal almost seems to whisper; the golden glow of the rift shines in her eyes and catches on her face, still tear-streaked. The human’s cried over this. She’s right to. The human world and the Boiling Isles—she has found a way to keep both.

Presumably he thinks he should be jealous. Instead he finds himself smiling too. “I’m glad,” Hunter tells her. “That’s… pretty cool.”

“Right!?” She bounces on her heels and waves a hand through the rift, dismissing it into nothing. “I can’t wait to show Amity. And Eda. And King. And you! The human world is—it’s amazing. The rain doesn’t kill you even a little bit!”

It takes sudden effort to keep up the smile. “…I’ve heard.” 

“Anyway, I just came by to say hi. Eda said you were here, and—” She stops, visibly hesitating. Her head lowers. “I know… I know this must be hard. And that we aren’t really friends. But… if you need anyone to talk to… I’m here.” She peeks up her head a little, grinning. “After all, we’re house buddies now!”

“Human,” Hunter says. Her nose wrinkles. He sighs. “Luz.”

“Yeah?” 

There’s so much he could say that for a moment he has no idea where to start. Why did you think this was a good idea. Please stop talking. Why are you so insistent that we could be friends. I didn’t say I was staying here for long. I’m very tired. You’re bizarrely forgiving. My uncle is dead because of you. 

“…Thanks,” he says. “And— I’m sorry.”

Luz blinks at him. Then she grins. “Noooo problem, ol’ buddy ol’ pal!”

Hunter shoves her stupid smiling face away and closes the door on her toes. Luz yelps and swears and kicks at the door, and yells rude things in that other human language of hers. “Byeeeee,” Hunter says, and behind the closed door, Luz makes a muffled noise of rage and shouts, “Would you stop saying that!?”

And it doesn’t make things better but it doesn’t make things any worse, either, and when Hunter turns away he is almost smiling—so maybe it’s okay. 

.

The sun sets. The dusty room has been aired out to its best ability, and Hunter has made a somewhat functional and comfy-looking bed in the corner. A sticky note with the boiling sea + ice = human rain idea has been ceremoniously pinned to the empty wall space. In addition to the sticky notes, Luz has donated his “sad, bad boy room” what looks to be a dying houseplant. Hunter suspects she gave it to him purely because she has despaired of trying to keep it alive herself.  

He puts the plant on the windowsill. The palisman apparently loves it. Maybe he should find red tulips for it to eat. Whatever a red tulip is.

He settles next to the palisman on the windowsill, and strokes its head with his finger. He feels strangled and small and the sunset looks alien to him. Everything has changed. Everything is over. He is a powerless witch with a wild magic staff, and he will never be the Golden Guard again.

His eyes burn. He blinks fast. Far down below, he can hear the Owl Lady and Luz arguing over dinner.

“I still don’t know what I’m doing here,” Hunter tells the palisman. The sunset makes all the trees look shadow-like and sharp, outlined in red. It reminds him of his palisman, a little bit. “I don’t even like these people. What do you think? Is it too late to head back and dig myself a grave in the rubble?”

I’m happy I know you, chirps the palisman. It hops from the dying houseplant to the top of his head.  I love you, I love you.

His throat feels tight. “…That still isn’t a real answer.”

I want apple blood for breakfast tomorrow. The palisman nibbles at his hair. It looks tasty.

He’s quiet for a long moment. Then he closes his eyes. “Okay. If— if you say so.” 

The sun is setting, and the light is warm on his face. The Boiling Isles feels, for once, almost something like peaceful. It probably won’t last.

“We’ll stay.”