#It's the fact that you can pull this much information from 1 chapter (AND NOT EVEN THE WHOLE CHAPTER) and that's why i love this novel

[dragonsbluee]

So I've recently been re-reading TCF And chapter 196 is such an excellent example of how Cale interacts with the people around him, how he views himself and how they view him. This is also at the point in the novel where he hasn't really accepted that he is Cale now, not KRS, because he doesn't feel like he can.

So anyway, we start the chapter seeing the people of Rain City react to Cale's shield and they say something important!

"Won't he faint is he uses such a large shield? Why doesn't he just activate it when the northern bastards come?" "Can't you tell? He doesn't want to see us or the territory getting hurt at all."

At first, I thought this was just the regular drama of people reacting to Cale, but then Choi Han, the kids, and Ron tell him he's being ridiculous, and I realize the townsfolk are right.

The Wyvern Battle is only the 2nd or 3rd major battle Cale has been in so far but only as Cale. As KRS, he's done this before, and having read later chapters, we know Cale holds so much guilt over those battles and how he wanted to keep those he cared for away from it all but couldn't. After all, record only gives him information to guide them and make plans; he often couldn't physically protect them. How many times has he defended a shelter or teammates and wished he could have just covered them all with a shield instead of giving commands from the back? We know how guilty he feels over Choi Jung Soo and Lee Soo Hyuk's deaths.

He knows he doesn't have to keep it up, and he's the one who spreads a rumour that it's taking all of his energy, but he's already considering himself a "bad person" for taking military command and only giving orders. (except that's what it means to take military command?) There is absolutely another motive for keeping the shield around the city. Cale wants the opposing forces to view him as weakened, or he doesn't want people to think his power is as strong as it is. However, at the same time, he's absolutely protecting them because, just like the townsperson says, he doesn't want to see any of them get hurt by an attack he could have blocked.

Cale is doing what he can to undermine himself while claiming he's going to make everyone else the hero of this battle, but he won't drop the shield, which means no one can disregard or forget his involvement. It's not intentional! He's just literally made himself the first line of defense as a direct parallel to every time he was the last line as KRS. He wants to stay at the back, he does not plan to get involved unless he has to, but Cale won't let himself stay out of it. So the shield goes up and stays for multiple days.

Meanwhile, all Choi Han, Ron and the kids see is Cale surrounded by paperwork (because taking command of the entire Northeast is a lot of work), keeping a shield up that's known to make him cough up blood (they don't know about it getting stronger or the vitality of heart), and only sleeping 1 to 2 hours a night (thank you crybaby), so they assume it's a combination of work and concentration to keep the shield up. As usual, they're worried and frustrated at Cale's self-sacrificing tendencies.

We haven't even gotten to the actual battle yet, but this is such a great setup of how it's going to go and how the novel goes.

[bakuhatsufallinlove]

Hope you’re well. Do you know how much extra content volumes usually have compared to the number of weekly pages? Apparently we’re getting 60 extra pages. Is that a lot more than normal?

Hello! Thanks for the well wishes.

You've come to the right person, because I'm a weirdo who has done a ridiculous amount of research on Shueisha's tankōban releases and how they differ from WSJ serialization, so I have a good idea about how some of those pages are going to be used. I'm also gonna compare what we know about this final volume to those of other series.

Strap in for the spreadsheets and data party, pal!

First, here's a look at a selection of MHA volumes.

EDIT: These numbers come from Shueisha's official listings of the volumes and their table of contents, cross-verified with the MHA fanwiki's chapter page counts, some of my own physical copies, and online fan scans.

As you can see, roughly 20 pages is typical. 58 seems wild in comparison. I wanted to know what those 20 pages were usually used for.

So, I went through my copy of volume 37 and did a breakdown of its contents.

Now lemme explain some things:

Every tankōban will have between 4-6 pages for legal disclaimers ("this is a work of fiction", etc.), table of contents, and copyright information.

A "door" is a printing term for what one might call the volume title page or chapter title page (example in link). Not all chapters have "doors," most have their titles integrated into the first page, like so:

The vast majority of tankōban have page counts that are divisible by four. This is related to the physical mechanics of printing and binding books, so it is unusual to find ones outside this format. Volume 11 is an outlier in this regard with 210 pages; in fact, the English language release cut those two surplus pages.

Tankōban may have dust jackets. MHA tankōban with dust jackets often have a second, internal "sketch cover" and a final page promoting the next volume. These are not included in page counts, and are thus not included in my breakdown.

Manga is of course read right-to-left; this means if you hold a tankōban open, odd-numbered pages will be on the left side and even-numbered pages will be on the right.

In professional publishing, chapters are structured so their first page of actual story content is on the left. Page planning, which is taught to new artists and enforced by editors, involves the odd-numbered page ending on some sort of "pull." Basically, page 2 might be drawn to lead your eye across the book, but page 3 has to make you want to turn the page and find out what happens next.

Basically everything published in Weekly Shonen Jump has chapters with an odd-number of pages, so it'll have 15, 17, 19, or 21 pages, instead of 16, 18, 20, or 22. This allows the chapter to both begin and end on the lefthand side; even-numbered pages before and after the chapters separate the different series with promotional ads.

What we think of as bonus material is mostly what I personally call adjustment pages: in order for every chapter to still begin and end on the odd-numbered page in the tankōban, they must be separated by at least one page that fills the even-numbered gap.

Sketches, quotes, doors, all that extra stuff is really just there to make the structure of the tankōban a little more appealing to the reader. In my breakdown, "adjust" refers to an even-numbered page that is totally blank except for a MHA logo in the bottom corner.

So, 4-6 pages for legal stuff and at least 1 page separating each chapter (typically 8-12), plus a few pages of extra art like character pages or chapter doors, you can see why we end up with roughly 20 pages more than the total of the chapter pages combined.

With this information, let's imagine what Volume 42 might look like.

In this estimate, I just guessed it would have the same pattern of extras as Volume 37, since we know the final volume will have the results of the last WSJ popularity poll. This totals 146 pages, so basically, even accounting for the inter-chapter sketches, that's 38 pages of new, unknown content!

I've seen people guessing that the final volume will include the 2008 one-shot Horikoshi used as the basis for My Hero Academia, but I can basically guarantee you that won't happen, because when it was published in Akamaru Jump (which is now called Jump GIGA), it was 47 pages long. Yes, I went and found a Japanese blog post from January 2008 to verify this page count.

126 chapter pages + 4 legal pages + 8 adjustment pages between chapters + 4 pages for popularity poll + 47 one-shot pages = 189 pages, 5 pages too many. They would have to remove the adjustment pages to make it work, which totally fucks the flow of the manga.

Furthermore, the word used in the WSJ ad to describe the bonus material for the final volume (描き下ろし) specifically refers to drawings newly made for a special purpose. They simply would not use this to refer to a previously published manga being included.

For comparison, I researched the tankōban releases for a number of other WSJ series.

Dr. Stone and Mashle's final volumes were basically identical to their regular volumes in terms of extras and content. I also researched The Prince of Tennis and Naruto as older comparisons, but I couldn't find information exact enough to warrant inclusion, but what I saw more or less matched Dr. Stone and Mashle.

As you can see, Demon Slayer is the weird one here, and it's obvious why. The series ended during the first few months of the COVID-19 pandemic, and Gotouge mentioned having a family member they needed to care for; a lot of people felt these issues contributed to Gotouge not being able to end the series as they had originally intended.

Demon Slayer chapters were typically 19 pages, but the last two chapters were 26 pages and 24 pages, uncommonly even-numbered. If you look at the final chapters and the epilogue in the tankōban, just numbers-wise, the ending could have been four 19-page chapters. But for whatever reason, that wasn't how it went down during serialization.

It's worth noting that the pages added to the tankōban do not change the ending, they merely provided greater emotional closure.

Side note but if anyone's gonna try and bring up Attack on Titan, I'm just gonna point out that AOT was a monthly manga published by Kodansha, a different company entirely. I imagine they have their own approach to marketing tankōban or special releases. You also have to consider the tastes and intentions of the creator, and hot take but I have absolutely no fucking positive opinions on that dude or his work, so it was no surprise to me that anything he added just made the ending worse.

TL;DR: Yes, it's a lot more than regular volumes! Content-wise, we'll probably get beautiful new illustrations and some revised page art that add details which improve pacing or themes. We might get a few extra chapter pages where a single serialized page gets turned into a big double-page spread, like we saw for Katsuki's fight with AFO.

There could be a couple new panels that bring more closure to things that were hinted at in the final chapters, who knows.

The only thing I personally want is a true bkdk handhold.

I'd love a double-page spread of Izuku taking Katsuki's hand and beaming up at him. Just insert it right there at the end before we see them all scampering off to make the world a better place. That would do my heart good.

[misasimagines]

ok sorry I'm studying Ren in a lab again. random thoughts

- he has asymmetrical earrings, one stud on one ear and two in the other. curious decision. but I do adore it.

- I love how he looks like he's trying to pose in a "I'm not posing, this is natural" way in his "melancholic misfit" card and in his sr uniform card and his casual outfit r card because it just makes me think he does care a lot about how he looks and how he's perceived. I just think he's the kind of person who spends a decent amount of thought and time to put together and outfit that looks like he's NOT trying but also doesn't make him look slobby. He spends time making his hair the Right amount of "I didn't do anything to it" but he did. For sure. so I also think he smells nice and fights really hard against smelling like the diner or any of the animals in Jabberwock. he puts effort in. He just won't let it be obvious. But I Know.

- I think he's one of the taller (not tallest but not mid or shortest) ones canonically? and I'm personally a believer in him just being bigger than he wants to even acknowledge. Like he doesn't want to take up space or be the guy who someone looks at when they're like "I need a strong man to help me carry these chairs!" Bc he doesn't want to help, but everyone probably was like. 👀 You will help, right? You can carry it right? case in point, carrying Haru in the Jabberwock chapters and being like whatever I'm not that strong, it's just easy when you do it like this. Okay. But also how did you know that? Also no, no it's not that easy to just fireman carry someone AND a little octopus AND a little bunny monster. I know you're a ghoul but christ. And he complains that Haru makes him lug around heavy things around Jabberwock. I'm only stating facts here.

- okay now I've pulled out the demonology research below

(source)

(source)

I'm crazy and I researched the demon that his stigma is likely unscrambled out to be. Of course take this all with a grain of salt because although I screenshot these from book excepts available through Google scholar, well... It's demonology and hermeticism and occultism and I'm not here to debate their credibility.

Anyway. Not much that explains explicitly what Ren's stigma would be, but our tsundere lazy gamer bf being contracted to a demon who ENCOURAGES sloth? Yeah that tracks.

also (source)

HMM? She who walks in the sea (recall Astaroth is the evolution of a female goddess Astarte/Ishtar/etc) and our gamer bf hates the water? Hmm.

(source)

this just was funny to me. he's built but he looks kinda fucked up.

(source)

and again, the commonality here is that 1) Astaroth stinky and 2) has some kind of knowledge of the past, present, and future/can divine these things at will. So? Why is his stigma related to cleaning/making the mess disappear? Could it have to do something with this control over the past/present/future? Can he change when something is occurring/has occurred? I have no clue, especially when, when it comes to ghouls who have some kind of idea about the Timeline, signs point to Taiga being the one to have that knowledge. If you look up Balam in the same books, well...

There is considerable overlap. So.... I don't know what to come away from this with lmao

I hesitate to make any theories based on the evolution from a fertility goddess because it's a reach and I have little to no expectation that it will be a point in his lore in game, but the information is there for you to do with what you will.

There's not that much like juicy information I could find in my short search that wasn't pay-walled or of dubious authenticity (reddit, blog post from 2003, etc). I could probably spend the time and find more, but alas, I don't have that college access to databases anymore </3 Please let me know if you come to any theories from this though!!

[sugawhaaa]

YEOSANG X READER

Under your spell

{Brithday special Chapter 1/2}

‼️WARNINGS:: suggestive, talk of sexual abuse/assault

💄Pairing::Idol!Yeosang x stripper!fem!reader

👠Genre:: lap dance, flirting, stripping (duh) I think that's it but please notify me if I missed anything :)

💋A/N:: This chapter is one of two. The second chapter will be erm yk actually doing it but this chapter is the layout of the story and where u are etc etc so if you just want to read the smut you can go to chapter 2. Chapter 2 will be posted on Yeosangs birthday because this is a birthday special!!!

There was no doubt that Yeosang's friends were somewhat more sexually active, we'll put it. Yeosang isn't oblivious to sex and he isn't a virgin but when it comes to super kinky things he is still testing the waters. His friends on the other hand were already swallowed by the waters. They've been to many clubs including strip clubs, they've been to sex hotels, sex stores, etc. When Yeosang's birthday rolled around they decided to give him a big surprise, perhaps the biggest you can give a man.

They booked out a personal room in a strip club, picking a specific girl that perfectly matched Yeosang's type of woman. They picked Yeosang up at his house and drove him to the location of his "birthday party" where more of his friends were waiting. Eventually, everyone gathered outside the strip club and Yeosang's face burned red.

"This…this is where my party is at?" He asked in disbelief. San nodded with a smile before hugging him, squeezing him hard.

"You're officially the big 25!" He said as he squeezed the life out of his hyung. He let go of him and smiled.

"Y-Yeah," Yeosang couldn't shake the fact they were at a strip club. His heart was racing. His hyungs led him inside and took him to the front desk. Yeosang pulled at the collar of his shirt, trying to get some air. Seonghwa gave the receptionist the information for their reservation and some staff led them to the private room.

On the way there Yeosang couldn't help but notice the main area of the club. Big groups of guys gathered around a girl on a stage. She barely wore anything except massive heels and he felt the need to look away from the way her body moved.

Finally they were all led to the private room. Soft music played with drinks were placed in a bowl of ice on the side tables. Yeosang didn't know where to go first or what to expect. He just stared at the small stage in the center of the room with a long metal pole, a circular couch around the stage. He bit his lip and one of his hyungs put an arm around his shoulders.

"I know it's a lot at first," hongjoong smiled before taking a sip of his wine. "But trust me you'll love it," he nodded before patting Yeosangs back for reassurance.

"So how does this work exactly?" Yeosang looked up at Hongjoong who definitely had experience at these places.

"There's not much to it. We basically just sit around the woman and watch her dance," Hongjoong shrugs. "It's a little stiff at first but once we start getting into the vibe it's amazing," he smiles at the birthday boy. Yeosang chuckles nervously and runs his hand through his hair.

"Right…" he looks back at the stage.

"C'mon let's go sit, she'll be here soon," Hongjoong takes his hand and leads him to the couch. The two of them sit together and have just a few drinks when you finally make your entrance. You come through the main door and shut it behind yourself. Deep down you're a little nervous, you've never had so many people in a private room with you. Most of your colleagues say the more the merrier, it's more fun when there's multiple people all having a good time but now that you're seeing all these people you're questioning them.

Hongjoong turns back to look at you and he waves kindly. You smile and walk over to him, bending down to his level from behind the couch. Yeosang stiffly turns to look at you as well but as soon as you bend over he can see basically all of your breasts. He instantly flushes and looks back at your face.

"You're the one who was booking this room right?" You ask, trying to be louder than the music without yelling. Hongjoong nods.

"That's me," he smiles before putting a hand on Yeosang's shoulder. "This here is the birthday boy though," Hongjoong chuckles as he pats his shoulder. Your attention is drawn to him and he instantly freezes up. His heart caught in his throat enabling him to speak.

"Oh~ I'll keep that in mind," you smirk and Yeosang chuckles nervously. "What's your name cutie?" You smile as you rest your forearms on the head of the couch.

"Yeosang," he blushes as he looks you up and down again.

"Yeosang," you smile. "Well I hope you enjoy tonight~" you extend your hand out to him and his body shuts down, freezing in place. You stroke some stray hairs out of his face and tuck them behind his ear. The feeling of your fingers on the back of his ear is enough to make his blood rush. You then notice the birthmark under his eye. Your eyes linger on it for a moment. "Is that a scar?" You ask, genuinely curious. Yeosang is still stuck in your trance but once his hyung hits his shoulder he comes to, realizing you asked him a question.

"I-Its a birthmark," he nods with a shy smile. You rub your thumb over the red mark.

"It's so pretty," you smile before coming back down to earth. "Well I suppose you're not here for idle chit chat are ya?" You chuckle and stand up again. You walk over to the stage and instantly all the attention is drawn to you.

You begin your little performance, starting with a little warm up to loosen up your muscles. There were a lot of people at the party so naturally not everyone's eyes were on you which was kind of a nice feeling. But as your dance got more intense and more erotic people started sitting around the stage, cheering and even throwing a bit of cash. You kept an eye on Yeosang. knowing that this was his party, You wanted him to have a good time. He seemed to loosen up a bit throughout the show which was a good start. You decided to turn things up a notch and step away from the poke for a while. You went around to the edge of the stage and interacted with some of the guests. Nothing major but little seductive movements and gently touching them on their shoulders or cheek.

It got the guests quite excited and you could see how much fun they were having now. Finally you got around to Yeosang's side of the stage and you laid down on the stage, making eye contact with him. You swing your legs around and hop off the stage. You stand in front of him before leaning down, rubbing your hands up his thighs.

At first he was star struck from the attention but as you continued to feel him up he started getting into it. You then turned to sit on his lap, grinding your hips against him to the rhythm of the song. You could feel his erection straining against his pants press into your ass. Yeosang tossed his head back and finally put his hands on you. He hesitantly lifted one of his hands up to caress your waist. You turned your head to look at him, he looked purely under your spell as you gazed into each other's eyes. You caress his jawline, guiding his face closer to yours before standing back up again.

You went to the stage and continued your dance. As the end of the party drew near some of the guests began losing interest in your dancing which was honestly okay with you. You can't expect everyone to be constantly drawn to only you, but there was one person who couldn't keep his eyes off of you. Yeosang stayed on the couch the entire time, subtly moving the fabric of his pants to rub on his boner.

Then the lights changed color in the room. The entire time they'd been here the lights were purple and red and now they're green, meaning their time is up. Everyone started packing up and getting ready to leave. Yeosang bit his lip hard before standing up, turning his back to you. You stopped dancing and watch as his band mates come over to talk to him.

"How was that Yeosang!" Mingi wrapped an arm around Yeosang with a bottle of wine in his other hand.

"It was fun," Yeosang smiled softly at Mingi. Mingi's ears were bright red and he looked like he was about to pass out from the amount of alcohol he just drank in the past 2 hours.

"She was so hot," Jongho sighed as he gathered up some of the alcohol they brought. "You're one lucky guy Yeosang," he smiles. Jongho's eyes were also glowing red but he acted far more sober than Mingi. By far the most wasted though was San. His eyes were hazy, his face was pure red, and he kept swaying as he was standing next to Seonghwa and Wooyoung.

"Seriously San you need to be careful," Seonghwa said as he cleaned up his face with a napkin. You notice the state of San and walk over to the three men.

"Is he okay? Do you want a glass of water?" You ask as you place a hand on his shoulder. San let's out a groan as he nods his head. You go back to the stage quickly and retrieve a plastic water bottle from underneath it. You also grab a robe while you're at it. You hurry back over and open the water bottle for San. Wooyoung takes it before helping San take a drink out of it.

You throw your robe on while Seonghwa thanks you.

"Thank you so much," Seonghwa says with a bow.

"Don't worry about it," you chuckle and swish your hand as if to brush off the gratitude from him.

"I think I'm gonna hurl," San mutters out when Wooyoung takes the bottle from his mouth. Wooyoung panics and looks around for a bucket or something. You overhear his words and get a garbage bin from the corner of the room before handing it to him. You turn to look away from San as he vomits into the bin. Seonghwa and Wooyoung join San in the corner comforting him.

"So sorry about that," Hongjoong apologizes with a worried expression.

"Don't worry about it. This happens all the time," you explain as you try to tune out the sound of San puking in the background. Hongjoong keeps apologizing but you keep telling him it's alright. While your talking with Hongjoong Yeosang can't help but stare at you. He keeps looking you up and down, admiring every inch of your body as you talk. "Does he have a safe ride home?" You ask genuinely concerned for all of their health due to the amount of alcohol they all chugged in the past 2 hours.

"Yeah, were waiting for our manager to arrive," hongjoong chuckles embarrassed. "Apparently there's some traffic so we might be here a while," Hongjoong says with an apologetic expression.

"Don't worry about it. Make yourselves comfortable," you smile before heading back over to the couch. "This was my last shift so I'm packing up myself," you explain and the members follow you like ducklings. They're all eager to hang out with a hot stripper after hours. They sit on the couch and go on their phones and talk amongst themselves, except for one member. Yeosang. He's just stuck in a daze and you decide to go up to him. "Is everything alright Yeosang?" You ask warmly and sit next to him on the far side of the couch.

"Y-Yeah, I'm good," he blushes and avoids making eye contact.

"Did my dance earlier bother you? Ever since I did that I've noticed you've been acting differently. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable," you apologize sincerely with a bow. Yeosang instantly shakes his head and waves his hands around.

"No, no! It was amazing! It's just…" he pauses and looks down. You look at him eager to hear his response. You hold his shaking hand to comfort him.

"What's up?" You ask softly.

The two of you then get interrupted by Hongjoong.

"Alright guys, the vans parked out front,"

Yeosang looks upset as he turns to Hongjoong. You can both sense the chemistry in the air. Yeosang doesn't want to leave and you don't want him to leave either.

"I'll stay back," Yeosang blurts out without thinking. Hongjoong raises an eyebrow at him before seeing him sitting right next to you, your hands interlocked. Hongjoong nods with a wink before rounding up the members. You look into Yeosangs eyes as you hear the members all leave the room, the door slamming shut leaving the two of you alone.

"You were going to say something?" You look at him with alluring eyes. His lips part to speak but nothing comes out. He looks down at his knees. You rub his thigh gently to comfort him. His eyes follow your hands movements, looking at your long slender fingers filled with strength due to your dancing talent.

"I just wanted to say, tonight was an eye opening experience," he starts. His words are cautiously spoken as he takes deep breaths. "I've never been to a place like this. I was honestly a little afraid but," he looks up into your eyes with determination. "I've never felt so connected with a woman before. I-I just want to hang out with you," he admits with red cheeks. "I know it sounds crazy, but I…I feel like I'll regret it if I leave you," he holds your hand tightly. You tilt your head before lifting your hand from his leg, stroking back his hair.

"Honestly, I was going to say the same thing," you smile and he looks at you surprised. "Most men that come in here are rich middle aged men who think they're entitled to everything," you explain as you hold his hand. You can feel Yeosang relax as his breaths slow down. "When someone like you walked in I was so intrigued. You were shy, and respectful. You seemed to truly love me, not just my body," you smiled and his heart skipped about a thousand beats. His face flushes, the compliments circling in his head. "I just needed to learn more about you,"

Yeosangs eyes brighten as he looks at you. He wants to make a move. Pull you close, kiss you, touch you, feel you, anything. He didn't know what to do. He started to speak but he only stuttered over his words. He didn't know what to say.

He felt like he was under your spell.

[thewriterwhowritesnot]

To Have and To Hold

Warnings: Yandere!Aliucard, SMUT, creampie (wrap it before you tap it my dudes this is FICTION! Kids cost money), slight degradation, a little bit of fluff. A/N: Yall, please don't judge me. I had a hell of a rough time writing this out because I had to take a break every three minutes to BREATHE lol. I hope the smut is okay. I'm not ready to be that explicit just yet. I hope y'all like this. This is another 2k words and is not proofread. If you want to be in the taglist just lmk! Summary: You travel to Dracula's Castle to help the owner get the place registered as a historical landmark and enter into an overwhelming relationship with Alucard.

Masterlist Chap 1.

Chapter Two

 The next morning you awake to an old chest half your size in the middle of your room. On top of it, there’s a note.         “ I was informed this morning that your bag was lost in transit and they’re unable to locate it. I took the liberty of getting you some clothes to wear while you’re here. I hope they fit you and if they don’t we can make adjustments. 

A. “

A bit bummed at the loss of your clothes, you open the chest and immediately forget about what small things you packed in your bag. The first piece of clothing was a soft pink sundress with white flowers on it. The Queen Anne neckline was lined with white lace and you loved it instantly. Setting it aside to wear it for the day. There were multiple sets of silk pajamas. Pretty nightgowns and fluffy slippers and beautiful shoes (that were all your size). You giggled like a child in the long mirror against the wall, swaying this way and that. 

Granted, in your job description you wore clothes that kept your skin safe from poisonous spiders, cobwebs, and splinters. But the knowledge that Adrian had picked these out to lend you made butterflies spring to life in your belly and you couldn’t resist thinking of what he’d think of you in them. 

Deciding to bathe before you start your day, you enter the bathroom and examine the large tub and new shower head. The place was spotless and smelled of lemon. You turned on the faucet and allowed the hot water of the shower to steam up the room before getting in. Being too tired to shower the night before you basked in the warmth of the hot water washing the days of travel off your skin. 

However, your peace was short-lived because a rush of cold air cut across your skin beckoning a wave of gooseflesh. There were no vents or holes near the shower so you shut the water off and peered out of the shower curtain. The bathroom door was open and you struggled to remember if you’d closed it or not. Surely, you would’ve closed it to keep the heat in, right? 

         Stepping out of the shower you wrap yourself in a towel and enter the room to find nothing amiss. 

Strange. 

You searched the chest for the round container of lotion you’d spotted when you were rummaging through it earlier. After getting dressed, you leave your room, notepad in hand, and find your way to the kitchen. 

Marguerite is there and quickly introduces herself and offers you a full breakfast. Shamefully, you find yourself very pleased with the fact that she’s an older woman. Much too old to be romantically involved with your host. Her grey hair is pulled back into one bun, pulled away from her round face which is free of wrinkles. Her eyes are almost catlike which would appear almost frightening if not for their warm disposition and the childish curve of her features. She looks incredibly young and old at the same time. You watch as she pours you both a cup of tea and puts exactly four sugars into your tea. 

“How is your room?” Her voice is warm much like her eyes. Hoping she hadn’t noticed your staring, you mix your oatmeal in an innocuous figure eight. “It’s lovely. Everything is perfect and the bed is quite comfortable.” 

Marguerite hums with approval. “Wonderful. I put everything to right myself. The little prince would have nothing less.” Baffled, you turn to face her. 

“Little prince?” 

Marguerite’s warm eyes all but twinkle in the morning light. She sips her tea once before getting to her feet. “I’ve got some small tasks to finish before the morning ends. Once you’re done eating, you may leave your dishes in the sink. I’ll tend to them.” She doesn’t wait for your answer before she leaves, cup in hand.

Curious but too excited to think about it for too long you hastily finish your breakfast. Now, you have a system. Always begin at the first room you entered when you’re exploring a new place. It’s crucial to start in a familiar place so that each new discovery is easier to document and keep track of. Following this system leads you to head to the foyer. The room looked much the same as it had when you’d first arrived except for the streams of light that were pouring in from all directions. You’d missed the windows behind the humongous curtains that covered them the night before. Some of the windows were stained glass and you took a moment to examine them.

Each picture showed a man with dark hair in battle, covered in the blood of his enemies, and returning to the gothic castle you now stood in. 

“A bit grotesque, is it not?”         You jump and whirl around to find Adrian standing behind you much as he had the first time you met. “Have mercy! You’ve got to stop doing that!” His eyebrows draw together as he laughs lightly. Today his hair is in a messy braid down his back. The button-down white shirt he wears is tucked into the sleek black pants that sway over his sandy brown boots. “My apologies, my dear. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” His eyes travel from your face down your body and back up again causing those butterflies to flutter up to your heart. Fingers knotted in the dress you wore, your eyes scanned the room nervously. “Thank you for the clothes and the other things. They’re beautiful.” 

“I’m glad you like them. Does everything fit well?”         “Scarily well,” you joke. “I would’ve thought these clothes had been made for me with how perfectly they fit.” His jaw tensed slightly. Confused once again, you opt to examine the stained glass. You hear him inhale slowly.

“I’m told there’s a book in the library that describes the stories in these windows. Would you like to help me search for it?” 

The doors of the library are large. Just as large as the front doors. He pushes them open with ease and leads you into a room full of one of the largest collections of books you’ve ever seen. There are books on every surface. Lining the walls and stacked spaces all over the tables and desks. It was overwhelmingly massive and you took it all in wonder.         “The place is a mess and I haven’t hired anyone to help me organize it all just yet. It’s such a large collection.” 

“Can I help?” The words come out louder than you expect and you can’t see the smile on his lips as he pulls open the heavy curtains of the room. “If it’s not too much for you. I know you’ve only come here to stay a week. Are you sure you’ve got enough time for this?” 

Already eyeing a ruby-red book covered in dust, you nod vigorously. “I’ve got plenty of time. I’m the youngest historian of my group and I’m pretty sure my boss let me go on this trip because he figured it would keep me busy and out of the way of their more important jobs. Jokes on them though, this place is immaculate! I could write a million books about the architecture alone.” You glance over to see him leaning against a table watching you intently. “That is..if you would consent to that.” 

He sits motionless for a moment before shrugging. “I don’t see why not.” Grinning, you begin sorting through the books nearest to you. Several of them are in languages you’ve never seen and you examine them thoroughly. Organizing this library would not be easy but you were reluctant to think about giving yourself a time limit anyway. Judging by the size of this room alone, there was no way you’d be able to sort through it in a month let alone a week. The next three days, you focused on your task while pondering the idea of staying a little longer. 

During this time, you and Adrian had entered a rhythm. You’d wake up in the morning, he’d meet you in the kitchen and you walk together to the library. You’d spent hours in there reading over ancient stories of witches and vampires. All of them fill you with delight. 

You had become accustomed to Adrian being near you throughout this time. Relishing every moment, his skin brushed yours or he leaned over you to read whatever book you wanted to show him. It was on a late night almost identical to the others that Adrian had left without a word and reappeared with a tray with two cups and hot chocolate. 

“You didn’t have to bring me anything.” You replied after many thanks. He shook his pretty head. “Nonsense. After all you’ve done to help me, I won’t hesitate to do whatever I can for you.” He set a smoking cup in front of you before sliding into the chair closest to yours and sipping from his own cup. You watched him as he took a drink and you absentmindedly did the same. The scalding hot liquid bit at the skin of your bottom lip and tongue. You yelped. 

“Shit!” Adrian grasped your chin in one hand and sat your hot mug to the side.

“It’s smoking hot, Y/N. You can’t just inhale it that way.” He all but whispered as his callused thumb gently rubbed your bottom lip. 

“You did.” You mumble. His frown deepened and you watched his face as you impulsively let your tongue slide over the tip of his thumb. His breath caught in his throat. Less than a second later, he slid his thumb into your mouth and you wrapped your lips around it without a second thought. His pupils dilated as he tilted his head, lips parted. You tasted the cocoa on his skin and sighed breathily. 

Quickly, he moved his hand from your chin and pressed his lips to yours. Tilting your head, you leaned into him as he pulled you to his chest and slid his hands down your throat and shoulders. Past your arms and around your waist. Your arms find their way around his neck as you let him slide his tongue between your lips. The sound of your heartbeat and the noises you couldn’t help but make filled your ears. 

Just when you think you might have to lean back for air he breaks the kiss and presses his lips all over your face. Without a word, he lifts you by your waist and you wrap your legs around him quickly. He kisses you again, rougher this time. You don’t know how and nor do you care but soon your back is against the soft cushion of your bed and Adrian is leaving a trail of kisses down your neck and over your collarbones. 

After a moment, he rises and looks into your eyes. You can tell he’s searching for something but is unsure how to ask. The apprehension and obvious vulnerability tug on your heart and you place your hands on either side of his face. You nod, not waiting for him to ask. “Please.” You whisper. He closes his eyes and kisses you again before leaning back on his knees and pulling his shirt above his head from the hem up. You gasp when you see the long scar across his chest. It’s faded greatly, but the outline is still there and you sit up a little to drag your fingers across it. “What happened?” 

He looks to the right. “It was a long time ago.” He said nothing else and you didn’t press him. Gingerly, you pressed your lips to his chest and he shuttered against your lips. Like he’d never been touched there before. In a rush, he slid his hand through your hair held the back of your skull, and kissed you deeply. It was easier for him to undress and explore you without fear now. Eyes on yours, he pulled your panties from around your hips and slid them off. You giggled as he slid his cool fingertips between your knees and slowly spread them. 

You held your breath as his eyes roamed over your body. “So pretty.” He breathed and you whimpered as his hands slid down your thighs and over your pelvic bone. He kissed the bare skin of your shoulder, your knuckles, your thigh, your ankle. He inhaled your scent and you sighed with each touch. His fingertips found their way to the apex of your thighs and slid between your glistening lips. A shuttered moan falls from your lips and he chuckles. He kisses your temple while rubbing slow circles around your clit. 

Your eyes are squeezed shut as you teeter closer and closer to your orgasm. Without warning, he speeds up the movement, sucking the skin of your neck between his teeth sending shivers down your spine as your hips move against his hand of their own accord. In a burst of feeling you tip over the edge. A sharp shriek escapes your lips and it feels like forever before the shocks of pleasure end. As soon as it stops, you huff impatiently. It certainly wasn’t enough to make the heat of your skin cool down and the way he continued to caress your skin was only making it worse. 

He slid between your thighs and lined himself up with your entrance. “Are you ready?” He whispered in your ears. “Yes.” You reply quickly and he laughs at your eagerness. Then he gently presses the head of his cock into you. Both of you moan in unison. The air in the room thickens as he graciously waits for you to adjust to the intrusion. Slowly he edges himself all the way inside of you to the hilt and you fight to breathe. You had guessed he could fill you up but you hadn’t imagined it would feel like this. Your legs were still vibrating with the aftershocks of your first orgasm and you kiss his shoulder before telling him you’re ready for him to move. And that he does. 

Forehead to yours, he pulls his hips away from yours, leaving just the tip inside you before surging forward. The wind is knocked out of you and you squeeze your eyes shut as sounds you’ve never made before push out of your belly and mingle with his own. You lose yourself in the pressure and the rhythm as his hands bring your wrists together above your head. He holds them there with one hand and uses the other to pull your right thigh up higher on his hips. This allows him to reach deeper inside you and your back arches. 

Breath uneven, you raise your hips to meet his thrusts as your second orgasm oh so slowly gets closer and closer. Unable to see and barely able to hear, you beg him. “P-please. Please. Please.” You chant like a sinner praying for salvation. He presses his lips to your ear. 

“Please what?” 

You whimper. 

“Use your words.” He laughs against your skin as he leaves little bite indents on your forearms. The sound of your wetness echoes throughout the room, egging you on in the most obscene manner. All but screaming, you beg him to let you come. He murmurs “Good girl” in your ear and releases your wrists. He brings both of your knees up even higher and your hands grip his biceps as he plows into you. Almost instantly, your body tightens. Your eyes roll as your orgasm finally hits you, causing every part of your body to shake. This time you scream as he presses his hips into yours a few more times before stilling inside you. You watch as he closes his eyes and your name falls from his lips as he comes inside of you. 

Adrian lets your legs slip from his grip and lays down on you. The room is quiet save from the sound of your breathing. You can feel his heart beating against yours and you wrap your arms around him. Hand in his hair, you press your lips to his temple much like he’d done yours and he sighs into you. A smile dances across your lips as you hold him to you. 

“You’re so perfect.” He whispers. “I was going to say the same thing about you.” You reply. He exhales heavily and places a kiss on the inside of your elbow before getting up and entering your bathroom. You hear the faucet water turn on as he hums a song you’ve never heard before. He returns a moment later with a warm cloth and wipes your skin so gently that you feel your heart swell inside your chest. He continues to hum and the sound of his voice lulls you into a dreamless sleep.

Taglist: @hoppershoe. @c-crow-chatters

[dfortrafalgar]

I'm Losing You

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Warnings: Read chapter 1 for warnings.

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock

Chapter 10

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Law might have run a red light on his drive back to your apartment.  Could you blame him?  There was no one on the road anyway, not at 2:00 in the morning.  He hoped you hadn’t stayed up for him, but at the same time he wanted nothing more than to enter his home, see you in the living room, and scoop you into his arms.  He had been so busy at the hospital that he couldn’t remember seeing you stand up since you left the emergency room, so the fact that you, not Shachi or Penguin, but you, called him earlier made his weary heart swell with hope and adoration.

He yanked the parking brake of his car upward and swiftly switched off the ignition, pulling his keys out, grabbing his bag, and practically sprinting across the dark parking lot to your building’s entrance.  He input his apartment code so fast his hands were shaking, bursting through the door and climbing the stairs skipping every other step as he ascended.  His heart was racing.  If he was in any worse shape, he might need a triple bypass.  His hands continued trembling as he stuck his house key into the lock, twisting it and pushing the heavy door open to finally enter your apartment.

His golden eyes lit up.

You were still awake, sitting on the couch with Bepo who was rolled over with his belly exposed.  You were munching on a chocolate chip cookie while you watched a rerun of an old science show on the television.  The force of Law entering the apartment with an anxious gusto made you jump in surprise, but you quickly smiled upon seeing your husband.

“Did you run up the stairs?” you asked, taking in his heaving chest and parted lips as he tried desperately to intake as much oxygen as he could.

Law simply dropped his bag, shed his coat, and rapidly paced towards you, pulling you off the couch by your hands and wrapping his arms around you.  He buried his head in your neck, squeezing his eyes closed, afraid that if he opened them he’d see you back in bed, refusing to look at him.  You kept your mouth shut at his actions, choosing instead to loop your own arms around his shoulders, squeezing him as tight as you could as you breathed in the sterile hospital odor from his clothes.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so distant,” you mumbled, your words muffled in the cotton of his clothing.

He immediately shook his head, his wispy black strands tickling the skin of your neck.  “Never apologize.  Never.”

You yelped as Law’s body lurched, his arms swooping down to scoop you into his arms, just like he did when you were his bride, to carry you back to the couch and flop down, placing you in his lap.  The force startled Bepo, who grunted before falling back into a content pseudo-slumber.  You kept your hands looped around Law’s neck as you leaned into his chest.

“I’m really happy you’re up…” he whispered.

You simply hummed.  “Me too.”

The two of you sat in silence for what easily could have been an eternity, the sounds from the television turning into monotonous background garble as your breaths synced up to his.  Law adored moments like this.  No responsibilities, no expectations, no distractions.  Just him and his wife.  You and your husband.

However, he still felt like he had to speak.  “So, about Friday…”

You visibly tensed in his lap.  “About Friday…”

“I have the day off, so I can go with you.”

You picked your head up, your eyes shining.  “Really?!”

Law nodded.  “Yup.”  He heavily debated bringing to light the conversation he had had with Robin in the emergency room but decided against informing you, assuming that this aforementioned ‘diagnostic consultation’ would address exactly that.  “I’ll be there with you through the entire… thing.”  He almost said the word ‘ordeal,’ but realized that single word probably let on more than he intended.

You didn’t seem to notice, or simply didn’t care, content with the mere fact that Law would be able to join you.  “Thank goodness… I’m so happy…”  You dropped your head back onto his shoulder.  “I’ve been so nervous since she called me this morning.”

“Did she tell you anything over the phone?” he asked, rubbing your back, leaving warm trails of pleasant shocks in the wake of his hand.

“No, she simply said she was hoping to see me as soon as possible.  She wanted to discuss everything face-to-face, which I understand,” you muttered back.  “Still makes me really nervous though.  I’m afraid she’s going to tell me that I’m completely infertile, or something.”

Law sucked in a shaky breath.  “Hopefully not.”  He wished more than anything that he had the emotional capacity to say anything else, anything more reassuring or comforting, but despite the years he dated you, and even after marrying you, he still had his frequent bouts of complete emotional constipation.  How you continued to put up with him, he feared he would never completely comprehend.

“Anyway,” you lifted your head.  “Shachi and Penguin were here when she called.  Penguin got so nervous that he started baking.”  You gestured with your thumb to the kitchen counter.

Law’s eyes darted in the direction you pointed.  Five large plastic food storage containers sat stacked one on top of the other, each filled to the brim with chocolate chip cookies.  The entire stack was easily almost three feet tall.  The Leaning Tower of Tupperware.  Law groaned.  “What in the world…”

You laughed, the sound seeming so foreign recently.  “We’re completely out of flour and baking soda now, but we should also have enough cookies to last us a lifetime.”

Law’s lips quirked into a small smirk.  “I swear, you can’t take Penguin anywhere.”  He held you closer as you giggled into his chest.

“Well, I personally figured you could bring one or two of them with you to the hospital.  Leave them in the break room with a little note for the rest of the staff to pick at when they’re on break.  Don’t you think that would be sweet?”  You grinned.

Leave it to you to think of the most generous solution to the mountain of cookies left in your kitchen.  Law smiled, his hand trailing over the back of your head.  “That sounds like a great idea.”

—

The Friday of your appointment had sprung up on the two of you.  You sat in the passenger seat of Law’s car, your heart hammering in your ribcage and your fingers anxiously picking at your cuticles as your mind raced with worry over what would be discussed at your appointment.  The repetitive alternative rock music playing through the radio’s speakers was interrupted with an hourly traffic report, and Law took that moment to slide his free hand over to your thigh, giving you a reassuring squeeze.  Neither of you spoke a single word, the only noise being the rumbling of his engine and the monotonous tone of the traffic report.

When you exited the car in the parking lot of the clinic, you immediately paced to Law’s side, grabbing his pinky finger with your own.  

“Something to ground me,” you stated plainly.

At your words, Law grabbed your whole hand in his, lacing your fingers together.  “Don’t float away from me, now.”

Time went by in a blur as you checked in with the receptionist, sat impatiently in the waiting room, and blindly followed the nurse into the patient hallway with Law close on your heels.  You followed her into the examination room where she assessed your blood pressure like a typical appointment, before writing a few notes on her clipboard and leaving you and Law to wait for Robin.

You were sitting on the small, elevated bed with your legs dangling off the end, your perspiring hands quickly causing small wet blotches to form on the sterile paper that covered the cold vinyl.  The silence was suffocating.  You felt like you were back in your bathroom sitting on the closed toilet lid anxiously waiting for that negative pregnancy result.  Law was sitting in a plastic chair across the small room for you, and he slouched lower in the seat to extend his leg out and bat the bottom of your shoe with the toe of his own.  The action caused you to yank your eyes upward to face him, and he graced you with that warm smile you had fallen in love with all those years ago.

“You see anxious patients like this all the time,” you mumbled.  “Have you ever learned any ways to make them feel better?”

Law rested one of his elbows on the narrow arm rest of his chair, dropping his cheek to rest on his tattooed fingers.  “Sure I have, but I can’t say I’m too good at it.  But… you’re not my patient, you’re my wife.”

A very nervous chuckle blubbered from your lungs.  “I guess that would make a difference, huh?”

Law’s lips formed a very faint grin.  “It makes a hell of a difference.  I can’t play footsies with my patients.”  He punctuated his sentence with another knock into your foot.

You couldn’t resist laughing.  Law was often so serious and stoic, intimidating strangers with his deadpan gaze and unwavering, permanent scowl, but he became a completely different person with you.  In the years you had been together, he had morphed into a chronically exhausted undergraduate student who could barely force a dry grin in your direction into a compassionate, tender, loving husband.  You couldn’t argue that he was still a bit lacking in the empathy department, but his mere presence in any room brought you a sense of ease and comfort that you had never experienced in your life.  And goodness, you loved him for that.

The sound of the door to the exam room opening snapped you out of your dreamy thoughts.  Your heart regained its anxious palpitations as Robin entered with her usual calm demeanor.  Something in her eyes seemed… off, however.

“‘Morning, you two, how has the week been treating you?” she asked as she sat down on her stool, placing her laptop and small stack of stapled paperwork on the room’s counter.

Law tossed a look at you.  You tossed a look back at him.

“Could be better,” you uttered for the both of you.

Robin simply hummed.  It wasn’t rocket science to figure it out.  She was there when it happened, after all.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush here, I would like to jump right into things.”  She pulled up a few images on her laptop before grabbing the device and rolling in her stool to be seated in front of you, turning the computer and placing it in her lap.  The screen displayed your ultrasound images from almost a month ago.  “I would like to bring your attention to these labeled areas.”

Robin’s finger indicated each area she wanted you to address.  Law had already seen the images, and simply kept his focus trained on every slight change of your facial expression.  The doctor explained to you what she had already explained to him, and watching the worry grow in your eyes made his chest sink.

“We would need to perform a minimally invasive procedure to make sure, but I believe you might have endometriosis just based on your ultrasound scans.  Can I ask you a few questions about your menstruation history?”  She listened patiently and jotted down notes on her lap as you spoke about when you got your first period, how long on average they would last, how much bleeding, the average level of pain, or any other potential hormonal symptoms.

Law was in awe at Robin’s laser-focused demeanor with the patient.  Just as he was always in tune with matters of the cardiothoracic variety, Robin absorbed all of your history like a dry sponge.  She successfully empathized with your issues, her eyes giving away the even mix of intrigue, concern, and understanding as you described your ailments to her.

After you finished your explanation, Robin returned her laptop to the counter and swiveled to face both you and Law.  She crossed one leg over the other and clasped her hands above her knee.  “Mrs. Trafalgar, I’d like to discuss the benefits of performing a laparoscopy to rule out or confirm endometriosis, based on both your ultrasounds and your description just now.”

Your eyes darted between her stern blue ones and your husband’s pointed gold ones.  “I’m listening,” was all you could blurt out.

“The procedure would be incredibly quick.  You’d be under general anesthesia, so you won’t feel a thing.  We would make a very small incision in your abdomen, a little below your belly button.  A thin camera would then be inserted to examine the inside of your abdomen, and would allow us to see any potential endometrial tissue that has grown outside of your uterus.”  She paused to let you absorb the information.

“What would happen if you found tissue?” you nervously questioned.

“Depending on the severity, we would most likely advise a similar surgery to actually remove the visible tissue with a couple extra incisions, but again, nothing major.  The healing time would be incredibly quick in comparison to more invasive procedures,” she explained.  “I personally think this would be the best option for you, considering you and your husband are still interested in having children.  I want to try my best to give you the best chance of success in doing so, but that also involves ruling out potential reasons that you suffered a miscarriage.”

You bit your lip, but you absolutely appreciated her openness and honesty.  “If I do have this… would I still be able to get pregnant?”

Robin nodded swiftly.  “Absolutely.  Many women with endometriosis are able to have successful pregnancies, especially after treatment.  However, I would be remiss to inform you that, since you have had one miscarriage, your chances of having another have slightly increased.  I know this is very hard to hear, but I want you to understand that.”

Your eyes glanced back toward Law who was already gazing at your face, almost as if he was trying to read your mind.  You nodded your own head and turned your attention back to Robin.  “If that’s what you think is best, then I would like to go for it.”

Your doctor grinned, a friendly smile that warmed your spirit as your anxiety-ridden mind whirled with every possible circumstance.  Her comforting, understanding instinct was exactly what you needed to help you through this process.

“I’d be more than happy to set up your initial appointment now, if that is something that interests you,” she added.  “I can directly send a referral to the surgical outpatient clinic which is right down the road from here.”

You gave another affirmative nod.  “Yes, that would be wonderful.”

Robin quickly got to work opening your patient portal on her laptop.  While she typed, she began speaking once more.  “Full transparency, but I also have endometriosis.  My husband and I decided against having kids, but that was for completely different reasons.”

You smiled.  “Who is your husband?”

“I doubt you’d have met him, he works at the fertility clinic nearby!”  She laughed at the mere image of her own husband.  “He’s a pretty strange man, I will admit.”

Law blanked.  “Wait… is your husband–”

“Doctor Franky?” she finished his question for him.  “Yup, that’s him!”  She immediately turned her attention back to you, informing you of the date and time of your laparoscopic referral, leaving Law to sit back in his seat and ponder over the fact that your gynecologist's husband was the man who got a glimpse of Law’s sperm.

[kaitsawamura]

🪞 🔮 🍅 🧺 🍯 🌱 The Farmer & The Wizard

PART 1: IN WHICH YOU UNEXPECTEDLY GET THE DEED TO A FARM

❦ STATS ❦ | all other information on this fic including additional warnings can be found on the masterlist

chapter rating: e for everyone, complete fic has an 18+ MDNI rating

chapter warnings: mention of the death of an estranged grandparent (no details)

chapter tags: semi-canon divergent, red thread of fate

chapter word count: 3.2K

This chapter and the rest of this fic are part of this blog's contribution to Fics for Gaza.

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My Dear Little Bug,

If you’re reading this, you must be in dire need of a change.

The same thing happened to me long ago. I’d lost sight of what mattered most in life… real connections with other people and nature. So I dropped everything and moved to the place I truly belong.

I’ve enclosed the deed to that place… my pride and joy: Fox Hollow Farm. It’s located in Stardew Valley, on the southern coast. It’s the perfect place to start your new life.

This was my most precious gift of all, and now it’s yours. I know you’ll honor the family name, Little Bug. Good luck.

Love, Grandpa

Honor the family name? What a load of bullshit. There was no family left to honor. You were an only child and your parents had stopped talking to your grandpa on your dad’s side so long ago, you didn’t have any memories of him. Except for a blurry one, so void of detail it was as if it was a dream or a dream of a dream. In that memory, you could recall the thrill of seeing autumn leaves blustering in a flurry across a gravel drive, the creak of an old door, the smell of dirt, coffee, and aftershave. A pair of strong warm arms. That’s about it.

Now, your parents were divorced and the three of you were estranged. You were a singular island floating in a lonely, tumultuous sea. Things had been stressful at work and in your personal life. That must be why you even considered checking your Grandpa’s place out. The southern coast… that was practically out in the boonies. Scratch that, it was in the middle of nowhere. Zuzu City was the closest big town and even that would be small by your adult standards. You didn’t know if you had the gumption to do what it would take to fix the place up.

Still, although you had no idea why your grandfather had chosen you to take over the place most important to him, it would be a welcome distraction. The words in his letter… you were, in fact, in dire need of a change. How this all came to be at the time you needed it most was beyond your understanding. It was better to leave some things to the unknown, even if you did feel a strange pull to this place you’d been to once as a very young child.

You read the letter a final time before glancing at the attached legal papers. Suddenly it seemed as if the space you’d so meticulously curated to be yours was a touch too sterile. The apartment on the expensive side of town. The new, reliable car. The dinner parties, the expensive alcohol. The shiny executive position to go with it. You’d worked hard for it but also had privilege that so many didn’t. You were grateful for it. Even so, you couldn’t ignore that something was missing.

Perhaps long days and even longer nights, clean air, and more sky than infrastructure were the puzzle pieces you hadn’t found yet.

❦ 2 WEEKS LATER ❦

Your apartment was turnkey on the market and already had three solid offers.

In the end, you decided on saving the expense of a rental car, but doing so meant the closest you could get to Stardew Valley was Zuzu City and from there, you had to take a bus. The whole thing felt spectacularly contrived, much to your chagrin. It was spring and while the city was filled with smog, the moment you hit the long highway out of Zuzu towards your new home it was as if the heavens parted to shine a light on your way. Not a single cloud remained in the sky. Well, maybe one little puff that looked way too much like a pastry waaaay out in the distance.

It was a two hour drive on a four lane highway that somehow turned into a two lane without you noticing. For a long while there was nothing but the music playing in your headphones and stretches of field so green and wide open, you could easily get lost in daydreaming. Rolling hills, green grass, and sometimes a fence. Clair de Lune played in your ears and with the surprisingly comfortable position you’d found leaning your head on the window, it didn’t take much for you to drift off.

The bus jolting to a stop is what wakes you on a sharp, snorting breath as your eyes snap open. For a moment, you’re disoriented, unaware of where you are or if you are, in fact, a real person. A headache has begun throbbing at the base of your neck and your mouth is dry. Late afternoon sun streams in the bus window and the driver, a little graying man in a smart blue uniform is standing over you.

“There you are, I was beginning to think I couldn’t wake you. We’ve reached the end of the line. I’ll give you a moment while I open the cargo hold. I have a schedule I have to keep to though!” He says it brightly, smiling as big as can be, the expression crinkling his eyes shut above his rosy cheeks. You nod as he turns and spryly makes his way down the middle of the bus and out the doors.

You do take a moment, but only a small one, to stare out the window. It’s a small bus station, barely even a station at all really. There’s a small awning under a tree that houses an automatic ticket printer. It seems both too modern and too ancient, a monolith, to be here in Stardew Valley. There’s a wooden bench and a cobbled pathway that looks as if at one time there was a lot of foot traffic that has since dwindled. In the distance a wooden fence, fallen into disrepair.

Still, you take a breath and even within the confines of the vehicle, you can taste the crisp freshness in the air. On top of that, there’s green everywhere. In the trees, in the grass, in the wildflowers. In the button-up shirt on the other little old man standing expectantly outside the bus looking in. He’s wearing a brown newsboy cap and overalls, with a golden yellow tie. That must be the mayor. Mayor… Lee? Lemony? Lewis? That’s it, Mayor Lewis.

The mayor had been good friends with your grandfather. He had said as much over the phone when he called to confirm you had gotten the letter and legal papers in the mail. Mail didn’t get lost in Stardew Valley, it was too small but he didn’t known how things worked in the big modern city. He had told you he would meet you to take you to your grandfather’s, well, your farm when you got into town. That was two weeks ago and if you were being completely honest with yourself, you had forgotten that little detail. It was just as well because your fancy cellphone with “unparalleled” service had one little tiny bar; no pulling up Maps here.

Uncertainty roiled in your gut, truly the first bit of apprehension you’d felt since you’d started this process. Maybe this was literally the most foolish thing you’d done in your life, more foolish than breaking into the public pool after hours with your friends your senior year of high school and getting caught by the cops. That had been your last hurrah the summer before you all went to college. Perhaps this was a last hurrah as well. Except, there was no scholarship money waiting in the mail for you this time around. This would be all on you and while you were comfortable with what you had access to for the ball to get rolling, it was different spending your own money than money given to you. Money given to you didn’t count, it wasn’t real.

There was no time like the present. You grabbed your carry on, the one you’d had since high school with the fraying handles and the faded One Direction key chain, and stepped out into the later afternoon. Lewis, who was rocking on his heels with his arms clasped behind him, loosed a beaming smile in your direction. You smiled back, determined to make the most of this first impression.

“Mayor Lewis?” You made it a question even though you were certain it was unnecessary. He nodded enthusiastically and you shook hands. The driver had unloaded your singular suitcase from the hold and gave a mock salute to the two of you as he stepped back in the bus. The doors closed with a wheeze and a loud click before the idling engine was idle no longer and the wheels began rolling the bus back out of town. The mayor broke the amicable silence first.

“You must be exhausted so I’ll walk you straight to the farm and leave you to get settled in! Can I help ya with any of your bags?” You were inclined to let him assist so you handed him your carry on and grabbed your rolling suitcase; a fine film of pollen already collected over its surface. Thank god you’d brought antihistamines. You had an annoying feeling that your allergies would be acting up.

“Uh, Mayor—” he held up a hand.

“Please, call me Lewis. Your grandpa and I were much too close for you to be calling me by a title instead of my Yoba-given name.” Yoba. You hadn’t heard or thought of that name in a very long time. So the mayor was at least somewhat religious, you decided to assume.

“Oh, yes, all right. Lewis it is then. Can I clarify, did you say walk?” Another huge smile broke out across his face, bringing crows feet and laugh lines prominently to the surface. It was humanizing in such a way that you already felt a pang of endearing familiarity towards him. He did remind you vaguely of your grandpa, or what you could remember of him.

“Yes! It’s really not far, just down this dirt road here. I took the liberty of assuming that you would want to stretch your legs a little after that long drive. Your grandpa rode his horse until the very end but I’m sure we could fix ya up with somebody’s old truck if you’d rather use that for transportation from now on.” Your eyebrows shot up your forehead. The mayor must have seen the look of confusion because he rambled on, “Magpie’s a sturdy little gelding, but if he’s too much for you to keep, I’m sure I could help you find him a good home.”

There was so much to consider. You had told Lewis that you planned on fixing the place up but you still hadn’t answered the question that lingered heavily on your mind about what came after that. Did you really plan on uprooting your whole life permanently? Crickets chirped in the hedges lining the pathway. The sun sparkled through the trees as it set in the west. The air smelled heavily of daffodils and lilac. Even without seeing the farm, you already felt a strange pull behind your ribcage, like a string was tied around your heart and was tugging. In what direction, you couldn’t quite tell.

It really didn’t take any time to reach the farm at all. You’d been so wrapped up in further conversation with Lewis that you hadn’t noticed it was a twenty minute walk and sure enough your stiff hips and back welcomed the light exercise. He reminded you that there were a couple chickens that had already been locked up in their coop for the day but as sunny weather was predicted, you’d want to let them out in their run the following morning. The main living structure, a small cabin with a single room and kitchenette, still had utilities running. There was a little toilet room inside as well and a small bathhouse out back for any of your bathing needs. If the pipes groaned when you turned the water on, well, it really wasn’t a problem but if any issues arose from it, he could recommend a handy man to you.

You passed the mailbox and took a mental note that it was one of the first things you’d be fixing; it was leaning so precariously on a rotten wooden post you were surprised it was still standing. When the little cabin came into view as the two of you opened and shut the entrance gate behind you, you felt a tightness begin to unravel in your body. There was an apricot tree hanging over the tiny covered patio. Frogs chirped in the distance from the creek that ran around the far edges of the property. The chicken coop sat close to a bend of that creek next to another west facing entrance. You could also see the overgrown mini forest of trees you had as well as an overabundance of grass and weeds and stone that would need to be cleared.

“Well, here it is, Fox Hollow Farm! I don’t want to overstay my welcome so you let me know if there’s anything you need but otherwise, I’ll let you get settled in for the night.” You assured him as long as there was hot water in that bathhouse and a made bed to collapse into, you think you’d make it through the night. “Good. Robin and I’ll check back in on ya tomorrow morning!” You couldn’t remember exactly who he’d said Robin was but if they were as welcoming as Lewis, it didn’t really matter.

After Lewis had unlocked the cabin and handed you the key, it was very apparent that you weren’t even in the mood for a shower. You waved at him as he left, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. The place smelled dusty already, even though it had only been vacant for three weeks. The wooden floor groaned beneath your feet, but only slightly, as you dropped your duffle bag to the ground and rolled your suitcase just inside the door. You walked to the sink, wiping a hand over the dirty window to look out back. There was a wooden structure with floor to ceiling glass windows making up its four walls. That must be the bathhouse. There was an old coffee maker on the bit of counter space and a singular wooden mug. It was expertly carved and worn down from years of use. You wondered absently if someone local had crafted it.

There was a little basket on the table that was pushed up along the southern wall of the house. You sighed in relief when you realized there was a bag of fresh ground coffee, a loaf of bread wrapped in a cloth, a few clean carrots, a block of hard cheese wrapped in beeswax, a stick of butter in the same fabric, an aged roll of salami, six chicken eggs, and a glass mason jar labeled “Fig Jam” in looping cursive. When you opened the fridge there was an even bigger jar full of milk. You had a sandwich on the drive but you couldn’t resist digging straight into the loaf of bread, cracking it open with your fingers and tearing a hunk off to stuff in your mouth.

The outer layer was perfectly crusty while the inside was fluffy and practically melted in your mouth. You couldn’t wait to eat some of it with the butter and jam and cheese and eggs for breakfast.

After a bit more exploring from which you discovered adequate cleaning supplies under the kitchen sink and a perfectly made bed with an old soft patchwork quilt, you slipped off your shoes and unpacked pajamas from your suitcase. Sliding into bed here somehow felt a thousand times better than it had in your apartment for months. You fluffed the pillows behind you and pulled out your laptop, choosing not to solve the bed conundrum the first night here. Unsurprisingly there was no internet and your phone was definitely not going to be a good hotspot whatsoever. It was apparent you weren’t going to get any work done.

It was so peculiar; you knew you had been here once but… you really had no memory of the place. You didn’t didn’t think you should feel a kinship to it like you were. There was a small wooden nightstand next to the bed and on it there was an old dog eared copy of The Wizard of Oz. Your own books wouldn’t be here until tomorrow or the day after so you decided to crack it open.

For Jack: We always did love this book, even when we were kids. I saw it the other day on a shelf in a little book store on my trip a few towns over. Hope you like it.

The note scribbled in the inside cover was signed “Lew”. As in Lewis? Your grandpa and Lewis really were old friends then. He must be taking this harder than you would have guessed. You would make sure to invite him over for coffee and offer your condolences. Yes, Jack was your grandfather but you didn’t really know him. The light on the nightstand didn’t provide much light but you flipped to the first page of the book and read:

"Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with Uncle Henry, who was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was the farmer's wife."

No sooner had you read two pages than your eyes fluttered shut. You tried to keep them open but to no avail so you flipped the light back out and snuggled into the sheets, completely forgetting to turn the white noise on your phone. It had been a necessary portion of your sleep routine for years and years and years.

But tonight, you fell asleep without it, the song of the night filtering in the window you’d left open next to the bed.

Gojo Satoru woke from a deep slumber, sat upright, and squinted his eyes to look about his room. There was nothing out of place. His tower window was open; it always had to be when he slept, except for some days in autumn and for most of the winter season.

He strained to listen, thinking a nocturnal animal must have disturbed his sleep. Again, nothing amiss. He could hear the crickets and the frogs, and in the very far distance, the notes of a mockingbird’s song trilled to him over the cool spring air.

He laid back down, the moonlight shining in the window spilling over his bare chest and illuminating his white hair. If he just breathed slow enough to also slow the sudden rapid beating of his heart, he could go back to sleep. Meditation was something he did often so it didn’t take much. But he couldn’t stop the tugging sensation somewhere behind his ribcage. Strange.

Something had changed in Stardew Valley and he was going to find out what.

This work and its digital elements (credit for pixel art to ConcernedApe) are © Kait of @kaitsawamura 2020-PRESENT. I do not own any rights to Stardew Valley and any subsequent settings/characters, but this work is heavily inspired by that amazing game. Please do not alter or copy this work. Please do not repost this work to other platforms without my express permission.

[bachissidehoe]

shut the door - bachira m.

chapter 2 of 7 of the blue lock band series. chapter 1. chapter 3. chapter 4. chapter 5. chapter 6. chapter 7.

synopsis: it doesn't take long in her time working as Blue Lock's journalist for y/n to have to face the fact that she's not the only one isagi wants. and if he can have more than just her, she can have more than just him.

warnings: smut; penetration; oral giving; oral receiving; squirting; praise; pet kink; tears; hair pulling; hickeys; fem reader minors DNI

disclaimer: all songs referenced are credited to THE DEEP END

w.c. 3.2k

“Are you for real?”

“Yeah, obviously. I did some research, and you have a degree in journalism and another one in advertising. I’ll pay you double what you make now.” Mikage explains, turning his clipboard around to show her the salary he’s offering her.

“And you want me to just drop everything and tour with you?” She stares at the large number with wide eyes. It’s a tempting offer, and an extremely tempting salary.

“Um, yeah.” 

“Mikage-”

“Call me Reo.” He interrupts. “Mikage’s my father.” He winks.

“Okay, R-reo. I just, I want to but- I have an apartment and a car and a job…” She trails off.

“Any kids?” 

“Huh? No?”

“Pets?” He asks.

“No.”

“Okay, then I’ll take care of the rest. I’ll pay your lease while you’re on tour, I’ll send some people in to clean for you, clear out your refrigerator, grab all your clothes, I’ll send a letter to your current job, whatever you need.” He says with a smile. He really is making an offer she can’t refuse. “So whaddya say?” 

She pauses briefly, but they both know her answer. “Okay. I’m in.” 

And it’s been two weeks now, two weeks of being Blue Lock’s professional journalist. Reo explained that though the band blew up quickly, information about them is only circulating in one small genre of individuals, and their network is not expanding. Having a journalist to publish interviews with them, write articles about their shows, generate social media campaigns, it’ll all be much more effective if it’s someone who already knows the band pretty well. So far it’s been working tremendously, they’ve been booked for interviews with magazines and television programs worldwide, their singles are being advertised by other famous bands, and a second song of theirs, “Shut The Door”, went viral on TikTok. 

This also means it’s been two weeks now of fucking- or rather being fucked by- Isagi Yoichi. It’s not like Reo doesn’t know of it, they all know. But Reo’s philosophy is this: if she’s fucking the band, she’ll have emotional ties to them, which will come out in her writing and advertising for them. Of course, the extent of their relationship will be kept out of the public eye, but other than that, the band manager sees this only as a good thing. 

It’s what he tells her as they stand off to the side of the stage, watching the boys soundcheck for their final show of a three-day stretch. They’re exhausted by now, but at least after this they get a two day break. 

“So you’re telling me you’re less than concerned with the public finding out that our lead singer is fucking our journalist?” The stage director Bachira Meguru, who y/n has also grown close with over the past two weeks, adds his two-sense. 

“If it gets our name out there, I couldn’t care less who any of us is fucking.” Reo says matter-of-factly, spoken like a true businessman. 

“You talk about me fucking Isagi like it’s nothing.” Y/n chuckles nervously, her eyes darting between Reo and Bachira. 

“Sweetheart,” Bachira smiles, a demon-like smile that might portray a hint of psychosis. “You think you’re the only one Isagi’s fucking?” 

The words hit like a blade through her chest. “I- well- b-wha-” 

Reo sighs. “I’m sorry, y/n, I know I can be harsh with what I expect of you, I’m just trying to say that I’m doing the best I can think to do for the future of the band. I don’t want to put your emotions at risk, but I also want you to be able to separate them from your job.” 

“I, yeah, I understand. I am.” She nods profusely, her unconvincing sentence prompting a shared look between the two backstage band members. 

She can’t help but worry about Bachira’s comment, she worries about it throughout their entire concert. She watches backstage as the loud music blares through the speakers, Isagi’s voice striking down on the crowd like magic, Nagi and Chigiri’s background vocals adding shimmer to the air around them. 

She decides not to bring it up to Bachira again, it’s not like he’s been very good at hiding his obvious attraction for her since she got here, so he’s probably just jealous. But it doesn’t matter what she tells herself, she just can’t shake it. Does Isagi really not like her? Is he really just fucking her? It’s not like she expected they’d be in a relationship or anything, but maybe he would have told her if he was hooking up with other girls. 

“Something on your mind, beautiful?” Bachira catches her alone in the hallway, taking a breather after they finished their show. 

“Hm? Bachira- oh-” She chuckles nervously. 

“You seem to not like when I flirt much.” He laughs. 

“No, um, it’s just that, you know-” She struggles.

“It’s Isagi, hm?” He reads her, not that it would be difficult to piece it together. 

She doesn’t respond, but he’s right of course. In fact, the way that all of the band members look at her is arousing, like they’re all just waiting for their turn. She hasn’t brought it up to Isagi, even though he’d probably be able to get them to stop. But the truth is, she likes it. She loves that kind of attention from them, she loves how flirty they all are, she loves knowing that she could have any one of them. And Bachira- perhaps the most forward of the seven of them- y/n didn’t expect to find him so damn attractive. 

He likes to touch her- whether it’s casually putting his arm around her, or coming up behind her and squeezing her shoulders, or moving a piece of hair out of her eyes. And every single time it’s like a spark is ignited in her body. Every little touch, every playful comment, it flips a switch inside her. She finds herself watching him a lot of the time, watching him direct the tech services workers on where to place equipment, watching him assign the band members to their stage positions, and watching him work with the sound engineers to equalize the four sets of vocals. Everything Bachira Meguru does, he does it with that little demon smile, the same one he’s giving her now. 

“You don’t have to tell me, I know it’s about Isagi. You’re upset because he never told you you’re not exclusive, am I right?” He asks, leaning against the wall next to her. 

“We have yet to have that conversation.” Y/n bites the inside of her cheek, trying to avoid looking into those enthralling golden eyes. 

“Look, y/n, I’ve known Yoichi since we were 16 years old. I know how he is- all sweet on the outside and a menace on the inside. I love him to death, but someone’s gotta tell you what’s really going on- or you’ll get attached.” He sighs. 

Y/n doesn’t say anything, just looks around, hoping his words don’t make her start suddenly crying. It’s not like she expected to date Isagi, but it’s also true that her feelings for him haven’t exactly lessened since their arrangement. 

“Just come with me.” He continues, grabbing her hand. 

Y/n hasn’t spent every single night with Isagi, not even half the nights. Since starting her job, she’s had a lot less time to hang out with him alone, but when they get a moment, Isagi’s been all over her. It really didn’t feel to her like he’d be actively wanting anyone else. But as Bachira directs her behind the door of one of the backstage dressing rooms, it becomes clear to y/n that she’s been dead wrong. 

They can only catch a bit of the conversation, but Isagi stands with two extremely attractive women, discussing how they can sneak off somewhere, how they can meet him in his hotel room later, how they should come to the bar with him. Y/n can’t help but feel a lump in her throat as Bachira pulls her away from the saddening scene. 

“I’m sorry y/n, you just needed to see what’s really going on.” Bachira apologizes. 

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Are you gonna talk to him?” He asks.

“Why would I talk to him?” She chuckles, feeling her sadness turning into an anger that burns in her chest. He could have at least talked to her about it. “If he can fuck who he wants so can I. I need to stop chasing his approval.” 

“Atta girl, plenty of guys would kill to fuck you.” He flashes her a flirty smile. 

Maybe it’s not the best decision, but right now, the only thing y/n wants is to stick it to Isagi. Show him that she doesn’t need him as anything more than a casual friend with benefits, maybe even just a colleague. Show him it doesn’t bother her at all that he’s fucking other girls behind her back. And what better way to stick it to Isagi, than to fuck his best friend?

“You included?” She asks, rocking forward onto the balls of her feet.

“I may as well be the president of the guys who’d kill to fuck you, if I’m honest.” He flirts. 

“Good, let’s go.” She grabs his wrist, pulling him in the direction they came from. 

“Where are we going?” Bachira giggles.

“I dunno, don’t laugh at me.” She replies, determined.

“Okay, let me lead the way then.” He takes control, his touch putting her under his spell. 

It’s easy to fall into his grip, he can get in her head so easily. She hardly remembers getting back to his hotel room, by the time she snaps back to reality, she’s being led through the door and swiftly spun around. 

“Shut the door.” He says with a smirk, pushing her back against the door as it closes. “Keep me from the things that I don’t know~” He hums the lyrics of the song he referenced, his voice muffled every time he places wet kisses to her neck. 

“I need it, Bachira.” She whines, confidently wrapping her arms around him, her movements begging for him to keep going, to keep leaving sharp kisses on her skin. She can only hope he’ll bruise her, wanting everyone to see that she’s not Isagi’s pet- she can do whatever she wants. And right now, she wants the gorgeous stage director who’s teeth graze her skin and who’s tongue sloppily traces over the marks he leaves. 

‘You need it.” He huffs. “Desperate kitty.” 

“K-huh?” She feels her knees grow weaker at the pet name he chooses. Maybe she’s not Isagi’s pet, but it certainly seems like she’s become Bachira’s. 

“So obedient for me, yet somehow still so cold. My little kitty.” He breathes against her neck, the pads of his fingers reaching her thigh. “Jump.” He says, holding onto her thighs as he presses her back harder into the door, holding her above his head. 

And he kisses her, a much smoother, more calculated kiss than Isagi’s. His careful movements are somewhat contradictory to his eccentric personality, but the fact that he continues to make unexpected decisions is still right on brand. It’s like she’s in another world, Bachira Meguru’s world. His plump lips overpower hers in such a beautiful way, sucking her bottom lip between them like she’s a mere piece of candy for him to snack on. 

“Sweet lil pretty thing~” He hums, breaking their kiss for only a moment before joining their lips together again, trapping her bottom lip between his teeth once more. This time, he bites down, just enough to force a surprised wince from the depths of her throat. And he chuckles, that same unreadable demonic chuckle. 

“Don’t even wanna take y’to the bed kitty, wanna fuck y’against this door.” He murmurs, blocking any chance of her responding by shoving his tongue deep into her mouth, his fingernails digging deep into her thighs as he continues to hold her up. She doesn’t know how he intends to fuck her like this, she’s surprised he’s even still holding her up. 

He quickly proves her concerns futile, as he uses only his upper body to keep her pressed into the door as one of his hands slips inside his pants, and the other slips under her skirt and panties. His hard cock pokes out from the top of his sweatpants as he grunts, finally pushing his sweatpants down enough to entirely expose himself to her. 

Her breaths get heavier as he pushes her panties to the side, not even showing her the decency to take them off first. 

“There y’go.” He holds his cock up with one hand, her legs wrapped tightly around him as she takes his lead, lowering her body slowly onto his tip. “That’s it kitty, there y’go, push it all the way in- ah yes~ like that~” He gasps, feeling her fully sheathe herself onto him, her legs already shaking as she tries to keep up with the unfamiliar position. 

“That’s a good girl~” He grunts, holding her body against the door as he fucks up into her, thrusting into parts of her only this position could reach, parts that turn her into putty in his hands. “Be a good little kitty.” His voice is hoarse, his eyes dark as he slams into her soaked cunt, her wetness dripping down his shaft. 

Her muscles are sore as she holds herself up around him, but she fucking loves it. She loves being fucked like a pet with no control over her own body. He’s so strong, and hot, and fuck. His cock feels so damn good inside her, forcing her pussy to clench around him repeatedly, practically begging for him to stay inside her forever. 

It’s likely anyone walking by the hotel room is welcomed with the sounds of the door slamming over and over, but Bachira doesn’t seem to care. In fact, he loves being loud. He hopes everyone hears. “Ah~ that’s it, such a tight little pussy f’me, hm? Isagi wasn’t enough to stretch you out? Guess not~” 

Her hands find his hair, gripping on his blonde highlights with a strength she didn’t know she had, biting on her own bottom lip to prevent her from screaming aloud, instead limiting herself to quieted whimpers and light moans. “Meguru~” His first name tickles her tongue like it’s a curse, like she shouldn’t be allowed to say it, like he shouldn’t be allowed to be making her feel this way. 

With a few more harsh thrusts that y/n is surprised didn’t split her body in half, his grip loosens, and he quickly grabs her hips as he practically drops her on her knees below him. 

“Open. G’na cum in that pretty little mouth~” He breathes in, squeezing his cock with one hand as his other makes its way into her hair, roughly positioning her head in front of him. “Look at you, a mess f’me kitty.” He slurs, tauntingly tracing over her soft cheek as her mouth falls open for him. 

He slides his pink tip between her lips, letting her clamp them down around him as she laps at his leaking hole with her tongue. And he pushes it in further, holding her head in place so she can’t pull away as he challenges her abilities. Y/n was confident, but she’s never sucked a dick this big. Before he’s even half way, her eyes are brimming with tears.

“Y’can take it y/n, pretty kitty, I know y’can take it.” His voice is tight as he manages quick, fast breaths. The sight of her is immaculate. The girl Isagi Yoichi thought he had tied down, with her mascara streaming down her face as his cock is buried in her throat, her dazed eyes peering up at him. And he’s gonna make a mess of her. 

“Hmm~” She hums, doing her best to hollow her throat to fit more of him.

He twitches, thrusting into her dirty mouth with his grip tightened around her hair, forcing it down her throat regardless of whether she can take it or not. 

“That’s good~ mhm~ g’na cum~” He hums, nearly bottoming out before shooting his thick load directly into the back of her throat. 

She swallows quickly, doing everything she can to take every single drop of what he gives her. His grip loosens on her hair as he slides his cock out from between her lips, finally letting her take in a deep breath. 

“S’ry a little rough kitty? My bad, pretty girl~” He grabs her hips, pulling her to her shaky feet. “Such a good job swallowing f’me huh, you got every last drop.” 

“Mhm.” She nods, trying to regain her composure.

“I’ll make it up to you, pretty. Lay down.” He pulls her toward the unused hotel bed, watching her collapse backward, her legs hanging off the edge. 

“Was good, was so good.” She manages through her breathless, fucked-out state. 

Bachira chuckles. “Boutta be better, though.” He kneels on the side of the bed, hooking a finger under her panties that never managed to make it off when he fucked her, finally pulling them down her smooth legs. “Sit back and feel good now, sweetheart. Kitty deserves a reward. Good girl.” He praises, spreading her thighs apart as he presses his lips to her dripping cunt. 

He eats her like he hasn’t eaten in weeks, his tongue lapping up every bit of her he can get a taste of, fucking it into her used hole like he’s trying to clear every drop. He alternates between fucking her with his tongue and flicking her clit, licking short wet stripes across the sensitive bud of fleshy ecstasy. 

His nails loosen on her thighs, letting her clench them around his head as if he wants her to crush him. And maybe he does. 

He hums into her pussy like he’s singing it to sleep, hungrily drinking her up like it’s just as good for him as it is for her. Her body shakes around his tongue, the clit stimulation sending mini electric pulses up and down her body, forcing her brain into a fucked-out overdrive. 

“Meguru~ Ah- close~” She manages through breathy moans, the pulses firing too fast for her to keep up. It’s a different feeling than usual, a more complicated feeling, like she can’t control her body anymore. There’s something else there besides just her orgasm, but it’s too intense for her to figure it out before she releases. “C-cumming-” She stutters.

Bachira plunges his tongue inside her to catch her orgasm, surprised when she squirts around him, the liquid spilling out and soaking the sheets below her. 

“Oh fuck-” She breathes, not expecting him to make her squirt like that. She’s definitely never done that before. “S-sorry- I-”

“Mmm kitty~” He comes up for air, his eyes half lidded. “That was the fucking hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” 

She can only nod and catch her breath as he attaches his lips to her inner thigh, bringing her down from her high by biting and sucking on her sensitive skin. 

“Bet Isagi couldn’t make you do that.” He smirks.

[yesimwriting]

Final Girl (Part 10)

 Final Girl Masterlist  (updated chapters 1-10 and extras, asks/extras involving the final girl fic verse are under the tag ‘final girl fic’)

A/n i’m leaning towards starting to write shorter chapters in order to be able to update a little faster but idk

Series Summary:  Y/n can’t believe that she has to leave the only home she’s ever known just because her mom’s latest boyfriend has a house in some town in California. Just as she’s starting to think that Woodsboro might not be that bad, something life altering happens after she agrees to sleep over at  Becker’s house. Now her name is practically synonymous with Ghostface’s.

Chapter Summary: The aftermath of learning that a certain redheaded journalist is making you a focal point of her true crime novel. 

----

In the least cynical way possible, sometimes I think a part of my mom craves conflict. Not in a narcissistic or violent way, just in a protective one. 

She doesn’t pick fights for the sake of having them, she doesn’t tear into things for the rush of adrenaline or to feed some complex. My mom likes standing up for people in a way that would be annoyingly self righteous if it was any less genuine. Any incident that could be interpreted as blood in the water has her diving in head first, ready to ward off any potential sharks. 

That’s why nothing about this rampage is surprising. She’s been pacing the length of the kitchen without giving the phone in her hand a break, typing out numbers at an unbelievable speed, only occasionally pausing to flip through the phone book on the counter. 

“Well then put me through,” she stalls long enough to put a hand on her hip, “Not to an assistant, not to the station, or the publishing company. Get Gale Weathers on the phone. Now.” 

This is the third time she’s pulled this stunt since I walked into the kitchen to grab a pity snack. The way she presses her lips together tells me that this time hasn’t been any more successful. “She’s too busy? Well, I hope she’s not too busy for a law su--” Something cuts her off. My mom blinks. “Hello?” 

“I told you that threatening to sue people wouldn’t work over the phone.” 

She pulls the phone away from her ear with a sigh. “It’s not a threat if I mean it.” The phone is placed on the counter as she turns her attention to the phone book. “That woman can’t do this. You, and your legal guardian, never consented to your likeness or story being used.” 

Unfortunately, that’s not completely true. Or, at the very least, it’s not that concrete or straight forward. When something’s news, information becomes a lot less easy to claim as personal or yours. Especially if personal information is kept vague enough. The second I was attacked by Ghostface and the news reported it, a lot of me in that context became a lot less legally sound. I’d have to prove it defamed me or hurt my life, which can’t be done before the book comes out. 

“We can’t prove that until the book is out.” 

She sighs, “There has to be something.” My mom taps her manicured nails against the granite counter top. 

My stomach twists with helplessness as the most urgent issue rushes to the front of my mind. It’s more than just someone taking advantage of my trauma or the fact that books are so much more permanent than any news headline ever could be. Books take time to come out, to circulate, which means that this tell all could reach its peak during my college app season. Princeton could see this. All colleges could see this. 

“Mom...” I can feel the tremor in my voice, but I can’t bring myself to stop it.

In a way, isn’t this best case scenario? Compared to what could have happened? Isn’t this such a small thing compared to what happened to Casey? I know this, but I can’t quite bring myself to feel it fully. Not when it comes to something I’ve worked for my entire life.

“What if--what if this gets in the way of Princeton?” 

She presses her lips together, watching me openly in a way that’s become familiar. “Oh, pumpkin,” she breathes, moving across the counter to pull me into a hug, “I’m sorry you’re going through this.” I squeeze her tightly. “And that I don’t know what to say or how to help.” She smooths my hair down gently. “But when it comes to school, all you can do is keep up your grades and when the time comes, write the best essay you can. And if they’re stupid enough to turn down your weirdly-good grades and insane resume, then screw Princeton.” 

Despite myself, I smile. Those soft digs at my type-A-ness aren’t lost on me and the sense of familiarity I get from them instantly make it easier. “Thanks.” 

“Yeah, and if you want, you could always write your own tell-all book that would outsell hers because yours is from the--” 

“Excuse me?” 

She lets go of me, taking a step back at my offense. “I’m not telling you to write it, I’m just saying a published book would look good on an Ivy-league application.” 

Sometimes I’m so crazy about school that I forget my mom is also capable of insanity. “Mom!” 

My mom lets out a sigh. “What? You’ve been obsessed with Princeton since your dad gave you his old college sweatshirt in the third grade, but now I’m crazy?” 

She’s half joking and I know she’d never actually push me to write something like that, but my stomach still turns. Yes, I have made a ton of jokes about having no morals when it comes to college apps, but it’s different now. Anything that has to do with that Ghostface stuff feels tainted. I don’t want success from him. I don’t want anything good from Casey’s death.

I pick up the spoon that’s sunken into my partially melted bowl of ice cream. “I am not exploiting this.”

She holds her hands up in defense, “It’d ruin Gale’s book, jump start your career in journalism.” My mom extends an arm, asking for my spoon. I sigh before handing it to her. She eats a healthy spoonful of ice cream. “Two birds, one stone.” 

I scoff, taking the spoon back and eating my own spoonful. "You’re sick.” 

My mom steps back form the counter. “Just a suggestion.” 

I’m about to assert my previous point when the doorbell rings. I raise an eyebrow at my mom, silently asking if I’m expecting anyone. I’m not so I just shrug, moving away from the counter and towards the door.

There’s a chance it could be Wells. He’s at work, but it wouldn’t be the first time he forgot his keys. I peak out the window and am instantly pleasantly surprised. I’m more excited than I can justify as I reach for the front door’s lock. 

The door creaks open and I fight down a grin. I don’t know why they’re here, but I don’t mind the unexpected visit. I had been planning on moping and rotting in bed until school. 

“Hey,” I mumble, latching onto my surprise. 

Stu flashes a warm smile in greeting, “Hey, sweetheart.” 

I wrinkle my nose at the nickname despite its tameness. My mom’s way too close for that. I’m torn between making a joke about it and avoiding drawing attention to my concern and giving Stu a reason to push. I settle on looking over at Billy. He’s standing in a way that feels a little stiff. 

There’s a chance they called first, since they usually do when they come over through the front door instead of just showing up at my window. “If you called, my mom’s sort of taken over our phone line.” They both already know about Gale’s book and the fact that she’s editing it to include me, since they were both there when I found out. That still doesn’t make it easy to talk about, “She’s hunting down Gale Weathers.”

"Then I’m scared for Gale Weathers.” Stu raises his eyebrows, exaggerating concern.

Billy nods once, “She deserves it.” 

That’s true. I wasn’t exactly kind to her during our brief meeting, but she ambushed me at school after I was attacked. But that can’t be enough to justify what she’s doing now, especially without so much as a ‘heads up, you’re in my book’ phone call. If you’re going to potentially ruin someone’s future because they happened to have survived a serial killer, it wouldn’t kill you to call first. 

“Anything...else up?” Stu’s question surprises me. Maybe I didn’t react fast enough or I still look as worried about all of this as I feel. 

I don’t want to get into the details of my concern. I freaked out in front of them enough after I saw Gale’s announcement on TV, but there’s no way I can get away with acting like I’m perfectly okay with it all now. I guess I’ll go with deflecting, “Just my mom being a total college obsessed psycho.”

The corner of Billy’s mouth tilts upwards, almost a smile. “You had to get it from somewhere.” 

I glare at him in a way that I really hope is cutting. “Shut up. I’m not psycho.” 

“I’ve seen the Princeton poster in your roo--” I shake my head sharply, extending an arm to softly punch Stu’s arm. 

He stops, more out of surprise than decency. I drop my voice to a low whisper in order to explain, “My mom’s not that distracted, and she doesn’t know you’ve ever been in my room.” Stu grins at my seriousness. “And she can never find out.” 

This only makes him grin more openly, “Keeping secrets for me?” 

“I’m not above kicking you guys out.” 

Billy sighs, a defensive huff. “I didn’t do anything.” 

A slightly too aggressive you brought him here almost slips out, but I manage to stop it. Maybe if I was in a more joking, lighthearted mood I’d let myself make that kind of aggressive joke, but I’m moody and there’s a good chance my irritation will slip into that. it’ll taint the comment and make it something a lot more serious than it’s supposed to be. 

“Yet,” I settle on, trying to feel as easy as the comment.

He frowns, eyebrows pulling together like he just watched me kick a puppy. After a second, Billy parts his lips, but he doesn’t get to say anything back. 

“Who’s at the door?” My mom’s voice carries from the hall and to the entryway, a moment later she appears. I turn my head in time to see her polite smile, a little irate thanks to how the last day and a half have been. “Oh, hi, Billy, Stu.’’ Her greeting is flatter than usual as she barely takes a second to look up from the phone. “Come in, come in.” 

I step back to create space for them to come in. Despite my mom’s instinctual fall back to politeness, she barely notices the difference as she hits redial before pressing the phone to her ear. “Do you guys want anything to drink or...are you hungry or...going...” She trails off, attention visibly shifting as she waves us off, “Hello, can I--look, that’s great, Jocelyn, but I need to get in touch with your supervisor?” 

With one last force-of-habit smile, she turns away from the entryway and walks out. I walk towards the front door, instinctually shutting and locking it. “That’s basically my life now.” 

“Poor thing,” Stu’s voice is thick with false sympathy, “Your mommy’s fixing everything for--” 

“Shut up.” The reply comes out too quickly, too serious.

Stu blinks once, clearly not expecting the hint of actual tension and hostility that managed to press itself into the two words. “Someone’s moody.” 

I squeeze my eyes shut for a long second. “Sorry, I didn’t--” Sighing, I try to force the stiffness out of my body. “This book thing’s starting to get to me. I know that’s not an excuse, I just--” I don’t know how to explain the knot in my throat or the nerves in my stomach. 

The thought of this one thing I was delusional enough to think that I might be able to one day put behind me being everywhere is starting to claw at my insides. That helplessness is being amplified by a strange form of guilt, because I’m the one that’s still alive, so why should I get to complain? 

“Hey,” Stu interrupts my derailing train of thought. He places a hand on my shoulder, “No hard feelings, okay?” 

I nod, irritated at myself for the tears I feel burning in my eyes. “Okay.”

“You wanna get out of here?” Billy’s question is so low I almost convince myself I made it up. But then he lets out a breath and tacts on something else, “...Or we could go upstairs or watch a movie or whatever?”

The offer is so gentle I nearly melt. “Did you guys want to do something?”

They did come here, probably for a reason. Not that they never come over just to hang out, but they usually have some kind of plan or suggestion, like going over to Stu’s or driving around or watching a specific movie. 

“Just wanted to see how you were doing.” Billy’s reply comes out slowly, his eyes not fully focused on me. “We called and you didn’t answer, and after the news thing...”

That’s fair. I did leave Stu’s house pretty fast after the Gale Weathers thing and haven’t talked to anyone outside of my house for over 24 hours. Usually people worrying about how I’m handling things makes me feel uncomfortably hollow, but this doesn’t make any of that come up. Maybe it’s because they’re not making it feel like pity. 

“Uh...” There’s honestly not much that seems fun right now. A part of me still wants to crawl under my covers and pretend that nothing else exists, but they’ve pulled me out worse moods before. “I can show you guys that album I was talking about?” The offer feels weak, a little hollow. Stu squeezes my shoulder before relaxing his arm. “The CD’s in my room.” I shrug, looking between the two of them, “Or we could do whatever.” 

“You’ve been talking about that CD for a long time for someone who always forgets to bring it.” Stu’s not even trying to hide his accusation as he starts walking down the hallway.

I cross my arms, giving Billy a look that asks if he can believe all I have to deal with. “Yeah, I’m just worried your top 20 pallet is too complex for our tastes to ever overlap.” 

Stu scoffs, “Yeah, I’m the one that’s into top 20.” 

“Out of the three of us?” Billy’s question rivals Stu’s blatant sarcasm. 

I fight down a smile as Stu turns his head enough to glare. The display of irritation is short lived, because Stu has to turn back around to avoid tripping on the first stair step. He nearly misses, but recovers so quickly I wouldn’t have noticed the misstep if I hadn’t been looking at him. Sometimes his stability surprises me, because Stu’s energetic and lanky enough to warrant being a little clumsy, but he’s a lot better at not tripping than me. 

We walk up the stairs, the only sound filling the space is my mom’s voice, too far for any specifics to be made out. 

“I think I miss your mom not trusting us.” Stu lets out a wistful sigh.

Rolling my eyes, I push open the door to my room. “Don’t worry, she’s just distracted.” 

Even though my mom’s phone tirade is definitely helping her be so easy, I know what he’s talking about. When Billy and Stu first started hanging around, my mom felt the need to hover a lot more. She’d check up on us a lot more than she would when I was alone with Sidney or Tatum. My mom would also make a lot of jokes and comments in order to pry as (not so) subtly as possible. Slowly, she became more accustomed (or maybe desensitized), to them and now my mom acts a lot more normal in front of them. When they leave, she normally still pushes a little, usually through humor, but it’s a lot more tolerable now.

Stu walks into my room before I can, walking towards my bed. “We’re growing on her.”

I sit down next to him. “Or she finally gets that you two barely register as guys to me.” 

Stu moves, intentionally bumping his knee into mine, hard enough to make my knee move. Once he has my attention, he flexes an arm. “I’m all man, angel.”

There’s an exaggerated quality to his reaction that I can’t tell if I’m meant to take seriously or not. It’s the uncertainty that makes me let out a slight laugh. “I didn’t mean it like that.” 

He turns his head, leaning back slightly as he presses his palms into my comforter. “Then how’d you mean it?” 

My face feels a little warmer than before and I can’t figure out what that’s about. I’m used to Stu pressing after comments like this. Sometimes his humor focuses on making someone feel uncomfortable. Retreating or acting awkward gives him a reason to keep pushing. But I have no good way to answer. 

I wipe my hands on the fabric of my jeans. “Don’t start.” 

“Maybe I don’t get it.” 

I stand, throwing him a dirty look as I move towards my CD player. “Maybe you’re full of shit.” 

He huffs, “Mean.”

My fingers skim the row of CDs on my desk before finding the one I’m looking for. I use my nail to pop open the case. “Yeah, I’m a real bully.” Billy, who’s been lingering near my desk, opens my CD player before I can. I set the disk in place. “Can you believe him?” 

Billy shakes his head once, a few strands of hair falling out of place with the motion. He picks up the CD case and starts studying the back of it. “I can’t believe you can’t.” 

Stu lets out a distracted sound of protest. I wouldn’t be surprised if I turned around and found him fidgeting with something. My room’s not a total disaster, but I’ve been too busy moping to fully clean it, so there are a lot of contenders for things Stu could be messing with. I can’t think of anything that’s within his reach that’s embarrassing or important, so I let it go. Billy seems a little tense and considering the headspace he was in the last time I saw him, figuring that out is important. 

“Fair,” I hum, shutting the CD player, “You uh--” His eyes flit upwards, away from the CD case. The look is kind of stiff, but not annoyed or wary. It makes me realize that I don’t really have a good way to finish my sentence. Asking if someone’s okay never feels natural. Especially when he’s only been here for a few. “You okay?” I force myself to focus on the CD player, messing with the volume instead fo just hitting play. “You seem a little tense.” 

He sets the plastic case down. “I’m okay.” Billy straightens, shifting his weight off of my desk. The movement is small, he hasn’t even taken a full step, but the change makes him feel a lot closer. “Just can’t believe she can do that.” His tone takes on such a hard edge it takes me a second to realize what he’s talking about. Is the book thing really bothering him that much? “To you, to--does she think she’s untouchable? That guy’s still out there, what makes her think he won’t find her and rip that bitch’s--”

Billy cuts himself off with no warning, eyes focusing on me. I blink. Billy might come off as intense and reserved before you know him, but he’s never seemed explosive or prone to emotional impulsivity like that. Even when I briefly thought he could have been the killer, he never came off as aggressive. He never even held the fact that I put his life in danger and accused him of being a serial killer against me. 

This tension is new and it came from feeling defensive over me. The realization that it has something to do over me makes me more antsy than Billy’s actual words. 

“Woah,” Stu says through a dry laugh. “Relax, dude, there’s no need to write the next news story for her.” Stu swings an arm over my shoulder. I’m still stuck on what just happened, so it takes me a millisecond too long to weakly attempt to get Stu off of me. He pinches my shoulder, the nail of his thumb digging into my skin just enough for it to register as stinging. “You’re in poor Billy’s head.” I can’t tell if Stu’s teasing is meant to be sympathetic towards Billy or accusatory towards me. “Give the boy a break.” 

My chin briefly tilts downwards, a compulsory movement that seems to genuinely want to listen to what’s clearly a joking command. “I’ll try.” 

Stu relaxes his hold on me, dragging his thumb up and down the exposed skin of my shoulder, soothing the skin he accidentally irritated. I extend my arm, turning on the music absentmindedly. The room doesn’t exactly feel tense, but I feel a lot smaller than I did a few seconds ago. I don’t know if it’s because of the dip into a gory, too real topic or Stu’s comment or if I’m still just irritable.

“Guess it’s not your fault,” Stu hums, squeezing my shoulder once, “You can’t help being lovable.”

I try to keep myself focused as I adjust the volume of the first song. “That’s true.” He lets go of me and I stand a little straighter. “We all have our faults.” 

Billy lets out a breath that’s suspiciously close to a laugh. “Yeah, your only flaw’s that you’re too perfect.” 

“You were the one ready to support a murder for her,” Stu defends bluntly, “Not saying that Gale Weathers doesn’t deserve what she gets.” 

In all honesty, I had been so distracted by the way the book would affect me and my chances to get past the Ghostface thing that I didn’t even think about the actual killer. This could get him to hurt someone else. Gale Weathers could be making herself a target, but I find the thought unlikely. The more I reflect on why he left me alive the more I think that it might have been because there’s more of a story when there’s a survivor. He joked with me about the final girl thing. He also called me once without attacking anyone. The asshole probably gets off on attention. 

Gale Weathers is probably the safest person in this town. The more she talks, the more attention he gets. It probably also helps his ego because he knows everyone’s after him and he hasn’t been caught. It’ll probably get him to hurt someone...just not her. Not that I hope Gale gets stabbed, it just makes her choices that much more selfish. 

I scratch the back of my wrist, staring at my open palm. The tiny white line, the scar carved into the skin of my hand seems bigger right now. “I don’t--it’s not like I want Gale to get hurt.” 

“No one’s saying you do,” Billy says, voice patient. 

I sigh, a part of me wishing this hadn’t come up. This was the last thing I wanted to think about, that’s why I’ve been ignoring calls and just focusing on homework. I walk away from my desk and sit down on my bed before slumping back semi-dramatically. If this is how Billy and Stu are acting, everyone at school is definitely going to start treating me weirdly again. Maybe Gale will be there, trying to chase me down for a quote. 

Ugh...maybe I can get my mom to bully the principle into letting me homeschool for a few days. A week maximum. Or maybe she’ll let me pretend to have mono or something. I have most of my textbooks here and I could get assignments from-- 

My bed dips, cutting off my train of thought. I turn my head enough to see Billy. “I--” His voice comes out so low I’m surprised I even heard him over the music. “I didn’t want to bring all of that up for you.”

There’s a softness there that makes it easier to genuinely shake my head dismissively. “It’s okay.” 

His eyes briefly meet mine. “I also didn’t uh--didn’t want to freak you out or--” 

“You didn’t.” That’s true, at least in the way he meant it. That level of anger over something that only really affects me did surprise me, but it’s not like he scared me. He hesitantly focuses his attention on me. I prop my head up on one elbow, watching him carefully. “You’re not as scary as you think you are.” 

Billy tilts his head, his lips tugging into an uncertain smile. “Oh, yeah?” 

He’s probing, likely trying to trick me into a compliment. “You’re losing your edge.” I keep my voice as nonchalant as possible as I drop my elbow and lay down again. “I think it’s all the time around me.” 

His eyebrows draw together like he’s seriously considering my hypothesis. “Valid theory.” The bed moves with no warning, the space to my left indenting. Billy lays down next to me without moving to make sure there’s enough space between me and the headboard. His arm presses into mine. “All the time in here can’t be helping either.” 

Billy does come over to my room a lot, usually crashing here when he needs to avoid his dad and doesn’t want to talk about it. Recently, though, he hasn’t been around as much. I didn’t think too much of it until I went over to Stu’s and saw that Billy wasn’t up for much of anything. “It’s the exposure to all the fluffy pillows.” 

“Probably.” Something warm brushes against the back of my wrist. Billy carefully traces an invisible line up my forearm. “This song’s nice.” 

The warmth of validation tugs at my chest. “It’s my favorite one on here.” He follows the same trail back down the inside of my forearm. “I think you’ll like the uh--” There had been a specific one on the track list that reminded me of a few songs he had shown me before. I list the titles in my head until I remember the right one, “Fourth track.” 

“Hm,” he hums in a way that doesn’t feel dismissive, just relaxed.

The bed shifts again. I crane my neck back, eyes straining to see behind me. After a second, I make out Stu circling my nightstand. “This is new.” He’s picking something up. Stu sits back down, making it easier to see what’s caught his attention. 

Oh. Not new, but I don’t blame him for not having my bookshelf memorized. “Not new.” He turns the book onto its side, studying the worn spine as if to confirm what I’m saying. “Just haven’t read it in a minute, thought it might cheer up.” 

There have been few problems that American Psycho and Patrick Bateman haven’t been able to at least help. It didn’t make me feel a lot better, but it was nice to distract myself from a real life murderer with the fictitious kind. 

Stu pauses, skimming the back of the book. “A little dark for a pick me up.” 

“It’s well written.” 

That’s true, and its commentary on social values and the rise of well off, stockbroker success and the culture that’s developed because of it is interesting and a creative analysis of society’s values. It also helps that despite being written with only a few redeeming qualities and being the literal villain (and weirdly misogynistic), I might have the smallest bit of a thing for Patrick Bateman. Not that I’d ever go for anyone like that in real life, but my fascination with his character is definitely a guilty pleasure. A guilty pleasure they really don’t need to know about.

He thumbs through the pages, attention focused like he’s actually reading it all that fast. Stu nods once, setting the book down at the edge of my bed before picking up a sweatshirt I almost forgot was still on my bed. He takes a second to feel the fabric of the sleeve before loosely folding it. Stu leaves it next to my book before laying down. 

We’re all lying horizontally now, but Stu’s backwards, his head closer to my torso and legs than anything else. The position makes it easy for me to secretly move my hand and softly flick his shoulder. Stu snaps his head in my direction, expression so shocked and slightly horrified I might as well have slapped him. 

It’d probably be smart to backtrack, but I’m clearly in no mood to make intelligent decisions, so I let myself laugh. The sound is a quick, too-smug giggle. Stu’s eyebrows pull together at the sound, the look concerning in its seriousness. I move to pull my hand back, but my reaction is too late. Stu throws his hand forward, grasping onto my wrist. I yank back once, had enough to be considered serious. Stu squeezes tighter, pulling my arm forward with an ease that embarrasses me.

“Stu!” A partial squeak, a partial laugh. 

He squeezes my arm to his chest, forcing my body to lean forward. I squirm, attempting to slip out of his grasp. I come close to escaping when I twist my arm back and turn my wrist without warning him, but Stu recovers. Growing desperate, I use my free hand to shove his shoulder. That backfires, too, encouraging him to use his other hand to keep me trapped.

The play fight escalates, both of us trying to win without getting up or seeming too invested. My wrist makes a cracking sound as I finally slip out of his hold. He’s quick to throw his arm forward and grab me again. Before I can even think to react, Stu tugs my hand upwards and briefly nips the side of my hand. 

I gasp so dramatically one might think he tried to gnaw off my entire hand. “Did you just bite me?”  Stu laughs, finally letting me take my arm back. I take a second to examine my hand, even though his teeth barely touched me. After deciding that my unmarked skin will one day recover, I prop myself up on my forearm and look over at Billy. “He fucking bit me.” 

Billy turns his head, unbothered by our conflict. “You started it.” There’s an underlying smugness that makes me want to shove him. I frown openly, not caring if I get accused of pouting. He sighs, holding up a hand. “Fine. Let’s see the damage.” 

“I didn’t even touch her.” 

I roll my eyes at Stu’s defense. Did it hurt? No, but it was deeply offensive. “You’re lucky I don’t bite you.” 

Stu lets out a breath, “Sweetheart, you can bi--” 

“Do not.” I keep my voice stern as I look at Billy’s waiting hand. He asked to see the damage, but there really isn’t any. The skin beneath my thumb wasn’t even grossly damp. It was more about my shock. But I still listen, setting my hand on his. 

Billy pulls on my hand gently, studying my skin intently. He even takes a second to bend my fingers and stretch them back out. “Think you’ll live.” 

I nod, letting Billy take his time still examining my hand. “Optimistic prognosis.” 

He shrugs slightly, his shoulder bumping into mine. “Only if you’ve had all your shots.”

Stu’s scoff and offended, “Fuck off,” are nearly drowned out by my laughter. Billy sets my hand down between us carefully. My giggling fit is drawn out by the rush of fondness in my chest. These two really are so much weirder than people realize and I wouldn’t change it for anything. Wow. They really are my best friends, and maybe arguably the most important people in my life. 

Feeling this close to anyone usually makes me want to be flighty. I’m not used to it when it comes to people I haven’t known my entire life, and there’s an inherent nervousness when it comes to growing attached to people you don’t completely know. It is kind of weird to feel this close to them and I haven’t even seen Billy’s room yet, so it makes sense that sometimes it feels different than what I’m used to. 

“What are you thinking about?” The question takes me by surprise, breaking the easy silence that’s been carried by the soft music. 

I blink at Billy’s words, a small part of me reacting like I’ve been caught doing something embarrassing. “Uh...nothing.” Fairly true. It’s not like my train of thought was focused or made much sense. Still, though, I should probably give him something more so he doesn’t assume that I’m trying to hide a mental break down. “...That you’re one of my best friends and I’ve never been to your house before.” 

Stu lightly squeezes my forearm. “You’re not missing much.” 

“You bit me,” I mumble, “What do you know?” 

He relaxes his hold on me in order to run his knuckles up and down my arm. “It was a love bite.” 

“Like a feral cat.”

Stu scoffs. “This is why Billy doesn’t want you at his place.” 

Wow. Rude. I part my lips, ready to insult him. “Okay,” Billy interjects, “Don’t start again.” A part of me’s offended by the defense. I should be able to fight Stu over this. “You guys are kids.”

I glare, “Rude.” 

“Fine, let him bite you again.” My nose wrinkles, but before I can say anything, Billy continues, “And he’s not wrong, you’re not missing much.” 

He’s probably right, I’ve just been thinking about it a little more than usual. “Until I see it, I’m going to think that your bedsheets are bright pink.”

“Actually, they’re bright purple.” 

The sarcasm comes out so quickly, so casually, I almost think he means it. “Nice try, but I’m still assuming neon pink.” 

He sighs, “It’s neon now?” The question’s mumbled, and before I can say anything back, Billy sits up. 

Stu turns onto his side, eyebrows drawn together in order to silently ask what’s up with Billy. “What are you doing?” 

“If she’s going to make up things about my room until she sees it...” He walks away from my bed, stopping close to my door. “We should get it over with.” 

Oh my god?? I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that. I also wasn’t prepared for the wave of excitement buzzing in my chest. I sit up too quickly, too telling. “Really?” 

It’s a casual thing that I really don’t want to make weird, but I wasn’t angling to get him to take us over there. And the thought is nice, they’re my best friends and a bedroom gives insight into a person. It’s also the perfect distraction after everything that’s happened today. 

“Yeah? Really?” 

Billy shrugs, already reaching my door. “It’ll be better than whatever she makes up about it.” 

A good point, because I was already thinking about ways to work in an assumption about him having zebra print lampshades and posters pulled from pre-teen magazines. “Am I getting that predictable?” 

He raises his eyebrows and Stu tries to conceal a laugh. I roll my eyes as Billy returns the question, “Getting?” 

“Haha.” Why do I hang out with them? I take back all the warm, fuzzy thoughts about them. 

I push myself to my feet, looking for my shoes. Stu sits up, waiting for me to find my sneakers. Because I was planning on hiding in my room until school, I almost didn’t change out of pajamas and now I’m glad I changed into some leggings and a comfortable shirt this morning.

My shoes were hiding underneath a pillow. I free them and sit on the edge of my bed to pull them on. Stu taps my knee, getting me to turn. “What?” 

He pats his lap once, implying something I don’t get. When I don’t react quickly enough, Stu sighs and bends forward. He pulls on my laces. “I can--” It’s too late, he’s already looped them once and is working on doing it again. “Double knotted?” 

Stu squeezes my ankle after tying my last shoe. “You trip too much for me not to.” 

I scoff, “You were almost nice.” 

“I’m always nice to you, angel.”

rolling my eyes, I move to stand after Stu straightens. 

“Grab a jacket,” Billy mumbles, “It’s cold.”

If my mom could see this, she’d never make another joke about him again. Actually, she’d probably say he’s one of my only friends with good sense. “Nerd.” 

He gives me a more-than-slightly-annoyed look as I reach for the jacket hanging on my desk chair. I make a point of holding up the jacket before folding the fabric over my arm. 

----

It’s a lot harder to not look like a little kid on a field trip than one would think. Maybe it’s the jacket that’s gone from neatly folded over my arm to a wadded up lump pressed snugly into my chest, held in place by my crossed together arm. The spring in my step could be part of the problem, a slight bounce that has to be a result of the touch of fall chilliness in the air and has absolutely nothing to do with internal excitement. That’d be way too dramatic. 

Billy unlocks the door and pulls it open. Stu walks in first, I follow. We walk down a short entryway that leads to a main living area. The living area is put together, radiating a neatness that almost feels clinical. Maybe that’s an exaggerated way of taking in the precisely angled arm chairs and the glass figurine that’s sitting on the coffee table, but I can’t help the thought. It has to be a byproduct of the ‘organized chaos’ my mom raised me on, a stack of magazines in the living room that never seem to fully straighten and unmatched pillows that get paired together to tell a story. 

The space is nice, though, some underlying factor I can’t pinpoint making it still feel a little homey. It’s almost like the room’s covered by an invisible cloak that makes it clear that people live here, that this isn’t some open house. I take my time looking around the room, trying to find a source for this feeling. 

There are a few framed photos, but none of them revolving around family enough to offer a homey feel, just pictures of a little boy growing up. The fuzzy one of the boy at maybe the age of six stands out on the coffee table, his smile reveals a missing tooth in a way that makes it a personal favorite. For a second, I think the subtle lived in atmosphere could be coming from the few knick knacks on the coffee table and book shelf, but quickly rule that out. Sure, they’re objectively nice decorations but they don’t fit together in that way. There’s no way a dad didn’t pick them out. 

I guess the feeling comes from the details. The most comfortable looking arm chair is the one closest to the bookshelf even though that corner of the room is almost a little too cramped for the two to sit next to each other. The rug matches the walls and the couch in a way that makes the cream colored pillows seem sad and out of place. 

“Is it everything you thought it’d be?” 

Stu’s voice snaps me out of my train of thought. I nod once, stepping towards the coffee table. My hand reaches forward, picking up the picture of the kid with the missing tooth. “Oh, most definitely.” 

Billy sighs at the same time Stu lets out a quick, easy laugh. “That’s a good one.” 

“Put it down,” Billy mumbles halfheartedly, but it’s too late. Stu’s at my side, taking the smooth frame. He holds it up and then down, squinting like he’s studying a complex work of art. “This was a mistake.” 

I grin, “Once again, most definitely.” 

“You used to be a real softie.” Stu delivers the comment in a way that feels almost factual. I bite down a joke about how used to feels like an exaggeration as Stu sets down the frame. 

Billy frowns a little too pointedly. “Yeah, I was the one that was sensitive.” 

I turn my head towards Stu, who’s stiffer than he was too seconds ago. There’s definitely a story there. “What’s that about?”

“Don’t listen to him, sweetheart,” Stu pouts, lazily extending an arm in my direction. “He’s always been jealous of me.” 

Mhm. I roll my eyes, sighing as I reluctantly step forward and meet him halfway. Stu squeezes my shoulder. The gesture is gentle enough, but I still halfheartedly try to push him off. “Yeah, jealous sounds like the right word.” 

He huffs. “Don’t be mean.” 

I force my thumb downwards. My nail pinches at my skin a little but it works, I get in between the fabric of my shirt and Stu’s palm. He curves his hand to give me the space I need. “I’m never mean.” He tries to squeeze my thumb down flat. “Seriously, though,” I turn my head enough to look at Billy, “Story?” 

Billy tilts his head just enough for me to notice and his eyebrows pull together. The feeling that he’s silently trying to tell me something I can’t interpret tugs at me briefly. He straightens his stance before I can read too much into the look. “Imagine that with the impulse control of a seven-year-old, that’s the story.” 

Stu being a former terror is a topic that’s been touched on before. Usually, the issue with befriending people that have known each other their entire lives is that you’ll never have the childhood experiences together. You’ll never know whose parents hosted the sleepovers or who had constantly scraped knees or who went through an embarrassing obsession with some child targeted franchise. 

It’s a fair thing thing to be intimidated by. And normally, it’d sting from time to time, but with them it rarely does. I like hearing the stories, like the details that come up. 

Stu scoffs in complaint, fighting back with renewed interest as I come close to freeing my shoulder.

“He used to have a thing for bugs,” Billy offers after a second, “Didn’t like when people would mess with hives and-and food routes or whatever.” 

The hand on my shoulder nearly goes slack. I blink, twisting my neck to look at Stu, whose staring straight ahead. “Shut up.” The words come out uncharacteristically passive, and maybe even a little flat. 

Picturing Stu as one of those insect fact kids wouldn’t come to me naturally, but it does kind of fit. Not the defending them, but the interest in something that gets people to react. 

“Really?”

Stu sighs, “Not really.” Again, a surprisingly flat defense. “I didn’t have a thing...just thought they were...” He lifts one shoulder in a shrug, “Cool.” 

“So cool you had to put a beetle in Valerie Thompson’s cubbie.” 

...And there it is. I laugh despite myself, imagining a second-grade Stu and some poor girl getting into some kind of argument and then later finding something crawling between her crayons and coloring sheets. Maybe it’s a good thing we met when we did. Little me could be a monster in her own way, a way that wouldn’t have fit theres.  “That poor girl.” 

“Valerie Thompson had it coming,” Stu says, “Y’know what she was like.” 

I don’t know if it’s weird that I assumed that Stu was talking to me or both of us instead of just talking to Billy. The comment was small, offhanded and focused on a topic only they know about. It’s fair for him to not be talking to me. Rationally, I get it. That doesn’t mean I like it, though. 

I’ve seen them interact in ways that make it feel like everyone else is invisible. They get each other like that. Anyone that’s around them long enough to see them relax has to get it. It’s the kind of understanding that makes people insecure about their own best-friendship. Not that it makes me feel like that. Most of the time. 

Something about it right now burns more than usual. My feelings aren’t hurt, I’m not upset because that wouldn’t be fair, but I’m not comfortable and breezy either. That just makes it worse, why does it feel different now?

Maybe my irritability is a result of multiple things. All I’ve had to today is a few spoonfuls of the ice cream that I mainly picked at so that my mom wouldn’t worry and I’ve had no water. The whole book thing has been stressful, too, and the pulsing ache of a migraine is starting to settle behind my right eye. 

It was nice of Billy to invite me over because I asked, but maybe it’s too early for me to be out again. Maybe what I need is the safe enclosure of my bedroom, dim lighting, and a nap. 

I try to shake off my discomfort by acting on instinct. The instinct of a feral toddler that isn’t getting enough attention. I twist my thumb, poking his hand with my nail. I’m not being mean about it, but I could have been gentler. Stu doesn’t react, which only adds to my annoyance.

My knuckles bend, giving me the space I need to get enough leverage to separate Stu’s hand from my arm. He lets me. 

“Guess he hasn’t changed that much since he bit you today.” 

The direct comment has me easing slightly. I get myself to smile. “Clearly.”

Billy takes a partial step forward, “You good?” 

I scratch the back of my arm, trying to ground myself in the present. Be normal. “Yeah...just tired.” Which is true enough. I wipe at my face, pinching the bridge of my nose in an attempt to control the dull pain. “And I feel like I’m getting a headache.” 

He nods, expression cloudy. “You want tylenol or water or...something.” 

Pull it together. I force my hands to my side as I shake my head once. “I’m okay, just spaced out for a second.” 

“You need to lay down?” Stu tilts his head, watching me like a part of him thinks I could faint.

My fingertips press into my side. “I’m good, it’s just a migraine.” This is what happens when someone decides to write a book about the most traumatic thing I’ve ever gone through. “Probably just stress.” They’re staring attentively. I can’t blame them for their concern. If I freaked out right now, this wouldn’t be my first meltdown. The fact that it’s warranted makes everything feel like too much. “Can we get back to analyzing Billy’s baby pictures? I think I saw one with a pool floaty on the bookshelf.”

“Baby pictures are low tier.” Stu briefly lifts a hand before dropping it dismissively, swiping at the air. “The real making fun of Billy’s in his room.”

“Really?”

"Yep. All the angst.” 

Intriguing. “All the angst and pink sheets, right?” 

“Neon.” 

Billy sighs once, reluctantly stepping forward. This is all out of his control now. “You two don’t need to be around each other.” 

He walks past the couch, approaching a hall that leads away from the living room. Stu turns his head the second Billy’s back is to us. “So jealous of us.” 

Despite myself, I smile, finally feeling a bit more at ease. “So.” 

We walk down the hall together. Billy’s fully ditched us, but Stu knows where we’re going. The hall is short, we pass one door before Stu stops us in front of one that’s partially open. He opens it fully with a gentle push and walks in without a second thought.

I’m still stepping into the room when the bed creaks loudly thanks to the sudden addition of Stu’s weight. He’s making himself just as at home as he does in my room, rolling onto his stomach to reach for a pillow to tuck beneath him. 

Billy sighs from his desk chair, moving his legs off the foot of the bed. “What did we say you were? Seven?” 

Stu cranes his neck, glaring at Billy before relaxing again. “And a half.” 

“Feels generous.” The joke comes out instinctually, but my attention’s already divided.

Billy’s room is made up of deep blue-grey walls, not quite dark but nowhere close to light either. All the furniture is made of dark wood that matches the hardwood of the floor. The room is decorated a little neater than one would expect for a teenage boy, a few posters that are sized too well to not have been picked out carefully. They’re movie themed, though nowhere near as openly gory or sexualized as the one’s in Stu’s. 

Everything’s also nicely organized. Like, even more organized than my room. No clothes on the floor or laundry sitting in a basket or on a chair in a pile that’s left to grow until it eventually topples over. What I can see of his desk is also put together, no assignments or unfinished books or projects cluttering the surface.

I walk towards the bed, siting down on the edge. The comforter is navy blue and a lot softer than I thought it’d be. His sheets are dark colored, neutral plaid. Not hot pink or an obnoxious shade of purple, unfortunately. I can’t bring myself to mind being wrong. The space is really Billy in a reserved sort of way. It fits him. 

“No pink sheets.” Billy’s voice snaps me out of my analysis. It’s a good thing, too, because I was probably seconds away from touching things on his bookshelf and messing with the lamp and being nosey about knick knacks. I’d feel worse about the desire to pry and investigate for entertainment’s sake if both of them weren’t constantly looking through my things. 

My hand brushes the edge of the sheet that’s folded over. “Disappointing.” I twist awkwardly to better look at him. Billy’s bouncing his leg, not looking at anything in particular. “But besides that, it’s nice and not as embarrassing as Stu said it’d be.” 

Billy’s eyebrows draw together, “As?” 

Stu props his head up on one elbow despite the fact that most of his arm sinks into a pillow. “Look through his underwear draw and then we’ll talk.” 

I laugh, surprising myself with how loud and genuine it is. The suddenness aggravates the background soreness of a headache. I ignore it. “You’ve looked through his underwear drawer?” 

“It--” Stu cuts himself off with a sigh that sounds suspiciously close to a laugh, letting his head fall back onto the pillow.

Our laughing fit ends as Billy stands up. “Where are you going?” 

He walks around the bed, barely glancing over at me to answer, “Give me a second.” ...Okay? “Don’t look through my underwear drawer.” 

“No promises,” Stu calls after him.

Billy doesn’t react, extending an arm and instinctually half-shutting the door. Stu adjusts, forcing himself to sit up. He’s farther back on the bed than me, but his legs are so long his knees are nearly level with mine. “We’re not really gonna do that are we?” 

Stu half laughs-half scoffs, wrinkling his nose and scrunching his eyes together in pretend disgust. “I’m good.” I smile. “We can tell him we did, though.” 

“We should also tell him we found something really embarrassing.” Stu raises his eyebrows and I immediately regret it. I scoff, reaching back to smack his arm. “Not like that, I meant like a stuffed animal or something.” 

“Don’t you have stuffed animals?” 

My posture stiffens, a tiny part of me offended that he’s implying that my children are something I should be embarrassed about. “That’s different.” I frown, thinking of the one stuffed animal that lives on my bed and the few that live around my room. “And you said you liked them.” 

Stu never said that, but he has implied it. Nothing crazy, just a few debates between a duck my mom had given me as a child and a bear from my grandparents. He even asked about their names. 

He shrugs, turning towards me. His knee taps against mine. “I’m not complaining.” I narrow my eyes, skeptical if this is leading into some kind of joke. “As long as Daisy leaves Blueberry alone.” 

I fight down a laugh, because laughing would undo all of the work I’ve put in to convincing him that making up lore about my stuffed animals is something he should stop. “You made that up.” 

He tilts his head, “That’s what Daisy wants you to think.” 

“I don’t even think you actually remember which one’s Daisy and which one’s Blueberry.” 

Stu gasps like I’ve slapped him. “Daisy’s obviously the duck with the--the sweater--blue sweater with daisies--and Blueberry’s the bear in overalls.” 

This time, the giggle slips out. I’m still not convinced he’s not making fun of me in some way or setting up for some kind of joke, but the way he grins might make it worth it. “Too easy. Which one’s Jellybean?” 

He presses his lips together to demonstrate serious thought. “The...bookshelf one. The bunny with the--the ears.” Stu lifts a hand, using his fingers to try to draw something long and floppy in the air. “The grey one.” I grin. “And the last one’s French Fry, the dog on your desk for good luck.” 

“Okay,” I manage reluctantly, a confession pulled out like a tooth, “You did a good job.” 

Stu’s smile impossibly widens, reaching forward to wrap an arm around me. “I know my girl.” 

I sigh, mumbling a quick, “Not your girl.” Stu ignores me, squeezing me to him a little more confidently. “And you know I don’t actually think French Fry’s lucky anymore, he just lives there.” 

He scoffs, “Don’t talk about French Fry like that, babe, all he does is guard your homework.” 

I frown, craning my neck to look at him, “Are you making fun of me?” 

“No,” he breathes the word out in a way that makes it feel like the opposite of what it means. 

Some joke about how French Fry’s going to have to start guarding me from him is almost out of my mouth when something creeks. Billy’s opening the door, a glass in his hand. He extends the glass towards me. I take it instinctually, even though I have no idea what the water’s about.

“Drink,” Billy says, already moving to the other side of the bed, “For your head.” 

Ah. Not the first time Billy’s blamed an issue on me not drinking enough water. Even though I didn’t ask for anything, the gesture makes my chest feel warm. I take a few long sips. “Thanks.” 

Billy nods once, sitting at the edge of the bed. Stu twists himself to make it easier to look at Billy. “You know she just said French Fry’s not lucky.” 

“Wow,” Billy shrugs, a distinctly sarcastic lilt to his shock, “That’s blasphemous.” 

I roll my eyes before drinking some more water. “I just meant that I’m not like five and that I don’t actually think he can bark away the bad grades.” A barely covered laugh overlaps with the last of my words. I snap my head towards Billy. “What?” 

“Bark away the bad grades?” Okay, it sounds dumb now, but when I was younger the thought of doing my homework in the presence of French Fry was comforting. A school counselor recommended him to keep me calm during tests and now he’s just a good omen. “You just--you don’t seem like you were that weird a kid and then you say--” 

“I was not weird!” A little defensive for someone that was in the fourth grade with a stress plushy. “I was--I was like one of those kids that was basically an extra excited old person.” 

Stu’s arm slips off me as he adjusts the way he’s sitting. “Yeah, that sounds normal.” 

Really? After what’s been established about him? “Okay, bug boy.” 

He glares, openly offended. “It wasn’t like that.” 

“Sure.” 

“Okay.” Billy’s interjection tells me that he’s hitting his petty fight limit earlier today than usual. He only tries to preemptively intervene when he’s hitting a specific wall that Stu and I make people realize they have. “Before you guys start fighting like little kids, have you had lunch yet?” 

Unless you count a bowl of ice cream that ended up abandoned in my kitchen... 

Stu sits up a little more, “Nope.” He turns his head enough to look at me, “What about you, angel?” 

I tap my nails against my knee. “Not yet.”

“Wanna go to that pizza place?” Stu offers, already moving towards the edge of the bed to stand.

The thought of food isn’t particularly appealing, but I’ve moved past the stage of panic that made the thought of eating nauseating. What is nauseating is what could happen if I go out in public. Gale Weathers has been nonstop promoting her book. What if someone recognizes me? It was bad enough when the attack first happened and my school was buzzing with journalists...Now things are confirmed and Gale Weathers can’t keep my name out of her mouth. 

My grip on the glass of water tightens, “Sure.” 

“We can do something else if you want?” 

Ugh...a selfish part of me wishes I had it in me to pretend not to hear the hint of uneasiness in Stu’s voice. I could shake my head and say that pizza’s good, blame my hesitance on the beginnings of a migraine and sleep depravation. 

“It’s not...” Both of my hands grasp the glass. I press my thumb against the rim with enough tension to leave a red line indented into my skin. “She’s still talking about it and--and I saw some other show doing a segment on it and my name came up like three times in the five minutes that I watched.” 

It’s going to take over my life. Slowly but surely, it’ll take more and more. The buzz will die down and the side stares and not-so-mumbled comments will stop, because they did before. But then the book will come out and it will start again, and by the time it stops being super relevant it’ll be linked to my identity. Colleges will see it, any job that requires a background check will find it in seconds, and all it takes is for one person to find out and then it’s everywhere. 

What if I get into a great school and start making friends and then one person realizes they’ve seen my name before or looks into Gale’s career for whatever reason and then suddenly it’s everywhere? It’ll cling to me like a shadow, the label of victim the kind one and the conspiracy theorists... 

“You don’t have to put up with it.” Billy’s voice is low, almost unfeeling. I don’t get what he’s saying. Billy understands my question before I can ask. “The Gale thing--if she wants to use your name every two seconds to promote her book, you should let her know you’re not okay with it. Don’t make it easy for her, you’re not helpless.” 

The sharpness in his tone doesn’t feel aggressive, it’s urging. Honest. “Sorry, that was--” 

“Don’t be sorry.” I mean it. The directness and the lack of coddling forced me out of my the-world-is-ending spiral. My mom’s trying to track Gale Weathers down logically, but with someone that doesn’t mind playing underhanded to get what she wants, you have to work the same way. She ambushes people all the time. “I think I needed to hear it.” 

Gale’s office is probably in a public directory, and if it’s not, she’ll probably try to find me at school. There’ll be a chance to tell her off, a chance to stop her. Or at least, to get her to stop mentioning me like I’m a tagline. 

“We’ll take her down,” Stu encourages, gently bumping his fist against my arm, “After food.” He stands up, the bed shifting beneath his weight. “C’mon, if anyone looks at you, I’ll beat ‘em up.” 

I roll my eyes, letting Stu pull on my free hand until I stand up. “You offer to do that a lot. I think you just want to beat someone up.” 

“Nah, if I did, I’d just punch Billy.” 

Billy lets out an exhausted sigh as he stands. “Seriously?” 

“What? I’d say I’d punch her, but she scares me a little.” Considering how often Stu and I do fight each other, I really doubt it. “She fights dirty.” 

“Yeah.” Billy’s agreement comes out suspiciously fast as he opens the door. “I’ve seen her kick your ass.” 

----

a/n billy and stu when someone else takes advantage of y/n’s trauma: 🤯🤬

also next chapter should be a lot messier hehehe

Taglist:  @cole22ann @womenarecannibals @fand0mskullfa1ry @princessleah129 @i-amnotokaywiththis @fvcking-gxddess @suckmyass-things @im-better-than-your-newborn @michibuni @bigenargy @marli-lavellan @mushy-mushroom04 @neenieweenie @lone-ray @the-ruler-of-death @andthevillainshallrises @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @dixbolik-bby @thebitchiestnerdtowalktheearth @peachycupotea @my5tica1ien @agustdeeyaa @astrial @3ll0kittylvr420 @zoleea-exultant @slaypussypop-21 @aonungs-tsahik @finnydraws @slytherhoes @vxarak @xofeeeeelsxo @thewayiknowyou @yourslashersfinalgirl @winterridinghood @maggieleighc @kobababysblog @moved2burntrubbertoast @gamecrew209 @idkf-loll @wolfgirl-205 @ultimatequeenieofsass @kathanibennett @itsjuststaticnoises @brittney69 @domaniquessidehoe @kaydesssssssss @superhighschoollevelnerd-blog1 @classicbandtrash83 @itzz-me-duh 

[catwouthats]

I want to preface this by saying I have a really good pattern recognition and took a film class before .

I NEVER WANTED TO LEARN THIS INFORMATION OR HAVE THIS THEORY!!

Anyways, because people are confused about the theory of Gabriel somehow having the second coming of Christ (and also why I think some of the book of Revelation will be included in Good Omens 3), I thought I’d put my evidence here.

Once again I’d like to formally apologize and this is your last warning.

You will lose all sanity past this point just like i did.

(TLDR; only read what’s in bold and look at the pictures)

When it comes to why I think season 3 might be based off of Revelation slightly, there isn’t that much evidence. (Unfortunately there is more evidence for the other part.)

First of all we have Metatron mentioning the second coming of Christ before they get on the elevator. Now for those of you who don’t know the second Coming of Christ is part of Revelation! (Also, Metatron did not bother to try and stop Gabriel from leaving… which I find suspicious…)

Where “Christ 2.0” is mentioned in Revelation? Well the Revelation is not straight forward. Some think of the Second Coming of Christ as whom was mentioned in Revelation 14:14-16 (in this chapter he comes down from the heavens and chops off heads) and some think of The Second Coming of Christ as who was mentioned in Revelation 19:11-16 (in this chapter he comes down from the heavens and helps put two of the false prophets in hellfire). For Chapter 14, they call the being “the son of man”, which is the same title people use for Jesus. For chapter 19, there is “King of Kings, Lord of Lords” tattooed on his thigh, which is what some people call God.

Luckily, considering the main point of Good Omens is to show that love and life matters most, I don’t think they will do exactly what those chapters say.

Neil also said that he got inspiration from Genesis and Revelation here: https://www.tumblr.com/neil-gaiman/728173029401788416/hi-neil-gaiman-i-would-like-to-know-if-good-omens

Side note, another reason I feel they will use some of Revelation:

Now on to the Unfortunate truth. Proof/foreshadowing that Gabriel will have the Second Coming of Christ. (Again I want to formerly apologize to both the fandom and Neil Gaiman.)

So what started this is Chapter 12 of Revelation. In chapter 12 someone is pregnant in the sky/heavens/space and gives birth to a special child. Before that child is eaten by a monster, an Angel comes in and takes the Baby away and brings the baby to God. This is why I think this is the same being as the second coming mentioned before. He was taken care of by God and raised in Heaven.

But he was also born in space…

And unfortunately for us ineffable bureaucracy is in space. And although they aren’t human, there are actually a lot of references throughout Good Omens 1 and 2 that associate Gabriel with birth and sex.

But before i get into that, I want to preface all this. I know this might upset some of you all because you might also have had the head cannon of them being asexual. To that I say, don’t worry I don’t think anything sexual will actually happen. They are kind of dumb (when it comes to human affairs) supernatural beings whom can perform miracles. A lot of this is just dramatic irony used to make us laugh and to possibly hint at the future.

So here is all the evidence of Gabriel having a kid so far (I will edit it if more comes up):

1) When he says he was there for the creation/birth of Eve in the garden. Why in the world would that be an important thing to mention? For what reason did God want him there? Why did God want him to see how to make a human?

2) The fact he is the same Angel who delivered the message to Mary that she was pregnant with Jesus. You can see this in Luke 1:26. While, this is not mentioning Good Omens I feel it is important to point out. Also, I think it would be funny if Mary was able to pull an Uno reverse card (and a +2 card because it would be the 2nd coming) and tell GABRIEL that he was gonna have the child.

Not to mention there are even more similarities between the two of them (which I mention later.) I think it shows them as having something more in common rather than just being in eachother a story…

3) The fact he was also there for the “birth” of 3 of Lot’s kids. Yet another moment of human creation that God insisted he’d be a part of.

6) The tomatoes falling in front of him as he walked to Aziraphale’s Bookshop (they did a close up which usually is a “pay attention” sign) because apparently tomatoes are a sign of fertility. (Also if you look at the extended edition of Gabriel’s arrival you will see that the tomato pile seeming bubbled up like it was multiply as he walked by.)

Not only that, but some studies show that tomatoes can cure infertility. And considering we know that angels do not at first have any reproductive organs, I think it’s safe to say that this symbolism could show how he is no longer infertile. (Link: https://www.nicswell.co.uk/health-news/tomatoes-and-fertility )

7) Everyone assumed he was a stripper that Aziraphale hired. Nina thought it was Aziraphale’s ”naked man friend” he hired. And the people around him even took pictures of him nude. They didn’t even bother to call the police they were in such awe.

The fact that they didn’t call the police or weren’t really disgusted (but rather many were quite turned on if you look at the symbolism) is very interesting to me. It reminds me of the story of Lot in the Bible. Two Angels visit Lot (in sodom and Gomorrah) and a huge crowd of people forms outside his house. The angels were so charismatic and hot that everybody wanted to do them, and that is why they were crowding around Lot’s house. I wish I was joking, but I’m not!

8) All the people that flirted with him at the ball to which he said something along the lines of “I learned something new about this body last night in bed” and also “want me to show you?”

As my friend on tiktok (cloverthegrand) said “something something Gabriel was [probably] purposefully made to be very attractive to attract a partner to fulfill the second coming requirements.”

9) He likes hot cocoa and chocolate is sort of an aphrodisiac, which is something that supposedly “turns you on”. And yes, chocolate is still a symbol of love even without it’s aphrodisiac qualities.

(Link: https://www.simplychocolate.com/learn-chocolate-aphrodisiac )

10) When they have sushi (fish), Gabriel is always(?) there. When they are in he restaurant in season 1 and at the Ball in season 2. Fish is a sign of fertility in a couple cultures like in judaism, some Native American tribes, and Celtic culture. 

(Links: https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/an-abundance-of-fish/ and https://www.atshq.org/fish-symbolism/ )

11) This is quite controversial, but the fact that Gabriel planned basically to show up to beelzebub completely naked is quite… odd. He probably doesn’t understand the complexities of this and what it means (or would mean to humans), yet it is still an odd flag that I feel could show us a hint. And once again, I would like to remind you all that this is not me saying that they aren’t asexual. I still firmly believe that they are both aroace spec because they are/were Angels!

12) The “I’m in the fly” on the bottom of the box that Gabriel brought is also quite funny to me. Gabriel and Beelzebub sure did not get the joke, but I know some of the audience (including me) had one Hell of a time laughing at that dramatic irony/pun! And once again it is another this that associates Gabriel with the creation of kids.

13) “Everyday” being beelzebub and Gabriels song -despite also being described by Terry and Neil as an apocalyptic song- is also interesting to me. I feel it could show that somehow their love and their romance is the start of this second apocalypse or maybe even the center of it. It’s slightly scary to me that Neil didn’t wait to use Everyday for season three, yet instead started using it here for a romance.

14) All the good luck symbolism for Gabriel.  Gabriel got really lucky the season. Whether with a Aziraphale and Crowley and his memory or how everything around him went. It was as if it was perfectly planned. And it was! There were a lot of symbols for good luck, always surrounding Gabriel to make sure no harm came his way (such as the Garlic, onions, cabbage, and plum tree at Gabriel’s arrival. Also the color blue, hearts, and lions.) I feel this shows just how important and essential Gabriel is to SOMETHING. Something probably bigger than he knows.

Please correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure I remember Neil Gaiman once saying on Tumblr that he made Gabriel more of a character in season one of good omens because he was important to the next part of the story. This season definitely showed us just how important Gabriel really is (to my unfortunate mental decline.)

15) Cows. This one isn’t that big considering it is just two framed images of cows in the background while Beelzebub and Gabriel order at the bar, but I included it anyways. Cows represent fertility and strength (yippee 😐)

16) Gabriel is wearing the same blue at the Ball as Sitis(kind of) and as The Virgin Mary! They all have big blue thingy. This shows they are similar… somehow (*cough* miraculous births/“births” *cough*)

Bonus: The Proof is in the Pudding!… or at least the side dish. Here is some evidence from the extended editions/cut scenes:

A) In the extended edition of Gabriel’s arrival:

Aa) Lemon symbolism. In the extended edition, you can see an old man holding a lemon, while standing in front of a pile of tomatoes on the table. The pile of tomatoes then later, bubbles up, as if multiplying, and falls down on the floor, overtaking him and his lemon.  lemons can symbolize loyalty to one other person in a sexual or romantic relationship and they were also used as a form of birth control, but consider the tomatoes -what fixes infertility- went past that man I think it’s safe to say that is no longer a thing.



Ab) Flowers. Honestly this is not that important because flowers have many different meanings (I mainly did this for fun; not all of the flowers support this theory). But mainly people use flowers to give to someone they love. Also, flowers in General (specifically Lilies and Roses) are commonly associated with the Virgin Mary. Let me quickly go over the flowers/plants in this shot that I could identify.

Black eyed Susans - encouragement, motivation, endurance, and justice

White Roses - purity, youthfulness, innocence, eternal loyalty, and new beginnings

Yellow Roses - friendship and joy

Pink Roses - elegance, refinement, sweetness, and femininity

Green Roses or Green Chrysanthemum? (I can’t tell which it is from a distance) - chrysanthemum-good fortune, rebirth, renew, and good health. Rose-renewal, fertility, growth, abundance, and rejuvenation

Eucalyptus - strength, protection, abundance, and the division between Heaven and Earth

Wreaths - not a flower I know, but they do symbolize some important things. Fertility, life after death, life, and Jesus dying and coming back

(Links (This is not all of them because I got tired): https://fiftyflowers.com/blogs/flowers/rose-color-meanings#:~:text=White%20roses%20symbolize%20purity%2C%20youthfulness,for%20weddings%20and%20romantic%20occasions. And https://blossmcart.com/blog/chrysanthemum-meaning-and-symbolism/#:~:text=Green%20chrysanthemums%20symbolize%20good%20fortune,love%2C%20longevity%2C%20and%20joy. )

Ac) THE HOSE POORING WATER INTO THE PURSE! OH MY GOSH DID THIS SHOT SURPRISE ME IN THE EXTENDED EDITION! Also they even did a close up of it so you know it’s important! This is on the nose fornication. The hose representing a pp, the purse representing somethings that “purrs”, and the water representing… human male milk. The hose fills up the purse and makes it wet in these shots.

This could just be them showing more of how everyone is thirsting after Gabriel, but than again… why specifically Gabriel? And why something so specifically representing conception?

B) In the cut scene at The Ball

Ba) The nut allergy. In one of the cut scenes Justine has a nut allergy and asks Gabriel if any of the appetizers have nuts in them. I love to interpret this as them saying they are a lesbian because of their emphasis on all nuts. I especially love this because (assumingly) the people before them were flirting with him and they weren’t (probably because he looks like a male human.)

Bb) The fact Gabriel has no idea what nuts are and asks what they taste like. It seems very innocent in the scene, but if I saw that scene back to back of the “I learned something new in bed last night” I would definitely assume that was on purpose for many reasons. And considering all the other times Gabriel is associated with sex, I think I am gonna interpret it this way. He is a very innocent Angel though (literally).

[EDITS: The bit on the side (more evidence that I unfortunately can’t add imagery for because I’ve reached my limit on this Tumblr post):

-the pornography bit in s1

-the fact Gabriel is sort of fixated on having a nice body (exercising, looking at the statue of himself)

-the way his statue holds a cross the similar to how The Virgin Mary holds a cross in images (at least at times where she is holding one)

-The fact that there is also a lot of imagery of the Virgin Mary putting her hands cross over her chest, which is similar to how Gabriel does when Aziraphale and Crowley ask to hold his hands in s2

-him “being a Virgin” being the butt of a lot of the sexual jokes. I put being a virgin in quotes because I actually have a very depressing theory about this. He most definitely did not just miracle genitals right before seeing Beelzebub, otherwise the Angels would’ve gotten a notification as he was leaving that he did that considering they were looking at his file. That means he’s had that for a while. We know he has something down there because of the crowds reaction to him being naked after he puts down the box. 

-Neil said “we will never know” when asked if Gabriel made “the effort” down there… this isn’t evidence I just find this hilarious (Link https://www.tumblr.com/neil-gaiman/725238480054239232/hey-neil-i-dont-know-if-this-question-has )

-Neil offered the name Gabriel to someone that was naming an incubator in their lab https://www.tumblr.com/neil-gaiman/727942479466430464/i-need-help-naming-lab-equipment-i-work-in-a-lab

-

Do I think all of this evidence means Gabriel will give BIRTH? Not exactly, I mean he could just miracle a child by pulling of one of his ribs and gathering Star dust around it to shape the body. However, I do think there is a high possibility that Gabriel will somehow raise or make The Second coming of Christ (or just any child) in Good Omens 3.

And on the contrary, to all of what I said, some of the other angels and demons could also be associated with fertility (ex: stars, sand and fish as symbolism for fertility. Aziraphale has scenes with stars, sand and fish). However, in my opinion, it is not to the degree that Gabriel is associated with things like sex, birth and the Virgin Mary. He is CONSTANTLY being associated with it (even if it’s not on purpose) throughout the series. They could just be making sex jokes with Gabriel because it’s funny (and because it’s John Hamm who is/was apparently a sex symbol), but we’ll never know until season 3 I guess!

I doubt this all will help in my plea to be not weird on tumblr, considering I shared the evidence now, but it’s better than sounding like somebody who just said “archangel Gabriel mpreg” just for the fuck all.

[her-devils-advocate]

Through the Mist | Part 1

pairings: Femshep x Garrus

summary: When a routine mission to rescue and recruit a handful of scientists goes wrong, Shepard and her team are left to fight against something they had never expected to face. Now stranded on a heavily fog-covered planet, they realise there is more to the strange weather than they originally thought, especially when they hear things from beyond the fog; calling for them.

word count: 4,213

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60592000/chapters/154704487

“Commander, a handful of scientists are located in a remote facility near you. Their knowledge is invaluable, and we could use them for the crucible. I’ll send you all the information I have, Hackett out.” 

The blue holographic display fizzles away, leaving Shepard alone in the QEC as she mutters out a quiet “Yes, sir.” to the air. She heaves out a sigh before opening her comms, “Joker, we have a new destination. Set course for the Rosetta Nebula.”

“Aw, seriously, Shepard?” He groans, the sound coming out muffled and even without seeing him Shepard can tell he’s rubbing his face. Exhaustion has quickly become more prevalent across her crew, the war wearing them down physically and emotionally, especially after losing a lot more than just their pride to Cerberus. A fact that still gnaws away at her, despite her brave mask which has since been carefully reinforced to keep up what morale is left in her crew.

“Yes, seriously. Orders from Hackett,” she replies, her voice tense. She bites her lip before forcing out a smile, hoping it comes across in her voice. “I don’t like this any more than you Joker, but it needs to be done and it’s better to do it now while we’re nearby. Think of the fuel prices otherwise.”

“You’re buying me three drinks next time, each with their own little umbrella.” He declares, pausing for a moment before adding, “And a damn good dinner, you’re killing me here, Raven.”

Shepard snorts just before the line drops, letting herself flop against the railing in front of her, safe in the privacy of the war room. She feels Garrus approach her slumped form, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close to him. 

“Let me guess, one more mission and then we’ll go to the Citadel for shore leave?” He asks, his fingers drawing comforting circles against her waist.

She gives him an apologetic smile as she leans into him, resting her head against the cool plating of his armour. “It will be quick and easy, we just need to pick up a small group and drop them off. We might as well do it now and then take them with us to the Citadel, though I don’t like putting off shore leave like this.”

“Well, at least the wait will be worth it,” he jokes, catching her tired expression. “Hackett just wants you to collect some people? Sounds like he’s going easy on you with this one.”

“God, please don’t jinx us, Garrus.” She laughs, letting him hold most of her weight against him. 

“Me? Never…” 

From what is visible, the planet appears to be a desolate wasteland; all grey stone and barren of all signs of life. She has yet to learn what the scientists have been working on here and regrets not pressing Hackett for more information, despite the Admiral sending all he had. A high clearance team, working on something secret. A weapon, she theorises, maybe something even shady.

Liara was not much help either, finding very little about the base besides a suspicious number of funds being funnelled into the group from an unknown benefactor; all of which does little to calm the annoyance beginning to build. Discomfort twirls in her gut as a familiar and hated group springs to mind.

“If this is Cerberus again, I think I'm going to lose it,” She mumbles under her breath as she looks through the available data they have about the planet; a base temperature of twelve degrees, breathable air, and splatters of human colonies slowly being formed across the rock.

Shepard hates going in blind and it’s almost as if the planet has decided to use that against her, taunting her. The shuttle shudders as it approaches the ground. She can hear Cortez mutter a swear under his breath as he battles to control the vehicle, her grip tightening on the handrail above. Without any warning, she is thrown against her seat, her knees buckle as they hit the object and she comes crashing down into it. Garrus’ hand is instantly on her shoulder, stabilising her with a strong grip. She gives him a thankful nod and leans back in her seat.

“Everyone alright?” She asks, watching as James knocks his head against the back of his seat before giving her a thumbs up with one hand, the other rubbing at the base of his skull.

Despite the turbulence hellbent on giving them a few bruises before the mission can properly start, they touch down without any other issues. She lets out a small sigh of relief, biting back a smile when she hears her crew do the same. Shepard is quick to leave her seat, giving orders for Cortez to return to the Normandy until they signal for extraction, hopefully with the scientists, before hopping out onto the unknown planet. 

A thick fog instantly wraps itself around Shepard and her squad, drifting to and fro and obscuring their vision. They instinctively move closer to her, almost standing shoulder-to-shoulder while their eyes dart around the blank landscape. The area is silent, not a single bird chirping or a tree swaying its leaves in the wind; as life itself has abandoned the planet.

She can see James nervously glancing around as if expecting an ambush from beyond the thin barrier, despite their lonely landing zone. Their battle-trained senses are useless to them now, sending them into a state of high alert, and if the disconcerted grumble from her sniper is any indication, his visor is doing very little to aid him. He catches her questioning gaze through the blue display and shakes his head.

“I’m getting no readings through my visor, Shepard,” He confirms, his hand raised against the metal frame to fiddle with its settings.

“I’m not surprised. Good to know that we don’t need to worry about any surprises so soon, at least.” She says, securing her Mattock onto her back with ease. 

“No, that’s not what I meant. I’m not getting any readings through this thing, including your own.” She watches as his brow plates come together in a small frown, his hand dropping in defeat as the tech continues to fight against him. “As long as you are suited up and we’re not lightyears apart, my visor will display your vitals. There’s no reason for it to not show while you’re standing in front of me. The thing still works, the kill counter and the current galactic time are still lit up…All biometric data, however…”

The air chills and a thick tension is carried over to them with the gentle breeze. She opens her comm link to the ship, hoping EDI can have more luck scouting the place than they will. 

“EDI, we’re going to need some guidance here. Are you able to lead us to the closest structure?”

A loud buzzing sparks from her comms in response, along with a barely audible voice fighting through the interference, “Comman… We can’t… Unable to…Signal is…”

Shepard drops the link with a frown, her mind running through a million scenarios and plans as she speaks. “Okay, we are effectively cut off from the Normandy, so we’re on our own until we reach our targets. They are our best shot at the moment.” 

"Shepard," Garrus mutters warily and she can hear the concern buzzing through his sub-vocals as he begins to expect the worst, "This isn't the ideal place for a firefight, we are completely blinded."

"I hear you. While it may seem quiet, something’s not right. Everyone stay close and on alert. If you hear or see anything, we avoid it for now." She clenches her fists, quelling the urge to wrap everyone up in her biotics before something has the chance to strike first. She bites back a groan as she rolls her neck, the last thing she wants is to reveal their position if something lurks in the distance. “Maybe the weather can be used to our advantage here,” she mutters as she turns from the group.

She steps further into the fog, waving her hand in front of her and slicing through it with ease. She watches as it parts around her hand before forming again shortly after, dancing around them in a thick haze. An unusual silence hangs around them as no one dares to speak and break it; their footfalls are amplified with every step, almost echoing around them. 

They keep moving, the rhythmic clunking of their armour accompanying every step before James suddenly comes to a halt, groaning in frustration. “This is loco. How are we supposed to find anything when we don’t even know how far we’ve been walking?”

“I don’t know, but what I do know is that we need those scientists. You’re not afraid of a little bit of fog, are you, Vega?” She throws him a smirk from over her shoulder, her smile widening when she hears Garrus chuckling beside her. She much prefers that sound to the empty nothingness that’s been following them.

“You never know, Shepard. He might be, what you humans say, a chicken.”

“Oh low blow, Scars. You don’t even know what that is.”

“According to the extranet, it’s a bird from Earth that is usually killed for food. According to humans, everything tastes like it and they are fearful creatures.” He casually retorts, grinning triumphantly when James scoffs in defeat.

“You spend too much time with Lola.” James gives Garrus a small nudge, grimacing when the impact of their armour rings through the air.

“And you say that as if it’s a bad thing, Jimmy.” 

Shepard rolls her eyes at their back and forth, biting down a laugh at the unique insults being playfully tossed around. She has to step away from the group to focus, she hears Garrus shift to keep her in his line of sight before the familiar warm glow of her omni-tool causes the fog to light up around her. She lets out a small huff as it does nothing to improve their vision, somehow making things worse.

She shuffles back to the duo and glances between them, James half-heartedly glaring at Garrus, and finally spots the outline of a large, grey building, highlighted by the smothered rays of sunlight. Frustration rattles around in her brain at the obvious structure hiding in plain sight, a structure she is positive she would have noticed, yet she does what she does best and throws her emotions into yet another bottle.

"There, ahead of us. That must be the research base." She looks back at Garrus and James, making sure they can see where she’s pointing. An uneasy feeling begins to snake around her heart when she glances back at their destination. Their previous banter had helped to lighten the tense atmosphere surrounding them, but with each ebb and flow of the fog, the thin relief begins to crack again as they approach the base.

"You know, Shepard. We should find some rope and use it to keep us all together." As if reading her mind, Garrus' duel-toned voice breaks her out of her worry and she gives a low chuckle at the suggestion, not entirely disagreeing.

"Uh, no offence, Garrus. What you and Lola do in your free time is up to you, but I don't want to be involved." James says with a cheeky smile that only grows when both Shepard and Garrus roll their eyes at him.

“Very funny, Vega. We’ll just leave you behind then,” Garrus drawls out, his shoulders finally dropping as he relaxes. He catches Shepard’s eye and she gives him a gentle nod, the pair almost speaking without words. Yes, this is weird, and yes, I’m alright.

Shepard is quick to open the structure’s door and usher the others inside, the fog stalking them in through the wide entrance and dissipating into the room. The room is dark, with only the emergency signs providing any light, casting shadows up onto the steel walls around them. There are no other doors within the small room, just a few windows that have since been securely boarded up.

The air within is still and stale, and Shepard grimaces when she catches a hint of something slightly rancid. She glances around and spots a dozen datapads littering the surfaces. Chairs are stranded away from the desks and numerous personal belongings have been left behind. She picks up one of the datapads, a large crack running across the screen, and begins to read aloud what remains of the corrupted file.

“...Day 5, no progress has been made. My head has been killing me, but I refuse to rest until we get results.

“...Day 8, we might finally have good news. Callum from base two has made some improvements. We will need to make adjustments to the formula, but any news is good news at this point.”

The words begin to blur, seemingly dancing across the cracked screen, the flickering worsens the longer she reads before the datapad goes black, cutting her off. She lets herself relax for a moment, holding back a scoff for being so on edge.

She catches Garrus roaming the room out of the corner of her eye before becoming rigid. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck stick up once more, a shiver creeping down her spine as he speaks. 

“Spirits… Shepard, you should come and see this.”

She’s quick to reach his side and spots a body curled up in the small space between the wall and one of the desks. His head is leant back against the cold steel, letting them see more than they wish to. His skin is pale, almost taking on a grey tone. There are visible veins under his paperlike skin, bulging along his neck, trying to break free. His eyebrows are pulled together, almost impossibly close. Sending unnatural wrinkles along his forehead. The body is young, too young to have such deep lines.

The worst part is his mouth. It hangs open in a silent scream while his glazed-over eyes are open wide in pure terror. 

She moves closer, keeping her footing light as she approaches the body to read the name badge across the arm of his attire. Without any warning, the man’s head rolls forward. Greying hair falls with it, covering his face. The group instantly jump back, aiming their rifles towards the body and waiting with bated breath for any more movement. After a minute of stillness, Shepard raises her hand, signalling for them to holster their guns.

“He’s dressed in uniform, this must have been one of the researchers. What happened here?” She says softly, leaning down to carefully make a note of the man's name for her report before she stands back up and steps away from the sight.

“No clue, Commander. Half of these datapads are damaged. Some have been trampled on, whatever spooked these people spooked them badly. Bad enough to leave in a hurry.” James appears behind her with a worried frown. 

She takes a moment to think, gently tapping the datapad against her thigh in concentration before a sound breaks her attention. The noticeable whirl of a nearby shuttle flying overhead. She tosses the datapad onto the table and quickly signals for them to follow her as she rushes out of the building, peering up at the sky. Garrus falls into position on her right, gazing down at her oddly before shrugging at James.

Everything is silent, even the breeze that had greeted them has since fallen still. She wanders away from the building, hearing her team scramble to stay close. She continues to watch the sky, her confusion is evident on her face as no shuttle is fast enough to vanish that quickly. 

The more she stares into the white void around her, the more she notices that the fog has grown thicker. It has started to take on an almost yellow hue as it blocks out more of the sunlight. She can feel it glide over the exposed skin of her face, leaving goosebumps in its wake. She feels her spine straighten and her jaw tightens, confusion flowing around the group.

Out of nowhere, she hears footsteps and her head snaps around to trace the sound. She sees nothing out in the distance, but the sound grows louder as it approaches them.

She is quick to grab her pistol, ignoring the alarmed two-toned rumble from her right.

She keeps it low, her finger away from the trigger as she listens. She signals for the others to remain silent, her heart pounding. 

The beating of the organ is loud in her ears, almost to a painful degree. Yet the footsteps grow louder.

She is almost a statue, eyes alert and trained on the direction of the sound, yet she sees nothing as the mysterious figure darts past them and deeper into the fog. In her peripheral she can see her squad standing still, Garrus’ eyes are locked onto her, his mandibles fluttering with uncertainty, while James is frantically looking around, trying to follow her line of sight. 

She swallows down her unease and turns to face them fully, “One of the researchers must still be out here. They were heading north, so that could be where the other base is. We can’t know for sure if that was a researcher or what killed the team, so be careful.” 

Garrus and James glance at one another momentarily before they nod and continue to follow her deeper into the unknown. Unease stalks their every step, their postures rigid and on high alert. A new building reveals itself before them, grey steel walls reflecting the now-setting sun like a beacon awaiting their arrival. A hastily drawn number two sits just above the door, the paint beginning to chip after being left to withstand the elements.

“Let’s hope this is the right place, I don’t enjoy the idea of wandering out here for much longer. You’re certain the person ran this way, Shepard?” Garrus mumbles, back pressed against the wall next to the door. 

“I know what I heard, Garrus,” she mutters as she watches James take his position against the wall on the other side, awaiting her signal. “Even if this isn’t the building they ran to, there’s got to be something here that would explain what happened.”

“...Heard?” He questions, his mandibles flaring in badly concealed bewilderment.

She cocks her head at him, pausing for a second. Shepard gives him a careful nod and bangs a fist against the red omni-lock to open the door, hoping they don’t have to fight against firewalls to gain access. Much to the group's surprise, the lock flashes red a few times before it complies and turns green, the door opening with a small groan.

“A technical malfunction or a research base that has very little security?” Shepard questions, opening up her omni-tool to provide her with some light as she peers into the room.

James shrugs, his back pressed firmly against the wall. “Who knows? Possibly both with how quick the other team was to leave, they probably didn’t have time to properly lock the place up. That or they didn’t think they would have to, with how remote they are out here and all. Can’t imagine anyone loco enough to visit.”

“And whoever we were following probably didn’t expect us to make our way here without getting lost first, giving them no time to fix any issues,” Garrus adds.

She signals for the two men to stay put as she begins to stalk into the room. Even with the door open, it’s darker than the previous base, all the technology within has since lost power after being abandoned. This room is larger, with another door leading deeper into the structure. 

“Hello?” She calls out, her hand hovering close to her pistol, just in case. “I’m Commander Shepard, I’m with the Alliance Navy.”

Silence answers her and she holds back a sigh as she creeps deeper into the building, away from the safety of the door and checks out the room, her omni-tool guiding her every move. Unlike the previous base, this one is relatively clean. It shows no signs of struggle or distress, no corpses hiding away in the shadowed corners.

The base is tidy, too tidy, she notes. Not a single data pad has been left behind, and with the power drained, they are left with no way of accessing the consoles to read through their logs. Shepard runs an armoured hand through her hair as she turns to the entrance, waving the others in.

“This is getting us nowhere. James, stay here and guard the exit while we check out the other room.” She says as she approaches the door, exhaling in relief when it opens without a fight.

“Aye aye, Commander. Leave this mess with me.” He gives her a playful salute before throwing himself down into one of the office chairs, facing the exit. His grip on his Revenant is tight, and the skin stretching over his knuckles turns pale.

There’s only a short corridor connecting the rooms, but the air within is thick and old. As if it hasn’t been disrupted in weeks. A thin layer of dust covers everything in sight, not a single surface is safe from the fluffy, grey specs; a sharp contrast to the room a few metres away. 

The room itself is tiny, barely containing more than three desks pressed tightly against the walls.

“There’s no one here,” Garrus whispers, double-checking all the corners and under the desks. “Looks like this is just an extension of the other room…Just as empty as well.”

“Not quite,” Shepard says as she spots a rectangular object, obscured by a thick layer of dust. She brushes it off, cringing as some of it sticks to the fabric of her gloves. She suddenly spins to face Garrus, waving the half-dead datapad in front of him with a victorious smile. He gives her a smile in return as he moves closer to read over her shoulder.

“...Day 20, we messed up. I don’t know what went wrong, maybe it was our calculations, or maybe it was… Either way, it doesn’t matter anymore.

…Day 21, if you… read… We…can’t…It’s too late.”

“Well, that’s horribly ominous,” Garrus states as Shepard finishes reading. He glances down at her and spots the telltale sign of exhaustion creeping across her expression. Another dead end, another failure. He gently bumps his shoulder against hers, keeping his voice light. “They could have fled, abandoned the bases and left. Or they were relocated to another project after this one. With the Reapers here, it would make sense why Hackett and Liara couldn’t trace them.”

“Maybe…Let’s grab James and get out of here. Liara might have found something by now. There’s no point standing around in a dusty room and possibly catching something.” 

She opens up her comm to try and contact the Normandy once more, wincing at the static rumbling through the line. She listens closely, her focus stolen by the white noise. For a moment she swears she can hear a voice calling out to her. The voice is low and feminine, but not the smooth, metallic tone that she is accustomed to with EDI.

This voice is old and familiar. A memory that had faded with time, crawling back into the present through the static.

“Raven.”

She freezes, feeling like a bucket of ice has been thrown over her, or just injected directly into her veins instead. Tears instinctively rise through her ducts and it takes all that she has to force them back down, doing all she can to hold her commander mask firmly in place. The galaxy hasn’t broken her yet and she refuses to let this planet be the tipping point, not after everything that's happened.

With more force than what is needed, she quickly cuts the comm link. 

Sensing her growing distress, Garrus gently places his hand under her chin, raising it so he can meet her gaze. She lets him manoeuvre her but refuses to meet his eyes. He lets out a quiet sigh and she can feel his concern in the tender action when his thumb brushes against her cheek.

“I think the stress is getting to me. I made a bad call, we should have done this after our shore leave. When everyone is better rested and more focused,” she admits and attempts to hang her head in shame, getting nowhere thanks to his strong grip keeping her head held high.

“I’m not sure, Shepard… I’ve been getting bad vibes from this place. I’ve not once doubted your judgement and I’m certainly not going to start now.”

She gives him a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, feeling his body relax at her attempt. He reluctantly releases her after quickly pressing his forehead against hers, doing all he can to give her some reassurance while she secures her mask of authority once more, feeling slightly pissed at how often she’s let it slip on this mission. It’s rare for something to get under her skin, yet she begins to feel as if the planet was designed purely to do just that.

[angelasscribbles]

Law's End: Murder at Vista Heights Chapter 7

Series: Law’s End

Episode 1: Murder at Vista Heights

Fandom: The Royal Romance (loosely, there is zero canon, I've just borrowed the characters)

Pairings: None yet

Word Count: 2,582

Rating: MA

Warnings for series: adult themes, any given chapter may contain murder, violence, language, drinking, drug use, etc.

My other stuff can be found here: Master List.

The conference room in the homicide division of the seventh precinct was filled with the smells of coffee and fresh pastries. It was early. Too early, considering they’d all been there until well after midnight interrogating witnesses.

The food was Bertrand’s way of making up for the fact that no one had gotten much sleep the night before, but everyone still turned up bright and early, ready to work.

“So, she does have a history of stalking.” Liam flipped the file across the table to Flynn.

Detective O’Malley reached for the manila folder and flipped it open. “Who’d she stalk?”

“Clarence Coleman. An app developer. The police reports are in there. He was granted a restraining order. I’ve left a message for him to contact us. See if he’s heard from her lately.”

Flynn skimmed the information in front of him. “This was three years ago.”

Liam nodded. “It’s likely that she stopped harassing Cole when she started sleeping with Trent.”

There was a knock on the conference room door and Rashad entered, carrying a laptop. “There are no security cameras at the vic’s apartment complex, but I found a late model Nissan Pathfinder registered to the suspect and scrubbed video footage from nearby traffic cameras.” He placed the laptop on the table and flipped it around for the detectives to see.

Liam leaned forward to get a closer look. “Is that our suspect?”

“Yes,” Rashad confirmed, “Three blocks away from our vic’s house, heading that direction, fifteen minutes before the 911 call. And this….” He swiped to another image. “…is her ten minutes after the call heading the other direction through the same intersection.”

“We need more than that for an arrest warrant,” Flynn said as he zoomed in, looking for any evidence of blood visible in the photo, but it was too grainy. “It’s not illegal to be in the vicinity.”

Liam pushed away from the table. “Let’s get back over to the apartment complex and show her photo to the neighbors. Maybe someone will remember seeing her that morning.”

An hour later, he was seated in a small but elegant dining room as Stella Haltom served him coffee. Flynn was canvassing other neighbors, ones they hadn’t been able to reach yesterday.

Liam had tried to decline, but Stella was insistent.

“You’re very young for a homicide detective, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am, I—”

“Are you single?”

“I am. But—”

“Really? A young, handsome, successful man like you?”

“Well—”

“You know, if things don’t work out between my granddaughter and that nice reporter—”

Liam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Ma’am, if we could get back to business. I just have a few quick questions—”

“Oh, yes, of course! You wanted me to look at more photos?”

“Well, one more.” Liam pulled up the photograph of Sabrina Simmons on his cell phone and held it out to her.

“Oh, my yes!” Stella somehow managed to convey disapproval with a nod of her head. “That was the one that was over there the most.”

“Did he entertain a lot of women?”

Stella snorted so hard she choked on her coffee. Once she recovered her breath, she clarified, “Whatever you think a lot is, multiply that by at least three!”

“That many?”

“Yes, and now that I think of it, two days before the murder, this one,” she gestured toward his phone, “showed up while one of the other ones was there.”

“Was there an argument?”

“Was there an argument?” She scoffed as a frown pulled her lips down. “Woke half the building with the screaming. I’m surprised no one called the cops.”

“Thank you. This is very helpful. Did you happen to see her on the day of the murder?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean anything. I was gone for most of the morning.”

“Where were you, again?”

“I left to help organize the church rummage sale early that morning.”

Liam checked his notes. “So, you overheard the argument between the two men when?”

“On my way out. I had to walk past Mr. Hayes’ apartment on my way to the elevator.”

“Just to review… you overheard the argument at roughly seven a.m., left for the church, followed by brunch, and returned home just after noon.”

“That’s correct.”

“So, you were home when the gunshots were fired?”

“Yes.” She shuddered. “It was terrifying!”

“And you didn’t see or hear anyone else coming or going from his apartment that day?”

“No.”

“Is there anything you can think of that you noticed that day? Anything at all?”

“I already told you everything yesterday. And that lovely reporter as well.”

Liam sighed at the mention of Riley. He couldn’t forbid a private citizen from speaking to the press, no matter how much he wanted to. But it did remind him of something. “Speaking of Miss Brooks… she mentioned you saw a woman at the victim’s apartment the night before the murder?”

“Yes.”

“Was that woman either of these?” He showed her the photographs of both Sabrina and Katie again.

Stella peered at both, then shook her head. “No.”

“Do you know who she was?”

“No, sir. I’m sorry. I couldn’t keep up with all the women that were in and out of that apartment. Besides, I don’t like to get into other people’s business.”

It took a concerted effort for him to not react to such an obviously false statement.

He jotted down a general description of the woman before extricating himself from the conversation. “Okay, ma’am. Thank you for your time.”

“I’m always happy to help the boys in blue!” she smiled proudly. “You have my number in case you have any further questions, right?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ve got it.” Liam flipped his notepad closed. “If you think of anything else, please let us know.”

He stepped out into the hallway and reconvened with his partner. “How’d it go on your end?”

Flynn shrugged. “I found multiple witnesses that identified Sabrina Simmons as Trenton Hayes’ girlfriend, but none that could definitively place her at the scene on the day of the murder.”

“I confirmed there was a third woman here the night before the murder, but I don’t know who.”

“We’ll have the plainclothes canvas again and try to find that information. I think it’s time you and I go have a conversation with Ms. Simmons.”

“Agreed.” Liam pushed the button for the elevator. When it dinged open, he found himself face to face with Riley. “What are you doing here?”

“Good morning to you, too.” She stepped back so they could fit into the lift with her. “Probably the same thing you are.”

Liam made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat as they stepped into the elevator. “Where’s your sidekick this morning?”

“Max?” She looked surprised at his question. “I don’t know. Probably sleeping in after that late night we all had. Why do you ask?”

Liam shrugged. “I’m just used to seeing the two of you together.”

“When I need a photographer.” She studied his demeanor, then a small grin crept across her face. “Why so interested in who I spend my time with, detective?”

“I’m not.”

Before she could answer, the elevator rocked to a stop on the first floor and the doors slid open. As they stepped off, a familiar face caught her eye. “Drake!”

The PI turned from the concierge desk to face the trio, his eyes lighting up. “Riley! What a pleasant surprise!” He was less enthusiastic as he greeted the two men. “Hello, detectives.”

The men exchanged handshakes as Liam asked, “Why are you here, Walker?”

“I’m investigating the murder of Trent Hayes. I was officially retained to do so this morning by Sadie McGraw. I was thinking it would be in both our best interests to collaborate.”

“I don’t know—”

Flynn’s phone cut through the conversation. He pulled it out and glanced down at the screen. “This is the boss. Hold on.”

Flynn stepped away to take the call, leaving Riley with Liam and Drake.

Not awkward at all.

After a brief conversation, Flynn returned to inform the group, “The chief just got out of a meeting with the mayor. We are to collaborate and cooperate fully with Walker here.”

“Great!” Drake gloated.

“Great,” Liam grumbled.

Flynn shot a pointed look at Riley. “If you’ll excuse us, ma’am, we have a case to discuss.”

“Don’t let me get in your way. I’m just going to grab a latte and update my notes.” She gave them a disarming smile and turned on her heel, disappearing into the small coffee shop located just off the main entrance.

She really was going to update her notes, but she had no intention of leaving without an update on the case. Liam was never going to crack, but she liked her chances of getting information out of Drake. She fired off a quick text as she waited for her drink.

Ten minutes later, Drake was at her table. “You said you had some information for me?”

“I said I was willing to trade information with you.” She gestured for him to sit as the barista approached to take his order.

He ordered a black coffee and then returned his attention to the reporter. “What information do you have that I can’t find out for myself?”

“Maybe none.” She lifted a shoulder. “But it took me three hours of knocking on doors to find out the identity of the woman Trent was with the night before the murder. You could spend the next three hours doing the same or we could help each other out.”

He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. He didn’t have to reveal anything about his client to slip her the information about who the police were looking at as their prime suspect. “I suppose I could share a detail or two. You’re going to find it out on your own anyway.”

Her eyebrows raised. “How do you know that?”

“Because I did a little digging. Your investigative skills are impressive. No wonder you’ve won the Edward R. Murrow Award for journalism as well as two Scripps Awards.”

Her eyebrows arched even higher as she took a long sip of her latte before placing the cup carefully on the table in front of her. “Wow. You really did do your homework. I don’t know whether to be impressed or alarmed. Are you stalking me, sir?”

“Hardly.” He snorted. “Are you going to tell me that you did absolutely no research on me after agreeing to a date?”

“I agreed to dinner. No one said it was a date.”

“Semantics, but fine. Dinner. Answer the question. Did you not look into me at all?”

“You mean did I find out that you graduated from the police academy at the top of your class but quit six months into your first year to go into business with your father? That you have one sister, Savannah, and that you’ve never been married?”

He gave her a smug smile. “I knew you were into me.”

“Please,” she laughed, “It’s just common sense to find out what you can about a man you plan to be alone with.”

He leaned across the table with a smirk. “So, you plan to be alone with me?”

She hid a grin behind her cup. “At the very least I’ll be getting into a car alone with you when we go to dinner.”

“Is that all?”

“Well, we’ll see how the evening progresses, won’t we?”

“Can’t wait.”

“Now, are you going to tell me what you learned from the cops?”

“I don’t know. Are you going to tell me who the woman from the other night is?”

“If your information is good enough.”

“I know who their prime suspect is.”

“Is it Katie or William Sloan or Dean Collins?”

“No.”

She sat up straighter. “There’s another suspect in play?”

He twirled his coffee cup in his fingers. “Yep.”

“Okay. Yes, that’s a fair trade. Who is it?”

“Sabrina Simmons. She was his secretary when he was engaged to Katie. He cheated on Katie with Sabrina. That’s the reason they broke up. After Katie dumped him, Sabrina became his girlfriend. Last weekend, she showed up while he was entertaining someone else. Several neighbors heard the argument. The theory is that she got fed up with his womanizing. She has a history of stalking, and the cheating gives her motive.”

“Interesting theory, because the woman that was there Monday night is his current secretary.”

“Sounds like he has a history of sleeping with his secretary. What’s her name?”

“Sarah Foster. She’s not at work today. I already called.”

“Well, her boss slash boyfriend was murdered yesterday. I can track down a home address for her.”

“Way ahead of you.” She shoved her notes into her bag as she stood up. “Wanna go question her together?”

“How the hell did you get her address already?”

It was Riley’s turn to smirk. “I have my sources.”

“Okay, let’s go. But I’m driving.”

“I don’t want to leave my car here. I’ll meet you there. Here’s the address.” She quickly scribbled the information on a piece of paper.

He threw some money on the table to cover the coffee, took the slip of paper from her, and then pulled his phone out and opened the contact list.

“What are you doing?”

“Holding up my end of the deal with the CCPD. Collaboration works both ways.”

“Could you at least wait until after we have a chance to talk to her?”

He hesitated as he considered her request. “Why?”

“Because you and I both know that once the police get there, I won’t be allowed to talk to her! Police protocol this and interfering with an investigation that, blah, blah, blah… Come on…. You wouldn’t even know who she was if it wasn’t for me.”

“I would have eventually knocked on the right door and found out.”

“Yeah, hours from now, by which time I would have already interviewed her for my article. Don’t make me regret sharing information with you.”

“Fine.” He slotted the phone back into his pocket. “You get ten minutes with her, then I’m making the call.”

“Deal. Let’s go!”

The drive from Vista Heights to Sarah’s apartment complex took nearly forty-five minutes. Riley found Drake waiting for her in front of the entrance.

The apartment complex was a stark contrast to Trent’s. A dingy brick building surrounded by other dingy brick buildings, it had no doorman, and the front door was propped open. There was certainly no concierge desk or coffee shop in the lobby.

No elevator came when Drake pushed the button. “Looks like we’re taking the stairs.”

“Good thing she’s only on the fourth floor.”

As they approached apartment 412, Drake suddenly stopped and put his arm out to halt Riley.

“What?”

“Shhh….” He moved in front of her and pulled a gun from his hip. “The door is cracked open. Stay here.”

Riley Brooks hadn’t built her career by standing down. The moment Drake pushed the door open and stepped across the threshold, she followed, keeping quiet so he wouldn’t notice.

“Hello? Is anyone home? Sarah?” He called out as he made his way through the living room. He entered the kitchen and stopped in his tracks. “Well, shit.”

Riley entered right behind him, craning her neck to peer around him. Well, shit was right.

Sarah Foster lay on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood.

[ultimatemissadhd]

You guys want complex characters but you couldn't even understand Kyoko Kirigiri - Kyoko defending post.

So today I'm gonna talk about Kyoko framing Makoto because you guys only foucs on Makoto in here which drives me insane.

Yes, it was unfair that Makoto got framed. But don't forget that Kyoko was getting framed too, it's not like Kyoko framed Makoto for a murder she committed. The dead body belonged to Mukuro who died chapters ago.

Of course, Kyoko could have pulled out an inspirational speech and sacrifice herself for Naegi but there was no place for that bullshit.

Haven't you seen the bad ending? If Kyoko dies, they never get out of the killing game, the tradegy goes on forever and they don't even know.

And Kyoko knows that. Kyoko knows she's the only person who can end the killing game with all the information and evidence she got. As much as, some of these were in her room, that still wouldn't be enough for others. Plus they would probably have no reason to go there after she dies, I also wouldn't be surprised if Junko got rid of the evidence in Kyoko's room after she died.

The whole reason why the trail was in the first place was because Junko wanted to stop Kyoko from destroying her killing game. Kyoko knows that.

Now, Kyoko finds herself in a situation where she's about to get executed and the "if you vote the wrong person then you all die" rule is not going to help her anymore since the whole thing is rigged and she's being framed by the mastermind. She knows that if she dies the killing game will never and go on forever AND SHE'S RIGHT. She's nervous, she's scared, she's in a point of no escape.

She has to choices:

1. Die and lnever defeat the mastermind and have everyone locked in there forever, mastermind wins, all the deaths meant nothing.

2. Frame someone else, live and defeat the mastermind and then avenge the deaths of everyone including the person who got framed.

There's no place for sacrifice bullshit here.

Kyoko choses to save herself, not because she's selfish or arrogant but because she believes in her abilities and the knowledge she has.

Makoto ends up being the person who gets executed instead and that's s pretty much a random thing because it really could have been anyone. Yes, she feels guilty and yes, she knows it's unfair. But it was the only thing to do so she can end the killing game.

Makoto survives and she goes to look for him and saves him and she does it pretty quickly. She goes there, brings him food and water, then helps him get back to the building. If she didn't care about him, she wouldn't think about what happened to him.

The fact that she was the only one to do so, maybe because she detailed map of the school that she got from some secret room, however the fact that she threw herself down the trash to save Makoto shows that she cares. But I think it's safe to say that if she didn't go down there, there's a huge chance that no one would.

In conclusion, chapter 5 is not all about Makoto. I hate when people make it all about him and how it was unfair for him and JUST for him. Because if you think about it, it wasn't fair for anyone and Kyoko had no choice, just like everyone else. They couldn't just not vote, they had to vote for someone.

Kyoko is an interesting character because like I mentioned before, what you'd except from a Danganronpa female support character would be inspirational sacrifice to let the protagonist solve everything by themselves and "I believe in you" and blah blah.

That scenario just doesn't work here because Makoto alone doesn't have enough information and knowledge to defeat the mastermind by himself.

Another thing is that Kyoko apologies and explains everything as soon as she sees Makoto.

Makoto forgives her not because he is a loser people pleaser although he is but not here but because he knows Kyoko and trusts her and he knows that she has those information that could help save the killing game, he knows that without her they wouldn't defeat the mastermind.

Kyoko Kirigiri is a character with her own morals, brain, way of thinking and mind. She is a deep powerful character who was one of the main reasons Junko was defeated. Yet, she gets very little credit. This would bring us to talking about the anime but that's a topic for another day and another rant.

[darbyoakana]

An Overlord's Tail - Chapter 1

An Overlords Tail Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

Summary: Alastor X reader, F/M. You are new to the hotel staff working under Alastor. He spends his days pestering and tormenting you. But that pestering turns into a competition, one you want to win. Can you get the upper hand? Are you getting too close to him? Warnings: No real warnings for this chapter, just Alastor being a dick. This story is 18+, minors can fuck right off.

Other Notes: Thanks @sailorsmouth for the doodle and encouragement!

Darby Link Tree

___________________________________________

Chapter 1: A New Start

It had been three months since you walked out of your job at VoxTek and you were starting to get desperate. Without work to focus on, everything else felt so much harder. You had nothing but stress to distract you and it wasn’t enough. You pushed your self-loathing to the side.

You rushed out the door, wanting to get to the interview early. The last interview you had went poorly. Perhaps it was the interviewer, or maybe it was the fact that you were covered by entrails from an incident out front. Hell is a wild place, expect the unexpected. But you were set, nothing was going to ruin this. You adjusted your plastic poncho, surprise bodily fluids or parts were going to get you today. The joke, per usual, was on you. You should have also worn rain boots you thought, as a large gush of blood filled your shoes. You groaned. Watching the still-gushing corpse being dragged down the alleyway next to you. 

The cafe door's bell dinged as you walked in, pulling off the poncho. Despite pouring your shoes out on the curb, they still made a soggy squish as you walked. The cafe was pretty empty except for one person sitting at a table. You froze. No way, you thought, that can't be who I'm meeting

Vaggie sat nervously at the booth waiting. She had lost track of how many interviews she had gone through for this position. She had hired eight people so far and none of them had lasted longer than a week. Why did Alastor have to be such a pain in the ass? The hotel needed help, since the last extermination and the elimination of Adam, sinners started to accept the hotel. Their residency numbers had shifted dramatically and more staff was needed to keep things running. But for whatever reason, the one position that needed to be filled was constantly challenged by the person Vaggie was trying to help in the first place. Vaggie looked up and waved at you, you hesitantly approached the table. 

"Hi! So nice to meet you!" Vaggie got up and shook your hand. You both sat down. Typical interview discussions ensued, past experience, general information about the hotel, etc. You could see that Vaggie was eager, maybe a little stressed. 

"So.. what exactly is my job position?" you asked.

"Well.... there's a lot of miscellaneous work that needs to be done until we figure out a better workflow for the hotel while it goes through these changes. But for the most part you'll uh..." her tone became painful. " Be assisting Alastor...." Your facial expression dropped to concern.

"That's uh, a hell of a job..." you said. 

"Well...." Vaggie's teeth were gritting together, knowing she needed to be upfront about the position. "...based on your resume, I think you are the most qualified person so far. And the pay is great! It kinda has to be at this point.” She sighed “Look, we’re getting desperate." 

Oh, you were qualified alright, six years at VoxTek putting up with the most insane bullshit you could imagine. If it wasn't Velvette being an absolute cunt, it was Valentino being a fucking nightmare, Vox surprisingly was the least painful to work with. Which is why you ended up in the position you did. He eventually made you his assistant, to keep you convenient and close. And frankly, if you could put up with Vox's boo hoo "Alastor doesn't love me" baby bullshit, how hard could this job be? At best, Alastor doesn't like you and you keep looking for jobs. At worst... you die a terrible and painful death. At least then the job worry wouldn't be a concern anymore. Fuck it, you thought. 

"Yeah, I do see your point." you sighed. "Alright."

"Can you start tomorrow?" she asked eagerly

They had offered you a room at the hotel. You felt it best to endure the trial period Alastor seemed to be implementing before you gave up your crummy apartment. You laid in bed both excited and dreading tomorrow. Vox was going to lose his shit, you thought. You knew WAY too much about his personal life concerning Alastor and there was nothing in Heaven or Hell that would convince Vox you weren't doing this just to hurt him. But that was his problem. In honesty, it was the last place you wanted to work. You wanted so badly to be free of your current situation. Let things go and move on. You hoped this wouldn't blow up in your face. But most things did, it was Hell after all. 

You woke early, the Hotel was a good distance from your apartment. You took a cab to be safe on time. You didn't bother with the poncho, Alastor struck you as someone who would enjoy you being uncomfortable covered in drying sticky blood. The lobby was large, you hadn't been to the Hotel before and you didn't know what to expect but you found yourself impressed. Most of Vox’s footage was from the outside of the hotel. 

Vaggie waved you down and welcomed you. Introduced you to the staff one by one. Charlie was thrilled to meet you. But you got the feeling she felt that way about anyone and anything. Vaggie went over the floor plan of the hotel, kitchen, dining room, and so on. You scribbled away on a notepad. Sounded like the dress code was relaxed here, you felt relief. Vox always made you wear these business suit-like outfits that surely came from Val's studio, they were so tight and short. You didn't mind at the time, it made your unprofessional activities much easier, but the idea of wearing your own clothes sounded nice.

"Here is your desk. You'll be using the computer to log complaints from the guests, ordering supplies, typical stuff." She looked down to see a shattered computer screen. "UGHHH pendejo! I recommend saving a backup copy of everything you do, Alastor is still protesting the use of the computer and keeps destroying it." It didn't surprise you, you knew for a fact Vox spends all his free time spying on the Hotel. And any electronic device was an in for him. "ALASTOR!!!!" She yelled. 

"No need to shout" Alastor was right next to her. She jumped. 

"Stop doing shit like this!" she pointed to the computer. "You are sabotaging the hotel!" 

"I'm doing no such thing." He looked at his nails, uninterested. 

"Uuugghhhhh! .. Whatever." Vaggie pinched her fingers between her eyes and collected herself. She took a deep breath. "Alastor, this is ---" She was cut off by the sound of Charlie calling for her, tears gushing from her eyes. "Shit. Sorry! I'll be right back!" She gave you a look of concern, and you gave her a reassuring nod, letting her know you'd be fine without her. 

"I assume you are the new replacement." Alastor said flatly.

"And hopefully the last." you said cheerily. 

"Mmm. Hope. So fun to destroy!" he spun his microphone. "Very well then. Follow me." 

You followed him through the hotel as he listed item after item that needed to be done. You scratched away at your notepad. He was clearly trying to overwhelm you, it didn't however. It felt similar to the days that you assisted Velvette. Constant list of demands that were consistently changing without notice. 

"Actually, Alastor sir, there's something I'd like to discuss before we go any further. If that's alright?" 

He leaned towards you, head tilted. "And what might that be, my dear?" 

"One of the reasons Vaggie thought I would be a good fit for this position is my previous experience." 

"I'm afraid I haven't looked at your resume, inlighten me, will you?"

"Well.." It was awkward and somewhat painful to say, but you knew it needed to be done. "For the last six years I've been employed at V Tower, the last three years I was Vox's personal assistant." You had previously been very confident up until this point, but this was uncomfortable. "I figured it was best to tell you right away, rather than you finding out later. I didn't want it to look like I was hiding something." 

"Hmm. Very wise of you. Why pursue new employment?" 

"There were a lot of reasons. But my relationship with Vox had become... unprofessional." You pushed the image of Vox fucking you on his desk back down into the pit it came up from. "He's pushy and controlling, both as a boss and... whatever else we were. Always wanting more, pushing boundaries constantly. But bottom line, he broke my trust.” 

Alastor knew exactly what you meant. Vox had constantly pushed for more from Alastor. And being set in his ways, Alastor often felt like he and Vox were sheets of sandpaper slowly wearing away at each other. He of course didn't tell you any of this, there he remained with his unnerving smile. 

"Hmm." He leaned in closer to you and placed the tip of his claw under your chin, tilting your head to an uncomfortable angle. "Quite a dangerous move, switching sides like this." Alastor was a bit taller than you, but right now it felt like he towered over you, you knew he was trying to intimidate you. Radio static hissed in your ears. You stood your ground, staring into his deep eyes. Eyes that felt like dark endless pits. He snapped back to his smiling self, straightening up. "Well, enduring those buffoons, maybe you will last longer than the others!" He chuckled. "I do however appreciate the disclosure. Come, come." You took an exhale of relief and followed. You hoped this information would make you more valuable in the long run.

You knew a lot, more than you should, about the inner workings of VoxTek. Vox was arrogant, he liked to boast. Showing you the newest upgrades that haven't been released, all the ways he spied on the city. One thing in particular, you savored. He left you alone in his penthouse once, you weren't snooping per se, but tucked away was a small ..shrine? For lack of a better word. Where Vox kept all his trinkets and photos from when he and Alastor were "friends". You felt, should the need call for it, you could be very helpful to the Hotel if Vox became a bigger threat. Though guilt did run through you, despite the bad parts, you missed Vox. A lot of those things were told to you in confidence. And you didn't have any intention of sharing them unless Vox forced you to. You knew it was only a matter of time before he got wind of your new job. And no doubt in your mind, Vox would indeed be a personal problem. 

_______________________________________________

The days following would be a struggle, Alastor wanted his coffee and paper by 7 AM. The hotel was at least a forty-five-minute walk and you didn't have much left in your account to pay for a cab. A room at the hotel sounded more and more appealing. Entering the gates you picked up the paper, putting it under your arm. You set your bag down at your desk and headed to the kitchen. Pulling out your notepad, you flipped to the page where you wrote down instructions on how to make Alastor's coffee the way he liked it. Hopefully, he wasn't the type to throw it at you if it wasn't right. Velevette threw her coffee at you once, burning your arm. You were ready to make some new memories that didn't involve the trauma endured by the V's. 

Coffee, cloth napkins, and paper were placed on a tray. You contemplated folding the napkin like a swan but decided against it. It was a silly thought, and you didn't want to come off as trying too hard, even though that was what he set you up for, to try hard and fail. You tapped your nails against the tray as the elevator ascended up to Alastor's room. It was 6:58 AM. You stood outside his door watching the clock. Only at 7 AM, on the dot, did you set the tray down in front of his door. Alastor was sitting in his chair reading, ready to scold you for being early and found himself slightly impressed. Getting rid of you the typical way might be harder than he thought. All the others were so easy to frighten. But if there was anything Alastor loved, it was a challenge. He had been bored out of his mind playing this hotel game. Unable to leave and pursue more interesting ventures. And the rest of the core group of hotel residents were getting annoyed with his antics. Maybe you could entertain him for a little while. Surely there had to be something that would break you. He waited for the elevator to descend before retrieving the tray. 

You snuck into the kitchen to make yourself some coffee, before anyone came in to make breakfast. You made yourself at home at your desk. The drawers were a mess from the previous employees. You sipped your coffee and organized your papers. Looking over previous orders for supplies and food, trying to get an idea of how much the hotel goes through monthly.

"Why good morning!" Alastor said, suddenly at your side, bent over, his face a bit too close to yours. You tried your best not to jump, you had a feeling that would be happening often. "At your desk already? Don't you want to join your new comrades at the breakfast table? Hmm?" 

"Good morning to you too sir. No, not today. Until I have a full understanding of my schedule, I don't want to add anything unnecessary to my plate." 

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, as they say." 

"I'm pretty sure that's a con cereal companies used to sell sugar to children." Alastor held in a laugh.  "Coffee is fine for now. Speaking of-" You looked up at him. "How was your coffee this morning? Did I make it correctly?" 

"It was passable I suppose." It was the best he could do without lying and without giving you praise. "There are some errands I need to be done." He handed you a list. Skimming over it, it seemed doable to get done by the end of the day. "I want it done by noon." 

"...noon?!" It was already 9 AM, here it was, an impossible task. Setting you up to fail. Maybe you could use some of your third-party contacts from VoxTek? "Alright.. I'll see what I-"

You were both suddenly interrupted by the boisterous sounds coming from the dining room. Leaning forward over your desk, you could see Charlie was singing. 

"Hmm. Glad I skipped breakfast...." you said flatly. You didn't see it but Alastor smirked. 

The tasks given proved to be a bit difficult. All things Alastor could have easily done himself, but where was the fun in that? You did take advantage of some of your previous contacts, which helped immensely. You took care of a few calls before heading to the city. Most of the errands were pick-ups and drop-offs. One task, in particular, you'd have to call in a favor for. Meanwhile, Alastor was eavesdropping, hoping to see you struggle and stress. 

"Frankie, listen, if this order isn't here by noon, I will personally come down there, pull your intestines out your asshole, and festoon them along the fence of this establishment. Do you understand?" Frankie babbled in your ear. "Great, I'm so glad we could come to an agreement. As always, a pleasure to work with you." 

Alastor couldn't help but have a genuine smile on his face, he wouldn't admit it, but he liked how you got things done. Threatening someone in such a creative way delighted him. 

You hoofed it around the city for hours, practically running from destination to destination. You were exhausted and sweaty when you arrived back at the hotel. It was a few minutes before noon, just in time to see Frankie's delivery truck be unloaded. 

"In the kitchen, please. Thanks, fellas!" You yelled to them.

Your arms were full as you dumped everything on your desk. Gently folding Alastor's dry cleaning over your chair, stacking some of the items. Including a few books. How does this help the hotel? You thought. Hoping these kinds of tasks would end once Alastor was bored with you. 

"Well- color me impressed. All with five minutes to spare!" Alastor appeared in front of your desk. "Though it does seem like something is missing. That's too bad. I had such high hopes for you, dear." 

You gave him the biggest shit-eating grin you could muster and pointed at the two men coming through the door hauling a freshly slaughtered deer to the kitchen. If you weren't already intensely looking at him you would have missed Alastor's eye twitch. Someone might as well handed you a trophy. It took everything in you to not showboat as you followed the delivery men into the kitchen.

The deer was laid on the large island in the middle of the kitchen. You signed their papers and the men were gone. Alastor, suddenly in an apron, was ready to go. A black tentacle sliced its head off with a sharp crack. 

"Hold this." 

He handed you the head. You held it by the antlers, dripping blood onto the floor by your feet. You stood there for a while, watching Alastor prepare. Realizing that he didn't need your help, this was just another task to pain you. The head was heavy and your arms were getting tired. As you adjusted, trying to give your arms a break, you felt the antlers texture in your hands, it reminded you of a gaudy hotel in Montana your parents took you to in the summer of '92. 

"If you do this often, which I get the feeling you do- you could save the antlers and make a chandelier. It would look good by the bar."

"Hmmm." Alastor glanced at you as he removed the skin. It wasn't a bad idea, however, he could just make one just like he made the bar itself. But an opportunity was found. "Very well then." He snapped his fingers and the head fell off the antlers. Landing on your feet with a splat. Filling your shoes with coagulating blood. 

You groaned. What the fuck, were these shoes cursed? Blood squished between your toes. The sensory overload made you want to scream. You swallowed it down. Instead, letting out a loud sigh. You sat the antlers down on the counter and picked up the head. Alastor couldn't help but to cackle.

"So glad you are amused." You said flatly. 

"Oh indeed I am." 

In truth, he was. But also disappointed. He didn't get so much as a yelp out of you. A measly groan? He was losing his touch. But the clear discomfort the drying blood in your shoes provided would have to be enough. At this point, the head you clutched to your chest was dripping down your front. You greatly regretted wearing a skirt today. Alastor watched the blood drip down your legs from the corner of his eye. Pooling further in your shoes. 

You stood there for what felt like ages. How long did it take to gut a deer? He couldn't be using the whole thing, could he? What was he even making? You got tired of standing and hopped on the counter, hugging the head now in your lap. You were already covered in blood, it didn’t really matter now that the base of the severed head was soaking into your lap. Thankful your skirt was at least black. Alastor would have to try harder than this to drive you out. He’d previously been relying too heavily on his reputation and the fear people felt from his presence. He would have to get more creative with you, how fun. 

"Hiiiiiii guuuuuuuys!" Charlie popped her head into the kitchen, breaking your concentration. "There is a short group activity we are about to do! Would you like to join us? " She glances at you, then at the glob of sticky at your feet. "Mayyyybeee we could get you some slippers...? Alastor?"

"You may go." You’d rather hold the deer, but you weren’t about to let him know that. 

You dropped the head in the sink with a thud and a squelch. Alastor smirked, enjoying the squishing sound your shoes made as you walked away. You were grateful to have clean feet and warm slippers. But the short group activity wasn't short at all. It had been several hours at this point and the deer head didn't seem so bad now. You sat slumped in a chair, waiting for your turn to share your “feelings”. Charlie had sung two songs now, she was a lovely person but this activity was making you want to claw your eyes out. You sat up straight when you saw the kitchen door open, pretending to be engaged in the activity. God forbid Alastor to catch on that this was torment for you, he’d end up signing you up for every activity Charlie came up with.  

The rest of the day was filled with busy work. By the time 5 PM rolled around you were exhausted. You grabbed your jacket and purse, heading out the front door. By the time you got home, you felt like you were going to collapse. Just get through this week, you thought, things will level out after that. You trudged up the four flights of stairs and as you approached your apartment you noticed a note on your door. EVICTION NOTICE in bold print. You ripped it off the door and crumpled it in your hand.

Great. 

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

"get me a damned matcha" | Chapter 1: June I

{{ Chapter 2: July I }} Chapter Directory

I'm so excited to finally publish this jdkflsjd. I'll get this chapter up on AO3 later this weekend or on Monday since my parents are in town, so I'm not sure how much I'll be able to be on! If you're interested in getting tagged for updates, fill out this new form here: x :3

EDIT: this is now up on AO3 as well!

✧ pairing ➼ levi ackermann x fem!reader, college x coffee shop x roommates!au ✧ summary ➼ After you find yourself plagued with misfortune due to struggles in your personal and family life, you find yourself needing to move last minute. As a junior in undergrad with little money and little social support, you considered yourself lucky when you found a sublease that was close to campus and was relatively cheap. Unfortunately, it seemed that your roommate did not seem to be so excited regarding your presence. ✧ content/warnings ➼ fluff, slowburn, enemies to lovers (sorta), strangers to lovers, fem!reader, eventual smut, ex was originally porco but i accidentally made him too much of a dick so i replaced his name with zack, no it is not a reference to zeke i'd rather puke, only adding tags/content warnings that are applicable to each chapter so people can skip around if need be!, will continue to add as more stuff comes up ✧ word count ➼ ~3.9k

College was difficult enough without having to worry about money, housing, and relationship issues. Unfortunately, you were not one of the few lucky students that could just get through those four years in isolation. In addition to worrying about school, you also had to deal with a last minute housing change after some recent bullshit regarding your now ex-boyfriend. Your dynamic had gotten to the point that you couldn’t afford to wait for another two months as leases began expiring and apartments would open up for prospective renters again. You’d rather live on the streets when compared to having to live with him for another day. 

Given the fact that it was June and your only remaining family was out of the country, you were left with no choice but to desperately try to find a sublease that wasn’t ridiculously expensive. That, plus the fact that you didn’t have a car and would be forced to live near campus, meant that you were ready to rip your hair out by the time that you finally found a sublease.

You knew it was due to nothing other than pure luck when you found an apartment complex that was a ten-minute walk to campus, close to a bus stop, relatively cheap, and had a tenant that moved out the week prior.

Unfortunately, your luck ran out when you found that you'd have to take a 2-hour bus ride from your ex-boyfriend's house to your new apartment. It wasn't that far from the two destinations, but the bus routes looped around the town multiple times, making your commute much longer than if you had gone by car.

As a result, you found yourself leaning your head back against the glass window at the rear end of the bus.

This really is Zack's last "fuck you" to me, isn't it?

You anxiously tapped your foot against the floor as you pulled out your phone for the millionth time. The previous tenant that set up the sublease had given you the contact information for your new roommate to set up the exchange of keys along with getting everything set up regarding who's paying for what utilities and how rent would be split. You already knew this was going to be a pain in the ass to handle. What you weren't prepared for was the lack of a hasty response when you sent a text to the number that Miche had given you.

> [you (12:35pm)]: hey, miche said you'd be free this afternoon so i can get your keys? does 3:00 work

You had sent that text message to your mysterious roommate roughly an hour ago when you had boarded your first bus back towards campus. You were now about half-way through your trip and had boarded your third bus, which was finally your last one before getting dropped off roughly a block away from your new apartment. 

You shot a frown towards your phone. Your roommate had still not answered. Frustrated, you began typing again, in case the urgency in your first text was missed.

> [you (1:45pm)]: im on the bus ride over. i don't have a car, so would we be able to handle this so i'm not stranded outside?

By the time you arrived, your roommate had still not answered. You had spent the entire two-hour ride anxiously bouncing your leg up and down, checking your phone every 5-10 minutes to see if you would ever get an answer. 

You didn't.

When the bus driver finally announced your stop, you found yourself more anxious than you were relieved at finishing your annoyingly long bus ride. You stepped off the bus in a dejected manner, with your right hand holding onto your phone and your left hand holding onto your backpack strap that was a bit too tight on your shoulders. Your back ached from lugging it around all day. It was packed with the basic necessities that you would need to survive the week, with your ex-boyfriend, Zack, promising to drop off the rest of your stuff next week—although you knew that translated to "shit he didn't want". That's just how your dynamic was. 

You unlocked your phone and typed in the address for your new apartment complex again, navigating your way through the fairly empty streets. It was a residential area and given the fact that it was near a college campus—and therefore primarily made up of university students—and it was in the middle of June, most of the tenants had gone home for the summer.

The new apartment complex wasn't bad. It certainly couldn't compare to a house, but it had an indoor lobby with mailboxes on one side and a recreation room on the other with some vending machines, and even a small kitchenette. 

No wonder the rent was so expensive.

You stepped inside, a relieved exhale escaping your lips as you felt the cool air from the air conditioning unit wash over you. Although you were definitely still irritated, seeing the lobby and escaping the heat brought up your mood slightly.

Your resolve renewed, you began to climb up the stairs, trying to figure out the best way to greet your new roommate without being overly frustrated. 

Maybe their phone was off. Maybe they took a nap and couldn't see the texts. Maybe you got the wrong number from Miche. 

You thought of all the reasons as to why they wouldn't respond. You shook your head, knowing that you should just brush it under the rug. As long as your roommate was home to let you in and give you your keys, there shouldn't be any more issues—for now. 

"Unit 217," you mumbled to yourself as you walked down the hallway, looking up at the door numbers.

Once you appeared in front of Unit 217, you frowned, noticing that the lights inside were off. That wasn't good news.

Maybe there's enough lighting from the windows that they don't need lights.

You gently knocked on the door.

There wasn't a sound—no movement, no noise, no talking, nothing.

You knocked again a bit harder. 

Nothing.

You knocked again.

They're not home. Of course they're not home. What a wonderful start to this already shitty situation.

You rested your forehead against the door, tempted to smash your head against it out of frustration. Your eyes finally shot open when you heard a door open. You glanced over to the side and saw a tall blonde man with a beard and glasses walk out.

"Locked out?" he asked as you made eye contact.

"You could say that," you mumbled with a frown. "You wouldn't happen to know of anywhere within walking distance that has wi-fi?"

If you couldn't get ahold of your roommate, you might as well get some writing done until you can return later in the evening when your roommate has to be home. 

"There's a café roughly a block down, if you were wanting to hang out there, although I'm not sure when Ackermann will be home. His schedule's been all over the place recently."

"Hmm," you muttered, indicating the lack of interest in learning about your roommate's backstory, although you now at least had a name.

Ackermann, huh? What a pretentious sounding last name.

~~~~~

These damn undergrads...

Levi Ackermann currently stood behind the doorway that led from the breakroom and into the main seating area of the small, local café that he currently held a part-time position as a barista at. 

He wasn't supposed to be here. He had purposefully given himself the week off so he could catch up on some lab work, yet he still found himself here. One of the new hires—a sophomore named Marlo—called out roughly 20 minutes ago when Levi was headed home from his immunology lab after spending the entire morning chatting with his mentor about whether he'd be able to graduate with his PhD on time.

To make things worse, since he was new, Marlo's shift meant that Levi was stuck working at the registers to take orders, which he easily considered the worst part of the job. If his shift just consisted of making the specialty brews that came his way, he'd be significantly less grumpy. That way, he could just tuck away in his corner and do the one aspect of the job that he enjoyed—making tea—instead of having to deal with the irritation that came with dealing with the undergrads that frequently visited.

"For fuck's sake," he whispered underneath his breath as he shut the door to his locker, ignoring his phone that kept on lighting up. He had it on silent for everyone except for the two people that mattered in his life—Farlan and Isabel—and they wouldn't contact him unless it was an emergency. 

The fact that coming into this shift was one of the smaller annoyances in Levi's life simply poured more salt onto his wound. He wasn't even supposed to be working this much since it took away from his school time to do his research, but the graduate program's financial aid office fucked up his stipend and he was left to fend for himself. It was only for this month, so it didn't matter in the grand scheme of things, but then his housing situation got all fucked up.

He had been living with Miche for roughly a year and they had a decent partnership as roommates, until Miche left to live closer to the city after freshly finishing a Master's program. Miche had moved out about two weeks ago, telling him that his new roommate would be reaching out soon. Levi's stipend situation couldn't come at a worse time, as Miche moving out meant he had to cover this month's rent on his own unless his new roommate magically showed up within the next day and was willing to cover rent when they hadn't even really started living there yet. 

After shooting a death glare at the front register for a few more minutes, he finally decided to step up to the counter, hoping that it was at least a slow day so he could get home and pretend the grievances in his life weren't as bothersome for a few hours.

His shift had just started, so he was more than a little annoyed when he already heard the door open. The semester had just ended, which roughly translated to all the undergrads leaving for summer break. Other than the few stragglers and the unfortunate PhD students that were forced to work through the summer, everyone should have gone home. He glanced up as he saw someone walk inside. 

An immediate frown appeared on his face. He could immediately tell that they were an undergraduate student, and likely an oblivious one at that.

Levi watched as you stumbled in through the door, dragging in a backpack that was slightly too large and overpacked. You looked like you had been running around with no sense of direction or purpose. You were all disheveled, as shown by how chaotic your hair looked and through how much you struggled stepping away from the door frame and towards the coffee bar.

He felt his eyes begin to roll before seeing you approach him.

Taking over Marlo's shift means I'm working the registers and have to talk with the undergrads. What a pain in the ass.

He stared at you with a neutral expression on his face as you plopped down at the coffee bar in front of him.

"Can I get you something?" he finally said, in a tone that indicated that customer service was not one of his skills in this profession.

You looked past him at the menu that was hung up behind him. Although you had passed this café a bunch whenever you found the time to travel off-campus and explore the town that surrounded the outskirts of Paradis University, this was the first time you actually found yourself in Chosahei Café. You squinted at the menu, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion at some of the options.

"Why are the specialty coffee drinks unavailable?"

"Ah?" mumbled Levi before turning around to glance at where you were looking. "The barista that specializes in those stepped out. I can get you one of the standard ones or I can get you one of the specialty teas."

You blinked at him for a few seconds as if you were struggling to process what he was saying.

"You're a barista and you can't make coffee?"

"Tch," he muttered, already beyond irritated as he frowned at you. He knew that he was likely biased against your presence and simply lumped you in with the rest of the undergrads that constantly drove him up the wall with their obsession with cheap iced lattes that he couldn't be bothered to care about making. "Did you not hear what I just said? I can get you a standard one or—if you were really wanting one of the house specialty drinks—one of the teas."

"You must get top remarks for your customer service skills," you said with a monotonous tone.

Levi placed his hands on the counter, leaning against it as he stared at you.

"This isn't some retail café like Starbucks—which is down the street, by the way," he said, pointing towards the door as a gesture to indicate that you could leave if you weren't satisfied. "The house drinks were all created by the employees and the barista that made the specialty coffees stepped out. Now are you going to order or not? I have other customers to attend to."

His eyes raised off of you and towards the back of the café, where a line of about 3-4 people gathered as they impatiently waited for you to order.

"Hmph," you said, letting out an irritated exhale. "Get me a matcha."

Levi raised an eyebrow at you.

"Out of all the specialty ones here, you go with something as basic as that?"

You were beyond confused over why this random barista in a small, local café was giving you this much grief.

"Oh what the hell? Just get me the damned matcha, you asshole," you snapped at him as you tossed your card towards him.

He quickly grabbed your card and put in the order with an unamused look on his face.

You kept your gaze on him as he begrudgingly prepared your drink. After about a minute, you glanced towards the door that opened as a tall gentleman that also wore the barista apron stepped inside. He was average height, but seemed much taller, likely due to the fact that the barista in front of you that decided to chastise you for ordering a matcha barely rose above you in terms of height—and you were not a tall person.

The new barista went behind the counter and started taking the other customers that had gathered behind you, removing the "unavailable" sign that covered up the specialty coffees. You frowned as he smoothly chatted with the customers, with your expression quickly turning into a scowl as you saw him remove the sign.

"I'm guessing he's the barista that actually knows how to make coffee?" you said, shooting another unamused look towards Levi as he walked back with your cup of matcha. 

You heard a quiet grunt from the grumpy barista you had the misfortune of being served by and you sighed as you picked up the cup and took a sip of the matcha that he reluctantly made you.

You paused, a little taken aback by the taste.

It was pretty damn good—much better than any you've ever gotten at Starbucks, anyhow. 

"Onyankopon brought over some specialty recipes that he apparently grew up making over at Marley," Levi grumbled to you. "That is why I couldn't make the specialty coffees."

After he said that, he subtly scowled at himself. Why he was even explaining himself to you was beyond him. You were just some random undergrad that stopped by and said annoying undergrad things. He had literally no reason to explain himself or justify his actions.

"So what brought you in? You're undergrad, right?" Levi asked, prompting you to look up at him. "Didn't classes just end? Most of you are back at your parents by now."

You sighed and pursed your lips, with a dark look entering your eyes. Levi was able to tell that you were biting your tongue on some information that was relevant, but that you didn't feel like divulging.

"Yes," you finally said. "I had some shit come up and had to move last minute, so I'm stuck on campus for now."

You took another sip of your matcha as a frown grew on your face.

"But at this point, I'm pretty sure it was a fucking mistake."

"Oh?" Levi asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

"I had to take a two-hour bus ride here since my asshole of an ex just happened to be busy on the day I need his car, but as luck would have it, my roommate also happens to be out, so I can't even get my damn keys from them, hence why I'm here getting chastised by you because I ordered a damned matcha instead of being in my new apartment and getting settled in."

You looked up at Levi upon hearing his silence.

"How unfortunate," he finally responded in an uninterested tone.

You rolled your eyes at his response.

"God, talking to you is a pain in the ass," you spat before quickly finishing the rest of the matcha and throwing a spare dollar onto the counter as a tip before getting up.

You paused before walking away, turning slightly towards the grumpy barista.

"You should probably consider the fact that people don't order your teas because they don't want to order from you."

"Ah?" Levi muttered as he took the dollar off the counter.

"People generally don't like interacting with someone that acts like a dick right off the bat."

~~~~~

Levi frowned to himself as he kicked off his shoes upon walking in the front door, placing them neatly upside down on the shoe rack next to the door. He sighed as he flipped on the light switch to his empty apartment. He didn't particularly mind living on his own, but Miche was a good roommate and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little on edge over who his new roommate was going to be.

He walked over to his bedroom, pushing the door open as he lifted his barista apron over his head to put away for the night. Seeing the apron reminded him of the café, and in particular, the conversation he had with a certain undergraduate student that he was forced to serve and insulted him right before they left.

Tch, he thought as he recalled the comment you made.

I'm not a dick. What the fuck.

He shut his closet after he put the apron away, his mood soured by the recollection of your conversation, although he wasn't in a great mood to begin with in the first place. He looked at the clock on his nightstand and saw that he had a few hours before he was supposed to "go to bed". Being a notorious insomniac, "going to bed" basically meant laying down and staring at the ceiling for a few hours. He rarely ever got to actually sleep, but the few minutes he can occasionally catch were enough to keep him going.

He walked over to his desk, turning the switch on his small desk lamp and pulling out a folder from his backpack that was hung up against the side of his desk. He pulled out a stack of paper and neatly placed them at the center of his desk. He took a seat in his chair and flipped through the packets, frowning at the sheer number he had yet to go through. His original plan for the day was to get home and read through some of these papers that Erwin had assigned him to read before he went back to lab on Monday—it was currently a Friday. He knew Erwin had high expectations for him. Erwin would even occasionally say that Levi was the best student he's ever had, which made Levi immediately want to shrivel up in discomfort.

He glanced up from the papers in his hand. His room was "empty". Miche had commonly made fun of him and said that Levi always made his space look like no one actually lived there. The top of his desk was always empty, his bed was always made, and not a single article of clothing was in plain sight. Levi Ackermann was just that type of person. It heavily contributed to why he was so on edge over who his new roommate would be and if they would even be compatible in terms of living style.

He turned on his phone to check the time, having ignored it for the entire latter half of the day.

7:30pm. That meant he had time to get at least a few papers reviewed. 

He frowned as he looked through his notifications and saw an unknown number appear. The texts were from this afternoon, so he knew it was long past an appropriate time to respond.

> [unknown number (12:35pm)]: hey, miche said you'd be free this afternoon so i can get your keys? does 3:00 work > [unknown number (1:45pm)]: im on the bus ride over. i don't have a car, so would we be able to handle this so i'm not stranded outside?

He sighed as he locked his phone and placed it onto his desk. It was just his luck that he went into a last-minute shift right as his new roommate contacted him. He knew that this new roommate was going to be irate with him since it's been around 6 hours since they sent that text. This just added more things onto Levi's plate that he really didn't need right now.

Before he could move to pick up his phone to shoot a reply at this unknown number, he heard not-so-gentle knocking on the door. Knowing that this was likely his new roommate that he had unintentionally ignored all day, he internally groaned to himself before forcing himself out of his chair.

He heard another knock as he made his way from his bedroom to the front door, bracing himself as he unlocked the door and pulled it open.

A frown appeared on his face as he looked at the person in front of him in confusion. 

"What the hell?" he muttered as he saw an equally confused expression appear on your face. 

That annoying undergrad from this afternoon?

"Did you follow me home?" 

You raised an eyebrow at him. The last person you had expected to be greeted with was the grumpy barista that you had the misfortune of interacting with earlier in the day.

"Did you?" you retorted.

Levi scoffed.

"How the hell would I have followed you home if I was here first?"

He cursed to himself as he recalled the monologue you gave him earlier on in the day.

You had said that you had to suffer on a bus ride and couldn't get in contact with your new roommate to get keys to the unit. Now that you were standing in front of the door to his apartment, his frown only grew.

Your eyes widened as you finally put together the pieces.

"Wait," you asked, shaking your head slightly. "Are you-?"

"I guess so," Levi responded with an unamused sigh.

"Fuck."

#: @levisbrat25 @gothgril69 @sckerman @berrijam @notgoodforlife @meowjaa @averysmolbear @roseofdarknessblog @bejewelledd @hhighkey @ayame236 @sad-darksoul @velouria17

[romirola]

If you're like me, you are excitedly awaiting the arrival of the Monarchical Summit storyline! Before that storyline is officially explored in the audios, I want to offer a reminder that if the idea of the Shaw Pack and Solaire Clan enjoying a fancy gala interests you, you might enjoy my completed fic, Packed with Love, which features exactly that, along with flashback scenes, wolfpack banter, unlikely friendships, action/adventure, grocery hunts, hurt/comfort, trancey interrogations, and more! All information (including tags, word count, rating, characters, thank-you shoutouts, etc.) can be found at the AO3 link.

IN FACT, I (through Angel) even referenced Sam having the title of Duke and his being wildly embarrassed at that fact. Here's the proof, which is a passage I pulled straight from Chapter 1:

"On behalf of the RMA, thank you for your generosity," Sam acknowledged. "Obviously I can't put in anything for the raffle since it'd look fixed if I ever won.” Between my association with the RMA, and the fact that I’m William’s once-removed progeny, I’ve had to forfeit my chances.” “‘Once-removed progeny,’” Milo curiously echoed. “So if William is your clan’s king, and you’re the progeny of William's progeny, what does that make you?” “Duke?” Angel guessed. “Viscount? Earl?” “More like court jester,” Sam supplied. “William’s not one to care much about titles or bloodlines, thankfully. That kinda stuff can just get to be so silly and antiquated. But he is one to make sure that he could never be accused of nepotism or favoritism among his clan. That’s why I agreed to forgo any raffle ticketing, as did all of us who do work for the RMA during the year. Don’t get me wrong, though. If I could buy tickets, I certainly would. William let Vincent pick out the prizes this year. True to his flashy form, he really went all out." “What’s the prize?” Asher asked as he added more garlic butter to his bread. “An ultra-luxury all-expenses-paid stay at one of those big fancy spa resorts,” Babe supplied. “Everything is included for the week. Travel, lodging, gourmet food, massage services, every amenity you can possibly think of. Doesn't that sound incredible?" Babe squealed. "And the runner-up is a huge basket full of gift cards to all different businesses around Dahlia. Empowered and unempowered. You can go check out all the businesses at the raffle table.” Babe twisted their back and pointed across the room. "Max's Rustic Pizza, the Trance Bureau, Gary's Shifter Grooming Salon, that paintball place in Greenway we've always said we want to try," they listed. "The Psychokinetic Cleaning Company, the Steakhouse, and more!"