#Like his track record makes me wary...

[lokiinmediasideblog]

I'm both excited and dreading the Zack Snyder Norse mythology series.

And lol, why is blue-ish one of Loki's most recurrent skin colors? (Probably cus of Marvel tbqh). He looks like a night elf in this.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Ignorantia Neminem Excusat

(Ignorance excuses no one, lat.)

"Commissioner."

Jim Gordon doesn't jump. They are years and years into this rodeo, he's stopped actually jumping at Batman's silent approach a long time ago. Yet, Bruce still notices the way his shoulders twitch just the tiniest bit, and his hand makes an aborted motion to his gun holster. Still got it.

The man turns around. Bruce can see the 'must you always do that?' in his slightly narrowed eyes. He presses his lips tightly together in order to not smirk: Batman doesn't do that, even if it's admittedly funny to see the seasoned Commissioner get spooked every time.

"There's a kid that wants to speak with you."

Bruce frowns. A kid that warranted a BatSignal? Not that he minds, but this is highly unusual for several reasons; however, Jim is not the kind of man that would fall for puppy eyes of any level, so it must be something more important than an autograph session or a victim of any of the recent cases.

Besides, the way Commissioner worded it implies that the kid, whoever they are, requested Batman specifically.

"He is a hacker," Jim puts both his hands in the pockets of his coat — he is either cold or uncomfortable, and Bruce highly suspects it's both. What's more, he starts to understand why. "I'm sure you're aware we were trying to track the person responsible for the few recent cyber attacks on GCPD servers," Jim glances at him, and Bruce nods. He is aware, yes, but the case was low-priority — it wasn't even an attack, really, someone just accessed the system foregoing the passwords and clearance levels, went through a few files, seemingly at random, and did a fairly decent job of hiding their traces. Bruce would have even thought it was Tim, if this happened a few years ago, when the boy was just learning the ropes.

Commissioner sighs and looks away, "But when we brought him in, the boy said he will only speak to you, and none of us have been able to make him say a word since." He pauses, a grim kind of expression on his face, "This was six hours ago."

Bruce is grateful for the way his cowl hides how his eyebrows raise. There are hundreds of scripts officers, detectives, and social workers can use to establish contact. Quite a lot of them could be attempted in the span of six hours.

Whatever the kid wants to tell him, Bruce decides it's worth a try. If not anything else, he can at least admire the sheer stubbornness.

—×—×—×—

The kid sitting in the interrogation room looks... younger than Bruce expected. Fifteen, maybe sixteen. He is dressed like any other homeless kid in Gotham — a hoodie and a jacket over it, jeans that look a size too big on him, sneakers with mismatched shoelaces — but he clearly hasn't been out in the streets for that long. His hair is braided into cornrows, and it looks professional, even if the roots have grown out so now it's just messy. What's more, he is missing that telltale wariness in his posture that Bruce has seen in every other street kid that has been brought into a police station. They always slouch and curl into themselves.

This boy is sitting with his back straight. Yet, there's a tension in his body that Bruce can only associate with a battle stance — give him the slightest reason, and the kid will lunge.

He steps into the room.

The boy — he hadn't given a name, and there wasn't a single ID on him — zeroes on him instantly. His eyes are a very pale, almost translucent green: a rather strange feature for a black-skinned person, genetically speaking, but Bruce doesn't dwell on it. Yet.

But then, the face recognition program comes up empty.

As in, 'there's not a trace of this person's prior existence' empty. Not a single camera footage, no records or reports of missing, no pictures, no social media, nothing. Bruce frowns.

"Hi," the kid says, his voice raspy, "My name is Tucker Foley. According to the government, I don't exist, so if your recognition program doesn't find anything on me, that's why."

Bruce doesn't say anything. Tucker wanted to speak with him, and previously, he was only merely intrigued by that request. However, as of right now, he wants to hear everything the kid has to say before asking any follow-up questions.

Because that always present, cautious and bordering on paranoid voice in the back of his mind tells him he is about to get into something way more serious than he expected.

Tucker moves — he kept both his hands on the table, palms open and visible, but now he closes one into a fist. Although, before Bruce can react to it, he opens it again. A small, the size of a flash-drive, dimly glowing green object rests inside.

"Do you know what this is?" The boy asks. He hasn't looked away from Batman's face once; Bruce is not even sure he blinked at all since he entered the room. Come to think of it, even with his tense, rigid posture, Tucker is too still, almost unnervingly so.

Bruce glances down to the boy's hand.

"Yes," he answers curtly, and there it is, the smallest shift in Tucker's face: he clenches his jaw like he's trying to hold the words inside his mouth. Bruce doesn't like it.

"What is it?" Comes the next question, but it's not curiosity that prompts it. It's a test of some sort. Bruce likes that even less.

"A power source," he decides on a neutral answer, not entirely certain what the boy is expecting to hear.

It seems to be a wrong answer because for the first time, Tucker's emotions slip from under his mask, and he takes a sharp breath in, looking like Bruce had just slapped him across the face. It lasts only a moment — Tucker closes his eyes for a moment, slowly exhales, and speaks again, calm and focused once more.

"And what exactly powers it?"

It's an important question, judging by the desperate, searching look in Tucker's eyes. His hands are not shaking, and there are no visible signs of distress, but for some reason, Bruce just knows that the boy's whole life seems to depend on the answer.

But.

"It's classified." Bruce doesn't take his eyes off the boy, but he still fails to see when he gets to his feet; the movement is quicker than the blink of an eye. All he knows is the aftermath of it, the screech of the chair legs on the floor and the loud slam of Tucker's palms on the table.

"Fuck the classified!" The boy yells, his face twisting in an awful mix of anger, hurt and a broken, terrified sort of hopelessness that almost breaks Bruce from the inside. "I need to know what they've told you, I have to- Tell me you think it's just a battery! Tell me you've never broke one to see what's inside, tell me you believe in science! They've showed you the research, didn't they?" Tucker's voice, so agonizingly different from the composed way he was talking before, breaks into a sobbing, almost hysterical laugh. His pale eyes are wide open and almost panicked, searching Batman's face for something he is not sure he can find.

"Tell me you've never seen one being made," this time, the boy doesn't yell, he whispers, his breath hitching and his knuckles white. "Please," he adds a moment later, and Bruce knows this kind of plea.

It's the plea of someone who is begging for the world to have mercy on them. A plea of a boy standing on their parents' grave, a plea of a man kneeled in front of his son's corpse.

Bruce swallows the bitter taste on the back of his tongue and takes a step closer. He sees the boy in front of him lean back and bend his knees, like bracing for impact, but he answers before any more misunderstandings can occur.

"I have seen the research. It provided enough information that I've never investigated further," he offers, and Tucker's shoulders slump like months and months of living in a constant state of fight-or-flight leaving his body all at once. Then, the boy's hands start trembling just slightly.

"Really?" He quietly asks, his eyes still glued to Batman, and there it is, the hesitant, uncertain hint of hope in his voice.

Bruce suddenly feels like not only this talk will be much, much worse than he ever feared, but also like in the end this will be another one of the things he will be blaming himself for. Things he could have prevented if he just tried a little harder.

"Really," he nods, taking a seat opposite from Tucker. "So explain what I've missed."

The boy keeps looking at him for a few more seconds, like trying to x-ray his thoughts for any sign of a lie. But then he blinks — for the first time, maybe — and rubs his face with his palm before all but dropping back in his own seat.

"Okay," he breathes out, evidently trying to collect himself and go back to the strong, focused self, "Okay."

[ part 2 -> ]

[nanasrkives]

navigation : midnight records! the starlight EP! the mha EP!

"SKINCARE NIGHT" ─ Bakugo Katsuki, Kirishima Eijiro, Kaminari Denki, Todoroki Shoto

was doing skincare while watching mha and i thought why the hell not :) content : fluff. crackfic. menace known as bakugo. multicharacter. 3.6k words.

BAKUGO KATSUKI

You were in the middle of your skincare routine when the door slams open without warning, the impact rattling the frame as Bakugo Katsuki bursts in your room like he owns the place.

"Oi ! Let's—" he starts, voice rough and demanding, but then he sees you. His words falter as he freezes. For a moment, there is nothing but silence. His red eyes snap open a fraction as he takes in the sight before him. You, cross-legged on your bed, a sheet mask pressed gently to your face, your fingers smoothing the edges of the mask as you settle into the feeling of the cool serum.

"The fuck is that !?" he snarls, his own voice shrill with wariness as he takes a step back as if you've just turned into a faceless demon. You blink slowly, raising an eyebrow. "A face mask ?" He gestures towards you, furrowing deep in suspicion, his voice gruff. "Why the hell do you look like that, woman?" You roll your eyes, while patting your cheeks to allow the product to penetrate. "It's skincare, Katsuki. It's literally just a mask." He doesn't appear to be convinced. His posture is still defensive, arms crossed over his chest tightly, as if coming any closer to you would somehow taint him. His scowl darkens. And then, as if catching himself looking ridiculous, his lips twist into a smug, annoyed smirk. "Tch. You look stupid as fuck."

You snort, struggling not to laugh. There it is. As soon as he gets off track, he reverts back to being an asshole. Classic Bakugo. "And yet…" You tilt your head, eyes glinting with trouble. "My skin's softer than yours." His eyes light up, the gauntlet thrown in his chest. "Bullshit. My skin's perfect." You hum thoughtfully, bending over to your nightstand and grabbing a fresh sheet mask from the pile. You lift it slowly, making a production out of what you're doing, and a grin pulls at your mouth. "Then show me." Bakugo's entire body stiffens, his position becoming rigid in surprise. "What?"

"If your skin is really that perfect," you say lightly, voice sweet and naive, "then you wouldn't be afraid to do a little skincare, right?" His eye darts, that old, competitive fire burning. You can practically see the moment he takes the bait, the moment the challenge gets into his head. "Who the hell said I was afraid, woman? You shrug indifferently, your voice laced with sarcasm. "You literally flinched when you saw me."

"I DIDN'T FUCKING FLINCH," he snaps, his annoyance evident in the rising tone. You fight off the smile, fingers closing hard around the packet in your hand. "So you're doing it, then?" Bakugo doesn't even hesitate. He swipes the packet out of your hand so fast you don't even have a chance to think. "Fine."

You watch with amusement as he rips the packaging apart as if it hurt him personally, then with a snarl, rips out the damp sheet mask from its packaging. He looks at it like it's something from another world or something, confusion crossing his face.

"How the fuck do you even—" You exhale in exasperation, crossing your legs to sit. "Fold it up and put it on already, genius." With a huff, Bakugo slaps the mask over his face, but the problem? It's completely off. One of the holes for his eyes is slightly off-center, his nose is partially obscured, and the edges are all creased up like he's trying to put on a badly fitting helmet.

You look at him, impassive. "Bakugo Katsuki. Fix it."

"The fuck? It's on!" he grumbles with a huff, clearly irritated. "You look like a serial killer," you quip, eyeballing the badly placed mask. He shoots you a glare even nastier but ungraciously shoves it—a tad too hard—into place until it's properly centered. His entire body is dripping with irritation, but the mask is on well, technically. Which is when you notice it. You pick up the pink and fluffy headband you'd eyed all evening. It is soft, stupid, and most importantly has cat ears hanging off the front. Before he can protest, you put the headband on his head, smoothing his messy blond hair back so it's sitting perfectly. The room is quiet for a crackling moment. Bakugo blinks once. Twice. Then, his eyes slowly drift to the mirror at the opposite end of the room. Face mask. Pink cat-ear headband. He stares at himself. You can almost imagine the gears cranking in his head as he processes the picture. It is so utterly, brutally off the mark that you almost feel a twinge of sympathy for him.

Almost. Finally, Bakugo's head swivels back towards you, his growl low and threatening as he utters a single word, "Woman." You struggle to suppress your laughter. You do, really. But the image of him, so angry and outraged, the cat ears sitting atop his head… it's just too much. You clench your lip, holding out for just another moment. "Yes babe?" He doesn't crack a smile. Doesn't even flinch. His voice is still icy, but you can sense the threat underlying. "You better fucking sleep with one eye open." And that's when you lose it. You double over, your laughter erupting in a loud, uncontrollable sound. Your hands are clutched over your stomach as you struggle to breathe, tears building up in your eyes. Bakugo stands before you, regarding you, the death glare still very much intact, but his shoulders are ever so slightly tense with embarrassment. "Aww, come on," you gasp, wiping away a tear from your eye. "You're cute." His eyes twitch. "Shut the hell up." But all the threats of death and the glares, and Bakugo still does not take off the mask. Doesn't even touch the thing. Crosses his arms tightly over his chest, still scowling, but now you see it. The corners of his mouth are just slightly softer. And if he just remains there for all ten minutes, arms crossed and still scowling but silently enjoying the cold against his skin? Well, that's a secret for you, him, and his perfect damn skin.

KIRISHIMA EIJIRO

Kirishima Eijiro was the type of guy who always go headfirst, and tonight was no different. You had just mentioned to him about having a skincare night, and now he was literally bouncing off the walls with excitement. "Alright y/n, tell me the first step! Let's do this!" he babbled on his heels with his trademark grin.

You laughed, handing him the exfoliating scrub and a sheet mask. "Start with this scrub. It will exfoliate your skin before we put on the hydrating mask."

"Ex-fo-liate?" Kirishima stared at the tub in his hands like it was an alien relic. "What the hell is exfoliate?

You smiled, trying to stifle your giggles. "It's just a bougie way of saying 'removing dead skin cells.' It'll make your skin smooth."

His brow furrowed in thought, then he shrugged it off. "Okay, so it's like fighting bad guys, but for my face?"

You nodded, slightly more seriously than you intended. "Yes, exactly."

With that, Kirishima jumped in, scrubbing with intense focus. He wasn't particularly gentle—his face was scrunched up, and he scrubbed a little too hard in places—but you couldn't help but smile at how persistantly he was scrubbing.

You winced a little when he scrubbed a little too hard. "Uh, Eijiro ? You don't need to press so hard babe."

"Huh?" He stopped, gaping up in a confused manner. "But I thought I had to exfoliate and remove the dead skin cells! Gotta break 'em!" You smiled and shook your head. "More like be gentle."

"Be gentle, okay!" Kirishima repeated back, nodding before continuing with lighter fingers. "This makes complete sense now."

Once he washed it off, he turned his attention to the sheet mask you had given him. "Alright, now what are we doing ?"

"Face Mask !" You said as you gave him the sheet mask, and he just looked at it for a second, not really knowing how to go about doing it.

"Uh. I don't know how to—" he said, his tone hesitant, but only briefly.

"Just unfold it delicately," you instructed. "And see how you can make it stay on your face right."

He nodded gravely, although the mask was plainly giving him a bit of difficulty. With two fumbling pulls, he eventually slapped the mask over his face, although the fit was hardly ideal—one side off-center, and the mask creased where it met the jawline.

He stared at his reflection, as if debating some deep philosophical conundrum. "Well, I look pretty good, right?" he said, adjusting the mask once more.

You looked at him and couldn't help but smile. Although the mask was a bit crooked, Kirishima's persistent confidence still shone through. He looked like a warrior—firm and ready to take on anything, even if that was battling a face mask.

"You're glowing," you teased, clearly enjoying his misery so desperately struggling.

He grinned back, clearly pleased. "Hell yeah, I'm glowing. I knew I'd kill this."

You two talked and laughed the next few minutes away, Kirishima never losing his optimism. Despite having no idea what he was doing sometimes, he was truly enjoying himself. He just kept going on about how great the cooling feeling was on his face, and how "manly" skincare was.

"Man, this cooling thing is amazing y/n," he breathed softly, running his finger over his face tenderly, his eyes wide with disbelief that he liked it so much. "I never thought skincare could be this great. This definitely is going into my routine."

You smiled, struck by the level to which he was captivated by it. "Yeah? I'll have to get you more some time."

"Hell yeah! I'm so in!" Kirishima said excitedly. "Next week?"

When the timer beeped, signaling that it was time to remove the mask, Kirishima removed it hastily and washed his face. His face did look a little brighter, and he looked pleasantly surprised at the result.

"Whoa," he said, his eyes wide as he touched his skin. "My face feels so much better. I didn't think it'd work."

You gathered up the used sheet mask and bottles of lotion, chuckling at the amount of satisfaction Kirishima had derived from it despite being such a seemingly ordinary process.

Then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, Kirishima leaned forward and burried you in a large, bear hug, pulling you into his chest as he began peppering kisses all over your face. You could feel his face still a little sticky from the mask, but he didn't even realize it.

"Thanks for doing this with me," he whispered, his face pressed against your shoulder. "This was incredible. Can we do this every week?"

You laughed, holding him close. "Of course baby, I'd love that."

He pulled back slightly, still grinning from ear to ear. "Next time, I'm bringing my own masks. I'm gonna be a skincare master in no time."

You chuckled, shaking your head fondly. “You’re already well on your way, Eijiro.”

And despite the fact that his face was still sticky with mask remnants, Kirishima looked completely content. He wasn’t just embracing the fun of skincare, but he was also genuinely proud of how seriously he took it.

KAMINARI DENKI

It had been an exhausting day, but you were looking forward to your skincare night—just you, your face mask, and a little bit of relaxation. That is, until your boyfriend, Kaminari Denki, decided he'd be a part of the fun. He came barging into your room, without knocking as always, with this huge grin on his face.

"Yo babe, what's going on in here?"

You were sitting on the bed, getting ready to put on your mask, and you raised an eyebrow at him. "I was going to do my skincare. Why?"

"Skincare, huh?" Denki's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "I've seen this stuff on TikTok. People get all dewy and radiant and talk about hydration and glowy skin. I wanna see what all the hype is about."

You sighed, already aware of where this was going. "You're really gonna ruin my skincare night for this?"

Denki gave you a playful smile and seated himself next to you on the bed. "Hell yeah I'm down ! I'm ready to get glowing too. We're in this together, right?"

You gave him an incredulous look. "It's not some kind of competition, Denki. You have to do the steps."

He waved you off. "I've got this. I've been watching TikTok. How difficult can it be?"

You handed him the cleanser first, eyeing him warily as he took it from your hand. He uncapped it and sniffed. "What is this? You look like you're going to perform a science experiment, not skincare."

"Just wash your face with it," you said, trying not to laugh. "It's not that complicated."

He grinned. "Easy enough!"

He started putting the cleanser on his face, but instead of gently massaging it in, Denki was essentially scrubbing his face raw, rubbing his hands around in aggressive circles. It was like he was trying to scrub off a whole layer of skin.

"Uh, not like that…" you tried to tell him, but he didn't seem to listen.

As he rinsed his face, he faced you with a wide grin. "Alright! Step one, done! I already feel refreshed!"

You stifled your smile. "You're definitely… something. Let's just get to the mask."

You handed him the sheet mask, which he looked at with a mix of suspicion and expectation.

"Okay, okay, I got this," he muttered, looking at the package like it was a treasure map. He tried to open the mask, but it was like attempting to watch a car crash in slow motion—he just couldn't quite manage to do it right.

"I saw this on TikTok, you just—" Denki tried to put it on, but the mask was too big for his face, and it looked like it was going to slip off at any second. His lips were covered, but so were his eyes, and the whole thing was just askew.

You couldn't help it. "Denks, what the hell are you doing?"

Denki’s eyes were wide behind the mask, and he tried to adjust it, making matters worse. “What?! It’s like skincare armor. I’m doing it right.”

He stepped back and admired himself in the mirror, hands on his hips, clearly proud of his “work.” “Look at me babe. This is perfect, right?”

You snickered. “You look like a glazed donut.”

"What? No way! I'm glowing, aren't I?" Denki asked, clearly not seeing the absurdity of it all. He tugged at the mask, trying to get it straight, but it continued to slip, and you couldn't help it anymore, the laughter just escaped.

"Okay, okay, okay, got it!" Denki cried, turning to face you again, clearly amused by himself. "You're only jealous of my glowing skin. I can feel the aura coming off of me already."

You shook your head, trying to stop yourself from laughing. "I don't think it's your skin that's glowing right now, Denki. It's the ridiculousness of your whole experience."

He paused, stared at you for a bit, then broke into a wide grin. "Hey, as long as my skin's moisturized, I'm game."

After about ten minutes of Denki trying not to move—unsuccessfully, of course—he took off the mask and promptly touched his face. "Whoa. This is awesome, y/n! I could totally get used to this. My skin is so soft now. I'm basically a skincare expert."

You couldn't help but grin at him. "It's not a competition, Denki. But, okay, we'll say you're a skincare guru."

Denki was practically glowing now—not only from the mask, but from being so proud of himself.

"You're the best, babe," he mumbled, his voice muffled by the pink headband you had to put on him to keep his hair out of his face. "I'm so doing this again next week. You ready?"

You couldn't help giggling. "Yeah, next week, Denki. But maybe no more TikTok tutorials."

TODOROKI SHOTO

Todoroki Shoto didn't have any idea what he was getting himself into when he said he would hang out with you. He had spent the whole day training and just needed a bit of relaxation, so he thought some peace and quiet in your room would be the best way to unwind. But as soon as his eyes landed on the array of skincare products on your shelf, he should have known things were about to take a turn. You were seated cross-legged on the bed with a jar of face scrub and a sheet mask in each of your hands. You noticed that he glanced over at the products and grinned promptly. "Well hello boyfriend," you said with a sinister sparkle in your eye. "Why don't you join me for some skincare?" Shoto raised an eyebrow, looking surprised. "Skincare? Me? You nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! I need a model for my routine. You're just the one for it."

He blinked slowly and for a moment, you feared he would say no, but he sighed, clearly too tired to protest. "Fine. Okay, I guess I'll do it. But no weird stuff, okay?" You grinned, already contemplating on how you would pamper him. "No jokes, I promise. Just lay back, chill out, and let me get my hands in." Shoto settled back into the pillows, eyes already beginning to shut as he prepared himself. He did not seem to mind too much when you started with the skincare. And why would he, anyway? How awful could it possibly be?

You worked with your cleanser first, carefully applying it after damping his face with a wet cotton pad. Shoto barely flinched, his face easing under your fingers. It was clear he was trying to relax, probably due to stress from the day, and his calm mood merely made your job easier. "See? Not that bad," you teased while rubbing the cleanser on his skin. Shoto hummed. His eyes were still closed, and you could sense his shoulders relax even further under your touch. It was like he was in his own little world now, relaxing totally under your hands. You moved on to the next step—a clay mask that would purify his skin. You stood there with the jar in front of you, smiling. "Now the good stuff." He barely even glanced at you. It was as if Shoto had given up altogether, allowing you to do what you wanted. With that, you began to apply the rich, creamy mask to his face, smoothing it out over his skin with delicacy. You paused, glancing at his expression. It was blank, a little serious even, as if he was contemplating something deep. “I’m not sure about this one,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. You laughed softly. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. You’ll look great.” There was silence. Shoto's stoic expression hadn't altered one bit. His calm face was as if he were meditating, completely focused on nothing. As you put the mask on his face, you noticed something amusing: he was so relaxed that he wasn't even tensing a muscle. He didn't even blink.

You'd finished donning the mask and, with minimal commotion, you were back to lying next to him. Shoto remained stretched out, completely still, and his face was covered in a thick layer of clay mask. His hair, of course, was beautifully styled, and the headband you'd initially given him to keep his bangs away from his eyes still sat securely there. You remained there for a couple of minutes, just sitting in silence. The timer on your phone counted down, reminding you that it was almost time to remove the mask, but when you looked at Shoto's face once more, you noticed something: he was sleeping. You blinked a few times, caught off guard. Did he just really fall asleep right here in the middle of this? You leaned forward and gently poked his cheek. "Shoto?" you whispered, but he didn't move. His breathing was light and even, his face smooth as it had been since he first lay down. You couldn't help but smile at how cute he was. Here he was, one of the strongest in your class and now he was on your bed, his face covered in a mask, and completely out cold. "Well, I guess that means I did a good job," you told yourself, your lips curving into a fond smile. You didn't want to wake him, but you couldn't resist taking a selfie either. Taking one last look at his peaceful face, you reached over and grabbed your phone from the bedside table and snapped a quick pic.

You staged him with a peace sign and ensured you got the whole ridiculous look—the clay mask, the cute headband, and most of all, his completely clueless face. You smiled softly at the photo. "Perfect," you sighed, putting down your phone and gazing over at your handiwork. Todoroki Shoto, your boyfriend, now your own personal skincare test subject. You slowly took a towel to remove the mask from his face. The time was up, so you gently wiped away the clay from his skin, making sure that his skin was clean before continuing to clean up the products. Once he was all scrubbed up, you replaced everything on the shelf and gave him one last look. He was still asleep, the cutest little smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. As you rose quietly to put your products back in their place, you couldn't help but be a little dazed. Shoto was always so mysterious all the time, but times like these made him a little less so, a little more of yours. Smiling softly, you turned out the lights, leaving him sleeping peacefully in his ridiculous yet adorable skincare mask.

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

TAGLIST (OPEN) @cherrysurf @arwawawa2

[bobcross1010]

TPOT 17 SPOILERS: DECODING FANNY'S BOARD + DEBUNKING/ANALYSIS OF ONE

*All of these were decoded through a Ceaser Cipher and Binary code:

XSFFG: Fanny (Fanno??)

KV UVA ALZA T LX HLENSTYR JZF: Do not test, I am watching you

TJPQZ HPXC OJ GZVMI VWJPO RCT DH CZMZ: You have much to learn about why I'm here

YTKGQE YTO ZIN: Sneaky Snitch

GCCB SBCIUV: Soon Enough

01110011 01101000 01101000 01101000: Shhh

YLJLODQV RFXOXV: Vigilant Oculus

the last code with Vigilant Oculus is SO SOOOSO interesting to me. It points at a warped image of Fanny sitting on Ice Cube: calling the two of them the vigilant oculus (oculi??). Vigilant refers to someone who is watchful, wary, being alert and checking for danger. Oculus is latin for eye: therefore, Vigilant eye.

Basically, One says that the two of them a very watchful eye, but she's not happy about it. Fanny, Ice Cube and Donut all have a strong sense of justice and morals, leading them to be the first ones act against One- Fanny and Ice Cube out in the game, and Donut through actually FIGHTING against One

Also, note how all the players who One contacted that are still ingame/got further are Ice Cube, Fanny, and Donut: in which One offered them their limbs. Neat.

One is actively preventing Fanny from letting anybody else know about her. She warps TB's vision so he sees that distortion instead of what Fanny really wrote. But there's something about it that irks her enough to piss her off.

Look at One's room:

Her couch is broken. Their table is chipped. Chairs and equipment are knocked down, papers are all over the place. Her telescope is broken. And most of all, One herself is clearly agitated. Either this happened as a result of the world almost ending, or One threw a fit and ended up throwing things around in frustration. She wants to get things done quickly, she doesn't want to waste any more time. Instead of light, easy persuasion with that confident and playful tone she uses with her usual deals, she pressures Donut and yells at him, telling him to make it quick. When he doesn't and refuses, even going so far as to kick her away from him, instead of continuing the pressure, she gives up and punishes him- she rips out his legs and lets him roll on.

Afterwards, One claims that she didn't need Donut and it was just extra. But she seems to be convincing herself rather than reminding herself.

From what Six says: "She was meant to be gone!". This means that One was exiled, or sent away somehow. From the start, she'd been enemies with the other Numbers, or at least, did NOT have a good track record with them.

Six also says that he's the only one left. He's the only one living in the Equation Playground. The others either left or are in hiding. Four, X, and Two are on earth, and Three is imprisoned inside Four.

We ALSO know that every Algebralien has a connection to the Playground through a door. Four has it through his EXIT- a pocket world inside of him. Now, One has also showed us what is likely hers- her cozy little room, and her dark meadow with the flowers. Both of them have a door that leads to the playground.

From how this is set up, it makes me believe that all the algebraliens have some sort of pocket world, all with their own door that leads to their home. We also now know that the Subscriber Specials probably take place BEFORE BFB/TPOT, or at least during, somewhat. Or they just. aren't canon. but i want to think they are because it makes me happy

So if theres some vague algebralien timeline its:

xFOHV -> One/Three get exiled and Imprisoned -> Sub Specials Probably -> BFB -> TPOT

i've run out of things to talk abour ehre

i love One :)

[cheshireliam]

"The Daily Records: Ring Schwartz & Ellis Twilight" Party Event: Chapter 1

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

Darius: I have a favour to ask of you, Ring. 

— The moment Darius opened his mouth to speak, sounding so casual as though it were ordinary small talk, Ring rushed to his side like a well-trained hunting dog.

Ring: … Want me to kill someone? 

Darius: Fufu, it’s great you have so much bloodlust, but… not this time. 

Darius: We haven’t been in England for long, so we don’t have many friends here who would willingly support us, right? 

Darius: While we do have people who will use their slyness for our benefit… 

Darius: We still lack someone who can be of real help when things turn violent. 

Ring: … That’s true. 

Ring: The people you call our allies seem much smarter than me.

Ring: But I don’t think many of them can actually pick up a sword and fight… 

Darius: Yup. Well done on being observant, Ring. 

Darius: That's why… I’m thinking of adding a strong member to our “family”. 

Nica: I looked into Crown, and… 

Nica: The one with the strongest physical abilities amongst them is Ellis Twilight. 

Darius: And so I’d like Ring to look into his character. 

Ring: His character…? 

Darius: Yeah. I want you to observe him from up close… and decide if he’s worthy of being part of our “family”. 

Ring: Got it. Leave it to me. 

With a firm nod, Ring immediately left the room to carry out Darius’ order. 

Darius: … Is it possible Ring intends to approach Ellis now?

Darius: I hope he doesn't anger anyone for visiting at this late hour…

Nica: He’ll be fine. Who knows, he might even get Ellis to be fond of him. 

Nica: Besides, sending Ring to interact with Ellis—

Nica: A way to use his pure, sincere nature to ease Ellis’ wariness toward us, isn’t it? 

Nica: It’s all part of your plan. 

Darius: Fufu… you know me so well, Nica. 

Darius: If it were you or me approaching Ellis, not just Ellis Twilight, but even Jude Jazza would be on high alert. 

Nica: Whereas Ring won’t really be seen as a threat. 

Darius: Exactly. 

Darius: Well then… I wonder if our adorable little puppy will do a good job. 

Narrowing his honey-coloured eyes, Darius smiled. 

…

Meanwhile, in a corner of London— 

Two figures walked through the silent streets at night, the sound  of their footsteps on the cobblestone echoing rhythmically. 

But in the next moment— one of them stops in his tracks. 

Jude: … Ellis. 

The other person stopped at the sound of his name. 

Ellis: Yeah… someone’s following us. 

Ellis: Jude, you go ahead to the meeting first. I’ll take care of them and join you later. 

…

After parting ways with Jude, Ellis slipped into a dark alleyway and hid himself in the shadows. 

He quietly gripped his familiar black knife while listening to the approaching footsteps. 

And the instant the presence of his pursuer entered his range, the knife in his hand formed an arc in the air, cutting into the darkness. 

Ellis: Ha…! 

With his extraordinary physical ability— Ellis’ attack was both swift and heavy. 

An average person would never have been able to react in time, however… the pursuer managed to block Ellis’ knife with a sword. 

Sharp metal blades clashed, sparks flew, and the loud clang ripped through the silence of the night.

Ellis: Huh? You’re… Ring from Vogel? 

Ring: Y-yeah, I am… but why did you suddenly attack me? 

Ellis: Sorry. I thought you were an assassin going after Jude… 

Ellis lowered his guard and put away his knife. Ring did the same, putting away his sword. 

Ellis: What are you doing here, Ring? It looked like you were following Jude and I… 

Ring: Umm… I wanted to get to know you, so I followed you. 

Ellis: Really? … Will doing that make you happy?

Ring: Y-yeah! I think it definitely would! 

Ellis: If it’ll make you happy… then I’ll tell you more about myself. 

Ring: Wait, just like that…? Are you sure about that? 

Ellis: Yeah. … But I have work to do right now, so we’ll have to leave that to another day.

Ellis: Are you free tomorrow at around noon? 

…

Jude: Ellis, ya sure took yer own sweet time gettin’ back. That guy gave ya trouble? 

Ellis: No, not exactly… 

Ellis: … I’m going to have lunch with Ring.

Jude: Hah? 

[invinciblerodent]

Are people playing the same game I did? What do they mean "Rook has done nothing to earn Solas' loyalty"? Given what Solas did to Varric, and just the general threat Solas' plans represent, Rook is well within their rights to give zero shits about his loyalty. Why are they concerned about Rook earning Solas' loyalty to begin with? Solas wronged THEM not the other way around??? What did Rook even do? Stop the ritual? The ritual which was going to cause apocalyptic destruction? You can't blame Rook for not having all the facts. The one who does have all the facts (Solas) has been keeping them to himself. It's not Rook's fault if they only know what they've been told. What are they supposed to think given that demons are literally popping up all over the place? Solas hasn't exactly given Rook any reason to trust him. Did they forget Solas has a whole track record of being untrustworthy??? And even that considered Rook still makes plenty of effort to understand Solas? That entire quest with Solas' memories? Various companions weighing in based on their perspectives? I don't understand where they're getting this impression that Rook is some unreasonably judgemental dickhead. I'm sorry for ranting I'm just so tired of going into the VG tags and seeing people put the most unwarranted Rook hate in the main tags. How do people have the most bad faith takes about their own character? Are they role-playing them like that??

Dude, I totally get what you mean. These are all the same questions I'm asking myself every time I happen across a take like that. (Adding the link to my prev post about the take in question.)

If you'll allow me some room for pondering, my guess is just that... they are kind of roleplaying them like you say, but they're not truly roleplaying. Or better said, they're not playing the role of Rook.

I think that these people posting takes like that, they're playing as themselves, not taking up the perspective of a character within the story but looking into the story from the outside, AND they're doing so filtered through the lens of having previously also played Inquisition (and their Inquisitor) the same way.

What I think may be happening here is that the Inquisitor's (and by extension, these players') experience with Solas is, by design, drastically different from that of Rook, and many of those who have loved the character they knew Solas as for a long time (a decade at this point) find Rook's and Veilguard's perspective of him and his role in the story irreconcilable with what they know.

These players see Solas as a companion, a friend, a lover, a character who is fundamentally a protagonist in the story (regardless of the fact that Trespasser explicitly states that him achieving his goals would cause massive devastation and the end of Thedas as we know it, plus that much of the face that he showed in Inquisition, he himself admitted was either shown under false pretenses or was an outright lie), and with that being their version of the truth about him as far as they are concerned, they find conceptualizing him as an antagonist very difficult, or even impossible.

Which means that the neutral/wary attitude that Rook (a character who was written as someone who never before interacted with Solas, spent the better part of the year pursuing him with the intention of stopping him, and now has goals that are explicitly contradictory to his ultimate goal) puts them in a place where the player's point of view character is one they think of as an antagonist.

That's why they think that Rook is the one who should win Solas' trust and loyalty, that's why they're frustrated that Rook has no option to immediately believe and trust everything Solas says and prioritize helping him, and in some fringe cases, that's why they think there should have been an option to let the Veil be brought down and let Solas succeed.

Simply, I think that these people, they aren't engaging with the story as written, but they are constantly fighting against their own protagonist, which creates this sort of... I guess moral dissonance(? can I call it that?) between them, and the point of view that the game asks them to embody.

I don't know how much sense this makes (I've been microwaving this in my head for a long time, I think it may be a bit burnt at this point), but I feel like it lines up with the posts that have broken into my isolation chamber. Granted I don't purposefully engage with these types of posts and I'm pretty sure I've blocked a large chunk of the people posting this stuff, but...

I mean, to me it makes sense, lol.

It's kind of that theme of fact and truth and history changing depending on who tells it (which permeates the entire setting) seeping into the real world, and into the fandom.

That has kind of an almost poetic irony to it.

[kikyoupdates]

Otherworldly Attraction ⭑˚🔮⭑ 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑢𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒

yandere!jjk x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

You don't know how or why, but you've been isekai'd into the world of Jujutsu Kaisen. Although your first instinct is to stay away from the plot, you've been blessed with an abnormal amount of cursed energy, and for better or worse, you find yourself sucked into the storyline. You decide that you may as well use your newfound powers for the greater good, and if you're lucky, you might succeed in rewriting some of the characters' fates. But it turns out that your presence in this world is an even bigger deal than you first thought, and soon, everyone wants to make you theirs.

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You wake up to the sound of your alarm going off. 

“Ugh.” 

Even though your immediate instinct is to slam your hand down on your phone and snooze the alarm, you’ve slept in once already. You don’t want to build up a reputation for being a total slacker. Plus, it’d be embarrassing if Fushiguro ended up having to barge into your room two mornings in a row. You refuse to be caught drooling again.

It feels torturous, but against all odds, you manage to drag yourself out of bed and change into your school uniform. You quickly wash your face in the bathroom with some of the skin products Nobara lent you, and after combing out some unruly knots in your morning bedhead, you head downstairs.

Fushiguro is the only one in the kitchen. It looks like nobody else has woken up besides the two of you. Fushiguro’s the diligent type, so it doesn’t really surprise you that he’s gotten an early start. He sure as hell looks taken aback to see you, though. 

“You’re up,” he says, unable to keep himself from frowning.

“I actually set an alarm today. Which, uh, in retrospect, I probably should have done yesterday too, but… y’know.” 

You shrug your shoulders and awkwardly chuckle. Fushiguro just stares at you for a little while before eventually turning away, not even bothering to humor you with a response.

He really doesn’t seem to like me at all. Is it because of all my weird cursed energy? Or because I told Itadori to swallow Sukuna’s finger? Or because I keep thirsting over Gojo and doing stupid things? 

…come to think of it, his list of reasons to dislike you is already pretty long. Oops. 

Fushiguro opens up the fridge and starts rummaging through it. You slowly walk up to him and poke your head around his shoulder to see what you’re working with. The fridge seems pretty well-stocked. Seeing as there are several students living in this building, they clearly made sure you weren’t lacking any ingredients. 

“What are you making?” you ask. 

“Uh, I don’t know,” Fushiguro replies, his frown deepening. “Just something simple. Maybe scrambled eggs. I’m not the best cook.”  

“Did you want to make breakfast together, then? I’m sure we could come up with something good if we help each other out. I have a decent amount of cooking experience.” 

“You?” 

He doesn’t even bother to hide his disbelief. You suppose, in his eyes, you’re a stupid, clumsy fangirl who barely knows right from wrong. You haven’t exactly got the best track record, after all.

“I like to think I’m a pretty good cook,” you nod. “But I guess I’ll let you be the judge of that. Here. Since we’ve got so many ingredients, I was thinking we could make some yummy fried rice. It’s nothing complicated, but it’s filling, and it can pack a lot of flavor, too.” 

“Sure,” Fushiguro shrugs. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

You grin widely. “Okie-dokie! For now, let’s just pick out some veggies to use. If you could wash some of those for me, that’d be great. We already have some chilled rice, which is good, so when you’re done with the veggies, I’ll start dicing them.” 

Despite Fushiguro’s visible wariness towards you, he follows instructions well, and he’s generally pretty cooperative. It goes without saying that he’s competent, too. With his help, the whole process runs a lot more smoothly. You hum as you happily sautée the vegetables, and Fushiguro watches curiously from a little distance away. 

“It does seem like you’re pretty used to this,” he remarks. “Sorry I’m not much help.” 

“What do you mean? You’ve already helped me a bunch! Everything’s going so much faster because you’re here. Oh, do you mind cracking the eggs into the pan now? It’s time to add them in.” 

Fushiguro picks up an egg and proceeds to stare at it unsurely. He then shifts closer to you and cracks the egg against the pan’s edge a few times. It breaks in half nicely, but a small piece of the shell falls into the middle of the pan, and Fushiguro’s face instantly turns pale. 

“S-Sorry,” he stammers.

How adorable. Based on his expression, you would think he just committed some kind of unspeakable crime. He comes across as blunt and standoffish, but you know that deep down, he’s actually a huge softie.  

“Don’t worry about it. That kind of stuff happens all the time.” You turn your spatula a bit, and with expert precision, fish out the eggshell and set it aside on the counter-top. You smile at him again. “See? No biggie. Cooking isn’t meant to be perfect. You just go with the flow and figure things out along the way. Anyways, can you add in another egg, please?” 

“Oh… sure.”

Fushiguro keeps helping you by adding in ingredients every so often, or passing you the sauce whenever you ask. A pleasant scent soon begins wafting through the kitchen, and before long, breakfast is ready.

Right in time, too. Itadori and Nobara have just come downstairs.

“I swear I heard some scratching by my door last night,” Nobara accuses, crossing her arms as she narrows her eyes at him. “Care to explain?” 

“Are you seriously still accusing me of trying to steal your underwear?” 

“Well, the fact that you haven’t given me a straight answer is kind of suspicious.” 

Itadori lets out a heavy sigh, but his expression brightens the moment he turns towards you. “Oh. Hey, guys! I was wondering what smelled so good. Did you already cook breakfast?” 

“We made enough for all four of us,” you happily nod.

“Sweet! I get to eat [Name]’s cooking first thing in the morning!” 

Itadori and Nobara both take a seat, with the latter still scrutinizing him from across the table. You spoon out a generous portion onto everyone’s plate, then sit down next to Fushiguro.

“Did that guy pressure you into making us all breakfast?” Nobara frowns. “Be honest. You can tell me. If he did, I’ll set him straight. He better not be treating you like some kind of maid. Seriously, this is why you guys aren’t popular.” 

“I’m the one who suggested we make something together,” you reassure. “Fushiguro helped me out.” 

He shifts in his seat. “Not really. You did all the work.”

“No, it was a team effort!” you insist. 

“Well, if you say so…” There’s a slight pause as he loads up a spoonful and brings it to his lips, and you watch—a bit nervously—as he finally takes a bite. 

Then, his eyes widen. 

“It’s good,” Fushiguro says. He takes a second bite, then a third. “Yeah. It’s really good. I like it a lot.”

You can feel your cheeks getting hot, and it looks like Itadori and Nobara are enjoying their meals, too. Part of you still struggles to believe that you’re actually interacting with them right now. You’re actually a part of their lives. 

“I’m so glad you like it,” you beam, a happy little giggle falling from your lips. “Thanks again for helping me, Fushiguro. We can be cooking buddies from now on!”

He continues eating, but this time, he opts to stare down at his plate instead of looking back at you. His face also reddens, ever-so-slightly.

“...alright.”

“Eh? Gojo left on a business trip?” 

“It’s always like this,” Fushiguro shrugs. “He’s the strongest sorcerer there is. He can’t always just be hanging around the school doing nothing.”

“Uh, what do you mean doing nothing?” Itadori gapes. “I thought he was supposed to be our teacher. Doesn’t that mean he needs to be here? To teach? And stuff?” 

“He’s meant to train us to get better at using jujutsu and fighting curses, yes. But he’s not certified as an actual teacher. This school is backed by the government, even if its exact purpose is hidden from the general public. That being said, we’re still required to obtain a formal high school education. They have teachers assigned to cover regular academic material, too.” 

Itadori looks like he just got the worst news of his life. 

“N-No way,” he blinks. “I thought it was just going to be training and fighting. I still need to do homework? And tests? All of that stuff?” 

Fushiguro gives him a thoroughly unimpressed look. “Did you really think you could get by without doing any academic work?” 

“I mean… yes? I was maybe, sort of, kind of hoping for it… maybe.”

Poor baby. 

You pat Itadori on the back. Clearly, academics aren’t his strong suit. You do recall him briefly complaining to you about a quiz he failed, back at your old high school.

“It’s okay,” you reassure. “We’ll be in the same class now. If there’s anything we don’t understand, we can figure it out together. And we can even have study sessions and stuff.” 

“Thank you, [Name],” Itadori sniffles, leaning his head against your shoulder. “You’re the best. Please don’t give up on me just because I’m dumb.” 

You chuckle and run your fingers through Itadori’s hair—a gesture which he seems to greatly appreciate, and he even leans into your touch. 

Unsurprisingly, Fushiguro watches with visible distaste. 

“You always baby him,” he sighs. 

Well, given all the hardship he’s going to endure, you feel like stroking his hair is honestly the least you can do. He deserves to be treated gently, with nothing but warmth and kindness. He deserves the whole world, in your opinion, and just the thought of what he’s going to go through makes you angrier than you can put in words. 

But that’s why you’re here. To help ease his suffering, as much as you can. 

“I’m not babying him. I’m just trying to encourage him a bit, that’s all.”

You smile and continue running your fingers through Itadori’s hair. At least, up until Nobara makes a remark about him being a pervert, and he hurries to defend himself.

Fushiguro scowls and turns away, sufficiently irritated. “Whatever. If we don’t hurry up, we’re going to be late for class. Let’s go.”

The academic lessons are about as normal as you’d expect. You’ve always been a pretty good student. Certainly not outstanding, but there are plenty of worse things than solving math equations.

Like fighting a curse to the death, for instance.

You focus as best you can throughout class. On several instances, Itadori dozes off out of boredom, and the teacher yells at him to pay attention—only for the process to repeat itself all over again. You also catch Nobara spending most of the class checking her nails instead of looking at the blackboard. The only one who’s actually paying attention, apart from you, is Fushiguro.

But you suppose that’s not giving him enough credit, because even you’re distracted. Today is just a normal day. Nothing scary is going to happen. Still, your mind is racing, and you can’t keep yourself from thinking of all the horrific events that are set to take place in the future. 

“[Name],” a voice calls. 

“...huh?” 

You blink, only to find the teacher frowning at you. 

“Is your attention drifting elsewhere too?” he sighs. “I thought you were one of the more focused students.”

“S-Sorry. Can you repeat what you said?” 

“I asked you if you knew the answer to the question I wrote on the board.” 

“Oh, it’s… option B. Right?” 

He stops to look down at his teacher manual, then nods approvingly. “Good. I guess you were paying attention, after all. Now, Itadori. How about you solve the question written below that one?” 

“When in doubt, pick C,” you hear Itadori whisper to himself. “So, uh… C! The answer is C!”

“Wrong,” the teacher immediately refutes, and he shakes his head disappointedly. “You Tokyo Jujutsu High kids… I swear. It’s no wonder the Kyoto branch is constantly outperforming you in academics. You need to try to stay focused. Okay?” 

Itadori glances over at you with tears in his eyes. “See? I told you I’m dumb. Sometimes I think my brain hates me.”

You chuckle softly. As cute as Itadori is, earning a good grade in school is the least of your worries right now. He doesn’t even realize what the future holds in store for him. But it’s better that way. Having that kind of knowledge ahead of time would probably just break him even more. It would fill him with nothing but dread, and the only one who needs to shoulder that burden is you.

All you can do is get stronger. 

Strong enough to twist fate with your own hands.

Just like that, another day has gone by. 

There’s a cafeteria here, which means lunch is always provided to you, but dinner is a separate issue, so you end up cooking up another meal for everyone to enjoy. Fushiguro helps you again. He claims he’s not a good cook, but he learns quickly. You bet he’ll be the next Gordon Ramsay in no time.

Soon enough, it’s time for bed. You finish getting ready alongside Nobara, and she bids you goodnight before heading back to her room. Fushiguro is already asleep, and it looks like Itadori’s tucked in, too. You turn off the hallway lights and reach for your doorknob, but before you can twist it open, you hear something.

“...seriously, shut up already! You’re so annoying!”

Itadori? 

You’re certain everyone has already gone to sleep, so you’re surprised to hear what sounds like an argument going on inside his room. Realistically, there can only be one person he’s talking to right now, but you knock on his door anyway.

It opens to reveal a rather frustrated Itadori, but before he can say anything, another voice chimes in. 

“Oh, good,” Sukuna says, and a fang-toothed, grinning mouth appears on Itadori’s cheek. “The girl saved me the trouble of going to look for her myself.” 

“I keep telling you she’s [Name],” Itadori glares. “Stop calling her that girl or whatever. And she obviously didn’t come here to see you!”

You purse your lips. “Is Sukuna running his mouth again?” 

“Yeah! I keep trying to make him go away, but he’s super persistent this time!”

“I need to talk to you, girl,” Sukuna continues, completely ignoring what Itadori just said. “Don’t run away this time.” 

“I’m not going to run away, dude. It’s not like you’re in control anyway. What do you even think you can do?”

Thanks to your foresight, you already know Sukuna can’t just break free and take control of Itadori’s body whenever he wants. Perhaps that’s why you feel so comfortable mouthing off to the King of Curses. Well, that and the fact that he’s a massive dick.

Sukuna chuckles. “Such impertinence. Both you and that white-haired man. I’m going to kill him for sure. As for you… I’m still trying to decide what I’ll do with you. You refuse to answer any of my questions and explain yourself. How did you enter my Innate Domain that one time?” 

“What’s he talking about?” Itadori frowns. 

“I don’t know. I think he’s senile or something. Isn’t he like a thousand years old?”

“Still acting ignorant, I see.” Sukuna stops talking for a few moments, but unfortunately, the peace and quiet doesn’t last long.

Soon enough, he’s smiling again. 

“You’re amusing. Something about you draws me in. I still haven’t figured out how I’ll deal with you, but if I decide I want to keep you alive… I’m going to make you my woman.”

You and Itadori proceed to both stare at each in disbelief, mouths hanging wide open. For a moment, you’re convinced you must have heard wrong. There’s no way this thousand-year-old villain just uttered those words. 

In a situation like this, you can only think of one appropriate response.

“...eww.” 

You take a hurried step back, despite the fact that Sukuna can’t actually do anything to you in his current state. It’s still pretty gross, though. You feel like you’ve been tainted somehow. Nasty old man.

“Alright, that’s enough out of you!” Itadori exclaims. He slaps himself on the cheek, right on top of Sukuna’s mouth, and it seems to finally do the trick. Sukuna isn’t yapping anymore. Thank god.

The silence that follows is palpable, and Itadori eventually sighs and hangs his head in defeat. 

“He really is obsessed with you,” he mutters. “Sorry, [Name]. If I could suppress him perfectly, he wouldn’t keep popping up like that and saying weird things all the time. It must make you uncomfortable.”

“Sukuna’s the one making me uncomfortable, not you. It’s definitely not your fault. Don’t stress over it.”

You shift uncomfortably. Come to think of it, does Itadori secretly hold any resentment towards you? Since you’re the one who told him to eat Sukuna’s finger in the first place. Of course, you only did that because you were nearly forced into eating it yourself, but he doesn’t know that. He might think you screwed him over big time. He has yet to realize just what it means to have the King of Curses dwelling within his body. 

Once he does realize, though… will he hate you for what you did?

You try not to think about it too much, because if you do, you’ll probably end up having a meltdown.

For now, you choose to believe in Itadori’s warm, genuine smile. You choose to believe that he’s the kind of guy that would sacrifice himself to save someone else—and you already know that to be a fact. 

“There’s no reason for you to ever apologize to me, Itadori,” you say, doing your best not to let your guilt show. “I should be the one apologizing to you. Because I feel like I’ll probably end up getting in your way at some point. Being a jujutsu sorcerer sounds really scary, and I’m worried I might not be good enough.”

“Huh?” Itadori blinks. “But everyone keeps saying you’re already super strong. Because you’ve got all that cursed energy. And you exorcized that curse in the abandoned building all by yourself, without even needing a weapon.”

“That was purely reflex. I didn’t consciously trigger it on my own. Gojo says I have potential, but I don’t know how to fight yet. I don’t know how to control my powers. So I guess I’m worried I might not actually live up to that potential.” You pause to scratch the back of your neck. “Um, anyway. I wasn’t trying to get all bummed out all of a sudden. Just please don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re a really good guy, and… you deserve only good things. You deserve nothing but the best.” 

Itadori blinks again. He must not understand why you’re praising him to high heaven out of nowhere, but you meant what you said. And you really hope you won’t turn out to be useless. You hope you can actually make a difference.

“I’m going to head to bed now,” you say, offering a hasty smile. “Goodnight, Itadori. Sweet dreams.” 

“O-Oh. Goodnight, [Name]. I hope you can get some rest.” 

You wave him off. He still looks a little confused as to why you got so serious, but that’s to be expected. He sees the world differently than you do. Whereas he can only focus on the present, your mind is constantly stuck in the future, imagining all the things that could happen. It’s both a blessing and a curse. You have the chance to do a lot of good. You really don’t want to waste it. 

It’s probably best not to dwell on it too much right now. All you can do is get some sleep. It takes quite a while for you to finally shut your brain off, but when your eyes eventually open again, there’s light creeping into your room.

And Fushiguro is once again staring down at you with his arms crossed. 

“No alarm today, I see. Also, you should really get into the habit of locking your door at night. Even if it’s only the four of us here.”

You shrink back. “I’m sorry. I promise I’ll be better about waking up on time from now on.” 

Fushiguro averts his eyes as you sit up and the blanket slips off of you. He clenches his jaw, determined to not to accidentally steal a peek at your cleavage again.

“Well, you need to hurry up and get ready. We’re going out soon. We have a mission today.”

Ah. So, it’s finally starting. From here onward, things are only going to get more and more dangerous. If you want to survive, you can’t afford to cower in fear. You need to be brave, just like Itadori.

Anyways. 

Time to go to prison.

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[goblin-jr]

Tell me, where’s your hiding place?

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

part 1 . part 2 . part 3 . part 4 . part 5

complete

Summary: the truth comes out. every single fanfic trope in existence: idiots in love, idiots in denial about said love, daring rescues, spa days, farm arc, only one bed, carnival games, ferris wheel

words: 16.5 k (its long i know)

💌 💌 💌 💌

Clark Kent was being haunted.

Not by ghosts, or villains, or any of the usual threats to Metropolis.

No. This haunting was far worse.

It was relentless. It was tailored to his exact life in ways he couldn’t prove, but knew—deep in his bones—wasn’t coincidence.

It was Y/N.

And it was hell.

–

Clark’s first mistake: the rent incident

–

When the documentary moved into the post-production phase, Clark assumed—naively, stupidly assumed—that this meant he’d see less of Y/N.

That their ridiculous, chaotic, timeline-consuming partnership would slow down. That she’d go back to her celebrity life, and he’d return to his normal routine—chasing leads, writing articles, occasionally saving the world, and not being tormented by a pop star with too much power and no respect for his boundaries.

He was wrong.

Because Y/N still made time.

Clark didn’t know why he still let Y/N drag him to her apartment.

He had free time. And yet, here he was, sitting on her obnoxiously expensive couch, half-watching a movie she had already lost interest in, while she scrolled through her phone like she had a personal vendetta against being present.

"Man," Clark muttered, leaning back and stretching his arms over the cushions, trying to make himself comfortable. "My rent’s going up next month."

It was a passing comment. Casual. Unimportant. He didn’t expect a reaction.

Y/N didn’t even look up. Didn’t acknowledge it. She just hummed a soft, noncommittal "Mm," her eyes still locked on her phone screen.

Clark barely noticed.

Ten minutes later, his phone buzzed.

He glanced down at the screen.

Landlord: Hey, Mr. Kent, just wanted to give you a heads-up—the building’s been bought out. New ownership. Your rent’s been significantly reduced. You’ll see the updated amount on next month’s statement.

Clark frowned.

What?

His landlord had never sent him a heads-up about anything in his life. He sat up slightly, rereading the message, feeling a strange unease creeping up his spine.

His gaze flickered to Y/N, who was still lost in her phone. Still not looking at him.

But her lips—just barely—curled upward at the corners.

Clark squinted.

No. No, she wouldn’t—

“…Y/N,” he said slowly, his tone wary.

She didn’t even look up, just scrolled a little faster.

“Y/N.”

She sipped her drink, distracted. “What?”

Clark narrowed his eyes. “What did you do?”

Y/N blinked at him, all feigned innocence. “Clark, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Clark’s phone buzzed again.

Landlord: Oh, also, the new owner wanted me to let you know—‘Enjoy the savings, sweetheart.’

Clark froze. His stomach dropped.

Y/N, finally looking up, beamed.

Clark’s soul left his body.

“Y/N.”

“Clark.”

“YOU BOUGHT MY APARTMENT BUILDING?!”

Y/N stretched, completely unbothered. “You make it sound dramatic.”

Clark sputtered. “It is dramatic! You can’t just—just buy my building!”

Y/N sighed, rolling her eyes. “Technically, I didn’t. My company did.”

“That’s the same thing!”

“Well,” she mused, tapping her chin, “now your rent is shockingly affordable. So I’d say this is a win.”

Clark buried his face in his hands.

–

Clark’s second mistake: the wardrobe incident

–

Clark rushed through the streets of Metropolis, cursing under his breath as he pushed through the crowd. He was late meeting Y/N at her recording studio, and it wasn't even his fault. A last-minute rescue involving a school bus teetering on the edge of the metro tracks had kept him longer than expected. But he didn’t let it slow him down. He was in a hurry, his thoughts already focused on the studio, on Y/N.

When he arrived, she was already waiting for him, having wrapped up her day’s recording session. Clark could tell she’d been watching him approach, and as soon as he stepped inside, her eyes lingered on the mark on his sleeve. He had barely noticed it, but it must have rubbed against the mud in the alley when he quickly changed out of his suit and cape. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the price of being Superman.

Y/N didn’t comment on it, but her gaze had a way of silently assessing everything. Still, she was casual, and they left the studio together, chatting about their days as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

Hours later, Clark stepped into his apartment, exhausted but relieved. The door to his bedroom was wide open. He paused, confused. He always closed it before leaving—no exceptions. His stomach dropped. His mind raced through possibilities, each more ridiculous than the last. A supervillain had found out. Someone had figured it out. He wasn’t sure who’d come to his apartment, but his first instinct was to investigate.

Clark carefully approached, muscles taut, scanning the room for any sign of trouble. Nothing seemed out of place, but then his x-ray vision kicked in. The room appeared clear—except for one thing. His wardrobe. It was… different.

He stepped closer and opened the door. Inside, neatly arranged on the shelves, were rows of perfectly pressed shirts, blazers, and expensive-looking shoes. He pulled out a jacket and flipped it around. Valentino. Tom Ford. Some brands he didn’t even recognize.

“What the hell?” he muttered, staring at the high-end clothes in confusion.

He grabbed his phone and texted the one person who could explain this.

Clark: Where are my clothes???Y/N: You’re welcome <33333

Clark blinked at the screen. He stared at her reply, his mind racing. She had done this. And somehow, he wasn’t even surprised.

–

Clark’s breaking point: the coffee machine incident

–

Rolling into the Daily Planet in his new clothes was embarrassing enough, but to Clark’s relief, no one seemed to notice. Everyone was way too cheerful for a normal Thursday. He stepped through the door, trying to act natural, but it was hard with the brand-new, tailored suit hugging him in all the right ways. The fabric felt… well, expensive.

Jimmy spotted him from across the newsroom and flashed a bright grin. “Clark!” he called, eyes practically sparkling. “Thank you so much! I can’t believe your girlfriend upgraded the coffee machine!”

Clark froze. “My what?”

“Is she not?” Jimmy questioned, a teasing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Omg, this is even better. Are the clothes from her? She wants you so bad!”

Clark blinked, his brain still processing the fact that Jimmy had just connected his wardrobe overhaul to Y/N—who, by the way, was not his girlfriend. The thought of anyone believing that was enough to make him cringe. “She did what?” he asked, trying to sound casual, though he couldn’t hide the confusion.

Jimmy gestured over his shoulder toward the break room, still talking a mile a minute. “She got us the new coffee machine! It’s insane. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Clark turned toward the counter and instantly saw what Jimmy meant. The coffee machine was a work of art. There were twenty-three different types of milk options lined up next to it, including oat, almond, soy, and something called macadamia milk—which Clark wasn’t sure was real, but it sounded fancy enough. Even crazier, the machine could make latte art in the shape of anyone’s face. His jaw dropped a little as he watched the machine carefully pour a perfect image of Clark’s shocked expression into the foam of Jimmy’s coffee.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen a coffee machine do that,” Clark muttered, more to himself than to Jimmy.

But Jimmy wasn’t done. “Dude, you gotta stop playing hard to get. Don’t turn away such a gift,” he said, shaking his head, utterly convinced that Clark had no idea how good he had it. “I mean, look at that! She’s practically throwing herself at you.”

Clark grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, feeling the weight of Jimmy’s words sinking in. His patience was running thin. The whole situation—his clothes, the coffee machine, Jimmy’s clueless teasing—had just gone way too far. This had to end.

“Right,” Clark muttered, already heading for the door. “I’ll talk to you later, Jimmy. This conversation’s over.”

As he left, the sound of Jimmy’s voice calling after him seemed to fade into the background. Clark didn’t have time for this today. Not when there were bigger things to worry about.

—

Clark supersped to Y/N’s apartment, a blur in the streets of Metropolis. As much as he hated to admit it, the shiny new shoes Y/N had gotten him were actually comfortable. His old pair felt like they were about to fall apart, and despite everything, he couldn’t deny how nice it was to have a pair of shoes that fit so perfectly.

He banged on her doorbell, barely registering the wide grin on her face before he barged right in. “Clark-” she started, but he was already turning, a glare in his eyes. “What are you playing at, Y/N? This isn’t funny.”

Y/N went quiet for a moment, her usual mischievousness fading just a little. She motioned for him to follow her into the living room, and despite his irritation, he complied. She led him to the silver guitar hung next to the fireplace, a sentimental relic from years ago.

“You recognized it the first time we met, during the interview, didn’t you?” Y/N asked, turning to face him.

Clark remained quiet. His gaze flickered from the guitar back to her. “We went over this already,” he said, his voice a bit flat.

Y/N cut him off, her tone suddenly apologetic. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you then.” She locked eyes with him, a deep sincerity in her gaze that left him momentarily speechless. “You helped me so much, and I never even got to say thank you.”

The words hit him like a wave. He hadn’t expected her to go there, not after all this time. He hadn’t been prepared for the rawness in her voice. And then, just like that, she dropped the line that shattered him.

“I spent years wondering where you were,” she said softly. “I wish you said goodbye.”

Clark froze, his chest tight, as if the air had been sucked from the room. He wished he had too. Deep down, he knew that he owed her something, anything—a goodbye, an explanation. But he hadn’t been able to do it.

“It wasn’t that simple,” he muttered, voice almost a whisper.

Y/N didn’t respond right away. She didn’t need to. Her grin spread wide across her face, a stupid, too-happy smile that took Clark completely off guard. She wasn’t angry, or disappointed. She was just happy that he admitted it. Happy to have found him again, happy that she could finally put some of those old questions to rest.

Without warning, she launched herself into his arms, her arms wrapping around his neck as she buried her face into his chest. “Kal,” she breathed, her voice full of something that made Clark’s heart twist in his chest.

He just held her tighter, burying his face in her hair. The years of distance, of everything they had been through, all of it seemed to melt away in that moment. The silence stretched on between them, comfortable and unspoken. When she finally pulled back, she looked up at him, her grin wide.

“I hoped you were okay,” she said, her eyes shining. “I’m glad you got clean.”

Clark paused, his heart skipping a beat. “Wait, clean?”

Y/N looked up at him, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah. I figured you must’ve been on some crazy steroid-drug combo with how strong you were.” She raised an eyebrow, as if she was waiting for him to confirm it.

Clark blinked, momentarily thrown off by her casual assessment. Did she really think he had been on steroids this whole time? The thought was so far off from the truth it almost made him laugh, but he quickly swallowed the reaction. He needed to play it cool.

“…What drug were you on, anyways?” she pressed, still curious.

Clark’s mind raced. This was it. The perfect escape. It was the kind of ridiculous answer that could cover up his entire secret and make her laugh, all at once. He had to do it.

“...All of them,” he said, trying to sound casual.

Y/N’s eyes widened, her mouth dropping open in shock. “Oh my God, Clark,” she said, her voice dropping to a softer, almost apologetic tone. “I’m so sorry…”

The awkwardness hit him then. She was taking it seriously. Her eyes filled with concern as she reached out to touch his arm, clearly unsure how to respond to this unexpected admission.

Clark gave her a sheepish grin. “I’m fine now,” he reassured her. “It’s in the past.”

But Y/N wasn’t done. She’d already started formulating her plan in that head of hers. He could see it in the way her eyes narrowed slightly, and how her mouth twisted into a determined line. She was going to do something about it, and Clark knew there was no stopping her.

“Well,” she said, a sudden smile creeping back onto her face. “I’m going to add an addiction charity to my portfolio. In your name.”

Clark froze, the grin on his face faltering as he processed her words. “Wait—what?”

Y/N, completely unbothered by his confusion, nodded with enthusiasm. “Yeah, I mean, it’s the least I can do, right? You’ve done so much for me, I want to give back. And what better way than by helping others who might be struggling with the same thing?”

Clark was still in shock. “You don’t have to do that,” he muttered, but he could already tell that there was no changing her mind. She was already plotting out the details in her head, no doubt.

“Nope,” she said, grinning as if she’d just won some great battle. “It’s happening. You deserve it, Clark. And that's the spirit of growing up, to help others.”

He shook his head, half-amused, half-exasperated. “You’re really something, you know that?”

Y/N just laughed, shrugging like it was no big deal. “I know. But hey, it’s the least I can do.”

Clark couldn’t stop himself from smiling, even if it was small. She was like that—always pushing, always trying to make things better, even when he didn’t ask for it.

— 

A few weeks after the reveal, things were better than ever between Clark and Y/N. It had taken time for both of them to adjust, but now that they had, it was like nothing had ever happened. Their bond was stronger than it had ever been, a quiet understanding that ran deep between them. Clark should’ve known better than to expect anything else; of course, Y/N wouldn’t have pushed him into a confrontation about his secret, and now they were free to just exist in each other’s presence.

The documentary about Y/N’s rise to fame was finally complete, and the results were beyond impressive. Y/N’s foundation had become a powerhouse, and the addiction rates for teenagers in Metropolis had taken a significant dip—thanks, in no small part, to a sizable donation from the Y/N Charitable Foundation. Her name was everywhere now, her influence growing by the day.

In recognition of her efforts, Y/N had received an invitation to the annual Mayor’s Ball as the guest of honor. It was an evening of glamor, good company, and fundraising for a good cause—exactly the kind of thing Y/N excelled at. Dressed to the nines in a darling red gown that hugged her form in all the right places, Y/N looked every bit the star she was. Her hair cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders, and her smile radiated with the confidence of someone who knew they had earned their place in the world. As the evening wore on, Y/N spent the night dancing with strangers, eating fancy food, and mingling with some of Metropolis’s most influential people. For once, it was about more than just her career. It was about making a difference, raising money for the causes she cared about. It was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

The first sign something was wrong came when the music abruptly stopped. The room fell into an unnatural silence, the kind of quiet that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. People began murmuring, their eyes darting around the ballroom.

Then, it happened. A group of thugs, armed and aggressive, descended upon the crowd, shouting orders. They wore masks, but their intentions were clear. Guns were raised, and people froze in fear.

"Everybody down! Line up!" one of them shouted, the cold edge of his voice cutting through the panic.

Y/N’s heart raced. She had no time to think. Instinct kicked in as she moved to protect herself. She wasn’t going down without a fight.

But then, one of the thugs—big, broad, and menacing—set his eyes on her. He took a step forward, his gaze sizing her up as though she was just another target. He grinned, a dirty, smug look on his face.

She was about to make a snarky comment, but before she could, the thug grabbed her arm with surprising force. "This one’s important," he said to his colleague. "Take her to the roof."

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Hey!” she shouted, struggling against his grip. "Hands off my arm, idiot! This is my guitar-strumming arm, you know? It’s insured for a number you can’t even count up to!" This caused the thug’s grip to loosen a little while he growled in response.

"Hey! No! You can’t do this!" Y/N continued to shout, but the thug just grunted, his eyes narrowed in irritation. Another thug quickly came to his side, and the two men roughly hauled her away.

“Quit struggling,” one of them barked.

Y/N wasn’t about to make it easy for them, she spent time on the dark streets of Metropolis after all. They weren’t taking her anywhere without a fight. She kicked and twisted, trying to wriggle free of their hold, but it was no use.

Once they reached the rooftop, the thug shoved her toward the edge, and she stumbled slightly, but quickly regained her footing. She glanced around, trying to make sense of her surroundings. It was an isolated place—no one around, no help in sight.

One of the thugs began tying her up with rough, crude rope. It wasn’t exactly professional, but it would do.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Y/N muttered, tugging at the bonds. “This is how you tie people up? What are you, amateurs?”

The thug grumbled under his breath, obviously irritated by her continuous stream of snark. She could see the other thugs beginning to set up their position, preparing for something, but she couldn’t quite figure out what.

“Oh, I see,” she said, cocking her head to the side with mock surprise. “You’re really taking me hostage, huh? How original.”

One thug glanced at her, clearly frustrated. “Shut it, lady.”

“I’ve been quiet for two whole minutes,” she shot back, crossing her arms. “That’s like a new record for me, and you’re still going to complain? Come on, you guys gotta learn to appreciate a good hostage."

She paused for a second, raising an eyebrow as one of the thugs fumbled with the ropes.

“Look, if you’re gonna tie me up,” she continued, “at least do it right, okay? You don’t just throw a person on the ground like that—there’s technique. You can’t just make it up as you go along!”

She could see the thug’s patience running thin, but she wasn’t done yet. There was something oddly satisfying about pushing them to the edge, especially considering how utterly ridiculous they were. One of the thugs growled in frustration and pulled out a knife.

“Oh, now that’s a little more like it,” she smirked. “That’s the kind of intimidation I can work with. You’ve got the right idea, at least.”

He just shot her a glare and tightened the ropes, ignoring her entirely.

Y/N was nothing if not resourceful. She could only hope help was nearby. Because she was starting to get the feeling that this wasn’t just a random robbery. Something told her they weren’t after money—they were after something much more personal. And with a quick glance at the thug in front of her, she was starting to feel like maybe she was the real prize here.

Then, everything sped up. One minute, Y/N was tied up on the roof, her wrists and ankles bound by the clumsy thugs who clearly didn't know the first thing about professional hostage-taking. And the next, the floor shook beneath her feet, a sudden vibration that ran up her spine, followed by the unmistakable sound of wind rushing past her. She had barely enough time to react before a blur of motion exploded into the room—faster than lightning, faster than anything she'd ever seen.

The thugs were tossed aside like rag dolls. They didn’t even have time to process what was happening as they hit the ground, disarmed, dazed, and completely out of commission. And in the midst of the chaos, the figure slowed to a stop. He turned around slowly, his cape billowing in the air, a gust of wind following in his wake. It was him.

Superman.

Y/N blinked, and her heart did this weird fluttering thing in her chest as she finally caught a clear glimpse of his face. Her thoughts seemed to freeze for a moment. It wasn’t that she hadn’t seen him before—she had. She had seen him on TV, in the papers, on billboards, everywhere. But seeing him in person, right here, right now, was a different experience entirely.

And then it hit her. Oh.

She didn’t just recognize Superman, though. She recognized something else. Something that made her breath catch in her throat. 

He is so hot.

It was like the world suddenly shifted, and all Y/N could focus on was the man—no, the hero—standing in front of her. The real Superman. His chiseled jaw, the intensity in his eyes, the sheer presence he carried. Even the way his cape fluttered in the wind seemed like it had been choreographed for maximum impact.

Superman, as if sensing her stunned silence, dropped down to his knees in front of her, his movements smooth and calculated, his eyes scanning her for any signs of injury. He gently started untying the ropes around her wrists and ankles, his hands deft but careful.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” he asked, his voice soft, yet carrying that unshakable authority that was so unique to him.

Y/N’s brain scrambled to form a coherent thought, but all that came out was a dazed, “You know who I am?”

Superman gave her a grin, the kind that was warm enough to melt anyone’s heart, though there was an underlying sense of amusement. “Of course I do.”

Y/N’s face flushed immediately, and she cursed her inability to control her emotions. What the hell was wrong with her?

“Let’s get you out of here,” Superman said, his voice calm and reassuring.

Before Y/N could even think about responding, he effortlessly scooped her up into his arms, lifting her into a bridal carry. Y/N’s face turned an even deeper shade of red than the dress she was wearing, and she couldn’t help but let out a surprised gasp.

Superman’s strong arms were holding her with such ease that it felt almost unreal. As he floated into the air, Y/N’s heart beat faster than she thought was possible. She had seen the man fly on TV, but being in his arms, being so close to him—flying through the air, with the wind whipping through her hair—was an experience she could never have prepared for.

Clark couldn’t help but notice how quiet Y/N had become. She was usually so lively, so full of words, so quick with a snappy comeback. But right now, she was strangely subdued, her entire demeanor different from what he was used to. Concern washed over him. He had been in plenty of situations where people were hurt or shocked after a traumatic event, and he couldn't help but wonder if something had happened to her in the struggle.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Y/N?” he asked, his voice laced with genuine worry. “Did you hit your head or something?”

Y/N flushed even deeper, her cheeks nearly glowing. “No! I’m fine,” she stammered, and then, without thinking, she blurted out, “It’s just… you’re so… big and strong.”

He almost stumbled mid-flight. His heart raced. Did she just— He glanced down at her, feeling his own cheeks heat up. The way she said it—so earnest, so… into it— does she have a thing for Superman?

He felt his own pulse quicken. She was quiet—too quiet—and it hit him like a ton of bricks. This was her first time meeting him. Not Clark, but Superman. She had no idea who he was underneath the cape, and suddenly, the lack of teasing and banter she always threw his way made so much more sense. She didn’t know he was the same guy who she’d been annoying all these weeks.

This was Superman, and she was swooning. Clark's lips curled into a knowing smile.

He didn’t want to miss the opportunity. In fact, he wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip through his fingers.

Without missing a beat, Clark let a little teasing edge creep into his voice. “Is this your first time flying?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, his tone light, but laced with that familiar, confident charm. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

Y/N’s eyes snapped up to him, cheeks flushing a bright red. “Wha—what?” Her voice cracked slightly as she looked around, trying to act like she wasn’t completely melting under the intensity of the moment.

Clark grinned, knowing exactly what was happening. She was nervous, and he was going to have some fun with it. “It’s okay,” he continued, his voice smooth, “I’m a pro. I can handle you.”

Y/N cleared her throat, trying to sound casual. “I—I’m not nervous.” She glanced down at the city beneath them, her eyes wide. “Just... I’ve never really flown without a plane before. It’s a lot to take in.”

Clark smirked. “You sure you’re not nervous?” He gave a little wink. “You’re awfully quiet for someone who isn’t.”

Y/N huffed, crossing her arms in a way that was supposed to look confident, but was honestly just adorable. “I’m just... focused. Yeah, that’s it. Totally focused.”

“Oh, I can see that,” Clark teased. “You’re doing great. You’re not even screaming yet.”

Y/N shot him a playful glare, but there was something else behind her eyes—something softer. “I’ll scream if you drop me,” she muttered, trying to keep her voice steady.

Clark’s grin only widened, leaning a little closer, enjoying how flustered she was. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure you’re safe.” He let the words hang in the air before adding, “I could drop you just to hear you scream. Not that I’d ever do that, but I’m sure it would sound heavenly.”

Y/N made a strangled sound in her throat and Clark almost felt bad- almost. 

Before she could say anything else, they reached her rooftop, and Clark set her down gently. He paused for a second, his eyes searching hers. “I’m glad I could be here to help tonight, Y/N. Sleep well.”

Y/N, still slightly dazed from the whole experience, nodded slowly. “Uh huh. You too. Dream of me” 

The words hung in the air for a moment, and Clark froze. His grin widened even more, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across his face. “Oh, I definitely will now,” he said, his voice smooth, and his eyes dancing with playful intent.

Y/N flushed deep red, realizing what she'd said, and how it must have sounded. She quickly looked away, completely mortified. “Ugh, I’m an idiot,” she muttered, her hand coming up to cover her face.

Clark chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the flustered look on her face. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” he teased, then turned to leave, glancing back at her once more. “Good night, Y/N. Sleep well. And—”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “And?”

Clark paused mid-air, hovering just above her rooftop. “And... maybe dream of me too.”

With that, he shot off into the night, leaving Y/N standing there, trying to calm the wild thumping of her heart as she replayed everything in her head.

She had absolutely no idea what just happened. But she definitely wasn’t going to forget it.

–

The next morning, Clark was seconds away from imploding. He’d faced world-ending threats, alien invasions, and the occasional supervillain monologue, but nothing—nothing—had prepared him for this.

“Oh, but Lois,” Y/N gushed, practically melting into her seat. “His arms! They felt like I was wrapped in two giant tree trunks.”

Lois was thriving. She took a slow sip of her coffee, eyes gleaming with unfiltered amusement as she watched Clark try—and fail—not to react. “Tree trunks, huh?” she mused. “That’s quite the visual.”

“I know,” Y/N sighed dreamily, poking at her fruit bowl with a dazed look. “And his voice? Lois, his voice was insane. It was all deep and smooth and just—ugh.” She clutched her chest for dramatic effect. “I think I blacked out for a second when he called me by my name.”

Lois bit back a laugh. “So, what you’re saying is, you’re in love?”

Y/N groaned, throwing her head back. “I might be. Just a little.” She peeked at Lois through her lashes, lips curling into a mischievous grin. “You think he’d be into me? I mean, he did flirt with me.”

Clark choked on his coffee. Lois smacked his back a little too hard, enjoying his suffering far too much. “Flirted, huh?” she echoed, pretending to be thoughtful. “Well, I don’t know, Clark, what do you think? Think Superman’s into her?”

Clark glared at her. Lois grinned back.

Y/N didn’t seem to notice the silent warfare between them. She propped her chin on her palm, sighing dramatically. “You should’ve seen him, Clark,” she said wistfully. “He was just so charming.” She paused, then furrowed her brows. “Actually, kinda weirdly familiar.”

Clark stiffened.

Lois sat up straighter, clearly living for this.

Y/N stared at him for a long moment, then waved a dismissive hand. “Eh, probably just my imagination.”

Clark exhaled slowly, forcing himself to relax.

Then Y/N took another bite of her food, humming thoughtfully. “I do wonder what he looks like under the suit, though.”

Clark slammed his coffee down so hard the table shook. “Seriously?”

–

Brunch finally ended, much to Clark’s immense relief. Lois was still cackling as Y/N waved goodbye and headed to her car, oblivious to Clark’s ongoing suffering. He exhaled, running a hand down his face.

Finally, Peace.

Or so he thought.

The moment Y/N stepped outside, chaos erupted. A swarm of fans and paparazzi descended like vultures, cameras flashing, voices overlapping in a frenzy.

“Y/N, over here!” “Y/N, just one photo!”

She barely had time to react before someone bumped into her—hard. She stumbled, her ankle twisting at an awkward angle as she caught herself against the car door.

Clark was already moving.

In a blink, he was at her side, steadying her before she could fall. “Easy,” he murmured, his grip firm but gentle.

Y/N winced, gripping his forearm for support. “Ouch. Okay. That’s gonna bruise.”

Clark frowned, scanning her quickly. No serious injuries, just a minor scrape on her arm and what looked like a twisted ankle. But the way the crowd was pressing in, the frantic energy—it was dangerous.

He didn’t think. He just acted.

Without hesitation, Clark ducked his head, shielding Y/N as he guided her toward the car. “Alright, that’s enough,” he said firmly, his usual mild-mannered tone giving way to something sharper. “Give her some space.”

He pulled the door open and helped her inside, making sure she was settled before shutting it behind her. Then, turning back to the crowd, he gave them one last pointed look before stepping in.

Inside the car, Y/N sighed, leaning her head back against the seat. “God, the days before an album drop are always the worst.” She rubbed at her temples, exhaustion creeping into her voice. “Everything’s a mess, people are running around like headless chickens, and I’m just trying not to lose my mind.”

Clark watched her carefully, noticing the tension in her shoulders. He had always known she was famous, but the reality of it—the constant pressure, the lack of privacy, the chaos—was starting to sink in. He had been around celebrities before, interviewed high-profile figures, but this was different. This was Y/N.

And she looked tired.

After a beat, he cleared his throat. “I’m actually heading home for a few days,” he said casually, adjusting his glasses. “The Kent farm, in Smallville. If you want a break from all this… you’re welcome to come along.”

Y/N turned her head, blinking at him. “Wait. You’re inviting me to your farm?”

Clark shrugged. “It’s quiet. No cameras. No crowds. Just fresh air and home-cooked meals.”

For a moment, she just stared at him, like she was trying to figure out if he was serious. Then, her lips curled into a small smile. “Huh,” she mused. “Didn’t peg you for the ‘run away to the countryside’ type, Kent.”

Clark huffed a quiet laugh. “Didn’t peg you for the ‘actually consider it’ type, Y/N.”

She exhaled, tapping her fingers on her knee. The idea of disappearing for a few days, away from the madness of album promotions, was tempting.

“… I’ll think about it,” she finally said, flashing him a tired grin. “But only if there’s pie.”

Clark smirked. “There’s always pie.”

–

As the car rolled to a stop in the driveway of the Kent farmhouse, Clark let out a quiet sigh, feeling the familiar warmth of home settle into his bones. The trip had been surprisingly… nice. He had expected Y/N to get restless, to complain about the lack of first-class accommodations or the hours-long drive, but instead, she had spent most of the ride alternating between listening intently to his stories about Smallville and dramatically belting along with the radio.

At one point, he had finally grumbled, “Y/N, it’s not fun if I can’t even hear the actual songs.”

To which she had simply grinned and responded, “People pay a lot for a private concert, Clark. This is a gift.”

Clark had just rolled his eyes, but the truth was, he didn’t really mind.

Now, as he put the car in park and turned off the engine, Y/N inhaled deeply, taking in the crisp country air before flashing him a grin. “Wow. I can actually smell nature. Like, real nature. Not the curated, city-park version.”

Clark chuckled. “Welcome to Smallville.”

She turned her gaze to the farmhouse—a weathered but well-loved yellow home that had stood the test of time. Her smile softened. “It’s cute,” she mused. “Feels… warm.”

Clark stepped out of the car, stretching his arms as he glanced at her outfit for the first time. His lips twitched. “I really hope those aren’t the only clothes you brought.”

Y/N, in a very deliberate pose, placed her hands on her hips, her bright red cowboy boots planted firmly in the dirt. “Excuse you, this is my farm chic look. I thought the boots were a perfect touch.”

Clark gave her a flat look. “Have you ever even stepped on a farm before?”

Y/N gasped, dramatically clutching her chest. “How dare you?”

Before Clark could reply, the front door swung open, and out stepped Martha and Jonathan Kent, smiles already forming on their faces.

Clark’s posture relaxed instantly. “Mom, Dad,” he greeted, walking forward as his mother pulled him into a tight hug.

“Oh, honey, we’ve missed you,” Martha murmured, squeezing him before stepping back. Jonathan clapped a firm hand on his shoulder. “Good to have you home, son.”

Clark smiled, the warmth of their welcome settling deep in his chest. But then, almost as if on cue, Martha’s gaze drifted past him, landing on Y/N.

“Now, you must be Y/N,” she said kindly, stepping forward.

Y/N, still standing by the car in her carefully curated “farm chic” look, suddenly seemed just a little less sure of herself. She had met countless celebrities, been in rooms with the most powerful people in the world, and yet, standing in front of Martha Kent, she straightened her posture like she was trying to make a good impression.

“That’s me,” she said, offering a slightly nervous smile. “It’s really nice to meet you, Mrs. Kent. Mr. Kent.”

Jonathan chuckled, shaking her hand. “Just Jonathan is fine.”

Martha, ever the welcoming presence, pulled Y/N into a gentle hug, much to her surprise. “Oh, sweetheart, any friend of Clark’s is always welcome here.”

Clark didn’t miss the way Y/N stiffened for half a second before melting into the hug, her usual bravado momentarily fading. He fought the small, knowing smile threatening to form.

As Martha pulled back, she gave Y/N an approving once-over before her eyes landed on the boots. She tilted her head. “Interesting choice of footwear.”

Y/N lifted her foot, admiring the bright red leather. “I thought it was fitting for the occasion.”

Jonathan let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Well, can’t say we see boots like that around here much.”

Clark just sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s going to get them ruined within the hour.”

Y/N gasped again, pointing at him. “Why do you keep underestimating me, Clark?”

Jonathan smirked. “Hope you packed extra shoes.”

Martha clapped her hands together. “Alright, let’s get you two inside. I just made some fresh apple pie, and there’s plenty for everyone.”

At that, Y/N practically lit up. “Now that is something I can get behind.” She shot Clark a smug look. “Told you there better be pie.”

Clark just rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips as they all made their way inside.

Home.

This might actually be fun.

–

After lunch, Clark was already rolling up his sleeves when Jonathan clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Alright, son, time to put you to work. Fence needs fixing, and the animals need tending.”

Clark nodded, fully expecting this—coming home always meant being roped into chores. But before he could take a step, Y/N clapped her hands together.

“I’m helping.”

Clark and Jonathan both turned to look at her.

“You?” Clark asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, me,” Y/N said, already marching forward, determined. “I wanna do farm stuff.”

Jonathan chuckled, clearly amused. “That’s mighty nice of you, miss, but you don’t have to—”

“Nope. I insist,” she interrupted, planting her hands on her hips. “What are we doing? Feeding chickens? Milking cows?” She gasped. “Do you guys have a tractor? Can I drive the tractor?”

Clark rubbed his forehead. “Oh, no.”

Jonathan, however, seemed entertained. “You ever do farm work before?”

“Pfft, no,” she said. “But I am a fast learner, and I refuse to be useless.”

Martha chuckled from the porch. “Well, we won’t stop you, dear. But don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

Clark sighed, already predicting disaster. But if Y/N wanted to do farm chores? Fine.

Thirty minutes later

It had started off fine. She had managed to toss some hay into the horse stalls without breaking anything, and she even filled the water troughs without incident.

But then she got cocky.

“I think I’m a natural at this,” she bragged, hands on her hips as she surveyed the barn. “What’s next?”

Jonathan, clearly humoring her, handed her a bucket of feed. “How about you take this to the pigs?”

“Pigs. Got it.” She took the bucket confidently and strutted off toward the pigpen. Clark followed, arms crossed, watching like a hawk.

“You sure about this?” he asked.

“I am a grown woman,” she said. “I think I can handle some pigs, Clark.”

Clark just hummed, unconvinced.

Y/N climbed over the short fence and into the pen, bucket in hand. The pigs trotted up eagerly, sensing food.

“Okay, little guys, let’s get you fed,” she cooed, tilting the bucket.

It happened fast.

One of the pigs nudged her leg, a little too enthusiastic. She staggered. Another pig brushed past her boot.

Her balance wobbled.

“Wait, no—”

And then, in one spectacular moment, Y/N slipped. The bucket tipped forward, sending feed flying as she flailed—before landing directly into the biggest, muddiest patch of the pen with a loud, glorious splat.

Silence.

Clark bit his lip.

Y/N blinked up at the sky, sprawled in the mud, her once-flawless outfit now a complete disaster.

Jonathan chuckled. “Well.”

Clark failed to hold back a smirk. “Natural, huh?”

Y/N groaned, flopping back into the mud. “My boots”

–

Clark led Y/N up the stairs, trying—failing—not to laugh as she squelched with every step. Mud was smeared across her arms, her legs, and somehow even in her hair.

“Y’know,” he mused, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, “I did try to warn you.”

Y/N shot him a glare, her expression made all the more ridiculous by the clump of hay sticking to her cheek. “Shut up, Kent.”

Biting back a chuckle, he nudged open the door to the guest room. It was simple but cozy—quilted blankets, soft yellow walls, and a big window overlooking the fields.

“There’s a bathroom through there,” Clark said, pointing to the door on the right. “You can clean up—”

He barely got the words out before Y/N bolted, leaving a trail of muddy footprints as she went. The bathroom door slammed behind her.

Clark shook his head, amused, and headed to his own room next door.

Then—

“Oh, hell no.”

Clark paused, turning back. “What?”

The door swung open, and Y/N poked her head out, looking deeply betrayed.

“This is a Jack and Jill bathroom?” she accused.

Clark leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Yeah?”

She groaned dramatically, dropping her forehead against the doorframe. “So, what, I have to share a bathroom with you?”

“I did live here first.”

Y/N pointed a threatening finger at him before sighing. “Fine. Whatever. But I have a real problem.”

Clark raised an eyebrow. “Which is?”

She opened the door a little wider, gesturing at herself. “This was my only outfit.”

Clark frowned. “Wait, you didn’t bring any other clothes?”

“I did,” she said. “They just all look like this.” She gestured dramatically at the muddy mess that used to be her farm chic outfit. “Not exactly wearable.”

Clark exhaled, rubbing his temple. “Alright, stay here.”

A minute later, he was back, holding a worn, soft flannel in his hands. He held it out to her.

Y/N eyed it. “What is this?”

Clark rolled his eyes. “It’s a shirt, Y/N.”

She took it hesitantly, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. It was so soft, and warm like he’d just pulled it from the dryer.

“This is yours,” she said.

Clark shrugged. “You need something to wear. And it’s big enough to cover, so…”

Y/N looked up at him. Then back at the shirt. Then back at him.

Slowly, an evil little smirk curled on her lips.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Clark. Are you giving me the shirt off your back?”

Clark groaned. “Don’t make this weird.”

Y/N clutched the flannel dramatically to her chest. “You care about me.”

Clark turned to leave. “Never mind. Give it back.”

“Nope, too late, it’s mine now.”

She disappeared into the bathroom, and Clark swore he heard her sniff the flannel before the door shut.

Clark just stood there, pressing a hand over his face.

–

Clark had woken up early, just as he always did when he was back home.

Mornings at the Kent farm had a certain kind of peace he didn’t find anywhere else—crisp air, soft golden light filtering through the windows, the distant sound of cows and the occasional bark from a neighbor’s dog. He liked to take a moment, breathe it all in, before heading downstairs to help with the morning chores.

Except—

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the smell of something burning hit his nose.

Clark froze.

That was not a usual Kent farmhouse smell.

Then, a clatter, followed by a very familiar voice.

“Okay, okay, okay, I can fix this—”

Clark slowly stepped into the kitchen, only to find Y/N standing in front of the stove, waving a dishtowel aggressively at something that was very much on fire in a pan.

Martha, looking far too calm for the situation, reached over and effortlessly turned off the burner.

Y/N slumped, pouting as she muttered, “Right. That makes more sense.”

Clark blinked. Then blinked again.

“What… are you doing?”

Y/N turned at the sound of his voice, her face lighting up as if she wasn’t in the middle of what appeared to be a culinary disaster.

“Morning, farm boy!” she chirped, grabbing a spatula that looked suspiciously like it had just survived a war. “I figured since I wasn’t super great at the whole manual labor thing yesterday, I’d put my efforts into something else.”

She gestured broadly to the counter, where there was—

Clark had to pause.

Flour.

Eggshells.

Some sort of dough that looked like it had given up halfway through its existence.

And in the middle of it all, Y/N, standing there in his flannel, hair still slightly damp from the night before, looking utterly unbothered by the chaos around her.

Clark exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms. “You’re cooking?”

Martha patted Y/N’s shoulder with a fond smile. “She’s trying.”

Y/N huffed. “Wow. Way to have faith in me, Martha.”

Martha just chuckled, shaking her head as she went back to kneading dough—properly.

Clark eyed the scorched remains in the pan. “And… what was that supposed to be?”

Y/N sighed dramatically. “Scrambled eggs.”

Clark frowned. “Scrambled eggs aren’t supposed to catch fire.”

“Apparently!” Y/N threw her hands in the air. “How was I supposed to know they could do that? I thought eggs were, like, hydrated!”

Clark just stared at her. “That’s… not how that works.”

She waved him off. “Well, I know that now, Clark.”

He couldn’t help it. He chuckled, shaking his head. “You really don’t have to do this, you know. You’re a guest.”

Y/N grinned, turning back to the counter. “Nope! I insist. I’m gonna be useful somehow before I leave this farm.”

Clark leaned against the counter, watching her scoop an ungodly amount of flour into a mixing bowl. “You’re really set on this, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

Martha, ever patient, handed Y/N a measuring cup. “Maybe try measuring the flour this time, sweetheart.”

Y/N nodded, determined. “Yes. Good idea.”

–

The smell of breakfast—mostly thanks to Martha’s cooking, not Y/N’s—soon filled the kitchen, and Clark found himself seated at the familiar wooden dining table, across from his parents, with Y/N right beside him.

Somehow, despite the near culinary disasters, a decent meal had been salvaged. Scrambled eggs (courtesy of Martha), crispy bacon, golden toast, and fresh orange juice were set in front of them.

Clark stole a glance at Y/N, who was happily digging into her food, looking far too pleased with herself.

Jonathan, amused, looked at his son before continuing. “You’ve been quite an influence on Clark. We have that magazine shoot of you two lying around here somewhere.”

Clark visibly flinched.

Y/N, on the other hand, lit up.

“He told you?!” she gasped, eyes sparkling with pure delight. She turned to Clark, nudging his arm. “I thought you were so set on nobody knowing it was you.”

Clark glared daggers at his dad, who just sipped his coffee, completely unbothered. “I didn’t tell them,” he muttered.

“Oh, no, no,” Martha chimed in, a little too casually. “We saw it.”

Jonathan smirked. “Pretty hard to miss, son. You’re all over that thing—dramatic lighting, fancy clothes, lying on some velvet couch like you’re in a romance novel.”

Clark wanted to disappear.

Y/N was having the time of her life.

“Jonathan, I love you,” she said, absolutely gleeful. “You just described it so perfectly.”

Clark groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Can we not do this right now?”

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed,” Martha said sweetly. “It was very tasteful.”

“Tasteful,” Clark echoed, dead inside.

Y/N beamed. “Oh, Clark. Sweetheart.”

Clark physically tensed. He knew that tone. That was her ‘I’m about to make your life worse’ voice.

“You know,” she mused, leaning in conspiratorially, “if you guys want a signed copy, I might have a few lying around.”

Jonathan grinned. “Now that would be something.”

Clark was seconds away from throwing himself out the nearest window.

Y/N, positively glowing from this entire exchange, rested her chin in her hand, clearly deep in thought. “You know… I could send one over. Signed, framed, maybe even a little plaque underneath—‘Clark Kent: Fashion Icon.’”

Clark let out a long, suffering sigh. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Martha, completely ignoring her son’s misery, looked at Y/N with curiosity. “How did that happen, anyway? I can’t imagine Clark volunteering for something like that.”

“Oh, he didn’t,” Y/N said, smug. “I bullied him into it.”

Jonathan chuckled, shaking his head. “That sounds about right.”

Clark scowled. “I was tricked into it.”

Y/N gasped dramatically. “Clark! Don’t make it sound so sinister. I simply… strongly encouraged you.”

“With deception.”

“With style,” she corrected.

“Well,” Jonathan continued, “I am sure you are better at the shoots than what we saw on the farm yesterday. You lasted about ten minutes outside before falling into the mud.”

Y/N groaned. “We don’t have to talk about that.”

“I’m just saying, for someone who wears thousands of dollars in designer clothes, you sure took a nosedive straight into a pile of it.”

Clark coughed, trying to disguise his laugh as a sip of orange juice.

“I was ambushed by the ground,” Y/N argued. “It came out of nowhere!”

“It’s ground,” Clark pointed out. “It’s literally everywhere.”

Y/N threw a piece of toast at him.

Martha smiled, clearly enjoying every second of this. “At least you were a good sport about it.”

“Oh, absolutely. I accepted my fate instantly.” She gestured dramatically at herself. “I belong to the dirt now.”

Jonathan leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "Well, you can’t wear that forever.”

Y/N looked down at herself—Clark’s old flannel, borrowed sweatpants, and socks that had definitely seen better days.

"Why not?" she said, clearly amused. “It’s vintage.”

Jonathan snorted. "Clark, take her into town. Get her some real clothes before someone thinks we took in a stray."

Clark sighed. Y/N grinned.

–

Clark stood by the truck, arms crossed, already regretting everything.

He had agreed—against his better judgment—to take Y/N into town for new clothes. It should have been simple. A quick trip, in and out, zero chaos.

But then she had said, “Give me five minutes to get ready,” and Clark should have known.

Because when Y/N finally stepped outside, she was wearing a wig.

Not just any wig.

A ridiculous, platinum blonde disaster that was at least two shades too bright to look remotely natural. It was styled in loose, dramatic curls, the kind that screamed ‘Hollywood starlet in disguise’ rather than ‘completely normal person just trying to blend in.’

Clark stared.

Y/N struck a pose. “Well? What do you think?”

Clark pinched the bridge of his nose. “What am I even looking at?”

She flipped her curls over her shoulder. “A flawless disguise.”

Clark exhaled. “Y/N.”

“Clark.”

“You do realize we’re going to a tiny town where everyone knows each other?”

“Yes.”

“So… they’re just going to see me”—he gestured to himself—“and you, in a wig.”

“And?” she said, completely unbothered. “That’s called acting.”

Clark blinked at her, waiting for logic to return. It did not.

Instead, she slid on a pair of oversized sunglasses and smirked. “Come on, farm boy. Let’s paint this town red.”

Clark sighed and opened the truck door.

–

Clark should have known.

He should have felt it in his bones the second they rolled into town, but he had deluded himself into thinking they could just slip in and out, grab Y/N some clothes, and be done.

Oh, how wrong he was.

Because the second he stepped out of the truck—

“CLARK KENT!”

Clark physically flinched.

Mr. Jenkins, owner of the feed store and Smallville’s most dedicated town crier, was already waving him down like he was the Second Coming.

“Well, I’ll be damned! Clark Kent, back in Smallville!” Jenkins called, his voice booming across the street. “Boy, you don’t write, you don’t call—your mama told me you were visitin’, but I figured you’d be hidin’ out at the farm!”

Clark barely had time to muster a polite nod before—

“Clark Kent!”

Mrs. Randall from the bakery had somehow materialized in the doorway of her shop.

She clapped her hands together in delight. “Oh, honey, you didn’t tell me you were comin’ into town today! Still takin’ your coffee black?”

Clark sighed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, you just hold tight, sweetheart. I’ll have one ready before you leave.”

Before Clark could even think about responding, two elderly women sitting on a nearby bench started whispering—loudly.

“Oh my,” one of them swooned, fanning herself dramatically. “Would you look at him?”

“Oh, I see him,” the other one sighed, openly staring.

Then—THEN—Mrs. Dawson, the mayor’s wife, giggled.

She giggled.

“Clark Kent,” she cooed, reaching out to pat his arm like he was a prize-winning show horse. “Oh, you handsome thing, your mother must be so proud of you.”

Clark could feel his soul actively trying to leave his body.

And Y/N?

Y/N was thriving.

She stood beside him, grinning so wide he was surprised her face didn’t split in half.

“This,” she whispered, eyes sparkling with amusement, “is the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

Clark ignored her.

He just needed to get her clothes, and then they could leave—

But then—

“Mister Kent!”

Clark froze.

A small child ran up to him, looking panicked.

Clark braced himself. “Uh—”

“It’s Mr. Henderson’s cat!” the kid blurted out, pointing frantically toward the general store. “She got stuck in the tree again!”

Clark exhaled sharply.

The entire street had stopped to watch.

Y/N, beside him, slowly turned toward him, vibrating with barely contained laughter.

Clark gritted his teeth.

There was no way out of this.

Two minutes later, he was standing in front of a very angry, very ungrateful cat while half of Smallville watched their golden boy in action.

Y/N, off to the side, cheerfully narrated the whole ordeal like it was a live event.

“Oh, folks, look at that form! The way he grabs the branch with precision— the poise, the grace!”

Clark shot her the deadliest glare imaginable before grabbing the cat and handing it over.

The kid cheered.

The crowd actually applauded.

One of the old women from earlier blew him a kiss.

Clark, utterly mortified, turned on his heel and walked straight to the clothing store.

Y/N had to jog to keep up.

“Oh, Clark!” she called, laughing so hard she could barely speak. “Are you—are you actually mad?”

Clark yanked open the store door. “We’re never coming back here again.”

“Oh, but why? You’re Smallville’s golden boy!” she teased, following him inside.

By the time they left, Y/N had a bag full of normal, Smallville-appropriate clothes—and a new favorite pastime: watching Clark Kent suffer.

–

Clark wasn’t expecting her to be awake.

Not after yesterday’s disaster.

Y/N had fallen asleep on the tractor. Mid-afternoon, full sun, out cold like the hum of the engine had personally sung her a lullaby.

Jonathan had taken one look at her, arms loosely crossed, head tilted back, dead to the world, and decided that was it.

“You’re banned from the farm before nine,” he’d said when she finally woke up. “Don’t need you napping in the grain silo next.”

So this morning, Clark assumed he’d be alone

The house was quiet. Sunlight barely streamed through the window as he made his way to the Jack-and-Jill bathroom that connected the guest room and his old one.

His routine was second nature. Splash of water, toothpaste, brushing his teeth while staring half-awake at himself in the mirror.

And then.

The door swung open.

Clark froze mid-brush, toothbrush still in his mouth, as Y/N stumbled in.

She was a mess.

Sleep-rumpled, hair haphazardly pinned up, wrapped in a massive hoodie she had clearly thrown on without thinking. She blinked blearily, not even acknowledging his presence, and moved straight to the sink beside him.

Clark arched an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

Y/N, still half-asleep, turned the faucet on, splashed some water on her face, and then reached for her tiny arsenal of skincare products that now occupied an entire section of the counter.

It was silent.

Clark resumed brushing.

Y/N patted her face dry.

Finally, she yawned, leaning against the sink. “Morning, farm boy.”

Clark spit out his toothpaste. “Morning. Didn’t think you’d be up this early.”

She hummed. “Woke up, couldn’t fall back asleep.”

Clark gave her a pointed look. “You woke up early? Voluntarily?”

She reached for a serum. “Strange things happen on farms, Clark.”

Clark rolled his eyes.

Another beat of silence passed as she started dabbing product onto her face.

Then—

“You know,” she murmured, watching him in the mirror, “your hair is a disaster right now.”

Clark barely had time to react before she reached up and fixed it.

He stopped breathing.

Her fingers were gentle, effortlessly smoothing the unruly strands, carding through the thick mess of waves like she had done it a thousand times before.

Clark’s brain short-circuited.

“Your hair’s too thick to not use conditioner,” she said absentmindedly, completely unaware of the existential crisis she had just caused.

Clark was dying.

It was such a small touch. Casual. Nothing.

But it felt like everything.

Y/N, oblivious, finished adjusting his hair and gave a satisfied nod. “Much better.”

Then she turned back to her routine, humming as she unscrewed a bottle of moisturizer.

Clark was still standing there, gripping the sink like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

–-

The afternoon sun poured through the windows of the Kent farmhouse, casting a warm glow over the cozy living room where Y/N and Martha sat, both curled up with cups of tea. The air smelled of fresh hay drifting in from outside, and the distant sound of Clark and Jonathan working on the farm provided a peaceful background hum.

Y/N stretched her legs over the couch, sinking deeper into the cushions. “I swear, this place is too relaxing. If I stay here any longer, I might forget I have an entire career waiting for me back in Metropolis.”

Martha chuckled, setting her tea down on the coffee table. “Well, you’re always welcome to visit whenever you need a break, dear.”

Y/N smiled, glancing at the older woman. She noticed Martha shift slightly, rolling her shoulder with a small wince before reaching for her tea again.

Y/N’s brows furrowed. “Wait a second—was that a wince? What’s wrong?”

Martha sighed, waving a dismissive hand. “Oh, it’s nothing. My back’s been aching a bit these past few days. Just part of getting older, I suppose.”

Y/N gasped, sitting up straight. “No, ma’am. That is not just ‘part of getting older.’ That is your body telling you it needs a break. And you know what?” She set down her tea with determination. “That’s it. We’re having a girls’ day.”

Martha blinked, caught off guard by her sudden enthusiasm. “A girls’ day?”

Y/N nodded, already brainstorming. “Yes! You do so much for everyone—Clark, Jonathan, literally the entire town, I bet—but when was the last time someone pampered you?”

Martha chuckled. “Oh, I don’t know about pampering—”

Y/N held up a finger. “No arguments! Give me 5 minutes, I have to make some calls.” Leaving the room, Y/N called Sam, her manager. 

–

A few hours later, Clark and Jonathan stood at the edge of the smallville airstrip, arms crossed as they watched Y/N excitedly inspect a sleek, private plane. Martha, standing beside them, looked more amused than anything.

Jonathan squinted at the aircraft. “You’re telling me she’s flying this thing?”

Clark pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Dad. She has a pilot’s license.”

Jonathan let out a low whistle. “Huh. Well, that’s something.”

Y/N spun on her heel, clapping her hands together. “Alright, boys! This is where we leave you to your boring farm work while we go have the best spa day in existence.” She turned to Martha, eyes twinkling. “Mrs. Kent, are you ready to experience luxury?”

Martha chuckled. “I suppose I am.”

Clark, still baffled, gestured toward the plane. “Y/N. You own a plane?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Clark, I’m rich. Of course I own a plane. This one’s just rented though”

Jonathan muttered, “Good Lord.”

With that, Y/N grabbed Martha’s hand and led her toward the aircraft. Clark had to admit, watching his mom step into a private jet like she was some kind of VIP was hilarious.

Before boarding, Y/N turned back and shot Clark a smirk. “Don’t miss me too much, Kent.”

Clark scoffed, but his lips twitched. “No promises.”

With a final wink, Y/N disappeared into the cockpit. Within minutes, the plane roared to life, gliding smoothly down the airstrip before taking off into the sky.

Jonathan let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Well, son. You sure do pick ‘em.”

Clark just sighed, watching the plane disappear into the horizon. “Don’t I know it.”

–

The moment Y/N and Martha stepped into the spa, they were greeted with plush robes, soothing scents of lavender and eucalyptus, and the soft hum of a waterfall somewhere in the distance. Y/N turned to Martha with a grin.

"Welcome to heaven, Mrs. Kent."

Martha chuckled as a spa attendant led them into a private suite, complete with warm candlelight and deep, cushioned lounge chairs. "I have to admit, this is a bit fancier than the farmhouse."

"That’s the whole point!" Y/N plopped onto one of the chairs, stretching luxuriously. "This is a no chores, no stress, only pampering zone."

The afternoon was a dream. They started with full-body massages that left Martha sighing in contentment and Y/N melting into the massage table. Then came the mud dips, where Y/N playfully declared, "We are officially swamp creatures now!" Martha laughed so hard that some of her mud mask nearly splattered onto her robe.

"You really know how to have fun, sweetheart," Martha said as they rinsed off in the warm mineral springs.

Y/N smiled, but there was something softer behind her usual playfulness. "Yeah, well, I always wanted to do this kind of thing with my mom. She never really got to have a day just for herself before she passed."

Martha reached out, squeezing Y/N’s hand gently. "I’m sure she would have loved this."

Y/N exhaled, staring at the rippling water. "Yeah. I just— I always wanted to spoil her, you know? Do all the things she never got to do. Give her a day where she didn't have to worry about anything."

Martha gave her hand another squeeze. "Sounds like you had a wonderful mother."

"She was." Y/N blinked up at the ceiling, willing herself not to get emotional. "She worked so hard. She deserved everything good in the world."

Martha’s eyes were warm, filled with understanding. "And now, you do things like this—for me, for other people. She’d be so proud of you, honey."

Y/N swallowed past the lump in her throat. "You’re gonna make me cry, Mrs. Kent, and I do not need puffy eyes for our next treatment."

Martha chuckled. "Alright, alright. No tears."

After the springs, they were treated to the most luxurious facials, complete with cucumber slices over their eyes. Y/N dramatically announced, "This is it. This is how I choose to live my life from now on."

Martha, lying beside her with a face mask of her own, hummed. "I could get used to this myself."

Next came pedicures and manicures, where Y/N picked out a bold, sparkling red while Martha chose a soft pink.

"Classic," Y/N teased as they admired their fresh nails.

"Timeless," Martha corrected with a grin.

As they sipped on some fresh herbal tea, Martha leaned in slightly, giving Y/N a knowing look. "So… is there a special man in your life?"

Y/N sighed dramatically, her head tilting back as she pressed a hand to her chest. "Yeah…"

Martha perked up. "Oh?"

A dreamy smile spread across Y/N’s face as she sighed, "Do you know Superman?"

Martha almost choked on her tea.

"Superman?" she repeated, coughing a little.

Y/N nodded enthusiastically, completely oblivious to Martha’s moment of panic. "Oh my God, Mrs. Kent. He is—ugh—perfect. The muscles, the voice, the way he just swooped in and saved me? Like, hello, literal knight in shining armor moment!"

Martha struggled to keep a straight face. "Superman, huh?"

"Yes! And he’s so charming. And strong. And polite. And—did I mention strong? Because wow."

Martha’s lips twitched. "I think you did."

Y/N sighed again, dramatically clutching the teacup. "And the way he carried me? I thought I was going to die. I was so close to proposing on the spot."

Martha, who knew exactly who Superman was, could barely contain herself. "Does Clark know about this little crush of yours?"

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Oh, yeah. He was so grumpy about it. He just sat there at breakfast with this look on his face while I was telling Lois all about Superman’s arms."

Martha bit back a laugh. "Clark was grumpy?"

"Yeah! I swear, he was one more compliment away from cutting his ears off." Y/N chuckled. "Honestly, he needs to loosen up. It’s not my fault Superman is the most gorgeous man on the planet."

Martha took a slow sip of her tea, utterly amused. "Not your fault at all, sweetheart."

Y/N groaned, flopping dramatically onto her chair. "Ugh, Mrs. Kent, what do I do? Do I just… throw myself off another building and hope he catches me?"

Martha choked again. "I—no! Absolutely not!"

Y/N laughed. "I’m kidding! I’d never do that. …Probably."

Martha just shook her head, biting back a knowing smile. Oh, if only Y/N knew.

–

By the time Y/N and Martha returned to the farm, the difference in Martha was undeniable. She moved like she was ten years younger, humming to herself as she stepped out of the truck with a bounce in her step. Clark, standing on the porch with his arms crossed, shot Y/N a look.

“What did you do to her?” he asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Y/N smirked, throwing her arms out dramatically. “I gave your mother the best day of her life, thank you very much.”

Martha simply patted Clark’s arm as she passed. “Oh, hush, sweetheart. It’s called self-care.”

Jonathan muttered from his rocking chair, “Didn’t think I’d live to see the day my wife came back from a spa day lookin’ happier than a calf in fresh clover.”

Y/N pointed at him. “And that is why I’m getting you in for a deep tissue massage next, Mr. Kent.”

Jonathan snorted. “Over my dead body.”

Despite the fresh manicure on her hands, Y/N, rolled up her sleeves and turned to Johnathan. “Put me to work, boss!”

Jonathan tried to talk her out of it.

“Now, sweetheart,” he said, leaning against the fence as he watched her roll up her sleeves, “I appreciate the enthusiasm, but you don’t have to push yourself.”

“I want to,” Y/N insisted, hands on her hips. “I know I’m not exactly built for farm life, but I can learn.”

Clark, standing a few feet away with his arms crossed, smirked. “Uh-huh. That’s what you said two days ago. And how’d that go again?”

Y/N shot him a glare. “It was slippery!”

Clark chuckled. “Sure it was.”

Undeterred, Y/N marched toward the barn. “Point is, I’m helping. No take-backs.”

Jonathan sighed, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Well, can’t say no to that kind of determination.”

So, despite Clark’s reluctance, Y/N got to work.

She fed the chickens—this time avoiding the particularly aggressive one that nearly declared war on her the day before. She helped haul lighter hay bales into the barn, grunting with effort but refusing to give up. She even followed Clark as he worked, handing him tools and watching closely when he explained things.

And Clark—well, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed.

Sure, she wasn’t a natural, and she had no idea what she was doing half the time, but she tried. She was eager, determined, and surprisingly strong for her size.

Clark found himself watching her more than he should have.

Then—

BANG!

The loud noise from the house had everyone whipping around.

“Oh dear,” Martha’s voice called out from inside.

Clark, Y/N, and Jonathan hurried into the farmhouse, their boots thudding against the wooden floors. They found Martha standing in the hallway, peering into the guest room, water slowly pooling on the floor.

Clark’s eyes went straight to the ceiling. “What happened?”

Martha sighed, shaking her head. “Well, looks like an old pipe finally gave out. Must’ve been weak for a while.”

Clark frowned. That did happen sometimes in old houses like this, but the timing was suspicious. His mom was many things, but careless wasn’t one of them.

Jonathan crossed his arms. “That’s odd. You checked all the pipes last time you visited, didn’t you, Clark?”

Clark’s eyes narrowed at his mother. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

Martha remained perfectly innocent. “Well, must’ve missed one.”

Clark knew his mother.

Clark knew when he was being played.

Y/N, completely unaware, frowned at the growing puddle. “Oh no, so I can’t sleep here tonight?”

Martha let out a very casual sigh. “No, I suppose not. What a shame.”

Clark immediately stiffened. His entire soul screamed in warning. Oh, no.

Martha looked up, her face the picture of perfect concern. “Well, Clark, I hate to ask, but would you mind sharing your room?”

“No.” Clark’s response was immediate.

Martha blinked. “Clark—”

“I’ll sleep in the barn,” he said, already turning. “Goodnight—”

Jonathan grabbed the back of his shirt before he could escape.

“Boy, you are not sleeping in the barn,” he said flatly.

Martha nodded. “Don’t be ridiculous. We have a perfectly good bed in your room, and it’s more than big enough.”

Clark gawked at them. “Mom. Dad. I—”

“Wait, I really don’t want to intrude,” Y/N said, holding up her hands. “I can sleep on the couch—”

Martha gasped. “Absolutely not! You’re our guest, sweetheart.”

Y/N hesitated, looking between them. “Are you sure? I don’t want to make Clark uncomfortable—”

“Oh, nonsense,” Martha said sweetly. “Clark is such a gentleman. I’m sure he won’t mind at all.”

Clark nearly burst into flames.

“MOM.”

Jonathan sighed, rubbing his face. “Martha, I swear—”

But Martha, unbothered, simply smiled and patted Y/N’s shoulder. “Well, that’s settled then. Y/N, you’ll bunk with Clark for the night.”

Clark let out an incredulous laugh. “You planned this.”

Martha’s smile was way too smug. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jonathan muttered, “Lord help me.”

Y/N, meanwhile, was still completely oblivious to the parental scheming she had just fallen victim to.

“So,” she said, flashing Clark a grin. “Roomies?”

Clark sighed, running a hand down his face.

“Roomies.”

–-

Clark had never known true suffering until this exact moment.

He stood stiffly in the doorway of his childhood bedroom, watching as Y/N flopped onto his bed, arms outstretched like a starfish, groaning dramatically.

"Ugh, this is so much better than that tiny cot in the guest room," she said, rolling onto her side and patting the mattress approvingly. "Your parents are so thoughtful, Kal. This is way comfier."

Clark froze. It was barely a flicker—his fingers twitching at his side, his jaw clenching for a second too long—but the reaction was there. He didn’t like the name.

Y/N didn’t notice. She just sighed happily, stretching out even further.

Clark swallowed hard. "Right. Comfy."

His bed was not big enough for two people.

Well, technically it was, but Clark had spent his whole life sleeping alone in it, and now Y/N was sprawled across it, wearing one of his flannels again, looking way too at home.

She turned her head to him, smirking. "What, Clark? You're standing there like you're about to be sentenced to death."

Clark sighed, rubbing his face. "I’ll take the floor."

Y/N gasped like he had just insulted her entire existence. "Absolutely not! I refuse to be the reason you sleep on the floor."

"Y/N—"

"Nope," she said, sitting up and scooting over. She patted the empty space beside her. "There's room. Suck it up, Kent."

Clark let out a slow, deep breath, telling himself this was fine. Normal. He had superhuman control over himself—surely he could handle this.

Reluctantly, he walked over and eased onto the bed, staying as far to the edge as humanly possible.

Y/N rolled onto her side, propping herself up on an elbow, watching him with a teasing glint in her eye. "You know, for a guy who is Smallville’s biggest hero, you're really scared of sharing a bed."

Clark huffed a laugh. "I'm not scared."

She tilted her head, eyes twinkling. "So, what’s the problem? Afraid you'll roll over and accidentally crush me with all that farm-boy muscle?"

Clark gave her a flat look. "I do not roll over."

Y/N grinned. "Ooooh. So you do sleep like a vampire. Arms crossed over your chest, no movement, totally still?"

Clark groaned, covering his face. "Why am I having this conversation?"

Y/N giggled—an actual, evil little giggle—and turned onto her back. "I'm just saying, Clark, if you’re gonna be all tense about it, we can put a pillow wall between us. Real eighth-grade summer camp energy."

Clark shot her a look. "I am not building a pillow wall."

Y/N smirked. "So you're saying you're fine sleeping next to me?"

Clark opened his mouth—then closed it, narrowing his eyes. "You’re messing with me."

"Maybe."

Clark exhaled sharply, staring at the ceiling. "Unbelievable."

Silence settled between them, the kind that wasn’t awkward but rather… comfortable. Warm. The farmhouse was quiet at night, the only sounds being the distant chirping of crickets and the occasional creak of the old wooden floors.

For a moment, Clark allowed himself to relax.

Then—

Y/N stretched, her foot accidentally brushing against his leg.

Clark jerked.

Y/N snorted. "Clark."

"That was on purpose."

"It was not!" she said, laughing. "You're so jumpy. Is this really your first time sharing a bed with someone?"

Clark refused to answer that.

Y/N shifted closer, her voice dropping slightly. "Or do I make you nervous, farm boy?"

Clark rolled onto his side, facing away from her. "Goodnight, Y/N."

She chuckled, rolling onto her back again. "Yeah, yeah. Sweet dreams, roomie."

–

Clark was used to waking up early. He had spent his entire life rising with the sun, helping his dad on the farm before school, and later, as Superman, getting up at ungodly hours to save the world.

What he wasn’t used to was waking up next to her.

For a moment, he just… stared.

Y/N was sprawled out in his bed, limbs thrown across the mattress in a way that was both chaotic and kind of adorable. Her hair was a mess of waves against the pillow, one hand tucked under her cheek, the other firmly gripping his flannel, like she had subconsciously claimed it as hers in the night.

Clark swallowed, very aware of the fact that at some point, she had gravitated toward him in her sleep. One of her legs had tangled with his under the covers, her foot resting lightly against his calf.

This was fine. Totally fine.

Except for the part where he was incredibly aware of every little breath she took, every shift of her body, and the way his traitorous heart was hammering in his chest.

Then, Y/N made a soft, content sound, stretching slightly before blinking awake.

Clark immediately snapped his eyes away, rolling onto his back like he hadn’t just been staring at her like an absolute idiot.

She let out a sleepy hum, voice raspy from sleep. “Mmm. G’morning, farm boy.”

Clark cleared his throat, keeping his eyes trained on the ceiling. “Morning.”

Y/N stretched, her foot brushing against his leg again, and Clark had to physically stop himself from reacting.

Then—

“Oh my God, we survived the night!” Y/N gasped dramatically, sitting up. “Clark! You didn’t accidentally roll over and crush me!”

Clark groaned. “Y/N—”

“Truly a miracle.”

He turned to glare at her, but she was grinning, her eyes still slightly hazy with sleep, and suddenly, it wasn’t so easy to be annoyed.

Before he could say anything, a soft knock came from the door.

Martha’s voice drifted through. “Breakfast is ready, you two.”

Y/N threw off the covers, hopping out of bed. “Ooooh, pancakes?”

Clark ran a hand over his face before following after her.

–

Downstairs, the kitchen smelled like warm syrup and fresh coffee. Jonathan was already at the table, reading the newspaper, while Martha was at the stove flipping pancakes.

“Morning, kids,” she greeted, sending them a knowing little smile as they sat down.

Clark ignored it.

Y/N, on the other hand, beamed. “Morning, Martha! These smell amazing.”

Martha chuckled, setting a fresh stack of pancakes on the table. “Glad to see you two slept well.”

Clark almost choked on his coffee.

Jonathan hummed, flipping a page in the newspaper. “Must’ve been real cozy, huh, son?”

Clark definitely choked.

Y/N just grinned, stealing a piece of Clark’s bacon. “Super cozy.”

Clark shot her a look. Y/N winked.

Martha stifled a laugh, clearly enjoying herself, before changing the subject. “The Harvest Festival is tonight,” she said, setting down a fresh cup of coffee in front of Y/N. “Are you two planning on going?”

Clark perked up. “Oh, yeah, I was going to tell you about that,” he said, turning to Y/N. “It’s a big annual festival we do here in Smallville. There’s a carnival, a bake-off, pie-eating contests—”

“Wait. Pie-eating contests?” Y/N gasped. “Clark, why have you been holding out on me?”

Clark laughed. “It’s a whole thing. But it also raises money for the local farmers—last year, we raised almost thirty thousand dollars.”

Y/N blinked, her amusement fading into something softer. “That’s… actually amazing.”

Clark smiled. “Yeah. It’s a big deal for the community.”

Y/N leaned forward, eyes bright. “Okay, we have to go. I need to see you in a pie-eating contest.”

Clark shook his head. “No way.”

“C’mon! It’s for charity, Clark.”

Clark gave her a look. “You just want to see me embarrass myself.”

Y/N gasped dramatically. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing?”

Jonathan, amused, turned to Martha. “Think we should warn the town before she shows up?”

Martha chuckled. “Oh, I think the town will love her.”

Y/N grinned, stealing another piece of Clark’s bacon. “Guess we’ll find out tonight.”

–

The Smallville Harvest Festival was in full swing by the time Clark and Y/N arrived. Strings of golden lights crisscrossed the fairgrounds, illuminating the booths and carnival rides in a warm glow. The air smelled of kettle corn, caramel apples, and the crisp bite of autumn.

And Y/N… oh, God.

She was back in disguise.

Clark had thought she might go with something a little more subtle, given that Smallville was a tiny town where everyone knew everyone, but no. Instead, she had gone full incognito celebrity at the farmer’s market.

A ridiculously perfect blonde wig, giant sunglasses, and, for some reason, a baseball cap with a cow print design. It was all so dramatically unnecessary, especially since the most they had to worry about in Smallville was Mrs. Taylor from the bakery asking if Clark had finally found himself a nice girl.

Clark sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You do realize that this just makes you more suspicious, right?”

Y/N grinned. “No idea what you’re talking about, farm boy.”

He gave her a flat look.

She gasped, clutching her chest. “Oh, no. Am I mysterious? Unapproachable? Could it be that the people of Smallville will think I’m some sort of intriguing outsider with a secret past?”

Clark rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide his amusement. “You’re insufferable.”

Y/N linked her arm through his. “And yet, here we are.”

Clark just shook his head, unable to hide the amusement tugging at his lips as they made their way through the festival.

They stopped at a pumpkin-carving contest, watching as kids and adults alike competed for the best designs. Y/N gasped at a particularly well-crafted jack-o’-lantern shaped like a cat, nudging Clark. “That one’s my favorite.”

Clark, still half-distracted by the ridiculousness of her disguise, hummed. “It’s cute.”

Y/N grinned. “Like you?”

Clark choked on air.

Before he could even recover, Y/N grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the game booths. “Come on, let’s win some prizes.”

Clark barely had time to process anything before Y/N came to a screeching halt in front of the ring toss booth, eyes locked onto a plush cow hanging from the top shelf.

She gasped. “Clark. I need him.”

Clark followed her gaze. “You need a stuffed cow?”

Y/N turned to him with wide, pleading eyes. “Clark. His name is Moo Moo. Look at him.”

Clark bit back a laugh. “Okay, okay. You want me to win it for you?”

Y/N scoffed. “Excuse me, I am going to win it for you.”

Before Clark could protest, she was already handing a few dollars to the booth attendant and grabbing the rings.

Clark folded his arms, watching as she lined up her first shot. She squinted, tongue peeking out slightly in concentration, before tossing the ring.

It missed.

Clark bit his lip. “Close.”

Y/N didn’t acknowledge him. She just grabbed the next ring and threw it.

It missed.

Clark coughed. “Almost had it.”

Y/N’s eye twitched.

Her final ring sailed through the air—

And landed perfectly around the bottle.

Y/N screamed.

The booth attendant blinked, looking genuinely startled, before handing her the stuffed cow.

Y/N turned to Clark, triumphant, shoving the plush into his arms. “For you.”

Clark laughed, hugging the ridiculous stuffed cow to his chest. “Wow. I’m honored.”

Y/N grinned. “You should be.”

They spent the next hour bouncing between different games and attractions, Y/N somehow managing to lose every competitive challenge but having the time of her life doing so. Clark even let her pull him onto a few rides, including the Ferris wheel.

As their cart reached the top, the entire festival spread out beneath them in a sea of warm lights and rustic charm. Y/N exhaled, resting her chin on her hand.

“I love Ferris wheels,” she admitted.

Clark glanced at her. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “It’s like… everything gets quiet for a second. Just you and the view.”

Clark studied her for a long moment.

“…Yeah,” he said softly. “I know what you mean.”

The ride stopped at the peak, leaving them suspended above the fairgrounds.

Clark turned to her. “So… about that pie-eating contest—”

Y/N groaned. “Clark.”

He smirked.

She kicked his shin.

After they got off the Ferris wheel, they wandered toward the food stands, and Clark bought them a caramel apple. He took one bite before handing it to Y/N.

She hesitated for half a second before accepting it, eyes flickering briefly to where his teeth had already sunk into the candy coating.

Clark noticed.

He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “What, suddenly shy?”

Y/N scoffed, quickly taking a bite. “Oh, please, farm boy.”

She absolutely did not blush.

Clark chuckled.

By the time they made their way back to the main stage, the festival’s live band was playing a slow, easy tune, and couples swayed together under the string lights.

Clark glanced at Y/N. “You dance?”

She arched a brow. “I perform in front of thousands of people, Kal.”

Clark’s smile faltered, his grip on Moo Moo tightening just slightly.

Y/N didn’t notice. She just smirked, tilting her head.

Clark recovered, grinning. “So that’s a no.”

Y/N gasped, grabbing his hand before he could react. “Oh, you’re getting it now.”

She pulled him onto the dance floor, placing his hands on her waist and setting hers on his shoulders.

Clark chuckled. “You sure you can keep up, songbird?”

Y/N smirked. “Watch me.”

And to her credit, she did.

They moved together effortlessly, swaying in time with the music. For a moment, everything else—the festival, the games, the world—faded into the background.

It was just them, bathed in golden light.

Clark looked down at her, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

Y/N swallowed.

Then—

“I still think you should’ve done the pie-eating contest.”

Clark groaned.

Y/N just laughed, leaning into him as they danced.

As the last notes of the song faded and the dancing came to an end, Y/N and Clark reluctantly pulled apart. Clark, still feeling the warmth of her touch lingering on his shoulders, stepped back and rubbed the back of his neck, a little dazed. Y/N, on the other hand, beamed at him like she’d just won a bet.

“You dance better than I expected, farm boy,” she teased.

Clark smirked. “And you’re not as bad as I thought, songbird.”

Before she could retort, a familiar voice interrupted.

“There you two are.”

Martha and Jonathan approached, their faces alight with warmth and amusement. Jonathan clapped Clark on the back while Martha looped an arm around Y/N, squeezing her affectionately.

“You both looked wonderful out there,” Martha praised.

Jonathan grinned. “I don’t know, Martha. I think Clark was just trying to keep up.”

Clark gave him a flat look while Y/N stifled a giggle. Before Clark could defend himself, the festival’s emcee, Mayor Dawson, took to the stage, tapping the microphone.

“Alright, folks, I hope you all had a fantastic evening so far. Now, before we close out the night, it’s time to reveal the final donation amount for our farmers’ fund.”

Applause rang through the festival grounds as people gathered in front of the stage, eager to hear the total.

Mayor Dawson shuffled his papers, clearing his throat. “As you all know, every year, this festival raises money to support our hard working local farmers, ensuring they have the resources they need to keep their farms running. And I have to say, this year’s been one for the books.”

The crowd murmured in anticipation.

The mayor adjusted his glasses, squinting down at the paper in front of him. “Now, uh… let’s see here. Our initial goal was to match last year’s record of $30,000.”

A wave of cheers rippled through the audience.

Mayor Dawson continued, “And thanks to the generosity of our wonderful community, we had already surpassed that goal earlier in the night. But then, folks…” He paused, blinking rapidly as if he had to double-check what he was reading.

“…We received a last-minute anonymous donation,” he said, voice cracking slightly.

Clark frowned, sensing something was off.

Mayor Dawson shook his head in disbelief. “Which brought our grand total to…” He took a deep breath before reading the number aloud.

“One million, thirty-one thousand, nine hundred and forty-three dollars.”

Silence.

Then—

A loud gasp.

A few people coughed.

Someone dropped their drink.

Martha grabbed Jonathan’s arm.

The mayor removed his glasses, looking up at the stunned crowd. “Folks, I thought this was a typo at first. But I’ve double-checked the numbers, and it’s real. It’s real.”

The festival grounds erupted.

People cheered, clapped, and whooped, hugging each other in disbelief. Farmers wiped at their eyes, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of support. It wasn’t just a record-breaking amount—it was life-changing.

And amidst the chaos, the Kents all turned to one person.

Y/N, standing there with her hands in her pockets, looking around innocently.

Clark narrowed his eyes.

Martha’s lips twitched.

Jonathan crossed his arms.

Y/N blinked at them, feigning confusion. “What?”

Clark raised an eyebrow. “Y/N.”

“I swear I didn’t do it,” she said, shaking her head. “But whoever did? Hot. I hope they’re single.”

Jonathan scoffed. “Uh-huh.”

“I mean,” she continued, pressing a hand to her heart. “What an incredible and mysterious person. So generous. So selfless. Imagine being that amazing.”

Clark gave her a look.

Y/N pointed at him. “Why are you looking at me like that? I am just as confused as you are.”

Martha chuckled. “Honey.”

Y/N turned to her, all wide eyes and innocence. “Martha, please. I would’ve made sure everyone knew it if it were me.”

Jonathan threw his hands in the air. “That’s your argument?”

“I would make sure they were building a statue of me right about now” Y/N mused. She nudged Clark. “Come on, Clark, you believe me, right?”

Clark crossed his arms. “Not even a little.”

Y/N sighed dramatically. “I see how it is. Framed for a crime I didn’t commit. This is slander.”

Clark rolled his eyes, fighting back a smile. He knew Y/N well enough by now to recognize when she was full of it—and she was absolutely full of it. But looking at her now, at the way she was watching the overjoyed families in the crowd, the way her lips curled into something soft and almost shy, he knew she wasn’t in it for the credit.

She just wanted to help.

And for that, Clark felt his chest tighten, just a little.

Martha, sensing the moment, squeezed Y/N’s hand. “Whoever they are, they changed lives tonight.”

Y/N smiled. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Guess they did. Can we stop for ice cream on the way home?”

The mayor was still talking, still reeling, but Y/N let the noise of the festival wash over her. The air was crisp, the sky was painted deep indigo, and for the first time in a long time, she felt something solid beneath her feet. This town—this ridiculous, warm, stubborn little town—had given her a place to breathe. 

–

The drive back to the Kent farm was quiet, the comfortable kind of quiet that only settled after a night full of warmth and laughter. The scent of caramel and bonfire smoke still clung to Y/N’s jacket, and the last of her ice cream was melting in the cup holder. She licked the caramel off her spoon as Clark pulled into the driveway, putting the truck in park.

“I still can’t believe you made us stop for ice cream,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Y/N swung her door open and hopped down, stretching with a satisfied sigh. “Clark. I have the means. I will abuse them for snacks.”

He rolled his eyes, grabbing the ice cream cup before it could topple onto the seat. “Yeah, I noticed.”

The house was dark when they stepped inside, and the Kents wished Clark and Y/N a goodnight. Don’t stay up too late. Love you both.

Y/N turned to Clark with a grin. “They love me.”

Clark let out a fond exhale, shaking his head as he flicked off the kitchen light. “Upstairs. Now.”

They trudged up to Clark’s room—their room, really, considering how natural Y/N’s presence seemed. Y/N changed into one of Clark’s old shirts without asking, and by the time he turned back around, she was already sprawled on his side of the bed, scrolling on her phone, that ridiculous cow plushie perched next to her. 

Clark crossed his arms. “Move.”

She barely glanced up. “Nah.”

He grabbed her ankle and dragged her over.

Y/N cackled, rolling onto her stomach as Clark settled in beside her, throwing the blanket over both of them.

Silence stretched, the kind laced with the hum of crickets and the soft rustling of trees outside. The night air was cool through the open window, carrying the last traces of autumn warmth. Clark turned onto his side, resting his head on his arm as he looked at her.

“So,” he said casually. “You wanna tell me why you donated a million dollars to Smallville?”

Y/N’s fingers froze mid-scroll.

She sighed, dramatically slow, and rolled onto her back. “Ugh. Fine.” She turned her head toward him. “Was it too little?”

Clark blinked. “What?”

She shrugged. “I could’ve given more, y’know. But I thought I’d keep it lowkey. Didn’t wanna be obnoxious about it.”

Clark just stared. “Lowkey?”

Y/N waved a hand. “It’s chill, Clark. I didn’t even buy a yacht this year, my account books are fine.”

Clark let out a strangled breath. “You own a yacht?”

“I own several things, try to keep up.”

Clark just gaped at her, half-wondering if he’d fallen into some alternate reality where this was a normal conversation. “You donated a million dollars and you’re acting like you just picked up the tab for dinner.”

Y/N propped herself up on her elbow, watching him carefully now. The humor was still there, but it had softened at the edges. “You knew me before all this,” she said, quieter. “Back when I was just some kid trying to survive in Metropolis.”

Clark stilled.

“I was dying for someone to be kind to me back then,” she admitted, her voice steady but distant, like she was speaking to the ceiling more than to him. “I remember nights where I had nothing, where I was exhausted and hungry and—” she exhaled, shaking her head. “Now, I have everything I ever dreamed of. More than I ever thought I’d get. So I don’t really see the point in hoarding that kind of money when it could actually help someone.”

Clark didn’t say anything right away, just watched her. He could still see that girl in her—the one who had played her guitar in subway stations, who had fought to make a life for herself with sheer determination and talent.

She huffed, flopping back onto the pillow. “Besides, I had to help the farms,” she added, grinning now. “Your dad looks too good carrying hay.”

Clark groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my God.”

“I mean, have you seen him?”

“I am not discussing my dad’s hay-carrying skills.”

“Missed opportunity, honestly.”

Clark let out a slow, disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“That’s what all my accountants say.”

He exhaled, staring up at the ceiling, still processing everything. Y/N had always been generous—he had seen it in the way she cared for people, even when she had nothing. This was just another version of that.

His chest ached with something he didn’t quite have a name for.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Y/N glanced at him. “For what?”

“For caring,” he said simply. “For doing this.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Ew, get outta here with that sincerity, Kent.”

Clark huffed, reaching over to flick her forehead.

She swatted at his hand, laughing, before burrowing deeper under the covers. “Alright, alright, let’s go to sleep. I need my beauty rest. Gotta stay hot in case I ever need to marry rich.”

Clark rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because that’s your biggest concern.”

“Exactly. See, you get me.”

Clark just sighed, shutting his eyes as he settled in. “God help us all.”

–

The last evening in Smallville was painted in gold.

The barn smelled like sun-warmed wood and old hay, the kind of scent that had settled into its bones long before Clark was born. A soft breeze filtered through the open window of the loft, carrying with it the distant rustle of wheat fields stretching toward the horizon.

Y/N stood near the ledge, wrapped in his flannel, her arms folded over herself as she gazed out at the sunset. The sleeves swallowed her hands, the fabric loose and worn in a way that made it feel like she had always belonged here. Like she had always fit.

Clark leaned against the railing a few feet away, watching her take it all in.

“Well?” he asked, voice light. “Smallville’s finest barn. What’s the verdict?”

Y/N exhaled, shifting her weight onto one foot. “It’s… barn-y.”

Clark huffed a quiet laugh. “Insightful.”

“No, but really,” she added, tilting her head. “It’s kind of nice up here. Peaceful. Feels… steady.”

Clark nodded, gaze flickering toward the window. The view was one he’d seen a thousand times before—the golden fields stretching far beyond the farmhouse, bathed in the last of the evening light. It was home. Had always been home.

Y/N leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows against the wood. “I think my favorite color is yellow now.”

Clark turned, caught off guard. “Yeah?”

She hummed in confirmation, her fingers tapping against the ledge. “I never really had one before. Used to say blue because it sounded cool. But…” She glanced back toward the farmhouse, the yellow panels glowing soft and warm under the fading sun. “Yellow feels different.”

Clark followed her gaze, looking at the house that had been a constant in his life. The way the light hit it now made it look golden, like something untouched by time.

“To me,” Y/N continued, voice softer now, “yellow feels safe.”

Clark turned to agree, to say he understood, but the words caught in his throat.

Because Y/N—standing there, bathed in the last of the evening light—was glowing.

Not in the figurative sense. Not in the way people described something ethereal or breathtaking. She was literally glowing, her skin catching the reflection of the sun, turning into something impossibly golden. The light curled around her like it belonged to her, soft and warm, like the earth had decided to make her part of the sunset.

And for the first time, Clark understood.

Yellow.

Yellow was gold.

And gold was her.

That’s why it felt like home.

Clark swallowed, something heavy and unfamiliar settling in his chest. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quieter than before.

“Yeah,” he murmured, gaze lingering on her. “Yellow feels like home.”

Y/N turned then, catching him looking, but she didn’t say anything—just offered him a small, knowing smile. The kind that made something deep inside him crack just a little.

Clark forced himself to look away, to focus on the horizon, but it was too late.

The colour had already settled beneath his ribs.

--

a/n: who was gonna tell me you cant post over 17k words on tumblr.... i cut like half this chapter out

[love--and--venom]

Had Your Fun?

Summary: A mishap at the studio leaves you and your boyfriends waiting impatiently to record. Jooyeon decides it would be fun to do a livestream, so you all hide in a dance practice room for a couple hours. Unfortunately for you, the songs you were dancing to, live for thousands to see, showed off a bit too much for your boys' liking. So now you have to face the consequences

Warnings: Oh god where do I start, smut, oral (m + f receiving), anal sex (f receiving), unprotected sex (dont), double (triple??) peneration (p in v, a, mouth), possessive xdh, a few spanks, objectification, dubcon if you squint but safewords are in place, i think that's everything? lmk if i missed any

i don't have an explanation. i was apparently possessed by some kind of horny demon and wrote the nastiest smut i've ever written so far. and it's 12 fucking pages. anyway stream george the lobster

Based on this hard thought

also i did not proofread this i'm sleepy

Links to fancams for each song mentioned in the fic: ⬩Crazy Form⬩Teeth⬩Cyberpunk⬩Taste⬩Wake Up⬩GGUM ⬩

“What do you mean ‘the studio’s flooded’?!” Gunil shouted, making all of you pause in your tracks. Ten minutes ago, their manager texted the leader to wait in the lobby for a bit due to some “technical issues” they were having in their reserved recording booth. That did not sound like a technical issue. Gunil stormed a few feet away, whispering angrily into the phone while you and the other members shared a wary look.

“Fuck,” the drummer cursed after he hung up, running a hand through his hair.

“Everything alright?” You asked as you grabbed his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“No,” he sighed. “A pipe burst, so they had to close five of the recording booths, including ours.”

“Does that mean we can’t record today?” Jiseok grumbled, shoulders drooping with disappointment.

“We can, it’ll just be a while. We have to wait for one of the other booths to open up.” The boys all groaned. It could take hours for another group to finish up.

“So do we just go home until then?” Hyeongjun asked with a slight furrow in his brow.

“We can, but our manager also said that one of the dance practice rooms is open if we want to wait here,” Gunil explained. The group fell to silence as they weighed their options.

“If we hang out in the practice room, we could do a live,” Jooyeon suggested. Well, hanging out with the Villains was definitely a better option than sitting around at home. You made your way to the practice room, stopping briefly to grab a tripod. Gunil snagged one of the two chairs in the room and began setting up his phone to stream on Instagram. The other chair was quickly stolen by Jiseok, leaving the others to spread out on the floor.

“Will you get in trouble if I play music?” You asked, eyeing up the speaker against the wall. After getting the go-ahead, you connected your phone to the aux cord and pulled up your dance playlist while Gunil greeted the Villains and filled them in on their current predicament. You threw your hoodie onto your bag, leaving you in a tank top and joggers so you wouldn’t overheat while dancing to your music.

“Ah, that’s Y/N.” You perked up at the sound of our name. Jungsu had the chat open on his phone and was responding to comments. “She’s our sound tech, so she has to wait just like we do.”

“And she gets the zoomies,” Jiseok teased. You rolled your eyes at him before returning to half-heartedly performing the choreo to the current song.

“You’re in frame,” Gunil warned. “Do you want me to move the camera?”

“Nah, I don’t mind. Hi Villains! I hope my dancing isn’t too horrible,” you smiled and waved at the camera. For a while, things continued just like that: you absentmindedly answered questions thrown your way while the boys chatted about upcoming recording plans. You interrupted Jungsu as he was reading a comment with an excited scream when the intro to Crazy Form began playing. 

“I think she likes this song,” Jooyeon laughed as you put way more effort into the choreography. 

“Villains are saying we should be worried about Ateez,” Jungsu noted while scrolling the chat. Seungmin peeked over his shoulder, but the chat wasn’t offering any clarification. The first body roll hit and the boys had to fight to contain their surprise. Hyeongjun hid his mouth behind his hands when you did Wooyoung’s butt wiggle. Teeth came on next, and while the lyrics raised some concerns, the dance wasn’t as bad, so they relaxed a bit. That was a mistake on their end.

“Oh my god!” You froze, frantically looking for a chair while Cyberpunk started. “Jiseok, I need your chair now!” You hurriedly kicked him to the floor, knowing he was more lenient with you than Gunil was. You hopped on just in time for the lyrics to start. The warning looks began with Seungmin, but you were blissfully unaware as you continued to dance to Cyberpunk, then Taste. By the end of Wake Up, Hyeongjun was staring in horror with a bright pink flush while Jungsu, Seungmin, and Jiseok gave you the look. Jooyeon was absolutely delighted.

“Why are they so mad?” He whispered to Hyeongjun. “She looks good, dude.”

“Jooyeon,” the guitarist looked at him incredulously. “We’re on a live. We’re not the only ones watching her.” The smile immediately dropped from his face and now he, too, joined in the glaring contest. Gunil managed to remain neutral through all of this despite his growing annoyance. But he was fed up and turned to you once GGum started, completely ignoring the stream. You were in the middle of the first verse when you finally noticed them. 

Oh, shit, you thought, faltering momentarily to consider your options. Fuck it, I’m in trouble anyway. You jumped right back into the dance, ignoring the ‘don’t you fucking dare’ eyes from the group as you finished out the choreography.

“Had your fun?” Gunil asked in between songs, raising an eyebrow at you since the camera couldn’t see his face. 

“Uhhhh, yep!” You laughed somewhat nervously. You, in fact, did not have a death wish so you opted to switch to an alternative playlist and bring your stolen chair up to sit next to the leader. “So, do you guys have any questions about sound production?” You hoped to turn the attention away from yourself. It worked, since all six band members started reading the chat. You leaned forward, squinting to try and find some comments you could answer. Gunil’s hands shot up in front of you, palms to the camera, as the boys made various noises of shock and panic while your eyes widened at their reactions.

“Y/N, sit back.” You tilted your head at the drummer, confused until Jungsu handed you his sweater.

“Put it on,” he instructed and it dawned on you that you were in a tank top and leaning forward had put your tits on full display for the stream. 

“T-Thanks,” you cleared your throat and pulled his sweater on. Several people in the chat were questioning the interaction, calling the boys out on their use of their ‘dom eyes’ throughout the stream. Gunil steered the conversation back to their production process, and things went normally for the next hour until the Villains pointed out how much you did to make sure the recordings were successful.

“Oh, trust me, these boys would be lost if I wasn’t here,” you bragged while they all rolled their eyes. 

“Don’t you think you’re exaggerating just a bit?” Jiseok scoffed and crossed his arms.

“Nope! I am the literal backbone of your production team. You’re lucky I haven’t gotten sick or anything, cus if you had to deal with everything on your own, nothing would get done correct–”

“Okay, princess, we get it,” Seungmin interrupted, covering his intentions with sarcasm. Your jaw snapped shut and you immediately sat up straight, knowing exactly what that particular pet name meant for you.

“O.de, be nice,” Gunil warned the younger member. A knock on the door stole everyone’s attention as the manager for the freshly-debuted KickFlip poked her head in the room.

“We’re done in studio 7 if you guys want to take over,” she informed you with a bright smile. Gunil nodded and thanked her, then turned back to the stream once she left.

“All right, back to work. Thanks for hanging out with us, bye~!” You all waved goodbye to the stream until Gunil ended it. As soon as the camera was off, the leader squeezed your thigh, staring you down with an extremely unimpressed expression. Seungmin and Jungsu moved to stand in front of you, arms crossed and looking much more annoyed than the drummer.

“Oh, fuck,” you swore and drooped in your chair, hiding the bottom half of your face in the collar of your sweater.

“Yeah, ‘oh fuck’ is right, sweetheart,” Jungsu mocked while impatiently tapping his fingers on his bicep. The chair screeched against the floor as Gunil yanked you closer to him while Seungmin grabbed the back of the chair to loom over you.

“Did you have fun showing off what’s ours?” Seungmin asked as his eyes bore into yours.

“U-Uhm…” You trailed off, looking to the other three for help. They rapidly shook their heads.

“Nu-uh, babe. You did this to yourself,” Jiseok denied while making an ‘x’ with his fingers. Gunil turned you to face him, squishing your cheeks in his fingers.

“You’re lucky we need to record,” he chastised with a click of his tongue. “You better hope our Villains don’t post any screen recordings of you.” He patted your thigh and stood, signalling the other to back off, for now. The air was tense in the studio, but your (thankfully) clueless production manager quickly diffused the tension.

Villains certainly lived up to their name. Many, many videos were posted of the stream. Most of them gushed about how well you performed the choreography, but there were some that clipped together all of the moments where the boys slipped up. 

‘Am I insane or were they staring at her a little too hard 👀’

‘Oh shit, they were giving her the same look my dom gives me when i misbehave’

‘I would pay real money to have o.de look at me like that’

These were just some of the comments under one of the videos, and you didn’t even know they were being made. Not until you got back to your apartment.

“Knees,” Gunil ordered once the door was closed. You immediately scurried to the living room with Hyeongjun moving to do the same.

“Not you this time,” Jungsu stopped him by grabbing his wrist. “Sit back and watch or do as we say, up to you.” He nodded slowly, following the others to sit on the couch while you sat on your knees in front of Gunil.

“Villains made edits of you already,” Jiseok said while scrolling through tiktok. “You should see some of the comments.” 

“I’ll ask again,” Seungmin began while leaning on the arm of the couch next to the drummer. “Did you have fun showing off what’s ours?”

“I didn’t mean to,” you argued quietly as your nails dug into your knees. “I didn’t realize—”

“Yes you did,” Gunil cut you off and you pressed your lips into a thin line. “Maybe not at first, but you knew toward the end.”

“But you disobeyed anyway. Why?” Jungsu asked, arching one eyebrow expectantly.

“Uhm, well, y-y’know. I knew I was in trouble anyway…” you trailed off as your heart beat wildly in your chest.

“So you decided to make it worse,” Seungmin scoffed, shaking his head while Gunil leaned forward to hook a finger under your chin.

“You know the deal, baby. Bad girls get punished. So,” Gunil paused when Jungsu tapped him on the shoulder, prompting the drummer to move closer. Jungsu covered his mouth as he whispered, making you squirm in place. The corner of Gunil’s mouth twitched up. He nodded, relaxing into the back of the couch with one arm crossed behind his head, the other draped lazily across his lap.

“Hyeongjun,” Jungsu turned his attention to the three members sitting on the other end of the couch. Hyeongjun tensed slightly.

“Y-Yeah?”

“Strip her for us.” He immediately jumped off the couch to pull you to your feet, stopping with his hands curled around the hem of your shirt to glance between Gunil and Seungmin.

“Can I kiss her? Please?” 

“You’ve been good, so you can do whatever you want without asking permission this time,” Gunil answered. “Just one rule: don’t let her cum.”

“Yes, sir,” Hyeongjun mumbled before crashing his lips into yours, squeezing your hips as he licked into your mouth. Jungsu swatted the back of your thigh when your hands fell naturally onto Hyeongjun’s shoulders, making you whimper into the kiss.

“Hands to yourself, sweetheart. You don’t get to touch us until you’ve earned it,” Jungsu instructed, slapping your ass at your hesitation. Your hands dropped to your sides, curling into fists and digging your nails into your palms. Seungmin’s eyebrows raised as he finally caught on to Jungsu’s plan. 

“Arms up,” Hyeongjun whispered against your lips, practically tearing your sweater and tank top off before your arms were fully raised. The rest of your clothes followed suit, crumpled in a useless pile on the floor, leaving you the only one fully naked. Hyeongjun’s eyes flicked between you and Gunil apprehensively.

“Go ahead, baby. Do what you want,” Gunil reassured him, making a devious smirk grow on the guitarist’s face. He bit his lip, looking back at you while nearly bursting at the seams in his excitement.

“Sit between Jiseok and Jooyeon,” he instructed as he took a step back. You hesitated again, earning another sharp slap on your ass, this time from Seungmin.

“You better listen to him, princess,” he warned you with a slight tilt of his head. You sat down and let Hyeongjun maneuver your legs, draping them over one knee from the boys on either side of you to keep you spread open. He dropped to his knees, giving you no warning before licking a thick stripe over your clit. Your hands instinctively threaded through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp as your hips bucked forward.

“Hey, brat, put your hands to better use,” Jungsu ordered, gesturing to Jiseok and Jooyeon with his chin. “Jerk them off.”

“You don’t get to cum until you make us cum,” Gunil noted. “That sounds fair, doesn’t it, princess?” You nodded, whining when Hyeongjun’s tongue circled your entrance. You hastily shoved down Jiseok’s sweatpants just enough to free his cock. You turned to do the same for Jooyeon, only to see that he had beaten you to it. You spat into your palms, pumping both of them with as much coordination as your fucked-out mind could handle.

“Hyeongjun,” Jungsu said to call the guitarist’s attention. Hyeongjun hummed in acknowledgment, the vibrations sending a spark of pleasure down your spine. “Get her ready for me, sweet boy.”

“Mkay,” he slurred and pulled back slightly, pulling a broken whine from your throat as the fire building in your lower belly died out from the lack of contact. He sucked on two of his fingers, then using a mix of his saliva and your arousal, he slowly pushed one into your ass while leaning back in to lap at your clit.

“Breathe, baby,” Jooyeon softly encouraged as he noticed you subconsciously holding your breath. You took a deep, shuddering breath, giving yourself more fuel to moan pathetically. Jiseok’s head tipped back, squeezing his eyes shut as his hips rolled up to meet your hand. 

“Fuck, I’m close,” he panted. Your hand tightened around his cock, twisting your wrist at the base in a way you knew drove him wild. On your other side, Jooyeon pushed Hyeongjun’s hair out of his face to watch his tongue and fingers disappear in both of your holes. The bassist lost all composure when he noticed Hyeongjun’s unoccupied hand slide into his pants, palming himself to the taste of you and the sound of your whimpering. A few more pumps had Jiseok spilling ropes of cum over your hand, followed quickly by Jooyeon, their moans sending a rush of heat straight to your pussy.

“Enough, Hyeongjun,” Seungmin warned him when you showed all the signs of your own orgasm approaching. Hyeongjun either didn’t care or didn’t hear him over his heart pounding in his ears, cus he didn’t pull away from you. 

“I said enough,” Seungmin growled and roughly yanked Hyeongjun back by his hair. A high-pitched whine escaped his throat, and he panted as a wet patch grew on the front of his sweatpants. 

“Poor thing just needed a little pain to cum,” Jungsu cooed with mock sympathy. Seungmin rolled his eyes, releasing his hold on Hyeongjun’s hair before returning to his place next to Gunil.

“He’s lucky that she fucked up way worse, otherwise I’d be punishing him, too,” Seungmin scoffed and crossed his arms. 

“Come here, princess,” Gunil beckoned you with a wave of his hand. You stood on shaky legs, letting the drummer pull you down to straddle him once you were in arm’s reach. He shifted so his back was against the arm of the couch, putting your face level with Seungmin’s still-clothed cock. 

“You’re going to keep my cock warm in your pretty little pussy while Jungsu and Seungmin have their way with you. Understand?” Gunil asked with one eyebrow raised.

“Yes, sir,” you replied without hesitation, nodding rapidly. He smirked and patted your hip to get you to rise up on your knees. He pushed his pants down his thighs before lining himself up and guiding you down to sit on his lap, this time with his cock buried deep in your cunt. You barely had time to adjust before Jungsu’s fingers thrust into your ass.

“Hyeongjun did good with you, huh?” He mumbled absentmindedly, removing his fingers to spit on your back entrance. Despite their harsh words, they still made sure to help you relax as Jungsu sank his cock in your ass. Gunil’s hands ran up and down your sides while Jungsu used his thumbs to trace gentle circles on your hips.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” Seungmin cupped your cheeks as he praised you, swiping away any stray tears that dripped down your face. “Taking your punishment like such a good girl.” 

“I’m in, sweetheart. Let me know when I can move,” Jungsu murmured, pressing kisses down your spine as he waited patiently for you to adjust to having both holes filled. 

“What’s your color?” Gunil asked.

“Green. Bu-But I need to hold myself up, and I-I don’t know where to put my hands without touching,” you replied while flexing your hands where they hung at your sides. Gunil brought your hands up to rest on his chest, making your eyes go wide.

“It’s okay, baby,” he softly reassured you. “Just keep them here.” You nodded, taking another deep, calming breath to help regain some semblance of composure.

“Move, please.” With your confirmation, Jungsu dug his fingers into your hips, pulling out halfway so he could snap his hips against your ass. Your nails scratched down Gunil’s chest through his shirt as Jungsu fell into a steady rhythm. 

“Fuck,” Gunil moaned as his eyes momentarily rolled back. “God, I’ll never get tired of feeling him fuck your ass from inside you.” You whined in response while Seungmin gathered your hair in a makeshift ponytail. 

“Open.” You looked up with watery eyes, nearly drooling as he stroked his dick inches from your face. He raised an eyebrow, tugging your hair as a reminder to listen. Your jaw dropped, letting your tongue hang out. He tapped his tip against it, giving you a taste of his pre-cum before pushing your head down far enough to briefly trigger your gag reflex. Unlike Jungsu, Seungmin lazily fucked your mouth, watching the saliva drip down your chin through hooded eyes. 

“Shit, ‘m close,” Jungsu panted as he leaned down to suck dark purple marks along the side of your neck, supporting his weight with one shaky arm on the back of the couch. Gunil’s hand shot up to press against Jungsu’s shoulder to keep him from collapsing on you.

“Easy, babe,” the drummer gently warned.

“Good, ‘m good. I got it,” Jungsu insisted through breathy moans. “Gonna cum in you, sweetheart. Gonna pump your pretty little ass full of it, fuck.” HIs teeth dug into your shoulder as he continued to fuck you through his orgasm, prolonging his pleasure and making you whimper around Seungmin’s cock.

“Oh, fuck,” Seungmin cursed, tightening his grip on your hair as the vibrations from your moans sent him abruptly over the edge. Your mouth was flooded with the salty taste of his cum. He pulled out, hooking a finger under your chin. “Let me see.” You opened your mouth to show him the white liquid coating your tongue. He smirked, then pressed his lips to your forehead. “Swallow,” he mumbled against your skin. You obeyed immediately, shuddering at the sensitivity from Jungsu pulling out to collapse into the couch cushions. 

“One more, baby. Then it’s your turn,” Gunil promised while rolling his hips up. You squealed at the sensation, fire running through your veins from getting stimulation after staying wrapped patiently around him for so long. He propped himself up on one elbow, dragging his tongue from between your breasts up to your collarbone. He pressed heated, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, adding to the marks Jungsu left earlier. Your thighs trembled with the effort of holding back your swiftly approaching orgasm.

“Fuck, I’m not gonna last long with you squeezing me like that,” Gunil admitted with an airy laugh. “Seungmin–”

“I know, I got her,” Seungmin cut him off as he moved to Jungsu’s previous position behind you. His chest met your back while his arms wrapped around you. His chin rested on your shoulder as his fingers trailed feather-light up your inner thighs and across your tummy before roughly cupping your tits. Your eyes clamped shut so you could focus on holding back rather than the warmth of Seungmin’s hands and the way Gunil’s cock brushed against your cervix. You gasped, eyes snapping back open when one of Seungmin’s hands abandoned your chest in favor of rubbing tight circles on your clit.

“F-Fuck, I can’t-! Let me cum, please. Wanna be good for you, bu-but I can’t hold it,” you helplessly begged, throwing your head back onto Seungmin’s shoulder since neither of them stopped or even slowed down. 

“You can and you will,” Seungmin borderline growled in your ear. His breath fanning over the sensitive skin on your neck sent another shiver down your spine. 

“Please,” you whimpered, completely forgetting about the ‘no touching’ rule as your nails dug into Seungmin’s forearm.

“Please, what, princess?” Gunil asked after pulling back far enough to watch you writhe against Seungmin’s chest. Tears now freely ran down your cheeks as you attempted to speak between broken whines and high-pitched moans.

“Let me cum! Please, fuck, wanna cum,” you cried. “Please, pleasepleaseplease–”

“Jiseok, shut her up,” Gunil ordered, shooting a pointed look at the guitarist. He shot out of his seat, crashing his lips into yours to messily swallow your pleas. He threaded his fingers through the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling slightly to give his tongue more room to lick into your mouth. Your chest heaved while Jiseok dragged his tongue along yours, making more spit pool at the corners of your mouth. 

“Fuck,” Gunil swore under his breath as his thrusts got sloppier the closer he got to his orgasm. His hips stuttered after a few more harsh thrusts, flooding your pussy with his cum. You whined into Jiseok’s mouth, gripping his bicep desperately with both hands.

“Cum for us, princess,” Seungmin encouraged while pressing down on your clit- hard. All of your muscles tensed as the overwhelming wave of pleasure crashed into you. If Jiseok wasn’t there to dampen your screams, you definitely would’ve gotten a noise complaint. You winced as Gunil pulled out, vaguely registering him and Seungmin maneuvering your body to a more comfortable position. The two of them whispered praises while running their hands along your skin to help bring you down from your high. Once you came back to your senses, you looked up at Gunil from where you sat in his lap.

“There you are, pretty girl,” he grinned when he noticed your bleary eyes on him. “I want you to sit with Seungmin and Jungsu while I grab some stuff to clean you up, okay?” You nodded, prompting Gunil to place you between the two keyboard players before heading toward the bathroom. 

“You did so good for us, sweetheart,” Jungsu smiled fondly as you pressed your cheek into the palm of his hand.

“Is Hyeongjun okay?” Your voice was muffled from your squished cheek, making you a little difficult to hear. Since you were so cute, though, none of the boys really minded. 

“I’m good, love,” he reassured you, knowing you wouldn’t be able to relax until you knew that both of you were being taken care of.

“Alright,” Gunil started as he returned to the living room to scoop you off the couch. “Let’s get you in the bath, then we can watch that movie you’ve been talking about.”

“Yay,” you cheered quietly. He shook his head with a short laugh.

“You’re lucky I love you, that we love you.”

“I love you, too. All of you.”

Permanent Taglist: @furfoxsake22 @babygirlskz98 @miniverse-zen @holly-here @corgilover20 @eastjonowhere @bookswillfindyouaway

Xdinary Heroes Taglist: Open

[teatimebeliever]

Not well written, but the idea was too interesting to just not write it down. I will prolly write a fic on ao3 with better writing, this is just to put the idea out there so I dont forget about it. Just an enemies to lovers Azriel x oc or azriel x reader idea I had, with a lot of random background Idea I had on the character. Its angsty, and not the best meet cute but you know, I got the idea from a dream after I fell asleep listening to look what you made me, I did something bad, you should see me in a crown and therefore I am on loop. Good dream tbh. Anyway enjoy!

"What do you want from me, Shadowsinger?" She spat out, her hatred for his kind evident in her tone.

He tilts his head to the side again, his hazel eyes sparkling in the moonlight. He walked closer to her, his footsteps silent. "Nothing much, just curious as to why a young woman with no records of her existence is going out raiding, massacring and making so much chaos at illyrian camps?"

"They deserved it." She said quietly, but firmly. "If you're here for the women and their kids that are missing, they don't want to be found. They are safe, fed, comfortable and for the first time in their miserable lives, happy." She held her head high at the words.

"That did not answer my question. Why is a young girl such as yourself, carrying out such planned raids and missions? It can't possibly be to no end? What is your purpose?" He paused, giving her a moment to answer, but continued when she didn't. "You have caused quite the ruckus, you know? Become quite a threat." He said again, face still unreadable as he maintains the distance, knowing she could winnow away at any moment, in the cold and chilly mountains. It took months for him to track her once, he could not afford to lose her now.

"I will ask you again, Shadowsinger, what do you want?" She snarled.

"I am just trying to understand why you think a young girl like you is fit to be the judge, jury, and executioner. Justice is not something just anyone has the right to bestow." His words were veiled in amusement, as if all of her carefully plotted plans and raids were temper tantrums of a child, and not a movement in and of itself.

Her eyes glowed as her anger takes over and her magic her magic seeps out from her, uncontrolled and wild. The sheer strength of it had his amusement dying down into a look of wariness. "Do you want to know, Shadowsinger? You find it so amusing, don't you?"

He stares at her for a minute, a dark chuckle escaping his lips as he realized her weakness.

Her wrath.

"It seems I struck a cord. I do not find it amusing, but rather pitiful, you are so young, with so much anger inside you. What a waste."

She stepped closer, her magic thrumming in the ground, yet her words were quiet, filled with a kind of contempt that could only come from years of experience of things better left unheard, and unseen. "They took me from my mother by force, chopped off my wings, used me for their pleasure and left me there to die. An illyrian camp. And no one. Did. A thing." Her eyes were glaring right into Azriel's, her eyes full of all consuming wrath, as her words reminded him of another female he knew.

She laughed, but no humor was present in her voice as she continued. "No one even knew. You and your high lord lived blissfully unaware while my existence crumbled." She hissed at him, stopping just a few steps away.

"I was broken, thought I would never find myself again as I struggled in a lonely cabin I found abandoned in the woods. Felt as if everyday, I was still there, half-dead on the side of the road. Of course I knew living in the cabin was mercy compared to how they treated the women in those camps, like slaves. And thats when a girl came knocking at my door, an escapee from a camp. We decided soon after to create a safe space, for people like us. And the rest is history." She continued, eyes becoming damp at the memory, before shaking her head and smiling slightly, so sweetly. Azriel almost forgot that she had slaughtered a few dozen men a few hours ago.

He tried to reach out silently to catch her as she finally got to a distance where he knew he could grab her, so he could get more information out of her, about things she were clearly omitting, only to realise, that he couldn't move.

He looked up at her in horror as she continued smiling, almost as if it took her no effort restraining one of the strongest illyrians in history.

It didn't, Azriel realised.

"And so we trained. And I took so much pleasure in breaking the bones of men in illyrian camps as we raided them. Saved the women that wanted to leave, took them with us, back to our hideout, expanded it until it became a thriving community. We raided camps and bring people back, who can pick whatever they excel in and work in tandem. It is what I deserved when I had nothing. What they deserve." She smiled, pride shining in her eyes as she now dropped down to sit on a log in front of him, more interested in a white wildflower glowing in the moonlight instead of him.

"Say, Azriel, You're half illyrian, are you not?" She asked, her voice higher, lighter, mocking. "You trained in one of their camps, with your oh so righteous brothers, did you not?"

She did not wait for him to reply, knowing he couldn't. She made sure of it from her magic, taking away his ability to speak.

"You know it as well. Your brothers do too." Her voice was bitter as she plucked the flower. "And yet you choose to hide away in your pretty little city of starlight, ignoring the pain these women go through every day." She finally looked up at him, eyes shining with contempt. "You're just as bad as them." She hissed. "Why shouldn't I shred your wings like your people did to me? Speak, Shadowsinger, speak."

It took a moment for him to realise he could speak again.

Azriel was frustrated, he understood where she was coming from but he could feel his defensive nature for his family coming up. "Rhysand tries. He tries his best to do things for the girls there. There's new laws, there's change. It's happening but these things take time. We are nothing like them."

"You're illyrian, they're illyrian. You saw the suffering of the women there and chose to do nothing about it. You high lord may have put new rules in place, banning clipping of wings, and starting the training of girls. But you and I both know it still happens. All of you do." She shrugged, back to examining the flower. Her face was young still, and her body lithe, Azriel's heart felt a little heavy at the thought of her past, but the anger he felt at being this defenseless in front of a young fae overpowered that.

A dark growl escaped his lips as his jaw tensed, his voice was raspy when he finally continued. "We are trying our best to keep track of it, to eradicate such malpractices comple-"

He was cut off yet again, but this time her voice was louder.

"Well trying is not good enough!" She snapped. "You don't even know it when it happens. You're too busy going on fancy dinners with your inner circle. If you are so good at protecting illyrian women, where are my wings, Azriel?" She hissed as she looked into his eyes as if she was looking into his soul.

He froze at her question, his hazel eyes widening slightly. His jaw was still tense, and he tried to move his body again, failing to do so. He didn't say anything, choosing to remain silent. There was a hint of shame in his eyes as he looked away.

She scoffed as she looked away again as she dropped the flower and stood up again, dusting off her hands against each other.

"Thought so. Anyway," She cleared her throat, putting on a sickly sweet smile. "I am bored and tired of playing with you now. Scurry off, like the dog that you are and tell your high lord I said Hi. I am sure a very interesting gossip session awaits the inner circle tonight." She finished, the end of her sentence blended with yawn that had her stretching her taut muscles as she freed him from her magic and disappeared before he could even get used to the control he now had over his body again.

[daintylovers]

Champagne Coast

1.1 Pilot

Seth Cohen x Hailey Atwood (oc)

A/N: hehehehe I just loooovvveeee my stiles stilinski variants. this is an oc and she is ryans sister- twins! at least, same ages. I'm gonna try not to have too many physical descriptors of her, for all we know she could be adopted. hope you enjoy!

"Trey, what if we get caught?" Ryan was always so quick to assume the worst.

"Ryan," I started, "We won't get caught, but you might if you keep overthinking things."

"Hailey, this is grand theft auto. Real-life fucking grand theft auto, not the video game. Something seriously could go wrong." I just rolled my eyes in response. We had done this several times by now, jacking cars for parts. We needed the money, and of course driving around random cars was always fun. A way to blow off steam from the stress of everyday life.

Catching on to my facial expression, Trey slung his arm around my shoulder, "There's the spirit, Bambi." That was my designated nickname. It was a running joke, at first glance everyone assumed I was just an innocent little thing. It helped me get out of sticky situations. More than enough.

"Come on Ryan. Are you in? Or are you out?" Aforementioned boy sent a glare in my direction, willing me to change my mind. I just shook my head with a smile. No way out of this one.

One of Ryan's best qualities was his inability to say no to me. I was always dragging him into my messes, and thankfully he would always arrive with a mop in hand. Ready to clean up the disasters left in my wake. I could feel sorry for him, if I thought about it enough. But that's just it, I didn't.

If it weren't for me, we might be stuck living at this house, for the rest of our lives. No stories to tell, no anything, really. I can't live like this. And he shouldn't have to. Ryan was one of the good ones. And if I could find a way to get him out of here, he could establish himself, and pull me from these ashes.

"Fine. But," Here comes the ultimatum, "Hailey, you stay as far away as possible. You aren't getting thrown in a cell again." Oh, but it's fine if he does it?

All three of us had terrible track records. From fights to breaking and entering, the cops were our biggest fans around Chino. But now we had to be more careful than ever. Trey wasn't a minor anymore. While Ryan and I were each one way from juvie. Ryan had been on the fence for three months now. While I got my final warning just last week, for punching a guy in the nose. He had been trying to grind up against one of my friends, and she had repeatedly told him to fuck off. But to no avail. Ryan tried to hold me back, but I had slipped easily from his grasp, hitting my target so forcefully that his head snapped back and his nose was left bleeding and crooked.

****

Our target was a shiny, souped-out black sports car. I wanted her. I debated trying to convince Trey to let us keep it for a few days.

Ryan was still wary so Trey began to speak, "I'm your big brother. If I don't teach you this, then who will?" Then he smashed the window open. So much for keeping it for a little.

"I don't know Trey-"

"Hailey, get Ryan to get in the car or I will leave his ass for dead." Could have just told him that yourself. I wasn't Trey's biggest fan, but he got shit done. I admired that. Very resilient, the lot of us.

Ryan climbed into the passenger seat, while I took up the back. Situating myself in the middle, I had the perfect view and the empty streets we were about to race. Trey hotwired the car like it was nothing and we were on our way.

Except we didn't get very far before sirens started following us. Fuck.

"Trey pull over."

"Ryan- fuck off man no way."

I tried, "Trey, please. Maybe we can make a run for it."

Trey turned around to spat something at me, but swerved the wheel on accident, causing the car to smash into the building adjacent.

Kids, always wear your seatbelt. Especially if the driver is a fucking idiot. I flew from my seat, but Ryan's arm caught me and pushed me back. My head bounced off the seats. My ears started ringing, and I swear my neck almost snapped from the force.

Someone was talking, but I couldn't make out the words. Or the voice for that matter. But the flashing lights told me enough. I watched Ryan put his hands up, and look at me. He jerked his arms up a little and I got the memo.

With raised arms and my head spinning, I tried to prepare myself for the jail cell.

****

My neck hurt like no other when I awoke. One of the guards had been knocking against the bars, guess I hadn't heard him. He looked pissed. "Get up kid, Someone is here to see you." Who the fuck could that be?

With bleary eyes, I forced myself into a standing position. I held my wrists out so he could slap the cuffs on them before he led me to the visitation room.

Walking in, I spotted Ryan instantly. He was sitting with some older man, who had papers out in front of him.

Like he had some type of sixth sense, Ryan turned his head to face my direction, giving me a soft smile, happy I was alright. He was always the more worried one during this type of thing. He had a point though, girls are never treated the same.

Sitting down, he was quick to assure, "Bambi- you alright?"

I nodded, my throat feeling scratchy. He looked at me with concern, "How's your neck? The crash probably affected you more."

"I'm fine Ryan. Just a little banged up" I replied, voice sounding like hell.

I turned to face the newbie, who was watching our interaction like a hawk.

"Hailey, it's nice to meet you. My name is Sandy Cohen, and I have been appointed as your guy's public defender."

Having already thought about my fate all night, I wasn't feeling too hopeful. I just stared at him, with no expression. He didn't care if I rotted in prison for the rest of my life. No one did. Besides Ryan, but because of me, we would rot together.

Ryan asked about Trey, and that made me pay more attention. Was it bad, that I had forgotten about him? During my all-night freakout session, I hadn't once thought about how this would affect him. The only things on my mind had been about Ryan and I.

"Well, Trey is over eighteen. Trey stole a car, had a gun in his pants, an ounce of pot, and a couple of priors," He had a gun? "Trey is looking at anywhere from three to five years."

The man, Sandy, continued, "I'm not here for Trey. I'm here for you two. Ryan, your grades? Why is a smart kid like you in here right now?" Because of me. "And Hailey, you have community service written every which way. What, steal a car to help out the neighborhood?"

I couldn't help myself, "Something like that."

"She speaks." He laughed a little. I just stared at him. "Hailey, fighting? That doesn't seem like you. Ryan, truancy charges? Come on guys, why are you doing this to yourselves?"

Not receiving any answers, he trudged on, "What is your guys' plan for the future? College? Trade School? Anything?" This guy was trying so hard to remain hopeful for us. What a joke.

But- if we're really being honest, his questioning was making me a little sad. I had no future. Never really did. But Ryan? God, Ryan could do so much. I think I might be sick.

I guess my face cracked, losing it's blank expression in exchange for desperate eyes. If you looked extra close, my lip was sure to be quivering. If Trey were here, he would have laughed at me. He didn't take too kindly to emotions. Ryan learned that quicker than I did growing up, which is why his expression never faltered.

"Mr. Cohen, with all due respect, modern medicine is advancing to the point where the average human life expectancy will be one hundred. But I read this article that said social security was bound to run out by the year of 2025. Which means people are going to have to stay in their jobs until they're eighty. So, we don't want to commit to anything too soon."

Sandy laughed, but persisted, "Look, I can plead this down to a misdemeanor. Petty fine, probation. But seriously guys, stealing a car because your big brother wanted you to it's stupid and weak. Two things, neither of you can afford to be right now." Well, actually we can't afford to be anything right now- fancy lawyer ass. "We three are cut from the same cloth. I know it may not look like it right now, but I was once in your position."

I cut him off, done with whatever this was supposed to be, "And look at you now, hot shot." He hadn't expected that. Just a minute ago I looked ready to crumble, but now I was turning my desperation into anger. I just wanted this to be over.

****

Mr. Cohen managed to get us out, shortly after. Now the sun was blaring down on us. I had Ryan on one side, and Mr. Cohen on the other.

"My office will be in contact to remind you of your court date."

"Got it," Ryan answered, as our mother's car screeched up to us.

She stumbled out and thrust her poorly manicured finger into my face. "Unbelievable! This is the kind of family I got. Pathetic!"

Mr. Cohen looked like he was the one getting publically berated. "Ms. Atwood? My name is Sandy Cohen. I am Ryan and Hailey's attorney."

"You should have let them rot in there. Just like their daddy. Just like their stupid brother." Then she grabbed my wrist, pulling me to the car, "Let's go! Now!"

I was already buckled in, not wanting a re-run of last night, before Ryan got in. His hand reached back, and I took the tiny card from him.

It was Mr. Cohen's card.

****

Once back at the house, a pit of dread formed in my gut.

Mom had already poured herself another drink, before she turned her attention onto us, "I can't do this anymore."

"I'm sorry Mom," I answered almost immediately. I was always the one apologizing first. I hated myself for it, yet every time I couldn't help myself. The Bambi nickname was more accurate than most people knew. Deep down, I desperately craved some sort of parental figure's love. Dad left, and Mom only cared when it benefited her.

"I want you out! Both of you."

"What?" I stuttered, tears springing to my eyes immediately. Hearing my wavering voice, Ryan was quick to grasp my hand, assuring me we would be fine. She didn't mean it. She never meant it. But the what-ifs always pestered me.

"Come on Mom, where do you expect us to go?"

Her boyfriend answered for her, "You heard her. Out! Now!"

Ryan was pissed, all of mom's boyfriend always treated us like shit. "This isn't your house, man."

"Oh, you think you're a tough guy, huh?"

Ryan's grasp on my hand tightened, and then he dropped it.

"Both of you, stop it." Mom tried, weakly.

But Ryan couldn't help himself, "Why don't you get the fuck out and stop freeloading off our mom."

The guy punched Ryan square in the nose, so hard that my brother stumbled back into me. I saw red.

I stepped out from behind Ryan and went to make my mark, but the guy was quick. He caught my fist in the air, twirling my arm around behind my back, then shoved me to the ground. My lip caught the corner of the side table, and I felt blood start to fill my mouth.

I felt someone lift me from the floor, knowing Ryan was the only one who would touch me after that. If I thought my head hurt before, then this was hell on earth.

We were out the door in minutes. Making quick to get the hell out of dodge.

****

No one wanted to house us. Ryan tried everyone we knew. I tried everyone and their mothers, and yet all we got was rejection. I had one last try, and my money dried up. Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out the card we received just hours beforehand.

How did it get this fucked, so fast?

I showed the card to Ryan who just nodded, what other choice did we have. Sure the park benches were always an option, but after last time? No way.

Mr. Cohen was the only one to pick up.

****

The house we pulled up to was something straight out of a movie. I didn't even realize people actually lived like this. Talk about growing up on the wrong side of the tracks.

We were just about to go inside before Mr. Cohen stopped us and told us to wait just a little.

Not having any other options we nodded our heads.

Ryan started walking down the driveway, pulling his pack of cigs from his jeans pockets. I followed him down, waiting for him to finish lighting up.

Once he took his first puff, he looked down at my puppy dog eyes. He smoked but hated it when I did it. But I guess he was feeling sorry for me because he handed me his pack.

He turned his gaze ahead of him, so I took one out. Then after a second thought, I took a few more out, hiding them in my jacket pocket.

"Put them back." He chided.

Damn, I thought I was safe. I put most of them back, keeping an extra one. He turned and gave me a look, not having my antics.

"Please, Ryan. Just this once."

"You're getting your once right now," He said, sneaking his hand into the pocket to retrieve his stolen goods. Then he offered me the light and allowed me a taste of heaven.

Looking up, I spotted a girl across us. She was staring at Ryan. Of course, she was staring at Ryan.

Feeling a little out of place, I made my way up the driveway again. These rich people need to lock up their homes more carefully.

I made my way through the backyard, careful not to fall into the gigantic fucking pool in the middle. If I had a house like this, I would swim every night.

I continued snooping around and noticed the back door to the house was also unlocked. I stubbed out the rest of my cigarette and made my way inside.

Making my way around the corner, I was caught by the owners. And Ryan.

"There she is, girl of the hour. Thank you for gracing us with your presence." Mr. Cohen joked, while his wife looked like her head might pop off at any minute.

Sheepishly, I waved my hand and made my way to stand next to Ryan.

"You must be Hailey," the woman said, offering her hand. I shook it while nodding my head. "Great, well, you two will be staying in the pool house. Which I'm sure you have already found." Touche.

"Thank you, Mrs. Cohen." Ryan and I said in unison like the Shinning Twins.

The rest of the night was spent in said pool house. I had wanted to keep wandering, but Ryan wouldn't allow it. So instead we both tried sleeping, tried being the keyword.

****

I woke before Ryan did. Odd, because normally it was the other way around.

Tip-toeing around his sleeping form, I successfully exited the pool house.

I wasn't alone for long before, I heard a slight shriek. Looking inside the house, I saw two doe eyes staring back at me. Then I let out my own shriek. Who the hell is that?

He was clearly younger than Mr. Cohen, but I wasn't aware they had a kid. Unless they didn't, and this was some sort of looter.

Sliding open the door that separated us, the boy stepped outside, ready to question me. But I beat him to it, "Who the hell are you?"

"Huh- Who the hell am I? Who the hell are you? Why are you in my backyard?"

"Wait, you live here?" So not a looter, my first theory was proving to be more accurate.

"Yes!" He exclaimed, "But you don't live here. And you're pretty, but with the cut on your lip, I'm assuming you aren't here to befriend me. So please leave before I get my lawyer dad to throw your ass in jail."

"Well your lawyer dad, just helped get my ass out of jail. So I feel pretty good about my standing with him right now."

This made him falter, "Wait, aren't you supposed to be a boy?"

I just raised my eyebrow at him.

"Sorry, my mistake. I must have heard wrong last night," then to save his ass, he extended his hand, "Truce?"

"Sure, spaz." and I put my hand in his. We awkwardly shook hands for longer than necessary, before I pulled away.

"Seth, but close enough. Wanna play video games?"

****

We played on his living room floor for about thirty minutes before Ryan caught us.

"What the hell Hailey, you left?" Seth swerved his head toward the intruder so fast, that I was worried he was gonna get whiplash.

Answering the question I knew was on the brunette's lips, I said, "Technically Ryan, I didn't leave. I relocated."

I looked to Seth, with his big questioning eyes, "Seth, meet Ryan. Ryan meets Seth. You two are like opposite sides of a coin." Then I smiled at Ryan, mouthing "sorry".

"Hi, Ryan. I wasn't aware there were two of you." That last bit was directed to me. I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, you want to play?"

****

In the next few hours, I received a lot of information. Seth was in love with Summer, a girl, not the season. Ryan was in love with Marissa, the girl from last night. But most importantly, Kirsten, the woman from last night, was in love with playing dress up.

We were currently residing in her room after she insisted that Ryan and I should attend the fashion show later that night. She had heard that Ryan was invited and thought that meant I would want to go too.

Don't get me wrong, in another life, I would eat this up. But, I didn't have high hopes for trying to fit into this richy rich society.

Kirsten had loaned me a dress, light pink silk that dropped down to my knees, with an asymmetrical hem at the bottom.

"That looks great" she smiled. Catching her gaze in the mirror, I tried to smile, but it looked more like I was in pain. She wasn't wrong, it did look great. Probably the greatest I have and would ever look. But I just felt so empty.

No empty was the wrong word. I felt too much, like one wrong breeze and I would fall off the cliff I was on.

"Thank you for the dress. And for your hospitality."

She made her way behind me, patting my back gently, "Come on sweetheart, the boys are probably waiting."

****

"Welcome to the dark side." Seth introduced. We had arrived at the function, and I was trying to stay mindful of why I was invited.

The show started soon after we took our seats. Ryan's Barbie doll, the model-faced girlfriend came out first. Then a slightly shorter brunette bounced out after, and Seth turned to whisper in my ear, "That's Summer." Of course, it was.

He tilted his head slightly to look at me, waiting for my approval. I gave him a thumbs up, then brought my lips up to the shell of his ear, "She's really pretty Cohen. Watch out, I might just steal her from you."

Pulling back, I looked at him and we erupted into giggles.

Once we turned our attention back to the show, I noticed that Summer had already gone back. So much for Seth's five-second glance at her.

I turned back to him one last time, ready to mouth "sorry", but he was already looking at me. I proceeded anyway, but with my cheeks heating up. He just shrugged his shoulders, then reached out to turn my head back.

After the show, Seth and I managed to be separated from the rest of the group. After failing to find our group, we lingered off to the side.

"You know, you could have been up there tonight." he started.

I looked up at him and gave him a smile, "Really? I was thinking the same about you. I could totally see you swinging your hips to be beat up there."

His cheeks turned red, but before he could come up with another witty comeback, Ryan found us. "Guys, we should go to that girl Holly's house. She's throwing a party."

"A party? No- no I'm good actually. I like my house."

Never one to back down from a party I said, "Come on Cohen, what if Summer is there."

That got his attention, cheeks turning brighter by the second.

"Come on!" A girl from the back of the car ahead called out.

Looking at Seth one more time, I wiggled my eyebrows and started walking back. "Come on Seth, you heard the girl." Then I turned on my heel and got into the car.

Looking around, I noticed a certain brunette bombshell was sitting right next to me. She offered me her hand and I accepted, "I'm Summer. You're Ryan's sister right?"

"That's so close, you almost knew my name!" She looked embarrassed and I felt guilty. "I'm Hailey, and yes, I am Ryan's sister."

"Awesome!"

****

I had been at the party for about an hour now, and still no sign of the boys. Not that I had searched too hard for them. Instead, my eyes had spotted the booze fairly quickly, and that ended up with me dancing with some guy. He was cute, but not cute enough for me to stop thinking about Seth. I hoped he actually came out. He needs to experience life a little.

Parting ways with the guy, I motioned to the drinks and he followed suit.

Then I spotted just who I was looking for. "Seth!" I stumbled over to him.

He turned around fairly fast and caught me as I thrust myself into him, going for a hug but failing. He laughed and held me up, hands on my waist. "Hailey!"

"You have a boyfriend?" A voice interrupted.

"Boy-boyfriend, no, no I'm sorry," Seth said to my former dance partner. Who ignored the boy, looking at me instead.

I was bored of him so I just nodded my head and then turned to ignore him.

He must have left as I made my way to get another drink because Seth came to stand right next to me. "How much have you had to drink?" He asked.

"How much have you had to drink?" I tried to counter. He just laughed at me, before a commotion erupted outside.

Noticing Ryan wasn't near us, I had a sneaking suspicion that he might be involved in whatever was transpiring outside. I tried getting through the crowded kitchen, but between being slightly more than drunk and being shoved back by unsuspecting elbows, I wasn't making it very far.

Seth, noticing I hadn't made it as far as he had, turned back to grasp my hand, and then pulled me through.

Once we got outside, I watched Ryan get knocked in the face by some blonde douchebag who shouted, "Welcome to the O.C. bitch!"

What the fuck is happening?

****

We left the party quickly after.

Coming out of the bathroom, I felt refreshed after being able to take a hot shower. Ryan and Seth were sat on the couch by the bed, talking about the night.

When I came out, both boys looked at me and then held up snacks.

We talked and giggled for a while until each one of us had our eyes closing by themselves. Seth had been curled up on one side of the couch for a while now. Any minute and he would be out like a light.

I excused myself to use the bathroom one last time, as Ryan went out for another smoke.

When I came out, albeit I took a little longer than anticipated Ryan and his Barbie doll were curled up on the bed. Damn. That was my spot.

My only other option was the floor, or the side of the couch that Cohen fist rested on. I made my way to the couch, gently pushing his legs to the side, trying to get the pillow that he rested on. I figured the floor was a safer place than being kicked in the head in the middle of the night.

I was trying to be subtle, not wake the sleeping boy, but he foiled my plans. "What are you doing?" he whispered soft, voice clogged with drowsiness.

"Nothing, go back to bed."

He sat up, rubbing at his eyes the way a small child would, "Seriously, Hailey, are you sleeping on the floor?" he questioned.

He made a move to get up, but I placed my hands on his shoulders pushing down slightly. "Seriously, I'm not letting you take the floor. If you're going to be so stubborn, just sleep on the couch with me."

"Cohen, I don't want your freakishly long legs to kick me."

"They won't. Just come on," he said, removing my hands from his shoulders so he could scoot over. "See, enough room for two."

I debated it for a second, I had never slept in the same spot as a boy. But Cohen took my silence as rejection and immediately moved to stand. "I'm sorry, I- I should take the floor."

"No!" I was quick to interject.

"No?"

"No- just lay down again."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive Cohen."

And with that, he laid back down and opened up his arms. I crawled next to him, my back to his chest. He encircled by frame, "Is this okay?" I nodded in response, feeling the sleep hit almost immediately.

****

"Look, Ryan, Hailey, I'm sorry. I don't mean to play bad cop, It's nothing personal," Kirsten started.

Just minutes ago she had burst into the pool house, furious in only a way a mother can be. She didn't even question the fact that I was in her sons arms, only glaring at him and pointing behind her.

Seth got the hint and removed himself from me, following his mom back into the house like a scolded puppy.

Ryan and I made our way in shortly after, headed for the kitchen for one last meal before we were inevitably kicked out.

"I'm sorry, you two seem like such nice kids."

"It's okay, we get it," Ryan answered.

She was nice enough to allow us to stay by the Seth, so we made the trek upstairs.

Knocking on the door, I entered first. "We have to go," I told him.

"You're leaving?" he questioned, clearly sad.

Ryan spoke up, "We have to take care of some things back home."

Seth got up and shook Ryans out stretched hand. They did a typical boy handshake, before turning to me.

Seth and I looked at each other, unsure of what to do. I made the first move, going in to wrap my arms around his waist. I felt him stiffen at first, and then he reciprocated my motion.

When we pulled away he said, "Well, I can't wait to come visit you guys down in Chino. You can show me your world."

****

Our world no longer existed.

Once we pulled up to the house, Ryan and I were met with the shell of our home. Abandoned with a single poorly written letter.

Awesome.

"Come on." Mr. Cohen, our savior, to the rescue once again.

Back to exploring Seth's world instead.

****

A/N: holy fuck this took so long to write. but- yipee!! thank you for reading <3

[barblaz-arts]

Last Hazbin character ask, thoughts on Emily, Sera, Lute, and Pentious (you forgot him when talking about main characters)?

Emily

You mean the love of my life???? I am very normal about her.

Lol but fr tho she's in my top favorite characters right after Vaggie and Charlie. She's just so sweet and kind. I love characters who remain that way even after their world view is challenged, just with less naivety. Characters who are so morally good are just so especially interesting to me in a show like Hazbin Hotel that's just filled with assholes of every flavor(with some more redeemable than the others ofc).

Seeing her get mad at Sera was so satisfying btw. Righteous/protective anger looks so good on sweet characters like Charlie and Emily.

Her singing voice is also one of my favorites, along with Charlie, Lucifer and Carmilla. Recently found out that she was one of the talented ladies who sang in the First Burn mv for Hamilton too. She's the third girl that appears, coming in for the harmony. Seeing her sing in a song with Rachel Ann Go feels like a crazy crossover for a Filipino like me because Rachel Ann is a famous singer over here.

Sera

I think she's a neat character! The type of self-righteous, classist christian I'd avoid like the plague irl, but so fascinating as a character. I'm really curious as to what direction the story will take her to. I can more or less guess the case for other characters, but I can't quite pinpoint the goal for Sera, because I'm not quite sure yet if she's gonna be truly a bad person like Adam and Lute. She could either double down on refusing to let sinners into heaven or see the error of her ways. The former is probably more likely, but I'm not opposed to idea of the latter happening.

Lute

Logical brain: she deserves to suffer so much more for what she did to Vaggie and calling her love for Charlie "vile and blasphemous"

Sapphic brain: ... Scary angel lady hot tho...

Jokes aside, I'd love to see what kinda antagonist she'd be as the one calling the shots instead of just being Adam's sidekick this time. I wanna see her spiral and just become worse and worse. I also need a rematch between her and Vaggie that's a little more fair, where Vaggie is now more used to fighting again. With the whole one-eye VS one-arm thing making it even more even.

Sir Pentious

My boy!!!!! I really didn't expect to like him as much as I do. I liked him fine in the pilot, but they made him so dang cute in the show. You can tell Alex Brightman loved voicing him too. I really hope we get to see what he's up to in heaven. I'm proud of him for being first to ascend, but im scared some angels might be wary or even threatened by his presence in heaven. They do have a pretty bad track record with snakes after all.

[ratasum]

GW2 Ficlet - Ship In A Bottle

As the race to find the Aspects of Lazarus ramps up, Rhenn decides to reach out to his father for help. He may find, however, that the path he's chosen doesn't have what he truly needs... Warnings for implied past child abuse, manipulation, trauma. Related artwork: "...yes, Father."

“Kas, believe me, I appreciate the offer - and that you trust her - but considering my track record, I’m not exactly keen on trusting a shadowy organization that wants me to bend a knee to them.” Rhenn’s arms were folded tightly over his chest as he spoke, looking up at the human woman with a small, faint frown. “I have enough of that in my life already.”

Kasmeer’s brow furrowed at that, and after a moment, she shook her head. “Anise is nothing like the overseers in the Inquest, Rhenn. She’s offered her help… and deemed you worthy. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

Immediately, his shoulders tightened. “You’ll have to forgive me for being wary, considering how most of my meetings with her before now have gone.”

“And you trust your dad more?” Iuno’s ears pulled back. “You haven’t talked to him since…”

“Since Trahearne.” Rhenn’s tone was flat, and he glanced away from everyone, jaw tightening. “I haven’t talked to him, no, and I should check in. I’ve been doing that less and less. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see the progress we’ve made, besides.”

From where she was standing, Kippa made a soft noise. “...I don’t know, Rhenn. I have a really bad feeling about this.”

Her tone startled Rhenn out of his frustration, and he blinked a few times before glancing over at her, offering a faint smile. When she didn’t return it, he reached over to grab one of the strands of hair that curled up by her cheeks, giving a gentle tug. “Awh, I appreciate your concern, Kip, you know I do. But it’s just my dad. I’ve talked to him a million times. I only grew up with him, y’know?”

She just frowned a little deeper, but finally sighed, giving him a look as she lifted a hand to grab his wrist. “We can’t stop you, but at least promise you’ll reach out to us if something goes wrong?”

“I didn’t know you cared that much.” He sounded more like his usual self, lowering his hand as she pulled at his wrist. “But yes. I promise if something goes wrong, you guys will be first on my list. How is it you like to put it…? Cross my heart and hope to cry.”

Nearby from her perch atop Scruffy, Taimi gave an indignant little sniff. “I still think you should let me come with you. Not for Scruffy as extra protection, of course, but because I would love to see the inside of the Applied Maginetics lab! I mean sure yeah they’re all Inquest but your dad is a primo geneticist. What if I just, you know… borrowed some research?”

Snorting, Rhenn grinned, glancing over at her. “Borrowed. Right. My dad’s really dear about his research, smarty pants, and I’m not about to let you get hurt. Zojja’d tear herself out of that recovery suite in Rata Sum and take my head clean off with a yank of my ponytail and you know it. I’m not about to incur the wrath of Snaff’s Greatest Heir.”

“Boooo, you’re no fun!” Folding her arms and turning up her nose, Taimi tipped her head in his direction regardless. “Well in that case, I second Kippa. Make sure you let us know if something goes weird.”

“Honestly, you all worry way too much. This is my dad we’re talking about, and I know all the researchers there. Just wait. We’ll figure out how to find the aspects of Lazarus in no time.”

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

Getting to the Applied Maginetics lab was the easiest part of the trip. He knew how to get to the Inquest Outer Complex, and it was just a short walk to the main lab from there. Swinging through the door, he waved at a researcher who was passing by, grinning at her when she gave him a startled look. “Hey, Marha! Long time no see! I see you sorted out those optical implants.”

“Rhenn?” She sounded genuinely surprised to see him, turning towards him fully. “I- well yes, they work quite well. I rarely have to turn on the lights now. But I didn’t realize you would be back. You didn’t send any messages ahead. Does the overseer know you were coming…?”

He shook his head, hooking his thumbs on his belt. “Nah, figured I’d make a surprise visit. I needed some help with some bookah we’re hunting down and knew if anyone would have some insight, it’d be him. Why? Is he working on a project?”

Marha stared at him for a moment then gave her head a quick shake. “No, no, he’s been going over some readings from your files. He wanted to make some adjustments, but isn’t sure if it would be worth the extra work, since people might ask questions if you were gone from your work with… the Pact for too long.”

“I think I’m doing just fine as is.” The statement puzzled him, but he shook it off. Experiments and work had been core to Rhenn’s existence since he was young- this wasn’t any different. “Is he in his lab?”

“Last I checked, but- oh! Overseer, I-”

At the word “Overseer,” Rhenn turned, straightening a bit when he saw his father standing there staring at him, halfway between frustrated and puzzled. He looked between Marha and Rhenn respectively, then cleared his throat and turned, expression sharpening. “You’re dismissed, Marha. Do keep me updated on the samples you’ve been working on.”

The woman nodded without a word, giving Rhenn an anxious look before scurrying off. After a startled moment, Rhenn turned to his father with a half grin. “Hey, Dad. Sorry I didn’t send a bird first.”

Prikk regarded him for a moment, then sniffed before gesturing for Rhenn to follow him, turning to head down a nearby hallway. “Your communications have been few and far between as of late regardless, Rhenn… this incident notwithstanding. I had begun to wonder what might have come over you, or if you were having… second thoughts.”

“Huh? Oh, no, nothing like that. I’ve just been busy.” Rhenn had to measure his steps to keep from overtaking his father, folding his hands behind his head as he walked. “The whole commander business, you know? Which is actually why I’m here. We’re trying to hunt down the aspects of this mursaat, Lazarus, to try to prevent him being resurrected. I wasn’t about to go along with this human woman’s scheme, so I figured you might have something we could use.”

For a few more moments as they walked, Prikk remained silent. It wasn’t until they were in his old lab, the door closed behind them, that he finally spoke again. “Perhaps. But first we need to address the matter of your… poor obedience.”

Rhenn blinked, glancing at him after his last few words. “My poor obedience? What are you talking about? I’ve been doing exactly what you told me to do.”

“Have you?” Prikk turned fully, then, holding up a small device in his hand. He gave his son a long look through his glasses, and then pressed the button embedded on the side. “Why don’t we discuss it.”

The instant Prikk pressed the button, Rhenn felt it. Searing, agonizing pain radiating out from his chest and into his limbs, pulsing into his head, burning through his veins like molten lightning. An electric shock, stronger than his body’s ability to cancel out pain, was able to keep up with. Every nerve felt like it was on fire, and he could barely choke out a high, pained grunt before crumpling to his knees, head bowed forward until it nearly touched the cold stone.

It wasn’t until the pain ebbed that he felt like he was able to breathe again, letting out a sharp breath before beginning to breathe heavily, ears pulled back, whole body shaking. “Dad, what the hell-”

Another sharp wave of pain overwhelmed him, cutting him off as he let himself collapse fully, curling in on himself to try to find some way to stop the pain, claws digging into his own arms. This time, when the pain began to recede, he realized Prikk had begun to speak. “You had very specific orders, Rhenn. I believe this farce is beginning to go to your head. You serve the Inquest’s interests, and you report back to me no less than once a week. You seem to have forgotten yourself.”

“I- I’ve been busy, I told you, I- NNH-”

Prikk shook his head as he pressed the button again, watching his son writhe in pain on the unforgiving stone before him. “That is no excuse. I have very high expectations for you, as you are well aware. You are the pinnacle of asuran evolution- the greatest our kind can achieve. But you did not become so without my guidance. Me, to whom you owe your very existence.” Quietly, he put the remote down on a nearby desk, not looking back at Rhenn as he spoke. “Now then. I am ready to put this whole messy business behind us, Rhenn, and really look into these “aspects” you're so concerned about. Do you promise to behave... son?”

For a moment, Rhenn was silent, shakily pushing himself up onto one knee, one fist planted as the other clenched tightly against his raised knee. Then, slowly, he glanced up, glowing eyes illuminating his pained expression, jaw tight, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. “...yes, Father. Anything you say.”

It was only then that Prikk gave a wry smile, turning to move further into the lab. “Excellent! Come then. Let us look into these… aspects and see what we might do to track them down without the need for those ignorant, short eared, small eyed buffoons.”

Slowly, Rhenn pushed to his feet, watching Prikk’s back as he moved away. But as he went to pass the desk himself, he reached out, quietly slipping the remote from the desktop into a hidden pouch within one of his bags. “...of course. Father.”

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

It was late into the evening when Rhenn finally returned to the camp, looking exhausted and still wincing every now and then as his muscles tensed, an unpleasant reminder of his father’s unexpected chokehold on him. Why had he done that? What kind of device had he implanted to hurt him like that?

Why would he hurt him like that?

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he almost didn’t hear Iuno speak to him, her tone and expression worried as she went to grab his arm. “Rhenn? You don’t look so hot-”

Immediately, the touch causing ripples of pain to echo across his skin, he jerked his arm away from her. “I’m fine!” Then, after a moment, he let out a breath. “Sorry, I’m- I’m fine. It’s okay. I have a device that should let us track down the aspects based on the information we already had. I want to have Taimi have a look to refine it, but we can work on that in the morning.”

“Rhenn… you look awful.” Kippa was moving over to him, her touch far more gentle when she reached out to him. “Do you need me to get you anything?”

It was all he could do not to jerk away from her touch as well, turning his head away. “I’m okay, I promise.” Reaching into his bag, he withdrew the remote he took from his father’s desk, tossing it up to where Taimi was lounging on top of Scruffy. “Here, small fry. Destroy this. I don’t care how you do it, but I need it to not work, at all.”

She barely managed to catch the device, turning it in her hands as she scrunched up her nose. “Piece of cake, but why? It’s just a remote. What does it even do?”

The realization of that comment caused Rhenn to whip his head around. “Wait, Taimi, don’t press it-!”

But he was too late. She pressed a finger down on the button, though she immediately jerked it back when Rhenn let out an agonized grunt, sinking to his knees and curling over, ponytail falling over his shoulder as he shook, muscles clearly spasming. Kippa got to him first, ripples of water magic swirling around her hands as she reached out to cradle his face. Taimi, to her credit, looked thoroughly horrified at his reaction. “Sorry! I’m so sorry, Rhenn, I’ll break it, I didn’t know-!”

“Not your fault,” Rhenn managed to wheeze out, voice rough. “Just… just make sure you get rid of the damn thing.”

She was nodding, and Kippa made a soft sound, smoothing her hands down Rhenn’s arms. “Iuno, Taimi, can you give us a few moments? I’d like to check him for burns or… or anything, really.”

Slowly, Iuno nodded, waiting for Taimi to drop into Scruffy’s cockpit before the pair headed out of the large tent, leaving Kippa alone with Rhenn. She was quiet at first, reaching out to help him out of his shirt. It wasn’t until she had the shirt fully pushed from his frame that she gasped, fingers lingering on the deep scars covering his arms and torso. “Rhenn, what-”

“These?” He shook his head slightly, sitting back quietly, whole body still trembling faintly. “They’re nothing. Surgical scars, from my dad’s experiments.”

Kippa stared at him as he spoke, green eyes going ever wider. “Surgical scars? Then the remote… did your father make that? To… to shock you like that? Rhenn, if he did, that’s- that’s awful; what father in his right mind would treat his own son like that?!”

Rhenn said nothing at first, glancing away as his brow furrowed. “I… he must’ve. Look, Kip, I’m really tired and I don’t- we have a lot of work to do to find the aspects. Can we talk about this later? When I’ve had some sleep and you’ve got some… whatever you need to put on me, on me?”

She didn’t seem convinced, but she did sigh, reaching into her bag to pull out a few jars. “Okay. Here, I have some aloe. There’s some burns from where the metal touched your skin… they’re healing quickly but this’ll help ease the pain a little bit.”

The pair fell silent for a long while after that, with Rhenn watching Kippa work and Kippa diligently smoothing aloe over his burns and another cream onto his twitching muscles, gently explaining everything she was doing as she went. He had to marvel for a moment at how gently she handled him, always with the lightest touch, never doing anything without telling him and waiting for him to agree. It was such a strange difference from how the researchers and his father handled him.

Maybe it was how badly his head ached from the repeated shocks. Maybe it was that gentleness he was marveling at. But as she was reaching out to check a burn mark on his shoulder, he lifted a hand to catch her chin, gazing into those jade green eyes for a few moments before he leaned in.

It had to be the light headedness talking, but he was locked in now.

The moment their lips met was electric, but different from those terrible jolts of pain. She tasted just like the cocoa scrubs she liked to use, and after a brief moment of tension, she leaned into him, and it was all he could do to keep from gathering her against him. A ward against the awfulness of the day.

But then, the moment was over. When the kiss broke, he sat upright quickly, watching as Kippa stared at him wide eyed, her hand coming up to press her fingertips lightly against her lips as Rhenn stammered out, “I- oh Alchemy I uh- I am so sorry Kippa I don’t know where that came from I- I need to go. Jump into the lake or something okay I’ll be fine, just… we’ll talk later, okay?”

He didn’t wait for her to respond, dragging himself to his feet before hurrying out of the space, leaving Kippa to stand shocked in his wake.

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

It didn’t take long for Rhenn to find a secluded spot to drop down into a sit, one hand running over the scars resting in a v shape up his chest. The kiss lingered in his mind, but so did her horror over the scars. The difference in how she treated him over his father’s cruel, dismissive behavior.

It was an uncomfortable feeling to sit in, and he found himself almost wishing he could slip back in where he’d left Kippa. She was such a warm, calming presence, and she cared. She worried. The feeling of her up against him felt right. On the other hand, the awful, uncomfortable feeling lingered in the back of his mind, one that had started to form as he glared at his father from his agonizing kneel back in the Applied Maginetics lab.

His hands pushed back through his hair, brow furrowing tightly as he glared at the ground beneath him. Arms lowering slowly, he looked over the scars that traced up to his shoulders. They’d been so briefly painful, but now he was looking at them with a new perspective. The very crystals in his body his father had told him would help him achieve their goals, able to control asuran-built tech with a touch… used to hurt him. He’d been shock collared by his own father, who had put him through excruciating pain with all the care he might’ve shown a workbench.

And for what reason? His jaw tightened, hot tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He’d never questioned his father’s motives, or the Inquest, but the sick feeling in his gut that accompanied the new feelings on all of it bubbling to the surface was enough to make him want to vomit. Was he not his father’s son? Had he not done everything he’d been told?

What had he done, other than forget to write for a few weeks, to deserve that?

Letting out a frustrated yell, Rhenn shoved to his feet and began to pace before slamming his fist into a tree. The sting was only brief, his highly modified body reacting quickly to stop the pain before it even had a chance to do more than itch.

Abilities his father had designed into him. He was meant to be the perfect asura, but what did that mean, in the end? Did his father see him as a son?

Or an experiment?

Shaking off the thoughts, he let out a breath, shaking out his hand before looking back towards the tent. He could see Iuno speaking with Kippa, who was worrying her hands anxiously. They couldn’t see him from where he was standing, even if he had a good vantage point on them. They were worried… worried for him.

Worried in a way his father hadn’t been.

Prikk was pragmatic, it was true, but this felt different, and he hated how it curled in his chest and spread icy fingers into his neck and shoulders.

But for now, he needed not to worry about it. They still had to find the rest of the aspects. He couldn’t let this affect his movements. He’d have to piece through it later. For now, Tyria needed the commander.

So the commander he would have to be.

[floralpotions]

I'm probably so super late but I just found out about the reboot casting for the new series ... how are we feeling ...

ouuu ty for sending me this anon because I've had some thoughts I've tried and struggled with posting about & then have given up and deleted alksjfd

(under the cut because I go a little long)

(I'm going to be censoring the names of the series, character, and actor because I don't want this to be like a searchable edict or anything. just with like a dot or slash in-between the names somewhere so it's legible but not easily searchable)

ok, for those not in the loop (understandably so), they're rebooting the H//arry P//otter franchise and making a series (on I think HBO Max?). it's serving as both just like a reboot of the movies and also a "reimagining" of the books (since the film adaptations aren't always 1:1 with the books). also, since the original film adaptations are Older by now and the actors have grown up (and many have spoken out against jk//r's hateful and transphobic views (yes she is involved with the project)), and it's also a new adaptation, they have new actors to play the parts.

the actor that they casted as the new S.ever.us Sn.ape is P//aapa E//ssiedu, who is a Black man.

I don't really mind that he has been casted. I'm vaguely familiar with some of his prior work - I say "vaguely" because I'm not a turbo fan who's seen everything he's been in, but I am a huge fan of Sh.akespeare, and he is a Sh.akespearean actor. I loved his portrayal of H.amlet in the 2016 RSC tour. I think he's a very talented actor who could do a portrayal of S.everus justice.

however! I am wary of a media, written by a bigoted person, that already has a poor track record for its unsensitive portrayals of people of color and other minorities, and am not confident that the reimagining will be able to navigate those waters with grace.

in particular regarding Sev.erus's character - Sev was bullied for his appearance his entire life. the racial implications for bullying a Black man for his appearance by predominantly white bullies will likely be left unaddressed and ignored. (on the note of "Sev is 'unconventionally attractive' and gets bullied for his appearance his whole life" thing, though: E//ssiedu is far too handsome to play him I think. like, you want me to believe a guy who looks like he rolled out of a magazine cover got called ugly???? obvs I think sev is hot I'm dating him, I just mean this actor is like... objectively Hot imo. a "why would you cast him as an unconventionally attractive character?" Hot.)

will I ship with this version of Sev? idk yet. I'm not even sure if I want to watch the reboot - I think it's blatantly a cash grab.

I think the actor might do a good job with portraying him, though, albeit he's still at the mercy of the overall presentation of the show (writing, editing, directing, etc.). still, I'm glad a talented guy has the opportunity to get a swing at a big project like this.

anyways... LASDKJF sorry this is such a complicated answer. I think I am simply feeling Meh about it. I don't mind different depictions of Sev or what he could look like / what others see him as. however, I'm just generally kind of Meh at the reboot overall. I might change my tune as production continues. only time will tell.

[sincerely-sofie]

Dadnoir Musings: The Fanfic

Lord help me I’m back on my nonsense. Finally making this monstrosity public.

Word count: 6,930-ish

Summary: Fragments of Dusknoir’s interactions with and thoughts on Kip and Twig (especially Twig) throughout the events of the game, leading up into the start of The Present is a Gift.

It was meant to be simple. He would travel back through a passage of time alone, the sableye making the journey separately to spread rumors of a renowned explorer before he'd quietly enter the areas that were handfed awe-inspiring stories of his exploits. He'd do a number of good deeds along the way to validate the rumors, and in doing so he would gain the loyalty and aid of an entire population in tracking down the grovyle and human that had gotten dangerously close to securing another time gear before vanishing entirely after their retreat.

He had heard reports of the grovyle being sighted in this time period. It was good news, certainly, to have reliable sources verify one another— but he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling he had at the reports. They always identified the grovyle, but never the human. Easily the most stand-out member of the trio of rebels— even moreso than the Legend in their ranks— and suddenly the only one unaccounted for. He didn't know much about humans and how hardy they were, but the grovyle’s habit of whirling her out of reach of whatever strikes were sent her way implied a distinct fragility— perhaps she'd been disposed of in the window of time that they'd lost track of the rebels.

He hoped that was the case. Everything would be so much simpler if it was. Still, he instructed the scouts to search more diligently for the human. He wasn't foolish enough to hope for much of anything anymore, and the fact that he found himself clinging to the idea of not having to execute the human himself left him wary.

Something wasn't right.

He entered the lively settlement of Treasure Town with a sense of dread weighing heavy on his shoulders.

***

His cover story gave him a particular level of sway over the local exploration guild. Not only did they eat up every word he said with an unmatched trustingness, they provided access to their outlaw reports and records of suspicious activity. There he was— the troublesome grovyle was reported enough times to give an area he was likely frequenting, but not an indication of his next move or where he'd hide away after brushes with danger. Dusknoir needed to wait and gather more information. The grovyle was rash— it wouldn't be long before he showed his hand.

In the meantime, Dusknoir would continue building Treasure Town’s trust in him.

That didn't prove very difficult. The townsfolk were exceptionally welcoming. They bore no doubt in his cover story. The Guild’s recruits were almost sycophantic in their hero worship, as were their elite, save for a team of two— and even then, the team that seemed wary of him appeared more cautious out of nerves than actual suspicion.

They were a young pair of recruits— much younger than the rest of their peers. Where the other recruits seemed at least well on their way to entering adulthood, these two were evidently the youngest apprentices in guild history. Team Venture was composed of a timid but eager mudkip and an odd charmander who seemed completely flabbergasted by basic social customs.

Kip was endearing in his overzealous enthusiasm— his excitement whenever Dusknoir interacted with him and his partner was palpable, and he introduced himself by name almost immediately upon meeting him. Another indicator of the two’s youth, then— he was so young he didn't quite grasp the finer details of when and where you should give your name. One might find the misstep offensive, but Dusknoir was flattered by the boy considering him such a close friend.

The charmander didn't give him a name. In truth, she didn't give him much of anything— she hung back when Kip and Dusknoir spoke, never really saying anything, just watching him with a confused look like she was trying to remember something long lost to time. She was a studious character— Kip didn't attend many of the workshops the Guild put on, but Charmander arrived early to and left late from every last one.

“She wasn't the one to ask to form a team together— honestly, she kind of rejected the idea at first,” Kip admitted to him while waiting for his partner to return from one such event, “but I think that now she likes exploring even more than I do!”

“Funny how things play out like that,” he replied.

“She's amazing. I'm so lucky to have met her. She's my best friend.”

He watched as the mudkip fidgeted happily with his scarf, a slight blush on his face. Ah. Definitely a bit of lilipuppy love on his end. He couldn't help his chuckle. “And how did you two meet?”

“Oh— um. She was passed out on the beach one day, but I thought she was dead when I found her and I— uh— I screamed so loud she woke up,” he stammered. “It wasn't a very cool way to meet, but I'm glad I got to meet her at all.”

“I'm sure any would react as you did were they to stumble upon a possible corpse.” His brow furrowed. “Why was she passed out on the beach in the first place?”

“She doesn't know. She's got amnesia, if you haven't heard— she doesn't remember anything about herself before waking up on the beach. Well, anything but her name and how she used to be a human.”

“What?”

Kip startled at the sharpness of his tone. “She… she doesn't remember anything but her name, and how she used to be a human? Is everything okay, Dusknoir, sir?”

It couldn't be. This was a coincidence. He hoped desperately that it was a coincidence. If there was a human in the time he had traveled from, then there surely had to be humans in the time preceding it. This was another human, unrelated to the one that had evaded detection for the last year or so. It was a simple coincidence.

Kip watched him nervously.

“Apologies, I… I was simply caught off guard. Humans turning into pokemon is a concept that I thought was only the stuff of fairy tales. That combined with humans having been long extinct makes your story seem a bit peculiar.”

“Oh! Yeah, it does seem strange, doesn't it? I don't know if she's misremembering or not, but she's pretty intent on how she wasn't a charmander before waking up on the beach. She took a while to learn how to walk, though, and she doesn't know how to control fire like a normal charmander— so it makes me feel like she's telling the truth.”

Dusknoir hummed, lost in thought. Kip ran off to greet his partner when she exited the meeting hall for whatever seminar was put on that week, and she caught him in a hug and showed him a stack of notes she'd taken during the seminar. Kip stifled a laugh as he looked over the pages— Charmander demanded he tell her what was so funny, and he meekly explained that her spelling was even worse than her handwriting.

“Dude! Not cool! I didn't even know how to read any of this stuff last year. I'd like to see you write a paper in English after barely getting any time to learn it!”

They wandered off, chattering all the way, leaving Dusknoir to recall the mannerisms of the human who had all but dropped off the face of the planet and recognize their echoes in the child resting her hand over her friend’s shoulders as they walked to the guild dorms.

It was a coincidence. Simply that.

(The thought that the human he'd been trying to… dispatch for so many years was only as old as Charmander sat like a block of ice in his belly.)

***

He tried to get more information on this mysterious recruit, and his efforts to find any background beyond when she first arrived at the Guild yielded nothing. It was as if Charmander never existed before appearing on that beach— no records of her prior residence, birth, or heritage were to be found— no one had ever even known she existed before Kip brought her into town. He wondered if it was a conspiracy between them— that the girl was playing dumb and the boy was lying to cover up what he knew— but couldn't place any stock in the theory. Kip was as guileless as they come, and he had seen Charmander attempt to hide surprises from her partner— she was an atrocious liar. They were genuine in their cluelessness.

He learned more that personified the child than he would have liked while posing faux-idle questions to the townsfolk.

(“That lil’ charmander girl is the sweetest thing. She's got the etiquette sense of an overturned stump, make no mistake, but she means no harm by it, y’hear? Keeps coming by to my storehouse to hide presents for her friends— asked for a second lockbox and everything so her partner wouldn't know she was collecting up his favorite things to give him later on.” The woman laughed. “She loves playing with my little one, too— it's the funniest thing, seeing her try to play with her. It's like she thinks she's made of glass. I keep telling Charmander she can be a bit rougher, but she still treats the girl so gingerly!”)

(“Ah! Charmander, you say? Yes, yes, she's quite the character. Loves wordplay, that one. Sharp mind, if a little dense at times. Always asking about the finer points of merchantry. If she weren't already apprenticed at the Guild, we'd consider taking her on ourselves!” A pause as his brother interjected with his own comment. “Ah! I'd forgotten about that. She's made such a habit of paying for those two’s groceries. She's always so mischievous about it— almost treats it like a prank. Keep in mind she's never told those boys or their mother who keeps paying for their things, and she's sworn us to secrecy about it— you'll not tell a soul either, yes?”)

(“Charmander is… well, she's one of our most promising recruits, alongside her partner. I've had my misgivings— those two have shown their immaturity at the worst of times, to the point of near disaster, mind you! If it weren't for Team Skull, I shudder to think of what would have happened… But they've got good hearts. Charmander started out one of the worst-performing recruits in the Guild’s history, but she's made leaps and bounds of progress. It's easier to look past her age when you see the stacks of pages of notes and research she produces— though it's significantly harder when you see the severity of her spelling! She gave me a paper where she'd listed several questions about expedition protocol, once, and I was appalled by the sight!” A nervous flutter of wings. “Everything she writes is phonetic! Horrifically so! Her handwriting is no better. It's to the point I've debated calling on a tutor to stay at the Guild for a time to provide lessons. I shudder to think of a recruit ever rising to the point she and her partner have with such deplorable writing skills. Should I ever meet her parents, I have strong words to give on the importance of education!”)

It was a coincidence. It had to be. She was a former human who had arrived in town at the same time that the fugitive human had disappeared, but that wasn't enough to be incriminating. He didn't want to think about the alternative. In his questioning the townsfolk, all he learned was how utterly normal this child was— how she had the same quirks and charms as any youth would, despite her constant efforts to seem mature and keep up with her older peers.

She and her partner asked him if he, in all his travels, knew about the cause of her dizzy spells and visions. There it was— the Dimensional Scream, and another nail in Charmander’s coffin.

It had to be a coincidence. If it wasn't, then this child's blood would need to stain his hands if he wanted to continue on himself, and he was starting to doubt how much he wanted to live a life with that fact haunting him.

It would have been easier if it was just death he was facing. He could handle the thought of dying, grim as it was. But he faced no simple looming threat of death, but one of complete and utter erasure from existence— if the grovyle succeeded, it would be as if he never lived in the first place. The same fate would be dealt to Charmander. If the existential terror wasn't enough, Dialga’s visceral descriptions of what erasure felt like were unsettlingly vivid. Dusknoir would simply have to remind himself that an execution would be swifter, less painful— even, in a twisted way, more merciful than what Grovyle was so resolutely seeking.

She wouldn't suffer, and he wouldn't be stricken from all of time and space. It would be a twofold victory, grim as it was— if it ever came to that. He didn't even know if this was the exact same human who could discern Dimensional Screams. All signs pointed to her, but if he refrained from learning anything more, he could claim ignorance. He could leave her in this time and simply dispose of the grovyle, and she would remain as she was, blissfully unaware of her origins.

He just had to stop asking questions. That's all he had to do.

Charmander came up to him one day with a newfound hesitancy in her posture. “Hey, so— I really appreciate you telling me about the Scream a while back. And how you came to help me and Kip when the Manectric Tribe came along, and you scaring off Team Skull, and all that, too.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“I don't really get Pokemon stuff, but I know names are pretty important, like, as a trust thing.”

“That they are.” Don't. I don't want to hear—

“So I figured I could give you mine? As a symbol of, like, gratitude or whatever.”

“There’s no need.” Stop it. Stop it, stop it, stop it, don't tell me anything, I don't want to know—

“Nah, I don't mind.” She smiled widely, puffed out her chest, set her fists on her hips. “It's Twig! Nice to meet you, or whatever you're supposed to say when you… um…” Her prideful posture fell, giving way to concern. “What's with the face? Sorry if I messed that up, I don't really know how things are supposed to— I just thought…”

Of course. Of course he was wrong to hope. When was he ever right to cling to such things? It was her, and he'd known it all along, but he stubbornly refused to accept it.

“I'm sorry, man. You don't have to look so upset.”

“Whatever would give you that idea?”

“You're crossing your arms to hide the fact you're frowning.” She furrowed her brow. “I'm not stupid, Dusknoir.”

You are, though. You're so, so foolish, and you don't even realize it. I could have moved on from here without ever confirming who you were, and you ruined it.

“Apologies,” he murmured tersely. “I'm just a tad overcome. I need a moment.”

“Oh. Yeah, no worries.” She awkwardly reached out and patted the back of his hand as she passed. “I’m gonna go and… I dunno, do some sentry duty. Sorry again if I messed stuff up.”

You should be. You did. Legends and Life, you'll regret this even more than I do when the time comes.

***

It was rather jarring to see the same human that Grovyle had been so determined to keep out of harm’s way laid so low by his own hand. Dusknoir’s appearance at Crystal Cave sent the fugitive packing, and he was left to tend to an injured Team Venture.

Twig shoved his hands away as he assessed the damage. “Don't! Don't, I'm fine— Help Kip! He's— I don't know if he's going to…” Her voice broke, and his heart followed suit at the pitiful sound. “Please. You've got to help him.”

It took a moment to locate the mudkip in question— Twig had evidently been making efforts to lead the fight away from where he had collapsed behind a large stalagmite, unconscious.

He had seen injuries, he had seen gore— but he had never seen so much of them on such a small body.

Twig wasn't overreacting in her fear of whether or not her friend would survive their encounter with Grovyle.

He knew enough first-aid to ensure Kip didn't bleed out in the moment, but lacked the supplies necessary to do much else. Twig was bundling Kip up in her arms before he admitted as much to himself, starting the trek out of the mystery dungeon on shaking legs— and only managed several strides before falling to her knees with a pained groan. She didn't protest when he lifted her into his own arms and resumed the journey with more haste than she could muster in her state— only curled tightly around her partner, to the point that her tail brushed her jaw, promising over and over again that he would be okay.

***

Chimecho received the two recruits and administered the care that Dusknoir was unable to provide, ushering him out of the room so she would have room to work in the cramped Guild infirmary. Left in the silence of the main floor alongside the unsettled guild members who had gathered together when they learned of Team Venture’s state, he found himself standing before the infirmary door, numb. Slowly, the guild members dispersed, the quiet tension in the air left unbroken as they awaited news of their friends’ fates. Chatot remained, noisy in his silence as he alternated between pacing and leafing through paperwork that he never gave more than a few moments of attention at a time. Dusknoir eventually had the sense to seat himself a ways away from the infirmary door and began sifting through the events of the last few hours.

He hadn't pursued Grovyle. He had the opportunity to corner the fugitive— there were a number of dead ends in Crystal Cave, any of which he could have driven him into and had the upper hand in a confrontation where he might capture him— and he didn't take it. He squandered the perfect chance to finally do away with the greatest thorn in his side in favor of assisting another of the trio he'd been tasked with dispatching. He could only hope that Dialga didn't learn of his misstep— there would be hell to pay if he did.

He was pulled from his thoughts by Chatot’s startled squawk as he shot over to the infirmary door when Twig stepped onto the threshold, though not fully through, heavily bandaged and with a pronounced limp. “What are you doing up and about?! You need to remain in the infirmary until you've been given a clean bill of health! I won't have you running about jeopardizing yourself— think of— think of what horrors that would do for the Guild’s image! Get back in there immediately!”

Twig gave him a weary glare. “I'm not going to sit around and watch while Chimecho stitches Kip back into one piece. Move over, man.”

Chatot opened his beak to protest once more, but froze upon glancing over Twig's shoulder— catching an eyeful of Kip’s injuries, judging by the way his feathers flattened against his body in fear. “A-Alright, just this once, then. But sit down! You look faint. I don't want to have you falling and giving yourself a concussion on top of all this!”

“Pretty sure I already have a concussion, Chatot. I also can't sit down unless you let me through the doorway.”

Chatot complied, fretting over her until she laid down on the floor and set her legs up against the wall to combat her supposed faintness that Chatot was so worried about. “Dusknoir, I'm dreadfully sorry, but please keep watch over this recruit for a moment. Chimecho will no doubt need more material for sutures shortly— I must seek supplies in town.” He didn't wait for a response, simply shot up the ladder leading out of the guild in a flurry of wings and panic, leaving Dusknoir and Twig in an vacant chamber.

She closed her eyes, falling so still that she seemed to be asleep. Recalling her mentioning a concussion, he reached over to rouse her— but her sudden words made him freeze with his hand outstretched.

“Chimecho doesn't know if he's gonna make it.”

He couldn't muster a response to that.

“You’ve— you've been around, you know lots of stuff. You've probably seen injuries way worse than those. Kip’s— he's gonna be okay, right?” He watched as she opened her eyes, fixing him with a teary stare as she waited for an answer. “... Right?”

He couldn't look at her. “His injuries are severe,” he finally murmured.

She turned to stare at the ceiling. He did his best to ignore the way her breaths stuttered and hitched, turning into quiet hiccups and whines as she rolled over and shifted to press her back against the wall and cry into her knees. Distantly, he wondered how she managed to cry so quietly, even when every whisper of a sob shook her entire frame with its intensity. He intently avoided pondering what had motivated her to develop such a skill.

It wasn't easy to ignore an injured, distraught child weeping only an arms-length away from him. He found himself unwillingly reminded of the sableye when he first took them in— Twig's situation was different, but the end result was almost the same— a child left adrift and frightened in the face of tragedy. Where the sableye had each other, though, Twig was left to weep without five siblings to answer the slightest whimper with unflinching support. Her partner— her only true friend amongst the Guild, from the sound of things— was on death's door, unable to come to her aid and offer the same words of comfort she had repeated to him as Dusknoir brought the two back to the Guild.

Despite himself, he reached out and set his hand over her back. She stiffened under his palm, and he nearly pulled away, but she caught hold of his thumb on her shoulder and held his hand in place. Her tears continued. He didn't say anything when she curled up tighter and her sobs picked up in volume, too startled by the memory of one of the recruits describing something to him.

(“Twig really doesn't like being touched. Not most times, at least! One time I patted her on the back because she beat my best sentry duty record, and she whirled around and almost took off one of my petals! Like, oh my gosh, I totally freaked! Kip said that she barely lets anyone touch her— you've got to be a real close buddy for her to be okay with it, or else it really freaks her out— but I didn't think it was that bad! Eek!”)

He kept his gaze fixed on the opposite wall and tried not to think about how she felt bonier under his hand than one so young had any right to be.

***

Kip survived, adorned with a number of scars that would remain for all his remaining days as a mudkip. Twig was glued to his side during the days in which he was allowed to exit the infirmary and rest in the dorms, and she became his crutch whenever he struggled to walk about the Guild to build his strength back up after so long being bedridden. The other recruits flocked around the two and made their concern known, offering to help with anything they needed as they recovered.

Kip asked for help checking a particular book out of the Guild library and sending word to Chimecho that the numbing agent was working a bit too well, and that he couldn't feel the fin on his head whatsoever. Twig didn't ask for anything— suddenly every bit as stoney, stern, and stoic as Grovyle had appeared in confrontations once they were separated— and said little over the following days. When one recruit waddled up to her after a workshop with carefully written notes and an apology for how he couldn't write as many pages as she always did on account of how fast the lecturer spoke and how slow his paws were, though, she pulled him into a hug that he meekly returned.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you—”

“Aw, shucks, it's really nothing! Don't mind it at all. I know how much you love those workshops. Me, though, I was lost as soon as the lecturer flipped the first page on her big ol’ chart thingy! You mind explaining how traps form in a mystery dungeon? She kept saying that it was important to know for this workshop, but I didn't go during the one where it was taught.”

She launched into a lecture of her own, more animated than he had seen her since her encounter with Grovyle, and Dusknoir was tempted to applaud the young man for so cleverly distracting her from her wounds.

***

With a trap laid for Grovyle, Dusknoir watched for the right moment to spring it. It didn't take long— the fugitive was gullible and impatient, a dangerous combination of traits that ensured Dusknoir wasn't left waiting for long.

Grovyle was secured— albeit perhaps roughed up a tad more than was totally necessary to capture him— and that meant he had to resolve the other loose end before he departed for his home era.

He called Team Venture forward, out from the back of the crowd where they always lingered. He only had to bring Twig closer, but to summon her alone would raise suspicions at this most critical of moments. She was slow to come up to the front of the crowd and made her way there leaning heavily on her partner when she finally appeared. Evidently, her refusal to rest and recover from her injuries had backfired, leaving her in a worse state than Kip was despite her having the lesser wounds at the beginning.

He only needed her. He could leave Kip behind and have a single child’s death weighing on him for eternity instead of two, if only they would stop clinging to each other for one measly second. He gave a speech describing his gratitude, waiting for the moment when she would shift her weight off of his side and onto her own two feet so he could grab her and be off— and there it was. He seized her in a hand and shot back into the passage of time, realizing too late that Kip was dragged along by her fistful of his scarf.

Great. Of course.

He caught hold of the boy when Twig’s own grip came loose and cursed whatever Legends were watching and no doubt laughing at his luck.

***

He really should have expected Grovyle would have another trick lying in wait before the execution. He'd hoped that Kip and Twig at least would remain unconscious for the act, but Grovyle's hissing and spitting curses his way roused them, and they were pulled along with his escape plan as a result. Dusknoir was going to kill him personally if things continued to sour thanks to him. When they had the three cornered— along with Celebi, even— he found himself possessed by the urge to twist the knife.

It was cruel to reveal Twig’s identity to Grovyle in order to stamp out any bit of resistance in him, but Dusknoir would be lying if he said it didn't give him some awful sense of catharsis to see the horrified guilt in his face— he finally realized just what he'd done by beating a child unconscious and nearly doing the same to a second one in Crystal Cave, and Dusknoir took a certain glee in his regret. Twig’s look of disgust at the reveal only drove the knife deeper. Good. He deserves it. He put out a hand and sent a shadow snaking along the ground, ready to take the wretch out—

— and Twig tackled Grovyle out of the way of the attack, putting herself in the range of the strike. He fumbled, dampening the worst of the blow before it hit her, but she still let out a sharp cry in response. Legends and Life, he would rather put the two youths out of their misery with something quick, but that was made difficult by their insistence to throw themselves in harm's way as living shields for the one target he wanted to suffer.

Fine, then. He reached out to snatch Kip up and snap his neck, but Twig surged into Dusknoir with such force she managed to throw him against a tree and lit a barrier of flame between them and her allies.

She kicked off of him, further dizzying him thanks to her using his eye as her chosen springboard, and landed ready to dash back to her group— but stopped short when she saw the long wall of fire between them.

(He'd never seen her use any sort of attack before that incorporated the flames she could manifest as a charmander— only ever using her fists, teeth, and even fallen branches to strike— and he suddenly recalled how he could count the hours at the Guild by how many times she'd let out a startled yelp when she'd see her own tail. Back then, he thought she'd simply never grown accustomed to an extra limb. It was with a bitter, weary laugh now that he realized she was afraid of fire.)

He reached out, hand outstretched to take her by the throat.

Kip sprang up from the ground that he had tunneled into and headbutted him hard, whirling around to douse the flames and shove his partner forward. “Come on, come on, we've got to get out of—!”

Grovyle snatched the girl up as he sprang for the passage of time, not even sparing her partner a second glance as he leveled Dusknoir with a deadly glare when he passed. Kip was only pulled along by Twig grabbing his scarf and pulling him into her arms as they darted into the passage of time, Celebi swiftly shuttering it and vanishing in a shimmer of air.

Lovely.

***

Grovyle hadn't told Twig what would happen to her if their efforts to restore Temporal Tower succeeded. Of all the things he'd done, this one failure to act was his most repulsive misdeed by far.

She was baffled by Dusknoir's question of whether she truly didn't fear erasure, looking to Grovyle for answers. He stuttered and stammered, resisting her request for the truth at first, and Dusknoir, for all his willingness to see his instructions to kill these two as just business a few seconds ago, concluded that it would be a lovely vacation to throttle Grovyle in particular.

One last attempt to dispatch Twig as kindly as he could was once again foiled— Grovyle passed on the burden of his mission to a child who just learned she was giving up her entire existence to change a future that was uncertain— and he forced Dusknoir into the passage of time.

***

Erasure was less painful than he expected. It was less like being ripped apart by every second he had lived and more like his very soul was slowly being brushed away, like he was falling asleep. Twig had gone through with her part, then. He hoped the event of her disappearance wasn't too frightening for her or Kip.

Dusknoir could feel himself slipping. He could barely summon the words as he asked, “Grovyle… My life… did it shine?”

Grovyle must have been just as exhausted as Dusknoir, but he smiled despite it. His hand shook as he reached out to grip his arm. His voice trembled with effort as he fought to speak. “Extraordinarily.”

It was a pitiful scrap of comfort— meaningless, really. But that simple response, combined with the sun rising behind the collapsed forms of his unlikely allies moved him to tears.

Okay. If this was how he was struck from all of time and space, it was okay. He would be able to accept it.

As dawn broke for the first time in decades gone uncounted, Dusknoir stopped clinging to the world about him, and let himself drift away completely.

***

To return to existence was unexpected. To be given a second chance at life by Dialga himself was even more unexpected. But perhaps most unexpected of all was how much he hated this bright future’s refusal to admit all of the terrors that had taken place on its soil.

Grovyle and Celebi felt similarly. The decision to immigrate to the Present was unanimous, heightened by Grovyle's late realization that if they'd been restored, Twig likely was as well— Celebi couldn't open a passage of time fast enough for his liking once the idea hit him, and he bolted through it the moment it was vaguely safe to traverse.

“… He's certainly eager to move in.”

“Dusknoir, dear, you know full well he's not leaping at the opportunity to pick out wallpaper.” She turned to the passage, face pensive. “It's been so long since I've seen them in this timeline… I'm almost afraid. How do I look? Are my antennae straight? Are my wings as dazzling as ever?”

He gave her a flat stare.

“You have no appreciation for beauty! Hmph!” She feigned anger for only a moment before glancing back at him, worried. “If you'd like a moment, Dusknoir, you can wait here and prepare yourself. I know you didn't part on the best of terms with our two little explorers.”

“I doubt they're very little anymore.”

“You're right! Oh my goodness, they must be full-grown by now… I'm going through, dear, but you come on out only when you're ready.”

He waited for a feeling of readiness to overtake him.

It never did.

All he could do was take a breath and enter the passage.

He was greeted by sunlight, dappled shadows, treetop canopies rustling overhead, and Twig's startled command for Kip to get behind her.

She was barely any taller, covered in scars he didn't remember her wearing when they last parted ways, and she had her fists balled up in front of her and ready to lash out the second he approached. Grovyle stepped forward and tried to explain, and her look of frightened fury gave way to confusion, then frustration.

“There's— No way. There's no way he did any of that. He's just trying to get our guards down again.” She cast a vicious glare his way. “What, was Primal Dialga a cover? Were you really working with Darkrai all along? Too bad, we beat your real boss months ago! Get out of here before I—”

Kip stepped forward, brushing aside his partner's threats with a smile. His words were sincere and simple. “I knew you were too nice to be faking it. All the times in Treasure Town, Amp Plains, Crystal Cave— I told you, Twig. C’mon, you owe me five-hundred poké!”

She sputtered for a moment as he simply held out a paw expectantly. She reached into her bag and begrudgingly slid a large coin into his waiting palm. He gave her a smug smile as Dusknoir looked between them.

“Do you two often bet on the intentions of those you meet?” He asked, unsettled by the well-practiced exchange.

“It’s a joke. Mostly. And we don't do it too much,” Kip answered.

He was scared to hear the answer he was certain he already knew. “And what started this routine between you?”

To his surprise, they didn't respond by pointing to him. Twig crossed her arms and murmured, surprisingly hesitant, “We got… um. Don't know if there's a specific word for it in Pokéspeak, but we thought we were talking to Cresselia, and it turned out it was very much not Cresselia that we were talking to. We started up the joke to deal with that.”

“A Cresselia that wasn't Cresselia— who would impersonate a Legend?”

Twig gave him a once-over, her suspiciousness giving way to exhaustion. “You know that Darkrai dude I mentioned a bit ago?”

The explanation that followed wasn't as horrifying as the manner in which it was told. Kip admitted his fears as he explained their subsequent clash with a Legend who masterminded Dialga's decay, but Twig dismissed hers. The blatant attempt to put on a brave face and minimize her own anxieties— anxieties which still clearly affected her, judging by the way she avoided eye contact and her tail’s flame fizzled and hissed while burning an anxious magenta— brought to mind a memory he'd almost forgotten.

(A bloody child shakily shoving helping hands aside, sobbing for him to ignore her wounds and tend to her partner. A refusal of aid in favor of assisting another.)

His hands curled into fists, and he looked away. Twig tensed and took a half-step closer to Kip, and the sight killed him.

***

Kip offered their motley trio a place in his and Twig's home as they searched for more permanent lodgings. They accepted, much to Twig's poorly hidden chagrin.

Everyone else had retired for the night— curled up in makeshift beds pulled haphazardly together out of blankets and pitiful amounts of straw insufficient for any real mattress. Grovyle snored loudly, sleeping deeply for perhaps the first time Dusknoir had ever been around to see, and Celebi had tucked herself tidily into her bed, breaths whistling lightly as she rested. Kip was doing the same a short distance away. Twig, meanwhile, sat at a table across the room, pretending to look over papers she must have read ten times each by now, glaring up at him every time she leafed through the stack anew.

The implication that she didn't trust him around her unconscious friends and had taken up watch to protect them wasn't lost on him.

She did this for multiple nights. She'd reached the point that she was nodding off in the daytime, exhausted by her nightly vigils, but she still kept them up. He had attempted to fake sleeping earlier in the night so she'd allow herself rest, but she remained awake even then— and so he swiftly gave up the ruse in favor of his typical pattern of sleep. Each evening, she'd take up her post at the table and start skimming papers with feigned interest, keeping an eye on his every move and tensing whenever he so much as twitched.

He deserved each terrified glower she gave him. His knowledge of his guilt didn't make it any easier to see one so young carrying the world on her shoulders.

She was grown now— likely nearing an evolution, if the reddish scales now dotting her skin meant anything— but she still had the eyes of a haunted child when the nights were long and her watch over her friends wore on her.

She finally slipped up one evening, her head settled on folded arms over the table’s surface, eyelids drifting closed until her breathing finally evened out and she fell asleep. He sighed with relief, but the reassurance that she'd finally get some rest was short-lived.

She flinched in her sleep, murmuring fearfully, fingers twitching against the tabletop she'd slumped over.

Uncertain of what to do, but called to help all the same, he rose and pulled a blanket from the meager sheets comprising her empty bed. She relaxed when he draped it over her, her hands no longer balling into fists and her tail’s flame glowing a warm, peaceful white instead of flickering between aggressive violets and panicked magentas.

She looked smaller as she slept— as if in her slumber she forgot to puff herself up and pretend she was self-assured and confident. She looked like a recruit too young to keep up with her older peers and too naive to understand the danger she threw herself readily into.

She looked like a child.

She looked like a child, but she'd never had the chance to truly be one. Between running for her life in the Dark Future, to taking on a schooling far too intensive for those her age, to waging battles with Legends and shouldering whatever trauma she'd garnered from all of it— she'd never been allowed such an opportunity.

(He was part of that. He was part of the reasons she'd never been able to grow up as a child should. He'd been part of the wretched selection of foes who robbed her of her youth.)

Dusknoir tugged the blanket higher around the girl's shoulders. She sighed a cozy, content sound, and he left for a late night walk.

He didn't mention the blanket come morning. She left it unspoken as well.

(She took a glance at her post the next evening and turned away, electing to sprawl out in her bed and snore almost loud enough to put Grovyle to shame.)

(It was a simple thing. Meaningless, really, and no great signifier of any faith that had been rebuilt. But it moved him near to tears regardless as she dropped off to sleep before any of the rest of them. She trusted them all to keep her safe and be safe in turn— and he was encircled in that trust.)

(It wasn't the unwavering faith of a child, but it was something, and it was something that meant the world.)

[justanotherfanfolks]

Guys saw this post and it set off the part of my brain where Cater Diamond lives rent free.

@krenenbaker you inspired this.

Gosh, I wanna throw Cater under a microscope.

Like he is such a fascinating character, it's so sad that people just see him as the "social media character." I remember a few months after I got the game I was reading through his vignettes and he was just setting off the gears in my head. Especially his Halloween vignette. I've talked about it before, but it gives us so much insight into Cater. How he doesn't like letting people in and keeps everyone at arms length, even Trey. When Trey was a Starsender, he wouldn't tell him his actual wish. And he was the same before when they got visited by a previous Starsender the year before. Trey knows there's something about him, but he is Trey "But That's None of My Business" Clover so he never pries. He's the closest to Cater, but maybe that's what makes Cater so wary. And how when his mandrake threatened to pull down the curtain, he shoved it back, he changed the subject. We also almost never get Cater by himself. He's always surrounded by people, always performing. And it's hard to tell what he's thinking because he's always brushing stuff aside with a smile on his face. But his Halloween vignette is one where we actually get to see some cracks in that, we actually get a peek into his brain. He's scared of getting too close to people because every time he lets someone in, he has to leave. He clearly cares about the people around him, but he has a track record that prevents him from showing too much of that. And by extension, we as an audience don't get to see too much of who he is behind closed doors. We know he puts on a show, he doesn't like showing when things get to him. When he mentions moving around a lot, he doesn't mention the struggle of it out loud. He says he likes Magicam for the casual connections and how it helps him keep in touch with old faces, but in his vignette when he actually gets messages from one of these faces he doesn't want to engage. In Silver's Halloween vignette he says his life has taught him to live in the moment. But it also taught him to not get comfortable, to keep walls up. He didn’t even tell his dorm something as simple as how he doesn't like sweets for years. Back on Halloween, he watches Diasomnia with something like envy. How they can be there for each other, be close. How they couldn't understand. Not knowing how someone there actually can understand.

Book 7 spoilers mentioned:

I also have a side tangent about him being multifaceted and always blending into what he expects people want. In Book 7, Cater is the only one we see truly struggling with the internships. Like, it is painfully relatable, I feel so called out. We go around the Juniors and see them feeling confident in their plans and here Cater is with his head on a desk feeling more confused and uncertain the more people he talks to. He's spent so much time following what other people want, putting on a show, he doesn't know where to go now. Let's not even mention how this is the moment he knew was coming for the past 3 years: that inevitable goodbye. I feel like Cater could be so interesting for the conflict going on in Diasomnia, but I'm not sure if they'll use him.

Tangent closing: I really like Cater. He's really well written and I don't think he gets enough respect on that front. He gets really good dialogue lines, but he also gets so much more. To me, he's one of the best characters in the game.

I've said it before and I'll say it again, the Cangst is real people.