#I’ve never drawn those on my personas. maybe not yet?

[zenmom]

Nooooo! The today’s not over and I’ve already broken my processor!

I seriously need those clips so that they don’t fall off my head. And I don’t have any left.

[crystallizsch]

ian, i have a question regarding your ocs if you don’t mind!! we often see your ocs in their nrc uniforms or in event outfits, but what would their everyday outfits look like and/or how would they dress if they could get their hands on their dream wardrobe (i.e. no limitations by idk… being whisked into a new world with no money or belongings)? in the same vein, do any of them have body mods like piercings or tattoos?

partially motivated by the aspect that clothing can reveal a lot about a person/character and one of my first questions for ocs being “okay now what piercings does this dork have” :>

also hiiii new moot, i’m still super giddy about that :]

OO HI HI THIS WAS REALLY FUN TO THINK ABOUT CASUAL OUTFITS HERE THEY BE 💥💥💥

okay uh unskippable monologue below the cut beware because i just went on a design/outfit tangent hfndndjd

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SURPRISINGLY (other than in her intro post) i think i’ve only drawn yuusha in her main casual fit in these posts with jamil -> (💜) (💜) (💜) where they’re in kinda like their silly dating arc which i dont know where to place in their relationship timeline so i just figured it’s an au of some sort

(firstly i’m not 100% aware of fashion/clothing terms so forgive me, i’m just gonna use the generic terms)

ANYWAYS yuusha loves loose fits or just generally clothing that feels comfy and breathable if that makes sense, especially around her upper torso because sometimes it makes her feel self-conscious that she doesnt have a noticeable chest.

the way i would describe her casual clothing is just like- effortless-looking clothing while still managing to look nice/pretty/fashionable somewhat. she dresses for comfort AND style.

she’s fine with tight/flexible pants though, like leggings so she can move around more freely and that it’s breathable.

other than that, overall she just likes casual/warm/cozy fits that aren’t too “loud” like, just monochrome and soft colors.

but when it comes to special events, she’s more confident in dressing like a gentlemanly lady killer while still keeping that feminine vibe bc what better way to channel your feminine prowess is by beating the guys at their own game.

personally i could never do piercings/tattoos but i LOVE seeing them on others. (for piercings the most im kinda comfy having/giving my ocs with is ear piercings but otherwise it’s awesome seeing different kinds of piercings/tattoos when it comes to others) so for yuusha, i think the most she’d be willing is a few tattoos and some ear piercings.

also omg matching couple tattoos aaagh maybe i’d give yuusha and jamil one post-nrc

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fun fact: when i was designing yuuna, their features weren’t usually my go-tos when making personas (the only thing was my usual was hairstyle and eye color) bc i thought i’d be over and done with twst after a bit (but look where i am now and yuuna had quite grown on me 😔)

theyre my pink barbie doll where i channel all the whimsy, cutesy fashion choices that i wish i could wear lmao 😭

similar to yuusha, they’d wear anything regardless of gender presentation. but their preference leans towards more feminine.

yuuna’s fashion choices are definitely more “loud” like more patterns, more brighter colors, etc. anything to stand out. (i know it doesn’t show in the doodle i did but hfbdjsjs i love outfit designs but i'm not super skilled in that area yet) they also like warm/cozy outfits but instead of monochrome colors, it’ll be more colorful.

and if THEY COULD, i can see them in various kinds of lolita fashion. yuuna would absolutely walk around in those if they could.

(thanks again to @/0honeybones0 for the name dividers 🙏💕)

[voiceless-terror]

Outside the Lines

for @archivalpride month! the prompt was ‘sharing clothes’ so I decided to add on a bit to my More than Enough archives polycule fic. you don’t need to read it beforehand, though. 2.2k words, cw in the tags.

Jon likes Sasha’s clothes. Particularly, her cardigans.

They’re warm, oversized things in pastel colors, chunky cable knits and ancient pullovers, smelling faintly of jasmine and sandalwood. There’s always one draped over the back of her chair at work, at home. Sometimes a pile of them.

“Just in case,” she said knowingly, when Jon mentioned the teetering pile on the back of her office chair. 

“Of what, a blizzard?” he replied archly, to which she had no response.

But Jon runs cold, so it makes sense that he’d like them. And eye them. And eventually, borrow them.

“You look good in pink,” she said casually, walking by him cozily wrapped up, surrounded by books for his latest case. “You should wear it more often.” Jon just grumbled in response.

It now sits on the back of his chair.

Point is, they’re not strangers to sharing clothes. Once they move in together, the lines blur even more. Jon’s scarves become hers, her jackets become his. It’s nice when the someone’s scent begins to remind you of home. Embarrassingly, he’s come to think of it like a hug when she’s not around. Perhaps she feels the same way, but Jon’s not going to bring it up. He’s not that maudlin.

“You need to stop me from online shopping,” she groans one day, dropping a pile of clothing into his lap that must have been from the newly-arrived and altogether giant box he found on the steps of their flat. Jon had raised an eyebrow as she guiltily hauled it to her room and got to work. “I swear, I don’t remember ordering half of this.”

“Far be it from me to get between a James and her phone,” he replies, picking through the pile of utterly un-Sasha-like clothing. It’s all floaty tops and tiny skirts, nothing like what she usually gravitates toward. She certainly has more...adventurous tastes, when she’s intoxicated.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you at all,” Jon retorts, picking up the most offensive piece from the pile with his thumb and pointer finger: a muted brown, and yet somehow sparkly miniskirt. He raises a judgmental eyebrow. “Really?”

“I was not in my right state of mind, you know that.” She ran a hand over her face, refusing to look him in the eye. “Anyway, see if there’s anything in there you like. Otherwise, it’s all going back.”

Jon very much doubts there’s much in here for him - not a chunky knit in sight. The tops aren’t too bad, but a bit too sheer for his liking, and if he’s going to layer, he’d rather be comfortable than fashionable. He pushes the pile off his lap when something catches his eye. Buried beneath two very loud shirts is something black, with bits of lace. He pulls it out to find a simple black dress, high-necked with pearl buttons and slightly puffed sleeves.  It’s modest, but covered in a delicate lace pattern. His grip tightens incrementally. “You don’t like this?”

Sasha peeks her head around the corner. “S’bit short on me. You should try it on, though. It’s cute.”

Jon flushes. It’s something he might’ve worn in uni, when he and Georgie made a night of it and Jon had just enough liquid courage. Now, though, it doesn’t fit with his professional persona and strict uniform of blazers, vests, and button ups. He needed to be taken seriously, and he didn’t feel he could do that if he was...experimenting, as his grandmother would phrase it. His hair he still wears long, the only vestige of that life he kept. “Oh,” he responds automatically, “I couldn’t.”

Sasha blinks. “I think you’d look really nice. Put your hair up, maybe add some earrings.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not.” She comes behind his perch on the sofa, gathering his hair up in her hand and pulling it from his face. “Leave a few pieces out, y’know, artfully messy.” She takes the dress and pulls it up against his body. “What do you think?”

“Um, maybe,” he barely manages to whisper. It feels nice, right. He can see it in his mind’s eye - it looks very him. Not feminine or masculine, just pretty. Just Jon. “I’ll think about it.”

He thinks about it. The dress hangs in the back of his closet, untouched and passed over many a morning. He tried it on and Sasha had been right- of course she was, she’s good at that sort of thing when not inebriated. Maybe one day he’d wear it out - not to work, but to drinks or something.

Maybe.

It’s not until months down the line that he tugs it out, on one of those days where he feels like his body doesn’t make sense and names sound wrong in his ears. Drinks with Tim, the newest recruit to their department. Hard won drinks, if Jon might add; Tim was just starting to open up to them. He tugs the dress over his head and digs through a plate on his dresser for the long silver earrings Sasha gave him last Christmas. He studiously avoids the mirror on his way out the door, throwing his bag over his shoulder and standing in the doorway, as if waiting for Sasha’s reaction. 

This was a bad idea, he thinks as his palms start to sweat. You look ridiculous, you shouldn’t have- his thoughts are interrupted by a gentle hand tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. Sasha smiles at him.

“Oh, you’re perfect.” 

Tim thinks so too.

----------

“Oh man, I’ve got to get rid of that.”

Tim motions to the blazer in Sasha’s hand. “Hasn’t fit me since uni. Y’know, when I got these guns.” Sasha rolls her eyes as he makes an exaggerated motion with his arms. They’ve been cleaning out Tim’s apartment for the past few hours, she and Tim in the bedroom while Jon sorted through his books in the living room. She suspects he’s doing more reading than sorting.

“Why’d you keep it, then?” She holds the hanger up, smoothing the fabric out with her hand. It’s heavy, quality fabric. A shame to get rid of it.

“Dunno, just one of those things,” he shrugs, throwing another pair of joggers onto the bed. “It was expensive, but I only ever wore it to interviews for internships and the like. You can toss it in the donate pile.”

She hums idly, making no motion to get rid of it. She’s rather fond of blazers, has quite a few in her collection. They’re nice when she wants to be a bit more dressy and professional. A woman’s outfit can occasionally be her armor, particularly in academia, and nothing says ‘take me seriously’ like a nicely fitted jacket and skirt. Never mind how it makes her feel. But this is very much a men’s blazer, barely a nip at the waist and with nothing to outline the curve of her body. And yet.

She shoves it in her bag. If she doesn’t like it, she’ll throw it out.

_______

When Jon and Tim are tucked in bed, she tries it on.

She doesn’t know why she’s being so secretive about this. It’s not like Jon and Tim will care, it’s just clothes. Lord knows she’s encouraged Jon to wear whatever he wants, and there’s no surefire way to get Tim blushing like wearing one of his pullovers. But there’s something that feels a bit transgressive about it. She was generally drawn to more feminine looks, growing up as a tall girl there’s an inherent (perhaps taught) idea that making herself look smaller and delicate would make her more appealing. Appealing for what? She always wanted to ask. But she knows the answer now. It’s taken near a decade to get the slouch out of her posture and to get comfortable wearing heels. 

It seems silly to feel so cowed by a blazer. She’s thirty years old, unmarried and living with two partners. She stopped playing by the rules a long time ago. Her hands shouldn’t be shaking. For Christ’s sake, just put it on.

She slips her arms into the sleeves, pausing to inhale the leftover scent of Tim, his laundry detergent and the after shave he occasionally wears. Her entire body warms, like stepping into a bath. She slips the rest of it on, pausing to adjust the shirt underneath. When she looks in the mirror, she can’t help the grin that fills her face. She looks good. Her broad shoulders fit the line of the jacket perfectly, her curves hidden and barely even suggested by the cut. It is decidedly not feminine. 

She likes it.

It takes her twenty minutes to drag herself from the bathroom and back into bed. She lies awake through Tim’s light snores and Jon’s murmuring, filled with a strange, nervous excitement. It’s just a blazer, she thinks to herself somewhat giddily. It’s just clothes. But when she throws it on that Monday morning and steps into the kitchen, she starts to think it might be more than that. She walks a little taller, feels a bit more at home in her skin. Tim choking on his orange juice when he sees her is just an added bonus.

“Glad you kept it,” he stutters out, once he manages to stop gaping.

She’s glad too.

______

Martin’s sitting on Jon’s bed, watching as he runs a brush through his hair.

Jon’s hair is lovely, long and shiny. His own he keeps rather short, though the curls are getting a bit unruly these days. When he was a child, his mother insisted he keep it long, just like she insisted on a great many other things. But he shed all of that, got as far away from it as possible. And yet, eyeing the silvery tray on Jon’s dresser, he has to admit he’s curious. 

It’s full of delicate, pretty accessories- hair clips and necklaces and earrings. Jon’s like a magpie, collecting shiny things; though this collection is mostly gifts from the three of them. It’s a little dance they like to do- Jon sees something in a store, stares a little too long, insists he doesn’t need it, and eventually it ends up in their flat. 

Their flat. He’s still getting used to it. He’s never felt at home anywhere, but he’s starting to think he has one now. Listening to Jon hum as he cooks, Tim reading aloud from his recent article deep-dive, Sasha butting in with a comment - these are all good things. The background noise to his days that used to be filled with silence. 

And he’s never been around people so at home with themselves. Martin is so used to putting an effort into how he presents himself in the world, he’s never enjoyed being misconstrued. A strange, delicate balance of pride in who he is at war with a desperate need to be understood and accepted. Palatable. Easier to put yourself in a box with clear labels than to deal with the confusion and the questions. Any passing thought or fleeting impulse that goes outside the lines is dismissed.

But nothing about his situation now is easily labeled, to be honest. It’s hard enough explaining his relationship status to others, though Sasha has a little spiel ready to rattle off at a moment’s notice. They’re all so comfortable with each other, with themselves. It makes him both a bit braver and a bit more afraid.

While Jon scurries off to flick through his closet, Martin gets up, walking over to the collection and picking up the small moth broach he’d gotten him on one of their first dates, before Tim started to come along. The memory brings a smile to his face.

“Oh, it’s lovely, Martin.” Jon had immediately pinned it to his jacket, before reaching down to grab a bag at his feet. “And ah, actually- I got something for you too?”

A little Highland cow plushie. So he had been listening to his rant on Scotland the other day. It still sits in place of pride on his desk. 

“Do you want to try one?” Martin jumps at the sound of Jon’s voice, dropping the pin unceremoniously back into the pile as if he’d been burnt. He turns around, prepared to voice a thousand excuses, a knee-jerk reaction. 

“No, it’s-”

But Jon’s already sorting through the pile with clever fingers, hand lingering over a thin barrette with a tiny, gold flower. Pretty, simple. Martin’s hand itches to reach out but he draws it into a tight fist. Admiring is one thing, but actually wearing it-

“C’mere.” He thinks he should refuse but instead he leans down, lets Jon’s fingers wind their way through his hair and feels a settled weight against his head.

“There.” Jon smiles. “That’ll do quite nicely.”

He looks in the mirror. Oh.

It’s barely even noticeable, just a small clip bringing the longest of his curls behind his ear. But Jon’s right. It looks nice. It goes with his hair and it doesn’t feel feminine or wrong, just a comfortable weight against his head reminding him he belongs, he’s loved. And that Martin’s still himself, even if he steps outside of the box every now and then. 

“You don’t have to keep it in if you-”

“No. I like it.” He straightens his spine, tilts his head. Smiles. Jon smiles back.

Yeah. He likes it.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31803076

[courtlyharlequin]

Dreamscape

Summary: [ Modern AU ] Cater, Vil, Epel, and Silver, Sebek take you on a date to Disneyland! It’s the happiest place in the world, right?

A/N: Happy birthday @poisonepel​ !!! Marzi, I love you so much. Thank you for all that you do for me and the twst fandom in general. You’re such a hard worker and I don’t think people say that enough. You’re one of my closest friends. I’m glad I’ve found someone who loves twst as much as I do. I’m so grateful to know you, to be able to rot with you, to be able to over share with you. You’re sweet and very down to earth. You’re so funny too! Your react pics always send me over the moon. I always have a blast when I talk to you and Taku. I hope you have an amazing day— one that’s on par with your own amazingness ehe~ (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))♡

Cater Diamond:

He thought it would be a cute and Magicam-able date idea

There wouldn’t be a single moment where he isn’t snapping a picture of you two

Or perhaps he might vlog the entire experience

Cater would wait for a good hour to get a picture with Mickey Mouse

He would also buy those Mickey Mouse shaped ice cream bars, take a bite for the Magicam post and then hand it off to you because, well, it’s a bit too sweet for him

Matching ears and outfits are a must for this date

Cater opts for the classical ears. You know, the black ones that are clean and simple

Once he’s done with the pictures, he’ll let his online persona drop

He’s still peppy and flirty, but he’s not faking a smile

He’s genuinely enjoying himself after all the staging. Quite frankly, the slower rides bore him but they’re much more viable for pictures

He prefers the faster paced rides. He likes the thrill, the rush of adrenaline albeit he can’t always snap a picture because of the fast pace

His favorite rides are the ones with long lines like Splash Mountain, Space Mountain, or Indiana Jones.

Not to worry though, Cater will hold your hand while you wait. He’s surprisingly very good at small talk~

Vil Schoenheit:

He is fond of the idea of going on a date to Disneyland. Read: the idea of

To be honest, amusement parks are not his ideal date. It leaves room for paparazzi and unwanted attention. Moreover, he’s never been to an amusement park before

Constantly being in the sun irks him, but he does eventually loosen up

Complaining all day would ruin the mood and that’s simply uncouth of him so it’s best to make the most out of the situation

Vil’s makeup is light for the day. He’s going for a more natural look today.  He doesn’t want to constantly touch it up every few hours. He sports shoes similar to the ones in his PE card. They’re light, easy for walking yet still stylish

His whole ensemble is a functional yet fashionable piece. He puts his hair up into a ponytail too~

He’ll make sure your ensemble is just as comfortable as his too. He’ll even do your makeup if you wake up early enough

He carries a mini backpack with all of his essentials too. Maybe yours too if you don’t like carrying bags with you. He’s not going to carry everything as he’s not your servant, but an extra makeup pouch wouldn’t hurt

Vil is a total mom at Disneyland. He brings his own food as he won’t tolerate putting junk into his body. He’ll also do hydration checks while you wait in line

He unironically likes Fantasyland. It reminds him of the stories he read as a child. There’s a certain wonder and awe in his eyes when he rides the carousel or the Peter Pan ride. We can’t forget the Snow White ride either. They’re very “chill rides”. They won’t cause neck strain or get anyone wet. He honestly needs them after all the stress from work

You can bet that he finds himself in the gift shop for a good hour, browsing for the perfect ears for you both

Going on a date to Disneyland with Vil, seems like a handful, and it really is, but seeing him loosen up on a day off brings you both much joy. Albeit, his pride is a little wounded because he actually enjoyed himself after telling you he wouldn’t

Epel Felmier:

UWAHHH!!!

He’s also never been to an amusement park before, but not because he didn’t want to. No, the idea just never crossed his mind

His eyes light up. They sparkle. This place is huge and there’s horses too?

He’s honestly underpacked, but that’s fine with him! You don’t need a whole lot to have fun

Epel is a fast walker. If you aren’t then, he’ll make sure to hold your hand so as to not lose you in a crowd

He rushes to the first ride he sees

The attraction that caught his attention the most would be Autopia. Racing? Bring it on!

He also volunteers for the Jedi Training Academy, wielding his lightsaber with such prowess. Sure, he might be the oldest of the bunch, but he didn’t mind– especially with you cheering him on in the crowd

While those two attractions are in Tomorrowland, his favorite place is New Orleans Square and Critter Country

Epel is really fond of Splash Mountain and Pirates of the Caribbean. He’s not afraid to get wet. Hell, he wants to

Although, he prefers the attractions where you explore more than sit down for a ride. He climbs up Tarzan’s Treehouse without a sweat and walks across those unstable  wooden bridges like it’s nothing

If you’re scared, he’ll grab your wrist and run straight across ♡

He likes the Winnie the Pooh ride, but don’t mention it to him. Seeing him buy matching Winne the Pooh and Piglet Mickey ears for you in the gift shop next to the ride was enough to know

And yes, he likes Dole Whip

Silver:

This sleeping beauty is a little dazed, having to wake up early and all, but he’ll make do. He gathered all of his things the night before, laying out his clothes the night before on the hotel’s couch and setting his bags by the door

He’s dressed very comfortably. He’s most likely in sweats

He also prefers a cap instead of the standard Mickey Mouse ears. The headband makes the back of his own ears hurt if he wears them for so long so he’d rather not wear them altogether

Silver falls asleep on your shoulder during the bus ride to the park itself. His snores are barely audible. You can’t help but admire his long lashes

He’ll give you this perplexed look as he catches you staring. Your eyes meet his brilliant aurora orbs and he smiles at you

As for the date itself, you two find yourselves wandering around the park. Silver has no preference so he’s willing to go on any rides if it as you wish

But from how he dozes off in Small World’s, you could assume that’s his favorite ride

Honestly, Silver likes to hang around the pond near Sleep Beauty’s castle and feed the ducks. He has an affinity for the park’s animals and they adore him as well

While you two do linger around the castle and Fantasyland for most of your day, one of Silver’s favorite places is Main Street because there’s horse drawn carriages

He likes to nuzzle his head on your shoulder and watch others hustle about. There’s a certain tranquility that comes with watching others enjoy themselves. He may or may not doze off here

The day ends with you two settling down by the lake in New Orleans Square the fireworks from afar. There was already a crowd at the area but Silver made do. If you’re short, might offer to carry you on his back

He blushes when you mentioned that some of the fireworks remind you of his multicolored eyes

Sebek Zigvolt:

He did a lot of research when you suggested that you two should go on a date here. So when you reached the front gate, he rambled on about the history of the park

This continues for almost very ride which leads you to question how much he looked into Disneyland. When you compliment him, he beams with pride. Of course, he knows about the architecture of Sleeping Beauty’s castle!

That being said, Sebek is actually a good partner to take to an amusement park. He’s so prepared. He knows the best routes and got fast passes

He personally has no preferences for rides, but from how his eyes light up when he races you in Autopia and how much he laughs in Buzz Lightyear Astro Blasters, those are probably his favorites. Sebek likes the rides that are more hands-on and require some skill. Sure, rides where you just sit still and enjoy the scenery is nice, but he’d rather show off his talents to you

He’s a tad ashamed that he asked to go on another round of Autopia since that threw off his schedule, but he couldn’t help it. It’s so fun!

He has a certain plan for the day as he asked you what you liked a few weeks before so he also gets a little annoyed when you take detours to buy churros and ice cream. He didn’t really take snacks into account, just main meals. He sincerely apologizes for being underprepared, but is taken back when you giggle and wave it off as nothing

If he had puppy ears, then you could imagine them perking right up after you affirm that you aren’t disappointed in him, taking his hand and all

It all works out for the better because it turns out that Sebek likes the turkey legs! He would probably get into a fight for the last one. It wasn’t intentional; he just came off as vociferous to the other person which in turn led to some bickering. Needless to say, he got the last turkey leg

[hopeymchope]

any DR characters you would swap deaths?

You mean trade out people who are dead for people who are alive, I assume? Or do you mean, like, trading out how and when characters die with other dead characters? I’m assuming it’s the first one. My answer kind of depends on the day you ask. Sometimes I have less, sometimes I have more. 

And on some days, I don’t want to change anything, because I sincerely worry about whether changes will disrupt the larger narrative, the themes — maybe even things I haven’t yet picked up on in the writing. It definitely feels risky to mess with someone else’s story sometimes, but... I know we all have the urge anyway, right?

So. Right now, on May 27, 2022, this is how I’m feeling:

DR1:

The person I’d most like to save is Sakura, but I don’t want to mess up the fourth trial or lose Asahina’s intense actions in that chapter. And I don’t think there’s another character that makes sense in that exact scenario. So I guess I have to leave her where she is, sadly. I also considered trying to save Fujisaki (and subsequently erase the fandom question of whether Chihiro was posthumously misgendered) by swapping some deaths around. Alas, I couldn’t make that work without completely rewriting the surrounding narrative. 

I finally landed on this: We trade Kiyotaka for Hagakure. Because: 1) I don’t think Hagakure has ever gotten to shine as brightly or be as fleshed-out as the other survivors. 2) I never cared for the “Kiyondo” thing in DR1 Chapter 3 and would be happy to drop it. 3) I think there’s a lot more to explore about Taka once he is so close with/emotionally invested in a criminal. It’s got to change his entire worldview, and I want to see how that unfolds. As to the “How,” I already mentioned that we drop the “Chiyondo” persona that gets Ishimaru so fixated on Alter Ego. And in turn, we make Hagakure desperately want a piece of that A.I. because he knows he can leverage its predicative algorithms to enhance his fortune-telling and make a crapload more money (or, worst-case scenario, he can just sell the damn A.I. for a big profit). Naturally, this isn’t something that Hifumi would take kindly to.

DR2:

To start, I’ll trade Mahuri for Akane. Will this necessitate Akane being made a part of the Hiyoko/Mahiru/Mikan/Sato friend squad? Probably, but I think that’s acceptable. This does mean that Akane will lose some of her more interesting moments of characterization... but I mean, that kind of thing happens inevitably to the characters who go down early. For the moment, I’m thinking that Mahiru is more likely to lead to fun/interesting interactions than the thinly drawn Akane did.

Give Ibuki's death to Hiyoko (the idea of Mikan purposefully targeting Hiyoko is just more compelling than it being a random act, for obvious reasons.) This also gives a chance to use my idea about giving Hiyoko the “Truth Telling” Despair Disease as a way to try and redeem her a bit... but I guess that’s me getting into more of a rewrite than just a simple death-change.

I know I said (in that post about a theoretical Hiyoko’s redemption) that I’d take the Despair Disease away from Akane because I didn’t see the value in her “coward’s disease.” In retrospect, I should’ve remembered what @jadyjads once said about how those segments speak to her character. I’m on-board with the majority of what she said there. Now, sure, the point is kind of moot if I’ve already killed Akane off, but even with that being the case, I think her fourth and fifth FTEs hit a lot of the same themes home. So I’d want to expand on those slightly to help make up for the loss of her Chapter 3 material.

Second death in Chapter 3? Nekomaru. Just have him be in the hospital in chapter 3 instead of off-screen. Maybe he awakens only near the end of Daily Life and, when he wanders out to explore the island, stumbles right into the club and sees Hiyoko’s hanging. Then it'll be interesting to see Mikan sneak up and take out someone markedly bigger and stronger than her just using the element of surprise. That’ll help obfuscate the fact that she was the culprit a little more. In addition, “Mechamaru” was one of many ways that the game foreshadowed its eventual endgame reveal little too much IMO. So, although we’re losing some elements from the narrative by removing his presence during Chapter 4, we can at least reduce the number of obvious clues in doing so.

This ALSO lets us keep Ibuki around longer, which I think is worthwhile as it gives a chance to better appreciate her surprising depth/intelligence. Furthermore, I always felt that Gundham's choice to kill in Chapter 4 was kinda whitewashed by having it be a character who we hadn't seen much for a while AND was turned into a robot. We need to appreciate the full impact of his decision a little more, y'know? They make it seem like it’s kinda heroic of him and Nekomaru to choose this path, but at the end of the day, Gundham still legit killed somebody; let’s not sugarcoat it overmuch. It’s a gray-shaded act at best. This does mean he’ll have to actually knock Ibuki unconscious rather than just using a switch to power Nidai off, but I think we can easily work with that.

(...I also think that Ibuki and Gundham meeting in the tower room and instantly deciding to have a one-on-one battle is both weirdly in-character for them and also inherently funnier than the Gundham/Mechamaru showdown.)

DRV3:

Obviously, I don’t kill Kaede at the start. In fact, I think I’ll do the inverse. We start the game as the low-self-esteem boy protagonist and HE gets framed and dies, so we’re quickly tossed into Kaede’s perspective on events. We don’t want to lose Kaede’s guilt over attempting to kill the mastermind, exactly... so we have to leave that in and just have Shuichi seemingly cause a different, “accidental” death. He only realizes what happened during the trial itself, so he gradually helps Kaede realize the truth (much like Kaede did for him in the canon version).

Other than the identity/personality of our hero(ine) being different, I think it’s probably good to keep the events largely the same from here. Most of the noteworthy narrative changes will be confined to the FTEs with the characters, I wager. But in the main storyline, it’ll be fun to see Kaede gradually warm to Kaito as he continuously encourages her and brings her and Maki into a workout group, with both of the women eventually accepting that his intentions are legitimately pure. I can see Kaede not just sitting there and watching while Kaito learns how to work the crossbow from Maki — she’s going to get in there and ask questions about what the point is, even if she can’t get a straight answer. And I’m positive that Kaede will be even harsher towards Kokichi than Shuichi was — really taking him to task with how he’s endangering everybody whenever he dicks around and intentionally drags out the trials.

[moonlit-han]

bad squirrel ↠ han jisung

genre: bad boy!jisung au, enemies to lovers au, high school au; humor word count: 2.8k warnings: so fluffy, swearing, mildly suggestive  |  gender-neutral reader request: yes (thank you for such a clearly imagined and fun request, anon!)

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

You’d never understood why Han Jisung had to be so loud.

Wasn’t the “bad boy” of the school supposed to be the quiet, brooding type? Not that Jisung didn’t do his fair share of lurking in corners doing gods knew what, sneaking out of the school to mysteriously reappear hours later, and drinking from a flask in the middle of class…. But he was just so damn loud. All the time! And because Jisung was loud in class, you strongly disliked him. Sure, he did his work (sometimes, like when the sun rose in the west) and had friends—two, to be exact: Chan and Changbin—but other than that, he kept to himself, yet was somehow loud. Jisung also strutted around the school like he owned it, looking much like a disgruntled raven.

As you were in the same year, you were intimately familiar with all his less-than wonderful propensities, and had listened to more gossip about him than you’d care to admit. Granted, that was simply to hear anything about him. You had a strange fascination with Jisung that somehow existed in tandem with your dislike—you couldn’t understand it. And, you commonly thought about him at the most random times; this also meant that you ranted to your best friend, Seungmin, far too often.

Jisung sat in the corner of the cafeteria with Chan and Changbin, and scribbled. He was always scribbling in a notebook he kept in his back pocket, and you wanted to know what he was writing—probably something like emo poetry. And today was no different. Occasionally, he’d look up and stare into the middle distance.

“Do you ever wonder what goes on inside his head?” you asked as you chewed a mouthful of your lunch. Seungmin saw where your gaze rested and rolled his eyes.

“No. Definitely not.”

“But would it be cool to—”

“Again, no,” Seungmin interrupted before you could careen off onto one of your tangents about the merits of this person or that. Except, this person featured all too commonly in those tangents, and Seungmin was tired of hearing it. “I don’t want to hear about the exact wave pattern in Han Jisung’s hair or how long you think he’d had that leather jacket. And I definitely don’t want to hear your thoughts on his skinny jeans.”

You smirked, turning back to the table in front of you on which you’d neatly arranged your lunch: grapes, almonds, a container of rice, and a mix of vegetables and fish. You hadn’t necessarily been planning to rant about Jisung, but now that Seungmin mentioned it…

“What do you think he does when he’s not in school?” you mused, chasing a bit of cabbage around the bottom of your lunch container with your chopsticks. “I mean, he seems to just exist in his own little world—I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with anyone except Minho and Chan, and even then, not that often.”

“I don’t know, Y/N,” Seungmin yawned, resting his chin on his hand. “Probably goes off to some corner and broods. That’s what guys like him do: brood and very obviously not talk about how emotionally distraught they are or whatever. But in a Byronic way—I don’t think Jisung has a violent bone in his body.”

You wiggled your eyebrows at your best friend, who was steadily losing patience with the whole conversation. “I can think of one bone that might be quite . . . angry and maybe violent but probably just hard. Good with forceful th—”

“I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT HAN JISUNG’S DICK, Y/N!” Seungmgin burst out, drawing stares from the other students seated at neighboring tables, including Jisung himself. You made to bang your head on the table, more embarrassed than you’d been in a long time.

Seungmin, meanwhile, couldn’t stop laughing. “Y-Y/N, oh my god, I’m sorry. Hey, don’t hit me!” This was because you had started playfully but insistently punching his thigh. “It’s fine,” Seungmin continued, trying to reassure you. “It’s not like I said anything that would— Oh shit, he’s coming over here.”

You tried to slide under the table, but only succeeded in getting yourself stuck before shimmying back into your seat. You looked up just in time to see Jisung slide into the seat opposite you and lean meaningfully on the table.

“So, Y/N,” he drawled, flashing a feline grin at you. “What exactly did I just hear?”

“I didn’t say anything, Han,” you retorted, nose aloofly in the air.

Jisung sighed. “Okay, okay, maybe you didn’t say anything, but Seungmin definitely did.” Seungmin spluttered and shook his head violently, really not wanting to be drawn into your squabble.

“So?” you said casually, still picking at your lunch. Meanwhile, your heart felt like it was going to beat right out of your chest. “So what if he said something?”

“Why would Seungmin say anything about me, though,” Jisung said. “It’s not like you two like me or anything.”

You just stared at Jisung. Why did he sound petulant? “No, we don’t. You didn’t hear anything, so go away!”

“Oh come on, Y/N,” Jisung wheedled. “I know you’re curious….”

“Han, what the hell?”

“Sorry, sorry!” Jisung protested, leaning back as his hands waved wildly.

“I—” you began, and gulped. “It’s just… You’re just this moody guy who walks around like he owns the place. And you wear tight skinny jeans that leave very little to the imagination. How could I not assume you at least think you have . . . um, yeah.”

“I can’t believe you just said that,” Seungmin moaned, and stuffed his fingers in his ears.

Jisung had leaned forward now and was staring at you intently. You looked away, even more embarrassed than before, and he sighed.

“Y/N, I’m not quite sure what to say, besides the fact that I like my tight pants.” He paused, then chuckled lightly and winked. “And that you clearly like my tight pants, too.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, and blurted. “Why are you even talking to us, Han?”

Jisung stopped as he rose from the table. “I was intrigued. Plus, you’re cute when you’re flustered.” Han winked, then turned and walked back to Chan and Changbin.

You just watched him go—casually appreciating the view—completely stunned. Had Han Jisung just said you were cute? Ugh?

“Y/N? Earth to Y/N!” Seungmin was shaking your shoulder. “Y/N, you might start drooling if you don’t watch out.”

Coming back to yourself, you hurriedly shut your mouth and demanded, “Did he just say I was cute?”

“How am I supposed to know? I had my fingers in my ears!” Seungmin exclaimed, throwing up his hands.

“Well, you are no help whatsoever,” you grumbled, and went back to eating your food.

Seungmin was silent for a moment, then said, “Do- Do you like him?”

You almost choked on your rice. “What?”

“Do you like him?” he repeated.

“The last time I checked, I definitely didn’t like Han Jisung. He annoys the hell out of me!”

Like the traitor he was, your best friend just made a ruminative noise and smiled down at his food.

↠↞

There was a park along the route you walked to and from school every day, and you liked to cut through to its other side as a short cut and to have some time in nature. Today, the leaves rustled loudly under your feet as you wove between the trees, distracting you sufficiently that you were completely wrapped up in your thoughts until your eye caught on a spot of black.

You stopped and squinted, brows furrowed ever so slightly. You couldn’t be sure, but that looked to be Han Jisung squatting under an oak at the edge of the park. Thinking the last thing you wanted was Jisung to see you spying—no, simply watching as you, too, strolled through the park—on him, you ducked behind a tree.

A few feet away from Jisung, assuming it was him, a squirrel sat on its haunches. It looked like he was talking to the squirrel, holding out his hand with a small pile of sunflower seeds resting in its center. As you watched, the squirrel, clearly used to this sort of thing, scurried forward and then away, its prize of seeds securely held in its mouth. This happened several times: the squirrel snatching a few seeds, stashing them around the other side of the tree, then coming back to retrieve more from Jisung’s hand. Strangest of all, you could have sworn you heard cooing along the lines of, “Aren’t you so good? Yes, you’re such a good little squirrel. Ooooh mhmm that tastes good, doesn’t it!”

Seeing the boy stand, you pulled your torso back behind the tree and peeked out as he walked away with a spring in his step. Yes, that was definitely Jisung.

Lost in your thoughts, you began to walk home. Feeding squirrels and talking to them was not “bad boy” behavior—of that much you were certain. So, did this mean that Jisung wasn’t as bad as you’d thought? Or was he slowly killing the squirrel by lacing the seeds with poison?

You shook your head, scolding yourself for such thoughts. But the fact remained: Han Jisung fed the squirrels and acted distinctly cute around them, and seemed to drop the persona he cultivated at school.

In a nutshell: you were confused.

The next day, you walked home the same way and at the same time, hoping you’d catch Jisung with the squirrel again. As you neared the edge of the park, sure enough, there was Jisung. You wrestled with your conscience for a moment, then walked the last meters to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

“What?!” Jisung exclaimed, shooting to his feet and almost hitting you in the nose with the back of his head. “What are you doing here, Y/N?”

“I was walking home,” you said innocently, giving Jisung a bright smile.

The young man in front of you was shifting back and forth on his feet. “Did you see—“

“Did I see you talking to a squirrel?” You grinned now, crossing your arms. “Yes. Yes, I did, Han.” Jisung spluttered. “Not so bad a boy, are you?”

“Come on, Y/N, don’t be like that!” he begged. “Just because I wear all black, brood, and write emo poetry—“

“Hah! So you do write it!”

Jisung gave you a look. “Yes, I write poetry and song lyrics for my friends. What about it?”

“Oh, nothing,” you chirped.

“Can you-“ Jisung sighed. “Can you at least not tell anyone that I feed and talk to the squirrels? It’s, like, my own way of doing good, you know?”

“Sure, I won’t tell anybody. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

“Well, the more you know…” Jisung said and, yet again, winked at you before striding away. You admired the stark contrast between his black clothes and the oranges, yellows, and reds of the leaves on the ground.

↠↞

A couple of weeks later at the end of October, your English class was lucky enough to go on a weekend camping trip to experience the misty atmosphere in Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Part of you thought that your teacher was a bit odd for wanting them all to get spooked by mist, but you couldn’t argue with the fact that the foliage was beautiful. After a long day of traipsing through the forest to find the perfect lookout point for the next morning’s mist viewing, the class gathered around a fire to eat and talk.

The fire was warm in front of you where you sat on a conveniently placed log; if you'd been any closer, you would have definitely singed something. You'd been a bit stupid and hadn't brought a proper jacket, thinking the evenings would still be warm at the end of October, but oh how wrong you were. Your nose was cold and your hands were even colder, a fact you tried to hide by sitting on your hands. Soon, however, your shoulders and back felt the slight breeze the rustled the leaves surrounding the clearing.

Across the fire, Jisung tracked your every move with bright eyes. In truth, he’d been watching you all evening and noticed that you were now cold. He noticed a lot about you these days, really. You didn’t see him quietly staring, his black clothes turning him nearly invisible, but you knew he was there on the other side of the flames.

You jumped a little, shoulders shrugging as warmth settled around them, and looked around. On the log next to you sat Jisung, like the piece of the night sky come to earth.

“Better?” he asked casually.

“Y-yeah.”

The two of you sat there silently as your classmates gossiped and ate around you. Occasionally, you saw someone glance your way, then turn back to their friends as if Jisung’s stare repelled them. You’d expected to feel awkward around him, expected to feel some dark aura radiating off him, but it was easy to sit with Jisung. His leather jacket was wonderfully warm, it’s weight around your shoulders oddly comforting, and the faint smell of whatever soap Jisung used caught on the collar made you smile.

“Here,” Jisung said softly, holding out the flask that always hung at his hip. “Have a sip—it’ll warm you up.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me! I’m not going to drink, especially since we’re on a school trip,” you hissed.

“It’s just tea, Y/N,” Jisung said, tone affronted. “What did you think I had in here?”

“I- Tea is fine. Thanks.” You took the proffered flask and sipped what was perfectly brewed and sweetened black tea. The hot liquid sliding down your throat to your stomach was a delicious feeling. You returned the flask to Jisung, your fingers brushing as you did so.

The fire crackled, sparks flying up as sticks fell and broke apart. But these were not the only sparks that were flying around that fire. Between you and Jisung there seemed to be a thread of energy along which those other sparks danced, and, unexpectedly, you wanted to follow that thread to its end with the young man beside you.

Every now and then, you glanced at Jisung. And, every now and then, he glanced at you. After five tense minutes of this madness, you finally glanced at each other at the same time and smiled nervously.

“So,” Jisung began, “um…”

“Hmm?”

“May I say something?”

“I- Yeah, sure.”

Jisung took a deep breath, hands twisting in his lap. “Y/N, I have what’s got to be the biggest crush ever on you. And if you don’t return the feelings, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’ll never mention it again and I’ll make sure to leave you alone or whatever you want,” he said in a rush.

You wrapped Jisung’s jacket closer around yourself and turned slightly on the log to face him. The firelight danced in his eyes, the look in them soft and searching. His lips were parted slightly, as if to say something.

“It’s okay, Jisung,” you murmured, realizing that this was the first time you’d called him ‘Jisung’, at least to his face. “I think— I think I like you, too.”

Jisung’s face lit like the sun that would rise hours later with the dawn, his smile glorious. “Really?” he asked excitedly.

“Mhmm, I do.”

“That’s great,” Jisung breathed, and made to shift closer to you but stopped himself. “Um, so what now?”

“Want to cuddle?” You hardly believed that you’d just said that, but with Jisung’s jacket around you and him sitting so close, you couldn’t help it.

Jisung laughed and held out his arms to you, and you scooted closer to him so that you leaned against his as his arms went around you. After a couple minutes of shifting positions, the two of you settled. You could practically feel Jisung smiling behind you as you rested your head against his shoulder. Like your own, his heartbeat was faster than usual from nerves and excitement, which made you feel quite proud. You’d actually made the cool, seemingly confident bad boy of the school nervous.

Thinking you’d mess with him a little, you turned your face up to his and kissed his jaw. Jisung nearly jumped, which would have deposited both of you squarely on the cold ground, and then looked at you.

“Are you sure?” he murmured.

“Won’t know until we try, right?” you replied.

Jisung needed no further prompting and brought his lips to yours, sending a current of warmth along that thread between you. You had to smile because, completely unexpectedly, you liked kissing Jisung. You liked it a lot and would be perfectly happy to continue kissing him all night long, if given the chance.

Drawing back from Jisung, you noticed your classmates staring at you and Jisung, and smirked back at them. Unlike you, they didn’t have a cute boy to kiss and cuddle with. They weren’t the chosen person for the Han Jisung.

[timothy-chamlet]

the afterparty - t.c. fanfic

pair: timmy x female reader

warnings: unprotected sex, general smut

word count: 2.6k (2640)

a//n: ok er ive never written for timmy before so im nervous snsvsj but if you read it tell me what u think !! <3

°•○●○•°

people often thought the two of you were dating. paparazzi tended to make it look that way through press. despite all the candid photos of you and timothée plastered in magazine spreads and floating around on blogs, he would tell people you weren't together. interviewers would ask, and time again he would put an end to the rumor by saying you weren't dating, you were just friends. 

to be fair, you honestly couldn't even be mad at him. it was a good marketing tactic, at least. if all the girls knew he was single they'd still be invested in the persona of a young, attractive starlet that - despite his more than desirable qualities - is still single. genius. meanwhile you were being his best friend and his trophy for award shows. 

it was growing on you though. you enjoyed walking red carpet events and going to extravagant parties and meeting big names in the industry. it was really a win-win for both of you. 

another one of those win-win situations was tonight. the past three days had been crazy. hair appointments, nail appointments, dress fittings, photoshoots, brunches, and dinners. running each new day on an hour of sleep - maybe two if you were lucky. fueled by energy drinks and the promise of rest after the event. showing up to an awards ceremony on nothing more than a 20 minute nap and a double shot espresso. being timothée's showpiece was exhausting. but it was good for you. 

you had just finished your last consultation for dress fittings and were on your way to your styling appointment. the dress would arrive shortly after you so everything was ready to go. things were set for timothée to meet you there in an hour or so, after his own styling. 

currently you're getting your makeup done. a swarm of professionals all around you, handing products, giving directions, telling you how gorgeous you look, at least three hands on you at all times. after almost an hour all the disembodied hands move from your face to reveal the *almost* finished product. you still need your hair done, but your face was flawless. your skin was insanely smooth; not a pore in sight, your lids were a bronze shade, and your lips were a perfect nude. 

a hair stylist soon steps into view, also admiring your makeup before diving into your hair. it was simple. a slicked back ponytail is all, careful not to draw away from your face and your dress. 

the strong aroma of hairspray clouds you as you maneuver to step into your dress. stripped of your previous clothes, you step into your dress and a couple people help you pull it up. the woman attending to the supper in the back steps away for a moment, seeming to answer a question. 

"what's his name?" she asks into her ear piece. "uh yes. she's in here with me. send him in."  

she returns behind you and does up the zipper to your dress. to your surprise, you see timothée waltz in the room. dressed in a charcoal gray suit with a light lavender button up underneath. "y/n," he exhales, walking towards you. "you look breathtaking, ma chérie." 

"you don't look too bad yourself, timmy," you say, stepping down from your pedestal to be almost eye level with him.

"is she done here?" he asks everyone around without taking his eyes off you. 

one of the women there swoops in with a pair of shoes and says, "slip in to these and you're ready to go, darling." 

you step into your shoes and link arms with timothée. "carriage awaits," he says as the two of you get escorted to the limo. 

once inside you let out a deep breath you didn't know you were holding. "you okay?" he asks from beside you. 

"yeah, just.. tired." 

he chuckles and drops his head. "absolutely exhausted." you two had similarly scheduled days so he knows exactly how you feel. "don't worry, mon amour, i'll have you home in about 8 hours." 

"i thought the awards show was only 4-" 

"there's always the afterparty.." 

you audibly groan and drop your head as timothée places a reassuring hand on your knee. 

"we're here," he says with fake enthusiasm as the limo pulls up to the event. the past 45 minutes felt like hours as your head began to pound from the lack of sleep. yet, lucky you, 45 minutes in l.a. traffic was a miracle. 

the two of you step out into the scene. flashing lights from camera flickers, the general buzz of the crowd, people you knew trying to get your attention, people timothée knew trying to get his attention. being the kind person he is, he doesn't shy away from fans calling his name. he walks over to give high fives, say hi, sign things, and really interact with the people that are so invested in his career. you look at him with a fond smile on your face as he greets  people.  

"timothéeeee," you both hear and turn around to match the loud booming voice to a face. 

"armieee!!" he yells in response, hurrying over to hug his co-star. 

you stand idly by as the two hug and catch up. fiddling with your ponytail and the skirt of your dress. until that same voice catches your attention. 

"bring it in hot stuff!" 

"hey, armie! how've you been, handsome?" you two had only met a handful of times, but it's like your souls clicked instantly. he had kept in touch since the first time you met and you guys had been pretty close ever since. 

"oh i’m doing great. really. just excited for this evening. can't wait to see how many awards lil' tim brings in," armie ends with a light laugh before timothée chimes in. 

"oh god no-" 

a cheery voice interrupts the conversation. 

"helloooo," armie's wife says in a sing-song voice and joins his side. "nice to see you again, y/n. and congrats timmy on your nominations." 

you and timothée nod in response and utter small, nervous 'thank you's' before armie excuses the two of them, promising to catch up later. 

"well, well, well- this is it, timmy." you say from your seat next to him. the host reads the nominees for best breakthrough of the year, and timothée's name is mixed in with so many other talented actors. he nervously puts his hand over yours. "you are absolutely amazing. everyone knows that. you're gonna get it." he looks at you and you pass him a reassuring smile. 

"and the award for best breakthrough goes to… timothée chalamet!" 

his head shoots up in shock. cameras pan around him and his baffled expression appears on huge screens behind the stage. he slowly stands from his seat and makes his way to the stage. making a beautiful speech, thanking almost everyone he's ever known. giving gratitude to everyone he's ever worked with, his parents, and his best friends. he comes off the stage and returns to his seat beside you. a year runs down his cheek, and you move to wipe it away, but he grabs your hand away from his cheek only to press his lips to your knuckles. "thank you for always believing in me." 

"you're an amazing actor and an even better friend. 

the night was nearing an end. people were saying their goodbyes and their 'see-you-soon's and going their separate ways. you and timothée walk out of the event, arms linked, with his hands tightly gripping his award. the smile never leaves his face. "i can't fucking believe that, y/n."

"you did it, timmy! all you and your hard work. lemme pick a nice spot on your shelf for it yeah?" 

"i was thinking about sitting it on my dresser right above the drawer full of your shit you keep leaving at my house," he says with a barely visible smirk. 

"oh, well if it's such a problem," you begin "i guess I'll just have to come get my 'shit' then?" you finish sarcastically. 

"oh! how dare you?" he begins to shout, going on a tirade similar to that of hamlet; overly dramatic and mostly nonsensical. "leave them be! small, small remnants; reminders of thee." he trails off softly, dropping his head to your shoulder and bringing his other hand up to trail his fingertips down the side of your face. 

you can't help but chuckle at this. "bravo timothée! amazing performance." 

he straightens up before taking a bow and returning to his previous position on your shoulder. "do you wanna skip the afterparty?" 

"and do what, tim? i thought you were gonna catch up with armie?" 

"i dunno- go to my place?" 

you nod your head, and timothée let's the driver know to just go to his house. 

you get out of the car in front of his apartment, quickly thank the driver, and dash inside; excited to remove the day. "can i shower?" you ask quickly already making your way upstairs.

"oui, mon trèsor, make yourself at home. ill be up in a while." it was almost as if he had it scripted. a routine more or less. you'd ask to shower - despite him telling you almost each time you never had to ask - and go up stairs to do so; him trailing along about an hour later behind you. 

you finish your shower earlier than planned so you decide to lay on his bed until he comes up. you let your freshly washed body relish in the textures of the cotton t-shirt and shorts you're wearing and the damp-cool feel of the comforter on his bed. 

you're not left alone for long before he darts up the stairs and into his room, catching your attention. you watch as he walks around, dropping various articles of his clothing haphazardly on his floor. left in only his boxers. 

"timmy?" you ask in a drawn out voice. 

"hm?" he asks lowly in response; his eyes trained on you. you don't respond to his muffled question and instead watch as he comes to lean over the foot of the bed, by your legs. "i've been thinking," he continues, "a lot recently. about us.." 

"us?-" 

"about what the media thinks we are. what the people say. the blog posts, the tweets. i read it all… what do you think about it, y/n?" he ends with a light sigh, making drawing light swirls on your leg. 

"i dunno really. i've never thought much about it," you say sitting up. 

he moves up from his place in front of the bed, crawling up to sit to the right of your legs. knees drawn up to his chest, eyes meeting yours. he raises his hand so his fingertips ghost the curve of your cheek. "you never think about.. the possibility of us?" he pauses as his eyes drift from yours. hands falling to his lap as he scoots even closer to you. you sit stunned, not knowing how to answer as if it was some rhetoric instead of a simple question. filling the silence, he continues. "i think about how different things would be if we were together. what it would be like to hold you and kiss you and- can i kiss you?" 

his voice wavers as his eyes meet yours yet again. with quick movements, he moves to straddle your legs, both hands resting lightly on either side of your face. 

"can i kiss you?" he asks again, his face millimeters from yours. 

you shake your head yes as your eyes fluttering closed, your lips brushing against his as you move. 

he plants his lips firmly on yours. innocent at first, but the kiss quickly gets deeper. more desperate, his hands moving from the sides of your face to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back giving him access to your neck. his lips dance around the skin of your neck, being careful not to leave any marks. “is this okay?” he whispers, dragging his hands from your hair to the hem of your shirt. 

you nod your head vigorously and he pulls your shirt up and over your head, throwing it to the floor with his clothes. you lean back and give timothee free reign of your chest and stomach. he makes his way from your neck down and across your chest. your hands rush to knot in his hair as he takes a nipple in his mouth, carefully flicking his tongue across the hardening bud before doing the same to the other. 

"timmy.." you breathe out as he leaves your chest and explores lower. his eyes meet yours as his teeth come into contact with the flimsy waistband of your sleep shorts. "please," you whisper. 

he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and pulls them down your legs; eyes going wide when he sees you have nothing underneath. 

"so pretty," he whispers almost to himself as he throws your shorts in his floor with the rest of your guys' clothes. he runs his finger along your slit, collecting some of your wetness, tasting it. laying back down with your legs over his shoulders, he hooks his arms around your thighs to keep you in place. he runs his tongue along your folds and you arch your back in response. he sucks on your clit making you squirm and tangle your fingers tighter in his hair, pushing against his face, eager for more. 

"tim-... timmy," you beg.

timothée kisses his way back up your body. "hm?" he hums softly beside your ear only for you to utter another weak 'please' in response. 

"please… please what, mon amour?" 

"baise moi.." you didn't know much french. you had picked up on a few of timothée's most used phrases, but this you hadn't learned from him, so it caught him off-guard. stuck in a moment of shock. hearing you say something so dirty in french felt so strangely intimate; you didn't have to ask him twice. 

he slips his boxers, finally accompanying you in nakedness, and slips into you, moaning at the feeling of you around him. 

"fuck.. timmy-" you groan as he picks up his pace. he coos sweet nothings into your ear while drilling into your core. 

his head drops to your chest and the soft, sweet praises slowly turn into obscenities. "merde," he groans, picking up his pace even more. holding himself at arms length above you, he throws his head back; lips parted in pure bliss. 

you lift one of your hands to trail down timothée's torso. you lazily drag your fingertips across his chest and down to his stomach. the pleasure building inside you, your hand finds its way to your clit. “timmy... fuck! ple- please don’t stop. fuuuuuck!” 

“défaire pour moi, y/n.” you didn’t think french could ever drive you to orgasm, but when it came from timothé anything was possible. you convulse around him as your wave of pleasure washes over you. timothée reaching his own peak soon after, pulling out and emptying on your stomach. he quickly finds something to clean you up with before plopping down on the bed beside you. many silent moments pass - nothing but heavy breaths leaving either of you - before he speaks up. “you know,” he begins in a soft whisper, “i felt bad- like i was using you. just to go to events with me. i know you don’t really like them but-” 

you cut him off and turn to face him. “i might hate going to those award shows, but they’re a little less bad with you around.” 

he breaks into a wide smile and pulls you closer, putting his head on your stomach. "mon amour, je t'ai toujours aimé." you reach down to play with his curls and begin to drift off on your way to sleep. 

[dadsbongos]

Treehouse

Movie/Game/Show: My Hero Academia Dynamic: Katsuki Bakugou/Reader (and a lot of other people) Warnings: Spoilers for bakugou’s hero name ahead!!, songfic for this song Summary: Katsuki’s grown a lot since middle school, hasn’t he? ~~~

Do Not Enter's written on the doorway. Why can’t everyone just go away? Except you. You can stay.

Katsuki looked down at the girl in his arms, eyes fluttered shut and lashes fallen over her cheeks. Lips parted ever so slightly to let out puffs of even, laxed breathing. The golden sunlight shone in her hair as it beamed through his thin curtains, soft warmth spreading over both of their bodies. His fingers carefully danced over the tender skin of her arm as he held her close. Her head over his chest and he was sure that the sound of his thunderous heartbeat would wake her eventually.

It felt nice, he concluded, to hold his love so dearly. To let his chest deflate and not have to be the best of the best. He didn’t have to be anyone. He didn’t have to be Bakugou, Katsuki - top of the class. Bakugou, Katsuki - Dynamight. Bakugou, Katsuki - Kacchan. Bakugou, Katsuki.

If he didn’t want to, he didn’t have to be anyone. She’d hold him just as close with any other persona he wanted to wear. It was his real security. His real home - right in her arms. A home he didn’t want to leave.

He wasn’t sure when it hit him. Just one of those random thoughts you never expect but deep down, you knew the entire time. Something so simple and yet so earth shattering that merely breathing it into existence seemed catastrophic. He wasn’t sure when it hit him that he was terrified of losing her. So innately terrified that the very thought was enough to send his muscles a tremor.

The feeling, it wasn’t nice. But he knew exactly what was - living the life he could with (Y/n).

What do you think of my treehouse? It's where I sit and talk really loud. Usually, I'm all by myself.

“Man, you’re really saving my ass here, Bakubro!” Eijiro grinned, exposing his unnatural shark teeth.

Katsuki huffed, “Don’t think about it, shitty hair. You’re still not passing.”

“I know, I know,” the redhead nervously grinned, eyeing the rolled up newspaper in Katsuki’s hand as he did so, “It’s just manly of you to help me is all. You’ve changed, man, it’s kinda cool.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious!” Eijiro put down his pencil, “It’s cool.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes but didn’t retort further. Whether he was ready to admit it or not, that usually would’ve gotten Kirishima, Eijiro a first-class newspaper swatting but he supposed he could let it pass. Just this once. 

I’m the captain but you can be the deputy. I'm really glad you think I'm so funny. I don't think I'm ever gonna let you leave.

Denki bit at his bottom lip in concentration, more effort going into thinking about cracking the egg in his hand than actually cracking the egg in his hand. His brows were drawn tight toward his face, contemplating how he should go about his cracking to avoid a mess. The last time he was trusted to crack eggs, he’d gotten shell in the bowl and yolk all on the counter and his fingers. The last time he was trusted to crack eggs, he felt like an utter fool. 

Looking over to the electric blond, Katsuki snarled at how little the boy had gotten done. Walking over, he took the egg still encased in its roughened shell from Denki in one hand and a bowl in the other. Tilting the porcelain bowl just right, Katsuki snapped the egg against the lip of the dish, pulling his fingers apart to hold the crack in the egg open so the yolk could drool down. Tossing out the eggshell, Katsuki watched as Denki took an egg for himself before copying exactly what the explosive teenager had done.

As two yolks drowned together in whites within their little bowl, Denki sung the praises of his dear friend, of Bakugou, Katsuki - and in Denki’s opinion, apparently, a masterchef. 

Nodding stiffly, Katsuki turned back to his own task at buttering the pan as it laid atop its burner. He let silence rule the kitchen until Denki would break it with a lame joke he would never admit he liked.

Do Not Enter's written on the doorway. Why can’t everyone just go away? Except you. You can stay.

“You have such great lid space, though,” Mina clasped her hands tighter, “I think it’d be fun!”

Katsuki grumbled under his breath before sighing and tossing his head back, “I’ll give you twenty minutes. Starting fucking now.”

Squealing, Mina hopped onto the common room couch before unzipping her makeup bag, “Thanks, Bakugou!”

“Whatever,” he rolled his eyes, barely managing to hold his underlying frustration inside, “Your damn funeral if you fuck up.”

“I won’t…” Mina pouted, “C’mon, don’t you believe in me? Just a little? You’ve seen what I can do.”

“I’ll believe for now.”

What do you think of my treehouse? It's where I sit and talk really loud. Usually, I'm all by myself.

“Oh, didn’t know the balconies were occupied,” Hanta awkwardly muttered.

Katsuki looked up from the ground below, brows furrowed and eyes stinging, “If you say anything to anyone, I’ll kill you myself.”

Putting his hands up, Hanta showed off that stupidly large, stupidly infectious grin, “Hey, man, everyone needs a good cry. I think it keeps us sane.”

Nodding silently, Katsuki stood at his railing, head hanging over and eyes clenched shut in a new effort to keep his tears in.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“I’d rather die.”

“Maybe, instead of dying, you could just vent to a trusted friend who cares about you?” Hanta suggested, “You go to (L/n), right? Well, now you can come to me, too. We’re friends, Bakugou, we’re there for each other.”

I’m the captain but you can be the deputy. 

Stirring inside his mind, were the thoughts he’d been keeping to himself since that fight. His real fight with Izuku. Where Katsuki won. The successor to All Might and boy wonder was beaten by Katsuki. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

Izuku was making progress fast, far too fast. He was leaping towards the top and Katsuki could only watch on, feet trapped in the cement. The ground swallowing his body as Deku, the Quirkless one, the useless one, the crybaby, bound forward in success.

It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t enough. Bakugou, Katsuki was simply not enough.

That’s what he was beginning to believe; where he couldn’t even save himself from villains, Deku came rushing in to save him and succeeded. 

Sitting at the kitchen island, alone, in the middle of the night, that’s what Katsuki was beginning to believe.

Lights flicker on, “Kacchan?”

Closing his eyes, Katsuki pretended there was no voice. Nobody behind him. No one but him awake at this awful hour.

“You’re usually in bed by now. Way before, actually.”

There was no reply. There didn’t need to be one. Izuku sat beside Katsuki all the same, an uneven, slightly nervous, smile on his face as he did so.

Katsuki opened his eyes, looking at the other boy from the corner of his peripheral, “You’ve made the power yours.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not as useless as I thought.”

“Thanks… you know, I’ve been meaning to ask… would you- would you train with me sometime? I think that I could really improve if I fought someone like you.” 

“Someone like me? The fuck does that mean?”

“Strong. Well-versed in your Quirk. Other than Todoroki, you’re probably the best at Quirk application, so I wanted to see if I could fight you.”

“Ask daddy issues.”

“But then we couldn’t have our rematch. I still need to beat you, Kacchan, you know?”

I'm really glad you think I'm so funny.

Katsuki found himself staring at the back of Izuku’s head, brows furrowed. Anger. Frustration. Confusion. He couldn’t tell what exactly it was. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see her. (L/n), (Y/n) smiling at him softly, perfect lips tugged into a perfect grin on her perfect face. God, what he wouldn’t give to just grab her and kiss the smile off her face just to do it all over again. What he wouldn’t give to scream to the world he loved her.

“You okay? You’re tense.”

Glancing to the front, Shota still sleepily tucked in his sleeping bag in a corner of the room, Katsuki nodded, “Fucking fine. Just thinking.”

Setting her chin in the palm of her hand, (Y/n) tilted her head ever so slightly, “Wanna tell me about it?” shaking his head, the ash-blond went to refuse when she spoke up again, “Not here, if you wanna wait.”

He felt almost unworthy. Losing to Deku, killing the legacy of All Might, getting kidnapped by villains - Bakugou, Katsuki felt unworthy of his own lover’s comforts. Looking at the face of an angel would make you crazy - at least that’s what his father told him once. And so, he nodded slowly, “Sure. Later. Alone, though, I’m not talking shit in front of Raccoon Eyes and Dunce Face.”

“Whatever you need,” she murmured, giggling quietly to herself, “I’m here.”

I don't think I'm ever gonna let you leave.

“I’ll say this once.”

He burned the image of them into his brain. (Y/n) and Eijiro on either side of him on the common room couch. Denki just about ready to cut through the carrot cake Mina and Hanta slaved over despite trashing on the choice the entire time. Izuku was slightly off to the side, ready to hand off gifts to his childhood rival.

Katsuki sighed quietly, looking to his feet when a hand grabbed his, (Y/n) rubbing her thumb into his skin. He swallowed his pride before letting everything he felt about each and every person in the room manifest into the best phrase someone like him could imagine.

“Thanks. For everything.”

[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Eight): Icarus Falls

Notes: Why, yes, I am posting these relatively quickly. This is the last of a backlog since I’m actively still working on the next chapter, This is a doozy of a chapter, both emotionally and length wise, but I’m rather proud of it, if I’m being honest. I recommend settling in a snack and maybe...just maybe some tissues.... 

Word Count: 15327 

Chapter Warnings:  Multiple deaths, violence, gore, grief, angst. 

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

V and Jackie get into the backseat of the Delamain taxi. White and tan leather interior, despite looking the nicest she ever has in twenty years she still feels like she might stain the white leather. No driver, instead there’s screens and consoles in the back of the seats in front of them. An avatar of a bald man with stark unnaturally white skin and blue lips 

“Welcome on board this Delamain service. With Delamain, you leave your problems at the door,” the AI avatar greets them in a robotic voice. 

“Son of a bitch! Better fuckin' believe I will!” Jackie yells out, still grinning. V lets out a breath of air meant to sound like a laugh, but the lump in her throat isn’t making it any easier. 

“I see no reason why you should be using expletives.”

“Sorry, he gets… excited.”  Her voice is tighter than she wants it to be, her leg bouncing now. 

“Damn right, I’m excited. Hey, Del, what about that time I wanted to hire you for my cousin's bachelor party, huh?” 

“Unfortunately, we do not take on such contracts.”

“Three months I'd been savin' up scratch… Egh, water under the bridge. Hit it, Del!”

“Before we begin our journey, I must verify the identities of all customers. Please proceed to connect your personal links,” the mercs plug their personal links into the console, “Thank you. "Excelsior" package activated.”

Crisp subtitles for Delamain alight along her contacts, more comprehensive than the lip reading tech sometimes gives. Maybe his AI avatar enunciates more properly than a human, she wonders. 

“"Excelsior"? Hohoho, this just keeps gettin' better!”

Jackie laughs as the taxi cab starts to drive and V finds herself fiddling with her suit sleeve. It’s perfectly tailored, but she still feels like a kid in dress up. Having to pretend she’s a corpo, having to pretend to be a hearing person. Her bright painted nails seem to clash so much with the persona and she curses herself for not changing the polish. What if they’re caught right away? The corps smelling Heywood and The Badlands on them the second they walk through the door. What if the spoofed SID hack doesn’t work, what if the bot malfunctions… What if, what if, what if; spins around her brain. They can’t fuck this up, there’s no room for mistakes. One disaster will destroy their reputations, hell their entire merc careers. And that's the best case scenario. 

When she glances at Jackie there’s no hint of nerves, no hint of reservation or fear, just giddy excitement. Like a kid getting ready to hit up a party. 

“What’s got you riled up?” She asks in spoken English, deciding she’ll mostly speak for the ride since Jackie is the only person really here, that way he doesn’t have to look at her the entire time. And maybe she’s also hoping if she talks enough she won’t clam up too bad in Konpeki.  

“Hang on, watch this… Delamain! Initiate combat mode!”

She can see the bright red ink of his tattoo peeking from his suit sleeve, eyes drawn to it, and something about that scares her more; a hint of his Valentino roots showing, would it be a literal red flag for Konpeki security. 

“My apologies, but you do not appear to be in any sort of imminent danger,” Delamain crushes Jackie’s hopes, a frown replacing his grin. 

“Huh… Oh well. Trust me, he'll mow down an army of ‘Saka ninjas if it comes down to it,” Jackie explains to V and she wraps her arms around herself, resisting the desire to bring her legs up into the seat, trying to get her mind off her nerves. 

“So, what else is included in Excelsior mode?” V tries signing to the AI, curious if it has translation tech for ASL. 

“Comprehensive health coverage, including the handling and disposal of a client's remains should death occur on board,” Delamain responds without hesitation and instantly ruins any chance of her getting her mind off the massive risks within this job. 

“Damn. Shit got dark pretty quick,” Jackie comments. 

“Dex isn’t skimping though.” 

“And thanks to you, we're still gettin' a juicy forty percent.”

“You’re welcome.” 

“Excelsior…This is how you wanna cruise into the major leagues…” He says like the job is already done and they’re hitting up an after party… 

“Wouldn’t get too excited yet, Jack, doing a job not hitting up a party.” And her words are too sharp, voice too venomous and rough in her throat. She regrets it as soon as they leave her lips, as soon as she’s spoken them into reality, wishing she could swallow them back down. His face drops completely, eyes harsh and she knows she fucked up. 

“For real, V…? See me as that shallow?”

“I-”

“Lemme explain somethin' to you, V… My whole life I've spent in this shit around us! And I ain't goin' back!”

“I’m sorry, really, I just… I’m worried and I let my nerves talk for me, I’m sorry.” She quickly tries to smooth it over, those knots in her gut only winding tighter with Jackie mad at her. 

“Swear to christ, V, I will never fucking get you,” he says, shaking his head and looking out the window.

“What do you mean?” 

“Twenty years old, sitting in the back of a Delamain, on your way to do a job for Dex fuckin’ Deshawn and you can’t even muster a fuckin smile? You fuckin’ know what I’d have done to be where you are right now when I was your age, I was still dreaming of seeing The Afterlife! Took you less than a year to be here, took me ten! And you ain’t even happy about it! Then you act like I’m not takin’ it serious, like I don’t got my fuckin’ head in the game, just cause you can’t appreciate where the fuck you are right now!” 

She chews her lip, not sure what to say to him. Guilt coming over her. He’s right, she hasn’t lived in Night City nor been a merc nearly as long. He’s been doing this since he left the Valentinos… For Jackie this has been a lifelong dream, the ultimate goal. She didn’t even consider it a possibility until she met him and now she’s already on her way there. Of course he’s happy, on the precipice of his dreams coming true. 

“I’m sorry, really I didn’t mean to piss on your parade.” 

“Yet somehow you always do.” 

V sighs watching the city pass outside her window for a few more moments, tapping her fingers, that knot feels like a ball of lead now. She wants to claw her skin off,  tear and tear away at herself, at her being, and maybe, just maybe she’ll find someone better under the gore.  Someone who isn’t such a fucking asshole. Someone who knows how to keep their mouth shut and doesn’t ruin everything for everyone else. She’ll never understand why Jackie puts up with her, why he has for so long. She just doesn’t want to fuck this up. The job, her friendship, the little bit of happiness she’s built. V wrings her hands together, tight enough to hurt and she twists them a little harder, nails digging into the skin. If she can’t find anyone better maybe she’ll just claw away until she’s nothing at all. 

She’s already a bundle of nerves over the heist and she can’t stand another moment of the tension hanging thick in the air. 

“Did you fuck my wife?” She says in her best imitation of something between an Italian and a Brooklyn accent, watching Jackie’s face, the hint of a smile tugging at it. Tension starting to melt ever so slightly. 

“Don’t get me started,” he returns forcing the same cheesy voice. 

“Did you fuck my wife?” 

“I think you fucked my wife and got me started.” 

“I got started cause you fucked my wife.” 

“I could trace back the moment I got started it’d definitely be when you fucked my wife!” 

“That is unquestionably when I got started!” They’re smiling now, giggling at every other word as they choke on their cheesy jokes. Tension melts away as a weight is being lifted off her chest. 

“My records indicate that neither of you are married.” 

And they lose it, laughter filling the car at Delamain’s interjection to their stupidity. Its ridiculous and dumb and they sound like children. But, she’s thankful for the moment, the reprieve, where it’s laughter and not nerves tearing at her guts. 

A call notification lights up on V’s optic contacts, T-Bug’s avatar and V answers, the runner’s voice coming just a moment later. 

“Hey. How's things?”

“Eh,” Jackie answers, “been better, been worse.” 

“We’re nearing our destination,” Delamain tells them and V’s throat tightens. 

“Listen, set up a direct, encrypted line to guide you through Konpeki. V, ring Jackie now, see if we're in sync. Can't be too careful.” 

She puts a call through to Jackie, inteface telling her it’s establishing a secure connection.

“And?” Bug asks, expectantly. 

“Got static,” Jackie cringes, “Say somethin', Bug?”

“The greatest crimes issue from a desire for excess and not from necessity."

“Say what now?”

“Yeah, I read you. Not so much your Greek friend, though it was kind of exciting,” Jackie tells her with the ghost of a smile on his lips. 

“Could give it some thought, try to understand…? How 'bout you, V?”

“I want more Aristotle!” 

“Fuck off, both.”

Jackie and V share a giggle at the runner’s expense, V’s going to miss when Bug goes into retirement. If all works out, even on the brighter side, it may be the last time all three of them work together. But at least Bug will be happy and safe, unlike V or Jackie, this was never her dream or end goal. 

“OK, tech checks out, looks like,” T-Bug confirms. 

“Será mejor que sí…”

“Stay in touch”

And V just realizes the taxi has stopped moving, through Jackie’s window she can see the front entrance of the hotel.  The bright red exterior walls, a worker standing at the ready and those nerves are clawing their way back with a vengeance, tearing up her insides and making her want to bolt, terrified that they’lll be found out as soon as they step foot in. They need to get moving, only way to get through the fear is to take control, do what needs to be done. And hopefully avoid puking in the back of an expensive AI taxi. 

“Thank you for choosing the Delamain service. And best of luck. I shall await here for your return.”

“Shit's finally happenin’… “ 

“Its game time, got any iron left on you, time to put it away,” she tells him, tucking her gun and knife into the center compartment. Jackie following suit. V tugs off her suit jacket and rolls her white sleeves to her elbows, making sure her blades are accessible from the start. 

“Alright, Hannah, let’s go.” 

V opens the door of the Delamain, greeted by the view in front of the hotel, in the distance she can see the space travel facility, night settled over the water. The hotel has trees and plants out front, trying to sprinkle some nature into the cement and chrome world of Night City. She carries her suit jacket over her shoulder, keeping one hand busy with it, while the other sits in her pocket. Hoping it will keep her from signing if she needs to talk. 

“Hold on, lemme grab the Flathead.” Jackie pops the trunk of the taxi and pulls out the case with the bot. 

The mercs take the two marble steps up, a vibrant stript of red along the path.There’s long white marble with planters and the name of the hotel inscripted in gold. 

“'Member, reservation's in your name… Ramón. You're there to meet Hajime Taki - military tech department rep. Papers are for the Flathead” T-Bug tells them as they get closer to the double doors. 

“Welcome to Konpeki Plaza,” a man in a red, black, and gold uniform greets them, bowing his head as they pass by.

There’s a large waiting room, white couches along the sides with monitors displaying documentaries and vases with red hologram plants branching out of them. A security gate divides the waiting room from the front desk, scanners to check each guest for weaponry. Beyond it she can see staff with gold plated skin. All non-security personnel of the hotel are gold plated; receptionists, concierge, bartenders, and the like. A requirement for the job, even staff must match the aesthetic. 

“Welcome to Konpeki Plaza. Please come through single file,” The guard tells them as they reach the full body scanner. 

“You got it, holm-- uh, ahem, sir,” Jackie stumbles and V screams internally, watching her friend step forward. Blue light crackles along him, like lightning, then it flashes red. Misty’s warning of mean reds, flaring in V’s mind. 

“Ahem. Hold on got something,” the guard stops Jackie before he can go any further, “Sir, care to explain why you're bringin’ a combat bot onto Konpeki Plaza premises?”

“Arms dealers.” V yells out quickly, hating how forced it sounds, tightening her fingers in her jacket, desperate not to sign on instinct and not realizing she forgot the ‘we’re’ part of her sentence until she finished saying it. 

“Excuse me?”

“Ah!” A gold skinned concierge steps over,  “You are here to see Taki-san, am I right? Please accept my apologies for the confusion.” 

“Pff,” Jackie scoffs as the concierge bows and walks into the lobby, waiting at the front desk. 

V steps into the scanner, guard assuring her it will only take a moment. It distorts her vision, crackling it with blue for just a moment. Then the guard tells her to go ahead and she walks forward, meeting Jackie at the desk. A woman with gold skin, black hair all shaved except for the bangs and sidelocks greets them.  And V is starting to notice that the Arasaka logo is everywhere, the corp hotel owned by them. On the screens, gold emblazoned on marble planters, and on pamphlets. The hotel and Arasaka logo are clearly one in the same. 

“Youkoso. Greetings and welcome to Konpeki Plaza,” she says bowing her head to them and V returns the gesture.

“We’d like to check in,” Jackie says and V sends him a silent thanks for talking. .

“Of course, just a moment, please” the receptionist taps away at a keyboard, “The name on the reservation is…?”

“Victorino.”

“Double room, two adults, one night. Correct?”

“That’s the one,” V tells her, with a tight nod. 

“Perfect… I will go ahead and notify Taki-san of your arrival.”

“Shit, no good, not part of the plan. Talk her up, V, stall!” T-Bug yells out over the call and V is once again wanting to scream. 

“That, uh,  won't be necessary,” she curses herself for stuttering, “We'll go freshen up first, notify him ourselves.”

“But Taki-san is expecting you, no…?”

“Senorita, do you know how long we been traveling? Eighteen hours from New Barcelona. With a delay on Metakey 'cause some cyberpsycho blew himself into bits inside the terminal…”

“Been a nightmare, ugh.” 

“Of course, I understand. You will be in the Lapis Lazuli Suite on level forty-two. Oh, one more little formality… Please validate your SID chip.”

“Honor's all yours, Hannah.” 

A tablet on the table lights up with a bright blue handprint and she’s reminding of her issue getting into her own apartment. Bug said she put a temporary hack on their SID chip, but there’s an extra twinge of anxiety as V lays her hand down on it. She half expects it to show a senior citizen, to be outed as a fraud and tossed out the door. 

“Everything seems to be in order. We wish you a pleasant stay!~” 

“Better get goin'.”

V murmurs a thanks, feeling a bit of relief at having that part of this whole thing done. Playing corpo is somehow more stressful to her than the idea of breaking into Yorinobu’s penthouse. She follows behind Jackie. Large marble planters fill the lobby, some with trees that nearly touch the staggeringly high ceiling. 

“New Barcelona? Really?” T-Bug comments as V follows Jackie up a short set of marble steps. 

“It's called improvisin' - you should try it,” V stares up at a gold framed painting, “Whaddaya think, Hannah"?

“...” V raises an eyebrow at him with a soft noise in her throat. 

“Quaint, cozy. Not like the hotel we had in Zurich for that convention.”

“Don't need that, Jack. Enough.”

“What? I’m takin’ this seriously!” Jackie grumbles when T-Bug scolds him. 

They take two turns through the lobby, guards passing by talking about dolls being left in rough shape as they near what looks to be a bar in the corner. It's an open pathway inside, the bar illuminated in pink and a gold plated woman stands at a podium bearing Arasaka’s logo. There’s a lit collection of alcohol behind the bar, liquor that costs more than V’s rent, which isn’t a hard feat but still rubs her the wrong way. 

“Bar don't look too shabby.”

“We don't do reservations on weekdays, so feel free to grab any available table. Or a couple of stools at the bar if you prefer?” She explains to them, a valley girl accent to her words. 

“Could bring Misty here one day. When we, uh… close this deal.”

“Might take a look around.” 

The idea of sitting down, if only for a moment, and catching her breath after the close call in the lobby sounds nice. Her nerves are frayed already, she’s never wanted to drink so much on a job before. A quick breather before she has a full blown panic attack. 

“Shit,” Jackie curses, “look like some fuckin' travelin' salesman with this case. Go ahead, I’ll go on upstairs.” 

V nods, watching Jackie go to the elevator, a part of her feels guilty, but she doesn’t intend to take too long. And it’s not as if she’s made visiting bars on the job a habit before, she can have this one. She rubs a hand over the back of her neck, feeling the chrome indents of her Mantis Blades cooling the skin. Half of the room is a lounge with black couches and slick pink metallic chairs, terrariums built into the walls. The other half is, gold stools and booths before the neon pink bar. Each side is filled with people mingling, dressed in high fashion, people who’ve gambled away more money than she’s ever seen. 

“And when I say heads're gonna roll, I don't mean it as a fucking turn of phrase,” a half drunk man slurs his speech at the golden bartender. The stench of whiskey clings heavy to his clothes. 

“Had enough guy, don’t you think? You’re making the other customers uncomfortable,” the bartender sends a pointed look towards V, a slight twang in his voice. She was looking for a breather, not conflict. 

“Good! 'Cause this affects them, too! It'll slap everyone in the face!” 

“What’s that?’ She entertains him, figuring it might get the guy gone sooner. 

“You wanna know what a bearer of bad news looks like? What's four hundred yards long, weighs a hundred thousand tons, and is nuclear powered…? The answer's docked in the bay! Hanako Arasaka decided -,” he hiccups, “decided to take a little vacation!

“Big deal.”

“Don't know how big just yet,” her sarcasm doesn’t penetrate the fog of whiskey, “And by the time we do, it'll.. it'll be too late. Screw this. I'm gonna get some sleep…”

With that the man stumbles away, taking the too strong smell of booze with him and the shining bartender turns to her. His shaved hair either red or pink, color distorted in the glowing light. 

“Evenin, what can I get you, baby?” 

Her nose wrinkles at the term of endearment, “little forward, don’t you think?” 

“Suckled it outta my ma's very breast,” he returns, “Fifty percent protein, the other half pure high octane CHOOH2.” 

He presses two gilded hands to the bar leaning forward as he regales his story and she can’t help but raise an eyebrow; he’s implying he’s a nomad, but why would he tell her that? 

“What?” 

“She had wind and dust in her hair, so to speak. Belonged to the Aldecaldos. Before the bombs began fallin'. Her final words? ‘Wherever you go, whatever you do, be yourself, David.’ And so I ended up here. Still no one but myself.” 

He’s full of shit, she decides immediately. Maybe her own distrust or her own frustration, nobody with nomad blood would end up here, gold plated and slinging drinks to corpos. At the very fucking least, they wouldn’t act so damn happy about it. 

“Lovely story if it wasn’t a crock of shit.” 

“Everyone's making something up,” he smirks, “Just like you, baby.”

“Excuse you?” she chokes out, feeling like ice water has been shot through her veins. He’s seen through her, that implication clear, but how? Even regaling to her some fucked up story of being a nomad, like he could smell the dust of the badlands still on her skin. 

“Can I getcha somethin'? At the least, water?” 

“Bourbon and cherry coke.” 

“You got it, baby.” 

The repeated use of the pet name earns him a glare, V tapping her fingers against the bar, his story and perceptiveness making her nerves worse. He sets the drink on the table and she downs it with a gulp, alcohol not quite loosening her how she hopes. She sets the glass down and leaves the bar, it may be petty but she doesn’t leave him a tip, frustrated at the idea he could have seen through her. 

She jabs the elevator button, tapping her foot as she waits and stares at some painting. Its all abstract bullshit, pretty colors, but she’s not sure she sees much else to them. The golden doors open, the back of the elevator windowed with what looks like foliage inside, maybe it’s just a screen. V steps inside and jabs to her level. And after just a short ride, it stops  at her floor. 

The doors open and she sees Jackie, looking over one of the art pieces, walking past a desk and concierge to greet him. 

“About time,” he says, when he spots her, the pair making a beeline to the suite. They walk past a couple speaking Russian, talking about testing on people, as they find the door. 

Jackie opens the door and she gets her first peek of it, stepping in. The furthest wall almost entirely windowed, looking out over the hills. Another expanse dedicated to a terrarium, a large plush bed, white sofas, and a table projecting hologram displays of fish. V tosses her suit jacket off onto the couch. 

“Pretty snazzy. Too bad we ain't stayin' the night. Nice choice, Bug.” 

“Didn't pick it for snazz. Offers quickest access to the dweller and servers.”

“Sí, sí, me acuerdo,” jackie grumbles as he puts the Flathead case down on a table in front of the terrarium. The little spider bot springs to life the second it’s case is opened. 

“Now you fire up the Flathead and find the shaft entrance.” 

“Sounds simple enough…” 

“Simplicity's sometimes toughest to master,” T-Bug tells her. 

“Aurelius? Aristotle? Who's it this time?”

“Yours truly, that one's mine.”

“Go ahead and find the shaft, chica, I’ll get the Flathead running.” 

V nods and begins looking around the room, scanning around, finding the shaft after a short moment. A little square panel standing out on the wall next to the terrarium, scanner telling her it’s Flathead compatible. 

“Found it.” 

“Good. Jackie, how's the Flathead lookin'?” T-Bug asks, he’s put the control shard in one of his neuroports while V was looking for the shaft, eyes now glowing bright white blue. 

“All set. Systems’re operational, charge at a hundred…,” a moment passes his expression furrowing as he shakes his head, “Mierda.  Little gonk's stuck.”

“Just gonna stand there and look at it? Gonna have to switch to manual control. V, take the control shard from Jackie. Gonna link your Kiroshis to surveillance so you can guide the bot.”

“Why me, Jack’s got full blown optics?”  She asks, as he pulls the control shard from his head. 

“Yeah, but you got better tech, unlike someone I ain’t run up my tab with Vik. Got last-gen firmware low flow. May be contacts, but you’re working with top notch Kiroshi tech.” 

“Plus someone already has some playtime with the bot,” T-Bug outs her and Jackie raises an eyebrow at V, a teasing smile on his lips. 

“You played with the bot?”

“Just… give me the shard,” she takes it from Jackie’s hand, “Surveillance cover the whole hotel?”

“Mhm. Even the bedrooms in the suites.”

“Seriously?” 

“You'd be surprised what people're willin' to give up to feel secure. Lucky for us, Yorinobu's an exception. Penthouse is dark, no hotel security.’

“Okay, here goes.” V pushes the control shard into the slot, the interface says it’s connecting her, then it glitches and in a moment she’s looking at herself and Jackie through the surveillance camera. 

“Patching you through to in-cam view. Might get a little disoriented, but don't freak”

Her vision switches between rooms; a man getting a lap dance from a doll in a dimly room, two men in another hotel room. And then it lands on a third room. A meeting of four people; two Arasaka suits and two faces she vaguely recognizes. The view doesn't shift again and she takes the chance to look closer, talks of losing control of Watson, election season. And it clicks, the mayor of Night City. 

“Camera’s set,” V tells Bug, political bullshit isn’t her business, she can see the vague outline of the Flathead creeping into the room.  Only slightly visible to her thanks to her connection, 

“Get him to the next vent.”

V scans and finds the next vent shaft tucked in the corner of the room, sending the Flathead to it. She watches as it crawls and creeps through the room. 

“C’mon little buddy, you got it, yes,” She cheers on the little machine as it skitters across the camera and into the vent. 

“It’s a Military grade combat bot, not your pet, V. Patching you into the next cam now.” 

The next room appears, more brightly lit with two maids working to clean it. V goes to send the Flathead into the vent but the request is denied, detecting one of the cleaning ladies is too far into it’s path. 

“Cleaning crew’s in the way,” V tells Bug, listening to one of the women start drooling over Yorinobu. 

“Gotta distract her. Hmm, let's see what's on the subnet…temp control on the terrarium, sic the bot on it.” 

V follows the runner’s orders scanning and sending the Flathead onto the temp control. Barely a moment passes before the maid’s notice, freaking out about how expensive it is. The merc takes her chance and sends the bot into the unblocked vent shaft. 

“Little guy’s through.”

Next cam flickers into a green tinted maintenance hallway, the bots legs tinkering across the floor. Vent on the other side of the room, V sends it through, smiling as her little buddy makes his way through. And it brings her to a new camera, it looks like where the surveillance feeds lead to. A console and row of screens with a security guard watching them. 

“Dweller's just beyond the door. Flathead can jimmy the lock.”

V sends the command, watching it scamper to the door, tendrils working at the lock. But nothing gives away. 

“He’s having some trouble, poor feller.” 

“Shit… Gotta be another way. Lemme think… Got another cam other side of the door, but it's disabled.’

“Got a CCTV port, might be able to enable it.” 

“Go for it.” 

The Flathead creeps across the room and jacks into the port, giving V access to the other camera. And V switches her vision to it, the next room looks like a high tech runner’s nest. Two netrunning chairs in deep cooled divots within the room. But only one is in use, a man jacked into the security frame, illuminated in blue, screens running code around him. 

“Dweller’s inside.”

“Just as planned.”

“Still don’t get why they only have the one.” 

“Decent dweller's as good as a dozen rank-and-file. Lemme graft a demonoid onto your link, you’ll be able to jack the bot directly into the chair and neutralize the runner.” 

“Got’cha” 

“You'll have to get the Flathead in there first, though.” 

“Got another shaft grate,” V finds when she twists the camera’s view, there had to be a vent in the other room, servers lining the walls. Bad ventilation and the entire operation overheats. 

“Shaft may link both rooms, looks like. Toggle to the other cam.” 

V does so, a moment of scanning and she finds a hidden shaft grate in the floor, “Think I got it.”

“Send the Flathead over there, then toggle over to the second cam.”

She waits until the bot is prying open the vent in the surveillance room, then flickers back over to the runner’s den, eyes on the vent and hoping she didn’t send their tech into the wrong room. A moment passes and she sees her robotic friend creeping his way out. 

“Our friend’s inside.” 

“Flathead into the chair, V, jack in.” 

The bot crawls across the floor and into the netrunner’s cubby, creeping up the chair and scuttling over the man’s body. Deep in the subnet the man doesn’t stir or even notice as the bot hovers over his face and jacks into the chair. And the code across the screen glitches, replaced by a T. 

“Holy shit.” 

“Whoop! Got him! Love those daemons!” Bug cheers, louder and more excited than V has ever heard her. They did it, the bot is in, T-Bug has access to it all. 

“Uh, Flathead buddy stays, right?” 

“To keep an eye on the dweller, yeah. Punching into Konpeki’s main net. Go ahead and log out.” 

The young merc’s vision starts to glitch and flicker red, her pulling the shard from her head, everything spinning. Lightheaded and her body feels both too light and too heavy. Like she could collapse and float away all at once. 

“That's how it's done! How ya feelin'?” Jackie asks, concern lacing his voice. 

“Like I’m about to puke on a rug worth more than my car.” 

“Bug? How're you doin' on time?” The runner doesn’t respond right away, a moment too long passing. 

“Bug?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I'm here. Soooo listen, ICE is thicker than I thought. Piercing it'll take a couple hours.” 

“A couple hours?! Can't do it any faster?”

“Want my brain to burst into flames? Just siddown and enjoy your snazzy suite.”

“Thanks, I will! V, you take it easy, c’mon rest for a bit.” 

V doesn’t need anymore prodding, settling down onto the white sofa, hoping her head will stop spinning and stomach cease churning by the time Bug is done. The merc kicks off her heels and lays across the sofa, softer than her bed. Jackie sitting across on the other side of the table, V brings her hand up to her face, trying to block out the blue light from the holo projector. But catches herself looking at the bracelet Misty gave her, the way the beads catch the light, remembering the name of it. 

“Hey, what was our suite’s name again?” 

“Lapis lazuli, why?” 

“Isn’t that what Misty’s bracelets are? The blue beads with the gold.” 

“Oh...yeah, ain’t that some shit, must be a good sign.” 

“Maybe… she read your cards before this?” 

“Nah, didn’t get a chance, nagged me about mean reds though. What about you, cards in your favor?” 

“All I remember is something about a magician and love, blegh.” 

“Hehehe,” his laughter is warm and fills the huge room, “telling you, one day you’re gonna be head over heels with some chiccy or mano and you’re not gonna know what to do with yourself.” 

“That how it was with you and Misty?” 

“Pssh, knew I was crazy about her from day one, took a while to work up the nerve though one day I just told her the truth.” 

“That you were in loooove~.”

“More like I’d take a bullet for her, chica.”

“Romantic.” 

“Fuck yeah it is, in Night City, that’s worth a billion I love yous.” 

“So you say.” 

“Keep doing that and you’re gonna rub the finish off Vik’s work,” Jackie tells her and she realizes she’s been rubbing and fiddling with her implants, “be a waste for free work to be ruined.” 

“I’m gonna pay him.” 

“You give him anything upfront, even a dime?” 

“I… gave him a hug…” 

“Wow,” Jackie says half laughing and she’s laughing too, “a whole hug for top of the line chrome! Probably wasn’t even a real hug, just your half ass shit!” 

“I may have only used one arm.” 

“Santa mierda, V, gotta learn to hug people like you mean it.” 

“Yes, yes,” she yawns, “blah blah blah, never know which hug will be the last one, blah….” 

“Flathead wear you out that bad?” 

“Maybe a little…” Her stomach feels better, but her head is still light, fuzzy. And in the plush of the sofa, with Jackie close by, she finds herself drifting away. Eyelids getting heavier with each word, each lull of his voice. She didn’t drink much, but she’s sure the bourbon didn’t help. 

“Gonna be a while, might as well catch a cat nap, chica. Though Bug might not like it, haven’t quite managed to get the stick out of her ass.”  

“Yeah..maybe…” 

The world fades away, a soft fuzzy sleep taking over. Time ticks by around her as she catches a moment, or maybe several, to sleep. Her brain is still a little foggy, but the dizziness is gone by the time she slowly starts to wake back up. A bad case of cottonmouth as she wakes, world filtering back in. 

Her suit jacket is tossed over her, a makeshift blanket she didn’t put there, she rolls over to sit, more stable than she was before. The time on the terrarium panel tells her only an hour or two has passed.  Jackie’s back is too her, his eyes staring at the window. And she finds herself staring, standing in a suit and basked in the lights of the city view, he’s never seemed so serious. 

“Whaddaya think? Why'd he give it all up?” He asks after a moment and she blinks, brain still foggy. 

“Who?” 

"Yorinobu Arasaka. The good life, I mean. Old news, I know. Just got to thinkin's all. It's like, think… You got everything, right? Eddies, education. Your pops can snap his fingers and turn half the fuckin’ planet into a nuclear wasteland… But instead you're like, ‘Nah, fuck it,’ and whaddaya go do? Start a fuckin' gang! Steel Dragons or some shit! You ghost from your fam, chip some RealSkinn and play gang leader for a few years. For what?!” 

She can sense the frustration in every word, feel it every clench of his fingers or swing of his hands. Someone like Yorinobu was handed everything he could ever want; tried to piss it away to play edgerunner, then found himself sucking the silver spoon once again.  But, she can’t blame him for wanting out from under his father’s thumb; that alone a feeling she knows too well. Her fingers hover over her wrist, the still branded flesh that Vik saved. 

“Maybe...he just wanted out of the system.” 

“So then why’d he come back.” 

“Tough to ditch the system when the system’s your own family,” V admits, finger still on the mark. 

“Black sheep’s still a sheep, eh?” 

“Maybe…” 

It took her forever to get the nerve to leave, she talked about it constantly, but it wasn’t until her mother’s death, murder, culling. Whatever she’s meant to call it, that she finally was pushed to make that move. Been gone for years now, but… more days than she cares to admit were spent wondering if she ever should have run, if she should crawl back and beg. If a family that hates her is better than no family at all… 

“Crawled back on all fours, tail between his legs, fuckin’ cheap ass rebel. Fuckin’ tourist!” 

Her nails dig into her skin; insecurities brimming, fear that maybe she’s just as much a fuckin’ tourist. Some black sheep nomad who’ll go running back to her dad, beg for another chance, playing pretend merc when all she’ll ever be is the family burden. 

“Tourist or not, he just walked into the lobby. And we are back in biz. Penthouse security is neutralized.”

“Perfecto, let’s start this show.”

And with those words, they’re back in business, the younger merc up on her feet. V grabbing her jacket and following Jackie out of the suite, fiddling with the fabric as she walks, heels clicking across the floor. 

“Hey, Bug…” Jackie says after a beat of silence,  “were, uh… were you on comms that whole time?”

“Three and a half hours.”

“Eehh… about that stick up the ass…”

“Mean the one up mine?”

“Ehh, slip of the tongue, y'know…”

“I know. Now's your chance to make up to me,” T-Bug tells him as they reach the elevator, Jackie pressing the button. 

“This is going pretty smooth right,” he turns to V as they wait, “right?” 

“Really are a silver lining type, ain’t ya?” V teases as the doors open and they step into the elevator. 

“Hey, when are you gonna wave off that dark cloud hanging over your head? Tellin’ you, it’s downhill from on in.” 

She rolls her eyes and hits the button to the penthouse, elevator doors closing and the carriage rumbling, shaking as it ascends. Silence falling over them, only the sound of the elevator. Jackie’s leg shakes and she knows that silence is about to end. 

“Ahh, there's the awkward silence. You, uh, wanna hear a joke?”

“Now? Seriously?”

“OK, so why'd the rockerboy's output kick him out of the apartment? ‘Cause he wasn't chippin' in.” Jackie cackles at his own joke and V rolls her eyes, a slight smile on her lips. 

“Jesus Christ…” 

Bug sounds a moment away from killing him, but thankfully for the older merc’s sake, the elevator comes to a stop. Doors opening up to Yorinobu’s suite. It feel different, seeing it from her own perspective instead of Evelyn’s and outside of a braindance editor. The entire suit feels bigger. A part of her wonders if it’s the height difference between herself and Evelyn, but decides to chalk it up to braindance shit instead. 

“Huh… not bad bein' heir to the Arasaka empire. Sure as shit better'n bein' the son of Raúl Welles,” Jackie comments taking in the room. 

V turns the corner through the room and a tank catches her eye. A slightly red light illuminating an iguana. It immediately reminds her of the only other iguana she knows, Manny. Come to think of it, his original crate was from Arasaka? 

“Hey, Jackie, look!” 

“Whoa, another fuckin’ iguana, not as cute as Manny though.” 

“Manny’s original crate was marked Arasaka; think he might’ve been Yorinobu’s before we klepped him?” 

“Think we stole his iguana and made him get a new one?” 

“Maybe?”  She gently taps the tank glass, watching the iguana’s tail flick back and forth. 

“Guys! Focus! The safe! And make it quick!” Bug yells out, bringing the merc’s back down to earth. V tosses her jacket onto one of the seats in the center, searching around the penthouse. Rain patters outside the windowed walls. They know where the safe is, but how do they get it out of the floor?

“Why, what's the rush?”

“Sig on Yorinobu's gone dark!”

“What is he, a fuckin' sorcerer?”

“Some kinda dead zone's my guess - have him back in a sec. And you do your damn job! Look around for a switch.”

V walks around one of the dividers where Yorinobu’s bed is, the slick metal of a gun catching her eye first and foremost. Black and gray, with purple detailing. She checks it for ammo and finds it loaded then decides it’s hers. 

“Looks like Yori left us a little gift,” she laughs, tucking the iron in her waistband. And on the other side of the bed, she finds a little switch. She presses it. 

“Bingo, got somethin' ejectin’! C'mere, V!” Jackie calls her over to the corner of the room, heart pounding in her chest.

They’re so close to the finish line, each click of her heels feeling like a step closer. This could actually work. A large black safe has risen out of the floor, a small jack in port and two red lights. Jackie stands on one side of it, the gray rainy day behind him. 

“What now, Bug?” 

“Jack in your personal and make us rich.” 

V plugs her personal link in, leaning one hand against the safe. Jackie leans against it from the other side, foreheads nearly touch as they wait for Bug to work her magic. Just get the chip and walk out, that’s all that’s left. All they need to do. She can’t stand still, itching to cross the finish line, minutes away from the major leagues. 

“Gimme two…”

The merc’s interface shows Bug uploading the daemons to crack the case and V watches the number rise. Sixty percent, seventy, seventy-five; each ticking number another shaky breath, a rising beat of her heart, and a chill up her spine. Homestretch, nearly there. 

And there’s a hum, V’s focus drawn away from the rising percentage, to the windows. Flying AV whirring through the gray skies, hovering around. She looks to Jackie, hoping somehow he’ll have an explanation, something to help her ignore the way her stomach is starting to drop. 

“We got winged visitors… Bug…?” There’s catch in his voice, nerves. Jackie’s scared and she swallows the lump in her throat. His face illuminated in the red flashing lights of the case, mean reds, the words flash in V’s mind. 

“Dunno who. But staffs abuzz, all two hundred on their feet, can't keep still…” 

Somethings wrong, the hair on the back of her neck stands up, a chill in her she can’t shake. Something is so fucking wrong. 

“Can't say I like this, how much longer, T?!”

“Shit. Yorinobu's penthouse bound!”

“What!?”V’s voice cracks, digging her nails into the safe, they’re fucked. They’re so fucked. 

“Fuck him!” Jackie slams his hand down, rattling the container, “Open the safe!” 

“Almost got it… Done!”  The safe opens, revealing a cryo-container within. Bright white light and a fog of ice cold air coming with it. V rips her personal jack out. 

“Preem, lets get the fuck out of here!”  

“Lemme look to this, eh?” Jackie says, pulling the container out and looking at the little screens across it. 

“Relic intact?” 

"Bioshard integrity - one hundred percent." Guessin' that's a yes,” Jackie reads off the vitals of the shard, picking up the case. 

“Good,  let’s delta.” 

The pair nearly trip through the center of the penthouse, rushing towards the elevator with Jackie lugging behind the giant cryo-container. So close, so close, so fucking close. An elevator and taxi ride away, then they’ll be at The Afterlife counting their eddies. The homestretch. 

“Fuck, too late!” T-Bug yells before V can hit the elevator button, “Yorinobu's about to walk in - find cover!

“Where in the fuck!?” V swings her hands as she yells, they’re so fucking close. She rakes her nails across her face, leaving red angry marks down her skin. 

“That pillar- try that!” 

“You fuckin' kiddin'?!” Jackie screams as the mercs make a move to the pillar in the center of the penthouse, were she thought servers for the room were kept. The back of it opening up and allowing a tight passageway. 

“No! Inside it! Now!” 

V slips inside as quickly as she can, Jackie following suit. He holds the cry-container close to his chest. The glass barrier is one way, they can see out, but it can’t be seen in. Still not ideal cover, ideally they’d be outside of the fucking hotel by now. The merc presses her hands to the glass, cursing under her breath. 

“We’re in,” she whispers to Bug.

“Which don't solve our problem, T.”

“I fuckin' know our problem's still there! Lemme think for a sec, okay?” 

The lights to the penthouse come on, elevator doors opening as Yorinobu strides in. with mechanical monstrosity of a body guard from the BD taking large whirring steps after him. And he seems even bigger now. He’s a cyber giant, one mech hand larger than  any part of V. 

He’s outlined in red, his eyes staring straight at her,  Vik said her new contacts would highlight if enemies saw her.. No, there’s no possible way. The man has barely set a borged-out foot into the room. She meets his gaze head on, swallowing the lump in her throat as she tries to seem braver than she is. On the off chance he may truly know the mercs are there. 

“Is that… Is that Adam Smasher?” Jackie whispers and V trusts him to look at her hands  as she signs, not wanting to break eye contact with the robotic monstrosity, refusing to show weakness.

“Bodyguard?” 

“Worse,” her trust in her friend is well placed, “Night City legend. Bleak motherfuckin' one, too. What's the plan?”

“We stay quiet and we wait.” 

A flash of movement makes V finally break the stare down, Yorinobu walks to the middle of the room and stops at the seat across from the table, black fabric strewn across it. He picks it up, regarding it for a moment and her heart drops into her stomach. 

V’s jacket. She left her fucking jacket on his chair, like an idiot, she didn’t even have time to consider grabbing it. They’re going to die because she left her fucking jacket out in the open and Adam Smasher is still staring at her. 

She half expects Yorinobu to call a sweep of the room, ring security, that he’ll realize the random jacket must be an intruder. But he shakes his head, tosses it aside onto the floor, not giving it another thought. While his body guard Smasher lingers in the corner, robotic eyes staring straight at V, watching the mercs squirm. 

“Are they here yet?” Yorinobu asks out loud. 

“They approach from the landing pad,” an AI voice responds. 

“Fuck are they talking about?” V resists the urge to elbow Jackie, silence has never been more important. One sound too loud and a borged out psycho will rip their heads off. And if her contacts are right, Smasher may just be waiting for the perfect opportunity. 

“Nuh-uh, no fucking way…. This isn't happening…!” T-Bug whispers over comms and V sees someone coming down the spiraling stairs, a guard it seems, with another older man following him, “Saburo Arasaka.” 

The second man is older, much older than the first. Balding with gray hairs and liver spots across his scalp, glasses perched high upon his nose. Dressed in a mixture of yukata robes over what seems to be slacks and loafers he takes slow measured steps down the stairs. The head capitalist himself, owner of Arasaka. 

“The emperor? Yet another asslickin' legend….” 

V taps Jackie’s side and puts her finger to her lips, encouraging him to be quiet. The man who led Saburo in starts to walk around the room. He’s older than V or Jackie, but nowhere near Saburo’s age. Long graying dark hair pulled back in a bun, cyberware across his neck coming out from under his black suit. 

“I thought I told you not to meddle in my affairs,” Yorinobu speaks in his native tongue, V’s contacts translating and subtitling to English. 

“Oh fuck,” Jackie curses as the long haired guard comes to stand in front of them, silver ringed brown eyes starting to scan them. 

“Leave us,” Saburo orders and the guard stops scanning, turning to face the corporate leader. 

“Arasaka-sama, I still haven't done a full sweep.” The guard turns his back and V can see where part of his hair is shaved, allowing intense cyberware extending beyond his neck and towards his scalp. 

“This is my son.”

“Of course. Should I retrieve what we come here to-” 

“I will handle it. You may go.”

The long haired guard bows and goes to leave the room, finally Adam Smasher’s gaze on her drops, as the borged freak leaves with the guard through the elevator doors. If they’re here to retrieve something… it’s likely the biochip, which means if they go to get it and see it’s gone… They’re fucked. They’re straight fucked. 

“Un-fucking-believable… Saburo Arasaka.” That comment makes V nudge Jackie with her foot, once again begging him to just stay quiet. 

“Did you think I wouldn't know it was taken from me?” Saburo asks his son, barely making eye contact as Yorinobu looks through a datapad. 

“Actually, I don't think of you at all. Ever. You see, that's your problem. You think the world revolves around you. Arrogant.” 

“Yorinobu.” 

“Why did you come? To humiliate me? To personally see to it that your son knows his place?”

“"The nail that protrudes from the wall gets hammered…"

“Couldn't think of anything original to say?” Yorinobu yells in exasperation, standing up and pacing around the room.  He’s on edge, looking ready to jump out of his skin and V can’t say she has a good feeling about any of this. 

“And do you think it ‘original’ to sell our greatest achievement to Westerners - our future to these… barbarians?!”

It’s definitely the biochip Saburo is after, they’re screwed, monumentally screwed. V would laugh if she didn’t feel like dying, of course, of course it all goes to shit. 

“Our future? Ours?! You are mistaken. You've only ever cared about yourself… and your sick schemes.” Yorinobu points and swings his limbs, still pacing, every word coiled tight with barely restrained hatred. 

“I knew this day would come. That sooner or later your impudence would cross the line,” Saburo is calmer, measured, taking soft steps towards his son, “There is much for which I could forgive you, but for treason - no.” 

The two men, father and son now stand in front of the pillar before an audience they don’t know. Stares trained on each other, each hateful, but one furious in it’s spite and the other calm in it’s contempt. Moments pass, no word said, each waiting for the other to light a fuse that will set off the powder keg. 

“I'm just glad your mother didn't live to see this. The heart should break but once.” 

And it goes off. Saburo’s words are punctuated by Yorinobu’s hands wrapping tightly around the old man’s throat. Yorinobu slams his father back against the pillar, cracking the glass in front of Jackie and busting open Saburo’s head. Blood streaking the shards. And he pulls away and for a moment, as Saburo clutches at his crushed windpipe, Yorinobu seems nearly regretful. 

“You shall never have to forgive me for anything again.” 

His hands wrap again, choking his father against the pillar. Until Saburo starts to fall limp, Yorinobu bringing him down onto the floor in a lifeless heap. Yorinobu stands over his father. Saburo is dead, killed before the merc’s very eyes at the hands of his own son. Jackie curses and V watches as Yorinobu paces, mind clearly racing before he stands over his father’s corpse again. 

“I wish… I wish to put the hotel on lockdown.” 

What does that mean? What the hell does that mean?

“May I ask why?” The AI secretary asks him. 

“Saburo Arasaka has been murdered.”

“Code red initiated. Attention! Code Red has been initiated throughout Konpeki Plaza. Please remain in your rooms and follow all instructions given by staff.”

Oh no, oh fuck no. The lights in the room drop, only bright neon red ones glowing angry in the dark. What the hell is going to happen? What the fuck do they do now? The elevator doors open, Smasher and the long haired guard walking in; the latter rushes and comes to a full stop when he sees Saburo’s corpse. 

“What happened?”

“Someone… someone poisoned my father.”

“Poisoned…?” 

“Seems so.” 

“Yorinobu-san… I doubt…”

Yorinobu glowers at the guard, pushing into his personal space, trying to intimdate him. Trying to make him stop questioning what happened, trying to stop him from looking any closer. Anyone who gets a good look at Saburo’s corpse will see the fingerprints around his neck. 

“What is your job, Takemura?”

“I don't follow.”

“It's a simple question. Answer it.”

“To protect the head of the Arasaka family.”

“I do sincerely hope you'll do a better job of executing your duties from now on…”

“Forgive me, Arasaka-sama,” the guard drops his head in shame, “I shall not disappoint.” 

Yorinobu turns to leave the suite. The guard, Takemura, follows close behind. And the still red highlighted Smasher follows behind him. The elevator doors close behind them. Jackie and V left alone in the suite again. But what the fuck just happened? 

“What the fuck just happened in there?” T-Bug asks, exactly what’s rattling around V’s skull as the pillar back opens again. Jackie and V clambering out. 

“Yorinobu just killed Saburo, he fucking choked out his own dad, I didn’t even know you could do that!” V rambles and yells as she turns the corner of the pillar, looking down at Saburo’s corpse. She quickly checks his pockets, stealing some cash and a pair of dog tags off of him. 

“What?” 

“His own fuckin’ pops.” 

“Know what this means?l Security's gonna swarm the place any second. Oh my god, we're so fucked!”

“We need to get the fuck out of here, now!” They can’t just go out the elevator, they’d meet security on the way. They’re beyond fucked. Why the hell did they take this stupid fucking job!?

“Gimme a sec!”

There’s the helipad, but it’s not like they have anything that fucking flies. Think, think, think; she screams in her head to just fucking think, there has to be something, anything. 

“We don't have a sec!”

“Okay, got somethin'! Window - now! Releasing the lock! Should see a ladder… Ladder…” 

V sees an opening in the large windowed walls, double doors practically made of glass they goes onto the ledge. This has to be in, T-Bug can undo the lock and they’ll slip out. 

“Oh fuck.” T-Bugs voice drops and a chill shoots up V’s back, something is wrong. 

“Bug!?” 

“No, no, no, no - not now…! I’ve been made… “ 

And panic turns to agony as T-Bug screams, a shrill cry of pain then she’s gone. Connectuon cut and V freezes in place. 

Bug is gone, just gone… 

Maybe, Konpeki just cut their comms? But the scream rings through V’s mind. She’s heard of how runner’s can die, daemons and quick hacks. Having their entire brain fried, every nerve and neuron set on fire, burned from the inside out... And all that's left to find is a simmering corpse stewing in their own filth. Bug was never meant for that, meant to retire, meant to find peace after years of netrunning. But now… 

“Bug.!? Bug!? Can you fuckin’ hear me, Bug please, are you there!?” V calls out, words slurring together. She just needs to hear Bug one more time, and know everything is okay. 

And nothing. 

“¡Pinche Dios Santo bendito! We lost her, V!” 

“They...scorched her...didn’t they…?” 

“We… we gotta go, V,” Jackie says, voice cracking as he smacks at V’s shoulder. 

Bug’s final hack going through, the window unlocked. V steps out through the window onto the ledge, rain pelting her skin as she rushes around the corner. Bug said there’s a ladder they can use, last thing Bug ever said… There’s no time for mourning, no time to cry, they need to get through this. The ledge narrows around the corner, ride lights outside the hotel window guiding the way, secured against the steel of the hotel. V sees the yellow safety ladder. The merc presses her back to the building, gently side stepping across the narrow ledge, if they just reach the ladder. One wrong step and they’ll plummet. 

“You can do it, Jackie… just don't look down,” jackie tries to talk himself up, following V, “ Yep, that's fuckin' high…!”

There’s a whir of engines, an aircraft vehicle buzzing around the outside of the hotel.

“Shit! That Trauma?” Jackie asks and that’s exactly what they need right now, doctors shooting them. 

“If they’re here for Saburo, they’re a little late.” 

“Just hope they didn't see us! ¡Chingada madre!”

The aircraft carrier flies in close, flashing blinding white light onto the mercs. It sees them, definitely sees them. 

“Suspects in violation of security protocols.” The mechanical voice croaks out. 

“Time to bail!’ Jackie screams and the aircraft starts to fire, drone automated shooting at them. 

The glass around them bursts and V jumps, grabbing Jackie’s hand in her left, she swings her right blade out towards the ladder. It hooks in the bottom rung, creaking in distress as it stops their fall. And there the mercs hang, suspended by a single Mantis Blade and a ladder rung; rain pouring down upon them and a drone still searching for them through the debris. The strain pulls at V’s arm, pain shooting throughout, shoulders ache and left arm pulled tight trying to hold Jackie and the case he holds in his other hand. 

If she could pull them up with the blade, maybe they can get to safety. But her muscles already strain, wrought tight with the strength it takes to hold them up. The blade pulling at the inner tissue it’s attached too, never meant to support more weight than the person it’s attached to. Rain and tears sting her eyes as she forces herself to pull with the blade, use it to lift them up. 

“V! I can’t hold on!’ Jackie yells out, rain slick hand starting to slip from her own. She digs her nails into his skin, holding him tighter. 

“Just a bit more, I can do this!” 

Her throat is raw and she doesn’t know how much she believes her own words. Nerves scream in pain as her cyberware pulls at what’s left of her flesh. Muscles cry as forced beyond their capability. She curses beneath her breath, pulling them just a little further up. Immeasurable pain and brute force of will only amounting to the tiniest bit of progress, not even an inch closer to safety. Her blade is pulling further out from her skin, raising up from her arm in a way she knows it shouldn’t. 

Every nerve in her arms on fire; blade tugging at flesh and the other nearly pulled from socket under Jackie’s weight. Barely an inch closer to the safety, Jackie slipping from her grip quicker than she can pull, blade lifting from her arm quicker than she can move them. Her teeth sinks into the inside of her cheek, hard enough to bleed as she pushes herself further. Closer, closer, she urges herself. 

A bright white light shines across them, illuminating them in the gray night, adding another ache to her eyes. Drone marked Arasaka buzzing around, refinding them within the debris of the destroyed hotel wall. The robotic voice speaking again. 

“Violators found.” 

And her blade breaks, V’s eye blown wide as they begin to plummet, shock blurs her pain and deafens the world.  Slowing it for a moment, only able to stare as metal snaps, tissue tears, and her arm is ripped open. Cyberware tearing out tissue and nerves, viscera left behind. 

Then she hits glass, shattering it as gravity slams her through and shock becomes hurt. She hits metal, body bouncing from impact, crying as the air is knocked from her lungs. Her head bashing against something. V clutches her arm, the pain it hitting her as everything else does, blood sticking to her fingers. Each breath hurts, a labored wheeze as bruised lungs strain to work. 

V blinks, sitting up slightly, regaining her sense of self now that her fall is broken. Across from her is Jackie and the cryo-case. She looks at her arm, A solid rip from wrist to near elbow, nearly an open hole, metal and moving inner parts of the cyberware mixed with gore. It doesn’t bleed as much as she'd expect, the internal mechanics helping block major bleed out. It hurts, metal now working against raw nerves. But, she’ll live… if this is the worst that happens, she’ll live.

The cryo-case is dented, part of it sparking and part of it splatted with blood. But her eye is drawn to Jackie. A tear in his gut, shrapnel and glass caught him well, bleeding more than her. The white of the button up around his stomach turned scarlet. 

“The Relic! ¡Madres! Agh… Oh, this ain't good. Agh…” Jackie curses, each breath pained. 

“Jackie, you’re hurt!” 

“Worry about me later,” he growls, “check the relic… "Container depressurized. Biochip integrity at ninety-four percent." And fuckin' droppin'! Carajo! Parker! Call her!”

“And tell her what!? We fucked up!?” 

“Just do it!”

Evelyn answers after a short ring, her avatar coming across V’s contacts. 

“V?! Konpeki's all over the feeds! What the fuck's going on there?”

“Got a problem! Cryo-case is damaged. Biochip's integrity at… Jackie?”

“Eighty-six percent!”

“Eighty-six percent and droppin'!”

“Shit…! OK, listen to me. There's only one thing you can do. One of you's gotta slot the Relic into your neural port!”

“That sounds really dangerous!” 

God only knows how this biochip could fuck them up, the relic itself is like putting another personality in your head, seeing ghosts. If this one is even half as fucked up as that, they could be putting themselves in serious danger. 

“The longer you wait, the greater the risk we lose it!” 

“Well, someone’s got to do it,” Jackie says, voice a rasp, face steadily draining color as he opens the case, “In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit - Amen.”

Jackie crosses his body with the pray and pushes the chip into his neural port and V watches his eyes light up for a moment. And he’s quiet for another, a second too long.

“You okay?” 

“Dunno… I guess… Don't feel any different.”

“Once you're back, we'll take out the Relic and run a full brain scan and sweep. But you two need to get the fuck out of there first!”

“We’re working on it!” 

Jackie and V get back on their feet. He holds his hand to his stomach, trying to press his guts together and she keeps her arm held close to her chest, not putting pressure on it. Jackie calls Delamain. 

“Del, we'll be there in a couple. Be ready, got it?”

“Certainly, Mr. Welles.”

“Better be fuckin' certain.”

“We gotta somehow… reach the lobby. Only chance to hit the garage. And we'd best be quick,” Jackie jabs himself with an air hypo, “ Oh-ho, that's the shit… Great… Now let's get outta here.”

“Wait, take your jacket off, use it to keep pressure on your gut, okay? Should help with the bleeding.” 

It’s minimal first aid knowledge, she knows. Hold something to a wound to keep it from bleeding out as quickly. But it’s all she can offer, helping Jackie get the jacket off with one hand, so he can press it to his stomach wound. She can move her right hand somewhat, but it hurts and she swears she can see the tendons moving around the metal in the gaping wound her forearm has become. She catches herself wondering if she’ll be able to sign with her right hand again. But, there’s no time for those fears. 

She walks down the red lit metal grate, heels nearly catching in it as she turns to a doorway. V leads the way, less injured than Jackie, she pushes the door open. A door lobby with glass banisters and plants, the only light the bright red ones. 

“Great… Now let's get outta here,” Jackie says, each word a stressful choking sound to get out. 

An AI voice speaks repeatedly over the speakers that Konpeki plaza is in code red, as the mercs work to move quickly and quietly. Catching the murmuring of two guards as they reach a marble staircase, speaking of sweeping the floors and checking the lobby. They creep around the corner and past a desk, seeing the back of the men’s through the glass banister. The only sound the pounding of V’s heart and Jackie’s labored breathing. They watch as the two men separate, enough space for each to grab one. 

They move down the last stretch of the stairs, guards talking about evacuating Yorinobu. She lets Jackie take the one closest to them as she moves further to the one at the doorway. V swings her left blade, now her only one, through the man’s gut. Her right arm shoots pain through each nerve, metal inside churching to dispense a blade that no longer exists. She holds back a sound, Jackie’s already choked out the other guard, checking for pockets. Each one armed with a silenced gun. She steals ammo off of them.

They come to another door, each catching their breath. Sweat clinging to V’s brow as they brace themselves for what’s to come next. 

“Careful… security likely to be swarmin' outside,” Jackie warns and V nods, words clumping together in her throat as she opens the door. 

They stay crouched, spotting more guards as they go. The pair hide behind a planter, V taking a scan of the area, spotting a security camera. Remembering Bug’s lessons, she’s quickly able to shut them off. She’s the one to step back out, leading the way for the first time in months of working together. V needs to get Jackie through this, he’s holding on now, but.. 

She grabs a guard from behind and snaps their neck, arm twinging in agony at the movement she throws their body aside, clearing a long stretch of hallway for Jackie to follow her down. All light bright red and screens that once showed commercials now flash the words, Code Red. She leaves Jackie to stay hidden behind a counter when she sees another by the doorway, jumping at his back and dropping him just like his coworker.  

“Ain't doin' too bad… Just a little further…” Jackie whispers as she drops another guy, her arm screaming at her to stop. But she’ll survive without an arm, if worse comes to worse, she can’t let Jackie get hurt any worse. 

They creep through a door, past a desk, hearing a guard yelling out as they sneak and weave through the room. She watches over the top of a planter as the guard walks past them, none the wiser as V creeps around, getting behind him, and taking him down. She can’t risk leaving any behind, leaving one alive and them finding the mercs later. The hotel is huge, a labyrinth of Arasaka guards. 

“Engaging hostiles!” A voice booms out, the mercs spotted by a heavily armed Arasaka guard who nearly trips over V.

Fuck, fuck, so much for stealth. Jackie shoots over a counter, trying to stay somewhat protected from the gunfire, while V takes lead, firing Yorinobu’s gun at the men, only dropping behind cover to reload, she blasts. Fuck it, stealth not an option, she’ll turn the whole damn hotel into a blood bath. 

The guards drop and V knows she’s been shot, but she’s standing so she moves onward. Through a doorway, three more men open fire as the mercs turn the corner. V blasts a bullet through ones head, Jackie blows the second full of holes. 

“One more fucker dead!” 

The third is further back behind a glass door and V charges forward, glass open as she fires at the man. Bullets ripping through his chest in a spray of blood before he collapses, red smeared across the marble. If she gets a chance to sleep tonight, she’ll be seeing red in her dreams. The vivid neon lights of the emergency lit hotel, the burgundy uniforms, and the steady spray of it from every shot fired. 

Jackie and V go running around a corner, through another glass doorway and slide into side of a marble planter. Taking a moment to breathe, she can hear guards talking. Orders from higher up, panicked yells from the less experienced. She can spot two around the corner, but can’t get a clear shot. She runs to the open doorway, catching one off guard as she slams into his view and rips a blade through his gut. 

A full armored worker fires off when he sees it, partially hidden by a linen rack. Another runs in, half hiding behind a planter, firing off around the corner. She presses against a wall between it and a partial doorway, reloading before she looks back through. The less armored man moves around a pillar, peeking from behind cover, and she shoots his head as soon as she sees it, watching him hit the marble. 

She struggles to get a clear shot of the third, still hidden behind the rack and so she runs forward, past the rack and coming to a sliding stop behind him. The guard fumbles to swing around when he realizes where she’s landed. Back turned to Jackie now, her friend fires a shot clean through the guard’s head. 

The room is cleared for a moment and the elevator is nearby, she runs past a desk, when she sees the button screen. A glowing red off symbol. 

“Fuck!” 

“Chingo tu madre! It's shut down! What about the other one?” Jackie yells between rattling breaths, she wanted this to be stealthy, didn’t want to put him anymore danger. 

She runs, heels clicking against blood streaked marble, nearly tripping over a corpse. Quickly trying to stop herself when another guard springs up behind a desk. Two more swarming the room, one in the heavy almost samurai-like Arasaka armor. 

“Orale! Got to plough through them!” 

She focuses on the Saka samurai, pulling the trigger again and again,  Thankful to have emptied the ammo off every body she’s dropped so far. A bullet catches his throat, a gush of blood as he paints the floor,  and she shifts to the other men. A headshot on one, the other already down thanks to Jackie. 

V searches their corpses, pocketing ammo and bounce backs, when she finds an access token on the samurai. V thanks any god that may be listening, if they exist and makes a beeline for the elevator at the end of the room. 

“Got access,” she breathes out, calling the elevator. 

Its doors open and she steps in, the side railing lit that bright red. She waits as Jackie rushes in, he’s still in somewhat decent shape it seems. Not the ideal heist, she thinks as she hits the button, but maybe they can get out of this. Rush Jackie to a ripper, check on T-Bug, collect their eddies, and tonight will be a story to tell later. Remember the Konpeki Heist, how everything that could go wrong did. 

“Hah-… agh! Heh, hng…” She can’t tell if he’s laughing or groaning in pain, maybe both. Blood is coating his hands, has he bled through the jacket? No, Jackie’s bulletproof, said it himself a billion times. He’ll be okay, he has to be. 

“Jackie…”

“Saburo Arasaka, Hundred and fifty years… and today… of all fuckin' days. That's like… some divine comedy shit… hehehehe… agh.”

And he’s laughing, of course he is, holding his guts together and he laughs, because why would Jackie Welles do anything else. She’s not sure if she’s going to cry or laugh along, if she’s charmed or infuriated by it; is he just still desperately searching for that silver lining or does he genuinely not give a fuck if he flatlines? That idea, the thought, makes her throat tighten. He can’t die, he won’t die, she won’t let him. 

“Save your strength, please, we’re not out of the woods yet.” 

“What do you think I’m doing!?” She doesn’t miss the frustration, because if he wasn’t so hurt, he’d been the one leading that battle, charging in to take brunt of it all, “Buuut… chill, V. We'll get out alive.” 

“I know we will,” she says and wants so desperately to believe.

The elevator reaches the lobby, doors open to more guards, more gunfire. She shoots at one that looks out behind a wall, three more in the main room of the lobby. Jackie slides behind a desk, using it for cover between shots. V takes lead, shooting from around a doorway. Its chaos and mayhem, V blasting the four men. One dropping behind a chair, catching one through the green ferns growing from a planter.  Three more Arasaka corpses, splattering blood across marble and the roots of those towering trees. Bullet after bullet, shot after shot, until her ears are ringing and three remain; the mercs and one last guard. 

He throws a grenade across the room at them, V shooting it in the air before it can hit them, smoke and fire smoldering across the ceiling. She uses the chance to close the gap and blows his brains out at close range.  

Room cleared they rush through the rest of the lobby, finally reaching the elevator that will take them to the garage. V slams the button, calling the elevator. The door opens and she runs inside, expecting Jackie to run in after her. His steps are slowing and he leans against the wall for a moment instead, having to catch a second wind. He’s getting worse, but they’re in the homestretch, they can do this. They can do this, he stumbles through, leaning against the elevator wall. 

“Argh… I'm leakin' a little…” His voice a rasp. 

The elevator stops at the garage, so close to safety. Doors opening she can already hear the guards and the mercs step out, eye on them, its a swarm of Arasaka. Gunfire rings out alongside the screech of brakes. The Delamain taxis coming to a stop in the center of the garage, it’s doors flinging open. 

“I advise that you waste no time in entering the vehicle,” Delamain chirps at them, like this is a normal night. 

But she needs no prodding. V grabs Jackie’s hand and runs for the taxi, dragging him through the garage to the open doors. Rather than making him walk around, she shoves Jackie through her side on the right, letting him slide into the left seat before she jumps in; he needs the extra second of protection more than her.  The doors shut, bulletproof shields raising as they the taxi is blasted by the guards. They’re safe? Right?

“Welcome back. With Delamain, you leave your problems at the door….”

“DRIVE NOW!” 

And Delamain does just that, engines firing up as he rams through the garage door like it’s nothing. She leans forward on the two front seats. As the taxi takes a sharp turn, they’re almost there, almost safe. Jackie wasn’t fucking around about the combat mode. 

“Not bad at all.” 

“Client feedback noted.”

“How’s the ride looking?” 

“Tiptop. Though alas, we are being pursued.”

And then she sees him, Adam Smasher, the borged monster of a former man rushes them. No hesitation, no fear, as he slams his entire body into the car. Shattering glass, gnashing metal, and nearly sending the car to the side; slamming V and Jackie to the right. 

“Sweet fuckin’ jesus!” 

Jackie curses as V screams, the hell kind of freak is this guy? The car goes back down on its wheels. Adam Smasher on a metal knee, slowing standing up on front of the car. 

“Combat mode activated. Please remain calm.”

“Calm!!!????” She yells out as Delamain begins to drive backwards. 

 “Road block ahead. I kindly request that you brace for impact.”

“¡Oy, mis huevos! Shiiiit!”

The cab takes a turn, rather than driving through Adam Smasher, it goes through another roadway. A row of cars blocking the way and Delamain slams through through without hesitation, taking them through the Night City roads away from the hotel. Jackie is hunched over, bloody hands still pressing the jacket to his gut, the white shirt soaked through with it. 

“A hostile enemy aircraft has a lock on us.”

V doesn’t need a word more from the AI taxi, climbing halfway out of the window, she spots the drones flying after them. Three of them. Needing steadier aim, she flips off her hearing aids with a thought, steeling herself as the car weaves through the road and she fires at them. This is Arasaka’s last ditch effor to keep a lock on them, if she can get rid of them, they’re in the clear. 

Three shots; first drone goes down sparking as it hits the city streets. Two more kills the second, the metal remains slamming into a streetlamp. And the third goes down with a final shot, smoldering onto the roof of a  BD store. She turns her hearing aids back on as she slides into her seat again; they’re gone. 

“Hostile aircraft eliminated.”

“Nice work there… Del…”

She shifts to look at Jackie, he has one hand on his stomach, the other braced against the door. V grabs his shoulder with one hand and his leg with the other, practically shaking him. 

“We did it, Jackie! We made it!” 

“Heh...guess we did…” It’s not the triumphant excited Jackie, she’d expect to hear. His voice still rough, a rattle barely leaving his lungs. Her eyes sting, no, no. 

“My medical diagnostics indicate that Mr. Welles’ condition is critical.”

“Critical, what- take us to a fucking ripperdoc, now! Vik’s behind Misty’s shop!” 

She reaches to put pressure against the jacket over his wound, hand over his, but the fabric is bled all the way through. Blood sticking to her skin, warmer than Jackie’s skin and he’s looking pale, paler every second. He leans back against the chair, strength starting to leave his body. 

“Apologies, but that will not be possible. Our itinerary has been pre-arranged and paid for in advance. I am not at liberty to alter it.”

“Fuck your itinerary and fuck your liberty, just get us to goddamn doctor!” 

“It's OK, V… I'll hold out…” 

When did his nose start to bleed, when he did he start hacking up blood, red streaking down his nostrils and over his chin. She sucks in a shaky breath, eyes starting to water. No, not Jackie, anyone but him… please.  She doesn’t know who she’s begging; maybe god, maybe fate, maybe just anything in this world that will listen. 

“Yeah, yeah,” she chokes out, nodding, “you-you just got to hold on, okay? And, and, we’ll hit the major leagues. Only the best jobs, swimming in eddies, just like you always wanted.” 

She brings her forehead to his, feeling the cold sweat of his skin, hoping her warmth, touch, her words; anything will keep him alert. The tears flow freely now, wet and hot on her cheeks. 

“Mija...  you’re gonna be rich, I can feel it…” 

“No, we’re gonna be rich, Jackie! You and me, that’s how it’s always been, I-I can’t do it without you, y-you got to stay with me okay! We’ll get back, you can see Misty and your mom, everyone and let them know you made it.” 

“Misty… She knew… She always knew…” he breathes out, eyes glassy with a weak smile, “told me not to take this job, why she always got to be right?” 

“J-just a little longer, please, Jackie...please,” she begs him, like he can stop it. Like he can put his inside back together, stop the color from draining out of his face, and can just stay with her. 

“The biochip…” he holds her shoulder, grasp weak, and takes the chip from his head with the other, “Hold on to it. For me…”

And he slides it into her neuroport, her vision glitching for a moment. She surges forward, wrapping her arms as tightly as she can, burying his head into his chest, crying into him as she clings tightly; wishing she had the strength to just hold him together. 

“Please, please, Jackie, I can’t lose you, just a little longer, please,” she sobs into his ashen skin and blood soaked shirt, begging with every slowed beat of his heart. 

For a moment his hands graze her back and she waits for a bear hug, for him to squeeze the breath from her lungs and lift her from her seat like he’s done so many times. For him to be Jackie; her best friend, her partner in crimes, her brother, her everything. But his touch is faint, the space between each beat growing further and further. Until his hands fall limp, body slack in her arms, and she knows the next heartbeat will never come. 

And she sobs, she holds him and cries out her pain, if only for a moment. No more ‘chicas’, ‘jainas’, or the odd ‘mija’. No more smiles that outshine the sun. No more nagging her to look on the bright side. No more bear hugs or hands the size of her head ruffling through her hair. No more Jackie…. And it’s not fair and it’s not right. 

“Mr. Welles has passed. Where shall I take his remains?” A robotic voice asks and she realizes the car is no longer moving. 

She forces herself to let him go, one of the hardest things she’ll ever have to do. Pulling away, she sees him, truly lifeless. Bright green eyes now dull with no light behind them, limp hands falling away from her. 

“W-what?” She stumbles over the word, brain fogged over with grief. 

“The Excelsior package provides for the disposal of passenger remains free of charge. I merely require a destination.”

“I…he-he’d want to be with his family,” she stumbles across her words. 

“Mr. Welles' closest blood relative is Guadalupe Alejandra Welles, proprietress of the El Coyote Cojo bar. I will make sure to deliver him safely. Mr. DeShawn awaits you in room number two-oh-four. ” 

That’s right… Dex… The chip. The world didn’t stop spinning, only her’s. There’s still a job. And the idea of still going, that there’s a tomorrow beyond today, seems unfathomable. How the hell could she ever move on…  

Because Jackie would kill her if she didn’t and she knows that. He’d haunt her for a thousand years and kick her ass every day of it. She looks at the remains, her friend gone, now limp and bleeding across white leather. And knows if he could speak, he’d tell her to get her ass to that hotel room and finish this job, that he and Bug didn’t die just for V to bury herself alongside them. She squeezes his shoulder, presses her forehead to Jackie’s one last time, feeling the cold of his skin. 

“See ya in the major leagues, Jack…”

V opens the car door and steps out into the backlot behind the motel. Rain pours down across her bloodied skin, soaking her to the bones, a numb chill clinging to her. Painted across brick is the Night City emblem marks the wall, red graffiti altering its slogan.. The city of broken dreams… 

She moves, on autopilot as she makes her way up the stairs and to the back door of the motel, sheltered from the rain once she’s in a trash filled back room. The motel is bathed in the neon red lights, only offset by the white of sign bearing its name, it’s always red. She stumbles up the staircase and then  another, past a tv chattering on about Saburo Arasaka. 

The merc walks down the gloomy hallway, dark except for warm yellow floor lights, Graffiti covered walls, rain washing down the windows at the end of it. And she reaches room 204, her arm leaden as she knocks. 

No response. 

“Its V,” she yells out, knocking harder. 

The door opens but before she can take another step, Dex’s body guard takes a step out. Large hand blocking her from coming further. He checks the hallway, making sure she wasn’t followed. After a moment, he finally pulls away. 

“He waiting.” 

The man takes a step back, allowing V into the room. She pushes through a bead curtain and sees Dex, leaning over a TV screen, another cigar between his golden fingers. She clears her throat, hearing the door close behind her. 

“WNS… N54… Even the pirate networks… You blowin' up everywhere! And the Jackster? He out in the car?” 

“He’s...dead,” her voice breaks, words like thorns in her throat. Having to say it, having to hear it from her own lips… 

“Condolences friend,” he tells her, shifting to look at her rather than the tv, “and the relic?” 

“Here,” she says, voice a murmur as she taps her neural port. 

“Hmm, I was afraid of that…” 

“What?!” 

She got the fucking relic, everyone is fucking dead, but she got the relic! Everyone died for this fucking chip and now he’s disappointed that she has it!?

“Saburo Arasaka?” Dex paces, smoking his cigar, “Dead…?! You got any notion of the shit you pulled me into?! You offed the fuckin' emperor! His majesty! Anyone with so much as a pinky toe dipped in this mess is as good as dead!’

“I didn’t kill Saburo! I- I-” she stalls, wanting to say she didn’t do anything, but can she say that? Can she act like she didn’t fuck up any of this? Like she has no role in Jackie and Bug’s deaths… 

"No shit?l Tell that to the ‘Saka ninjas they send after you!”

“We...we got to leave the city.” 

Badlands isn’t the safest for her, but it will be safer with money, she could settle in another city, maybe. She can outrun her family more than Arasaka. 

“You don’t say.” 

“Call Parker, we close the deal, collect our eddies, and go off the radar.” 

“A’ight, settle down,” he sits down on the leather couch, “Gotta be tactical about this. Parker, eddies, then we leave the city limits behind. But first… Your face… got blood all over it. Bathroom's there. Go get yourself cleaned up.”

He points her to the bathroom of the motel and she nods, in no place to argue, she just wants to be on the other side of this mess. To be able to tell herself at least she made it to the major leagues, at least Jackie would be proud of her, even if he isn’t here to see it. 

V stumbles into the bathroom, legs wobbling. Everything should hurt, her arm ripped open. Bruises mottling every inch of flesh. But she’s… numb. She works on autopilot, only somewhat aware of the door shutting behind her as she grips the sink, streaking blood across the silver.

Her blood and Jackie’s. 

Bile rushes up her throat, stinging as she pukes into the sink, choking and gagging it out. The tears threaten to come again, eyes stinging as he nails dig into the sink. He’s gone, he’s really fucking gone. Her best friend, her brother in everything but blood and name, her rock, and world. The man who took her in, who gave her a goal, a life… 

And how’d she repay him? 

Watch him die in the back of a Delamain. All her promises to keep him safe, to repay back all the kindness he gave to her. And she couldn’t save him, couldn’t protect him, couldn’t do shit but hold him. Fuckin’ only time she really hugged him with all she had and she doesn’t even know if he could really feel it, if his body was too numb. 

If she would have refused the job. 

If she had gotten them up the ladder. 

If she had been stronger. 

If she had been stealthier.

If she had gotten them through the lobby quicker. 

If she could have convinced Delamain to get him to a doc.

If she knew better first aid. 

If….if… if… 

Thoughts spin and whirl through her mind, a thousand reasons why it’s her fault. Why she could have saved him, why she could have done more, why she failed him… 

Misty will never take Jackie’s last name and it’s V’s  fault. They’ll never have kids, they’ll never buy a home together, he’ll never get to take her to that stupid hotel bar with the annoying waiter. 

Senora Welles will be forced to bury her son and it’s V’s fault. She’ll never hold her son again. Never see him smile again. Never see him live out his dream. Never cook his favorite foods for him and nag him not to talk with his mouth full. 

Jackie had a future, a family, people who loved him. He was going to marry Misty one day, have kids. Get enough eddies to provide for them and his mom. And now there’s a hole in all of their lives. The world as a whole now worse off without him, her own world destroyed. It should have been her, she knows that, the world would be better off losing her than losing him. 

Yet here she is and she’s just supposed to keep moving, supposed to keep breathing, supposed to live a life post Jackie. 

When she looks up, she sees her own reflection staring back at her. Red rimmed eyes, swollen  from crying and blood splattered across her skin, stuck in the ends of her hair. And she doesn’t know where it’s from, if it’s her own, if it’s Jackie’s, or if it’s from the people she killed tonight. T-Bug and Jackie gone, yet she’s here. 

A brilliant talented netrunner is gone. But she’s still here. 

The kindest man to walk in Night City is gone. But she’s still here. 

She glares at herself, because she has no right to be here and the world has no right to be this cruel. Her fingers clenches, pulling at her damaged nerve endings and she slams her fist into the mirror. Glass shatters and crackles, shards splintering into her knuckles. 

V washes the blood from her hands and face, cleaner but still a zombie as she turns to the door. Jackie wanted this for her, one of the only people who ever wanted anything good for her. If only for him, she owes it to him to finish this job. She stumbles to the bathroom door and opens it, stepping out.

Knuckles collide with her head, wracking more pain through an already injured merc, she’s sent sprawling to the ground. She curses and twists around on the floor, not sure she has the energy to stand back up, vision blurring as Dex’s bodyguard stomps on her. Heavy foot colliding with her head. She curses and sputters choking on blood.  She twists onto her back, blinking through the pain as Dex’s bodyguard hands him a pistol. The fixer walks closer, standing over her.

“Can't risk it, V,” he says casually, leveling his gun with her head,” ‘Member our first convo?”

“I’ll fucking kill you!” She screams, spitting blood as she stares down the barrel. 

“Seems I've chosen the quiet life, after all. No blaze o' glory for me.” 

The shot rings out, loud and clear, the world going dark as a bullet rips through the young merc’s head. Blood splatters across the dirty carpet, her body going limp, a final breath gurgling forth as she chokes on her own blood, iron taste clinging in the back of her throat. 

Then she’s gone. 

[skye-maxwell]

High School Jealousy

Persona 4 | Souyo | Rated G probably | AO3 Link

---

Ever since Souji met him in high school, Yosuke had always been very clear that he was interested in being in some sort of romantic relationship, seemingly with anyone who was cute enough and willing. 

Souji wasn’t sure why he had expected that to change after Yosuke came out in college.

When Yosuke called that day at lunchtime (a daily ritual so they could keep in touch even though they were at separate schools) with an unexpected declaration, Souji nearly knocked his bento box off the table.

“I met someone!”

Souji supposed it was his own fault, since he had never taken the plunge and pursued the relationship he wanted with Yosuke, even though he thought about it every single day since Yosuke told him he was bisexual a year prior and a lot of other days even before that. The timing and the circumstances just weren’t right though, plus there was the small issue of Souji never having officially come out himself. 

Still, whoever this “someone” was that Yosuke “met,” Souji hated him. Yosuke was his, damn it. They were gonna figure things out eventually! They just needed some more time! 

“What’s he like?” Souji asked tightly, not relaying all the racing thoughts in his head but figuring he should at least know what he was up against. 

“Oh, it’s a girl. But anyways, I was just walking through campus, and I just felt this energy nearby, and suddenly I looked over, and this super cute girl was looking back at me! And then we both just walked toward each other, like we were drawn to each other, like something out of a movie. Isn’t that crazy? So we get to talking…” 

“Yosuke,” Souji interrupted. He didn’t want to hear this.

He had assumed his romantic rival would be a guy for some reason, but Yosuke was bisexual. Just hearing it was a girl transported Souji right back to those jealous high school days when Yosuke would flirt with Chie, Yukiko, Rise… heck, he had even been jealous of Kanami and Labrys, two of the most innocent beings in existence, one of whom was a literal robot. Stupid attractive, sunny Yosuke for having stupid chemistry with them…

“Hold on, you didn’t even let me get to the most important part! So we get to talking, and we find out we’re both—”

“No,” Souji stated firmly, not able to express himself more clearly in the moment.

“Huh? What do you mean ‘no’? Are you okay, Partner?”

Souji couldn’t bear to hear this, that Yosuke and this cute girl talked and found out they were both single, and he especially didn’t want to hear that they had made plans to go out, or that they already had gone out, or that they were boyfriend and girlfriend now…

“Souji?”

For once in his life, Souji didn’t care if it was rude or selfish or inappropriately possessive—he could not let this random girl have his Yosuke. 

“You still there, man?”

“Yeah,” Souji finally replied.

“Well stop spacing out, because I’m trying to tell you I met another Persona user!” 

“A… Persona user?” Souji said thickly as his brain backtracked through their conversation and all the conclusions he had jumped to.

“Yeah, dude! I don’t know how, but somehow we were able to sense each other’s presence even at a distance and even though we’d never met! Apparently her Persona is a wind-user too, and her arcana is the same as Rise’s, which is crazy because she totally gives off huge Rise vibes, y’know?”

Souji halfway tuned out as Yosuke continued to ramble about this girl and how she had been on a team that fought shadows in high school too…

Souji had wrongly assumed that Yosuke was interested in this girl and that their fateful meeting had been a romantic one, but in reality, Yosuke had just met another Persona user, which of course he would be excited to share with Souji.

Souji had only begun to berate himself when Yosuke dropped another bomb: “We made plans together this weekend!”

“What kind of plans?” Souji quickly asked, his thoughts doing yet another one-eighty. 

Just because Yosuke’s big reveal about the girl was that she was a Persona user didn’t mean he wasn’t interested in dating her! In fact, that would be even more reason to date her, because she could understand the things Yosuke had been through. Plus, he had called her ‘super cute,’ which was not good news for Souji.

“Two of her friends from her team are coming up to visit her this weekend, and we’re all gonna hang out! Her one friend, Fuuka, was their navigator just like Rise and is apparently some kind of tech wiz, and the guy, Junpei, he’s a Magician just like me!”

Souji grimaced. His potential romantic rivals were now two girls and a guy? And was that an extra spark of jealousy he felt just because Yosuke had merely mentioned Rise three times already in this conversation? This truly would not do.

“I’m coming. This weekend. I’m meeting them with you.”

“Oh, for real? I mean, yeah, that would be amazing! Yukari actually really wants to meet you! I of course told her all about you and how you’re my Partner and how you led the Investigation Team, and she said you remind her a lot of her old leader! He passed away unfortunately… but he had the wild card power too!”

“Yosuke, I’m gay.”

“Wh-what?! Are you serious? Is now really the time to—”

“Yes. Now is the time.”

“Okay? I mean, you know I support you, man. I know what it’s like, and I’m here for you—you know that. This just… this feels really sudden!”

“We’ll talk about it more this weekend," Souji decided, realizing at this point he didn’t have much more time to lose if he was going to make Yosuke his. 

“Yeah, of course, we can talk after we meet the other Persona users—”

“Before. I… want to talk to you before we meet them.”

“Okay, sure thing, Partner. Hey, thanks… for telling me.”

“I should have told you sooner.”

“It’s okay, man. Everyone’s process is different, y’know? And it’s not easy, that’s for damn sure, and it’s scary as hell.”

“There’s some other things I should have told you sooner. But I want to say them in person, so… wait for me a little bit longer, okay?”

Yosuke replied softly, “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll always keep waiting for you.”

Souji felt a warm little surge deep in his chest. Maybe he didn’t need to worry about these three new people in Yosuke’s life after all. 

“Partner? I’ve gotta go to class soon, but before I go, n-not that it really matters, like you totally don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, but just out of curiosity… How long have you known? That you were, y’know…?”

“Since the summer of second year.”

“That long, huh?” Yosuke asked with a shaky laugh. “You knew way before I did, then. But I still came out first… it’s kinda funny if you think about it.”

“I’m not surprised. You’re the brave one.”

Yosuke laughed again, more heartily this time. “Well, in any case, I’m glad you were able to build up the courage between now and then, and like I said, I’m right here. For you. Uh, I’m here for you.”

“I’ll see if I can get a train in on Friday afternoon.”

“Okay. Let me know. I, um, really miss you. Yeah. I can’t wait to see you, Partner.”

Souji smiled, feeling like a big dummy for ever doubting his Partner or what they had together. 

“Same here.”

---

“Hey, Takeba-senpai!” Yosuke called as he approached her, waving wildly with his free hand and pulling Souji alongside him. “And you must be Yamagishi-senpai and Iori-senpai! I’m Hanamura Yosuke, and this is my boyfriend, Seta Souji.”

[invisibleicewands]

Michael Sheen’s Martin Whitly unleashes a killer performance in Tuesday night’s episode of “Prodigal Son.”

In “Take Your Father to Work Day,” there’s a murder in Martin’s asylum — which means that his son, former FBI profiler Malcolm (Tom Payne), must come investigate — much to Martin’s delight.

Tensions soon arise as they’re forced to confront their complex mixture of  love for each other versus their long-simmering resentment (Malcolm of serial killer Martin’s dark legacy; Martin of Malcolm’s turning him in years ago).

“I am drawn to characters that have something different going on underneath rather than what’s on the surface,” Sheen, 51 tells The Post. “I think that’s true of people generally — we’re always aware of the version of ourselves that we want people to see, and then there’s that version that we feel like we’re covering up.

“A lot of what’s interesting about playing a character is how much you show,”  he says. “Martin Whitly is one of those. We know that he’s a monster, and yet the version that we see of him is someone that’s likable and charming. Clearly that’s not all that’s going on. I do very much enjoy that.”

[...]

“Martin is someone who is obsessed with control. He has deep wells of fury about all kinds of things,” Sheen says. “Certainly some of it is directed towards his loss of control, and Malcolm is the person who served that up, since he’s the one who gave him up to the police. At the same time, he also has deep wells of maybe love — certainly need —  for a relationship with his son.

“Martin feels like he can keep the two things separate but I don’t think he can,” he says. “It’s just that we rarely see what’s going on underneath. We see this likable persona. Who he really is comes out now and again — and we see it in this episode.”

[...]

“From when I first started out as an actor, the things I was always drawn to are transformations and being able to play as many different types of people as possible,” he says. “For a long time, though, I realized that was not necessarily the best thing for my career, because people didn’t realize that it was me in lots of different things! But at a certain point you reach critical mass and then people start to enjoy that about you, that you play such different characters. So I’ve always enjoyed variety — being able to play as many different types of people, and being in as many different types of projects as well, whether it’s independent film or big-budget film or a long running TV series.”

Season 2 of “Prodigal Son” will also feature Catherine Zeta Jones — whose character, Dr. Vivian Capshaw, will go head to head with Martin. (She’s making her debut later this season.) Alan Cumming will also join the series for a few Season 2 episodes.

“We grew up in the same place in Wales, next door to each other essentially,” Sheen says of Zeta-Jones. “I was in the local youth theater while she was in the local dance company, so we know a lot of the same people.

“I’ve met her family back at home in Wales but I’d never met Catherine,” he says. “Our paths just haven’t crossed. So it’s wonderful to get to meet her. It’s so odd that we have these conversations about people that we both know from 40 years ago. It’s lovely to be able to do that.

“We’re having a wonderful time.”

[queerbutstillhere-writes]

An Important Coffee Date

I do believe @gothamcoast gave me this prompt on discord.

So maybe, just maybe, flying all the way to Coast City just for a coffee date wasn't particularly the best use of Wayne Enterprises resources. 

But it was a very important coffee date.

It was a coffee date with his new boyfriend Hal Jordan, who had just gotten home after a month-long mission in space.

New boyfriend was a loose term, and Bruce only kept it because they had only been dating a week before Hal had been called away. It wasn't that he was particularly attached to Hal already - yes he really liked the man, and was very attracted to him - but he was still very eager to see Hal again. 

So he flew to Coast City at 8am, in the company jet, on the excuse that he had a business meeting. Well that and he was rich enough to do whatever he wants. He got an inconspicuous rental car at the airport, and drove down to Hal's apartment. Hal's apartment definitely wasn't anything fancy, and the one time Bruce had been inside it, he had been fairly disgusted by how . . . Disorganized and messy everything was. But here he was.

He was able to just walk up the stairs to Hal's apartment, no gate or anything, and found the appropriate door, stopping, glancing around to make sure no one had noticed Bruce Wayne walking up to this fairly shoddy apartment. Then he knocked, leaning a shoulder into the door frame. It took a moment and then he heard-

"I'm coming!! Hold on!"

He waited and then heard the clicking of locks unlatching. The door swung open to reveal Hal Jordan, already grinning. His hair was still wet from a shower, he was wearing jeans, and a flannel that looked like he had just thrown it on as he was walking to the door. It wasn't even buttoned, open in the front and showing off his chest and stomach. Bruce's eyes were immediately drawn to the bruises wrapping around his ribs, and the mostly healed gash in his cheek. 

"Bruce!" 

"Hi, Hal."

Hal reached out and grabbed Bruce's sleeve, tugging him into the apartment.

"I almost finished getting ready, so come on in."

Hal pushed the door shut and then leaned in, quickly kissing Bruce before walking away.

"Are you okay? Your ribs look bad."

"Hmn? Oh, those?" Hal looked down at his stomach. "Yeah, it's okay. It's mostly just the residual bruising, besides the Corps has me on this med cream that makes that whole area kind of numb."

Bruce followed Hal through the messy living room into his bedroom. The apartment wasn't quite a studio apartment, but it was pretty close. His bedroom was even worse than the living room, but Bruce elected to not look at the floor.

"So how have you been?" Hal asked, moving to a closet. "How's the past month been?"

"It's been busy, Tim's back with me now, and he's doing really good with his training. There's been some business things that have happened, but nothing major. How was your mission?"

"It was fine," Hal said with a shrug and a glance at Bruce that indicated he couldn't talk about it.

Hal pulled on a gray t-shirt and then replaced his flannel over it, quickly pulling on and lacing up some combat boots before turning to Bruce.

"Do you accept this?"

"It'll work," Bruce answered with a laugh.

He was wearing rather casual clothes, just some slacks and a sweater, but everyone would recognize him anyway. Hal grinned and walked over to a dresser, grabbing his wallet and keys, and shoving a phone in his pocket as well.

"Shall we go?"

"Come on, flyboy."

Bruce led Hal back out, and down to his rental car.

"I can't believe you flew your company jet all the way to Coast City just for a coffee date. You know I could have come to you, right?"

Bruce grinned at him and started the car. Hal just shook his head and glanced around. They started driving and there was a pause of silence before Hal started talking, not about anything in particular, just rambling about space, vague details about things that happened on his mission, never enough that Bruce was able to get a clue as to what his mission had been.

Contrary to Bruce's original examination of Hal Jordan, he was very smart. He may put off the class clown appearance quite a lot, but Bruce had learned that was fully intentional. He did that so he could be the scapegoat, so he could get blamed for things, to protect other people. He was smart, he was a top ranking Air Force pilot - before he got discharged - he was still a brilliant pilot, he knows how to fix planes as well as fly them, and maybe his teamwork abilities still needed work, but they were so much better than before.

Yes, Hal Jordan was a very clever man, and he knew just how to talk circles around the main issue.

So Bruce didn't press.

"Where are you taking me, by the way?"

"This little coffee shop I found."

"You sure?"

"Harold."

Hal snorted and when Bruce looked over, he was grinning.

"Harold," he said, using a deep voice to mock Bruce. "Harold, behave. Harold, let's go get coffee. Harold, come sleep with me."

"Oh shut up," Bruce huffed out, sending him a glare.

Hal just laughed, and reached over, squeezing Bruce's shoulder, then letting his hand slide up to Bruce's hair, playing with the little ends at the base of his neck. Bruce felt himself smiling and glanced over to see Hal's own fond grin.

"You're pretty handsome, you know that?" Hal told him, tugging on his hair a little harder.

"I've been told a few times."

Hal chuckled and shook his head.

When they got to the coffee shop, Bruce had to park a few blocks away, just to get decent parking, so they got out and started walking. Hal walked beside him, hands in his pockets, looking around. 

"I love this end of town."

"So you know where we're going then?"

"I've got a pretty good idea."

Bruce just grinned and kept walking. Currently in society, most people wouldn't see him walking down the street with a man and assume they were a couple. Now the media would undoubtedly start digging up information on Hal and try to find out how they're "friends", but they wouldn't automatically assume they're dating. Especially not with Bruce's playboy persona. But part of the reason Bruce had chosen to come to Coast City is that no one would expect him to be there. In Gotham, everyone is beyond willing and excited to sell photos of Brucie Wayne to the newspapers and bloggers. But in Coast City? Not so much.

Hal jogged ahead and grabbed the door of the coffee shop, pulling it open for Bruce and then grinning at him. Bruce just rolled his eyes and hip bumped Hal as he passed. Hal followed him in, and up to where they could see the order board.

"What are you getting?"

"Just an Americano."

Bruce hummed and walked up, ordering Hal's Americano, and a caramel macchiato with a shot of espresso for him.

"Okay, I'll get those right out to you!" The barista said with a grin.

“A caramel macchiato?” Hal questioned, stepping up next to Bruce at the waiting counter.

“Yes?”

“Huh. I just always saw you as a black coffee type of guy.”

Bruce snorted and rolled his eyes. “Really, Jordan?”

“Really! Are you telling me you don’t like black coffee?”

“It’s certainly not my go to, that’s for sure.”

Hal chuckled and glanced around. “I’ll go get us a table, okay?”

“Okay.”

Bruce watched him walk away, then looked around the coffee shop, scanning to see if anyone had recognized him yet. None of the teens scattered around the coffee shop seemed to be terribly interested, so he decided he was safe for now. 

The barista dropped his drinks off, wished him a good day and then whisked off to help the next customer. Bruce just chuckled to himself and turned to find Hal.

“Do you wanna stay here to have our drinks?” Bruce asked, sliding into the booth across from Hal and passing him his americano.

“Why not? Nobody seems to be obsessing over us, it’s a nice place to sit and chat. Besides, then you can’t quiz me about you know what because we’re in public.”

Bruce scoffed, rolling his eyes and looking away, out the window.

“If I’m not allowed to ask about it, just tell me and I won’t.”

“You’re not allowed to ask.”

“Okay.”

Bruce glanced back at Hal, then took off the lid of his coffee cup and sipped at it.

“How’s your coffee?”

“It’s pretty good! Yours? You’re not gonna have a sugar crash on me?”

Bruce snorted. “No, I’m fine. I’m used to drinking this, Hal.”

“Oh, of course you are.”

They sat there and drank their coffee and chatted, grinning at each other the whole time. It was nice, it was sweet, and it was amazing to see Hal again. It was also definitely worth any tabloid rumors. After their coffee, they walked back to Bruce’s car.

“So did you really fly down here for like, an hour to have a coffee date with me, and then immediately turn around and leave again?”

“That depends if you’re kicking me out or not,” Bruce answered.

“Well, I think I’m still off,” Hal said with a shrug, grinning at him over the top of the car. “So feel free to come spend some time with me.”

“Only if you clean up your apartment, Jordan.”

“Fiiiiinneee.”

[hollyethecurious]

CS CD: Going Away Means Forgetting (3/?)

Summary: A Canon Divergence of S3 New York City Serenade. Both Neal and Hook travel back to the Land Without Magic in order to find Emma and return her to Storybrooke. After Neal botches the first attempt in confronting her, Hook hatches a plan to lead her back to Storybrooke unaware of the dreams she’s been having for the past year. Dreams of shadows, a dark hollow, and a deep desire to save Captain Hook.

A/N: Sorry I’ve neglected this one for so long! Thanks to @kmomof4​ for giving this a once over for me, and for creating the art to accompany it.

Rated: T+ for language / Available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Emma desperately clung to the facade she’d had in place since… well, forever, and scoffed at the man decked out in head to toe leather.

“So, what? Someone tells their secret and they sprout wings?”

“I don’t know the particulars, only what I’ve been told.”

“How do you know it’ll work?” her father questioned… her father. Prince Charming. Wasn’t that a trip and a half.

Hook turned and sighed, steeling himself for the literal moment of truth of before him. Emma wanted to tell him it was fine, that he didn’t need to say anything, they’d find another way, because in truth… she was afraid what his honesty might reveal.

Not the dark deeds and sins he’d committed as a pirate, Emma had heard tales from the denizens of Storybrooke, and could fill in the gaps for herself. He’d been a villain. Villains did bad things. So, none of his conquests would surprise her should they be the confession he chose to unburden himself with.

No. The issue was that somehow Emma knew those dark deeds wouldn’t be among his deepest darkest secrets. Pirates regaled their exploits as a way of building a reputation, so confessing something that ultimately fed into the villain, pirate, bad boy persona wouldn’t exactly be a secret he’d otherwise withhold. Emma knew this, because they were too alike in this way. Hook’s secret would be one similar to her own. One that exposed a deep vulnerability he wouldn’t want others to see, a revelation that would leave him bare and unguarded. Defenseless and at the mercy of those with whom he shared a shaky alliance, still unsure of the trust they were all having to place in one another.

When he spoke, Emma was relieved for a moment. The kiss? Really?

“It’s what the kiss exposed,” he replied softly. His voice, and the earnestness behind his words made the fine hairs on Emma’s arms stand on end and a fluttering to erupt in her chest. “My secret is… I never thought I’d be capable of letting go of my first love. My Milah. To believe that I could find someone else. That is… until I met you.”

All the air in the cave evaporated, the vacuum tightening in Emma’s chest until the ground beneath her feet shook violently. Rocky protrusions knitted themselves together into the makings of a bridge, leading into the dark void. Leading to something Emma did not want to seek out, but knew she had to. Leading to something that had cast a shadow over the vivid blue eyes staring at her, a shadow of resigned acceptance that something precious might be lost to him forever now that the path leading them to find that thing just on the other side of the chasm had been revealed.

Emma stepped forward to assure him that his admission hadn’t cost him anything, but her words were stopped by another admission, another secret told, another stretch of the craggy crossing ushering her closer to having to make her own confession. Sword drawn and boot planted, Emma turned back to glance at Hook, thankful she didn’t have to bare her soul to him just yet. Her confession was meant for another’s ears, and that secret, though difficult to admit, was one she was finally ready to voice.

Maybe once they’d found Henry and managed to get away from this island of nightmares, she’d be ready to reciprocate Hook’s bravery. Until then… those mysteries would stay concealed behind her walls.

Emma opened her eyes and sucked in a painful breath. Slowly, she sat up, running her hands through her tangled mess of bed head and exhaled with a shudder.

What the hell was that about?

Her alarm blared beside her, jolting her while pulling a curse from her lips. Slamming her hand down to silence it, she took another breath to try and calm her racing pulse.

First a dark hollow and now a cave? What was up with her subconscious lately?

Emma groaned, thinking back on her dream. While she was happy there were no more flying specters, eager to rip people’s shadows from their bodies, the fact that he remained a fixture was… troubling. It wasn’t enough that the man consumed her thoughts when she was awake, now she was definitely projecting him as Captain Hook into her dreams. He may have been dressed in head to toe black leather, with all the trimmings of a pirate, and referenced by her dreamself as Hook, but he’d definitely been Killian Jones.

Killian Jones, the man who’d sat across from her the night before when they shared their sad tales of heartbreak. Tales she’d also woven into her dream, given his fantasy counterpart had spoken of Milah. His first love. A love he never thought he’d ever be able to move past… until he met her.

No. That was dream him. The real him had…

Lied.

Emma had spotted it immediately. It was the only time he’d ever told her an outright lie since she’d met him. She hadn’t called him on it because of the personal nature of the question he’d reneged on, thinking if the tables were turned, she might not have been willing to answer truthfully either.

Did he lie because he hadn’t wanted to admit that he had met someone he was willing to risk loving again? Because that someone was… her?

Rolling her eyes, Emma groaned again and threw back her covers. Don’t be ridiculous, she chided herself. It was one thing to get lost in the world of fantasy while she dreamt and had no control over her subconscious. It was another to allow these things to permeate her real life. A life that did not include magic, or trips to Neverland, or pirates, or having Prince Charming for a father.

Emma froze with one leg in the jeans she’d been attempting to throw on. She’d never dreamt about her parents before. Not that the man and woman who’d stood at the fuzzy edges of her dream had really been her parents, there was no way she'd ever be able to remember them, given the fact she’d only been hours old when they’d abandoned her. Emma couldn’t remember a single time she’d ever had an actual dream about her parents. She’d fantasized, of course, used her imagination to conjure all sorts of scenarios of who they were and why they had to leave her that way, but never had she actually…

Shaking her head, she forced her other leg into her jeans and finished getting dressed. She’d wasted enough time that morning on things that weren’t real and didn’t matter. Henry, her life with him in New York, her job, this case; those were the things that mattered.

After spending a few minutes pulling herself together in the bathroom, Emma came out to the kitchen and booted up her computer. She’d started a search program the night before and was eager to see if it had found anything of use for her quest in locating Greg Mendell for Killian. After her dream, and the way he kept lingering in her thoughts both waking and sleeping, Emma was eager to have this case closed. Whether it was so Jones could move on from her life completely, or so she wouldn’t have to worry about mixing business with pleasure should she wish to turn drinks into dinner, she hadn’t really decided yet.

Yeah, that was a lie.

Truth was, she’d fallen asleep last night staring into her closet. Mindlessly considering which outfit she’d wear on their first date while hope stirred in her chest that the program would give her the break she needed so she could ask Killian out after he returned from concluding his business with Greg Mendell. Silently wondering if he was the one with whom she should take that risk he’d spoken of, she’d fallen asleep with a half formed determination that must have had a hand in the manifestations she’d dreamed of during the night.

Coffee in hand, Emma scrolled through the findings that had compiled over night. What she found had her yelling at Henry to get up and get dressed while she was already placing a call on her cell.

“Hey, Killian. Sorry to bother you so early, but, um… I need a favor.”

~/~

“So, as I mentioned on the phone, I got a lead on Greg, but have to spend some time in New Jersey chasing it down. Henry has plans to hang out with Avery later, but I need someone to look after him until Avery’s parents can come pick him up.”

“I already told you it isn’t a bother, Swan.” Killian reassured her while Henry trudged up the gangplank past them with a long, drawn out yawn accompanying his sleepy-eyed expression. “Although,” he said, stepping in a bit closer to her with his brows waggling in a teasing manner, “If you wanted to get close to me, all you had to do was ask. No need to use the boy as an excuse.”

He knew he should try harder to suppress these urges to flirt with her, but he’d missed how easily he seemed to be able to get under Emma’s skin. Fond memories of eyerolls, playful banter, and amused huffs had plagued him that long year and he couldn’t help but revel in them now.

“Why am I not surprised you’re making this about you.”

“Well, it is my case that has put you in this predicament, and when I get a call from a lady in distress, I’m on the spot.”

“I am not distressed. I just need a sitter.”

“I’m too old for a sitter,” Henry grumbled… again, startling them apart from where they’d swayed into each other’s personal space.

“Aye, well,” Killian said, scratching at the flare of awkwardness behind his ear. “There won’t be much in the way of sitting, lad. Lots to be done to keep the Roger ship shape, and I’ll need all hands at the ready. Go stow your things below and we can get started after a spot of breakfast.”

Hearing that he had a morning of all things pirate ship waiting for him put a little more pep in Henry’s step as he descended into the hatch.

“Speaking of,” Emma said, pulling a brown paper sack from her bag. “I brought bagels for you two to share.”

Unfamiliar with what exactly a bagel was, Killian peered into the sack and was pleasantly overwhelmed by the scent of bread. “Thank you, love. I’m sure the lad and I will enjoy these.” Tucking the bag beneath his arm, he confirmed, “Avery and his parents will be by for Henry this afternoon?”

“Yeah. I told them that they could get him at the marina when they’re ready. They’ll call his phone to let him know they’re on the way.”

“Shall I call you on the talking phone to check in after they’ve done so?”

Emma cocked her head and pulled a face, a laugh bubbling up from her chest. “Is that different from a regular phone?”

Heat crept up Killian’s neck. “Right. Of course.” There were still things about this realm Killian was trying to get used to: social customs, terminology, the marvels of technology. It was only a matter of time before he slipped up, he supposed. He just hoped Swan would overlook it as some sort of gaffe due to the early hour.

A smile still spread across her lips, she said “Yeah, you can call me afterward. Let me know how everything went. I might have an update for you about Greg’s whereabouts by then.”

“Sounds grand, love,” he replied with a blush still tinting his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

Emma called out a good-bye to Henry then turned to leave, offering Killian another smile and quick wave before she made her way off the ship. Killian released a tight breath and cursed himself under it. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on with the charade, so he sent up a quick prayer to whatever god this realm professed allegiance to that she would have a break in her case soon. One that would have them journeying back to Storybrooke sooner rather than later.

After watching Emma drive off, Killian was about to search for his charge when a figure making its way up the dock caught his attention. Frustration flared within his chest as he made his way to head Neal off, his teeth clenched tightly and making the muscle above his jaw flicker like mad.

“What the devil are you doing back here?”

“I’m done being side lined so you can cozy up to my family,” Neal replied on a whispering hiss. “Henry doesn’t remember who I really am, so as long as Emma doesn’t see me, I don’t see any reason why I can’t--”

“How about the fact Emma will no longer trust me if I allow a strange man to hang around her son without her leave?”

“Then text her and ask if she’s okay with your first mate being on board while you watch Henry.”

Killian blanched, and an incredulous brow cocked up his forehead. “My first mate?”

“I didn’t know you had a first mate.” Henry’s voice chimed from above them, snapping the men’s attention his way.

Neal’s face lit up with a wide smile. “You don’t really think Captain Ho--Jones could sail this thing on his own, now do you?” Brushing past Killian with a harder than necessary shove, Neal approached Henry with an outstretched hand. “You must be Henry.” The lad took Neal’s proffered hand and shook it enthusiastically. “I’m Killian’s first mate. You can call me Mr. Baelfire.”

~/~

Neal watched his son scamper after Hook, once again preferring the pirate’s company to his own. His fist clenched before he gathered up the crate he’d been charged by his captain to retrieve so Henry might spend time learning how to tie various knots on the lengths of rope within. Hook’s deep chuckle pulled Neal’s attention towards the helm once again and the look on Henry’s face made his heart stutter painfully in his chest. A look of unadulterated awe. A look he’d once given Neal, on this very ship, when they’d sailed from New York after Emma had found him, after the truth had been revealed and father and son had been reunited.

And he didn’t mean himself and Rumplestiltskin.

He should be the one Henry was following around with eager questions, the one whose every word Henry was hanging onto. He should be the one eliciting those toothy grins and putting that twinkle in his eyes. My eyes, Neal groused under his breath.

“Mr. Baelfire,” Hook called out as he approached with Henry in tow. “Would you be good enough to begin Henry’s knot tying lesson? I have a few things that need my attention below deck.” Placing his hand on Henry’s shoulder, which set Neal’s teeth on edge, Hook looked down at Henry whose head was already craning up towards his. “You don’t mind, do you lad?”

“Oh, um…” Henry stammered. “I guess not.”

Hook squeezed Henry’s shoulder and gave him an encouraging smile. “There’s a good lad,” he said before turning and heading below, leaving Neal alone with Henry for the first time since… When had he last been alone with his son?

“So,” Henry began, plopping down on one of the crates next to Neal. “What knot are we starting with?” Picking up one of the rope pieces, Henry began wrapping and looping the ends until he managed to create one of the more complicated knots Neal had planned to teach him before holding it up with a smug tilt to his mouth.

“How did you--”

“Sailing class,” the boy cheeked. A tint of pink crept over his cheeks and he quickly averted his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner, but when Killian offered to teach me I didn’t want to--”

“Hey,” Neal interrupted, suppressing the urge to wrap his arm around his son. “It’s okay, kid. I get it.”

The truth of those words crashed over Neal in that moment. He did get it. Completely understood the infatuation Henry seemed to have with the larger than life pirate captain, because he’d had it too, once upon a time. A time when he’d been adrift, literally, and Hook had plucked him from the despair of losing yet another family. It had been his toothy grins and wide-eyed expressions of hero worship following the pirate around from stem to stern, seeking his approval and affection as a child would from one he hoped could fill a void left vacant.

A void Henry believed had been left vacant since his mother had been abandoned in jail by the man he thought didn’t even know had fathered him.

“How long have you been crewing for Killian?” Henry asked, his attention back on the lengths of rope as he twisted the fibers to his bidding.

“Oh, Hook and I go way back,” Neal answered, unaware of the slip.

“Hook?”

Neal froze. Fuck!

“Oh! Do you call him that because of his hook attachment?”

Neal’s eyes widened. “You know about that?”

“Yeah, he showed it to us during the tour. Said it was easier to work on the ship with it, but doesn’t like to wear it in public because it can make people uneasy.”

Neal laughed at that. Worry over making people feel uneasy wasn’t exactly something he’d attribute to the infamous pirate captain.

“Wow!” Henry breathed, noticing the knot Neal had just finished tying; one of the more complicated knots that many sailors had trouble mastering. “Who taught you how to do that one?”

Twirling the intricate braid between his fingers, Neal was swept away in a moment of nostalgia. The memory of endless nights on deck at Hook’s side as he broke the instructions down step-by-step until Neal had conquered it. He’d never forget the look of pride in the pirate’s eyes the first time he’d managed to do it all on his own.

Once again, Neal didn’t think through his response before uttering, “Hook taught me how when I was a boy.”

“Wait…” Henry said, his head tilted in confusion. “Aren’t you two the same age?”

That cold wash of dread doused itself over Neal’s head once more. How the hell has Hook been able to keep this up for so long?

“Um… yeah, well. You see, um.” For Christ’s sake Neal, get it together. “We might be the same age, but Hook’s at sea all his life. By the time we met, he was already an expert in sailing.”

Henry scooted a little closer, the ropes and knots forgotten as his curiosity sparked. “How did you two meet?”

Knowing he’d have to tread carefully with his words from now on, Neal thought through his answer before replying.

“Hook found me during one of the lowest points in my life,” Neal began cautiously, desperate to connect with his son, but wary of revealing anything that might make Emma suspicious should Henry recount this conversation to her later. “I’d been abandoned by my father and had lost the only other family I’d grown close to. I think he thought I’d find some solace on the sea. Like he had after his father had walked out on him.”

“You and Killian… were abandoned by your fathers?” Henry asked in a quiet whisper that stabbed and twisted in Neal’s gut.

“Yeah, Buddy,” Neal replied. “Mine left me when I wasn’t much older than you. Killian was even younger.” Henry’s eyes lifted to meet Neal’s and the sorrow within had tears stinging at their corners before Neal could blink them away.

“I’ve never met my dad,” Henry confessed. Neal forced himself to bite back the rebuke on his tongue. “Mom says he doesn’t even know I exist and doesn’t deserve to know, but…”

“But what?” Neal’s voice was tight with the strain of holding it together, restraining the hope tightening in his chest.

“I’d still like the chance to meet him someday.”

Neal released a slow breath. “Maybe one day you will… when you’re older.”

Henry smiled, and a conspiratorial glint twinkled in his eye that gave Neal pause. “Maybe even sooner.”

Neal blanched, and was about to ask what Henry meant by that when the boy's cell phone rang. “Oh! I bet that’s Avery!”

Scampering off the crate, he answered the phone while rushing to the ship's side to see if he could locate Avery’s parent’s car in the marina parking lot. After tracking his son’s movements, Neal’s gaze snapped back to the silhouette lurking in the shadows of the corridor leading to the captain’s quarters. Shoulder propped against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, Hook held Neals’ gaze as a moment of understanding passed between them through the pirate’s soft expression.

There hadn’t been anything below deck that had needed Hook’s attention. He’d excused himself in order to give Neal some time with his son.

A wave of Henry’s arm as he signalled his friend caught both men’s attention, and prompted Hook to emerge from his vantage point.

“Avery’s here,” Henry announced, rushing past Hook on his way to collect his things. The grin that broke across Hook’s face as he watched Henry enter his cabin without leave was reminiscent of the way he used to smirk at another boy who would flout the ship’s rules. “Thanks, Killian!” Henry said before wrapping his arms around the pirate’s waist. Hook’s head snapped over to Neal with a startled, apologetic look in his eyes.

Neal knew the expression the pirate saw resting on his features probably shocked him as much as Henry’s impromptu show of affection, but his response only lasted a moment before his posture relaxed so he could reciprocate the hug.

“My pleasure, my boy.”

When Henry let go of Hook, he turned to Neal, who’d already made his way over to the pair.

“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Baelfire.”

Neal looked down at the hand Henry was politely extending and was surprised to find that petulant feeling he would have expected over not receiving an equitable gesture absent. Soon, he promised himself, shaking the boy’s hand with the hope that it wouldn’t be too much longer before Henry remembered the truth. Remembered exactly who Neal was.

“You too, kid.”

With that, Henry departed, sprinting down the dock towards his awaiting friend while shouting about all the cool things he’d gotten to do. Neal joined in on Hook’s chuckle and the two stood there for a long moment before the pirate’s voice cut into Neal’s thoughts.

“He is so like you.”

Neal glanced over at Hook then flicked his gaze back to the horizon where the pirate’s eyes were also focused.

“He reminds me of another boy I looked after… all those years ago.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

Hook sighed and slowly turned towards Neal, a pained expression sat heavily on his brows. “I’m not trying to take them from you, Bae.” Hook’s eyes swam with a pleading sincerity, a desperate appeal to be believed. “Henry is yours, and I would never attempt to come between the two of you.” Another sigh fell heavily from his lungs and his eyes slipped down towards his feet. “As for Emma, I--”

“She’ll make up her own mind when we get her and Henry back to Storybrooke.” Hook’s eyes snapped back up, his mouth slacken in surprise. “Speaking of, shouldn’t you be calling her on your talking phone?” Neal razzed. “Let her know Henry’s left with Avery?”

“Aye,” Hook replied, clearing his throat of the emotion Neal could feel clogging his own.

A concerned look pulled at his features after he dialed Emma’s number. “Voicemail,” he said before leaving her a message. He’d just secured the device back in his pocket when a notification chimed from it.

“Sounds like she sent you a text.”

Hook opened the text and the color drained from his face. “Bloody hell.”

“What?”

“It’s Emma. She’s had a break in the case. Wants me to meet her at the address she just sent.”

“That’s good isn’t it?”

“It would be,” Hook said, turning the phone to face Neal so he could read the text for himself. “If the address she sent wasn’t yours.”

Chapter Four

[vannahfanfics]

Melody of Souls

Category: Mild Romantic Fluff

Fandom: Soul Eater

Characters: Soul Eater Evans, Maka Albarn

Requested By: Anonymous

Additional Tags: Soulmate AU

“You know, they say that you and your soulmate are born with the same song in your hearts. It’s unique to every destined pair, and when you find that person singing or humming the song, you know that you’re meant to be.”

Maka raised an eyebrow as the pair of girls rummaging through the lockers to her left giggled excitedly between their whispers of fate and romance. One of them, a bright-eyed, brunette young lady, covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers as she chuckled mirthfully. “I’ve memorized every verse of my song. It’s quite a beautiful melody! I can only imagine my soulmate is as elegant and charming as the tune!” Her friend frowned jealously.

“Really? The only way I can describe mine is… a screaming guitar riff.” The other girl snickered hysterically and patted her begrudged friend on the shoulder. The girl then leaned in to whisper enticingly into her ear.

“Oh, but you know, that could mean that your soulmate is a tough bad boy! I know someone who fits that description…” At her teasing, the girl with the rock ‘n’ roll soulmate song squeaked and slapped her hands to her reddening face. Her friend laughed playfully at her expense amidst her pleas to stop jesting. Maka clucked her tongue distastefully and shut her locker with a little more than necessary force, making the metallic clang ring through the hallway. Clutching her schoolbooks to her chest, she strode away haughtily, leaving the gossiping girls to their wishful thinking and crushing on a “bad boy.”

“Someone who fits that description…” Who else could they be talking about except Soul?

Soul Eater Evans undoubtedly embodied the “bad boy” persona to the unknowing bystander. Perpetually scowling and slouching with his hands buried in the pockets of his baggy pants, thundering into the school parking lot on a rumbling motorcycle, and more often passed out drooling in class than actually paying attention- that was Soul. Maka had to smile wryly at the utterly ridiculous notion of him being a tough bad boy. Those little first-years might dream up such ludicrous fantasies, but Maka knew better, so much better.

He was rude and uncouth, sure, but Soul had a heart of the purest gold.

Maka had known Soul since middle school. They had been paired up for a class project. Maka had wanted to rip every one of those silver hairs out of his head for the first few meetings; he was lazy and undriven, which infuriated her to no end. She presumed early on that she would shoulder the entire burden of the project upon her shoulders. However, he had surprised her. Near the end of their working period, Soul had stumbled up to her front door after spending all night slaving over an essay that was so eloquent and sophisticated that Maka wanted to weep. Yes, he had surprised her, and now six years later, in their third year of high school, they were the best of friends.

She smirked at the silver-haired boy when she slid into her desk beside him.

“What’s that grin for? Did you kick Sideburns’ ass in an exam or something?” he drawled as he rubbed his eyes, drifting into the twilight of half-sleep, though the class hadn’t even begun. “Sideburns” referred to one Ox Ford, the current leader in class rankings, and Maka’s insufferable rival. Though she had smoked him in the midterms last week, much to the prideful boy’s chagrin, that was not what had her spirits so high.

“No. I overheard some first-year girls chattering about their crushes on a bad boy third-year,” she remarked nonchalantly as she flipped her notebook open. Soul snorted with laughter and laid his head on his arm, watching her write the date in the corner of the notepaper.

“‘Bad boy.’ What a crock. I have some standards.”

“Hehe, I know. They can’t help it, though. They’re just doe-eyed girls enamored with the idea of finding their soulmates in high school.”

“Oh, Maka,” Liz chimed from the seat catty-cornered to her, leaning over the enameled chair to smirk knowingly at the bookish girl. “Don’t pretend that you’re not infatuated with the soulmate stuff too. Just yesterday, I overheard you whining to Kim and Jackie that you would love to find your soulmate before you graduate.” Maka’s face turned beet red, and she didn’t even have to look at Soul to know he was wearing that stupid grin that made her want to slap him silly.

“Liz, huuuush!” Maka hissed and swatted at the air, as if she could reach her to bop her on the head. Groaning, she buried her burning red face into her hands.

Of course she would love to find her soulmate! Even she had her romantic tendencies! Late at night, when there was nothing more to study or learn, she would lie in her bed with a piano melody tinkling in her heart and would try to envision the person to whom it must belong. Maka knew the statistics (she had quite obsessed over them), so she recognized that the chances of discovering her soulmate in high school were extraordinarily slim. Yet, yet, she harbored just the tiniest shred of hope that somewhere in her school, her classroom, even, sat the pre-ordained love of her life.

“Bah,” Soul suddenly grunted, and she looked at him in shock. His lips were drawn into a babyish pout. “Who cares about all that soulmate bull? Why should I have to let some dumb song tell me who to love, anyway?” Sniffing haughtily, he buried his face into his forearm and pulled his hoodie up over his fluffy silver hair. A few of the girls berated him for his indecency and ignorance, but Maka didn’t. It was truthfully a sobering thought that a song in one’s soul made one of the most significant decisions of one’s life without any consent or choosing at all.

Maka placed a hand over her heart, recalling the sweet thrumming of piano keys that had existed within her subconscious for as long as she could recognize it as music. Soft and sweet, full of high notes, but in the background of those blissful keys hummed deeper tones of suppressed power and emotion.

Maybe… I don’t want to know who that song belongs to.

~~~~~~~~~~

After class, Soul did something he had never done before- he stormed right out of the room as soon as the bell rang, abandoning Maka to her own devices. He melted into the crowd like a wisp, while Maka struggled to breach the writhing wave of bodies and catch up.

“Soul? Soul!” He disappeared into the mass of students, and Maka ceased her struggles to follow after a few meaningless seconds. Liz clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and tossed her jacket over her shoulder.

“What’s his deal?” she huffed with a raised eyebrow. Maka pouted unsurely, but she had a hunch as to what had ruffled Soul so. He was so angry about all the talk of soulmates… He feels trapped, having to conform to a pre-ordained love. She smirked slightly. That was certainly like Soul, to rebel against such notions. Now that Maka considered it, having to search for a single person in such a vast sea of billions was frightening, and what if, what if, it was impossible to love them? “Yo. Earth to Maka,” Liz said while knocking on the side of her head. Maka frowned deeply and curled her hand over her chest.

“Liz… What if you fall in love with someone who isn’t your soulmate?” The blonde girl blinked puzzledly at her, then scratched her chin.

“I mean… Well… You’re just setting yourself up for heartbreak, I guess. What? Do you have a crush on someone, Maka?” the girl sneered teasingly, leaning in to whisper breathily into her ear. For once, Liz’s mocking failed to fluster Maka; she was much too lost in thought. Could Soul be in love with someone and afraid to find that it isn’t his soulmate? Who, though? There were several girls within their circle of friends, but Soul had never given any indication that he possessed a romantic interest for any of them. He was skilled at concealing his crush if he had one.

The hallways had emptied, as all the students had funneled into the cafeteria.

“I’m going after Soul!” Maka announced and began stalking in the direction he had vanished. She heard Liz shouting protests after her, but the pigtailed girl ignored them. Her mind was far too bent on the present conundrum: the riddle of soulmate songs and an apparent flaw in the fabric of fate.

The hallways echoed with her footsteps. The rhythmic strikes bounced off the painted brick walls and metal lockers, filling her already disordered mind with noise. Maka had always dreamed of finding her soulmate, but… It was frightening, the idea that your love was destined for a complete and utter stranger. What if they were repulsive? Maka would die if her soulmate were someone like Ox Ford- conceited, prideful, arrogant. How could she spend the rest of her life swallowing those flaws, all for the sake of some “destiny”? Maka swallowed thickly and paused in the hallway to stare down at her feet. It had only been a little thinking, but she understood why Soul hated the concept so much. The pressure was immense, the uncertainty astronomical.

The piano melody floated in her ears, bubbling up from the depths of her soul. Its tune tinkled like morning bells in the breeze, soft and sweet, with that booming undertone of raw, unbridled emotion. She never could place what kind of feeling it was. Lament? Frustration? Longing? It seemed to be all of them and none. She had always found comfort in that melody of her soul, a promise to a love to come. Now it seemed like thousands of chains shackling her to a future she may not want. Whimpering, she pawed her hands over her ears and attempted to drive the thrumming of the piano keys from her subconscious.

The melody dimmed, but not due to her internal efforts. Maka cracked an eye open when she realized the music was not in her head, but in the hallway. When she lowered her palms from her ears, the tune blazed back into its sweet fervor. Someone is… Playing my soulmate song. The epiphany rang hollowly in her chest. Just hours ago, she would have been ecstatic to know her soulmate was within these walls. Now, it filled her belly with the burdensome weight of dread. The music drifted out of the ajar door of the music club’s classroom, which was not three yards before her. In just a few steps, she could scamper over, and she would know who her heart was destined for. Or, she could turn around and run in the other direction, perhaps doomed never to know her predestined partner.

Her feet moved of their own accord, drawing her to the door. All she need do is look. She could make a decision then. Right? She was in the threshold before she made a concrete decision. With a small gulp, she peeked through the small gap and prayed, though she knew not for what.

His hands glided over the piano keys, striking them with practiced precision. Back straight, shoulders squared, he looked the epitome of a professional musician. His eyes were closed, and his head swayed to the wave of the music; he was completely immersed in the dream of love that his hands were weaving- sweet high notes, powerful low notes, all colliding together in a beautiful symphony.

Maka had never seen Soul so… liberated.

The door made no sound as she pushed it open, or perhaps its creaking was swallowed by the music swirling around the small classroom. She approached the piano from the side, watching with fascinated eyes as Soul played the instrument like an extension of himself, but he was still too absorbed in the effort to notice her. She had not even the wherewithal to recognize that this meant Soul was her soulmate. The music was just so enchanting, so mesmerizing, that she existed in a reality of only she and it.

Maka jumped when the song abruptly ended. Her eyes fluttered rapidly as she came down from the foggy high, and after a few seconds, she realized he had taken notice of her presence. He had lowered the key cover and was leaning on its black polished surface, regarding her miserably.

“I’ve known that song for as long as I can remember,” he exhaled and began drawing abstract patterns on the enameled exterior, smudging it with his fingerprints. “It’s been in my heart and soul for every day of my life… and I really didn’t care much. I figured it would become relevant when it needed to, but then… Then I met you, Maka.” With a small gasp, the girl straightened up, her cheeks brightening at the insinuations. He smiled self-loathingly. “Then my dumb ass went and fell in love with you knowing that the chances we actually belonged together were one in a trillion. Stupid, right?” He drew his hand over his face with an agonized scowl. “If we were soulmates, we’d’ve figured it out by now, right? Just… just get the painful part over with and tell me you don’t love me, or that you want to wait for your soulmate, and let me get on with my life, okay?”

“Soul.” He didn’t look at her, just kept his eyes hidden with his slightly shaking fingers. Maka closed the small distance between them to pry his fingers from his face, revealing watery red eyes. “Soul, I’m not going to tell you that.”

“Don’t pity me, Maka,” he snarled and went to shove her away. She caught him by the upper arm, squeezing the flesh there hard.

“I’m not! I’m not, because I… I know that song.” His eyes widened, and he stared at her incredulously. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she wrung the fabric of his school uniform coat nervously. “I’ve known it… for as long as I can remember, too. What you just played is my soulmate song.” He slowly lowered his arm with her hands still clinging to it. He swallowed thickly, looking down at the covered piano, then back at her.

“Maka… Do you love me?”

Her cheeks reddened, and she looked away.

“Well, you’re apparently my soulmate, so- Ah!” She yelped when he suddenly jumped up to grab her by her upper arms. His face loomed over hers, intense and adamant.

“I don’t care about that. That’s not the point. If you don’t love me, then it doesn’t change anything. Not for me. You be honest, and if you don’t love me, you turn around and walk out that door right now.” Maka’s bottom lip wobbled and her eyes flooded with tears, but not because she was scared or heartbroken. She was just so utterly relieved. The very fact that he cared more about her feelings than some pre-ordained will of the deities meant more to her than anything ever could. She sniffed and rubbed at her eyes, searching the depths of her soul for the truth- and she found it.

“Of course I do. Of course I love you. You’re my very best friend and so much more. I can’t imagine my life without you, Soul, whether we’re soulmates or not. I want to be with you forever.” His grip on her arms relaxed, and he brought a hand up to cup her cheek. His fingers pushed her hands away from her eyes, and then he swept his thumb over her cheeks to catch her falling tears. His hands were so soft and warm that she could not help but weakly smile.

“Well, that’s a relief. I didn’t want to imagine my life without you, either, Maka.” She chuckled softly. I’m glad. I’m so glad. His red eyes studied her face, like he was memorizing it though he had seen it nearly every day for the last six years. His fingertips lightly traveled her cheekbone, leaving a trail of tingling pink in their wake. “You’re the most amazing girl I’ve ever met,” he breathed. His gaze dropped to her slightly parted lips, and it didn’t take an Ox Ford to determine his next move. Maka’s eyes fluttered shut just as his face leaned in, and when his mouth met hers, she melted into him.

The only way Maka could describe the kiss later was… like she was coming home after a long time away. His lips melded into hers so perfectly, and the sensation was like fireworks exploding over the soft flesh as her nerves rejoiced. She missed him immediately when he pulled away, but in the next instant, the bell signaling the end of the lunch period blared shrilly overhead.

“Better get to class, Smarty-pants,” he smirked. Maka grinned slyly and tugged on his arm, pulling him out of the music room and into the hallway. He groaned and shoved a hand in his pocket, but obediently allowed her to tug him along. When they had rejoined the throng of students, she looped her arm with his and grinned broadly. “What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking about how disappointed those first-year girls will be to learn their ‘bad boy’ has been claimed by bookish little me.” Their laughter rang through the crowd, causing quite a few confused glances. Maka giggled and propped her head on his shoulder, jumping a little as it shook with his laughs. In the back of her mind, a piano melody played, blissful but humming with the undertones of a love powerful and pure.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork​

[long-bodyswap]

Yotta Life

(Im sorry I don’t have the credits, but if you know the author you can @)

It’s been an adjustment lately getting used to all this fame and attention since Adele’s new album came out.  The whole world knew it would be huge, but even the most optimistic among us couldn’t have imagined that it would have the best selling first week sales of any album in history!  With massive, iconic numbers like that, it was only natural that she would need more security while she goes on her whirlwind press promo, and I’m the best in the business- ermmm- I mean technically my host, Peter Van der Veen is the best in the business, but it’s not like anyone could tell the difference since the spell I used gave me access to all of his memories, training, and personality traits.  No one has suspected a thing, and I’ve been inside Peter since he was Lady Gaga’s bodyguard!Possessing the top bodyguard for the stars has been a dream come true because I’ve met and spent time with almost all of my idols.  Gaga is much more normal in private than people give her credit for, but my favorite client so far has been Adele, BY FAR.  Never have I ever met such a witty, sweet, funny as shit, monumentally talented, and down to earth person.  Rumor has it she used to be quite the drinker before she had her baby, but every now and then she’s whipped out a little reward for the road with her team, meaning I was naturally drawn into the fun.  IIt’s been simply remarkable getting to know Adele and honestly consider her a friend.  She’s so honest and personable that I catch myself shifting out of Peter’s stern persona, dropping sass and giggling to her jokes.  I remind myself often that it’s only acceptable around Adele, but anyone who had previously known Peter would be immensely suspicious.  Still, it’s been the single most meaningful (and lucrative) gig I’ve ever done. You can see that I try my hardest to remain stern and serious.  It’s so hard because even her commentary during casual conversation is adorable and hilarious enough to make a stone gargoyle let out a good chuckle.  Sometimes it honestly is too much and I can’t help but smile and join in the silliness.  It’s comforting at least to know that Peter’s smile looks so fucking sexy- almost as sexy as his stern smolder.  

The bulk of the promo circuit ended in December so now that it’s January 2016, I finally have some time to myself.  Adele thanked me profusely for my service and friendship and begged me to free up my schedule so I could join her when her tour starts in April.  I promised her I’d lock in the dates, but it’s going to be nice to have some time to have fun behind closed doors…At the very least it’ll be nice to show off this body.Fuck, what a great day.  I’m rocking this perfect bronze and I can finally show off this sculpted body.  I work ridiculously hard to keep it up to Peter’s standards, but it’s so worth it.  Peter’s body looks sexy as hell in a suit, but it was meant to be seen and envied by others.  And the Adele gig was so lucrative that I’m set to be enjoying the next four months shirtless and glistening at this Mexican resort.  I used this morning to do a power workout of sprints and chest interval training in a nearby canyon, and then I rewarded myself with a nice afternoon spent relaxing at the beach.Peter’s sore muscles always made me horny for some reason, which meant that I was on edge almost all day every day…I didn’t mind though.  It reminded me of how powerful and full of my vitality my host was.  What I did mind though was burning in this hot sun.   Noticing a cute boy eyeing me, I saw an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.  The adorable fucker looked about my real age, but way better looking, not that that mattered since I was inhabiting Mr. Europe 2005.  Being bisexual, I’ve been able to use Peter’s body to anonymously fuck around with hotties from all over the world, but I’ve gotta say I’ve developed a strong preference for boys, so let’s test the waters and see if this kid wants a taste of the premier bodyguard to the stars.“Hey, kid.” I said in a deep, yet friendly tone.  “You got a sec to help me out with something?”  I made sure to flash him a subtle smile, also pulling my shades down so he could see the twinkle in my beautiful eyes.   It only took me a second to realize I had him hook, line, and sinker.That big smile was one thing, but I had also completely stopped him in his tracks.  He was walking back over to me without a single hesitation. “What can I do for you?” The chap asked with a friendly tone that was masking what I, after maaaanyy similar encounters, knew was lust.“You see, I’m going to start burning soon, so could you help me with a fresh layer of sunblock?”He kept his jaw from dropping, but I knew he was shocked and ecstatic.   “You mean, on your back?” He asked, treading cautiously.“Actually, I was hoping you could help me with the whole thing,” I said, pointing out my sculpted chest and abs before biting my lip in a fake show of nervous anticipation.  

The boy paused to think for a second before smiling again and walking over.  “Sure, I’d love to help out,” he said in a  way that tried to make it sound like he was just doing a normal favor for a stranger.  

I grinned in relief before putting my shades back on and getting out my tube of sunblock.  I laid down, making sure to get comfortable before I took a second to adjust my junk since I was about a quarter hard from the sheer testosterone pumping through my veins.  

“Sorry about that,” I said before getting relaxed again.  “Had a brutal workout this morning.  Always gets the testosterone flowing, if you know what I mean.”“I could tell you had a good workout this morning.  You’ve got the pumped look.  Maybe you can share some workout tips- I’m trying to bulk up, but it’s been kinda hard.”“Son, you don’t need to add a single pound of mass.  The lean look is really sexy on you.”  I said that right as he popped the cap open, making him blush before he squeezed a healthy helping of that cream into his hands.  

“That’s easy for you to say,” he said before slathering that cream on my abs.  I shivered and gasped from the cold, tightening my core from the surprise, but he kept talking.  “Especially when you have a body like this.”As far as I could tell, he had no idea who I was, so it was safe to see if I could push his buttons a little.As he spread the cream over Peter’s ripped abs, I quietly moaned from the feeling of those smooth fingers rubbing that coconut scented goodness into my stolen skin.  The look on this boy’s face was one of inner conflict.  He didn’t know if he should go a little further, but he finally got my subtle hint and began rubbing me more purposefully until he was giving my abs a slow and deep massage.  

“You have…so much definition,” he marveled as he worked his strong fingers more and more expertly.   “mmmmmmm that feels so good, kid.  Guess you could tell that yesterday was ab day,”  By this point his constant touch had me more than half hard.  He definitely noticed my long and thick cock growing in my shorts, but he didn’t back away.  He started massaging me even more purposefully, sensually even.  Damn, this kid had some kink in him.  

“And I’d bet money you did a chest day today,” he said slowly and smoothly as he began working his magical hands up to my muscular slabs of pec perfection.  I moaned louder this time as he worked his hands up to my chest so he was grabbing a pec with each hand, squeezing firmly enough to loosen up those stiff muscles.  He squeezed harder, massaging my sore chest and making me groan in a mix of ecstasy and agony.  I was shocked though as he, without stopping his deep tissue chest massage, began to gently flick and rub my nipples with his thumbs.  I inhaled deeply, feeling my cock twitch and continue to engorge as this boy worked Peter’s incredibly sensitive nipples.  My breathing picked up, getting slightly faster before this kid made his big move.  I gasped loudly as he leaned down and began sucking on one of my nipples before reaching the other hand down to rub my cock through my shorts, making it pulsate and swell to full hardness.  

“Unnnngggg,” I groaned as I looked down at this cutie with thick, bushy eyebrows give in to his hunger for cock, specifically my cock.  I gasped again as he gripped my cock through the shorts, feeling the thickness of my girth and the obvious length before smiling, apparently satisfied with Peter’s thick 8.5 inches.   “If you wanted me, you should have just said so,” he whispered seductively into my ear.  

I knocked the big tube of sunscreen onto the sand before grabbing him and pulling him on top of my powerful chest, enjoying the weight of his body against my greased up chest.  I brought my mouth to his and he eagerly opened as I locked our lips and brought our tongues into a dance of lust.  Fuck, he tasted so minty.  My rock hard cock pulsated as I humped my crotch up against his, feeling his hard dick rub back against mine as I let us get lost in the lust.   FInally breaking the kiss, I told him, “I have a room,” barely having the breath to make the sentence.  He just smiled before we made a mad dash to pick up our shit and cover our raging hard ons as we ran back to the hotel.   I woke up the next morning alone int he bed except for a little note that had a phone number and the name Zac.  Man, last night was crazy.  I mean, I’ve done some kinky shit with Peter’s body, but I think I blew four of Peter’s loads into that boy last night.  Yeah, there was the load when I was fucking him doggy style.  Then another when I was fucking him missionary.  The third one was when he was riding me.  mmmmm, the last one was my favorite.  I pinned that kid against the wall with my strong arms and bounced him up and down off my powerful thrusts until I finally blew that last load so deep inside him.  On that one things got so intense.  Zac was hollering and almost hyperventilating my cock made him feel so good.  He didn’t even touch his dick that time since he was scratching at the wall the whole time, but his cock still blew a load all over the two of us.  That was about when I hit my limit.  I remember roaring so loud I thought the walls were vibrating before finally, dripping in sweat and muscles and veins bulging all over my body, I blew all of the remaining cum in Peter’s balls so deep into that boy.  When I calmed down, I carried the boy back to the bed and we both laid there making out and squirming from the afterglow of our orgasms before passing out from our multi-hour fuckfest.  

I smirked as I thought to myself how this would be my life for the next four months.  I got up and walked over to mirror, admiring my boxer-clad vessel, still just as high off of the beauty of this stolen body as I was two years ago when I first took Peter over.  

“You’re one sexy man,” I said to the reflection before winking.  God damn, seeing Peter’s body respond to my actions was still so satisfying.  I felt a fluttery sensation deep in my gut before blushing from the sight of the sexy body in front of me.  Mmmmmm yeah, Peter might be a strong and tough man, but I can always make him do whatever I want because he’s powerless with me inside.  

“Don’t ever forget that you’re too weak to resist me.  You couldn’t do a thing to stop my soul from slipping inside you and stealing you,” I taunted his reflection as I leaned his head down to his pit and huffed in his manly sweat and stench from yesterday’s workout and fuckfest.  

“You smell like a real man,” I said with appreciation before I stripped off the boxers and brought them up to my face which instantly scrunched up into one of ecstasy, huffing in the crotch area, almost coughing from the power of the manly muskiness.  It was so fucking masculine and sexy, and it always got me hard.“That turns you on doesn’t it, you kinky queer?” I asked his reflection before I brought my lips to the mirror and pretended to make out with Peter.  My heart sank though as the cold glass reminded me that I was on the other side.  Sure, I could take over some other stud for a night and use my powers to mind control Peter into having a wild night of passion, but it takes me a lot of time to build up the energy to switch, so I only like to switch sparingly.  I need at least three months to build up the necessary energy, so I don’t use the gift for casual flings.  No.  It’s a commitment, so the stolen life has to be perfect.  I stayed in Peter for the last two years because life has been so perfect, but it would be nice to finally feel and taste his body from the other side…Still, I’d need to find the perfect body and life in the next week or two in order to have enough time to get back inside Peter in time for Adele’s tour.  I guess I’ll just have to wait until after the tour…My frustration built, and I decided to take it out on Peter.  Even though I knew he was blacked out, I liked to pretend he was aware of everything when I got mad.  Grabbing his semi-hard cock, I pumped it until I got it back up to full hardness, watching myself make angry, yet sexy and turned on faces in the mirror as I pumped myself mercilessly.  

“Yeah!  You like that you queer slut?!  I’m gonna make you eat every drop of this cum!  unnnnngggggggg it’s gonna taste so fucking good, you fag!  Who’s the tough guy now, you freaky fag?  Can’t believe a tough guy like you is gonna eat your own load like some queer cum whore!”  God, this always made me feel so turned on and so much better.  I was getting close to orgasm when the phone rang.  I instantly clicked ignore, but it started ringing again.  I growled as I clicked ignore a second time, but the damn phone rang a third time.  Cursing, I let go of Peter’s cock and switched to his professional voice as I answered the phone.  

Even though I was initially annoyed, I was so glad I picked up the phone.  Smiling from ear to ear, I listened to a very special new client ask for my services over the next three and a half months.  Apparently he needed extra security for his wife, so tomorrow I would be on an early morning flight to Beverly Hills.  My vacation wasn’t over, it was just moving to another locale…and I’d finally have the chance to taste Peter’s lips and mouth from another perspective.Fuck, I was so excited I went back to pumping Peter’s cock.  I ate his load, this time to celebrate!  Now it’s time for me to get cleaned up, buy tickets, and pack!It was so lucky to get that call from Bastian Gillmeier, or Bastian Yotta as the media and instagram know him.   couldn’t help but enjoy one more early morning walk in Peter’s body, happily flaunting his muscles as I left shirtless and enjoyed the feeling of the breeze on his skin.  But then I checked his watched and realized how late I was.  

“Shit!  Better get back and shower.  Gotta get to the airport.  Damn, I won’t even have time to yank out one last load!”   I quickly cleaned up and called for a cab, and before I knew it I had checked in and boarded my plane en route to Beverly Hills.  Still, I was frustrated by this libido and the desire, no, the NEED to feel Peter’s cock be relieved one last time.  It was one of those rare flights where it was barely at half capacity, and somehow I was the only one in the first class section.  This airline was my favorite too because instead of thin curtains separating first class from economy, there were actual doors, affording me a much greater sense of privacy.  Still, I didn’t feel comfortable pumping a load out with that cute flight attendant around.  With me being the only client, he was checking on me practically every ten minutes, and I wanted to make this last.  I thought about going in the lavatory, but there was something so nasty and classless about that.  No.  I guess I’d need to test the sensibilities of this handsome flight attendant. Maybe he could even help me out.  

I looked behind me and predictably saw him waiting there with a puppy like grin, waiting to please me.   “Would you like another drink, sir?”I flashed him an enticing grin as I thought pensively.   “That does sound refreshing,” I remark as I subtly relax in my seat, getting more comfortable and spreading my legs just a little.   “Another barcardi and coke?”“I don’t know.  I’m craving something a little different.  I’m just so on edge.  I could really use something to help me unwind,” I say breathy as I rub my hands in between my thighs and groan lightly.   This boy gulps loudly, nervously adjusting his tie.  “W-w-well…We have mojitos.”“No…that’s not what I want…” I say with a husky tone as I look him directly in his eyes, licking my lips while I rub my host’s crotch, groaning slightly more loudly as I feel this meat starting to get hard and strain within the confines of its denim prison.  

“Sir!  This is inappropriate!  I’m going to need to ask you to-”“Shut up and touch it.  I know you want to.  Your cock can’t lie to me.   “SIR.  If you don’t stop I’m going to have to-HUH?!” he gasped as I grabbed a hold of his arm and yanked him close to me.He was speechless from the shock as I pulled him onto my lap, keeping him firmly locked in my grip thanks to Peter’s strong muscles as I went to work grinding my tented crotch against his backside and reaching my hand around to begin rubbing his engorging cock.   “MMMMmmmmmmpppphhhhhhhhhhmmmmmnnngggggggg” he groaned through Peter’s big hand that was muffling his shouts.  

He squealed as I grabbed a firm hold around his rod, stroking and pumping him through his soft uniform pants, breathing hot on his neck as I whispered into his ear.   “You’re getting so horny, boy.  I can feel you getting hard in my hand.  mmmmmm a tasty boy like you is just the refreshment I needed.”  I followed by licking up and down his neck, making him gasp as shivers coursed their way up and down his spine.   “You liked that didn’t you?” I asked with a chuckle before experimenting and easing up my grip on his mouth.  

He took several deep breaths before slowly turning his head to face me.  It could have gone either way at this point as I saw the panic and indecision in his eyes.  But then the look in his eyes focused in and I knew he has made his decision.  

He lunged as he joined his mouth with mine, moaning loudly into my mouth as he wrestled his tongue past my lips and hungrily tasted me.  I needed to remind him who the big man was in this steamy moment, so I forced Peter’s tongue into this boy’s mouth, reveling in the pleasurable moans echoing into my mouth as I ferociously tasted my mile high slut.   Pulling back, he now had a look of hunger in his eyes.  “I-I’ve never done this before at work…”“It’s just the two of us in here.  No need to worry about anything.”He looked into my eyes briefly before biting his lip nervously.“Can I…taste it?” He asked with such anticipation in his eyes.   I just smirked at him.  “You think I’d say no to a hot mouth like yours?  Get to work, boy.”I closed my eyes, smiling with satisfaction as this boy crawled down onto his knees, no longer able to suppress his desire as he unbuttoned my jeans and pulled down the zipper.  I lifted my butt up to help him as he pulled down my pants and drawers, letting this big fat cock spring out, slapping him lightly in the face as he gawked at my host’s unveiled meat.  

I shivered as he immediately went to work, grabbing me with one of his hands, pumping me softly as he wrapped his lips around the head, getting it nice and moist as he swirled his tongue around.  My fingers were trembling, and the sensation crashing through my cockhead, down to my groin and down my thighs was so powerful that I had to bite my lip and focus on gripping the armrests just to keep from shouting out.  This boy knew what he was doing, and he had just barely gotten started.  

I felt the veins on Peter’s muscles expand, letting an intense surge of blood-flow crash through every part of his body.  It was a euphoria like no other, and it only intensified as this mile high slut began bobbing his slick mouth up and down, up and down, picking up speed as he kept sucking that meat and swirling his tongue over all of Peter’s most sensitive spots.  I cringed and scrunched my face it felt so fucking good, but I didn’t want to make too much noise.  At this point though I think he was almost challenging me to give in and admit how good it felt.  He finally had his wish as he all of a sudden jolted his head down, swallowing every inch of my meat as he scooped both hands up my shirt and found my sensitive nipples.  

My eyes shot wide open as he began deepthroating me with ferocious speed, all while squeezing, twisting, and rubbing all over my massive pecs, and particularly, my tight and hard nipples.  My back arched violently as a loud groan finally escaped my lips.  I bit my lip though to shut myself up, scrunching my face up again and hyperventilating as this boy kept swallowing my entire length.  

I couldn’t have hoped for a better last orgasm in Peter’s body, but I still wanted it to be at least partially on my own terms.  Growling as I felt the testosterone levels in Peter’s body rising, I grabbed the boy’s head with both of my hand’s, getting no resistance from him as I began to pull him down onto my cock, harder and even faster than he was already going.  Mmmmmmm it felt so satisfying as I used Peter’s strong arms to pull that mouth and tight throat down onto his juicy meat.  Such a good throat fuck, but I couldn’t hold my hips back anymore, so it got even more intense.  I know I might have been going rough on the boy, but he wasn’t complaining as I started bucking my hips up, thrusting into his mouth and thrusting powerfully down his throat.  The boy kept squeezing my pecs and nipples, getting more intense as I added more and more power to my throat fuck.  My toes were curling in my shoes as I looked down at this hungry mile high slut, and seeing the desperation in his eyes finally sent me over the edge.  Groaning loudly, I slammed his mouth down onto one last powerful cock thrust after what had seemed like an eternity of building pressure in Peter’s massive balls.  With that thrust, my pent up load was finally free, releasing stream after stream directly down the hungry throat that was so expertly milking my cock.  I shivered as kept yanking his throat down onto each new ribbon of cum, milking out over a dozen shots before the stream finally slowed to mere droplets which we sucked straight out of me with that skilled mouth.  

Attention Passengers,  Please prepare for landing.  We will be arriving in approximately five minutes.  

“Damn, sorry boy.  I guess I don’t have time to return the favor.”He just smiled adoringly at me though.  “No, don’t be sorry.  That was-That was amazing!  I’ll be thinking about you and this later tonight.  This will be on my mind for the next month at the very least!”He gave me one more passionate kiss before he straightened his tie and uniform, giving me a sexy wink as he made the landing preparations, leaving me in my golden orgasmic bliss.  He was kind enough to point to my ankles though, reminding me my pants and boxers were still down, leaving my softening meat out for the world to see.  I quickly pulled my pants back up as we began the descent.  

I hopped in the cab at the airport, unable to contain my grin as I gave the driver the address of Bastian’s Beverly Hills mansion.  The cab driver wasn’t particularly talkative, so I sat in eager silence as I mentally prepared for my transfer and mini vacation from Peter’s body.  

The passing vistas and palm trees zoom by as I absentmindedly reach my hands underneath my shirt and begin rubbing and feeling Peter’s body.  I know I’ll be feeling this body from the other side, but I’ll miss the feeling of ownership and possession.  Something about feeling Peter Van der Veen’s abs and squeezing those massive pecs with his own strong hands was immensely satisfying.  Taking over strong men and making them my hosts…my vessels…will always be my drug of choice.  

“We’re here, Mister,” the taxi driver says, looking at me with an odd expression as I realize I’m still circling Peter’s hard nipples.  I swoop my hands out from under Peter’s shirt, unable to help but go a little red in the face as I awkwardly thank and pay the guy.  I pull out Peter’s wallet, so comfortable now seeing his ID and associating that image and identity as my own.  That’s when you know you’ve found a keeper, when you look at your host’s ID and instinctively think, “Damn, I look hella fine.” 

I tipped the guy well to mask the awkwardness and walked over to the front door, suitcases in tow.  There was a note on the front door telling me to come on in and meet my new employers in the back.  The note said to just keep on following the central corridor until I reached them.   Opening the door, I was blown away by the extravagance of this massive and modern mansion.  

“What a great place to vacation,” I said aloud to myself in shock as I plopped my bags on the marble floor, closed the door, and began the long walk down the central hallway.  I passed by massive living and entertaining rooms, all decked out with expensive art, impeccable decoration, and state of the art technology.  The kitchen and dining room was as large as most people’s whole apartments, and I think I walked passed a whole new set of entertainment and party/recreational rooms.  It was simply unbelievable, but I got pulled back to reality as I heard light moaning emanating from the last room at the end of the hall.  

The moaning was definitely deep, low, and masculine.  Judging by the videos I had watched during my research, I knew it was Bastian who was cooing and making those sweet sounds of pleasure.  I could hear him faintly egging on what I can only assume was his wife, Maria.  That accent was still distinctly German, and thought some people thought it was a little harsh, I shivered from its foreign and exotic appeal.  I had never taken over a foreigner before, so I wondered if I would have the joy of speaking with such a German flare.   I kept walking cautiously towards the moans, concerned that I was going to interrupt a particularly private and intimate moment.  Still, I advanced.  That’s one of the great things about Peter’s body.  I’m this massive tank of toned muscle, but he is so light on his feet.  I barely make a sound as I walk right up to the cracked door and slowly push it open as I walk inside.  

“Huh?” I asked aloud as I creaked the door open and saw Bastian, shirtless and laying down on a medical table as his wife performed a spa facial.  She was dressed and made up to the nth degree with her pink mini dress, pumps, and full make up while she massaged her husband’s face, working the active ingredients deep into his skin that would help maintain his youth.  He clearly found the experience very pleasurable as the sounds coming out of his mouth were almost orgasmic.  

“That must be you, Peter,” he said in his sweet German accent and without even opening his eyes.  

“We’re just finishing the last step,” Maria said with a smile as she spread the remaining moisture serum down his neck before clicking a button that brought the reclined medical table back up to a chair-like angle.  

Bastian finally opened his eyes as he smiled at me, happy to see that he had been able to afford my services.  My host was, after all, the most sought out bodyguard in Hollywood.  

“Maria, can you give us some time?  I need to show him the house and talk about the next three months.  Here’s some cash–go buy something pretty,” he said as he casually handed her a thick strap of hundred dollar bills.  She was almost giddy with joy as she collected the multi-thousand dollar wad of cash and left to go shop to her heart’s content at her favorite designer stores.   “Now, that frees up some time for just us guys,” he said with a cheeky grin as he got up off the table and put his shirt back on.  

This was going too perfectly.  I tried to suppress my own giddy grin as he began to show me around the house, when like he said, it was just us guys.

[classywritings]

Soulmates

Description: soulmates exist. None know how they came to be, all the world knows is that somewhere out there, certain people are destined to be together. These connections manifest in many different ways—it can be often hard to decipher who ones soulmate is. Because so, some people in the world have made it their sworn duty to help those who are seeking out their soulmate. You yourself are determined to do just that, despite only being in high school.

Words: +1,700

Note: this is for day 4 of @p5auweek, which I’ve chosen the Soulmate AU for this day.

You hum thoughtfully, eyeing the list of names written in your notebook. As you go through them, you cross out names or place an ‘x’ next to it, being mindful to get everything correct. It’s only when you reach the last name that you pause, biting your lip. It’s your name.

Sighing in resignation, you snap your small notebook shut and stuff it back within your bag. Finding your own soulmate has proven the most difficult of them all. Even helping Anne Takamaki—who has a birthmark on her left calf that resembles nothing and had been thought to only be just that, but you revealed that it’s actually a soulmate mark after searching vigorously for someone with a similar birthmark—has been easier to figure out than your own. You’ve checked everywhere on your body for a sign of a soulmate, but nothing has ever appeared. No tattoos, no birthmarks, no writing, same colored eyes, red string of fate missing; your body gives nothing away. This all combined is making you lose hope as the years pass.

Frankly, you’re beginning to wonder if you even have a soulmate to begin with. Usually there’s some sort of sign by now. Sure, you could have have an invisible bond that only activates when you see or touch them for the first time, but those are rarer than having no soulmate.

You stand, sighing once again. You really shouldn’t be dwelling on this while you have work to do. Exams are coming up soon, so it would be best to go home and study for those before it becomes too late in the evening. Mind made up, you begin to make the trek home.

The subway is your first destination, since it would be too far to walk home from Shibuya. Thankfully the station isn’t too far, so it’ll just take a bit by train to get home. You make your way towards there, avoiding people in your way but still making good time. It’s only when you take a single step down into the station that you pause.

A hand flies up to your head as a sharp pain stabs through your head. You close your eyes, crying out as it continues, reverberating through your mind and even making your ears ring. Soon enough, it passes as soon as it came on, yet leaves you with an echo of the sensation. Once it’s gone, you slowly open your eyes.

“What the hell was that?” Breathing heavily, you look around you. No one saw, because no is around anymore. “Wait, what? Where is everyone? There were tons of people around me just a moment ago, I swear.”

Confusion rising, you look down into the subway. Apprehension settles in your gut. Something isn’t right and the core of it lies within the subway, you just know it. “People just don’t disappear like that. Maybe I’ll find them underground?” You sigh, looking around you once again before you make up your mind and head down the stairs.

The sight that greets you is even more perplexing. Your surroundings have been warped, the subway colored red and black and holding an overall ominous feeling. You continue downwards in search for other people, stopping when you reach a platform. Across the way you can see other people finally, yet there’s no way they could hear you from such a distance. Something within you screams to not disturb them, too.

Swallowing thickly, you take a seat on the platform, your body thrumming with energy. “Why does everything outside look normal, but down here it’s like this? None of this makes sense.” You scratch the back of your head, looking around you once again. No one else is within your proximity, which makes the sound of trains screech in your ears. “I guess it would be best to stay here for now. It looks as if the trains don’t stop here, but maybe if I wait long enough one will...”

Elsewhere, Joker and Fox are making their way back toward the entrance of Mementos. It’s slow going without Mona, but they’re making good time. Discovering Yusuke’s unique ability has put them both in a good mood as they chat more about it. However, the closer they get to entrance, the more uneasy he becomes as his excitement begins to melt away.

“Trickster.” Joker freezes in place suddenly, Fox stepping ahead of him until he realizes his leader has stopped moving. He calls his code name, but Joker pays him no mind, he’s too focused on the voice that spoke within his mind. “Send Fox away. Another lies ahead that thou must meet on thine own.”

Tilting his head, but not questioning Arsène, he looks to Fox. “Go ahead of me. I have something to take care of,” he briskly says to him.

Fox looks at him quizzically, his dark eyes studying Joker. A few seconds later, he nods. “Very well. Be careful, Joker. I will contact you when my piece is finished.”

Joker nods, watching Fox leave. It’s only when the other male has disappeared that he proceeds, though he cautiously makes his way forward. Arsène seems calm, which is his usual demeanor, yet he can feel his Persona’s silent excitement, too. It’s different from the usual excitement he feels during battle, this is much more profound and holds a weight he’s partially unsure about.

Finally, he rounds a corner. His eyes are immediately are drawn to the difference within this area. You. As he stands there, staring in wide-eyed shock, your gaze meets his.

Now it’s your turn to feel shock. You had seen another strangely dressed male walk past you and up back towards the entrance, but he had not acknowledged you at all. Even when you had called out to catch his attention, he walked past without so much as a glance. This time, however, this one is actually staring right at you, clearly giving away that he sees you.

You drop down from the platform, smiling in relief. “Thank god! The other guy that passed me didn’t even notice me. Can you tell me what’s going on? Everything is really strange and it’s honestly freaking me out a bit. There was no one on the streets and the subway...” You trail off, eyeing him some more. He wears a strange getup like the other male, and a mask is on his face, too. For a flicker of a moment, you wonder if this one is one of those phantom thieves you've heard rumors about at Shujin. Maybe it’s not a good idea to ask for his help, after all.

His shoulders drop from their tense stance then, as his expression melts to a more neutral one. It’s your turn to stiffen as he starts walking towards you. Images of danger and death start flashing in your mind, making your breath halt in your chest. Despite the terror building, you find yourself rooted in place, unable to make your flight. A small part of you, the part that isn’t being overrun with terror, is curious about what’s going to happen next. Something big is about happen, it’s sure of it.

Once within a few feet of you, he stops suddenly, the tails of his coat swishing in the wind that bursts through this place at random intervals. You two stand there, staring at one another. You contemplate running some more, but still find that you can’t even so much as move your toes.

“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you,” the male gently states. His dark gray eyes roam over you, before he purses his lips. “Is it true, Arsène?”

You look around the two of you, seeing no one else in sight. Who is he talking to? You’re about to ask this, but pause as the male sighs, then raises a hand to his face, partially covering it. You gasp as blue flames erupt across the upper portion of his face, his mask disappearing. You have little time to question that before a burst of the same blue flames appear before you.

Gasping, you stumble back away from the flames. They don’t touch you or give off any heat, but they still startle you. Transfixed, you stare as tall figure appears before you. It looks mostly human, yet black wings sprout from its back and its face looks demonic. Seconds after it appears, an unearthly and deep voice comes from it.

“I would not lie to thee. They are thy soulmate.” The male is obscured, so you do not see them narrow their eyes. Instead, you see the being turn its attention to you, getting down on one knee and raising a clawed hand. “I sense your dubiety,” the voice, which is undeniably masculine addresses you gently. “May I show you the truth?”

You stare, unsure what to do. Your curiosity wins in the end, as you nod slowly and reach out your hand. When your hand connects, nothing initially happens. “What”—

Then, it feels as if you’ve been struck by lightning. Ever hair on your body rises to attention, even the hairs on your head raise minimally. Gasping, but not pulling away, you stare ahead with wide eyes, seeing yet not seeing. After all this time, this has been what you were waiting for—you’ve found your soulmate. It’s clear as day now.

Arsène chuckles and just as soon as he came, he’s gone. His form flickers away, the blue flames dissipating slowly before winking out of existence. Once gone, your eyes move to look at the male, his hand now having dropped back at his side. He purses his lips, then opens his mouth to speak.

He doesn’t get a syllable out.

You rush forward, slamming into him. Not caring whether or not he reciprocates, you hug him fiercely, holding back the tears that you can feel welling up. After so long, you’ve finally found him. You’ve never known such unbridled relief until now.

After a few seconds of hesitation, he raises his arms and hugs you back, burying his nose in your hair while being mindful of his mask. Joker smiles softly, reaching up to stroke your hair. “Thank you, Arsène,” he murmurs. He never would’ve found out you were his soulmate had it not been for him, after all