#Perfect Garbage Studios

[gravedirtt]

LOVE SHORE IS OUT NOW. 💜

The game that I’ve worked on for 4 years is out today, and it feels surreal. Perfect Garbage grew up as a self-funded, internally driven studio headed by two QPoC writers because of this game, and I became a Narrative Designer because of it. We put a lot of heart into Love Shore, and we hope you feel that in every moment.

Here’s the link.

[elfwreck]

I have a friend who isn't anti-porn but it makes her sad that fanfic has a reputation for being porny and usually not very good. I'm fine with both those things and my views mostly align with that of AO3. I disagree with the idea that porn and badness are treated as equivalent, but for most people that's just how they think. But I was wondering if youve ever written something about this?

There is a lot of smut at AO3.

There is a lot of bad writing at AO3.

There's a lot of badly written smut at AO3.

...None of those are problems except for the people who think there is something wrong with those existing, or that there needs to be some external value that "balances" those that make those acceptable to exist as unwanted side-effects of "the good stuff."

The badly-written smut is also "the good stuff."

It's part of the reason AO3 exists. It's not intended to be an archive for "the high-quality fanfic that could be published if it weren't about characters that someone else wrote first"; it's an archive for "what fanfic writers want to write." That makes the terrible writing and the tacky porn and the badly-written tacky porn part of the reason the archive exists.

Tangent 1 (I'll connect these points later): Theodore Sturgeon said "90% of everything is crud." He was more-or-less referring to the science fiction field in the 50s, but it definitely extended to politics, business, and writing outside of science fiction.

...He was talking about published books in the 50s. Turns out, a lot more than 90% of writing is crud when there aren't any gatekeepers between it and the readers. But also:

Tangent 2, from the book "Art and Fear":

[A] ceramics teacher announced on opening day that he was dividing the class into two groups. All those on the left side of the studio, he said, would be graded solely on the quantity of work they produced, all those on the right solely on its quality. His procedure was simple: on the final day of class he would bring in his bathroom scales and weigh the work of the “quantity” group: fifty pound of pots rated an “A”, forty pounds a “B”, and so on. Those being graded on “quality”, however, needed to produce only one pot — albeit a perfect one — to get an “A”. Well, came grading time and a curious fact emerged: the works of highest quality were all produced by the group being graded for quantity. It seems that while the “quantity” group was busily churning out piles of work – and learning from their mistakes — the “quality” group had sat theorizing about perfection, and in the end had little more to show for their efforts than grandiose theories and a pile of dead clay.

You don't get to "quality writing" without going through a lot of crappy writing.

That doesn't mean the crappy writing is garbage to be thrown out. If you make 50 pots or bowls or vases, and only one of them is The Good One... most of the rest are okay. Maybe not sale-quality good, but your-kitchen-table quality good. Maybe some aren't that good and are kids-toy-in-the-sandbox level good.

Bad writing has a purpose for the writer: they can use it as practice to get better. It has a purpose for the reader: It can serve as inspiration ("I can do better than that") or grammatical instruction ("that...does not work; why doesn't that work?") or just as entertainment ("eh, so it's missing a few commas; I can still understand it").

Smut and porn writing works the same way. It's of some value to the writer, and some to the readers.

It's not of value to everyone. That's what tags and filters are for, and why there's a summary and list of stats (like word counts)--so you can figure out if you're one of the readers for whom this piece of writing is useful or interesting.

But AO3, like any library, is not there to take the top 5% of Excellent Writing and provide it a showcase. It is absolutely for all 50 lbs of pots.

If your friend wants to read the good stuff, there are rec lists and collections to help her find it.

If she already manages that, and is just annoyed at how much of the not-good stuff (however she defines that) exists... she's picked the wrong battle. She's arguing with the ocean that it has too many kinds of fish and some are poisonous a lot of them are ugly.

[egomiso]

the dressing room

your love for kenyu wins over common sense when you decide to visit him at his shoot one day chara: kenyu yukimiya x f!reader warning: nsfw content: oral, praise, mirror k!nk, creampie

Kenyu Yukimiya was a well-rounded guy.

A little too well-rounded. Excellent in soccer, an attractive model, and a charismatic personality, there was nothing he couldn't achieve. Too perfect and no rough edges. You wondered if you were undeserving of him, if that one day he would realize it and discard you to the side like the garbage you were.

Well, too bad. Because you were selfish and could never be the saint that lets him go. Rather, you would drag him down, straight down to hell, tainting his pure qualities.

He was so beautiful. And you loved him for that.

As you walked into the studio that Kenyu Yukimiya was supposedly working in today, you set down your bag containing his food and looked around. The studio was draped in white and organized, with cameras set up in the corner. You noticed a lot of familiar faces, including his manager and other employees under the same company, but your boyfriend was nowhere in sight.

You decided to go look for him.

Approaching one of the narrow hallways extending out from the main room, you peeked through doors that led to restrooms and storage rooms. Eventually, there was a door labeled Dressing Room. There was a likely chance he was in here, so with a deep breath, you raised your hand and knocked on the wood surface.

It took a few seconds, but a voice could be heard behind the door.

One that could only be described as Kenyu's.

You turned the knob and opened it, to see him there, sitting in a chair before the mirror. Surprisingly, it was empty except for him, the silence of it unusual. By now, the makeup artist would generally be in here, shouting orders to her minions.

"Love!" His eyes widened by your presence. He instantly got up from his seat, coming towards your way. "Why didn't you call me when you got here?"

You smiled. "I wanted to surprise you. I got you food too... but I left it out in the studio room."

Just as you were about to turn around to look for the forgotten food, his hand was on your arm, the warmth suddenly surrounding you like a thick fog. "No, it's okay. I can eat later."

"Is that so?" You tilted your head.

"Yes, because I'd rather eat you," he said jokingly, but the way his eyes darkened in hunger made it not so jokey.

You leaned on the door to shut it, your fingers twisting the key fob to lock it without looking back once. Your eyes stayed trained on your boyfriend. "You're so naughty, Ken."

With that, you closed the distance between the two of you, crashing your lips onto his. Soft and warm, they gave you a rush of butterflies as they always do, your heart beating against your chest, similarly to the day you first shared your kiss. As your tongue slithered into his mouth to dance alongside his, the rhythm of the kiss deepened and fastened. You held tightly onto him, feeling the heat of his proximity, causing your lower region to grow wet.

You pulled away first, smirking at his disappointed look. With your hand in his, you pulled him back to the mirrors and pushed him into the seat he originally sat at.

You pretended not to notice the outline of the hard-on that was showing on his pants, or the flustered red look on his adorable face. You loved seeing this side of him, something so much more vulnerable compared to the leader persona he kept. It was why it was too goddamn hard to let him go.

"[Name]..." he whined, eyes flitting about.

You picked up the glasses he left on the counter and held it up to him. "Put your glasses back on."

He blinked at you for a moment, surprised. "It's lame, isn't it? I hate being so blind."

"No. It's not. I love your glasses. You're fucking hot in them."

"I do...?" He instantly took the pair from your hand and put them on. He had the brightest grin on, now that he could see you fully. Not that it was helping his hard-on though... "This is why I love you."

You wrapped your arm around him and sat on his lap, grinning at the feeling of his boner. As you pressed your weight down against it, he grabbed your face into his direction. His orange eyes glimmered dangerously behind the rims, impatient and ready to devour. No longer so gentle and kind, he was ready to tear you apart.

"You're asking for it," he growled.

He kissed your neck, sucking succulently at the skin to mark you whole. "Mhm... I am." As he was about to take off his glasses again, you stopped him. "Don't. Fuck me in your glasses."

"Yes, my queen," he responded. Pulling your white blouse apart to reveal your bra, he continued to trace kisses down your body, from your collarbone to your torso. The peppered kisses tickled your skin, contributing to the heat between your legs. Eventually, he unbuckled the bra to reveal the blossom of your breasts.

His eyes widened, taking it all in, savoring it bit by bit. "You're a goddess. My goddess."

He kissed your breasts and started sucking at the nipples, sending a rush of euphoria through your head. You moaned with your head leaning back, clutching at the lengths of his brown hair.

And with that, he yanked at your pants to reveal your panties, already sopping wet. You worked your fingers to take his clothes off as well, pulling him up from the chair. His body was sculpted pristinely, built from his years of soccer, slender but with muscle rippling along his limbs. He was incredible to look at, and you wondered what you ever did in this lifetime to earn such a view.

"You're so fucking hot," he whispered.

"Then prove it."

He kissed you once more, and while doing so, stuck his fingers into the folds of your pussy. You moaned into the kiss, feeling the motions of the fingers sliding up and down in repetitive motion, sending you into orbit at the sensation.

"Ken-- mmph!"

He fiddled them expertly as if playing on a string instrument, knowing exactly where to hit the right spots.

"Shit," you moaned.

He pulled his fingers out the moment you were getting close, edging you on by the second. "You like my fingers, hm? I bet you'd like something bigger more."

You breathed out, feeling wet, slimy liquid rolling down your leg. However horny you were, you were also not going down without a fight. Kenyu somehow always flipped the switch to your competitive side -- and for that, you wanted to see him beg today. "You're not the only player on this field." Your hand wrapped around his large dick, feeling the layered folds of its skin. It was real hard, perfectly ready for your pussy. You massaged it up and down, before getting down to take it with your mouth.

A kiss on the tip of his member left him groaning instantly. "Fuck, [Name]." Your lips parted as you leaned forward, taking in the huge thing. The walls of your cheeks wrapped around it, as the tip hit the back of your throat. It was huge, but you loved it, because it tasted just like him.

His hips buckled and he shoved forward, lodging his penis deeper into your throat. Grunts sounded the still air, his sexy voice turning you on even further.

"Your mouth is so good," he moaned, his hands grabbing each side of your face. "Give it to me, love. Urgh!"

You savored his taste, his gifts, his love. Seeing him this way, so opposite from his put together persona, you only wanted him even more. More, more, more! He was yours, and it should stay this way until the end of this lifetime. You would give him this outpour of love that he could never find elsewhere. If he were to ever astray, this ensured he would make his way back to you.

Because you kept him addicted to you.

As you face fucked him, slithering your tongue along the edges of his dick, you watched his expression carefully. From the sweat sheened forehead to the ecstatic, high glint in his gaze, to the lull of his mouth hanging, you could feel your pussy grow tighter from the sight of it. Your beautiful Kenyu. Your shining star. To satisfy him was a gift from the heavens above.

"I-I'm going to..." he trailed off. Knowing him, you released the hold of your mouth from his penis, grinning mischievously. He was breathing heavily, wiping at his mouth. "Can we make love now, my love?"

"Is that what you really want?" you asked, grabbing hold of his chin.

An orange gaze full of yearning beneath lopsided glasses, he wanted it so bad -- wanted you so bad.

You kissed him, once, and then nodded in approval. "Mirror."

That was all it took. He pushed the weight of your body against the counter, clearing the makeup products with the swipe of his arm. Those same muscular arms created a makeshift cage on either side of your hips, trapping you in with his heat and testosterone. You watched the mirror closely, as he slowly leaned over your shoulder to kiss your collarbones.

With that, he pressed you down and your breasts landed on cool surface, spreading before the mirror. With a concentrated furrow of the brow, he held his member and inserted it into you, the feeling of it leaving you nearly reeling. So good!

Your eyes shadowed in lust, your mouth painted in a lopsided, crazed smile. Without missing a beat, you watched his reaction closely, the way it darkened of his own ego.

Love me like it is your last day.

"You're so tight," he told you with a grit.

"Just for you," you exhaled, as he started to shove his dick deeper, lodging it to the depths of your core. You were one with him, your ass to his waist, together and forever. He was the other half of your heart, the piece that filled the gaping hole that was your existence.

His hips buckled back and forth, the rhythm of his penis accelerating, pounding into your pussy. It hit the spots that brought you to a high. Skin on skin contact slapping rough became the sound of music to your ears.

"God save me!" you breathed out.

"I am your God," he said in response, sending a shiver down your spine. It reminded you once more why you loved him so. His true ego, his true self, only that was shown to you in these moments. He had multiple faucets to him -- multiple layers like an onion to peel. And everyday, you would continue to learn more about him. He could never grow boring. Not to you.

"Mmph!" you moaned, your fingers scratching the counter, trembling.

It was so hot, watching him through the mirror, tearing you down like lion's prey.

He fucked you like there was no tomorrow, made love to you like there was no tomorrow, in this small dressing room.

He made love to you in a place he shouldn't have, crossed a boundary at work when he should have stayed professional instead.

But you were honored. He made an exception just for you.

The friction of his dick against your vagina was heating up, the sensation comforting and delightful. It felt so good, so worth it, and so hot to do something so risky.

"You're so naughty, boy." Your words left as a slur, mouth dry and jumbled by it all.

As if your words were a catalyst of a jinx, a knock on the door outside of the dressing room echoed suddenly. The two of you stilled, eyes wide and frozen in place. Your heartbeat was loud in your ears, but the pulse of your vagina was louder.

"Kenyu, are you in there?" It was his manager. "We'll begin the photoshoot soon."

"Y-Yes! I'm eating my lunch first, I'll be there soon!" he called to her. His tone was light and pure, the cheeks of his face tinted in red. He played it off smoothly, as if his dick wasn't lodged deep into you, yearning for more. You almost laughed. What a bad, lying boy he was, lying straight through pearly, white teeth to his manager while in such a deranged position. Oh how you loved every second of it.

Footsteps faded away, and it appeared his excuse had been bought for the time being.

You giggled and he sighed a breath of relief. "You always get me in some sort of trouble, [Name]."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"..."

"Exactly. So finish what you started."

He did it without any objections, ramming his cock into you even harder than before, your vagina accepting its length and girth naturally. This time, the two of you attempted to stay quieter, the thrill of the dangers adding onto it. You muffled your moans and he muffled his grunts, the temptations endless. Steadily, his thrusts were slowing down as his teeth grind harshly.

"Love, I'm c-coming soon."

You were nearly reaching your climax as well, the dam of stimulation ready to burst open. He groaned deeply and his head hung low, his chin grazing your head. Heat of his semen poured into you, oozing and creeping into your body's system. And you accepted it, because you accepted all of him.

It caused you to reach yours too and the high of a climax had your knees weak, taking you everything not to howl. So, so good. So damn good.

The cum dripped down your leg and to the floor, a beautiful mixture of yours and Kenyu's creation.

He pulled himself out of you and you turned around to embrace him with gentle arms. Despite how sticky and sweaty his body was, you were fine with it, because this was the product of your work. His arms squeezed tightly around you, the strength of them undeniable.

"Your motivation for today," you whispered.

"Nearly, got me in trouble, but it was worth it."

"Because someone couldn't control himself.''

"Just being in your presence makes me feral."

You grinned, petting his face softly. "Don't feed into my ego."

He tilted his head innocently. "But you already have the biggest one."

You lightly smacked him in the head, shooting him a glare. If he wasn't careful, he was going to gain some blue balls the next time. That would show him.

"I love you," he said, taking off his glasses and rubbing the fog off. You fought against the growing smile. Someone was breathing a little hard. How cute.

"I love you more."

[astraysimp]

My Favorite Painting

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀Hi besties! I’m bring you some more dad!skz! So far I have covered Han,Lee Know, Changbin and Seungmin and now It’s our darling dumpling Hyunjinnie’s turn!

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀Summary: Mother’s day is approaching and Hyunjin has the perfect present in mind , for you, from him and his princess 

⌦ .｡.:*♡ 이슬 (Iseul): meaning dew– your 8 month old princess 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀Warnings: fluff, pet names, dad!hyunjin, fem!reader, Hyunjin teaches Iseul how to paint 

Hyunjin was excited, your first mother’s day was coming up and he wanted to make you a special present. The present being a painting of a bouquet of  flowers, the flowers being baby Iseul’s handprints. With the holiday being a few days away, he had to get this done soon. So, he grabbed his art supplies and canvas before going to get his precious baby.Luckily, you had been out grocery shopping at the time when he planned on making the painting.

Iseul had just eaten lunch and was still in her highchair, giggling up at Hyunjin. Smiling, Hyunjin leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheeks. “ Hi my dew drop, are you excited to make mommy’s present? Mommy’s going to love it so much.” He smiled, as he set the canvas on the highchair tray and laughed as Iseul ran her hands over the fabric. “That’s a canvas, dew drop. We’re going to put your little handprints on it, dew drop. Your cute little hands,” he laughed and grabbed 2 tubes of acrylic paint, turning to Iseul. “ dew drop, do you want to do yellow or pink, munchkin? Noransaek ttoneun bunhongsaek?” He smiled, holding the two tubes up. Giggling, Iseul made grabby hands at the pink paint. “Bunhongsaek, iseul? Pink for my princess,” Hyunjin laughed and opened the tube grabbing a sponge brush. Iseul smiled up at him and kicked her feet. “Is my dew drop ready? It’s going to be cold, princess.” He cooed, kissing her forehead before he carefully took ahold of her left hand and coated it in the paint. Iseul gasped and looked down at her hand, pulling it to her mouth. “Uh oh, no no no, dew drop. We don’t eat the paint, it’s icky icky.” Hyunjin laughed, taking her hand away from her mouth and pressed it onto the canvas, revealing a pink handprint. She giggled and turned to Hyunjin, clapping her hands. “ So pretty, dew drop. That’s your hand! Your little hand.” He smiled and kissed her forehead, wiping her hand with a baby wipe.

“One more time, dew drop, one more.” He cooed, coating her right hand in yellow paint. Smiling, Hyunjin carefully pressed her hand against the canvas, leaving a yellow handprint behind. “Wah, so cute! Look dew drop, your hands!  He smiled and kissed her cheeks before wiping her hands off with a baby wipe, before discarding it into the garbage can. Carefully taking Iseul into his arms, Hyunjin sat at the kitchen table, with her on his lap.” Now we need to add the stem and leaves, dew drop. Do you want to help daddy?” He smiled, bouncing her on his lap and squeezing a small dollop of green paint onto a paint palette. Giggling, Iseul squealed and clapped her hands, reaching towards the paint.Hyunjin took a paint brush into his hands, carefully getting Iseul to hold it, his hand wrapping around her small one. “This is how we hold the brush, my dew drop.Now we put it in the paint,” he explained as he dipped the brush into the paint. Gasping, Iseul looked up at him and back to the canvas, as if she asked him what to do next. “See, now we draw a line going dooowwwnnnn,” He said softly, guiding her hand to paint straight lines down from each handprint. “Those are the stems, and now we add little leaves,” he explained, guiding her to add little swipes to act as leaves. Smiling, he gently took the brush from her hand and set it into the cup of water he had out. “Now, dew drop, we’re all done. See? Mommy will love it, princess.” He cooed, picking her up and taking the painting to dry in his studio . Soon  after, you arrived home and walked into the house. “Hyun? Baby? Iseul?”

┏━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┓┏━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┓1 Week Later┏━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┓

Today was mother’s day and Hyunjin had made sure your day started off well. He had prepared you a breakfast in bed– complete with heart shaped chocolate chip pancakes, a bowl of fruit cut into hearts, your favorite iced coffee, flowers , a card and a Versace dress(to wear to lunch later). He had brought Iseul into your room, laying her on your chest, to wake you up. Your morning was perfect and now it was lunch time.

Hyunjin had taken the day off work, so he could spend your first mother’s day with you and Iseul. Now, the three of you were at a nice lunch spot he had found. The weather was beautiful so you decided to be seated outdoors. You were waiting for your food, currently holding iseul in your lap and making small talk. “I hope you’re enjoying your first Mother’s day, my love.” he smiled at you , reaching to press a kiss to your cheek. “Oh hyune, it’s been perfect, so far. Thank you so much,” you cooed at him, kissing the back of his hand. Bouncing Iseul on your lap, you pressed kisses to her hair, “and thank you my precious princess. You’re the best present I could ask for, dew drop.” You smiled, as she smiled up at you. Hyunjin smiled, his eyes full of love and pulled out the bag, sitting next to him. “Hey, lovely. Speaking of presents….I have another one for you. I mean, from me and Iseul,” He chuckled, sliding the bag over to you. “Another? Honey, you’ve already done and gotten so much for me,” You pouted, adjusting Iseul as she wiggled on your lap. “Just open it…I think you’ll really like this one,” He smiled, patting your hand. 

So, you carefully reached into the bag,pulling the tissue paper out, making sure you held a tight grip on Iseul. Pulling the canvas out, you gasped and felt your eyes water. “Oh my…..are these her handprints?” You sniffled, looking at Hyunjin as you cuddled closer to your chest. Nodding, Hyunjin leaned over to peck your lips and wipe your tears. “Mhm, they are, dove.” He smiled, also kissing Iseul’s cheek. “Oh Hyune, I love it. This is so precious. I’ll cherish it, and you two, forever,” You smiled, holding Iseul up to have her at eye level with you. Kissing all over her face, you smiled, “oh my precious princess. Mommy loves your present so much. Thank you, dew drop. I love you, mommy loves you,” you cooed.Iseul giggled and cupped your cheeks in her hands– the same hands used to make the artwork you were gifted.Feeling himself tear up, Hyunjin snapped a picture of your moment with Iseul and set it as his wallpaper on his phone. Kissing your cheeks, he smiled and nudged the bag towards you. “Dovey, there’s more. Keep going,’” he cooed. Turning back to him, you lowered Iseul into your lap and looked at the bag. “More?Aish, Hyune, this is too much,” You whined, in protest. Shaking his head,  he chuckled and pushed the bag to you. “There’s never too much for you, my muse. You gave me Iseul,” he stated, leaning to pinch her cheek. Reaching into the bag, you pulled out a picture frame, holding one of your fondest memories of your little family– you holding ,a then, newborn Isuel angling her towards the camera and Hyunjin sitting next to you on the hospital bed , arms around you with his cheeks resting on the top of your head.Both of you with proud yet soft smiles gracing your faces. Gasping, you teared up and looked at Hyunjin. “Baby……this is beautiful. Thank you,” you whispered. Softly smiling at you, Hyunjin nodded , tears filling his own eyes. “Of course, my dove. I know Iseul wasn’t exactly planned, but she’s changed my life so much, forever. I didn’t know what love was until I met you and you made my heart grow tenfold. Then, you told me you were pregnant and my heart grew more. But…seeing you grow to house her and then bring her into the world, made me realize how much I loved you and will always love you. Thank you for loving me, giving me yourself and her and making me a daddy. I love you and Iseul so incomprehensibly,, my heart.” He whispered, holding your hand, tears falling down his cheeks. “Oh, my baby, There’s no need to thank me. You and Iseul are my greatest gifts and my biggest treasures.”

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °Please don’t steal, modify, copy, plagiarize, repost or claim my works┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °AStraySimp2023┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °,

𓆩♡𓆪Tags: @straykeedz-recs 𓆩♡𓆪 @straykeedz𓆩♡𓆪 @cheeseceli𓆩♡𓆪@jinnie-ret𓆩♡𓆪@moonjxsung𓆩♡𓆪@channiesbakery𓆩♡𓆪 @hyunsvngs ~open 𓆩♡𓆪

[mamsieur]

Evil Twin | Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Floyd!Reader

Summary : Who would have guessed that sweet and discreet Bob had a twin sister who was his opposite ? Not the Dagger Squad, that's for sure.

TW : mention of past abuse, mention of abusive relationship, mention of alcohol, mention of sex, angst and fluff, angst with happy ending

Length : 6980 words

AN : Bob is the sweetest and I'm sure he's an overprotective brother.

posted on AO3 July 22, 2023

You were the quintessential of the pop-rock star.  You had a lot of problems with the press, both concerning your love life and the setbacks of your ex-band.

The first problem was that you were often seen leaving hotels with different partners : the press loved that you didn't settle down and always made a big deal out of it. You didn't really care, you knew the tabloids always twisted the truth just to sell more garbage. What bothered you was that your mom kept calling you about it, wondering why you couldn't be discreet and serious, have a normal job like your twin; the perfect little Robby, pride and joy of the family. He was in the navy, serving the country, and your father liked to remind you that Robert was doing something useful, something great. Yet, you didn't care what the public and your family thought of you. You just wanted to play your songs, have fun on stage and in the studio. It was your cop-out after some traumatic experiences you went through in high school.

As for your problems with the band, it was a different kettle of fish. 

You were the lead vocalist and guitarist. You loved being on stage, it made you feel powerful, in control. You were backed by three talented but lazy guys about your age. It was your agent's idea to put you in charge of them. And what a great idea. At first it was fun, you had a good time. But as time went by, their excesses slowed down your rise in the charts. And they wasted all their time, energy and money on the wrong things. Every day, the press had a scoop about them doing something illegal or immoral. The last one on their list was being seen exiting a bar with underage fans.

Those recent events forced your label to give you a choice; either the whole group was fired or you could continue as a solo artist; your producer and staff knew that you weren't really a troublemaker, so it was a once in a lifetime opportunity for you.  You didn't even hesitate to sign your new contract ; and that led to a new scandal in the press, creating false drama between you and your ex mates. But as much as you were determined to make a name for yourself, you also needed a break from all the “scandal” that was going on. You made a deal with your producer and new agent: you had one month to come up with at least two singles, while you could go anywhere you wanted to find inspiration and relax.

And what could be more relaxing than the seaside ? The beach, the sun, the salty air, the feeling of being in an eternal summer ? It was perfect. You booked your flight to San Diego and rented a small beach house on Airbnb.  What could possibly go wrong? 

Well, maybe running into your twin brother at the local bar.

The Hard Deck seemed like a pretty chill place and the owner, Penny, was really nice. You spent some evenings there, trying to come up with some lyrics over a Coke.  She was curious and you were happy to share what you were working on, even though you hadn't made any progress. She had that reassuring aura, and talking with her was like talking to an old friend that you knew all your life. She was genuinely interested in what you had to share, and gave you some advice when she could. She also was curious to hear your voice and tried a few times to get you at the piano. You refused politely each time, feeling strangely shy.

It took you a week and a half to work up the courage to go to that piano.

The bar was rather empty, which was unusual for a Saturday night but made it easier for you to convince yourself that it was okay. You discreetly started to warm up your voice and started a version of Your Song - Penny confessed to you it was one of her favorite songs.

In a corner of the bar, by the pool table, a group of pilots were surprised to hear the piano playing at this hour. "Looks like someone stole your seat, Bradshaw," a tall blond man sneered.  "Looks like it, Seresin." Bradley raised an eyebrow and leaned over to see who had taken his place at the piano. The others gently urged him to join them; after all, he was the musician among the squad. He pretended to be annoyed by their request and joined you for the last chorus.  You were surprised, but smiled quietly and finished your "performance" with him. You made room for him on the little bench, and with a look of approval, you moved on to another song of his choice: Ain't no mountain higher .  The patrons of the bar, who had become more numerous, were delighted to have a private mini-concert. Some of them started to dance, others joined in singing. It was a fun experience.

After the end of the song, you smiled and shook the hand of your partner of a moment and let him enjoy the piano by himself. You made your way back to your stool and asked Penny for a glass of water. You felt a presence next to you and turned a little to see who was there. You easily guessed it was a navy man ; the uniform - talk about obvious -, the perfectly styled hair. You grinned at the tall blond man in front of you.

“So, does that pretty voice have a name ?” asked Jake with a smirk. You rolled your eyes at his flirtatious tone and his pushed Texan accent.  “Well yes actually, I’m-” “Y/N ?” You frowned, immediately recognizing the voice that had spoken your name. You easily spotted his surprised face among the other navy people that were close to you and Jake. "Robert?" "Don't tell me you're his girlfriend..." "What? No!" you shouted at the same time, making a few of the others giggle. "Gross!" you pretended to vomit. "She's my sister, Hangman," Bob sighed. "Twin sister, to be exact," you precised.

You couldn't help but giggle at the shocked looks on the faces of who you assumed were his colleagues. He was suddenly flooded with questions, and you enjoyed watching him turn redder and redder. Then they focused on you. "You two don't look alike at all," Reuben said, scanning you in detail. You rolled your eyes and smiled, leaning against your brother as you poked his side. "Robert took the height and brains, I took the charm and talent." 

Your brother sighed and ran his hand over his neck, slightly embarrassed. His teammates were happy to meet you, especially happy to annoy Bob, and Natasha seemed to realize something. "Your voice sounds familiar... I've heard it somewhere before... in a band, right?" " Nemesis ," you smiled and nodded, mentioning your old band, "but I'm solo now. Kept the stage name though." "Quite a few scandals with that band..." your twin mumbled.  You decided not to pay attention to him. Like your parents, Robert had never understood your career choice, arguing that you were brilliant at school and could have done anything else. Of course you were pretty intelligent but you had fallen in love with music as an outlet for your pain. But your family didn’t seem to accept your way of coping with your traumas.

The rest of the evening went off without a hitch. You got to know your brother's second family. They all had their own personalities, but that's what made them so endearing. Jake invited you to join them the next day, since it was their day off and they wanted to relax at the beach. You gladly accepted.

Robert didn't say much to you, the atmosphere between you was cold and tense. Natasha noticed it, so she joined her WSO to chat. "What's wrong, Bob? Your sister seems nice and yet you're here, not saying anything to her." He sighed a little as he watched you chatting and having fun with the others. "I'm worried about her," he confessed, "she… she hides herself in that personna… that Nemesis …” “Aren't all artists ? I mean, they wouldn't take a stage name otherwise.” “I guess… but I’m scared she’s losing herself…” he said softly, glancing at you. He grumbled when he noticed that Jake was flirting with you; and you didn't seem to refuse his advances either. Natasha let out a soft “damn” when Jake slid his arm around you and Bob almost jumped off his seat, mumbling an irritated “that’s it”. 

You felt a strong hand gripping your wrist and you were drawn out of Jake’s embrace and out the bar. “The hell Robby ?” you scoffed once outside, “I was in the middle of a conversation !” “No you weren’t, you were flirting ! With one of my teammates !” “First off, he initiated it ! And second, in what world is that your business ? We’re grown ups, I can handle some flirting !” “Well, first off , you’re my sister and second , Hangman is… he’s not the type to settle down !” he tried to explain himself but you just rolled your eyes. “Oh my god, you sound just like dad ! Why should I settle down ? I’m having fun, I’m happy that way !” You pinched the bridge of your nose, annoyed. “Stop trying to father me, I’m doing fine since I left !” “Yeah, you seem real good in the local news,” he mumbles, putting his hands in his pockets. He didn't even look at you as he said those words. You hated it when he did that, always half-assing his thoughts. You couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh, tilting your head back.  “And now you sound like mom. I can handle my life just fine Robert. I don’t need your concern, let alone your judgment ! I’ve never been better, ok ? Leave me the fuck alone !”

You were lying. You both knew that. He could read into you so easily, it made you sick. Call it ‘twin magic’ or ‘sibling intuition’, you still hated the way his blue eyes looked at you with worry and questions in them, knowing all too well that you were not fine. 

You passed him, going back to the bar to get your stuff and pay Penny. Out of spit - and mostly because you wanted to - you handed your number to Jake and left with a smirk. You could hear the squad gently hassle Hangman who proudly showed off the piece of paper you gave him. 

A little fun won’t kill you, would it ?

The next day, you joined the Dagger squad on the beach, near the Hard Deck. 

They were playing a strange football game ; dogfight football , attack and defense at the same time, Natasha explained to you.  You watched their first round and second, it seemed fun. At least, Bob seemed to have fun. You remembered he was not a teamsport guy younger. He actually hated the fact that your dad made him go to the tryouts for the football team in high school. To his misfortune, he got in. You smiled and sighed remembering those days.  Sometimes, you missed the time you were close to your twin, when you could tell him everything, before it all fell apart in junior year. A cold shiver ran down your spine while you thought back about it. Your life changed so much at that time, you didn’t like to remember it.

Crouching in front of you, Jake snapped you out of your reverie. “Hey there darlin, care to join us ? We’ll be gentle, promise.” he said with a playful grin. You arched an eyebrow and sneered. “Oh please, don’t be, I can handle it.” He laughed and helped you up. You were put in his team against Natasha, Bob, Bradley and Reuben. You were - to your own surprise - pretty fast and efficient. Javy and Jake joked around saying that being stealth had to be running in the family. 

You really had fun, even laughing with your brother. You didn’t know who won but you scored the last point of the game, and Jake put you on his shoulders to celebrate before tossing you in the water. “You’re a dead man, Seresin !” you shouted, before laughing. Robert helped you out the water and gave you a towel without a word. You silently thanked him and you all took a water break while deciding what to eat.

Reuben and Mickey volunteered to go get the pizzas and while they did, Natasha proposed a volleyball match. She decided that Bob and you would be in her team and you smiled. Bob couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle ; the two of you loved that sport when you were kids. When you went to your grandma's house for the holidays, you used to play against your cousins. Of course, you kicked their ass. They called you the Evil Twins. Once your heads were in the game, you were unstoppable. And Bradley, Jake and Javy would soon understand why you and Bob were so happy to be on the same team. 

The two of you didn’t even need to talk to understand the next move of the other. Even Natasha didn’t really understand what was happening. You won the first, then second, then third match. You laughed at the exasperation of Jake and Javy, Bradley on the other hand was just tired of running around. He quit with Natasha, leaving Jake and Javy to find a strategy to strike Bob and you down. “Like the old times huh ?” your twin smiled, giving you a bottle of water. You returned the smile and nodded. “Let’s show them. Evil Twins ?” “Evil Twins.” He clapped his hands with yours with a grin. Oh, the other two weren't ready for the beating they were about to get.

Javy called it quits after the third set. They lost them all and he was getting tired. Jake was pouting while you jumped on your brother’s back. “Evil Twins for the win !” Natasha laughed. You giggled, while Robert ran around like a doofus, you on his back, taunting Jake.  "Don't tease him too much, you know he's a sore loser!" sneered Bradley. "Nonsense!" sulked Jake, "I always accept my defeats, except they never happen.” The rest of the team rolled their eyes, both annoyed and amused.

Reuben and Mickey returned with the pizzas, and the rest of the afternoon was less athletic. Some went for a swim, others played cards in the shade of an umbrella. You chatted peacefully with Natasha and Jake, Robert never too far away. Strangely enough, you were glad he stayed close. Sometimes he would join in the conversation, but he remained Bob, preferring to watch and listen rather than talk.  It was a nice afternoon, you felt like a teenager on holiday with a bunch of friends. Bradley and Javy started a water fight by grabbing Bob and throwing him in the water. You and Natasha ran at the boys to avenge him and one thing led to another and you all ended up in the water, friendly fighting each other.

The sun slowly got low, the afternoon ending peacefully. You stayed at the bar with the squad, learning more about each one, more about your brother’s ‘new’ life. They told you about their life on base and about the bird strike that Natasha and Bob had suffered from. You scolded your twin because he never told you about it. He defended himself by saying that it was not that big of a deal, but by the looks on the others' faces, you knew he lied.

Part of you was jealous of him. You both left home around the same time, and he seemed so happy now, away from your parents and their intrusive presence, away from your father's demoralizing, degrading and demotivating comments. You couldn't understand how he could be doing so well when you were struggling to find yourself, to be happy. This question echoed in your head and made you feel too much in the room. You excused yourself and went outside for some fresh air. You were pale and shaking, and anxiety was getting the better of you. You tried to ease your breathing and closed your eyes to focus on the sound of the waves in front of you. You could hear the laughter and indescribable conversations in the distance, mingled with the music and singing. It was somewhat peaceful and yet you couldn't calm the flood of painful memories that invaded your mind. Every laugh reminded you of your ex's, every burst of voice a little too loud made you cower. You didn't want to think about it anymore. You wanted to forget everything. You just wanted it to stop. It had to stop. You had to get away from it all. You had to-

“Y/N ? Are you ok ?”

Your brother's gentle voice made everything disappear. You felt yourself breathe again. But you knew it would only be temporary ; because seeing him worried would make you weak and anxious again.  You took a deep, shaky breath before turning to him. You tried to hide the tremble of your voice, and put on a fake smile. "It's okay... I... I have to go home. Thanks for today, it was fun!" You passed him in a hurry, still pale and scrapie.  

He sighed and bit his lip before summoning his courage. "What are you running from? You... you looked like you were fine, and then all of a sudden you're running away. " "Robby, please-" "What happened?" "Nothing, I-" "Did someone say something?" "No! I just-" "Did I say or do something wrong? Tell me!" "Then let me talk for god’s sake !" you clenched your fists then sighed. "You didn't do anything wrong, Robby. It's just that... I can't..." your voice cracked a little and you leaned your head back to hold back your tears. Bob's head tilted in concern and he stepped towards you. "Can't what? You can't do what?"

You didn't answer, shaking your head. You couldn't put into words the confusion you felt. You searched for words and began to pace back and forth. "Can't do what Y/N?" Robert insisted gently. "I... fuck... fuck." 

Your voice and your whole body were shaking. It was getting harder and harder to hold back the tears. How could you tell your brother that you envied him and hated that feeling ? How could you envy him for building his life, a life filled with healthy loved ones that were there for him? How could you hold a grudge when he was the one who got you out of your abusive relationship at the risk of his acceptance into the naval academy ?

He took another step towards you, reaching for your hand, but you stepped back. "Hey, come on, tell me-" "I can't get over it, okay?! I-I can't figure out how and why you managed to grow up and I'm stuck at 17! Why do I always feel like I'm in pieces, alone, like he 's still running my life, like he 's always there, over my shoulder, no matter what I do?" "Y/N... it wasn't your fault-"  "I know!!! I fucking know it wasn't my fault!!” you cut him, almost screaming, “I know he 's the one who did this to me, who pretended to love me, who beat the shit out of me and abused me every single day for months! I know all of that ! Then why am I still stuck there ? Why am I the one still struggling?! Why am I the one who feels like a complete failure ? Why can't I let it go?!" your bottom lip was trembling as tears rolled down your face. “Why can’t I just move on ? Why do I always hear dad saying ‘told you so’ or mom sighing every time I mess up ? Why don’t they ever want to talk about what happened but they urge me to just forget about it ?! Why don't they support me ? Why don’t you ?!” 

You gasped, trying to catch your breath, before you whimpered and cried like a baby. Bob stood still for a moment before pulling you into his arms and hugging you. He suspected that the events of your past were still haunting you, but not to this extent. And you felt that he didn't support you... he felt like shit. How could he neglect your feelings so much, how could he act the way he blamed your parents? He let you cry against him for a long moment, swallowing his discomfort. He was the one to blame, and he had to focus on you. "I... I'm sorry, Y/N. I... I didn't realize that my behavior was hurting you… I'm just worried, and I didn't show it the right way. I'm an idiot." "A big idiot," you mumbled, sniffling. "Yes, a big idiot. And I'd really like you to let me help you. We... We have contacts with some really good therapists for post-traumatic stress and stuff... I could give you their numbers?" You just nodded, your tears finally stopping.  "I'm sorry I yelled at you..." you mumbled. Bob smiled and pinched your side.  "Don't be, I deserved it. I’m sorry I tried to interfere between you and Hangman…" “He’s actually a sweet guy behind his smug facade, y'know ?” you smiled and chuckled to his falsely doubtful face and the little 'meh' he let out.

As promised, Bob put you in touch with the therapists he'd told you about, and negotiated a longer return period with your agency. You had a full month and a half more. You started to really work on the singles, and your sessions with the therapist were helping. You knew you'd have to keep seeing one when you got home.  But going wasn’t something you wanted to think about. As the days went by, you didn't want to leave San Diego. Your brother and the Dagger Squad were stationed here permanently, and you needed him in your life.

Him and Jake.

You always thought that the two of you were just a fling, that you or he would get tired of it and move on. But neither of you did. You spent more and more time with him, he'd crash at your Airbnb - uninvited - every now and then with a movie or dinner.  The more time you spent with him, the more you fell for him and you didn't want it to end as a one-night stand, you knew that much. 

As you got to dig beneath his proud, cocky, arrogant facade, you discovered a gentle man full of insecurities. He talked about his father, who was not exactly the ideal role model and the fact that he didn’t have the best of relations with him. He talked about his mama, and with the look he had in his eyes, you knew he worshiped the woman ; based on what he shared, you figured Mrs Seresin was more than strong and dedicated to her children. He told you about his sisters, both of them a couple of years older than him, and his nieces and nephews. He loved the munchkins - his terms, not yours - and you saw in his eyes how much he meant it. They were his whole world, but he’d never admit it.

You tried to take your time with him but he had a strange effect on you ; you found yourself opening up to him, faster than you thought.  You'd never told anyone about your abusive relationship - except Robert. And Jake had listened to you without judgment or interruption. He sat there, ready to absorb any information you wanted and were able to share.

So you were torn between your desire to get back to the recording studio in New York, to get back to work, and your desire to stay in the peaceful everyday life you'd created in just a few weeks. You had to go back. You had obligations to keep. Maybe after you fulfilled your part of the contract, you could negotiate and come back to San Diego? This thought was the only thing that kept you working hard. You succeeded in writing three more singles than the agreed two. You were quite pleased with yourself.

And sooner than you realized, you had to go back to New York.

Natasha, with the help of the rest of the team, had organized a little surprise going-away party at the Hard Deck. Penny was in on the secret and had given them the bar to themselves. You loved the surprise and the evening was unforgettable. Bradley had insisted on karaoke, and you dragged your twin along. Robert rolled his eyes, but played along. You had the time of your life and enjoyed every second of this last night with your new friends. They made you promise to call them whenever you could, to think of them and to come back as soon as possible. They took you home and spent a few more hours with you before letting you rest. But just when you thought everyone was gone, you found Jake on the couch, waiting for you. You felt butterflies in your stomach as you saw him there, his eyes anchored in yours. You detailed his face, as if to remember it after you'd left; his slightly wavy blond hair, those beautiful green eyes, his perfect jawline, his cocky smile. That damn smile that made you weak in the knees like a teenager. God, you hated that smile as much as you loved it.

"Enjoying the view?"

You didn't realize that he had stood up and was now so close to you. A deep blush spread across your cheeks and yet you couldn't take your eyes off him, your gaze locked with his. You bit your lip and grinned. "So what if I am, big boy?" you teased. He huffed, amused, and his hand slowly reached for yours, your knuckles brushing. His other hand reached for your cheek, his thumb stroking it tenderly. You leaned into his touch, feeling yourself melt under his gaze. He said nothing, his eyes never leaving you. "What?" you whispered, your heart beating a little faster. "That's how I want to remember you." "Like what? Tipsy and tired?" you laughed a little. "Na. Happy... relaxed... you look beautiful." Jake whispered back, his cheeks taking on a rosy hue. Your stomach fluttered and you found the courage to interlock his fingers with yours. "Sounds like I have you under my siren's spell, Lieutenant..." you teased, biting your lip. "You certainly do, ma'am," he whispered again, the gap between the two of you only a few inches. You felt your confidence slip from your fingers, your eyes on his lips.

"Kiss me..."

It's an almost inaudible beg that escaped you, and you didn't even have time to be embarrassed that you felt him on your lips. The kiss was sweet, tender. You squeezed his hand into yours, and his free one slid around your waist, holding you close. You wanted the kiss to last forever. With amazing ease, Jake lifted you against him, his hands going under your thighs. You wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. He carried you into the bedroom, his lips exploring yours, your jaw, your neck and your collarbone. Your fingers brushed through his soft hair and soon you felt your back against the mattress.  Your clothes ended up chaotically thrown around the room as you undressed and kissed each other. The moon gave you just enough light to never lose sight of him. His eyes devoured you before his hands discovered your body. He asked you if you were okay every step of the way, and you never thought being asked for consent could be so arousing.

That night was the best sex you've ever had. It was slow and tender at first, and when you were both comfortable enough, it got rougher, in a good way.  You fell asleep curled up against him, rocked by his heartbeat.

The next morning you woke up alone in bed. Jake left a note on the nightstand, saying he had to go to work early. "Call me when you can, have a safe flight. PS: Gonna miss you. PPS: If anything happens to you on the flight, I'll hunt the pilot." You chuckled and tucked the post-it into your notebook. You quickly got ready and Robert took you to the airport.

The ride was rather quiet, neither of you wanting to be separated again. He helped you with your luggage and waited with you until you finally had to go. You hugged him tightly and thanked him for the past weeks. "Call me when you get there, okay? And don't forget to hydrate. And eat. And..." "Ok Dad," you joked with a smile, "I'll call you, don't worry. Love you, Robby." "I love you too. Be safe."

8 months.

You have been stuck in New York for 8 long months. You did a lot though. A new album, some concerts, some interviews and photo shoots. The 'scandals' in the press disappeared and the journalists finally focused more on your songs. You video called the Daggers as much as you could - almost every day - and texted a lot with your brother, reassuring him that you continued to see a therapist and that you were doing well under the stress. But the one you called and texted the most was Jake. Every day you had a sweet good morning text, and every night you had an equally sweet good night text.

You missed him.

You missed them all, of course. But Jake Seresin was under your skin. And as hard as it was to admit, you loved him. You couldn't wait to see him again. Of course, no one knew you were together. Natasha seemed to have doubts, and sometimes Bob was somewhat suspicious too but as long as they didn’t ask you didn’t say anything.

8 months of hard work and your agent agreed to let you go to San Diego as he made an arrangement between a recording studio and your label.  You told no one but Penny. You wanted to surprise the team. You had one last show to do in New York and then you would catch your flight to California. 

Before the concert, you called your brother, knowing that he would probably be at the Hard Deck with the others, since it was almost 7:00 p.m there. As soon as he answered, you could hear the team around him. "Wow, look at you Nemesis! You look great!" Natasha said, smiling broadly. You laughed and thanked her when you heard the other whistle and complimented you. "Not too stressed?" Bob asked as the others calmed down. "Well, it's the last show for at least six weeks. I’ll try to make it fun!" "Of course you will," said a voice you recognized immediately. "Hangman, you look good," you teased as you saw him appear on the screen. You noticed the slight blush on his cheeks as he spotted you in your dress and makeup. He didn't have time to reply that you had to go on stage.  "Ok bye guys, gotta go, love you!" you hung up and had time to see a text message on your phone : 'You better keep that dress'. You smiled. You may have fallen in love with Jake, but you also knew you had him wrapped around your finger.

The show went smoothly, and after a celebratory dinner with your team, you went back to your soon-to-be-outdated apartment. All your things were packed and ready to go. You couldn't wait to move to San Diego. Your flight was at 3 pm in New York and you were scheduled to land in California at 6 pm. Bless the time zone difference, if you were lucky, you could get to the Hard Deck before the team and wait for them.

But since nothing ever goes exactly according to plan, your flight was an hour late. That wasn't too bad, you could still surprise them, you just had to change the way. You contacted Penny and asked her if she could manage to distract them. She agreed and gave you permission to use the back door to be more discreet when you entered. Your excitement was through the roof, you felt like a child on Christmas Day.  By the time your cab reached the bar, your heart was pounding in your chest. You couldn't believe you were finally there, finally where you felt at home. But you had to be reunited with those you considered family to feel completely at home. You almost ran to the back door of the bar, re-reading the instructions Penny had sent you: she'd distract the Daggers by asking them to bring back some heavy beer packs and other beverages, and you could hide discreetly by the pool table.

The perfect plan.

You did as she said, a smile forming on your lips as you heard your friends in the distance. You were stressed, but not in an anxious way, you just couldn't wait. You picked up a pool cue to keep your hands busy. When you finally heard them coming, you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from screaming ‘surprise!’. The first person to spot you was Mickey. His eyes widened and he stopped dead in his tracks, almost tripping Reuben, Natasha and Javy. They didn't have time to grumble before Mickey pointed at you, speechless. A small laugh escaped you as they froze in front of you, one after the other. Only Jake, Bradley and Robert were missing. Bradley and your twin were chatting, a little bit behind, and you soon heard Robert's voice.

"Are you guys okay? You look like you've seen a ghost..." His voice became almost inaudible at the end of his sentence, as he realized they were all staring at you. You smiled at them and tilted your head. "Are we playing, or are you afraid of losing?" you asked with a bit of a laugh. Natasha couldn't hold back her laughter and almost ran to hug you. "It's good to see you again, Mini Floyd."

The others came right after to greet you, hugging you and sometimes lifting you off the ground. You laughed, happy to see them again. Your twin was still frozen, not believing his eyes. You scooted up to him and pinched his cheeks. "Good evening Robby, did you-" You didn't even have time to finish your sentence before he pulled you into his arms. You smiled and hugged him as tightly as you could, small tears of joy escaping from both of you.  "It's good to see you," he finally said, "Missed your stupid face.” "Oh I know you did, you can't live without me dearest brother !" you chuckled. You caught up with everyone, admitting that you were on a break, but not telling them that you were here for good. You wanted everyone to be here to make that announcement but someone was missing.

You paid for your round of beers - and sparkling water for Bob - and went looking for Jake. Why wasn't he here?  Penny grinned as she noticed the look on your face. "Don't worry Y/N, he's just on the phone with his sister. One of his nephews' birthdays, I think." "Thanks Pen- Wait, what are you-" "I know everything dear, he talks too much for his own good if you ask the good questions." "How did you find out?" you whispered, making sure no one was listening. "Well, it wasn't really hard. Some of your interviews or shows have been aired," she pointed at the old TV, "and the calls you made ; he just had that look in his eyes. I can tell when a man is head over heels. He certainly is."

You blinked and shook your head in disbelief. Of course she'd guessed; Penny knew the squadron like her own children. She chuckled and handed you another beer. “Go surprise him.” You smiled and nodded, heading to the front door. Your heart fluttered when you finally heard Jake’s voice. It was hushed but you could feel his smile through his soft laughter. You waited for him to end his call, still hidden by the door. You bit back a chuckle when you heard him saying goodbye to the kids with a baby voice. It was ridiculously adorable.

“Hello stranger, does that pretty voice have a name ? ” 

He was a bit startled and turned to you hastily, not believing his ears. A surprised expression appeared on his face, but a flirtatious smile quickly took its place. "That's my line, baby." "Oh really? Supposed I forgot," You grinned proudly and took a step towards him, "Did ya miss me, big boy?" He grinned and grabbed your waist, sending a sweet shiver down your spine. "Not as much as you missed me." You rolled your eyes in amusement and set the beer you had brought him aside. You took a moment to just drown in his green eyes, the light of the sunset making them look surreal. How could he be so handsome ? 

He was quite speechless to have you here, it made you smile. Jake was always so talkative, it was strange to have him so quiet around you. "Cat got your tongue, Seresin?" He chuckled and stroked your cheek. "Why don't you check?" You smiled and finally kissed him. You had waited 8 months for this feeling and it was just so good. His soft lips against yours, his strong hands on your waist, fingers digging lightly into your flesh. You put your hands on his neck, parted your lips to let his tongue reach for yours. One of his hands slid up to cup your cheek and you leaned into his touch as the kiss ended.  "I have to admit, I missed that," he whispered with a grin, his forehead pressed gently against yours. You huffed and rolled your eyes, "Told you I had you under my spell." He laughed and kissed the nape of your neck, holding you close. You smiled and stroked his hair before stepping back.  "Let's join the team before ‘Tasha gets suspicious."

You took his hand and headed inside, eager to tell your friends the big news.

You missed the atmosphere of the Hard Deck. The soft songs from the jukebox, the always nice patrons, your favorite people at the pool table or playing darts... everything was so comforting. Your smile widened when you reached the Daggers, dragging Jake with you. "Look who I found outside," you teased, "good old Hangman.” "Ah, you should have let him out," Bradley sneered, sipping his beer. “Real funny Bradshaw, I know you already missed me.”

You let the two men fight like two children and when you noticed Natasha's eyes on your hand in Jake's, you blushed a little. She grinned and whispered something to Reuben. You could read a little 'damn it !' on his lips as he frowned. "Okay guys, Javy and I won! The bet is over!" "What? No!" Bradley was outraged. He grumbled and handed Natasha a bill.  "Wait a minute, what bet?" your twin asked. "Well, my dear Bob, it seems that our little Jake and your sister... are together." You blushed and wanted to hide, not knowing how your brother would react. Jake was already arguing with Javy, telling him he was a traitor for betting on it, since he had confided in him on the subject.

"Oh, I've known for a while," Robert said simply with a smile. "What?!" you huffed, letting go of your boyfriend's hand to face your twin. "What do you mean you knew?" "Well, for starters, Jake stayed with you the night before you went back to New York. And you hid the hickey he left on your neck badly. Then I got suspicious when every time we ended our video calls, he got one in the next two minutes; and he's not the most discreet when he's on the phone. But I knew it when he bought that really nice necklace and asked me, of all people, for advice. A week later you were wearing it. So yeah, I knew," he shrugged with a smile, laughing a little at your expression. "What? I just thought that neither of you were ready to tell anyone? But you seem happy so it's okay."

You were surprised. You didn't think he'd take it so well, but you weren't going to complain.

So the evening began with a secret revealed. You didn't hesitate to stay close to Jake, even ending up on his lap when the bar was full. You listened to their adventures from the last few months - at least what they were allowed to share.  It was good to be with them again, to find that comfort.  After Mickey bought his round, he turned to you. "Well, let's ask the burning question: how long are you staying?" "To tell you the truth... I'm not leaving. I'm moving into my little house 10 minutes from here tomorrow," you smiled. "And you didn't tell me?!" said Jake and Bob at the same time, making them blush under the laughter of the others. "I wanted to surprise you! I've got a new deal with my label, so I can stay here." "Cheers to that! To the definitive return of Y/N Nemesis Floyd," Bradley decreed, raising his beer.

You all laughed and toasted each other, happy with the news.

All was finally well.

You had finally found your place, and you wouldn't change it for the world.

[sugarushwriting]

OBSESSED heeseung #2

“night night.”

do you all want a p3? smut/no smut?

like, share, reblog, comment! NOT PROOFREAD!!!

pls don’t repost or translate at your own.

trigger warning:

stockholm syndrome: feelings of trust or affection felt in many cases of kidnapping or hostage-taking by a victim toward a captor.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

heeseung looked at your sleeping figure lovingly. you were in a deep sleep as he patted your head, tucking your hair behind your ear.

he couldn’t believe he actually had you. he didn’t like drugging you, but he had to so you wouldn’t fight him.

you were easy for him to pick up, put a blanket over your body, as he carried you to his car. thankfully no other students were out since break was coming up and either most have already left or were stuck inside studying for finals.

when he arrived at his townhome he shared with 3 others, he quickly placed you in the basement, where his bedroom was. he was lucky enough to have the basement all to himself and sound proof.

sometimes he wondered if the owner renovated this place for his own twisted purposes.

heeseung had one more class and final the next day, so he was sad to leave you, but made sure you wouldn’t make a noise.

when you awoke, you were in an unfamiliar bedroom, and your hands were bound to the headboard above you, your mouth covered, but your legs and ankles were free.

the room was mostly bare, with a few posters and a game set up. you furrowed your brows trying to remember what happened and where you were.

you couldn’t make a noise or set yourself free, but you noticed you were hungry and had to pee.

your ears perked when you heard footsteps pounding above, then a door open and close outside the bedroom. you didn’t even bother to pretend to be asleep.

when the bedroom door open, your eyes widened seeing lee heeseung standing in the doorway with a smile on his face.

“oh good, you’re up!” he chirped. he left his door open and that’s when you saw a mini living room and kitchen area out there.

he turned to where your attention was then back at you. “don’t worry, we won’t be disturbed. i have my own little studio apartment down here.”

down here? like a basement?

heeseung walked closer but you shook your head begging him to stay away. he pouted. “don’t be like that, baby.”

your head fell back on the pillow and your grumbled, suddenly remembering seeing heeseung in your apartment before he most likely drugged you with that cloth he had over your mouth.

he came closer, his eyes twinkling with excitement. he removed the gag over your mouth but you didn’t scream?

was it fear? or maybe although you were kidnapped by this lunatic you had a feeling, he wouldn’t hurt you.

instead you whispered, “i need to pee and i am hungry.”

if watching and listening to true crime taught you anything, it was to play along with the fantasies of those who weren’t in the right state of mind.

“what would you like to eat?”

you told him your favorite food. “should’ve known, you’re always eating that.” he chuckled.

“how do you know that?”

“your garbage is full of those takeout bags.” he shook his head with a smile.

“can i pee? in an actual bathroom, not a bucket?”

“baby, i’m not some monster that will make you pee in a nasty bucket.” heeseung felt hurt.

“i promise i wont run or fight.”

“trust me, i know you won’t.” heeseung suddenly got serious with his tone. “you won’t like the consequences if you try.”

you swallowed and nodded. heeseung removed the ties from your wrists, and you rubbed them trying to relieve any redness.

heeseung nodded his head for you to follow him and you did. you walked out the bedroom, noticing you all were down in a basement due to the small windows, and the view of the ground mostly. but heeseung had his own space down here which seemed a little too perfect for this.

“the bathroom is that way.” he pointed to a door slightly ajar.

“thank you.” you bowed and ran to the bathroom, really needing to pee. you shut the door, but frowned as there was no lock.

while sitting down, you looked around the bathroom, taking in the small window there was no way you could fit through. well, couldn’t escape from here.

how long would you be here? did heeseung plan to keep you forever? was he worry you would tell someone so he’d kill you afterwards?

no that doesn’t seem like something he would do.

you know heeseung is a pretty quiet guy. keeps to himself, pretty nerdy, but extremely nice.

maybe he’s just lonely.

but why you?

was it because you were nice to him? see, being nice gets you nowhere.

you huffed, washing your hands after using the bathroom, then stepping out, finding heeseung had already ordered and gathered your favorite food.

“oh, um, thanks.”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

the rest of the day went by quietly. after you two ate, heeseung just wanted to watch movies with you.

you pretended to pay attention as your mind took in your surroundings even more, and your mind wondered to what the hell is going on.

okay so heeseung was being nice, he fed you, gave you comfy clothes of his, and wanted to just watch movies on his couch. he had his arm around your shoulders as you leaned your head against his shoulder.

boyfriend. that’s what! he was treating you like you were his girlfriend. you were right, maybe he was just lonely?

you looked up at him and took in his facial features. you thought, how could not one girl be interested in him? he wasn’t ugly, he was very much cute. why? was it because he was quiet and chose to keep to himself?

if that’s the case why weren’t you interested? your project time with him was fun and interesting. you found yourself laughing at his jokes. he taught you some new things even you didn’t know.

“why are you staring at me?” he asked and he was looking right down at you with a nervous smile.

“just taking in how handsome you are.” you said, which gave him the opposite reaction you thought it would.

he moved his arm from around you and scooted away, a frown on his face.

“heeseung, what’s wrong?”

“don’t lie to me just because you think it’ll make me let you go.”

“im not lying! you are handsome.”

he shook his head. “if i am, why are you just now telling me after i took you? why not tell me before then? you’re just saving your own ass.”

“well because i just—you never really showed any interest. you were so shy and quiet, heeseung.”

“i literally got nervous and stuttered around you.”

“well you aren’t now.” you challenged.

“because im mad.”

“and you look hot when you’re mad and pouting.”

“you’re going too far to keep me on your good side. trust me, i won’t hurt you or kill you, if that’s what you’re so worried about.”

“i’m not worried about that.” you stated. you really weren’t. “you just wanted company, right? you’ve treated me nicely for the past few hours, heeseung. you’ve treated me as if i was your girlfriend.” you stated honestly.

heeseung sniffed, holding back tears. since he was little he felt so alone in the world. parents always working, his own friends too busy for him. only wanting to be his friend because of his parents money. girls only wanted to be near him because of the money as well. so he shut himself off until college.

then it became hard to pop that bubble of his he built around him. he became even shyer than he was before, and kept to himself.

until he met you. you were something different and special to him. just the way you didn’t know who his family was, you treated him nicely like an actual human being. he took note of that when you both worked on the assignment together.

you did something some may call you insane for. you got up from your spot on the couch, then went to straddle heeseung wrapping your arms around his shoulders. you hugged him. it seemed like he truly needed it.

and he did. he hugged you tightly back, burrowing his nose and face into your neck, quietly sniffling.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

when night time came, he sat up with you still straddling him and walked you to his bed, where you two currently were sleeping together in. heeseung had you wrapped up tightly in his arms as he was afraid to let you go.

you let him, and you let him know that he never needed to stalk you or follow you around. you understood he was scared of getting rejected (once again) but that was a part of life he needed to cope with.

he told you the truth on how he knew your favorite drink, and all your favorites. how he got jealous whenever you talked to another guy that wasn’t him. how he always felt hurt by what your friend said about him, but felt happy whenever you stuck up for him.

he knew he had to make a move before break came, so he did the worst thing possible. he took you.

he took you, basically abducted you out of your own apartment, and you were here letting him cuddle you in his bed, while you ran your fingers through his hair.

you were truly insane. you sighed, wondering why in the hell you weren’t bee-lining to the door and running while screaming.

what happens after this? how were you supposed to be and act normal after this? what, were you supposed to now date heeseung?

“please stop overthinking this, and enjoy the moment.” you heard heeseung say quietly in his sleepy voice.

“i’ll try.” you kissed his forehead and got comfortable to try and sleep.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

[weemsfreak]

Hello! I was wondering if you would write for Gwen (in fabric). There are not many stories about her and I neeedd her. Anything you'd like, please!

The Big Bang

Hello! I would love to! Recently I have been on a Miranda/Jane Murdstone/Gwen spree (Larissa is still the loml) butt I did have a smut idea for Gwen from In Fabric, because well, it's Gwen.

Enjoy!!

Summary: Gwen In Fabric x Reader. Smut with plot. You and Gwen share an art studio and find yourselves working late at night.

→ Warnings: smoking, alcohol, fingering, cunnilingus, grinding, smut, etc.

*☆…*☆…*☆…

You held your key up to the door, attempting to unlock it despite the fact that you couldn't see. It beeped, and you entered the large room, not bothering to flick on any lights until you got to your art space and turned on your lamp.

Scanning your eyes over your current work, you shook your head over every little detail.

This was going to be a long night.

Stopping in the small break room, you leaned against the counter as your coffee reheated.

You loved working at night, blessed to have the opportunity to rent out a space that you had access to always.

You were more productive at night, your creativity flowing more easily.

Making your way back to your space and placing your coffee down, you looked around.

Usually it was dark, as you were alone, but tonight it seemed rather bright.

You peaked around your easel and paintings, finding Gwen's space lit up, to your delight.

Excitedly you walked over, but her space was empty. You shrugged and admired her recent works; as expected, they were dark and rather…attention grabbing.

*☆…

At least 20 minutes had passed as you made minor adjustments to your realism painting.

You were deep in thought as you bent down to pick your brushes up off of the floor, standing and suddenly feeling claustrophobic in your space. It felt as if you had become confined, like something or someone was right beside you.

You whipped your head around to find Gwen, maybe a foot away, smiling down at you with intent.

You screamed, heart stopping, causing you to drop all of your brushes.

"Gwen, what the fuck?!" you said in a panic.

She snickered and averted her gaze to your art, "I can't believe you didn't notice me here, doll."

You tried to catch your breath as you checked your pulse. "I saw your lamp on, but I figured you had been here earlier."

She looked to you with a smirk before picking up your brushes and handing them to you.

"What are you doing here this late? I don't usually see you."

She shrugged, "Art is my night activity now, I teach French lessons during the day." 

You nodded, wanting to ask what her previous night activity was, but you were sure you already knew the answer.

"This is coming together nicely, I really like what you did here."

You looked closer at what she was pointing to, ah, the spot that you were stuck on; you thought it looked like garbage.

Gwen liked it, which was a relief. Though, she painted abstract, and Gwen was grounds for all things out of the ordinary.

"Come see what I've got on the go" she grinned, grabbing your hand and leading you to her work space.

She sat on her stool and watched as your eyes raked over her painting.

It was definitely abstract, but not very colorful. Different shades of black and red, it looked like…two girls? In a weird position?

They were in space, you guessed, with some glowing balls of hot gas floating around.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you tilted your head, "I like the black and white with the pop of red. It's …extremely creative."

Gwen looked up at you and wiggled her eyebrows, "I call it 'The Big Bang'."

Yep, yea, it was two girls banging.

You were honestly amused.

*☆…

A couple hours went by as you hummed to music and perfected your painting.

You then stopped for a snack break and figured you'd offer something to Gwen.

Walking over to her space, you found her boots thrown to the side, her bare feet covered in paint.

"Umm, what is going on?"

She stepped carefully onto a blank canvas, making neat footprints on the white background.

"I'm going to sell this to a guy from Wyoming."

She looked to you in total seriousness, "He likes art, and my feet. Probably because I'm tall."

You watched with your mouth agape as she dipped her foot into more paint and stepped onto the canvas with care.

She shrugged, "It's almost as good as feet pics."

It was too damn late for this, this was some unhinged shit; but hey, at least the woman knew how to make money.

"I uh- I was going to ask if you wanted a snack?"

Gwen looked at you, "What have you got?"

"A protein bar"

You held it out to her and she took it.

*☆…

You had made progress, almost finished (you hoped) of your painting.

Washing out your brushes and tidying your area, you decided to go for a walk.

It may have been like 2am, but you loved a late night walk.

You shut off your lamp and left your bag on the table, planning on coming back. But as you walked to the door, Gwen screamed your name.

"God, I'm not deaf" you said, turning around to face her.

You watched her stride up to you, wearing her platform boots again, thank fuck.

She tilted her head and winked, placing a hand on your shoulder.

"Honey, I'm not god, but I can make you believe that I am."

Your jaw dropped as you shook your head, a dark blush colouring your face.

You knew Gwen was lustful and outgoing, but lately she has been (very obviously) hitting on you.

"Where are you going?"

You looked to the door and then back at her, "For a walk."

She turned and went to her spot, pulling her bag onto her shoulder. "Not without me."

You then watched her stomp past you and out the door with a sway to her hips.

*☆…

Walking around the block in the warm night, Gwen pulled out a cigarette, offering you one.

"So, do you only do realism?"

"90% of the time, yeah."

You looked to her as she stuck the cigarette between her lips and attempted to adjust her bra strap underneath her layers.

"What else do you do?"

"I used to do abstract."

Gwen's gaze met yours as she chuckled, "I used to do realism."

*☆…

"Do you believe in fate?"

You looked over at Gwen questioningly, her head resting against the back of the bench as her blues scanned the stars.

You did the same.

"Um, well, I believe that our choices shape our reality, and maybe there are alternate universes in which we are vastly different."

You could feel her staring, so you paused, turning your head to meet her gaze.

"But, I also believe that we're only destined to do the things that we'd do anyway."

Gwen sat up, dusting off her skirt and ripped tights.

"Would you do me?"

You looked up at her as your eyebrows furrowed in question, snickering, "What?"

She looked away with a grin on her face, "You would" she murmured.

*☆…

Making your way back to the studio, Gwen drug you to her space once again.

You sat on a stool next to her and watched as she added to 'The Big Bang'.

"So, I was thinking for my next project, maybe something to do with dinosaurs?"

You nodded, lost in space as you stared at the way her long fingers flexed with the movement of the paint brush.

Gwen knew that you were watching her, stealing glances at you out of the corner of her eye. It thrilled and motivated her.

"Did I tell you about my ex? Oh, it's an insaneeee story."

As Gwen talked, you half paid attention and half let your eyes roam over her figure, from her face to her breasts, to her dark outfit and long legs.

Honestly, you were too tired to really listen to her story. All you knew was, she was beautiful, and interesting.

She was passionate and seductive, with an insatiable appetite; she was stunning.

When she was finished painting, she stood to throw her brushes into the water; leaning over you, her breasts in your face as she did. You leaned back with wide eyes.

"Let's go see how your painting is going" she cooed.

*☆…

You made another cup of coffee and emerged from the break room to find Gwen staring at your painting, nose almost touching it as she took in the detail.

"Do you ever paint people?"

You sat on your stool and looked up at her, "I have, but I'm not very good at it, so I don't."

She looked down with a blank expression before frantically eyeing your space. For what? You didn’t know.

"Will you paint me?"

You tilted your head in confusion as her hopeful blue eyes stared down at you. "I'm not the best at painting people" you repeated.

Gwen waved her hand in dismissal, "Nonsense, I want you to paint me."

She moved closer and bent down to your level, placing a hand onto your thigh.

"I want whatever you'll give me. And I'll pay."

You considered it for a moment, eyeing her up and down.

Feeling bold, you brought your face closer to hers and bit at your bottom lip, gazing between her eyes and lips.

"Alright."

*☆…

Friday night you set up a blank canvas and paints as you waited for Gwen to arrive.

You had told her to wear whatever she wanted, as long as she brought you some rum.

She entered, passing you a bottle, "Hi dollface."

"Hello honey" you smiled, taking a swig.

You got out your brushes and planned your piece while she undressed at her space.

Rounding the corner she stood in front of you, eagerly biting at her nails as she placed a hand on her hip, grinning mischievously down at you.

You were relieved that she choose to wear a black lingerie set, definitely not as bad as it could've been, considering it was Gwen.

You had moved a couch closer to your space, you gestured to it.

"Get into the position you want, I'll be right back."

Quickly you went to the break room, grabbing a couple of waters.

You returned and got out your pencil, peering around your canvas. Your jaw dropped instantly, heart skipping a beat as if you had been frightened, again.

Setting your wide eyes back on the canvas, you cleared your throat.

"Gwen, why are you naked?"

Gwen laughed as she fiddled with the obsidian around her neck.

"I want you to draw me like one of your French girls" she purred.

You sighed, picking up the rum and taking a big gulp.

"Were not on the fucking Titanic."

You'd admit that her voice made you feel something, the image of her on the couch naked with an arm over her head made your stomach turn pleasantly. Good god, this woman.

Gwen let out a soft hum that sounded more like a moan, "But we could pretend we are."

You rolled your eyes, "What if someone comes in?"

Gwen scoffed, "Nobody comes here this late, except for us. And if they do, they'll get a treat."

You pursed your lips in attempt to conceal your smirk, and peered around the canvas once more. "There you are" she cooed.

*☆…

You sketched and painted Gwen, admitting to yourself that it was going rather well.

Long legs, the pose showing off all that she wished to offer, and her pretty face, it was a masterpiece.

You hoped to capture her enigmatic essence at least to some degree, but your work was far from finished.

Gwen was really beautiful, truly, but it wasn't until you finished the main part of the painting that you realized how hot you were, your cheeks a deep red and your hands shaky.

"Okay, done."

You heard nothing for a moment as you fixed up some details, then, her heeled steps shuffled closer as she came into your view. Your gaze shot up to her face as she looked over your work.

"It's beautiful, dear."

Her fingers hovered over the painting as she admired it.

"I know it will be a masterpiece when it's done."

Smiling, you surprisingly agreed.

Gwen placed a hand on your shoulder and took a step closer to you.

She was tall, making you feel awkward at this height, sitting on the stool; and so you stood.

Gwen looked you over as you stood, a smirk pulling at her lips.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?"

You were sure it was a sarcastic question, or degrading.

Your heartbeat quickened as you shook your head, "No, nope, I'm good."

She turned to face you, your height difference making it challenging not to look at her breasts.

Still, you craned your neck to keep your eyes on her face.

"It seems that you won't look anywhere below my face, is that true?" she questioned, tilting her head in faux sorrow.

You blinked and shook your head in disagreement.

She smirked, narrowing her eyes at you.

"You just painted me naked, took in all my curves and..details, and now you can't look at me?"

Your eyes widened as you swallowed, "You're just, uh- so close now."

Gwen reached out and took your hand in hers, dropping her voice an octave.

"Are you scared that if you look you'll want to touch?"

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart now pounding. You swallowed thickly, then nodded.

She guided your hand to her waist, the urge to rake your eyes over her soft skin overwhelming you.

Taking your other hand in hers, she pressed herself against you, shocking you with her action.

"You can touch, honey" she whispered, slowly bringing your hand to her breast.

You gasped and breathed out into her shoulder as you felt her flesh against your hand.

The feel of her bare chest against yours made you want to rip off your shirt just to feel her. To really feel her.

"Gwen I-" She brought her finger to your lips and forced it lightly into your mouth, her skin sweet yet salty.

"Shh love, no questions or concerns, not now."

She removed her finger and pulled you tighter against her, whispering in your ear. "Do you want this? Do you want me?"

You held in a whimper, squeezing her breast lightly, "I do."

Gwen took in a breath as she pulled away, bringing her lips to your neck.

You moved both hands to her breasts, squeezing as you closed your eyes and focused on her touch.

She swiped her tongue up the expanse of your neck, and you couldn't help but squeeze your legs together and plead, "Please, Gwen."

Gwen chuckled, tickling your skin as she brought her hands to the hem of your shirt and pulled it off.

She cupped your face in her hands and pulled you closer, "Beautiful doll. Let loose for me."

You smiled sheepishly and nodded, "Okay Gwen."

Suddenly, she pressed her lips to yours, sticking her tongue into your mouth almost instantly.

You got lost in the way she forcefully yet gently let her lips slide against yours, whimpering into her mouth.

She pulled away for a moment, quickly undoing your bra and throwing it to the floor.

She pulled you back to her and pressed her breasts against yours, you tried to stifle a moan.

Gwen then brought her hands to your pants and undid them, sliding them down your legs, catching you off guard.

You let out a small gasp as you leaned on her for support and kicked them off.

She chuckled, "I felt weird being the only one naked."

You rolled your eyes and spoke sarcastically, "I'm sure you did."

She grasped your thighs unexpectedly and lifted you up to straddle her waist.

She met your lips as she walked to the couch and sat you on her lap.

You wrapped your hands around her neck, pulling her closer and sucking her bottom lip between your teeth as she pulled your hips into her own. You let her hands guide your hips against hers as you kissed down to her collarbones, then her chest, and lower.

You sucked on her full breasts, humming as you left red marks on the pale flesh and moved to her nipples.

You circled them gently as your head spun with desire, surprised when Gwen sneakily brought a hand to your heat and swiped a finger through your folds.

As you gasped in shock and pleasure, you slightly bit down on her nipple, making her jolt.

"Oh sweetie, do you need me?" she breathed.

You sat tall and smashed your lips to hers, hoping to muffle your moans as if you knew what was coming.

Gwen wanted a response, but she figured that this was enough, for it turned her on immensely.

She carefully yet quickly inserted a finger into you, setting a steady pace.

You licked into her mouth hoping to stifle your mewls, but she dominated you as she forced her tongue into yours.

Moaning against her lips, you felt her insert another finger and curl them up into you.

As you relished in the feeling of her filling you up, you realized how long her fingers were, and you revelled in a  desperate feeling that you had never felt before.

You gasped for air as she picked up her pace, shoving your face into her neck and whimpering against her skin.

"Shit Gwen, please, please" you pleaded as you ground down onto her fingers.

Gwen smirked as she added another, watching as you writhed on top of her. You moved your grip from her shoulders to her head, weaving your fingers through her hair.

She breathed into your neck, "You feel amazing, come for me doll."

You couldn't hold out any longer, coming with a loud groan of her name as you felt her fingers continue their assault. She eventually slowed and you clutched her body to yours, not wanting her to pull away.

When you recovered, you responded by licking down her breasts and stomach, stepping off of the couch as you got to your knees. Placing your hands on her waist, you began to kiss her lower legs and work your way up to her hips. Gwen parted her legs in anticipation as you continued to lick and nip at her pale thighs.

As you reached her dark centre, you could see the shine of her arousal, and you breathed deeply in anticipation.

You watched as she brought a hand to her breast, her other to your head as she pushed you closer to her with force. She then ran her fingers through your hair, waiting for you to make your move.

You chuckled giddily and wrapped your hands under her thighs, pulling her toward you, opening her legs wider as you did so. With need you moved closer, trailing your tongue up her folds softly. You slowly flicked your tongue over her clit and down to her entrance, digging your fingers into her the flesh of her thighs.

You pushed your tongue into her as she squirmed, then flattened your tongue as she began to grind against it. Her fingers wound your hair tight as she let out whimpers and deep moans. Groaning into her flesh, your legs spread involuntarily at her sweet sounds.

"Oh honey, please, faster" Gwen begged. Her moans were turning you on immensely, you went faster, getting caught up in the sound of her raspy voice. You couldn't help but moan against her at the pain of her heel digging into your back, your thighs becoming drenched.

Suddenly, Gwen leaned forward and pulled you up by your hair, turning you around and pushing you back onto the couch. You grunted as you fell, looking up at her wide eyed and even more turned on.

"Spread your legs" she demanded. You did as told, watching impatiently as she settled on top of you, one leg under yours and the other over, lining up your core with hers.

She bent down and slipped her tongue into your mouth, moaning as she felt the wetness between your legs.

"You're drenched baby" she purred, placing a hand on your ass to gain more friction. You moaned rather loudly as she rubbed against you, grabbing her hips and squeezing.

"Shit, Gwen!" you breathed, closing your eyes in bliss as she pressed you down into the couch.

She grinded against you frantically, your release fast approaching as she whimpered against you, sinking her teeth into your shoulder. You gasped into her hair, breath shallow and eyes threatening to close as Gwen pressed her forehead against yours, her mouth open in pleasure.

You came right there and then when you saw the need in her eyes, the pleasure written on her face. You threw your head back in bliss as she did the same, moaning your name as she let you down from your release.

You were both sweaty as she leaned forward and kissed your chest, your breaths evening out.

Gwen kissed you on the forehead and ran her fingers through your hair, hugging you to bring you comfort.

She chuckled against you and closed her eyes happily, "This is what 'the big bang' is all about."

You couldn't get enough of Gwen, laughing at the thought of being in space; you wished that you were.

You kissed her on the cheek as she sat up slightly and she looked down at you, "I'd love to paint you next time" she purred with a wink.

[eoieopda]

Jadie:) i would like to make a request!!

Reader having to spent countless night home alone because Jungkook’s busy working at the studio? They fight and she asks him to love her more than she loves him?

Honestly i feel like JK gets frustrated with fights so he says things that come out in a different way?? Thank you so much!!!!

i went in with the angst on this one 😳 i think most of us have had similar fights before, so i was definitely channeling some of that something here OPE

cw: verbal sparring, major angst, ending is ambiguous/unresolved

By the time his car rolls into the driveway, Jungkook has nothing left to give.

A vampire disguised as a weekday sapped every bit of energy he had left. His reserve tank is empty, and when he’s running on fumes like this, there’s only one way to top up. All he wants — now, then, any time — is to bury his face where your neck meets your shoulder; to revel in your steady pulse and soft breathing; to remember that there’s life here, outside his studio.

He doesn’t waste time getting out of the car, having summoned the last bit of willpower he had to unbuckle his seatbelt and slip from the driver’s seat. Jungkook locks the car behind him and within seconds, he unlocks the door to his home. To you. It feels like forty years have passed since he left that morning, but he can still smell the kimchi from the eggs you cooked.

Did hours always used to feel like decades?

One foot over the threshold, the toe of his boot collides with something in the dark. His eyes strain to see it; and his eyebrows furrow once he does. It’s a weekender. Yours, the one he bought you to take on little getaways when your schedules aligned like planets. It’s packed and ready, but Jungkook can’t put a finger on why that is.

Did he forget about plans again? Fuck. His mind never used to be a sieve, but that’s all it’s been lately. Jungkook has to be careful not to let you slip by.

He toes off his shoes and places them on the mat on the other side of your packed bag. As he heads off to find you, kiss you, breathe you in, Jungkook takes one backwards glance at that weekender. Nothing sparks.

Where were we going again?

There’s rustling down the hall and he follows it. Underneath his timid footfalls, there’s the quiet metallic click of the medicine cabinet door as you close it. Jungkook can’t see you, but he can feel you — you and the upset ebbing outwards from you. Little concentric circles, rage rippling his way like a stone has broken through the surface.

I dropped you, again.

Jungkook reaches the doorway to the bathroom just in time for you to exit. You gasp when you collide with his chest, but that shock dissipates quickly when his hands steady you by your forearms. You clutch the bag of toiletries that you nearly dropped like it’s all you have.

The expression on your face is less obvious now that the surprise is absent — and that scares him.

“Whoa,” Jungkook tries to chuckle to lighten whatever this crushing weight is, but there’s no humor in your affect. Flat. Despondent, like you cried out all you had and there was nothing left to animate your features.

Oh, this is bad.

He needs to fix it, so he tries again, “Where’s the fire, petal?”

Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Jungkook flipped a switch alright, but it didn’t turn the light in your eyes back on. Ham-fisted and stuck in the garbage disposal as it —

“I don’t know, Jungkook. Where is the fire?” You have that tone when you reply. That rare and terrifying voice where you sound calm, but he can smell the venom hitting dead air.

You, petal, are soft, but you are not calm.

You’re excitable, vocal. Jungkook can count on one hand the number of times he’s heard you speak without your perfect, dizzying rollercoaster of intonation. It’s jarring, it’s whiplash, it’s clear as day that there’s something very wrong here.

What did I do to you?

“I’d love to know,” You carve another slice as you back out of his grip. “Haven’t felt warmth in weeks. What about you, Jungkook?”

He feels concussed, in a way, like this is somehow a sucker punch you’ve hit him with. It feels like a blow when you say his name with that look in your eyes, but Jungkook knows it’s not. He knows exactly where this is coming from and he doesn’t get to pretend otherwise.

Desperate, he tries to hold you, but it’s like running underwater trying to reach you. By the time his lead limbs finally accept the signal and begin to move, you’re skirting around him and out the door.

You’re quick, but so is he. Jungkook’s long strides catch up to you easily, and when you sense him, you wheel back around to look up at him. Now, your face is crumpled and littered with tears. It’s even worse than the nothing you were wearing a few moments ago.

Jungkook pleads, one teardrop away from getting on his knees for you, “Tell me what I missed and I’ll make it up to you, petal. I swear I’ll fix it —”

“That’s the thing, Jungkook,” you sniff as you angrily wipe at your slicked-wet cheekbone. The worst part is that he knows you’re beyond the point of anger when it comes to him; it’s the fact that he’s caught you crying that bothers you the most.

“You miss everything. And you know it, too, because your first guess — your very first thought — was that you must have forgotten about me — again. What does that tell you, Jungkook? What does it say about us that this is an easy assumption for you to make? Because it sounds like a habit to me.”

There’s a montage broadcasting through the silence that settles between you. It’s every ‘I’m sorry I’m late, petal’; every ‘petal, I’m going to be here longer than I thought’; and ‘you don’t have to wait up for me.’ It’s all of those disappointed sighs you tried to swallow when you gave him grace he hadn’t earned.

A soundtrack delineating every instance where you held him up and he let you down.

It’s deafening.

“I just want you —” Your voice gives up on you halfway through your sentence. He knows better than to reach out for you now, but it’s all he wants to do. “I need you — just once — to love me more than I love you.”

There’s that sucker punch.

How could he? How could anyone love harder than you do? It’s impossible, Jungkook thinks, to try to mimic the way your heart holds everyone so completely. Laughable, almost, that no person on their best day could hold a candle to you — even on your worst. He thinks you’re pure magic.

But Jungkook has never been the best at putting the things he thinks into words, so he says, “Petal, I can’t.”

And he can’t backtrack or explain what he meant or beg you to listen because you’re grabbing that weekender off the floor. You’re slinging it over your shoulder, headed to your sister’s for the night. As he watches you leave, Jungkook recalls that there’s one thing he’s even worse at than communicating how he feels:

Sleeping without you.

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 8/6/2024

people mad at a video game for being woke, i'm mad at it for not being woke enough. so it goes.

also i wrote a yeehawgust fic

listening

another addition to the "SOMEBODY COME FUCK THIS (GAY)" playlist, thank u charli xcx and billie eilish

-

reading

im still really annoyed with Retraction Watch for platforming a terf last year and then not doing any sort of sockpuppet damage control in the comments. since they got acquired by crossref they've done way less guest editorials. not to be all "stick to sports!" but stick to sports, retraction watch.

they did introduce me to this substack series i will be following with great interest about the rise and fall of hindawi. wiley acquired a paper mill a few years back, bc they seemingly did zero diligence, and then blithely ignored the problem for two years before being forced to do the single largest retraction of papers in scientific publishing history, somewhere above ten thousand articles because it is STILL ONGOING.

i do love following various retractions bc i like seeing what finally made someone go "wait a minute", and, as i have just written in a cover letter, "I studied astronomy and have held several data jobs because I’m fascinated with how and why systems work and fail..."

-

watching

my best friend has decided while i'm at her home in the evenings eating her food and bothering her children (for my mental health, it is very important i am fed tiny bits of mushed up banana by hand by her one-year-old), our new project is watching all the xmen movies. i have no particular desire to do this or special affinity for the xmen, and i would like to keep eating very good texmex and bothering her children (for my mental health, it is very important i play hot wheels with the five-year-old). this sounds so super bitchy of me but it's hard to convey that these are essentially on for background noise.

saw the first two. the two things i know about them are that hugh jackman is in them and they're at the statue of liberty in one

-

playing

an ideologically baffling little environmental game free in the epic store this week, LumberJack. this is on PC and Switch for $13, which is far more money than the playtime anyone can get out of this game. tiny tiny tiny little Spain-headquartered studio without an active website, it looks like one guy hired out to make this and two more games and then went back to single-dev projects. i can respect that!

steam reviewers are mad at this game for being woke, and i'm mad at it for being woke in a very strange way. your one mechanic, as a bear, is swinging a big axe to remove cars and trailer offices and portapotties and various garbage from the landscape.

i wish the movement and look controls are inverted, and i wish they weren't, or at least had an option to make them normal. i know Why this isn't a mobile game (can't monetize something with twoish hours of gameplay and twenty levels) but it's a very straightforward and simple game that would translate very well to mobile. much like donut county.

now for being picky about the political mindset of the developers: as much fun as it is to be a bear swinging an axe around, lumberjacks are not the people i associate with wild preservation movements.

saving the land and turning it back into pristine and perfect land for wild animals in this game looks like erasing every hint of human activity from a site and turning it into sheer recreational use. many levels are heavily polluted, but some can definitely be read as recycling centers. im confused by the erasing every hint of humans in early levels, and then this level where you break down a radio station, slap the host with your axe, and she turns into a park ranger who starts gardening and taking care of chickens?

i don't think that removing all the traces of people from the landscape will magically fix everything, nor do i think simply being in unspoiled wilderness will magically fix me.

there's a golfing level where you whack bombs into various small buildings. i think golfing to save the environment is a strange choice to make for designing a game.

i also briefly thought this bird in every level was an extinct ivory-billed woodpecker, which was a little alarming bc there are some real nutjobs out there with very strong beliefs about this bird and government overreach and how much the government is lying to you about the extinctness of various animals.

i stopped playing about halfway through bc i was not having fun and found the underlying environmental message a little confused. they've managed to sell at least 10k units which is...not very good. i am not surprised this is free on epic, and i wonder what their payout for that was. would not be surprised if they negotiated a payment to their nonprofit partner ecologi as part of that.

-

making

yeehawgust fill! i have another bitchy blond babygirl!

what the fuck is the prisoner? cult 60s british spy tv. with all the surreality and anxieties about the cold war and midcentury psychological horror you could possibly want

He’d been drugged enough times to recognize the splitting migraine rapidly galloping down his neurons. “Where am I?” He fought down the taste of bile (ketamine? xylazine, by the aftertaste) and the rising panic. Oddly enough, the migraine was always worse with veterinary sedatives. One would think a mind would adapt to nearly three hundred years of irregular drugging and constant experiments. One’s body had adapted and ghoulified, but in equally unhelpful ways. The tycoon flickered, approximating an appraising blink. “This meeting has been a long time coming, hasn't it? You've come a long ways, literally and, I suspect, figuratively as well. You’re in the Free Economic Zone of New Vegas.” They’d pretended the prisons were so many different places: across the Continent, in various parts of London, up and down and all around the East Coast of these wretched States. Rarely this far west, aside from the awful escapade in the faux pre-War Western town. “What do you want?” He managed to swing his ankles off the saddle (also pre-War? Heavily used. It certainly wasn’t his, the equestrian event had always been his worst event in the pentathalon) and jolted what felt like every half-dead nerve in his half-dead body.

[girlcrushart]

I've been meaning to post Leni Klum for a while now because she keeps showing up on my dash and being noticeable because, well, look at her. And then this pic came along and it was the perfect candidate for a girlcrush poster because it was a hot pictures of a very hot girl, with an absolute garbage background. I mean, it was just uninspired, basically. It wasn't a studio shot or anything like that... just a casual shot—probably from her instagram or something, likely taken by a friend (a very lucky friend). And so there was just a basic boring background of like a wall and a closet door or something like that. I don't even remember bc now I will always think of this photo like this, where it celebrates Leni more. Perhaps you disagree... and that's fine. This blog probably isn't for you then lol. Today's girlcrushart guardian is Leni Klum.

[mooodyblue]

Lillyyyyy I just had an Idea, so what if when Elvis is filming his 68 comeback special he has to take the reader who is little with him and the colonel doesn’t like one bit of it so when Elvis is filming some back Tom Parker goes to his dressing room to pick on the reader and he says hurtful things to her like “you’re nothing but a gold digger” and other mean things to where she goes nonverbal and when Ep comes back into his dressing room he just sees the colonel picking with her hair ripping her drawing up and knocking everything she had over he even witnessed what the colonel told her. Ep barges in and starts yelling at the colonel and tells him to stay away from us but the colonel rolls his eyes and puts up an argument saying things like “she is distracting you! Can’t you see that, putting up this act. She’s acting like a full on baby.” You can finish the rest ❤️

ty for the request! this was super fun to write. i love writing anything that involves making the colonel out to be the most annoying man to ever exist 😈

pairing: 60s!elvis x little!gn!reader

wc: 1.5k

-> masterlist

you watched as elvis adjusted himself in his dressing room, dressed in black leather with his hair done up nicely. you knew how important this day was for him. he was beaming with nervousness and excitement and of course, you were as well. maybe too excited as you had gone down right before it was time to leave for nbc studios.

he didn’t mind if you were little, it didn’t bother him at all. you always understood that elvis has a job to do and that he can’t play with you every single second of the day—especially today of all days. 

but again, you were so excited for him. you loved watching him get dressed in all the different outfits, performing his heart out just like he should have been doing all these years. today he’d be filming in front of an audience which you knew he was horrified about, thankfully the cuteness he had to endure from a little you helped ease his mind off his stress and anxieties. 

he buttoned up his jacket, giving you a soft smile as he watched you doodle in a little notebook with your crayons, a messy bow in your hair from his attempt at doing your hair earlier that morning. elvis crouched down at the table, looking down at the notebook. “you're so talented, honey.” he grinned. “you gonna draw somethin’ for me for when i get out? a nice lil’ reward for daddy's hard work?” he teased, pinching your cheek as you let out a soft squeal. 

you nodded excitedly, “mhm!” you grinned. “‘m gonna draw daddy!” 

he let out a gasp, “really!” he placed a kiss onto your scalp, ruffling your hair a bit before standing up. “you make me look real good, baby. alright? i wanna see it when i finish up here.” 

“okay, daddy!” you nodded, “good luck!” 

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

you kept to yourself, music booming from outside his dressing room. you hummed and rocked to his voice as you continued to draw, making sure your drawing of elvis was as perfect as he hoped for. 

the faint sound of a door opening and closing filled your ears, followed up with the tapping of a cane. you lifted your head, looking at the larger and older man in front of you. 

now, you were well aware of how his manager strongly disapproved of you. but elvis never cared, it was his personal life–not the colonel's. he did make you nervous though, he didn't understand you being an age regressor. he didnt understand why you felt the need to act like a toddler, being helpless at your big age. 

you gulped looking up at him, watching how he hovered over you and looked at the array of crayons, markers and at the little gear you had around you. elvis brought along your sippy cup and a paci, as well as a few coloring books and toys to keep you entertained until he finished up with filming for the day.

“look at all this junk, this garbage.” the colonel spat, pointing at the table with his cane. 

you sat there silently, trying to keep your mouth shut just like elvis told you. you held your head down, going back to your drawing. 

he wasn't having it, scoffing at you and shaking his head. “you're a grown person, wearing bows in your hair and coloring like a toddler.” he shook his head. “you're dating elvis presley and this is what you choose to do in your free time?” 

“he still loves me.” you muttered. 

his cane met with your drawing, creating a circular stain of dirt right in the middle of the paper. “you're nothin’ but a gold diggin’ freak who acts like a baby to get what they want. now i demand you get up from this floor and go out there and support the man you supposedly love.” he said sternly. 

you looked up at him, tears in your eyes. he ruined your pretty drawing for elvis. if he wanted you out in the audience so badly, he would have asked. but he didn't, you were staying out of his way just as he wished. you certainly weren't a gold digger either. you didn't ask elvis to buy you nice things, it's just what he did. he didn't know what no meant, he did it out of the kindness of his heart and his love for you. 

words were formed in your brain to spit back at the old man in front of you, but nothing could come out. you had an ashamed look on your face, glancing down at the now-ruined drawing that sat on the table. 

“are you listening?” he asked, stomping his cane again. “get up!” 

you shook your head and stayed in your spot, refusing to get up for the colonel. but enough was enough for him, he ripped out the pretty bow that elvis had put in your hair just for you and stuck his cane under your arm, trying to force you up. that alone stood you up, cheeks now stained with tears as he picked up your drawing, ripping it in half in front of your very own eyes. 

outside the dressing room, there were loud cheers—the music finally coming to an end. maybe that meant elvis was coming back. 

foot steps were approaching, the sound of leather rubbing as he walked and laughter got closer and closer–finally coming to a halt once the door was opened. there stood elvis, turning his head to look at the scene in front of him. 

he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, his face turned red with anger. “now, what in the goddamn hell are you doin’?!” he shouted, storming in and pushing his manager away. “you putin’ your hands on my baby? or am i just imagining things, huh?” 

the colonel stumbled back, scoffing again and shaking his head. “this child of yours has been nothing but a distraction!” he argued. “they’re doing nothing for you except sitting back here playing with toys all while you do the hard work. can’t you see you’re being used?”

“the hell i am!” he yelled, “what i do with them and what they do in their own time ain’t nobodies business but mine and theirs. not you.” he pointed his finger angrily at parker, his eyes full of anger and fury. 

“mr. presley, i will not stand here and watch them put on such an embarassing act for you. they’re acting like a baby! can’t you see the problem here?” 

“oh, i can see a problem alright.” elvis spat, putting his hands on his hips. he turned his head to you, looking at the sad look on your face. his heart broke seeing what that awful manager of his did to you, your hair ruined and the drawing he was so excited to see now torn apart on the floor. he walked over to you, rubbing your back as the colonel stood there still disgusted by the look of you. 

“you alright, baby?” he cooed, trying to calm you down. “what did that mean man do to my baby, hm?” you didn’t respond, instead burying your face in his neck as you let out a soft whine. he could tell when you couldn’t speak. one of your ways of dealing with stressful situations, especially when they happen so sudden, was to become unable to speak. he never pressured you to say a single word if you didn’t want to.

however, it angered him that you were bullied to the point of going nonverbal. he wasn’t going to stand for that. the pretty little face he saw before heading on stage looked so broken, he wanted that version of you back. 

he stepped up to his manager, getting right in his face. “i ain’t afraid of you.” he said lowly. “you stay the hell away from them. if i see you lay even a finger on them, you’ll pay. i’ll make sure of it.” he took a deep breath, looking back at you then at him. “get the hell out of my dressin’ room.”

it was clear he wanted to argue more, but he left with a scowl on his face—making his way out of the dressing room and slamming the door behind him. 

elvis sighed, turning to look at you before pulling you in for a hug. you sobbed on his shoulder, holding him tightly and never wanting to let go. “i know, baby.” he rubbed at your back again, cooing softly in your ear. “i’m sorry, honey. i’m so sorry.” he pulled away, pressing his lips against your forehead with a soft smile. “lets see that lil’ picture you drew for me.”

your eyes darted to the ripped-up drawing on the floor, a pout on your face as he walked over to pick it up. “nah, we can save it!” 

he put the ripped-up pieces together in front of his face, grinning widely. “see! look at that. you’re so talented, baby!” it was just a mere drawing of a stick figure, a poor attempt at drawing a white suit on white paper on the said figure. but in his eyes, it was the best thing he had ever seen.

[thedaythatwas]

How to be Alone

Summary: Goro Akechi has 30 days to vacate his apartment. If only moving on were half as easy as moving out.

CW: alcohol, emetophobia, run-of-the-mill violent thoughts from Akechi, and more repression than you could possibly fathom

This is just a little snippet of a post-canon Akechi character study I've been working on! I want to share it here on tumblr as a standalone oneshot. Please don't expect any tension to be resolved <333 because that's not happening here <333

Big thank you to my lovely betas, lambsear (ao3), @cardiganbear, and @cloudysonder. Another massive thanks to @chaoticconstellation – thank you for all of the inspo and motivation (and for making me aware that apartments that evil-looking exist!)

House Hunting (or, I'm not hung up on you anymore, but here's why I hung up)

Shopping for apartments online was hell.

Akechi was no stranger to feelings of mind-numbing rage. Even so, there was something about the website he was using to search for a new living space that made him particularly angry, even by his own standards. His cursor drifted across its screen, its interface lagged, and despite his perfect internet connection, it seemed as though every thirty seconds the damn thing refreshed itself. 

Akechi wasn’t sure where exactly he was looking to live; his requirements for a new place were the vague but apt key terms, ‘Tokyo,’ ‘cheap,’ and ‘studio.’ Unfortunately, his criteria seemed to be mutually exclusive. A room of his own would cost an arm and a leg; a room with a roommate or two would take a doable (albeit still exorbitant) chunk from his savings. It was tragic, really, that Akechi would be at risk of causing grievous bodily harm to himself and others if he were forced to share a living space. Forking over cash he didn’t have was quite literally his only option. 

Akechi might have been able to search out some middle ground between striking gold beneath the streets of Kichijoji and committing another homicide if he had the luxury of time to plan his move. He had always been scrappy, even if he was seldom lucky. 

Time, however, was something that Akechi didn’t have. That, of course, had to do with the circumstances that had pushed him to bearing the indignities of online apartment hunting in the first place.

On February 3rd, Akechi had woken up in his bed. This was strange for a number of reasons. One: he didn’t make a habit of waking up when his bedside clock brightly proclaimed it to be 8:37pm. 

Two: Goro Akechi was supposed to be dead. 

And, joy of all joys, he was not. Upon registering this unfortunate new development in the saga of misfortunes that was his existence, Akechi had rolled over, buried his head in his pillow, and screamed. When soreness in his throat informed him that screaming was no longer a viable way to spend his time, he had walked to his near-empty kitchen and grabbed the frilly bottle of expensive single malt scotch that Shido had given him the day he had reported to his office to confirm Wakaba Ishikki’s death.

Akechi had been saving the bottle for the day he won.

Well. Cheers to that one. 

He had sat down on the linoleum tile floor and taken a large swig out of the bottle. Presumably, he’d repeated the act a number of times, because the next morning he’d woken up in his bed – again, ironically, with no memory of how he’d arrived there – and promptly thrown up on himself. 

He’d tossed his unlucky shirt in the garbage, along with the bottle he’d found lying knocked over and bone dry on the kitchen floor. He really had always hated it.

After spending several days lying in his bed, only leaving it to periodically feed himself one of the instant ramen packets he stockpiled in the one cabinet in his kitchen he actively used, Akechi had washed his sheets and moved on.

What else could he do?

He had contacted Sae Niijima first, because while he had been spending several days laying horizontal in a dark room, adding an abstract collage of broth splatters to his sweatpants and trying to convince himself that any of his recent decisions actually mattered, Akira Kurusu was probably behind bars giving testimony that would damn Shido and potentially put himself away for good in the process. 

And like hell was he going to let Joker one-up him by rotting away in jail while Akechi – clearly, the most deserving party in this scenario on both counts – walked free.

As soon as he’d heard the click of his phone connecting to Sae’s, Akechi had come in guns blazing announcing his intent to march down to the police station and confess to everything he’d done. He would gladly go down with Shido’s ship if it meant he could anchor him well and truly to rock bottom. 

The elder Niijima sister had rolled shockingly well with Akechi’s punches. After expressing mild surprise that he was alive, Sae had efficiently talked him off his ledge.

“Do you want Shido to be locked away for life? If your answer is yes, I suggest you stay well away from my case. I have a strategy, and it will be much less effective if I have to account for the testimony of a magical teenage assassin confessing to cognitively killing some of Japan’s most powerful men just as they’ve begun to take me seriously.” 

Akechi had never answered her question, because Akechi didn’t want Shido to be locked away. Not like this, anyway. What he had wanted hadn’t involved Kurusu, and yet, here Kurusu was in the center of it all, robbing Akechi of his chance to make Shido’s fall really hurt. 

Still, Akechi had come to terms with the fact that what he wanted and what he would get were two very different things in regards to the fate of Masayoshi Shido, and to this brave new world where Akechi was meant to be long dead. 

What he had done was take a deep breath, swallow down his very reasonable retorts – he had at least five – and ask about Kurusu. 

His inquiry was fruitful, if aggravating. Akechi hadn’t been naive enough to expect that any update on Kurusu wouldn’t be aggravating. 

Per Sae, it wouldn’t be long until Kurusu was released from juvenile detention (implied: so long as Akechi didn’t butt in). Apparently, his extended posse had banded together, and Sae doubted it would be more than a few weeks before he was out. He was actually on track to have his criminal record completely overturned.

Kurusu was relying on the power of friendship to not only avoid a life sentence, but to completely exonerate himself from the year he had spent galavanting around the Metaverse, stealing hearts and minds and Akechi’s life’s work, too. One might say that Akechi was less than enthused. Mostly, because he was near certain that using the force of true love to outrun his mistakes would actually work for Kurusu, because he was Kurusu, and of fucking course it could.

He hadn’t told Sae as much, but he sensed she’d intuited his frustration from his chorus of ‘...I see,’ ‘...I see,’ ‘...I see,’  through the phone, each repetition darker than the last. 

With that sorted, Akechi had told Sae in no uncertain terms that she was not to tell Kurusu or any of the other Phantom Thieves that he was alive under any circumstances. She said that she would respect his wishes. She hadn’t asked any follow up questions. It was a refreshing change of pace from the back and forth that talking to the rest of Kurusu’s loyal followers always seemed to entail.

Then again, this was Sae. She had been a fixture in his life long before she had become a mainstay in Kurusu’s.

That little detail out of the way, Akechi had been prepared to hang up. Before he could, Sae had invited him to coffee. Bewildered, Akechi had accepted.

“You are aware, I presume, that I’ve killed more people than the number of cases you’ve litigated over the course of your entire career, aren’t you?” Akechi had said as soon as he had slid into the stiffly upholstered booth across from Sae at the too cold, overly gray café where they had agreed to meet the following day. “Including among them Wakaba Isshiki and Kunikazu Okumura.”

Sae had pulled her credit card out of her sleek handbag and rapped it on the table between them.

“I am. Could you give me your order Akechi-kun? Drinks are on me today.”

Akechi had ordered a black drip coffee – far from the best he’d ever had – and the two of them had talked about his future, not his past. 

Sae told Akechi that she would be willing to hire him as a personal assistant. She couldn’t swing him a position interning in the public prosecutor’s office; it went without saying that Akechi ought to stay as far away as possible from any branch of law enforcement for the foreseeable future. Sure, very few people recognized him nowadays – the demiurge had fallen and taken Shido’s influence with it, and Akechi had been out of the public eye for a sufficient number of news cycles for even his most avid fans to lose interest – but it seemed unwise to tempt fate. 

They both knew that most of Shido’s conspiracy was still at large. As repentant as their former leader was, his sentiments were not widely shared. Shido had done more damage than a single change of heart could fix. 

All this to say, Akechi would be keeping a low profile. Not that he would have acted otherwise, regardless of who might want him imprisoned, or who might want him dead.

Akechi was, quite frankly, tired.

His employment would hinge on agreeing to take his high school equivalency and college entrance exams before the next university matriculation cycle. Akechi had, more or less, finished his final year of high school. Unfortunately, the less in that statement meant that he had never actually graduated. Still, he could easily pass a high school equivalency exam – an inconvenience, but a bureaucratic necessity, and hardly an insurmountable one. Before his life had gone to shit, he had been on track to get top marks on his entrance exams. It wouldn’t be difficult to keep himself versed in the material he needed to know in order to pass with flying colors.

He didn’t have strong feelings for or against Sae’s vision for his future. Akechi had been slated to die long before he had shot shut the bulkhead door on his father’s ship. He had gone to cram school because it was what the detective prince was supposed to do, and he had excelled at it because the world had told him that he couldn’t. He wasn’t like Makoto Niijima, with her good marks and bright future. 

Sae would pay him for doing this, though. More, she had that earnest look in her eyes behind the stoic contours of her face that suggested she really thought she was doing what was best for him. 

Akechi had agreed to her terms. 

Besides, he’d always been told that college wasn’t in the cards for him. The idea of proving those people wrong lit something up inside him that he hadn’t realized had been smothered until then.

Akechi would work for Sae on weekdays and study on weekends. She would check in with him once a week to confirm that he was indeed making progress on his personal studies and to assign him new memos and forms to copy edit. So long as he was on track, she would pay him another week.

It had all sounded so easy. Too easy. Akechi needed to ask.

“Why?”

Sae had taken a long sip of her cappuccino. “Why what?” 

“You know what.” Akechi had crossed his arms, his mouth drawn in a hard line, “Why this?”

Sae had set her cup down onto her saucer without so much as an audible clink. “Is it really so difficult to believe that I’d want to help you?”

“You pity me.” He’d said it like a fact, because it was a fact, and he didn’t take kindly to it. 

Sae hadn’t looked surprised to hear Akechi’s words. She raised her eyebrows.

“No, I don’t. And I’m not absolving you, either. You made choices that hurt people, and you need to face consequences for that. But, Akechi-kun…” 

Sae paused, as if weighing her next words on her tongue. “Goro. You were sixteen.”

Akechi didn’t know which part of her addendum offended him most: Sae’s use of his given name – he’d bristled, he couldn’t remember how long it had been since someone had been presumptuous enough to call him Goro – or her implication that he hadn’t known exactly what he was doing back when he first approached Shido. 

She hadn’t seen how proud he had been when Shido handed him his first pistol. She hadn’t been there each time he’d pulled its trigger. Akechi had stopped feeling anything about his hits after he’d downed a handful of targets. Through it all, he’d never felt remorse. He’d even smiled, the first time.

That smile hadn’t lasted, of course. It had fallen right along with Ishikki. Still, everyone knows that it’s your first reaction to a thing that really counts. 

Her eyes on his were resolute, as if she were daring him to object. She wasn’t budging. 

Sae had sounded awfully confident for someone who had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

Akechi remembered their long days at the police station and the late night dinners Sae would treat him to after, when he’d watch as she scarfed down cheap conveyor belt sushi and let her dignified mask slip like the rice that fell from her chopsticks to her perfectly starched dress shirt. He remembered their constant shop-talk that always seemed to border on something more personal. 

Sae knew what it was like to prove yourself in a world that wanted to see you fail. He remembered watching her come undone in October, how he almost felt bad as he watched her slip further away from her sister, and from him.

Gripping his mug hard enough to put its handle in peril, Akechi had bitten back the urge to inform Sae that he was eighteen years old now, and had done very bad things continuously from age sixteen through now, thank you very much. He was suddenly aware of exactly how juvenile it would sound if he did.

He decided that Sae could call him what she wanted. ‘Goro’ didn’t feel wrong, he supposed. It just felt new.

She was wrong about him, but he had let her continue without correction. 

“You did things that were unforgivable. What our system did to you was unforgivable.” She took a sip of her cappuccino. The action was smug, somehow, like she knew just how much she’d gotten away with when Akechi kept his silence. At least she was self-aware. “Masayoshi Shido is being brought to justice, and Kurusu-kun isn’t facing anything that he can’t handle. This will be over soon.” 

Akechi could hardly believe that. While he had faith in Sae’s legal prowess, Shido was just one head of a veritable hydra of corruption and intrigue. Rooting out his conspiracy would air out Japan’s dirty laundry in a way that he doubted the powerful men who soiled it would permit. It would be dangerous business to try.

He couldn’t fathom that Shido was a problem that had an imminent expiration date. He was supposed to be Akechi’s Gordian knot. Shido was his arms race, his mutually assured destruction. Unraveling him couldn’t possibly be so simple, and it couldn’t possibly be done without Akechi. 

Could it?

Where the hell did that leave him?

Of course, Sae’s words were meant to be encouraging, even if Akechi could actively feel his vision tunneling and his pulse jackhammering up. He clamped that feeling down and shoved it somewhere to sort through later – or never – as Sae pushed on.

“I want you to move forward. I don’t see any reason for you not to. That’s where you’ll find justice.”

It all sounded so scripted. Akechi wondered how many times she had practiced her little speech in the mirror after she’d drafted it on her legal pad. He knew it was her standard practice for high stakes days in court. Sae never let slip that she was nervous, but that didn’t mean she never was. 

While Akechi was almost flattered that she considered him worth a rehearsal or two, her dedication had been proving to be rather inconvenient that day. A Sae who had decided she needed to win seldom lost. The Phantom Thieves had helped her reorient her sense of justice towards good ends, but there was no version of Sae who wasn’t as stubborn as the one they’d encountered in her casino.

Fortunately, so was Akechi. 

“I’ve earned execution ten times over.” 

He barely managed to keep his words level as he forced them out. It was vexing that he needed to remind the woman sitting across from him – a public prosecutor with one of the most gleaming case records Tokyo had seen in recent memory – that per the word of her own law, he deserved to die. 

She tucked a wayward strand of hair neatly behind her ear and clasped her hands together on the tabletop between them.

“And I’m telling you that executing you doesn’t help anyone,” she hadn’t raised her voice, but Akechi could hear it harden with authority, “Learn to be a better person. You still have plenty of time to grow. Don’t forfeit this opportunity that you’ve been given to do that.”

He scoffed. “And if I can’t?”

“Then don’t. But I think you can.” 

She had said it without hesitation, like she really believed it. At that realization, Akechi let out a laugh that bordered on a snort, the kind he never would have allowed to slip through his throat when Sae had known him as someone else.

“You’re all insane.”

She hadn’t seemed surprised by his outburst as she took a long drink from her cup. As she swallowed, clearly unperturbed, Akechi found himself wondering if he’d given her too little credit, or himself too much. Probably both.

Sae’s lip quirked up. “Maybe. But I’ve realized that you need to be a little insane to believe you can see the world change for the better. Your teammates helped me learn that.”

Akechi’s hackles raised. “They are not my teammates.”

“Oh really?” She set her cup down onto her saucer, “I think Kurusu-kun would disagree.” 

That half-smile of hers persisted, like she thought she knew something he didn’t. “You know, he asked about you earlier this week. He seemed riled up. I think he would want to know that you’re alive.”

It didn’t even take eyes to notice Akira Kurusu’s bleeding-heart obsession with who he thought Akechi was. It practically radiated off of him in waves you could touch, like he was some sort of sad magnet for homicidal lost causes. Sae wasn’t telling Akechi anything he couldn’t have reasonably inferred, knowing what he did about Kurusu. 

If Sae said that Kurusu was ‘riled up,’ he knew that Kurusu must have been near hysterics. Well, per the yardstick of Kurusu’s typical emoting capacity. He could envision the way Kurusu’s lips had probably gotten all drawn, the way they tended to when he tried to hide that he was feeling more than he let on. 

Kurusu didn’t wear his emotions on his sleeve, but he wasn’t impossible to read if you knew what you were looking to find. His brow had probably furrowed, his fists had probably clenched, and his eyes had probably gone just short of misty. 

Akechi wasn’t sure how he felt about that mental image.

“Well, we can’t always get what we want, now can we?”

“I understand, Goro,” Sae stared him dead in the eye as she said his given name, leaving Akechi no option but to immediately take a good long drink of burnt coffee from his mug. “But consider it for me, won’t you? I don’t think that it would be a bad idea for you to build a support network for yourself.”

 Akechi cursed to himself. He should have known that she wouldn’t let this topic lie so easily.

Akechi grit his teeth. “I don’t think Sakura or Okumura would take kindly to seeing me.”

“Then don’t see them.” She said it matter of fact, like it was that easy. “But, for the record, I think that Kurusu-kun would.”

Of course Kurusu would. Even a child who couldn’t add two and two could piece together that Akira Kurusu would probably lop off a limb to have been in that booth with them that day. The idiot had wished Akechi back into existence and into his life, and he would again if he could.

That was why he couldn’t know that Akechi was alive. 

Well, it accounted for half the issue.

The other half rested on the fact that Kurusu had been the first thing to cross Akechi’s mind in that half second that passed between realizing he was alive and resolving to scream about it. He hadn’t had the decency to fully leave Akechi’s thoughts ever since, with the exception of the several hours he had spent blackout drunk. 

Somehow, that last bit was less than reassuring. 

Even worse, none of it was exactly new. 

The long and short of it was that Akechi needed to get himself clean, and he couldn’t very well do that if Kurusu came chasing after him. 

And so, he made his words as sharp as he could muster. “I think that Kurusu-kun should get a grip and realize that I very sincerely tried to murder him.”

Sae stared him down. He was under no illusions – this was an interrogation. It was a surprise when her gaze softened. 

She hummed. “Do you regret it?”

And wasn’t that a loaded question? 

He regretted that it had all amounted to nothing. He regretted that Shido had played him for a fool, and that on the evening of November 20th, he’d gone home and damn near cracked open his bottle of Shido revenge scotch. He regretted that at some catastrophic point in the past year, besting Joker had become something bigger than besting his father, and that just as soon as Akechi had thought he’d managed it, the metal on metal scent of blood splattering onto the interrogation room’s table from Kurusu’s too-blank face became something he needed to forget. 

Of course, he also regretted that he’d been tricked, and that he’d wasted several nights wide awake thinking about the way Kurusu had looked at him that night in the bathhouse, sweat on his brow and droplets of steam condensed on his irritatingly long lashes, like he had really wanted to be there with him, listening. 

His brief brush with insomnia had cost Akechi twelve dollars in drugstore coffee, five dollars in sugar-free energy drinks, and at least three years of his life, if you accounted for the carcinogens that made up the latter. Akechi did.

At least he’d saved that bottle of scotch. It had gone to waste anyway, but it was more about the principle of the thing.

But he couldn’t very well explain any of that to Sae. So, Akechi had lied.

“No.”

“I see.” If Sae was disappointed in his answer, she didn’t show it. She gave him a nod, drummed her fingers on the table, and checked her watch. “Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll keep your existence to myself until you tell me to do otherwise.”

Sae had swallowed down the last of her drink, and that was that.

Since that day, his life had gone on. He spent his weekdays looking over Sae’s contracts and his weekends grinding out practice problems from study books. Sometimes he would work in his apartment. He’d draw open the blinds and spread his papers across his bed – he had a desk, but it was cramped, his chair was stiff, and he’d never really brought himself around to using the space as it was meant to be used. 

Other days, Akechi camped out in cafés around the city. He operated under the assumption that any place that had the audacity to charge 700 yen for a barely passable latte must have presumed he would use said latte as an all-day pass to free wifi and a climate controlled workspace. Akechi felt vindicated in taking full advantage.

He found that the more tasks he had to fill his time, the less liable his mind was to wander. 

Not that it was always easy. It had been hardest at first, when more mornings than not the was filled with the urge to lay under his comforter and rot through the day. He’d learned quickly that when that urge struck, it was best to call Sae and pick up an extra stack of whatever she could push off on him before her work day started. He would chip away at it during the daylight hours and catch up with his other tasks at night, a can of cold brew in one hand and a highlighter in the other. 

He never slipped behind Sae’s expectations for him, because he was Goro Akechi, and he didn’t let himself lose if he could help it. Still, it wasn’t lost on him that he wasn’t supposed to be alive. Sue him if that got to him once in a while. 

He hadn’t planned for any of this, and if he did anything besides move straight through it all, the shiny paint of productivity he’d slapped over his unplanned extension pack to living would slide right off. It would become obvious that there was little holding his life together besides spite, busywork, and a lawyer who had willfully decided she wouldn’t let him quit as her part-timer, or as anything else. 

Thinking about that never did him any good, so he didn’t. Fortunately, Akechi was no stranger to doing what needed to be done first and wondering how on earth he had managed it after the fact. 

Now, he needed to move forward. So he did.

That wasn’t to say his strategy always worked. 

It tended to happen late at night, when Akechi didn’t have the energy to stop his thoughts from drifting to the subjects his wiser, more conscious self refused to engage. 

Typically, that meant Joker. No. It always meant Joker. Shido, too, but it was infuriating, really, how even those thoughts tended to meander back around to Joker, too. 

As Akechi had taken his post-hibernation shower months ago, his sheets in the wash and grease sloughing from his hair in the suds of overpriced shampoo, Akechi had come to a number of resolute conclusions about the state of his life. Namely, if he was going to continue to live it, he had a few non-negotiables.

To start, he would keep a wide berth from any news outlets covering the Shido trial – he was sure there would be more than a few. He’d find a way to get his hands on another, cheaper bottle of something high-proof. He would learn to use one kitchen appliance besides the microwave. The oven, maybe.

And, of course, he would keep himself far, far away from Akira Kurusu.

Akechi would have liked to think that his thoughts always seemed to land on Kurusu out of force of habit. After all, he’d spent months tracking his every move. He’d never quite learned to think like Kurusu – he doubted that anyone could – but Akechi certainly knew the timetables of the trains he took to get around town, the names of his managers at each of his (many) part-time jobs, and which vending machines he preferred to get his snacks from. 

Had he strictly needed to collect so much information on the leader of the Phantom Thieves in the name of reconnaissance? Perhaps not. It wasn’t as though knowing that Kurusu routinely arrived at his station around three minutes before his scheduled train would actually give him an edge in battle. 

(Akechi of the past had tried to posture that it might, but Akechi of the past was an idiot, and Akechi of the present could admit that.)

He had never been one to half-ass, though, and Kurusu had always been so interesting. His calendar protested his reprioritization, but there was nothing new or surprising about that. The detective prince’s life had been a scheduling impossibility, and Akechi had managed regardless. More than managed, really.

Tragically, ‘reconnaissance’ couldn’t account for the way Akechi’s vision tunneled around Kurusu. It couldn’t explain away the thoughts Kurusu always managed to coax out of his head and into speech. 

So, no. Akechi wasn’t stupid enough to believe that his continued fixation on Akira Kurusu was ‘force of habit.’ It was something much more dangerous, and he couldn’t afford to allow himself to succumb to it. Not after everything.

If Akechi was going to live a life, that life would damn well be his own. He refused to live for anybody but himself, and that included Akira Kurusu.

Still, the version of Akechi that lay awake in his bed at 4am, strung out on caffeine, had been known to have other thoughts from time to time. When his eyes were bloodshot and jargon swirled on his ceiling, he thought back to the look on Kurusu’s face when he had caught his glove. Cocky – Joker always was — but something more behind that. Akechi could only describe it as the expression of a boy missing something he hadn’t yet lost. 

It had taken him too long to realize that Kurusu had known exactly what the glove had meant from the moment it had been thrown. It had taken him even longer to realize that Kurusu had understood it better than Akechi had. 

It was enough to make him want to tear Kurusu apart, nice and slow, piece by piece. It was almost enough to make him want to reach for his phone.

He didn’t, of course. There was a lot of power in ‘almost.’ It meant that he was in control.

It was easier during the day. Sae always had something to shrug off on him if he needed it. 

Of course, there was also the pesky matter of his father.

That day at the café, Sae had mentioned that she’d spoken to him. Shido had said that he wouldn’t implicate Akechi in his trial. Apparently, he’d expressed regrets about his treatment of his son. 

Akechi hadn’t asked her for more information. She had already said too much. 

Once, there had been nothing Akechi wanted more than to hear his father drool out how big of a mistake it had been to leave him. Now, the thought of Shido feeling at all guilty, or heaven forbid, apologizing to him, made bile rise in the back of his throat.

Just one hit, and Akechi would want another. There would be nothing of him left. It was a trend, it seemed, that Akechi needed to learn when to keep well enough away from people he’d let spin him in circles.

Fortunately, he had always been a quick study.

Akechi hadn’t tried to contact him, and he and Sae hadn’t discussed Masayoshi Shido any further since. 

Given his track record with all things luck and Shido related, Akechi really should have expected that decision to come back and bite him. 

The rabid dog that was the universe’s refusal to let Akechi live his life in peace caught up to him one day in early June. Coming home from a coffee shop, mini-mart sushi in hand, he’d seen it. 

He had thirty days to vacate his apartment, because of fucking course he did.

Akechi felt six years old again. Seeing the notice pasted to his apartment door, he may as well have been holding his mother’s hand. He felt it clench around his pudgy fingers tight enough to hurt. He knew that she didn’t mean it. He knew that she hadn’t meant to fall behind on rent, either. He knew that some nights at her club were lucrative, and that some mornings, she couldn’t find it in herself to get out of bed. Their income had never been stable, and neither had their address.

But his mother wasn’t there, she hadn’t been for a long time, and Akechi was the only one responsible for the little crescent-shaped indents in his palms as he stared at the paper on his door and tried to will it away with the sheer force of his – in his humble opinion – very justified righteous anger.

He’d called Sae immediately, right as soon as he’d ripped down the notice, gone inside, and poured himself a drink. Apparently, all of Shido’s hidden assets had finally been frozen. Even if he wanted to continue to pay Akechi’s rent, he couldn’t. Akechi hadn’t been affected until now because Shido had, prior to recent events, had his apartment bills set to auto-pay from one of his more clandestine bank accounts. 

That was something that even now made the part of Akechi’s brain that had stayed young and poor recoil. To have so much cash that a transfer of that size could simply be counted on to go through every month, no risk of declining – from an auxiliary checking account – seemed almost gluttonous. 

Well, the payment had finally bounced, it seemed. Nobody was untouchable. It would have been more gratifying if Akechi weren’t the one being left high and dry. He had hung up the phone and downed the last of his drink. His mediocre room-temperature sushi forgotten, he’d taken a seat on his floor, opened his laptop, and typed in a preliminary search for Tokyo-studio-cheap. 

That brought him to now. It was remarkable, really, how his day had only managed to get worse and worse in the hour that had passed since then.

Staying in his current apartment simply wasn’t an option. Akechi had tucked money into his savings account during his time as the detective prince, of course, but even the sizable amount he had slowly accrued for himself over the last several years wouldn’t be able to cover more than a month or two of rent in the place Shido had picked out for him. It had a separate kitchen, living, and sleeping space, alongside a full bathroom. It was fully renovated and featured in-unit laundry. It even came with a parking spot (not that Akechi owned a car, could drive, or feasibly use his space in the garage in literally any capacity). 

All of it had been an undeniable power play on Shido’s part. The place really was too much for him. It was a needless show of excess – an in-your-face sort of look what I can do for you, aren’t you scared to lose it?

Sure, Akechi could spend three years worth of residual earnings on thirty extra days in this place, but all it would do was buy him time, not to mention drain the last financial cushion he had left. He needed to put down a deposit on another place, after all. His bank account would be running on fumes after that, and rent at his new place would be due almost immediately. 

Fuck. He’d almost forgotten his utilities. His phone bill. His Wi-Fi. He didn’t need to be a genius to know that any day now, those expenses would hit him too.

Shido would be burning in hell for a whole host of reasons – Akechi knew this, because he’d spent the last several years of his life passively looping his long, long list of them through his head like a rallying cry. It was always a solid hit that got his head where it needed to be to do whatever he needed to do. This newest slight was a tiny drop of water in the ocean of ways his father had wronged him. 

Still. If there was any justice in the world, Akechi would be allowed to spit on his father during his fiery descent. Just a little bonus to him for needing to go through this after everything he’d already endured.

All roads led to moving. May as well get it done sooner rather than later. 

Akechi would need to pick up a second job to somehow come up with the difference between his dwindling savings account, Sae’s weekly commission, and the cost of living accommodations that would let him avoid adding to his death toll. It would be a less insulting prospect if any of the studio apartments he would be able to afford after that looked remotely liveable.

This one said that the paint on its walls might contain traces of lead, and that its landlord wouldn’t be held liable for medical damages that resulted from it. That one had visible mold on the bathroom tiles, even in the very obviously postured online listing photos. He shuddered to think of the state of that shower if he saw it in the flesh. 

Every listing Akechi had looked at so far seemed to come with its own set of shockingly diverse hazards, their one continuity being that they evoked similar feelings of dread in the pit of his stomach. The ones that didn’t come with a laundry list of health and safety violations stated up front that they required an application pre-screening. Akechi’s credit score was perfectly fine – the detective prince had always paid off his statements in full, and on time. What he didn’t have were two good references. As it turned out, that was rapidly proving itself to be a serious problem.

Even on a webpage with the best user interface imaginable, the experience would have been bleak. That said, Akechi might have felt slightly less homicidal if the website didn’t reload every single time he clicked the back-out arrow after he decided he wasn’t (yet) desperate enough to risk braving exposed wiring in his combined living-bedroom-kitchen-foyer-bathroom space.

It wasn’t as though Akechi hadn’t expected this would happen – he just hadn’t expected it to happen now. He had wanted to be able to really plan his move. The fact he’d even thought that taking his sweet time could be an option for him was proof that he’d let his guard down. 

He clicked on another listing. Wonderful. This one was just under 150 square feet. He honestly hadn’t known that was legal.

Well. Actually. 

He paused. Zoomed in.

On second glance, maybe it wasn’t so bad. It looked clean, recently renovated. The move-in date fit his needs. It was small, sure, but it seemed like the space was well allocated. He mentally crumpled up his commitment to learning how to use an oven. It wouldn’t be happening in a place of this size, but maybe that was for the best, anyway.

He decided to click the button to arrange a tour with the landlord. Maybe his situation wasn’t so dire after all.

Of course, that was when the website decided to crash.

The noise that wrenched its way out of his throat wasn’t unlike how he expected a dying cat might sound. He slammed his laptop shut and rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyelids. 

He needed another drink.

He poured himself a coffee mug of vodka and water. It was like vodka and soda for people who barely had the means to buy themself vodka, and for whom also needing to buy mixers felt like adding insult to injury. It was disgusting, but a disgusting necessity. Today, his crime against good taste was the housing market’s fault.

He took a sip, grimaced, and climbed into his bed. He propped himself up on his pillows and took another long drink. It didn’t taste quite so bad now that he’d whet his palate. 

Fuck. He hadn’t even had the chance to change when he’d gotten home. He undid the top buttons of his dress shirt where they pinched at his neck. It wasn’t as though Akechi had anyone to look nice for, nowadays, but his wardrobe hadn’t gotten a radical overhaul since the detective prince’s fall from notoriety. He’d worn designer shirts then, he’d wear designer shirts now. They looked slightly worse for wear, but at least that meant they were incrementally more comfortable to wear out now than they had been back in the day.

Not by much. He sighed as the stale air conditioning of his room hit his skin. He took another sip of his drink. Then another.

It wouldn’t be so hard to find that listing again. He was pissed on principle. Websites should work. Apartments should be bigger than closets. You should be able to beg a landlord to let you live in a closet-sized apartment on a website that at least functioned halfway decently.

He took another good long gulp from his mug.

He could have really gone for coffee, right then. Not the glorified overpriced milk you could get from any old chain. The good stuff.

It had been a long time since he’d had good coffee. 

There was only one place Akechi had ever had truly, honest-to-god good coffee.

His cellphone was lying at the foot of his bed.

He could send him a text, right now. Something clever. Akechi knew that no matter what it was, it would shock him, but it needed to be witty, too, because he would expect nothing less. He would kill to see the look on his face. He would look down at his phone, see Akechi’s name light up his screen, and his eyes would get all wide and scared. 

You’ve been alive all this time? 

They would meet up, and Kurusu, he’d be miserable, he’d probably cry or do something equally sappy, and – once he really processed – he’d be mad as all hell. Akechi would laugh at him, say something as snarky as the situation demanded, and watch the anger melt right off of Kurusu’s face in real time. 

Akechi would finally have pulled one over on him. He’d finally win. He could feel the rush already. 

Kurusu wanted to lose so bad, it was embarrassing, really.

Right as fantasy Kurusu threw himself at fantasy Akechi, real Akechi felt a wave of cold dread wash over him.

He walked to the sink and poured his final few sips of vodka water down the sink.

No. Hell no. 

He turned on the tap and splashed cold water on his face. It dripped down his neck. He couldn’t bring himself to mind as it trickled down to the collar of his undone shirt.

He was better than this. He knew damn well that the only one ‘losing’ in the situation his addled mind had cooked up was himself. 

It had only taken half a drink to get him there. 

Fuck. He doused his face in more water for good measure.  

He walked back to his bedroom, unlocked his phone, and scrolled through his message logs to find his last conversation with Akira Kurusu. Taking care not to click anything damning, he swiped to delete it.

There. It was over. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t done that sooner.

He rinsed out his mug and poured himself a glass of water from the tap. It didn’t need ice – he’d already confirmed that it was sufficiently chilled.

His laptop was still on his kitchen floor. Akechi took a seat, cross legged, and reloaded the webpage he had been on previously. Surely, he’d have more luck this session. Maybe he’d even find a place larger than 150 square feet. 175 seemed like a reasonable goal.

He would make this work. He was moving apartments, and he was moving on. He’d managed far more difficult things in the past. 

He looked at his phone, sitting on the floor to his right. He tapped the display once. 

No new messages. And why would there be?

He sighed and got to work.

[gentil-minou]

once upon a time, 很久很久以前

Once upon a time, there lived a magical boy who was lost far, far away from home… Wei Wuxian is perfectly ready to celebrate another mediocre birthday alone when a ten-year-old shows up on his doorstep claiming to be his son. This kid is convinced everyone in his town has been dragged away from their xianxia world and cursed to live as ordinary citizens in a mundane small town, and he's certain that Wei Wuxian is the key to saving them, his other dad, and their entire world. He sounds insane, but, well, Wei Wuxian likes him. Besides, what else can he do but follow him back home? (A Wangxian AU based on the show Once Upon a Time, no prior knowledge of said show necessary)

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Transmigration, of the townwide variety, Amnesia, of the nearly everyone variety, Mystery, of the shenanigans variety, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn Has Self-Esteem Issues, wwx is sad and down bad, Single Parent Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, except a-yuan runs away to find his other dad, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Minor Character Death, Angst with a Happy Ending

Wangxian + A-Yuan + Minor Characters | WIP 4/? | 52K | Rated M

Preview under the cut

Once upon a time, there was a boy who believed he loved the world more than it could ever love him.

He would be proven very wrong.

~

Everyone loves the birthday boy.

They especially love him several shots in on Halloween night, wearing an outfit that’s little more than a couple scraps of fabric hastily sewn together in some approximation of a “Sexy Whatever”. Privately, Wei Wuxian calls it Dealer’s Choice, letting whoever he’s currently flirting with decide what it is.

It doesn’t matter; that’s never been the point of the night. Sure a birthday is meant to be spent celebrating, but that’s a bit harder to do when he doesn’t have anyone to celebrate with. It would be fine, as long as he could have as many free drinks as he could score and at least a passably decent fuck, he’d consider it a good night.

Really, when it comes down to it, it’s just another day. Halloween, yes, which makes it a moderately better one. But beyond that bit of fun that comes with picking up a pretty stranger at a bar, there really isn’t much else to look forward to. This is how Wei Wuxian expects to celebrate his birthday:

He’d saunter into how ever many establishments it takes until he finds a pretty enough stranger he can stand being around. The pretty stranger would look him up and down, dragging their eyes over his toned long legs and resting far too long at the slope between his narrow waist and wide hips. And for that one moment, he’d be the most important boy in the world.

He’d get a few free cheap drinks and eventually, they’d find their way to some back alley with its familiar stench of overripe garbage and piss. He’d let himself be pressed up against the brick wall, rough against his back; the perfect distraction from everything else. Then the pretty stranger would stick their tongue far enough down his throat so that he could pretend this day is just like any other.  

In between sloppy kisses and sub-par groping attempts, they’d get his name wrong while he’d have already forgotten theirs. They’d mutter a “Happy Halloween, Birthday Boy” like so many one-night stands before them, and he’d giggle and laugh like it’s the very first time. It’s never difficult to plaster a patented smile and play pretend. Then he’d drop to his knees and let the world fall away.

Finally, after however many drinks and strangers it would take to make him forget, he’d stumble back to his basement studio with just enough awareness to take off his shoes before passing out on his secondhand stained mattress. His dreams would be fast and incomprehensible, a mosaic of imaginary maybes and a dream of a life he’d never had.

This is how he’s celebrated the last several years, and it’s how he expects to celebrate this year as well. 

Because it’s not just Halloween and it’s not just his birthday. It’s the anniversary of his parents leaving their son behind in a dingy alley, wedged between a dumpster and a pile of soggy cardboard. Not even the barest hint of an afterthought, like maybe we shouldn’t leave this small defenseless child asleep and at the mercy of sewer rats?

But if the liquor is strong enough and the haze is just right he wouldn’t remember that until the next morning. That’s what the night is really for. Not a celebration or anything like that, but a desperate attempt at some peace away from this life of his.

Tonight will be his twenty-fifth birthday, and it might as well not be at all.

And then it will end, and November 1st will come around, and the world will keep turning like it always does.

But somehow, not one of those things goes according to plan. In fact, the universe has a completely different plan for him this year, it seems. 

Read more on Ao3

[tantalizingtopi]

Last Solstice I Gave You My Heart

Gortash x Dark Urge (Claret in this one shot)

Word Count: 1658

Disclaimer: characters are not mine, but Larian Studios for Baldur’s Gate 3

A Bhaalist Tradition (I just made up), one gives the person who has impacted them the most in the last year the heart of one who has slighted them or otherwise caused them grief. Claret had done just that last winter solstice, and her business partner had thrown it away, disgusted. She won’t make the same mistake again.

Claret watches the snow fall outside from her position at the Elfsong tavern, having taken the corner table for herself to drown her sorrows. She had nearly forgotten about last solstice and how she had declared her interest in her business partner, only to find her token of adoration in the garbage, and him annoyed at her for bringing him ‘gory tokens’ when she could just tell him who she killed if he needed to know about it.

She takes another long pull of her ale, knowing that trying to drink her sorrows will amount to nothing. She had taken care to carve out the heart of that man who had dared speak ill of the subject of her affection, how carefully she had removed it, cleaned it, and put it in the perfect packaging.

A Bhaalist tradition, one cuts the heart out of someone who has wronged the creature who has most impacted their life since the last solstice. Lovers give them to one another. This year, Claret is going to give her heart to Ghislev, who has agreed to become the undead Farslayer to further protect the temple. Due to the cult's growing influence in the city, more and more people are trying to find the temple, and security needs to be increased. Ghislev has proven himself to be both worthy of Bhaal and worthy of the honor. He only has asked to have one last winter solstice to be with his lover and to slay the one that has caused them the most grief.

If Claret were crueler, she would’ve picked his lover to be the sacrifice for Ghislev, as he is clearly causing Ghislev grief. Instead, she has killed his cousin, who had spoken out against the cult. She has the heart in her satchel, cleaned and fermenting in a jar with a white satin ribbon that had been soaked in the cousin’s blood. Claret finishes her drink, looking out once more to the heavy flakes. She pulls her cloak on and stands, only to feel a small tug at her side.

“Ma’m, this is for you,” the young errand boy says, holding out a folded note. She takes it and slips the child two silvers which he quickly pockets and bows, before rushing away. Claret unfolds the note and see the neat, tight encrypted lettering of the Banite.

‘Will I see you for Solstice? I have something for you.’

She sneers, crumpling the note. She had planned on stopping by his place for a quick romp after giving Ghislev his heart. But now she wonders if she should give him the satisfaction of seeing her. After all, their last meeting had left a bad taste in her mouth. They weren’t exclusive or anything, and they hadn’t ever vowed to be anything more than business partners, but having him cut her off early so he could go whisper sweet nothings in some patriars ear still hurt her. She didn’t like the way he made her feel in those moments, didn’t know how to handle herself. Their non-relationship was the closest she had ever come to anything remotely long term, previous affairs always ended bloody in one way or another and were exceptionally short-lived.

She leaves the tavern, heading to Ghislev’s home, still unsure of what she would do following her visit with the future farslayer. The streets, earlier bustling with people are nearly empty, save for a few souls hurrying through the storm to their destinations and those unlucky enough to have nowhere else to go but the streets. Still, there were fires in alleyways for those undesirables, and perhaps a few would be fortunate enough to breathe their last breath for Bhaal, as was common for those without someone to give a heart to their god instead.

The snow crunches in under her boots as she nears the small home in which Ghislev shared with his lover. Gods, Claret hates his lover, an arrogant sniveling little man who constantly ridicules Ghislev. She reaches the door and knocks, hearing voices inside.

The door swings open and the snooty face of the high elf gazes down at her. “Oh, it’s you.”

“I just need to see Ghislev for a few moments, Daevin,” Claret says, brushing past him. She didn’t make a habit of social calls, but she had visited them many times, taking a special interest in Ghislev, as he was one of her first recruits when she had first arrived in Baldur’s Gate.

Ghislev turns from the fire to look at her, confusion passing on his face. “Is everything okay?”

“No, things aren’t okay,” Daevin scowls, “you’re interrupting our solstice.”

Claret’s eyes flash, and she has to stifle her urge to sacrifice Daevin to her father right now. She grits her teeth and vows to end him once Ghislev is stationed as farslayer. Her voice comes quiet and low, “Care, Daevin.”

Daevin’s face pales and he says nothing more, but still holds his posture. Claret removes the jar from her satchel and presents it to Ghislev, bowing slightly. Ghislev bows as he takes it, “For me!”

“For you on the night of the most shadow. Your cousin shall not cause harm to you again,” Claret says. “I shall leave you to relish yourself in the night, for all too soon the dawn will come.”

“Thank you, my Lady,” Ghislev says, bowing deeply again to her. Claret brings her hood up and steps around Darvin, pausing for just a moment to lock eyes with the elf, watching as he trembles before she whirls out into the night once more.

Claret finds herself in front of Gortash’s workshop, her mind still not made up if she should see him or not. She shifts on her feet, the cold beginning to seep into her boots. She sighs, turning to go when the door swings open to reveal her business partner, “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to come.”

He beckons her inside and she hesitates for a moment before giving in and going inside. The workshop is warm and welcoming, and Enver helps her out of her cloak. He hangs it near the hearth as she takes in the space around her with surprise. The hearth’s fire glows brightly, two glasses and a bottle of wine sit on his cleared off workbench along with some meats and cheeses, there is even a scent of cinnamon and cranberries in the air. She eyes him warily, “are you expecting someone?”

“Only you, my murderous beauty,” Enver purrs. She laughs.

“You cleaned this all for me? How long did that take?”

He grins. “Longer than I’d like to admit, if I’m being honest. I wanted to make the longest night special for you— for us. I know how special it is to you, now.”

“It’s just another night, another silly holiday, Enver.”

The smuggler rolls his eyes. “Don’t be flippant, it’s unbecoming.”

“Much about me is unbecoming, which is why you don’t find me mingling in high society all that often,” Claret replies, a grin on her lips.

“Don’t tell me you still upset about the other night,” Enver replies.

“I came here, didn’t I?”

Enver opens the drawer to his workstation and pulls out two ornately wrapped packages and sets them in front of her. “I was planning on giving these to you later, but perhaps it’s best I do this now.”

Claret eyes the boxes in front of her, hearing a soft metallic sound coming from the smaller one, but makes no move to open them. She occasionally gave small trinkets to her business partner, usually tokens from the people she had eliminated on his behalf as per their agreement, but never had he returned the gesture. His acknowledgment of their dealings have been grander gestures, such as torture racks of her ancestors which were now proudly on display in the temple. “What are these?”

“They’re gifts, Claret. For you,” Gortash’s smile doesn’t meet his anxious gaze. “Just open them.”

Claret’s fingers shake slightly as she pulls at the golden ribbon on the first box, the bow unwinding easily. She lifts off the lid and stares inside. “Enver?”

She pulls the glass case from the box and looks at the organ suspended in the middle. He gives her a small smile. “I wasn’t aware of the custom last year, and didn’t know the significance. This is the heart of the man who hit your little urchin girl last tenday in the park. I only hope it begins to make up for the way I mishandled your gesture.”

Claret’s eyes water as she smiles. She had went to find the man and couldn’t. She often gave coins and baubles to the urchins that hung around the park she frequently busked at for a brief escape from the temple. She was self taught and not particularly good, knowing only a small handful of songs, but the street children would dance and play about when she performed and it made her feel like she was doing something nice for them. “Thank you.”

“Open the other one,” he encourages.

She picks up the smaller box and opens it, pulling out a chain from which hangs a tiny metal heart, the intricate device moving—no, she realizes, beating— as if it were a real heart. Enver steps closer and takes the box from her hand, pulling her palm up to rest on his heart. She feels his heartbeat at the same rhythm of the one on the chain. “What is—“

“Claret,” Enver says quickly, his pulse beginning to race under her touch, “you have my heart. I know that our relationship is unorthodox and far from ideal, and that it may be our downfall in the end, but you are the only person I have ever given my heart to, the only person I will ever give it to.”

She presses her lips to his. “Blessed Solstice, Enver.”

“Blessed Solstice, my love.”

[snowblack-charcoalwhite]

D&D were judged too harshly. Now it's more evident than ever because imagine what would have happened with got if Condal had been the showrunner? It's dreadful to even think about it. The last two seasons were far from perfect story-wise, but still far superior to this garbage. I don't get how anyone genuinely likes it, like, I get that team black are happy because of their girlboss Rhae Rhae and her loyal Dae Dae are the "good ones", but still, if you use your brain just a little, everything falls apart. Not to mention that many of those people were way too harsh to dnd and got and still are, five years later. But hotd is somehow fine. F***king hypocrites. Now we have a proof that one of the biggest reasons for the outrage over got ending, if not THE REASON, was the fact Daenerys didn't become the queen. And I'm saying this as someone who is her fan. Because look, Aemond and Alicent's character assassinations are far worse and happened much faster than hers, but it doesn't matter apparently. Like I said, hypocrites.

Hello!

While I really dislike two last seasons of GoT, HotD earned from me something more - borderline hatred and disgust. And I think one of the reasons for it is that while D&D messed up quite a few characters (they clearly aren't the most talented writers to put it mildly), I never felt from them the same attitude as I do feel from HotD writers. The latter use the characters, plain and simple, and it is getting more and more evident that they don't really care about them - even about those who look like their favourites. All they care about is earning woke points for HBO and showing off their "writing genius" (and they fail spectacularly on both fronts - except they don't seem to realize it).

As for the wokeness, I swear it's been destroying people's critical thinking day by day - and contributing to the dumbification of modern mainstream media. Indeed, why would studios and networks invest their resources in creating a compelling story and carefully crafting all the aspects of it when all is needed is to feed people one oversimplified idea per movie/show? It is a very sad and disheartening thing to see. And that's why we need to show our support for quality projects created with love and care - for the story, for the characters and for the audience.

[formerheroeswhoquittoolate]

why I'm unhappy with secret invasion: an accidental essay that turned out WAY more aggressive than I wanted it to (sorry about that)

I'm furious about how Secret Invasion is going. It feels like Marvel just went ahead with a Samuel L. Jackson vanity project, but and it's barely interesting and it's fucking with canon characterization. And it's fucking Secret Invasion! This could be meaningful! But instead it feels like it's trying to redo what TFATWS already did and did better. We already HAD a show about a global terrorist movement and the evils of white privilege, and it was actually really good, so what is this show supposed to be again? Oh. I see. It's different because Nick Fury is in it. Gotcha.

Oh, and [spoilers for ep 1 and 2]

They killed Maria Hill in the first episode. Not only did they kill her (which is bad enough from this studio, considering they've also killed Gamora, Natasha, and Wanda), but they fridged her. And not even kind-of-fridged, like with the aforementioned characters, where the death was required and mostly reasonable by in-universe circumstances, even if it was an easy out. No. Maria was literally, actually, to-the-letter fridged. They even confirm that in the dialogue of the second episode. Fury actually says that Gravik killed her to hurt him. She didn't have to die -- hell, if she wasn't going to be relevant to the rest of the show, she didn't even need to be in it in the first place! (More on that in a minute.)

And the thing is. The thing is. I would be so much happier with the show if the roles were reversed. Canon Fury is all "I still believe in heroes! There's good in people! Befriend the aliens!" He's a badass spymaster, yeah, sure, but he's also pretty optimistic about people. And then there's Maria Hill.

[Image description: Maria Hill, saying "Best advice you'll ever get from me, a dedicated law enforcement officer, to you, an amateur looking to go pro: 'Assume everyone is a broken, nightmare, garbage person and then be pleasantly surprised if it ends up not the case.' It'll save you a lifetime of disappointments."] [Image credits: Bendis and Pichelli's Spider-Man #12 (2017)]

That seems to have carried over into the MCU fairly well. And to see her? Struggling to fulfill Fury's goal after his death, operating without her mentor for the first time, trying to figure out how to reconcile his faith in the Skrulls with her natural instinct that everyone is lying all the time? To see her actually doing the work, speaking to the security committee and telling them to piss off, because Fury was in Moscow to do a hero's work and he died a hero, no further questions? To see her, the character who has long been reduced to the sidekick of male characters with a much shorter stint in Marvel's canon, fully come into her own as the protagonist of this series? It would have been perfect. We could have actually gotten a show full of espionage and intrigue instead of a hamfisted... racism metaphor? I'm not even sure at this point. This could have actually been something besides a Samuel L. Jackson vanity project. I know I said that already, but I am going to say it again. This show is here so Jackson can look cool and badass and also be a funny old man. And I wouldn't care if they weren't reducing every other meaningful character in the series to a Skrull, a corpse, or a realpolitik adversary. Like, fuck this false advertising. Maria Hill, Everett Ross, and Rhodey were all in the trailer like they were going to be relevant. As if this was going to be an interesting web of an ensemble cast. Instead, it's the Nick Fury show with a few redeeming scenes from the terrifyingly cheery British spymaster lady.

It's almost like Marvel knew no one would want to watch the show if they just straight-up said it was going to be all Nick Fury. And I haven't even started on the bullshit that was the train conversation (a whole monologue about sitting in the colored section on trains and then straight-up telling Talos there's not enough room for his people on the train? Was I the only one thrown off by that?) or the dialogue between him and Rhodey in the bar ("even when I'm out, I'm in.") or the Skrull wife reveal (which felt like it wanted to be some big important twist but it also had exactly zero setup) or... whatever is happening with Talos and Gaea. The next episode comes out in two days, and I'm still crossing my fingers that a miracle of plot will happen and it will get better. But it's going to take a miracle.