#The Ten Percent Thief

[literary-illuminati]

book recommendation: The Ten Percent Thief by Lavanya Lakshminarayan. Dystopian SF set in nearish-future Bangalore about a society which sucks. It's not terribly subtle, but the form and craft is really interesting-- it's told through a series of linked vignettes, with no one character ever repeated, that slowly reveals more about how the society sucks.

Okay glancing at the marketing copy I see what you mean by not subtle but that does look pretty interesting and I do definitely want to read more SFF written outside the...okay at this point it's less 'the US' and more 'the Greater Tor Publishing cultural bubble'. But either way, fits the bill! So added to the list, thanks.

[rawjeev]

“We Challenge the prevailing algorithm of our times”

— Excerpt From: "The Ten Percent Thief" by Lavanya Lakshminarayanan, (chapter: Anatomy of a new world order)

[tigger8900]

The Ten Percent Thief, by Lavanya Lakshminarayan

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 1/2

In a far-future city once known as Bangalore — now Apex City — the algorithmic Bell Curve governs everything. Each citizen receives an equal evaluation, being scored upon dozens, perhaps hundreds, of productivity metrics. As the curve constantly re-evaluates the performance of the population, the top twenty percent are allowed to retain their life of luxury, while the unfortunate bottom ten percent will themselves cut off from technology, forced to live an Analog life in the city's outskirts. But when the ten percenters begin to plan a revolution, even the all-powerful Bell Curve might not be able to save the twenty percent from consequences.

I thoroughly enjoyed this corporate dystopia. I thought the algorithm was scarily plausible, reminiscent of ideas such as social credit scores that we've already seen play out. Of course the fusion with a caste system puts a new spin on the concept, sorting people neatly into a firm hierarchy while — in theory — allowing them the fair opportunity to earn a better life for themselves. What makes it scary is I can imagine someone proposing a system much like this, genuinely thinking it's a good idea.

I didn't realize this was a mosaic novel when I picked it up, but the format worked incredibly well for the story being told. Most of the stories connect to each other, whether sharing characters or setting up a situation that's later revisited. Those that don't largely serve to set the scene, demonstrating the status quo that the plot aims to tear down. I'm someone who views the setting of a good SF/F novel almost as a character in its own right, so I loved reading those. If you're more interested in the list of recurring characters or the plot playing out, you might find those chapters to be tedious.

This was the best dystopian novel I've read in quite some time. I'll definitely be keeping an eye on what else Lavanya Lakshminarayan might put out in the future!

[katefathers]

The Starburst Magazine website is back in action, which means my review of The Ten Percent Thief is up! I could write whole essays about this book.

And if you’re interested in my other online book reviews (written during my Tumblr break), you can find them here: What Big Teeth by Rose Szabo and Even Greater Mistakes by Charlie Jane Anders

[areyouwho-ithinkyouare]

man in the bookshop said i had good taste when he was ringing my sale up

[dragoneyes618]

"Holocaust novels that have sold millions of copies both in the United States and overseas in recent years are all "uplifting," even when they include the odd dead kid. The Tattooist of Auschwitz, a recent international mega-bestseller touted for its true story," manages to present an Auschwitz that involved a heartwarming romance. Sarah's Key, The Book Thief, The Boy in Striped Pajamas, and many other bestsellers, some of which have even become required reading in schools, all involve non-Jewish rescuers who risk or sacrifice their own lives to save hapless Jews, thus inspiring us all. (For the record, the number of actual "righteous Gentiles" officially recognized by Yad Vashem, Israel's national Holocaust museum and research center, for their efforts in rescuing Jews from the Holocaust is under 30,000 people, out of a European population of at the time of nearly 300 million - or .001 percent. Even if we were to assume that the official recognition is an undercount by a factor of ten thousand, such people remain essentially a rounding error." In addition to their wonderful non-Jewish characters, these books are almost invariably populated by the sort of relatable dead Jews whom readers can really get behind: the mostly non-religious, mostly non-Yiddish-speaking ones whom noble people tried to save, and whose deaths therefore teach us something beautiful about our shared and universal humanity, replete with epiphanies and moments of grace. Statistically speaking, this was not the experience of almost any Jews who endured the Holocaust. But for literature in non-Jewish languages, that grim reality is both inconvenient and irrelevant." 

- Dara Horn, People Love Dead Jews: Reports from a Haunted Present

[l-egionaire]

Just saw Kung Fu Panda 4. Here are some thoughts.

Plot was... okay. Nothing super special, but it was fine enough for the kind of story the movie was trying to tell. And there were some great imagery and animation moments. I honestly don't get all the complaints about the animation. I saw one thing on TV tropes say it'd because it's not something like Puss in Boots Two or The Bad Guys, but I'm honestly fine with it not being like those. I feel like if all animated movies used that style, people would just start to complain that they're all the same.

Zhen was fine as a character. Bit of the usual "thief with a heart of gold" type character, but while I do think her changing was a bit fast, I can get why it happens. Po's the first person to show her genuine kindness with little alterior motive, and combined with a later betrayl, I can see her motivation for becoming a better person. Her voice acting wasn't too bad, but I think it could've been better in some dramatic moments. Also, while the movie doesn't draw attention to it, I do think there's a lot of parallel that could be drawn between her and Po, not just with how they grew up but also in their parental figures. Not to mention, they ultimately aren't THAT different as characters. They're both goofy people but grew up being looked down on by others and seem to use humor or goofiness as a defense mechanism. Just that she uses snark whereas he uses his big happy personality.

I REALLY like Po in the movie. Not just because he's his usual big fun self, but because he's still just as, if not more competent as he was in the previous movies. A big issue I had with the How To Train Your Dragon franchise was how Hiccup seemed to keep being less competent or capable in the movies. But no. Po's still able to kick ass and is the skilled warrior he should be after three movies of fighting. And I do think his fear of losing his dragon warrior title is understandable since that HAS been a big part of his identity across all three movies. Some might say that it's odd he's so afraid of change since he became a teacher in the last movie, but that was just adding on to his the responsibilities he already had. I would say his arc of becoming a spiritual leader was neglected some by the end and could've used a bit more focus.

Po's dad's are great. At first, I thought their subplot was just a comedic b-plot, but I liked how they ended up getting their and providing Po emotional support. And again, while it's not given much focus, their relationship and how they encourage Po creates a nice parallel between Zhen and her parental figure.

The Chameleon as a villain isn't THAT interesting, but she's not terrible. Personality wise, she's okay, but nothing spectacular. I do think her backstory was interesting, and, like the past three villains, her backstory mirrors Po's in a way. Which I honestly kind of wished they'd focused on a little more. I think it would've given her more depth that she's hinted to have.

Yes, the Furious Five aren't in this move for 99 percent of it. But.....I think it works. Because the whole point of the movie is about Po and Zhen. Them building their trust and relationship to get to the point they are by the end of the movie. And having the Furious Five their might have made things feel overstuffed.

Ultimately, I think it's a good movie. Nothing AMAZING but it's good and It does pick up more in the second half. Overall I'd say this around a 7.5 out of ten if I had to describe it.

[eleni-cherie]

a thief's origin✨ || bts • kth - chapter 0.4

"you're afraid I won't wait." "I'm afraid you will."

a criminal and a doctor should be as different as the sun and the moon - but unexpected things happened every day. like him finding his safe haven in her.

© 2024 | eleni_cherie

»»»

masterlist: here

— genre: thief au, gangster comedy, adventure, romcom, humour, angst, fluff, sexual tensiON, slowburn, mutual pining, strangers to friends to lovers s2f2l

ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE. CHARACTERS NOT NECESSARILY LIKE THE REAL PERSONS. ALSO VERY UNREALISTIC PLOT LOL - JUST PRETEND READING A MANGA/COMIC OR WATCHING A FILM, REALLY.

SUGGESTIVE THEMES. MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE & BLOOD (BUT NOTHING TOO GRAPHIC, IT'S STILL A COMEDY!)

»»»

age 26 // 2nd year - assistant physician

13th August

Macau, China

"One, two - check, check. Can you hear me?"

Taehyung rolled his eyes hearing Jimin's dramatics in the in-ear as he was easing his way to the back of the extravagant casino. He walked behind a group of intoxicated men - who judging by their suits and platin watches were business men having come there to gamble a few hundred thousands just for fun - to cover himself from the cameras.

Reaching one of the secured doors leading to the back area, he smoothly placed a small button-like device behind the security scanner in the matter of a second while passing by.

"Yeah, I do," he eventually responded to his pestering friend with a grin. Earning an annoyed groan on the other line.

"Took you long enough!"

"Guys, don't start again," Yoongi piped up in a bored, yet warning tone. And Taehyung snickered under his breath.

Without showing any suspicion, he continued walking among the drunks until reaching the card tables. Creating eye-contact with Yoongi who gave him a brief glance from the dimly lit bar, focusing back on the whiskey in front of him. The two pretending not knowing the other.

"Bug is set," he announced in a hush, approaching one of the empty seats at the Blackjack table. "Gonna start the distraction now."

"Joining in ten."

"Good. I'm counting on you guys."

»»»

21st August

Barcelona, Spain

Despite the evening hour, a drenching warmth laid around him. Taehyung was in fact internally dying.

After arriving from the layover in Doha, another unbearably warm place, he took a nap at their hideout outside the city first - feeling more drowsy than anything. Only then deciding to go check out his friend's apartment, out of boredom but also because he had genuinely missed her. However, she wasn't there, which in eighty percent of the time meant one thing: she was at work. 

So half an hour later, he found himself at the back of the hospital, lingering around the emergency entrance out of habit.

The late shift would finish soon he assumed - if she didn't have a double one, which he hoped wasn't the case. Eager for her to see the small succulent he had secured as a redemption for the one he'd accidentally knocked off the last time there.

It had been months ever since, but he still felt bad about it knowing how much her plants meant to her.

After awhile he got tired of walking around the sparsely illuminated area though and instead settled at the wall next to the entrance. Propping himself against it and stretching his neck as he watched people come and go.

He exhaled deeply when the automatic door slid open once again. Only this time he could hear raised voices nearing him.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Pretty sure my shift's over and Dr M warned us not to exceed our hours, remember?"

Taehyung's ears perked up at this. He instantly recognised the second voice despite the annoyed undertone. He didn't recognise the other one though. His foot setting to the ground and he straightened himself while listening intently.

"You know exactly what I mean. Don't act dumb, doll."

Cassandra turned around at this, crossing her arms as she faced her colleague with a raised brow.

"What did you just call me? Doll? Since when are we on that level?" she laughed, but Taehyung could tell she was surpressing an upset scoff.

And it certainly didn't go unnoticed by Pavlo, one of the bigmouths in the hospital, either. "Since you humiliated me in front of the fcking chief physician. Seriously, what's wrong with you?"

The way he raised his voice and accusing her of things that were his own fault, only made her temper bubble right underneath the surface. Trying her best to give him a blank stare instead of a nasty eye. 

She never liked Pavlo. She found him somewhat attractive in the right angle, but couldn't say anything positive about him otherwise. Frankly, she hated him. And no, not in a hot 'enemies-to-lovers' way. Rather in a 'the-world-would-be-a-better-place-without-him' way.

"I wasn't the one humiliating you. I only corrected you by stating facts," she spoke up, surprised by her own calmness, "The one humiliating you was your big ego. Who'd ever think to use activated vitamine C to treat a septic patient with such low thrombocytes? Everyone knows it'd cause brain heaemorage. Well, -" Pausing, she folded her lips. Failing to balance out the mocking judgement in her tone. ".. everyone but you, apparently."

Her male colleague clenched his jaw and she could swear seeing a vein popping up on his neck.

He couldn't care less about anyone hearing him, everyone knew to better not get on bad terms with him. So the fact she dared provoking him after always staying in line just like the rest, didn't sit right with him.

"Look, smartass," he said through gritted teeth and stepped forward. 

Cassandra instinctively taking a step back at this. Trying not to flinch and keep a stern face instead when internally she was beginning to shake.

There was a part of her fearing that she was pushing him too hard. She didn't know him well enough to know how he'd react to that.

She had heard rumours, unsettling ones, though which only added to her dislike towards him. And she wouldn't be surprised if they were true to some extent. But there was also another part of her clenching her fists and standing firm. 

"I don't have time for this, my shift ended five minutes ago."

She was ready to walk away when she felt a firm grip on her arm. Preventing her from leaving the spot.

"I'm talking to you though."

Her breath hinched and she looked down at his large hand, then back at him with what was probably the angriest glare Pavlo had ever witnessed on her. And that coming from a usually quiet and harmless person like Cassandra did take him off-guard for a second. Although he quickly found his demeanor again.

"Let go of me," she said, threateningly slowly. Voice low but only because she was trying her best not to jump him right there.

"No, first you -"

"I think she said to let go."

Both their heads abrubtly snapped towards the unexpected third voice. Seeing Taehyung appearing from behind the wall, stepping behind her.

The waves of chocolate brown, straight and and silky , was the first thing she noticed about him as she studied his face. She was startled to see him there.

Taehyung was arching a brow, staring blankly at Pavlo. His piercing glare neither mad nor threatening, rather judgy while staring straight into Pavlo's hazel eyes. Not even blinking once, which made the assistant physician gulp in irritation over the tall stranger. His grip around Cassandra's arm loosening.

"I don't know what you two were arguing about," Taehyung began then, pretending he hadn't eavesdropped the whole conversation. He glanced down at Cassandra before redirecting his glare to the male doctor, "But trust me, you don't want to upset her." And all of a sudden he cracked a grin. Taking them both aback. "Seriously, she looks innocent but she's got a mean upper-cut. And her kick..." He dragged out a whistle. "You don't wanna experience that."

Cassandra stifled a laugh at his acting, quickly understanding what he was trying to do. So she puffed out her chest and threw Pavlo a sinister look instead to play along with Taehyung's white lies.

"Listen to him. He knows what he's talking about," she smirked widely, leaning towards him to add, "From experience."

Pavlo immediately yanked his hand away and let go of her completely. His eyes alternating between Cassandra and Taehyung, shifting bewilderedly.

At one point his lips parted, as if he wanted to retort something, but shut just as fast again. Giving up, not seeing a point anymore.

And without further ado, he trotted back inside. Muttering something incoherent under his breath, clearly embarrassed and upset about the humiliating blow his ego had taken.

Cassandra and Taehyung immediately broke into a fit of laughter as soon as he disappeared.

"Who was that idiot?" The thief huffed then, glancing down at her with a scowl.

She sighed, shaking her head. "Dr. Pavlo Romero Diaz. First class jerk. Low class doctor."

He snorted at this, his irises lingering on the door her colleague had disappeared to before falling back to her. "You okay? Did he hurt you?"

"Nah, I'm fine." She waved him off. However, his eyes caught the clear red mark Pavlo's grip had left on her bare skin and something inside him boiled. Suddenly feeling the urge to go inside and find Pavlo, when her voice interrupted his train of thoughts.

"Huh, what?"

He saw her smiling at his confused face, clearly not having heard anything she'd just said. "I said thanks for the support."

"Oh, that.." he shrugged nonchalantly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You didn't seem like needing my help anyway."

She wanted to argue, but then again she appreciated how he didn't let her appear as a weakling. "Still, thank you. I might've ended up doing something irrational like kicking him in the balls," she giggled, half-embarrassed about her confession.

He huffed out a chuckle, knowing she'd have probably done it if that jerk wouldn't have let go of her. Giving her a nod then. "S'alright, don't mention it. You know I got your back."

Her cheeks blushed all of a sudden. It was a nice feeling, to know that someone backed her up.

They shared a small smile before Taehyung went behind the wall only to reappearing with the small plant. And he observed her brown eyes widening, a small squeak leaving her lips.

"A jade plant!" She instantly rushed to grab it from his hands, beaming with joy like a child getting a bag of candy.

"Ah, this is what it's called. So you like it?" he asked, amused about how gleeful someone could be over a small plant.

"Yeah, of course! Why wouldn't I?" she grinned, marveling over the random gift. Her eyes then narrowing on him. "Why did you buy me a jade plant though?"

He shrugged as they made their way out of the emergency area and into the parking lot. Catching her tripping over a protruding stone and almost dropping the plant, quickly composing herself. And he tried not to laugh not wanting to embarrass her. "Didn't want to appear with empty hands and besides.. I felt sorry for last time. You know.."

She giggled when recalling the accident of him knocking off one of her succulents, nodding understandingly then. "You didn't have to, but thank you."

The plant had survived back then, but it'd never been the same ever since. Something she still felt sad about it since she really tried taking great care of her plants. However, when the incident had happened, she hadn't said anything because of his apologetic expression. He hadn't done it on purpose after all. 

Peeking at him, she couldn't help but smile. She was glad he was there. Not only because of the scene with Pavlo, which who knew how it'd have ended without Taehyung intervening - worst case would've been her indeed punching Pavlo's smug face and getting fired. Taehyung's lie wasn't a complete lie after all. 

But she had also genuinely missed his charming grin. More than she liked to admit.

»»»

"So, why are you here?" Cautiously, she put the plant aside not to distress it, making space for the drinks he brought.

Taehyung hadn't promised too much. Inconspicuous from the outside, the door at the narrow alley hid a cool tapas bar in its basement. Cool both, in the colloquial and literal way. A needed escape from the lingering heat outside. The atmosphere still needing several hours to warm down.

He shrugged, taking a tentative sip from his red wine to hide his bashful smile. "It was the furthest away from Macau."

"Huh, so can I expect a postcard from there, too?"

"Of course," he nodded firmly, "Already on its way."

She grinned, still admiring the small plant set in front of her. "What did you do there?" she curiously asked then and folded her hands on the table top to lean in closer. Looking at all sides, seeing themselves getting accustumed to going there whenever he was in town. Whispering excitedly and with a lot of mischief then: "Was it for a heist?"

Her unapologetic curiosity for his profession amused but also worried him. And breathed out before chuckling. "A curious cat as always, Doc," he smirked, "But you know I won't feed into it."

His response made her groan in frustration and she sat back. Giving him a sulky pout. "Oh, c'mon, cool guy. Give me something. You know I like stories of you and the guys robbing filthy rich people. It's entertaining and fun."

The reason he tried avoiding telling her too many infos was so she wouldn't get dragged into this world. Even if, for some absurd reason, she didn't mind his workfield and even held some kind of adoration for it, Cassandra was still a normal person, an overall good person. So he'd keep trying his best to keep her away from this other part of his life. Even if she herself would probably not even mind it, he did. Because selfishly enough, he also did it for that illusion he lived when being with her.

Besides, his main concern remained that by visiting her, she'd sooner or later get in interpol's sight. So it was better when she knew as little as possible.

Yet, when those big brown bambi eyes were sparkling so inquiringly at his direction, he rarely could resist. He exhaled deeply, setting the glass of wine down.

"All I'm gonna say is that Macau is known for its casinos."

Her brows rose at this, her excitement returning. "Please tell me you robbed a casino like in Ocean's Eleven."

"It wasn't like this," he rolled his eyes, "Seriously, you need to stop with these films."

Cassandra, however, simply dismissed him with a beaming face. "You didn't deny robbing one though.."

Pursing his lips, he grabbed his glass again and took a sip. Making her grin only wider.

"Wow.. how did you do it?"

"Surely won't tell you."

The pout found its way back onto her lips and he laughed under his breath. A whole medical doctor, ready to fight her colleague but now sitting there in front of him pouting like a child. She was something.

"Fine," she sighed then, giving up. Her eyes catching the guests at another table playing a boardsgame then. An idea popping up in her mind. She got up and before Taehyung could ask her where she was heading to, she walked to the bar. Returning a minute later with a pleased smile and a stack of playing cards.

Taehyung looking at her with suspicion.

"Let's play a game," she announced then as she started shuffling the cards in her hands and he stifled a laugh at the way she did it. Shoving one half into another and almost dropping some in the procedure. She was struggling a little, it was obvious. There were way too many cards for her smaller hands and she didn't have much practice either. It was cute. So he played along.

"Okay. What game?"

"Whatever you want, I know many."

His eyebrows arched. "Is that so?"

"Mhm," she smiled as she continued her painful looking shuffling. "But have in mind, whoever loses the round has to truthfully answer the winner's questions."

Of course, he snorted, it was a trick to get more details from him. He pitied her though, after all he was good in card games. That was how they robbed casinos after all, by playing and cheating. Although, he didn't think he'd even need to cheat this time.

"Are you sure? I'm pretty good."

"So am I."

His lips folded and he bit down on them. It was adorable how certain she seemed to be, believing she'd have any chance against him. So full of herself. However, he knew not to insult her pride so he decided to go with it.

"Alright. You know how to play Blackjack?"

Quite to his surprise, she nodded virgoriously. Placing the stack down in front of him. "Cut."

He did so, deviding the stack into two. Cassandra taking the one that was underneath, beginning dealing the first open card to him and herself. Then she dealt another open one only to him.

Six and a queen. Sixteen in total. Against her ten.

He looked at his cards, then at her. Determination was set on her soft features and he had to confess, he liked that look on her. 

If she drew a six, it'd be a draw. If she drew a seven, eight, nine, ten or an ace, she'd win.

He tapped his fingers on the table top, signaling he wanted another one.

"You sure?"

"I am."

A three. Nineteen in total.

A smug smirk growing on his features as he began playing with his necklace. "Try beating that."

Cassandra's lips moved from side to side, glancing up to see him smile at her with a pitiful look. She huffed. She knew only a ten, face card or ace could save her, but she knew there had to be one in the following cards. Her fingers laid on the deck dramatically before in a swift move, she revealed the top card.

And the corners of her lips curled up.

"King of hearts. I win, cool guy."

He clicked his tongue. "Beginner's luck," he said unimpressed and reached over to shuffle the cards this time. "But fine, a deal's a deal. What do you wanna know?"

"You know what."

Dragging out a sigh, he cut the stack in two to skillfully merge the cards. "While me and Yoongi distracted security by winning constantly and very obviously in the front, Jimin followed the staff bringing the money from the tables to the safes in the back."

Her eyes widened in awe. "That sounds so cool."

"It's not, it's very bad," he chuckled, eyeing her with a wink. "You forget I'm one of the bad guys."

Cassandra only smiled at this though, looking at him fondly before reaching for her own drink and averting her eyes from him.

"You aren't a bad guy, Tae, even if you tried."

He dealt them each one card, before giving her another one.

She had two sevens against his jack of spades.

She tapped her cards and he slid another one to her, but before he could open it, she grabbed his wrist. Giving him an amused smirk.

"What will you give me if I get another seven?"

Taehyung pursed his lips before shaking his head amused about her confidence of getting a Blackjack that quickly. "Don't try pulling a Bugs Bunny on me, there's no way."

Rising one of her brows, she accepted the unspoken dare and let go of his hand. Gesturing for him to open the dealt card. And he did. Observing how surprise drained off any smugness from his face.

A third seven staring back at him.

"Blackjack."

His brows furrowed and he blinked, trying to process what just happened. Eventually nodding then with folded lips. Trying keeping his cool. It was a mere coincidence, surely. "Fine, go ahead. What else do you wanna know?"

"Your necklace.." she said then, catching a glimpse of the golden chain peeking above his collar, "Is there a special reason it's a tiger?"

His eyes went round, following her gaze when his lips tucked into a faint smile. "Ah," he said then, while reminiscing the past for a moment. His eyes finding hers again. "When I was a kid my grandparents used to call me 'little tiger', or something like that. I don't remember exactly anymore, it's been twenty years after all."

"And you're wearing it ever since?"

He nodded, fumbling with the necklace shyly.

"That's sweet." Her voice quieter then she intended, "It must mean a lot to you."

".. yeah, I guess it does."

And she gave him a soft smile, understanding the sentiment behind it now and why he always wore it. Reaching over to get the stack of cards then.

Thirteen rounds and another round of wine later, they set the cards aside.

There were significantly more people around them now as an hour ago.

But Taehyung only had eyes for the young woman who was happily humming another victory tune. Not even trying hiding her joyous grinning anymore.

And he stared at her in admiration but also with a new found respect, feeling much more humbled than before. "How.. how did you do that?"

"Do what?" Cassandra innocently asked as she chunked down the last bit of her second glass of sangria.

She felt the alcohol beginning to kick in as she'd been mindlessly drinking too quickly, once again getting fooled by the sweet taste. She had to be careful if she didn't want to fall asleep or blurt out her deepest secrets. She'd already had to spill some embarrassing things tonight. Like her writing a love letter to her crush in middle school or almost getting caught cheating in a French test, also in middle school.

Taehyung scoffed as they left the table and walked out the bar. A pleasant fresh breeze brushing past their flushed cheeks the moment they exited. "You know what. You won ten out of fifteen rounds."

"Beginner's luck," she shrugged with a teasing grin, making him wet his dry lips before chewing on it musing.

It wasn't like she had persistent on hearing more details of the heist. Despite her liking the stories, as undetailed as he usually kept them, and as much as it was entertaining her to tease him, she respected the fact he didn't like or wanted to talk about them. Instead, she'd asked about other things, more general. Like his first crush or which one was his favorite place they'd been to. And he appreciated it. Hence why he wasn't mad that she beat him in most rounds. More the opposite, he found her beaming face cute whenever she did. He was rather astonished.

"Again, how did you do it?"

Cassandra, holding the small plant securely in her hands, only folded her lips to suppress a sassy remark. Instead she only hummed, pretending being clueless.

They walked down the street towards the beach. The streets glowing under warm lights of lamps and shops surrounding them. Loud laughs erupting from a group at one of the tables of a restaurant they passed by.

"C'mon, tell me," Taehyung pouted then, nudging her arm. His almost whiny tone making her giggle.

"Well, you shouldn't underastimate me next time," she said in a sing-song voice then. And he observed her for a moment with a fond smile.

This girl was full of surprises and perhaps not as pure as he made her out to be after all, he realised.

"I really shouldn't, you're right. So what's your secret, Doc? Are you a secret gambler?"

"Hm.. remember I told you growing up with my grandparents?"

He nodded.

"My grandpa was and still is a highly gifted card player," she explained then, "That's how we mostly passed our time together, so he showed me a thing or two. And as fate willed, we always play Blackjack on New Year's. So Taehyung, I don't wanna hurt your pride, but your skills are nothing compared to my grandpa's."

A nostalgic smile crossed her face as memories of endless summer nights spent playing cards with her grandparents flooded her mind. 

He laughed out at this. "To be honest, I'm relieved. Thought you'd tell me you got these skills from one of your films."

She puffed out a breath at his anew teasing of her love for the crime genre. "Oh please. I don't need films for that. My grandpa's the only person I've never beaten in any of these games unless he let me. So really, it wasn't hard to beat you."

"But Blackjack is pure luck, you can't win all the time unless you count cards."

"Was that what you guys did in Macau?" she smirked.

"No, I'm not good at it. I used a-" He abruptly cut himself mid-sentence. Grinning back at her. "Nice try."

She simply shrugged though. "I didn't count cards. I don't even know how to do that."

"Then how -"

"There are some other tricks which help giving you better chances."

"Like what?"

"Family secret."

And he rolled his eyes. "So your family's full of gambling geniuses?"

"No. Just my grandpa."

Cassandra was a book with many chapters, each one of them more thrilling and surprising than the other ones and he began to see her in a slightly different light.

She was still the kindhearted, smart, fun friend he knew. But there was more to her. Way more. He always knew there was more to her, but he couldn't say what. Now he found out one new facette of hers.

"You tricked me," he plainly stated then, making her laugh out.

"How so?"

"You never said you're a card playing mastermind. I feel betrayed."

She faked pity. "Aw. Can I somehow make it up to you?"

"I'll think of something and let you know."

Their gazes met, holding each other's with soft smiles.

Usually, he didn't have an issue looking someone directly in the eyes. In his job, he had to be able doing that without batting an eyelash. However, when it came to her and her gentle eyes, something inside him twitched. 

"Well," she slowly began then, letting her eyes wander to the water in the distance. The Mediterranean sea peeking between the building. "Think quickly. When you leave there's no way for me to make it up to you anymore. You'd have to wait till randomly visiting me again.."

Her tone was teasing but he could see a flicker of something more in her eyes before blinking it away. A secret she didn't want to speak out loud. Like the fact it was a pity and sad she couldn't stay in touch with him when he wasn't around.

She knew it wasn't possible. They didn't use phones except if necessary and even then, it was burner phones - untracable for interpol. And yet, she couldn't help but find it an undeniable pity. And he agreed with that.

"I'll hurry up, promise."

»»»

29th August

A week had passed by since Taehyung had stopped by and Cassandra was getting ready for her shift at the hospital. Getting mentally prepared to see Pavlo again after having been spared of his presence for two days. She was tying her shoes when her phone on the side table next to the entrance door lit up. A new text notification appearing on the screen.

[message request]: finally came up with smth :P

»»»

next chapter: 0.5 here

Don't forget to like, reblog & leave feedback!♡ It motivates me to keep writing :)

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[sepherinaspoppies]

I'll Follow You Until You Love Me

pairing: Armand x Daniel Molloy

summary: Daniel is tired of his stalker, hiding in the shadows. So he does something to get his attention.

warnings: 18+, MDNI, male mutual masturbation?, Armand being a underwear thief, mentions of stalking, some cum play? I think that's it.

wc: 865

notes: this is my first time writing for IWTV, I apologize if it sucks. I'm still new at this. haha! btw this was inspired by Lady Gaga's Paparazzi so pls give it a listen.

Daniel found himself quite exhausted as soon as a cab dropped him off at the nearest and cheapest motel.

If there was one thing else he needed the most besides some well needed shut eye, it was a hot shower after traveling for eight hours straight from Tucson to Los Angeles.

Not only did Daniel need to shower off the smell of public transportation but to overall unwind. 

He muttered a grateful thanks to whatever God that bestowed upon him functioning hot water and a clean towel. Well at least Daniel thought it was clean. However, as tired as he was, he couldn’t care less if it wasn’t. 

After traveling through every state of the country, he found that most cheap motels didn’t offer anything but a bed. Some even didn’t include a bathroom and Daniel had no choice but to walk to the nearest convenience store simply just to pee. 

Daniel acknowledged that he could just whip out his dick near a corner and piss. Quite frankly, it wasn’t in his nature to do that. No matter how bad he had to piss, he would hold it until there was a bathroom. 

After his shower, Daniel wrapped a towel around his hips, walking to his suitcase near the entrance about to grab a pair of clean boxers when his hand met nothing but denim and linen. 

Odd. 

“What the fuck?” Daniel cursed as he spilled his clothes all over the bed. His shirts, pants, and socks were there. However there was no sign of his undergarments and Daniel was one hundred percent positive he did not leave anything behind in Tucson. 

Maybe in his panicked state, running from his obsessive stalker, he overlooked packing them. 

Daniel was careless but not that careless. 

For a moment he thought about calling the motel back in Tucson as silly it was. Though, there was a fat chance he’d likely get them back. 

Great, so commando it is. 

He unwrapped the towel around his hips, throwing it somewhere across the room, preparing to sleep fully in his birthday suit. Until he heard a low growl coming from his window. 

It didn’t take Daniel long to figure out who those animalistic growls belonged to. 

He was here. 

Right on schedule. 

No matter where Daniel went, he was always there. Lingering behind the shadows with those creepy orange eyes. 

Honestly, it was getting quite tiring that he couldn’t fully show himself. He had been following him for years and not once had he come out to say anything which made it more creepier than stalking him. 

Of course Daniel was frightened in the beginning but around the ten month mark, he realized he wasn’t a threat. 

A part of Daniel wondered why he was following him out of all the others he possibly could. What made him so fascinating? So captivating? 

After some consideration, Daniel knew of something that might make him come out of the shadows. It was crazy yet worth a try. 

Daniel laid on the bed, positioning his body in front of the window right where he knew he was lurking and observing. 

He spat on his palm before rubbing his already hard-on. A whimper came from the window and Daniel bit his lower lip to hide the slight smirk of satisfaction. 

He shuddered when he gave himself a hard squeeze from base to his glistening tip, releasing some soft moans he hoped he could hear behind the glass that separated them. 

By all means, not only could Armand definitely hear the sounds of self pleasure but also the echo of his heart pumping wildly. His beautiful boy craving some release he desperately yearned to gift him with. 

And it took everything in Armand not to break the window and claim his body, heart and individuality as his right fucking now. 

Gods, he was beautiful. 

His eyes. 

His smile. 

His aura. 

Him. 

Only him. 

Watching his beautiful boy pleasure himself made him absolutely hard. Armand’s fingers slid to unbutton his trousers, freeing his tall erection and carefully beginning to stroke himself at the same pace his beautiful boy moved in. 

Daniel’s gaze fixated to where he stood. Staring straight into those creepy eyes of his as he was nearing his end. He was close, so goddamn close he could feel the small waves of euphoria slithering in at the bottom of his spine. 

“Fuck, I’m almost there.” 

Armand groaned as he continued to stroke faster and faster until finally his beautiful boy let out a drawn out moan, coating his sheets full of his release that soon when he fell asleep, Armand would have a taste of. 

He already kept his undergarments while he slept, so there was nothing wrong with that. 

Daniel basked in his release, continuing to watch the silhouette of his body writhe in what he assumed was self pleasure. 

Though, he assumed right as he heard low feeble whimpers closer to the window. 

He had come too. 

That alone made Daniel feel more aphrodisiacal. He waited a few more moments before he loudly declared:

“Well are you just gonna stand there? Or are you going to fuck me?”

Armand had done just that. 

tagging my bestie @dreaming-for-an-escape

[theflagscene]

Let’s talk Jack and Joke’s perceived parental roles -

It’s laid out in plain words in episode ten so that there is absolutely no doubt whatsoever, Jack and Joke have taken Toi Ting in and have no plans on returning her to her deadbeat abusive bio-dad. I believe that it going to stay that way, so we’re going to keep to that assumption of her being adopted or fostered by them legally once everything is sorted.

Note: not looking for arguments about the legitimacy of blood relations verses found/chosen family. An adopted child is that person’s child, you do not need to have carried them in your body for them to be yours.

I adore that YinWar have been pushing back against the stereotypes around gay men and queer media in general about what roles a person takes in the relationship, they’ve mostly been focusing on the sexual aspect because that is the part that people tend to get the most hung up on.

Yet I find it wildly interesting how easily Jack and Joke fall into what would be considered the ‘heteronormative parental roles’ when it comes to Toi Ting. It’s not a bad thing! No, it’s actually quite nice to see. They’re not forcing any ‘husband/wife’ ideals into their relationship, they just naturally fall into the roles that are appropriate for them as a couple and a family unit.

Jack is very much in the ‘father’ role, remember, father does not instantly mean masculine or emotionally stunted. He is the protector, he is a trained martial artist and debt collector, he is physically intimidating. He is firm and chastising but also patient and forgiving, he is the one Toi Ting feels physically safe with the most, she runs to him for help, she learns her bravery and defiance from him. He absolutely will pat her back, smooth down her hair and allow himself be to dragged away by the hand to get ice cream. He is playing the role of not just a father figure, but a daddy. (stop giggling at that word, the internet has ruined us all 😝)

Meanwhile, Joke has one hundred percent filled the ‘mother’ role for Toi Ting. Again, not because he’s femme or whatever - side note, there’s nothing wrong with being femme! Joke is a natural carer, he wears his emotions on his sleeve because he never had anyone care about him before. He is gentle and a listener, both things that serve him well as a thief. When Toi Ting comes running to Jack for physical protection, it is Joke that offers emotional protection. He is the one that takes her into his arms and calms her down, he hugs her, reassures her and speaks with clam and loving words to bring her big scary emotions back down to a more manageable level. Joke can redirect her attention and is the one that sits and paints with her, Jack just ‘supervises’, aka is a big dope that’ll ruin the painting lol. But together Jack and Joke are able to offer Toi Ting what she needs, both a mother figure and a father figure, regardless of their genders.

Which leads me into the absolute heartbreak of a scene at the end of episode ten, where Jack and Joke find themselves in the one place no parent ever wants to find themselves. Stuck on the other side of those damnable white doors, unable to get to your child.

Joke has an emotional response, very much a mother’s response. Again, mothers tend to be the ‘emotional nurturers’ so them being more giving with their emotions is to be expected. And I would just like to point out how exceptional War plays that role, he is a mother waiting in terror to find out if his baby is dying or dead.

The blank horrified stare, the shaking hands and quivering movements, the fact that his legs fail him and he ends up curled up on the floor. Covering his mouth to keep the sobs in, yet unable to stop the silent flow of tears, barely even noticing when Hoy tries to comfort him. Joke doesn’t snap out of his shock until Jack shows up.

Jack on the other hand has a very ‘fatherly’ response, the pacing, the pinched expression, the heavy breathing and muttering before just exploding with anger, swearing loudly and looking for someone to blame. He can’t break down just yet, he’s too angry, too scared, he’s not the emotional support. He’s the protector, the provider and he hates himself for failing. Yin played that so well, how he kept moving to touch his head, putting his hands on his hips, fidgeting as he paced, forcing the camera to keep up with his near frantic movements.

Where Joke froze, Jack found movement.

Where Joke was quiet, Jack exclaimed loudly.

Where Joke allowed tears to flow, Jack held his pain tightly in.

Joke and Jack are Toi Ting’s mother and father, and that final hospital scene just proved it.

[hawnks]

coincide pt. v

previous

series rating: r18 (explicit)

hawks (takami keigo) x reader

word count: ~4,800

[soulmate au, slowburn, UST as a plot device, avian keigo, allusion to depression, hurts hurts hurts until it doesn't anymore right?]

warning: canon-typical violence

Summary: You’ve got a talent for melodrama, huh?

.........................................................................

His sabbatical is lengthy and non-broadcast. They’d wanted him to take a respite, recuperate, maybe go sit under a waterfall. You’re not yourself, his handler told him. We need Hawks. Not whatever ghost has taken his place. It’s dangerous to keep masquerading as someone who’s heart is in it one hundred percent. That kind of half-assed heroing will get someone killed, one of these days.

They book him a room at a historical hotspring, set up an itinerary with huge swaths of time dedicated to “Rest.” He leaves the hotspring, and the country, without telling anyone.

He goes to Taiwan, to help with some underground hero work. Then France, then Egypt. Most of the jobs are espionage, kept under wraps, need-to-know basis. The rest are off the books altogether. He flies most of the way himself, just so he can pass out each night, bone-tired, and wake up in the morning with nothing but open air behind him. 

Everything hurts, the muscle strain and the altitude headaches and the canned coffee he mainlines just to keep from falling out of the sky on overnight journeys. There’s a pressure in his chest that won’t let up, a constant squeezing sensation that feels like shortness of breath, like drowning. Like all the air sucked out of the world, and Keigo, alone, fighting to stay afloat. 

Maybe he should get that checked out. 

But then, there’s no time to think about the future. He keeps his schedule tight, barely a second to blink between each mission, let alone book a session with his Commission appointed doctor. Besides, it’s pointless, anyway— 

All of it. 

He fights, draws blood, garners secret and dangerous intel. He sits down for dinner with ambassadors and heroes revered among their people. But there’s no glory to any of it, no reverence left in him. 

He imagines himself, a glassy-eyed, shiny little kid. How deeply he would have felt these accomplishments, these feats. Now all he feels is a vague sort of wistfulness. Like he’s already an old man, been through, seen it all. 

“What the fuck, Hawks,” his handler says over the phone. It’s been three weeks since he left, the first time he’s answered their calls. “You can’t just abscond without telling anyone.”

“Abscond?” he returns, with a genuine laugh. “Like I’m a thief?”

“You are an asset to the Commission,” the handler returns. “And you have responsibilities.”

“I’m on vacation,” Keigo tells him, and hangs up. 

And he tries (really, he does), to handle things in a productive way. He reads several (more than three!) listicles about top ten ways to get over a breakup, until he realizes that the two of you were never actually together. He’s not sure what to google for that. Unearned heartbreak? Severed soulmates? Miss her so much it feels like dying? But not even just the idea of her, or our apparent future, or the pretty thoughts about destiny? Miss the way she smells and the weird way she holds her chopsticks? Miss the way she laughs, and the sound of my name on her tongue? Miss her and miss her and miss her and miss her—

He tries the listicles. Does the self care thing, bubble bath, kitschy facemasks and all. 

And — he sees paramors in every country he visits. People from his past who fawn over him, praise him, adore him. They draw his jacket from his shoulders, and it smells like sweat and ozone. They find the tiny, secret clasps on the back of his uniform, unwrap him like a present.

“Pretty boy,” they call him. Coy and sweet. Hands so sure and eager as they caress his body. 

And he winces. Takes a step back. “Can we just—” he says, running a hand through his unruly hair. It’s getting too long. He’ll have to cut it soon. “Can we just talk?”

They all agree, sure, whatever he’s comfortable with. But the tension never leaves the room, no matter how long the small talk carries on for. Because he can claim fatigue or headaches or just not feeling it all he wants. But he could never admit the truth. How dirty he feels closing the door with another body in the room. How he cringes at the touch of another. How it’s— you. Always. On the back of his mind, at the base of his throat. Behind every turn and inside every decision. You.

You, you, you.

And the constant, painful reminder — 

The feeling isn’t mutual. 

...

The wedding is beautiful. 

Everything goes perfectly. The whole event looks like something off a trip-advisor page, beautiful but quaint, elegant yet intimate. The food is delicious, the cake so moist it melts in your mouth. Even the weather is sunny and mild, as if the powers that be wouldn’t even stand in the way of today. 

You wish you could give everything the attention and admiration it deserves. 

On the trip up, you imagined that maybe this would be just the thing to pull you out of your month long stupor. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but it’s hard to resist the rustic charms of this place, and the inherent joy of the other guests. 

Soulmate weddings are commonplace nowadays, but no less special for their frequency. There’s an indescribable quality of felicity to them. A rightness, like everything is happening exactly as it should, like everyone is exactly where they need to be. It’s something of a comfort to guests and to the couple themselves; what’s meant to be will happen. And there’s nothing anyone can do, no force of nature that can stop it. 

You try to enjoy yourself. Try to take in the ambiance, the good company. And it’s nice, for the most part. Really, it’s a lovely day, and if it weren’t for the strange tightness in your throat, constantly, you might even have been able to enjoy it.

You throw up in the bathroom, after appetizers, while the first plates are going around. You’ve been drinking, already too much, and on an empty stomach. You have half a mind to simply tap out for the night, but you can’t leave your friend tonight of all nights. Especially not when she keeps turning to you, elated, to make some silly joke, or to sigh and squeeze your hand with a dreamy smile. 

You sneak out when the party begins to pick up pace, leaving the revelry and crawling out a backdoor, into the insipid chill of encroaching night. You find a nice little staircase alcove, planning to settle down for a few minutes, but the sudden sight of another person on the stoop takes you aback. Even more so when you realize it's the groom himself, taking a drag on a cigarette.

You’ve never officially met, until today, and even that was just pleasantries, no time to talk. You’re not sure how to approach this situation; a part of you instinctively wants to apologize, but that would just make things even more awkward.. 

He peers at you, waiting for you to say something. But you don’t, so he does. 

“My last one,” he says, holding it up in salute. “I was thirteen, when I started. Thought I was a real rebel. It turns out I was just an idiot.” He looks at the cigarette, a strangely wry smile on his face. “Could never work up the nerve to stop, but… she hates it, so I’m quitting.” 

“A nice wedding gift,” you say, gathering yourself. You come to lean against the metal railing next to him. It’s cool against your bare arms, and you relish the sensation, the shock of it enough to keep you grounded, for the moment. 

“Ah,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Not a gift. Just… wanna make her happy.”

You look at his hand, the cigarette already halfway done. It smells different than any other you’ve encountered before, oddly mild, almost floral. And it makes something inside you well up, the thought that a life could be changed so wholly, so staunchly. 

You think, how special, to have someone who breaks bad habits for you.

It’s enough to cause you to burst into tears. Before you can stop it, your whole face is wet, and your breath is coming out in hiccuping gasps. 

The groom looks on, terrified. He stubs out his cigarette on his heel before handing you, of all things, a handkerchief.

He says, timidly, “Wanna talk about it?”

It takes a few long, awkward minutes before the initial wave of misery subsides, and you can speak. 

“Fuck.” You wipe your nose, unattractively, with his handkerchief. You shake your head. “Nah. It’s your wedding. Go have fun.” 

The groom shrugs. “I’m not one for spectacle. This is for her. Later, when we’re alone and eating pizza in bed, that’s for me.”

That’s nice, you think despite yourself. It just sounds — very nice. 

“She told me,” the groom says after a minute. “About your… soulmate, thing.”

You shrug. What else could you do? There’s nothing to be said. You’ve moralized and offered platitudes your whole life. You’ve lied and said you were content. But here, at your one best friend's wedding, alone, there’s no more slack to give. You’re faced with the truth lying at your feet, like a dead bird. 

You’re alone and it’s so hard. 

“She loves you. That’s never going to change,” the groom tells you. “Even if a lot of other things do.”

You think about that for a moment. Nod. “Yeah,” you say. “I know. Thank you.”

It takes you a few more minutes to calm down, fully. You’d tell him to go back inside, but you get the odd sense that he doesn’t really care that you’re crying in front of him, that he’s not as uncomfortable as you might have expected him to be. So the two of you hover there, on the stoop in the dark, until finally, you feel centered enough to rejoin the festivities. 

You brush off your dress. You offer him a hand up. 

“I can see why she likes you,” you tell him as the two of you make your way back inside. The instant heat upon walking through the door almost makes you wince. 

“Aw, nice,” he says, grinning. “Best friend stamp of approval.”

...

Keigo’s first stop, once he’s back in Japan, is a convenience store. The second is Enji Todoroki’s temporary, secret residence. 

It’s a small house, on the outskirts of a small city. Barely any thru-traffic on the streets. Most of the population is in their later years. No one recognizes Keigo as he trawls the street, looking for the discreet entrance. It’s hidden by a wall of laced kudzu vines. 

Enji is slow to answer the door. Keigo sent a text to say to expect him soon, but who knew if the other man saw it. He hasn’t been himself lately. 

When he finally opens the door with a grunt of surprise, Keigo just holds up his plastic bag in greeting. The outline of six tall boys is prominent. 

“I haven’t had alcohol in 20 years,” Enji says, his voice without inflection. Still, he takes the bag, leaving the door open in his wake for Keigo to shuffle in after him. 

The living arrangements are spartan. Hardly any furniture, and what comforts they offer is slim. Hard, cold surfaces. No throw cushions, or blankets, or pictures on the wall, or magazines bookmarked with old receipts. No sign of life at all, save for the single pair of shoes, tossed in a careless pile at the door.

The pair sit on the floor in the middle of what is probably the living room. There’s no furniture at all, here. The tatami is worn to softness beneath them, ages old. The combination makes everything feel stark, exposed. There’s a vulnerability to an empty house, no places to hide, no way to obscure yourself. 

They drink in relative silence. Keigo arrived in the late afternoon, and the day passes into night without obstruction. No one gets up to turn on the lights when the sunset fades into ashen stars, both of them content to sit there in the dark. 

It’s easier like this, almost a waking dream. Neither of them have been sleeping well, taking care of themselves. 

It’s been a long time since Keigo has drunk, too. Soberness was his default, an expectation of the job. Heroes don’t get days off, not really. There’s always the expectation that if some disaster should occur, they will be able to rise to the occasion. That doesn’t mesh well with substance use. 

Occasionally, Keigo will have a glass, to keep up appearances. But he can’t remember the last time he felt like this, tipsy, a mellow warmth settling beneath his cheeks.

Moonrise turns everything to shadow. Like this, tall, dark, and faceless, Enji finally speaks. 

“I wish I’d done things differently,” he admits. His voice is no longer booming, and proud. It’s quieter than Keigo has ever heard it. “I wish I could have seen that more than honor or strength, what they needed was… kindness.”

“It’s not too late,” Keigo says, but the words are empty. How would he know? He’s never had to consider these things before. Never had terrible, all-consuming regrets before. 

“In some ways,” Enji says. “Society would have you believe that amends are as simple as an apology,” he says. “But I will be paying for my mistakes for the rest of my life. And it still won’t fix everything. Some things are broken forever.” 

“That’s convenient for you, too,” Keigo says. He peers at Enji, eyes bright, intent. “In some ways.”

Enji peers back at him, expressionless.

“Now they’re tied to you forever, like you said,” Keigo explains. “You can’t fix things, but you can keep them.”

“That’s not my decision to make.”

Keigo’s response is quick, brusque. “Isn’t it?” 

He realizes he’s leaning forward, too tense, too defensive. This isn’t about what it’s about anymore. It’s not about anything, really. He sinks back into a relaxed posture, reestablishing his practiced nonchalance. He takes another sip of beer. His hand is trembling.

“No,” Enji says, simply. “It’s not.”

The pair fall back into silence. Enough has been said, for one night. 

...

Kirishima sends you home. 

It’s the last thing you’d expect, after taking several days off for the wedding. You come in early, ready to elbow through a backlog of work, only to find the floor already bustling with a small crowd of unfamiliar faces.

It’s about eight people, total. Some of them are heroes. You can tell from the way they’re dressed, the way they hold themselves. Kirishima is in the middle of them, more dour than you’ve ever seen him. 

He comes to you, when he spots you, skirting his way around the visitors to meet you at the door. 

“Ah.” He rubs the back of his neck, glancing back at the group he left behind. “Why don’t you head home for today? This is all kind of, uh. Not safe for you.” 

“Should I be…” you try to glance around him, get an appraisal of the situation, but he’s such a mountain of a man that he takes up nearly your entire field of vision. “Like, worried?”

“No,” Kirishima is quick to say. “No, everything is going to be fine. But this isn’t quite your area of expertise, and I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire.”

He’s taken on his hero mien, shoulders back, a little more tense than usual. His tone is kind, but unmoveable. Leaves no room for arguments, or questions.

“Okay,” you say slowly, still a little unsure about all of this. “But you’ll let me know if you need help, right?”

Kirishima smiles at you, but not in a condescending, what would a small-fry like you be able to do, way, like any other hero might. His affection is so stalwart and genuine, his friendship so gentle. It only makes you worry all the more, for anytime that the goodness of Kirishima Eijiro might be at risk, that humanity might be deprived of him, for any moment, in any way. 

He holds out a fist, and you knock knuckles, shakily. “Promise,” he says. 

Then he pats you on the back, subtly steering you back to the elevator, away from whatever catastrophe he now has to face, alone. 

You have a vague idea of what all this might be about, but who knows what might have changed in the three days you’ve been away. The hero world moves at a breakneck pace, and it seems like you’ve fallen out of the loop. 

You think about the classified documents you’ve sorted through, the cases piled up on your harddrive. You’ve seen enough of past villainy to know that it’s not all stars and stripes and showing up at exactly the right moment. There’s a lot of accidents. A lot of almost made it, so close. Sometimes, the heroes just aren’t fast enough. Sometimes they make mistakes. 

It’s a job that risks more than one life. A burden on all fronts. If a hero dies, odds are many other lives get taken down with them. It’s why Kirishima wants you kept away from whatever is going on. The big bold word of the hour — casualty. Someone adjacently related to the incident, an unnecessary death. You’re not strong enough to protect yourself, not the way you’d need to, to exist in the same space as the heroes. Not enough to protect someone else.

Everything feels strange and uneasy. Like you’re teetering on the knife point of something huge. But you can’t fit all the puzzle pieces together, no matter how long you mull it over. It’s been like this for so long, you can’t trace back the origin of this foreboding feeling. Maybe you’ve always felt this way. You try to recall a time you’ve felt completely at ease, comfortable in your own skin, but you come up short, unable to pinpoint a moment, unable to figure out why not. 

You spend the rest of your day in PJs on the couch, eating icecream straight from the tub, fretting and fretting. Wondering when the anchorpoint of your life became fear. 

...

His next stop is the Commission HQ. 

No matter that he hasn’t slept in forty-nine hours. The Commission has already figured out that Keigo is in-country, and there’s work to be done. 

Firstly, he’s reprimanded. Loudly, and for a solid fifteen minutes. 

This is interrupted by a handler conspicuously walking right between him and the higher ups, and dragging him bodily out of the room. Keigo allows himself to be hauled away, waving as he goes. 

He’s asked to report on a number of missions he underwent while he was away. Provide details, recall key facts. He took diligent notes, but a lot of things require his own explanation, or follow up information. This takes up almost the entire day. Suddenly he regrets keeping so busy, over the past few weeks. 

It’s already late, late into the evening by the time he sets foot in his own agency. Things are quiet. There’s not much work to be done when Keigo himself is not around, so it’s unsurprising that most of the night workers have taken off. 

It’s nice to have a little privacy, even with another handler tailing him as he takes stock of the building. Nothing much has changed. Even his office is spotless. For some reason, he’d expected dust to have gathered in his absence, but of course the cleaning people would never let that happen. 

It’s almost like he hadn’t left, at all.

Exhausted, he intends to make one final stop at his locker before heading home. He just needs to grab another flight suit, dump his dirty ones in the hamper, to be cleaned. 

He’s still carrying around the bag he traveled with. He hadn’t taken much; his mode of transport doesn’t allow for heavy packing. He took the essentials, a few toiletries, a few flight suits, one spare change of civilian clothes. He dumps all of it in the bottom of his locker, to be sorted through when his bones feel less likely to melt out of his body altogether. 

He took one personal effect, and it stares at him from the top of the pile. The sweater he’d nabbed from your place. On nights he did sleep, he slept with it. Wrapped around him, or bunched up in his arms. It’s no longer soft, handled so much that the fibers had been worn to crimped bone. It had stopped smelling like you after the first week or so. Even with his heightened senses, eventually all traces of you were lost, the altitude and his own body overwhelming your scent. 

It was pointless to hold onto. It didn’t stave off the cravings, only made him remember all the times he had actually touched you, your skin, your hair. Felt your breath, or heard your voice. Dead weight, unnecessary baggage for his long trips. Still, he couldn’t get rid of it, no matter how many times he told himself he would leave it at whatever hotel he ended up in that night. Some mornings he would slip it on, pull it tight around himself, until he felt the constriction, until he thought the threads might snap under his grip. But the craftsmanship of it was impeccable, and it survived his rough treatment, and he would spend those mornings with the not-quite comfortable fabric wrapped around him, watching the sun rise miserably.

He shuts the locker door. Maybe this will be the end of it, now.  

He sends the handler home, assuring him that he’d be up and at ‘em at the crack of dawn tomorrow. The handler doesn’t look especially reassured, but there’s nothing to be done now, and he’s ready to call it quits himself.

Alone on the office floor, finally, Keigo takes a moment to just breathe. He closes his eyes for a moment. Tries to shut out all thoughts. They’d taught him to meditate as a child. He’d alway thought it a pointless endeavor, but now he kind of wishes he’d paid better attention, that he could simply will away his mind like turning off a light.

He barely has a minute to try. Someone clears their throat, asking for his attention. 

He turns to them with a smile. “What’s up?”

He recognizes the young man. A PA, hired a few years back. 

“Intel for you, Sir,” he says. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to wait until tomorrow to take a look.”

Keigo motions for the file in his hands, flipping through it as soon as he has it. No sense putting things off.

The PA explains, “The task force has discovered a list of addresses. Around half of them are the residence of record for established heroes. Another handful are homes that heroes have kept off the books. The one connection they all seem to have is that they are currently occupied by at least one civilian, as well.”

Keigo nods, peering at the list. 

The PA says, “Right now we’re operating under the assumption that these are a list of targets.” 

Keigo had assumed. With the momentum gained from Rei’s attack it would figure that the villain would keep going. Attention tends to spur on bigger and more intense feats.  

“Who else knows about this?” Keigo asks. 

“Only heroes assigned to the task-force, sir.” 

“No one from the Commission?” 

“The intel came to us from Deku’s agency,” he returns. “The Commission will receive the information as soon as Deku has convened with his people.” 

Keigo nods again, then returns his attention to the page. The first step would be to mobilize the people at these residencies, but how to do that without alerting the culprit would take some creative problem solving. The page is nearly full, numbers reaching toward the margins.

Still, despite the massive amount of work to come, this is a step in the right direction. 

He’s about to hand the file back to the handler and pay a visit to Deku’s agency himself when something catches his eye— 

Your building address, and next to it your unit number. You. 

He’s out the door and in the air in ten seconds, flat. 

...

The last thing you expect is to see on your impromptu day off is your door literally being cracked at the hinges.

The second to last thing is the man you haven’t heard from in weeks, pushing past you, stalking straight inside like he owns the place.

He looks… not great. He’s definitely lost some weight. There are horrible, dark circles under his eyes. His hair is a little longer than he prefers. He smells like how he always smells after taking double patrols, like sweat, and the city, and the sky. 

Has he been taking care of himself? Has anyone been looking after him?

“Get what you need,” he calls. “We’re leaving.”

He starts grabbing things himself. Your cardigan. The book you’re reading. Your sturdiest pair of shoes. His arms are full by the time you can work up the nerve to respond. Even then it sounds like more of a squeak. 

“Keigo?” 

He glances at you. He’s breathing hard. “Why aren’t you packing?”

“Because,” you sputter, “what the hell?” 

You reach for him. Then pull away. You take a step back, but you’re too unsteady on your feet to do anymore than that. Your legs might just give out, anyway. 

You’re reeling from his appearance, not able to make sense of any of it. Maybe you’re dreaming. But —

He’s standing right in front of you, the brightest thing in the room. If he were a little closer, you could feel his warmth. 

It’s been so long since you’ve seen him, it feels like you should have forgotten what he looks like. But it’s just the same as always, him in your space. Feels so right, even when everything is all turned around like this. Recognition, in its basest form.

He leans in toward you. Opens his mouth, about to say something. From this angle, oddly, he looks like he might be about to bite you, the subtlest hint of teeth, his breath still leaving him in heavy drags. Like a predator, all keyed up and ready. 

Like if you run, he’ll chase. 

You can hardly get the words out. “What’s happening?”

An expression crosses his features, a flash of emotion that’s gone in an instant. A tick of remorse, disconsolate. Then he’s back to his unshakeable, placid smoothness. 

“You’re not safe here,” he says. It’s a tone he’s never taken with you before. Stern, cool. 

You have a hundred more questions, but they’re like little dragon flies, flitting around your skull. You keep grasping for them, but missing. You can’t figure out what to say. You can’t figure out what’s happening. 

Then —

You taste it, before anything. A metallic twinge to the air, like an ink blot of blood, coins on your tongue. 

Suddenly, your center of balance is off. You’re falling, bracing, falling. But not falling, because Keigo has you in his arms, hauling you, painfully, in some direction. 

A noise you can feel in your bones, that makes you think your teeth might fall out from the force of it.

You’re airborne. You think you might vomit. The night is whip-cold but also brutally, violently hot. 

—Falling. Again. For real, this time. 

You feel the soft brush of grass. He’s pressing you into it. He’s shifting you on top of it, rolling you.

“Are we on fire?” you gasp.

“Not anymore,” he returns.

His hands are all over you, bracing, touching, searching. Your skin is oddly numb. You can’t quite tell which way is up, anymore. You can barely hear anything, the whole world muffled, static. 

Somewhere, in the dark you catch a glimpse of molten light, and the sluggish neurons of your brain struggle to the conclusion that your home used to be there. Everything that’s yours used to be there. Now lit up, glowing like a midnight sunrise. Blinding you. But you can’t look away. 

Keigo’s on you again. All around you. He has a better grip on you, now. Not painful anymore. 

Two flaps and you’re airborne again, clutching to him with all your meager strength. Being clutched in return.

The heat from the flames follows you up, licks into the sky, and you think you must still be burning, you have to be. 

But Keigo has a hold of you, so tight and visceral it swallows all your thoughts, all your fear, and eventually you make it far enough that the ash is distant, and the night swaddles you like a cool blanket. 

“You’re okay,” Keigo is whispering, lips against your crown, your temple. “I got you. I’m sorry. You’re okay.”

Distantly, you realize he’s been saying it this entire time. 

[tigertofu]

Hey, could you write a little love-hate angst about aftergame (ending B) Trevor x fem!reader who strongly reminds him of Michael? They work together and have kind of frenemies dynamics. She's a skilled thief and born liar and T doesn't trust her obviously, she courteously despises him in return, but they're useful for each other and T's suddenly got sentimental.

Not pushing, no rushing <3

TY for this prompt anon,, i absolutely love this idea <333 the angst 🥴 !!! and apologies for this taking so long... i hope u like it <33

pairing: fem reader/Trevor

summary: He's made it clear that he hates you. You've made it clearer that the feeling's mutual. But for some reason, the two of you have continued to take scores together. And after one heist, you find out that maybe his hate is something far more complicated than just plain old hate.

cw's: gun violence

wordcount: 2,664

AO3 Link

It’s supposed to be an easy job.

The mark is the Diamond Casino & Resort, a new construction gaudy and grand in that particular way that only establishments built for the entertainment of Los Santos’ wealthiest are. 

As you slip up the highway in your getaway vehicle towards it, the nighttime lights of the city’s skyscrapers dazzle across it’s massive glass façade. Your palms begin to sweat inside your black gloves. You remind yourself, again, that this is supposed to be an easy job. Nothing you can’t handle.

And what if he can’t handle it?

The intrusive thought makes you turn your gaze to the man in the driver’s seat of the vehicle. You see the concentrated scowl pinching down his features in the light of a lamppost he speeds past. Trevor always has this look just before a job. Calculating. Cold. Thoughtful. 

This is only your fourth job together, but you’ve already learned to not trust that look. At some pivotal moment, it always disappears. The second gunfire erupts, or something (or someone) threatens the success of the heist, a flip inside him gets switched. He starts to act without thought. Manic. Uncontrollable. Messy. Any previously agreed upon directive gets shoved aside for a new one: killing as many opposition and onlookers as possible. What should’ve been three easy–enough thefts have all ended as bloodbaths, all triggered by him. 

You don’t know why you’ve continuously chosen to work with him. The two of you make an odd pair, though working together has made your checking account swell to numbers you’d once only dreamed about. Lester—a well–networked recluse of a man who plays matchmaker for the criminals of Southern San Andreas—had even warned you about working with Trevor. “A meth–fueled series of bad decisions that has only grown more unstable in light of recent events,” Lester had said about him. You’d only scoffed and said you think you could handle it. But with each completed job, Lester was only proven more correct. 

You keep your eyes on Trevor as he pulls the getaway car off the highway. He still has that scowl plastered over his rugged face. He’d been ominously silent the entire drive, something that has mildly shocked, and, for some reason, disappointed you. Any attempts at conversation with him tend to spiral into arguments. You almost enjoyed these shouting matches, though. They gave you a chance to launch all your normally–restrained criticisms at him. 

Your last job had ended in one of these spats. The two of you had stuck up a designerwear shop in Vinewood. The spoils were supposed to get split evenly between the two of you, with ten percent set aside for Lester, who’d set the whole thing up. But when Trevor had asked how much jewelry you’d been able to stuff into your duffle bag, you’d lied to him. Not just because you needed the extra income, but also to get back at him for turning the head of the shop’s security guard into a red paste after you’d begged him to make this job a clean one. 

Trevor, of course, hadn’t believed you. After a struggle, he’d managed to wrench your dufflebag away from you and the heap of jewels that tumbled out of it as he did made him start screaming that you were a lying snake. As you collected your haul from the concrete and stuffed it back away, you’d snapped back that you may be, but at least you knew how to use a shower. 

You now notice, as he parks the car in the casino’s crowded parking lot, that he seems to have taken this insult very personally because he isn’t radiating his usual reek tonight. Just the smells of smoked meth and tobacco. You briefly wonder, against your better judgement, if this means anything.

“In. Out. Easy and quiet,” you tell him evenly as he puts his hand on the car door. He flashes you a glare. “I am so fucking serious about it this time, T. I don’t wanna be shooting my way through a swarm of cops by the end of this. Got it?”

“Whatever you fucking say, princess.”

And with that, you both step out into the night.

Your heartrate ticks up a notch with each step you take towards the glow of the casino. Your body tenses, muscles thrumming with growing adrenaline, your strides wide and confident as you keep up with Trevor. 

The casino’s entrance is buzzing with flocks of folks dressed to the nines. It’s so busy that nobody immediately notices the two conspicuous figures with black ski masks pulled over their faces and AR–shaped bulges under their suit jackets that have slipped into the crowd. Until, in the middle of the lobby, Trevor shouts for everyone to get on the ground because this is a fucking robbery.

The crowd erupts into screams, but obliges. You deftly pick your way over tuxedoed men and women in cocktail dresses shakily lowering themselves to the tiles, pulling out your gun as you make your way towards your target: the cashier’s cage. The beat of your heart has turned to the muffled rapport of a war drum, ricocheted back into you by the ski mask over your ears.

The woman behind the counter screams the second you point your rifle at her. You shout at her to fill your bag as you toss it towards her, and though she’s frozen in fear for a few seconds, she eventually rattles open her register and begins to fumble wads of bills out. 

You mutter under your breath for her to hurry up. As she works, you cast nervous glances back to make sure Trevor has the crowd controlled. He’s still doing what he does best: scaring people. Everybody is still on the floor. He towers over them, jabbing his rifle in the directions of any particularly squirmy patrons. The screaming has stopped, simmered down to frightened whimpering and whispering. You imagine the poor janitor’s going to be mopping up a dozen puddles of piss off the quartz tiles later. You turn back to the cashier and tell her, louder now, to hurry the fuck up.

Your adrenaline reaches a buzzing peak as you watch her cram your backpack with cash. A couple dozen grands’ worth, easy. You begin to shift on your feet. Fidget with your rifle. 

“Th–There!” she finally cries, pushing the stuffed backpack across the counter towards you. “That–That’s all of it, I swear!”

You grab your loot without a word and whirl around on your heels. 

And in that moment, it all goes to hell in a handbasket. 

While you were babysitting the cashier, somebody did something to piss Trevor off.

“I told you to stay fucking down!” he screams at a man by his feet, pressing his rifle’s muzzle to the top of the man’s head hard enough to force him to lay flat. You trip over somebody’s leg as you hurry over, and as you catch your balance, a security guard seemingly materializes out of thin air behind Trevor.

Gunfire. Muzzleflash glinting against the lobby’s chandelier. A chorus of shrieking explodes through the room. Your instinct kicks in; screams at you to get out, now. But with the security guard already dead, Trevor has turned his attention to randomly shooting into the crowd, and now people are getting up and running, tripping over each other, turning into a stampede that smells of expensive colognes and perfumes and jostles you as you try to pull yourself to the front doors. 

You reach the glass; see the valet outside running for cover. Your hand presses against the door, but before you can push it open, you stop. Turn around. Trevor is still engrossed in his massacre.

Muttering curses to yourself, you sprint back to him and tug at the back of his jacket. He doesn’t budge an inch; keeps unloading his rifle into the crowd that has now turned into a pulsating wall trying to squeeze itself into the hall leading to the table games room.

“T! Let’s go!” you scream. 

What comes next, comes in a blur of red. A siren begins to whoop above the screaming. Someone's triggered the casino's alarm. You pull as hard as you can, the soles of your shoes squeaking over tile, and Trevor finally relents.

As you both sprint out of the casino, you glance at him. The splatters of red covering the white dress shirt under his jacket disgust you.

“What the fuck was that?!” you cry the second you're both seated in the getaway car.

“That was me ensuring we got outta there," Trevor growls as he throws it out of park and hits the gas. 

As he drives across the highway and veers onto a side road running through a neighborhood that edges Northeast Los Santos, you try to quell the growing anger in your chest. But then you see flashes of red and blue in the rearview mirror, shooting down the road towards the casino, and you can't hold it back any longer.

“No, no, that was you turning what was supposed to be a fucking robbery into a mass shooting!” Your hand shoots up to grab the panic bar above the passenger window as Trevor swerves the car onto a dirt road. Rocky hills loom up in front of the car's headlights. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

“What was I supposed to do?! Let that guard taze me?!”

You hang on tighter as he takes a turn too fast and nearly drifts right into a boulder. He rights the car, and the hulking concrete mass of the Land Act Dam appears ahead. 

“You–You didn’t have to fucking kill him!" you shoot back as Trevor speeds across the dam's service road. "You didn’t have to then kill—what—a dozen more fucking bystanders! Is killing people your answer to every fucking issue in life? If they give you the wrong order at Burger Shot do you storm the kitchen and slaughter the fry cooks?!” 

“Listen, sweetcheeks,” he starts, and you try to yell at him to not fucking call you that but he just continues on, growing louder and talking faster. The car jolts as he leads it down onto a dirt service road leading to the river that feeds the dam. “I’ve been in this game longer than you have. I know how to do this shit; I know how this shit works. If we did everything your way, we’d both be sipping toilet hooch and selling our bodies for cigarettes in Bolingbroke by now!”

“You’re fucking insane!” 

With an incoherent roar, he suddenly pulls off the dirt road. The second the car comes to a skidding stop, he gets out. You throw the car door open and follow him as he stomps his way towards the shore of the river he’s parked by.

“Where are you going?” you shout. “Get back here! I’m not done talking to you!”

He spins on his heels and jabs a finger in your direction, pushing up into your personal space. You flinch back, mirroring his glare. 

"Stop fucking looking at me like that!" he roars.

"Like what?! Like you're a goddamn maniac who's incapable of making a single rational decision?”

"Like–Like him! You keep giving me that same fucking look that he used to give me!” he screams. “You are so goddamned lucky I haven’t wiped it off your smug little face yet!”

“Go ahead! I’d like to see you try!” you shout back.

And for a moment, it looks he’s going to.

But he manages, somehow, to restrain himself and he backs away from you, dropping his chin to his chest so he can glower at you from under his heavy brow. 

He’s waiting. He’s looking at you like you’re supposed to say something more; like he’s just waiting for one more insult or question to goad him into turning things physical. But you’re caught up on something he’s said, and your next words come out far calmer.

“Who…” You shake your head, trying to clear that nagging voice inside it telling you not to ask your next question. It stubbornly remains. You huff. “Who’s ‘him’?”

“Michael. His name was Michael,” he says, and you can tell by the way his scarred lips pull back into a snarl when he says it that getting the name out pains him. 

“Was?” You feel your face soften along with your voice. “Did he… Pass?”

“He was murdered!” Trevor snaps, his hands curling into fists. “He–He was a two–faced liar. A backstabber! But he–he didn’t deserve to get fucking done in by an even bigger backstabber!” He’s pacing now, hands shaking, teeth bared. “His head—caved in. Brains just, splattered all over the concrete! He was—He was my best friend! And he’s fucking haunting me!”

Something inside your chest shifts at this diatribe. For a moment, there’s no sound but water lapping at the shore and Trevor’s boots crunching across the gravel. In the silence you find a realization that makes pity knot through your stomach. 

“Listen, T,” you eventually murmur. He makes no sign that he’s heard you, continuing to walk tight circles, inconsolable. “Maybe we shouldn’t work together anymore.”

He stops, his back to you, his whole frame suddenly straight as if a line attached to the top of his spine has been pulled taut. Moonlight accents the twitch of muscle inside his forearms as he tries to restrain himself. 

“Why?” he asks the river in front of him.

“Because it—” You grimace and cross your arms over your chest. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but it just sounds like I just remind you of your dead friend. And that… Doesn’t seem to be doing you any favors.” 

He hangs his head. 

“I fucking hate you,” he mumbles. “You lie. You act like you’re fucking better than me. But I don’t want this to end.”

The knot of pity in your guts grows. It urges you to take a step closer to him. 

“You sure?” you ask quietly. 

He turns around, and the tears welled up in his eyes and the angry pout pulling his mouth simultaneously up and down shock you more than any of his random, violent outbursts ever have. He looks ready to either reach out and throttle you or squeeze you in a back–breaking hug. He looks almost childlike. He looks broken, and unable to hide it anymore.

“Don’t—” He sniffles; rubs a sleeve over his face. “Don’t fucking leave me.”

Something tells you to turn the other way and run. To leave this mess of a man; to turn to bigger and better things. But another something inside of you screams louder, with such clarity that you have no choice but to listen to it. 

“Okay. Fine,” you sigh. You limply shrug. “I mean, yeah, I kinda hate you too. Every fucking job we do together has been a total shitshow. But we have made good money together. So… I don’t know. Maybe—”

Your voice cuts off as Trevor suddenly closes the space between the two of you and wraps his arms around you. 

You tense up. He clutches at your back and buries his face in the crook of his neck, suddenly sobbing hard enough to make himself hiccup, shakily rocking you back and forth. Against your better judgement, you raise your hands and awkwardly hug him back. His tears are hot on your skin. He begins to repeat something in a high, whimpery voice; it takes you a moment to realize he’s repeating “Don’t leave me,” over and over, each repetition more desperate. Your pity swells into something all–encompassing. 

As you hold onto each other in the moonlight, you softly tell him you won’t.

And when he moves his grip to your face and presses his mouth to yours, you kiss him back. 

[sobreiromecanico]

No correio (32)

Dia de livros novos é sempre um bom dia. Continuaremos pelo Verão a ler Dragon Ball de Akira Toriyama. E se este The Ten Percent Thief de Lavanya Lakshminarayan, nomeado ao Prémio Arthur C. Clarke Award deste ano, tivesse chegado um ou dois dias mais cedo, talvez lhe pegasse já. Assim, como entretanto fui à vasta pila de TBR e já comecei uma nova leitura, terá de esperar um pouco mais.

[thus-spoke-lo]

Summer in the City // odd jobs!Izuku Midoriya x gn!reader

For @bastardblvd’s slimy open mic, using prompt “air conditioning”

CW: NSFW/18+ for highly suggestive content and typical slimy behavior; gn!reader (no pronouns used)

WC: ~430

“Hey, please be careful with that,” you shout after the grinning, green-haired guy lugging your new window air conditioning unit across your living room as sweat beaded at his temples. “It wasn’t cheap.”

“Oh, tell me about it,” he says, setting it down on the floor. “I managed to buy one at Grimemart before the heatwave came and even then they jacked the price up!”

“Yeah, Slimemart sure is the worst, huh?” You laugh nervously as he turns away, not daring to tell him that yours came with a different price—getting bent over in an alley by the local freelance thief, Toji, who wrangled you a partially-dented unit from the back of a supply truck at three in the morning last week. You also conveniently leave out the part where you couldn’t lug it home from Toji’s cardboard box on your own, and had to call a taxi—that moss-haired driver, Zoro, was nice enough to carry it upstairs for you, for the nominal fee of getting on your knees for a little while for him, a small price to pay for convenience, you thought.

You stand against the door and watched Izuku slowly and somewhat unnecessarily strip his shirt off—you don’t mind the view, but your apartment isn’t even that hot yet.

“All right—all set!” Izuku grins, subtly flexing his biceps as he walks over to you. “Feels nice, huh?”

“Sure does,” you mutter as you feel a chill run down your spine, and not from the sudden cooling of the air.

“You know, I was thinking,” he says as he places one arm beside you and leans his body into yours. “I know my services are a little in-demand right now with the weather and all but—I could give you a discount?”

“Oh?” You could feel the heat radiating from him, and bit your lip as you looked him over.

“Yeah.” He places his free hand on your hip and pulls you against him. “How about you let me stay a little longer and we enjoy this nice, cool air together, and I’ll give you ten percent off today’s services?”

“You drive a hard bargain, but I think that could be arranged,” you purr, thinking of the near-negative balance in your checking account.

You gasp as Izuku suddenly pulls your shirt over your head and kisses you, the cool air from the window unit sending goosebumps across your skin. You smile into the kiss as he pulls you to the floor, ever grateful that it seemed the favored currency for goods and services in Grimetown was one you most enjoyed spending.

[ryttu3k]

Was tagged by @surreealism, take if you wish!

Last Song: Currently playing is Måneskin - La Fine. Astonishing ;)

Favourite colour: This really specific shade of orangey-yellow.

Currently watching: Gardening Australia? The most recent season of The Great Canadian Baking Show? Honestly I don't watch a lot of TV or ongoing series, haha.

Last movie: jfc I think it was Detective Pikachu.

Currently reading: Just finished The Ten Percent Thief by Lavanya Lakshminarayan. Not sure what's up next, I'll have to go through my TBR.

Sweet/spicy/savoury: I do have a sweet tooth, but I tend to gravitate more towards salty/savoury/crunchy than anything else.

Last thing I googled: 'bg3 investigate fireworks not ending'. I found out what they were doing, I did what I was meant to do, why is the quest marker still active :(

Current obsession: I apologise to everyone who wasn't expecting me to turn into a Baldur's Gate 3 blog. Those illithid brainworms, man.

Currently working on: Post-Cazador fic. Astarion has trouble coping, his friends try to help.

[thefalloutwiki]

"We steal from the rich, plain and simple. We give about, oh, ten to twenty percent to the poor folks over in Old Town. The Circle keeps twenty, which leaves the rest for the thief. Not a bad deal all round."

-Loxley, Fallout

You can read more about Loxley here