#This episode was unexpected but so so welcome

[whoops-ahaha]

This image but it's Powder and Ekko

[jenscx]

CALL IT WANT YOU WANT — yu jimin x f!reader

the self-on kode with karina had boosted your popularity as a solo member immensely. you find yourself invited to another show; nothing much prepared. yet, you weren’t exactly alone this time.

TAGS — fluff, lesserafim member!yn, flirty!karina, continuation of magnetic, lee youngji’s show, lowk crack

WORDCOUNT — 2.3k

your manager drops you off in front of an apartment complex. waving goodbye to him, and with a promise to not stir up any trouble, you enter the apartment building, nerves trembling. reaching the lobby, you press on the call button, dialling in lee youngji’s apartment number.

“hello!” you greet as youngji’s face comes into view.

“oh my,” youngji gasps, “hurry up before i leave!”

“this is your house though?” the video ends abruptly. you laugh as you enter the lift.

the lift slowly brings you up, a stranger eyeing you weirdly. pulling up the mask closer to your face, you resist the urge to run away.

the lift dings, and you exit, turning corners to finally reach her apartment. pressing on the doorbell gingerly, you start to remove your shoes. you hear youngji’s rapid footsteps as she approaches.

“y/n-ssi!” youngji shrieks. cheers resound from the small crowd of staff. cameras and lights form a semicircle, capturing your every move. you smile shyly at everyone, waving your hand.

“welcome to my house!”

“Is this your actual house?” you ask, “not like a set?”

youngji laughs, “what makes you think i can afford a set like this? of course it’s my actual house!” you nod, grin plastered on your face as you sit down on the cushion. youngji immediately starts introducing the various food items she prepared for you.

yet, when she points at a certain plate, your eyes widen in recognition as she states, “that’s for our other guest, she likes tonkatsu.”

“other guest…?” you repeat, “my manager didn’t say anything about another guest.”

youngji grins at you apologetically, “because we didn’t inform him about it! no worries, you should be well-acquainted with her!”

the staff laughs at your reaction, glaring at youngji who paces around the room.

the webcam rings again. you try to soothe your nerves by slurping up the noodles youngji had prepared. acquainted with you? and someone who likes tonkatsu? you couldn’t believe it. could youngji really manage to get..?

“karina unnie! welcome back to my house!” your heart drops.

the familiar idol peeks around the corner.

“y/n?” jimin gapes. you share a similar reaction. youngji claps gleefully at the interaction.

“welcome back my favourite unnie and my newest unnie!” your eyes narrow while jimin’s crinkle into an eye smile.

“please take a seat next to y/n unnie!” you tense up before shifting slightly to accommodate for the unexpected arrival. jimin grins, sitting down with her humongous bag. “hi, nice to see you again. you haven’t replied to my message yet.”

“i was busy,” you reply in a low voice. jimin only rolls her eyes and moves in closer. you feel your throat constrict at the closeness.

“youngji, can i have water please?” you ask. the girl mentioned immediately brings out a large bottle from the fridge, placing it on the table. she clears her throat, “okay, now that we are all settled! today we have y/n-ssi and karina-ssi!”

you cheer awkwardly along with the staff.

“this is the first time we have two people from different groups!” youngji exclaims, “unnie, of course, has been here before and y/n is here for the first time.”

youngji turns to you, “have you watched unnie’s episode?”

“ah… no i haven’t…” you glance at jimin apologetically. the idol turns to you, affronted.

“y/n, that’s so hurtful!” jimin pouts. you look away, coughing to mask the choking sensation caused by her big puppy eyes.

you take a large gulp of alcohol, youngji laughs at your expense.

“have you watched any of y/n-ssi’s content recently then?” youngji prompts.

jimin sighs, hands going to massage her temples exaggeratedly, “of course! i watched her vlog to japan and her dazed interview.”

you try to hide your red face behind the glass of alcohol, eyes darting from jimin’s piercing gaze.

“y/n-ssi, did you hear that? unnie has been keeping up with your content!” your ears flush maroon.

“sorry… i’ve been busy with stuff,” you defend yourself. jimin giggles, sipping on her miniature cup. her posture seems relaxed and calm, of course, since this would be her second time appearing on the show. meanwhile, you sit upright, meekly staring at youngji.

“how have you guys been? aespa’s having a comeback, right?”

jimin brightens up, “yes, it’s our first full album. we have a pre-release single called supernova and our title track is armageddon! please show lots of love since it will be our first time promoting a full album!” the staff breaks out in applause. you clap along.

“y/n-ssi!” youngji calls out, “are you going to buy their album?” you gape at youngji, “uh, sure!”

“shouldn’t you ask unnie for a signed copy?”

“ah… uhm, karina-ssi—”

jimin pouts at you, “call me unnie and i’ll give it to you!”

you feel faint at the close proximity of her beauty.

“unnie…”

the idol laughs, patting you on the back, “youngji, isn’t she so cute? her reaction is the opposite of minjeong but they’re both so funny.”

“what’s your mbti? wait no— i’ll guess!” youngji shrieks. even before she opens her mouth a second time, jimin swiftly answers, “istj!”

“oh, sorry, but even if you’re older than me you can’t just interrupt like that,” youngji deadpans. you choke on the water you were drinking. jimin only swats at the host, “i was helping you. you definitely couldn’t guess her mbti.”

you cough, “jimin is correct.”

“unnie, you’re istj? wow!”

“i think it’s quite obvious, no?” you ask, pointing at yourself. jimin shoots you a smile.

“how do you guys feel about your episode on self-on kode reaching five million views? it’s one of the most popular videos now. please say something to the camera,” youngji asks. jimin nudges you while she takes a bite out of the tonkatsu. you blush thinking about the video.

“i’m thankful for all of jimin’s fans who watched the video and enjoyed our interaction. it was my first time appearing solo and i was worried that my personality would be too timid and shy. but i’m glad our fans liked the video,” you smile at the camera, “to all the mys and fearnots, i love you all.”

youngji sighs, “unnie.”

“yes?”

“should we just get married? i think i should pay more taxes to witness your smile.”

jimin interrupts again, cheeks puffed with food, “no!”

the subtitle underneath would read, ‘in a fight between whales, the shrimp is the one that gets hurt.’

“y/n is mine,” jimin says after swallowing. you just stare at her incredulously.

“unnie, you can’t just claim people like that! what if y/n unnie doesn’t like you!”

“i don’t care, i met her first.” you think this side of jimin is incredibly childish. and cute.

youngji frowns but then bursts out into laughter, “okay let’s say, we share y/n unnie.”

jimin shakes her head.

“okay, pick between, no shin-chan or no y/n— let’s play a balance game!” your eyes widen as youngji yells. maybe too much energy was a bad thing.

“three, two, one, answer!”

jimin huffs, “no y/n…”

you chuckle, of course jimin’s love for shin-chan would prevail. you roughly remember the boo keychain she had given you last time after the shoot ended, thankful that you dealt with her nonsense.

you didn’t bother telling her you had fun. she could probably tell from the smile on your face.

“lee youngji, jay park or y/n? three, two, one—”

youngji slams the table, scoffing, “unnie, let’s just continue the shoot without you.”

jimin claps gleefully. as the idol laughs, her hand comes striking down on your back. you yelp in pain, surprised by the forcefulness of her slap.

“—oh! i’m sorry!”

you narrow your eyes at jimin, “was that on purpose?”

“i would never slap someone like that on purpose!” jimin was such a liar. you’ve been her victim many times.

“unnie, even y/n unnie is scared of you,” youngji says, bringing out a candy ring from her pocket, “that’s why, y/n unnie should marry me instead.”

you laugh loudly, reaching out your hand to receive the ring.

“hey, didn’t you give me a shin-chan ring?”

“that was in the past, it is all about the future—”

“i’m going to slap you next!”

while the two bicker, you slip on the ring, yet it doesn’t fit quite as snug as you hoped. a little loose around the edges, jimin notices your call for help. deft fingers wrap around yours, trying to tighten the ring. a snippet of her tongue pokes out, eyes focused on securing the ring. your eyes flicker to her face. it’s adorable how jimin is so concentrated.

“there,” her eyes shone, “it’s secure now.”

you look back at her, mumbling, “thank you, jimin.”

a voice breaks your eye contact, “i’m sorry, but is this a blind date? am i interrupting? should i leave?” youngji stands up.

you hastily try to pull her arm back to sit down, “no!”

“yes!” jimin nods. you glare at jimin, who pouts again. what was god thinking when he made jimin? did he not consider how many heart attacks her pout would cause?

“ah, young love,” youngji sighs, lamenting as she sits down again, “unnie has mentioned you countless times on bubble.”

“oh, really?” you turn to jimin, in disbelief.

jimin scowls, “lee youngji, don’t buy my bubble just to tease me.”

“i didn’t buy your bubble!”

“ah, you bought mark’s one, right?” you ask, remembering the episode with twice. youngji nods excitedly, “you watched nayeon and chaeyoung unnie’s episode?”

you nod, “i’m a once, it was a very fun episode.”

“unnie, flatter me more and i’ll ask them to text you.”

laughing, you shake your head, “it’s okay, i’m happy being a once and watching their content.”

“i heard you were a fan of got7 too.”

“yes, ahgase was actually my nickname in the self-on kode episode.”

“jimin unnie, you said you liked older women in the episode,” youngji asks, “how did you feel when you found out y/n unnie is younger?”

“of course i was still happy! i liked y/n ever since lesserafim debut,” jimin says, “and park y/n, you watch twice but not aespa content?”

your eyes widen as you shake your hands in front of you, denying, “no, i watched twice’s episode a long time ago! i didn’t have time to watch yours!”

“what if it was minjeong who came? would you watch it?”

at this point, jimin was just having fun teasing you.

“i really didn’t have time,” you whine. jimin sighs dramatically, “maybe i’m the only one putting in effort in this friendship.”

“jimin unnie, i think you should consider acting,” youngji says out of the blue, “like a first love turned ex type of drama.”

jimin laughs. you could definitely imagine jimin acting. but maybe for the sake of your sanity, she shouldn’t act in any romance drama for now.

“have you guys met recently after the self-on kode episode? all your fans have been wondering and ah! did you see the article about y/nrina’s outing?”

you roughly recalled such an article. chaewon had showed it to you. it was a few weeks after the episode had aired and jimin wanted to go out. you had agreed, and unbeknownst to the two of you, there was a fan who took a photo of you at the restaurant.

“we went to a photobooth, and to the arcade. i think fearnots may know but jimin won a plushie there, the cute cat one that i posted on weverse. then we went to go eat.”

youngji pulls out a piece of paper, the photo printed on it.

“lee youngji, what is this prop?” jimin asks.

“newest edition to our show!” youngji says proudly, pointing at the two familiar figures, “can you explain this photo?” it was the trending photo of jimin and you fighting over the bill before jimin ended up handing her card to the waiter, happily smiling at you.

“jimin wanted to pay the bill and i disagreed, wanting to split half-half,” you explain, “we played rock paper scissors and jimin won, so she paid.”

jimin grins, looping her arm through yours, “but next time y/n is paying!”

“next time, will you guys invite me too?”

“sure!” you exclaim, “we can go eat pork belly. let’s shake on it!” you extend your hand, grasping youngji’s and shaking in a firm grip.

youngji pulls back, eyeing her hand as she says, “i’m never washing this hand again.”

“lee youngji—”

“ah, unnie, isn’t it time for you to go home?” youngji perks up. jimin shakes her head, “i wanna stay here longer.”

“unnie, don’t make me call your manager,” youngji turns to you for help.

you sigh, grabbing jimin’s humongous bag and trying to get her to stand up, “jimin, please get up.”

jimin resists for a few seconds. you smile shyly at her. she finally relents.

turning to the camera, you grin, “thank you for inviting us today, youngji! i had a lot of fun and so did jimin.”

“thank you for coming!” youngji smirks, “and thank you for dragging unnie home! let’s stay in contact y/n unnie!”

you wave goodbye at the crew and drag the frowning jimin out of the apartment. after successfully reaching the door, you put on your shoes. jimin’s arms wrap around your back as she sighs, “y/n…”

“hm? what is it?”

“i want a kiss.”

you smack her shoulder, “no, get off me.”

“please y/n! i didn’t even tease you that much this time! and if youngji can ask for your hand in marriage, you should allow your girlfriend to ask for a kiss!”

“on the cheek.”

“no!” jimin points at her lips, “here!”

glossy, red and plump. your eyes zero in, but you shake your head, “no, jimin. control yourself. we’re still outside youngji’s apartment.”

jimin huffs, sulking as she puts on her shoes.

“in the lift,” you say, “i’ll give you a kiss in the lift.”

your girlfriend perks up, tying her shoelaces with a speed unknown to mankind. you giggle at her eagerness.

“y/n, hurry up!” jimin yells, pulling your arm towards the lift lobby.

nothing has really changed. you still can’t find yourself denying yu jimin. even after she’s become your girlfriend.

[dilemmars]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“ DIE WITH A SMILE. ”⠀⠀───⠀⠀arcane.

⠀⠀𝖾𝗉𝗂𝗌𝗈𝖽𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗈.⠀( some mysteries are better left unresolved , 9.6k words. )⠀by dilemmars.

1.⠀⠀ PAIRING⠀⠀:⠀⠀violet x f!reader.

2.⠀⠀GENRES⠀⠀:⠀⠀based on the storyline and universe of arcane ( league of legends tv show )⠀; first love trope, started dating recently, stablished relationship, exes to lovers. basically you and vi were dating before the start of the story, then got separated.

3.⠀⠀WARNINGS⠀⠀:⠀⠀i will add the warnings that the tv show has: slight presence of sex and nudity, foul language, alcohol, drugs and tobacco. moderate scenes of fear and terror. high content of violence and gore. in this second chapter, there's going to be an explicit scene of bullying and violence towards reader, and mentions of prostitution. please do not read if you're uncomfortable with it.

4.⠀⠀AUTHOR 'S NOTE⠀⠀:⠀⠀second chapter out! i don't know why, but i found it kind of difficult to finish it because it took me a while to decide how i was going to approach the first part. and i also feel like it's super repetitive, so i hope you don't find it boring (an di'm sorry if you do! i'll try to write better) :(( then we have more arcane episode 2 content, and a bittersweet end. next chapter will be the end of the first act (and we all know how it goes), i would advice to prepare yourself for some angst. meanwhile, just enjoy 🤍

5.⠀⠀IMPORTANT⠀⠀:⠀⠀this is a work of fiction. i do not own arcane or any content produced or owned bychristian linke, alex yee, riot games or netflix. all rights belong to netflix and the writers of arcane. all plot events and character developments that are not related to the main character's story belong to the writers and creators of the series.

The whisper of the name of Vander, the hound of the underworld, and his fearsome reputation, had drifted through the gaunt streets of Zaun like a famished viper aching for nourishment, but it had also reverberated within the glassed walls of the brothel in which you had grown up. You had first heard it from your mother's lips, like the caress of a feather brushing your skin, when you were too young to remember what had been of the city before him. In your blurred memories, only a chaos of violence and children's games, and then just peace. Like so many secrets huddled under the beds and behind the wardrobes of The Gilded Lily, it was a mystery how Vander had managed to keep that invisible line between the two worlds intact for so long. The only important thing, however, was that it worked.

At the age of twelve, you had come to think that he could be your father. Like many children of prostitutes, you had never met yours. Like many unwanted results of endless nights of work, you hadn't been much more than a mouth to feed that couldn't monetise your stay at the brothel. At least, until you got older. You had spent your days wandering the city in search of mechanisms to fix, wanting to spend as little time as possible under the brothel roof, knowing that your presence was not welcome. Profiting from the rare tastes of the men and women who frequented the many decorated rooms downstairs —and the even wilder fantasies they paid for in the rooms upstairs— your mother had decided to keep you when she learned of the unexpected pregnancy, against the madam's insistent advice and the usual procedure on such occasions. 

During your childhood you had heard too many names whispered in the perpetual night of Zaun, always hidden in the poorly lit corridors of the place, but Vander's had never been one of the feigned moans that used to echo in your head even when you covered your ears. Only once, while your mother was getting ready for one of The Gilded Lily's most important clients, your nimble hands braiding and winding strands of her hair, had she muttered those six letters, in a hurried ‘If you ever find yourself in danger, call on Vander’. She had always become wary, anxiety creeping like a terrifying shiver up her spine, when you had to leave the building without a place to shelter. And on those occasions, after forcing herself to ask you not to return until after the early hours of the morning, you would lose yourself in the alleys of Zaun.

You still remembered that night, when her lips had left a quick kiss on your forehead, a carmine shadow that had remained on your skin until she had smudged it with her thumb, and then you had disappeared from her room, carrying that unknown name in your heart like a secret. It had been no accident that your mother had confided those words to you after seeing you come home with more than one bruise on your face, some nights even more, because she knew he could help you. And her instinct had not failed, because you had remembered his name precisely until you had needed to pronounce it.

Life in the brothel hadn't been so bad once you had familiarised to the overpowering scent of all the perfumes, the chaos of the attic rooms —with clothes of all kinds scattered on the beds, make-up products everywhere— and the unclassifiable noises behind closed doors that became a background melody once you got used to them. Still, and despite the fact that all the women and men who worked there had found it hard to consider you as one of their own, sometimes even treating you more like a pet than a child, you valued your independence too much to waste time getting annoyed looks for being in the way. You had often slipped into the alleyways adjoining the big building, after looking for the moment when the Madam locked herself in her office, and you had walked the dirty streets of the undercity with your head down under your hood.

That had been how you had discovered the tattered shop of the gentle Benzo, the owner of a cave full of treasures, who had grown fond of you. He had given you your first screwdriver, and taught you how to build any mechanism from scratch. He always kept useless pieces of machinery in a box with your name on it, ready for you to pick them up as soon as you could. At first it had been in exchange for you looking after the little boy who had been left outside his door years ago, who was only slightly younger than you, but it had ended up becoming a problem, even if he hadn't been aware of it at the time.

In Zaun people didn't need a reason to sin. It was as easy as breathing the foul oxygen that clung to your skin and poisoned you from the inside, urging you to steal, to fight for money, to kill if you had to. The need made you unpredictable, desperate. And that culture of poverty, applied to children, was lethal to those with fewer possibilities. Applied to you, well, let's just say it had meant a big target painted on your forehead that screamed you were too easy a prey for the most despicable ones.

It had not been the first time you had been attacked thinking you could have something of value in your pockets. You had heard the comments of adults passing by, whispering about the blood that ran through your veins, speculating about the amount of money you would have under your name just because you lived in The Gilded Lily. They had assumed you were the brothel's heiress, always messing around in the city streets with no sense of direction, ignoring the consequences, and you had dressed up in the mask they had woven for you, lifting your chin proudly as you listened to them, wanting to believe that fantasy. Until the first punch had come. Merciless, silent, followed by a low laugh and a threat. You had curled up as overly bold hands roamed your body in search of diamonds, when you could only offer nuts and bolts.

But they had grown even bolder, taking everything you had on you no matter how little it was worth, leaving you with less and less material and more than bruises.

That night they had simply gone overboard, for the fun of it.

You had tried to stifle a chuckle at almost bumping into a customer, too busy making a funny face at Ekko as a goodbye, while sneaking out of the shop door. No sooner had you set foot in the street, the cold air outside invading your lungs almost painfully, than you had received the habitual punch. Swift and heavy against your windpipe, knocking the breath out of you, bending your body forward. One of your attackers had laughed to your right when the bag you had been holding had fallen to the floor, spilling screws and metal pieces onto the cobbled floor, and hadn't even bothered to pick them up. They had finally decided to stop pretending that mugging you was not their goal. 

You had held your hands to your chest, your eyes following a screw rolling a few centimetres, before a second punch landed, straight in your face. A twinge of pain had coursed through you as you felt their fist hit a wound on your cheekbone that hadn't quite healed, and you had frowned, stumbling back. The third, aimed at your jaw, had been the one that had knocked you to the ground.

You had collapsed, gasping for air, curling into yourself on the cold floor, dazed. Your body had pulsed, your heart pounding, and you could only think that if you stayed still long enough, they would leave you alone. With your back pressed against the wall of Benzo's building, your ragged breaths had hit your forearms with every inhale, your arms protecting your face. But far from hearing their laughter fade down the alley, the silence had granted you a moment's peace before you were kicked in the pit of your stomach, a breathy and quiet pant spilling from between your lips.

You had drawn your knees even tighter to your chest, sobbing, and tensed your muscles, fighting against the weakening pain. You hadn't been able to tell if you were crying, thick tears sliding down your face, or if it was blood, but after a few seconds you hadn't cared. You had wanted it to be over as soon as possible, even if it meant being knocked unconscious. You'd had no idea how many there were, their voices, distorted by your fear and their amusement, shimmering in a mocking tone. You had closed your eyes as you had felt another kick to your ribs, and had cowered against the wall, wishing you were dead.

But then you had remembered your mother's words. Soft and crystalline in your memory, just as fearful as your voice when they gushed from your chest like salt water desperate to leave your lungs after a shipwreck, ‘I know Vander!’

The hand of one of them had paused against your shoulder at the broken sound, and you had frowned, praying that his name was threat enough to make them go away.

‘Do you?’ they had asked you, the poorly disguised fear in their voice feeling like a breath of fresh air.

‘Yes!’ you had replied, glancing out from behind your arms, breathing heavily. ‘And he's going to go after you if you don't stop!’

You hadn't let doubt creep into your gaze, even though you knew you hadn't offered a very confident view of yourself, cornered by three boys older than you in the middle of the street. The one who had prepared to unleash another kick had taken a step back, clenching his hands into tight fists, as if afraid of the consequences. But before you could even begin to get up, ready to run away, the one who had positioned himself on the opposite wall had slowly approached you, a crooked smile painting his face.

‘Do you actually believe her?’ he had muttered, crouching down in front of you, his venomous breath slipping fear into your bones, grabbing your hair so he could pull you  face to face with him. 

‘Why would Vander waste his time with someone like you?’ he had uttered, his eyes flashing with rage. You had dropped your gaze, trying to look away from him, wondering if you were paying for a crime someone else had committed, if the hatred in his eyes was really directed at you, who hadn't done anything, or if you were just the wrong person at the worst time. 

‘I,’ you had stuttered, and the curve in his lips had widened, ’I'm not...’

‘Do you genuinely think he would come to save you?’ he had insisted, tightening his grip on your hair, forcing you to look at him, and you had closed your eyes angrily, the emptiness in your chest cracking at his words, seeping doubt into your heart. ‘I don't think so.’

You had held your breath, expecting to receive a final strike, for the three of them to retaliate against you, but his crouching body had tensed over yours as the shop door had burst open, his blonde hair caressing his neck. Your chest had deflated, knowing that a stranger would not prevent the attack from getting worse, and you had simply waited for him to leave.

‘Well, I do,’ the man had murmured, and you had turned your head to look at him, surprised that he had intervened. The light from Benzo's had spilled onto the cobblestone floor above his large figure, his shadow lengthening over when he had stepped forward. ‘Leave the girl alone, Deck.’

The breath had caught in your throat, shooting a flash of pain into your ribs. No one had ever stood up for you. You had narrowed your eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of the man's face, but had only been able to hear the disbelieving snort of the boy in front of you as he addressed the stranger.

‘Do you really know her, Vander?’

You had then opened your eyes wide, Deck's annoyance a reflection of the surprise in your gaze, but you had remained silent. Whatever happened would be your fault, simply for tempting fate in such a way.

‘Does it really matter?’ he had replied, all darkness and gravelly voice, and you had seen him pull a match from his pocket, lighting it with a quick flick against the wall, the fire illuminating his rugged features. He had rested the pipe between his lips as Deck decided what decision to make, and you had heard him let out a soft hum as the blond had raised his hand in a quick gesture, releasing you to the floor.

You had leaned your head against the wall, protecting yourself, as the boy had hovered over you to get up. You had expected one last punch, a warning for the next time he found you and Vander wasn't around. But he had done nothing, walking away with his friends in the shadows of the streets. Then you had clutched your hands to your chest, letting a faint whimper slide down your throat, sobbing, and you had rested a hand on the cold stones of the ground to try to get up.

But then the pain had shot up through your abdomen like an electrified circuit, your legs failing under your own weight, and you had collapsed to the ground. You had thought it was not worth staying, not when the consequences of daring to involve Vander could be worse than what you had already received, but he had stood beside you, his gaze lost in the distance, waiting for them to be gone for good.

‘Thank you,’ you had murmured, taking a breath of air. Perhaps sweet words would soften him in case he decided to punish you in some way for mentioning his name.

The whisper of your voice had seemed to bring him back to reality, his body turning towards you, and he had made the attempt to move closer, stopping short when he saw the way your body was pressed against the wall behind you, completely tense. He had withdrawn his pipe from his mouth, the smoke spiralling upwards, and frowned. If you hadn't been so busy running away, you would have been able to make out the glint of insecurity in his gaze.

‘Hey, little one,’ he had uttered, advancing towards you in short, painfully slow steps, as if confronting a wounded animal, ’I'm not going to hurt you.’

You had looked up, your cheeks broken in tears, your shoulders shaking, and you had seen the way his eyebrows had risen in a convex curve, his lips pulling into a coy smile that had been intended to soothe you. And then you'd felt his hand on your arm, his palm sliding its rough calluses against your skin, and you'd frozen, pausing for a moment before remembering that it was Vander. Vander. If your mother trusted him —and she trusted very few people— you could afford to put your faith in him until he proved to you that you could trust him too.

‘You don't have to worry,’ you had told him, huddling against the cool surface of the wall, trying to muster a smile that would keep him from asking too many questions.

‘You sound like it's not the first time this happens,’ he had observed, crouching down in front of you, pushing your long hair away from in front of your face so that he could assess your injuries.

The absence of a reply had been your response, and answer enough to his assumptions. Of course it had happened before, hence why they felt so comfortable attacking you in such a public place. It had happened before, to a lesser extent. Before, in dark alleys. Before, maybe starting with a slap. And with each time you had offered no resistance the harassment had continued, more times, more pressure, more pain.

‘Come here,’ he had sighed, leaving the pipe between his lips and sliding his hand down your back, under your knees, to take you in his arms. You had let him lift you up, your hair cascading, and sighed against his chest, resting your cheek with your eyes closed. At least you would have enjoyed a quiet moment before you had to find a place to spend the night, the brothel doors closed to you until your mother finished with all the customers who came in asking for her.

You had been forbidden to disturb her, because if the Madam lost money, no matter how young you were, it would be you who would have to take her place to compensate for the absence of income.

But then you'd realised that Vander had been walking back towards Benzo's shop, and you'd frowned at the dull light of the lamps left on over the counter. You'd felt his flexed arms straining to keep you from falling as you'd started to squirm, ignoring the phantom fists that had pounded all over your body, ‘Easy, easy, kid.’

‘Vander?’ you'd heard Benzo, appearing behind the front desk with a grease-filled cloth in his hands, ‘I thought you'd already left. Who...?’

‘Deck and a couple of boys were harassing this little girl,’ Vander had explained, leaving you sitting on the stained surface of the counter, his hands gentle but firm on your shoulders to keep you from running away, and you'd winced when you'd heard Benzo mutter your name in surprise.

And then Vander had repeated it, looking at you, and you'd felt too vulnerable.

‘’M not little,' you'd muttered, deflating, crossing your arms over your chest with a stubborn snort, “and I'm fine.”

‘You're certainly not okay,’ Vander had replied, and you'd known his heart had decided to protect you against all odds in the way he'd uttered it, as if rage was consuming him. ‘And it's not the first time this has happened.’

‘Does your mother know about this?’ Benzo had asked you, pulling out a clean rag from under the counter, grabbing one of his bottles of alcohol. You had slid your gaze around the shop instead of answering, knowing that Ekko had to be somewhere, eavesdropping. You hadn't wanted him to see you like this.

‘What do you know about her?’ Vander had asked, setting the pipe down next to the bottle before taking the cloth in his hands and wetting it, making an effort to remain calm as he ran the fabric over your bruised skin, the cool air of his gentle breaths soothing the stinging of the wound slightly.

‘She's Raven's daughter,’ the shop owner had replied, and you had shuddered under the weight of his words.

‘Raven,’ Vander had repeated, and you had raised your eyes at the tone of his voice, far from the lust that used to accompany your mother's name every time someone said it. It held a past, just as it had done with Benzo when you had revealed to him who you were.

‘She was the one who told me to call for you if I needed help,’ you had hastened to add, hoping it was the right thing to say.

Vander's gaze had softened as he listened to you, nodding absently, ‘Of course she told you.’

You'd watched him relax his shoulders, his gaze fogged with memories, as he'd bent down to continue cleaning the cuts on your face, his hand resting on your cheek, his rag a caress on your skin, and you caught every movement, wishing you could replicate the care with which he'd treated you if you ever needed to treat someone's wounds. Then he had instructed you to pull your shirt up a little so he could assess the bruises on your ribs, without touching you at any point, and he had remained respectful even as he moved to place a bandage over the injury to your knee, trying not to tear the starred fishnet stockings you had put on that morning.

‘Your mom's right, you know?’ he had announced, once he had finished, his thumb undoing the dry trails your tears had left on your cheeks. ‘If you're ever in danger, you can come to me.’

His eyes had met yours in the grim glow of the room, the shadows on his face heavy on his skin, and you had flashed a mischievous smile, lighting up your dry lips. The whisper of Vander's name, the hound of the underworld, had roamed the filthy streets of your city like a hungry predator, and even reverberated between the sinful mouths of the prostitutes you had grown up with, but it had never sounded better than when it had left your lips that night. Loud, broken, crying out for help. Reflecting a desperation you felt in every bone, knowing it could save you from a doomed fate.

And no one had pronounced yours better than he had, stopping at every letter, giving it the attention you had never received. He had fixed something deeply flawed in you, proving that you weren't alone in that cursed city. After that night, your mother had never feared for you again. Vander had sworn to protect you, inviting you to the back of his bar when his kids weren't home to teach you how to defend yourself. And the next time someone had threatened to try to assault you, you'd been the first to punch.

It had not been hard, because Vander was a great fighter. And his adopted children had helped him develop the patience necessary to be a good teacher. Throughout your time with him, the whispers of his name had become quieter, dimming his legendary reputation and turning him more cautious. Sevika had told you it had been the riots he had led, the suffering he had seen in the eyes of his children for the consequences he had provoked. Perhaps you did not remember what the city had been before him, but the enforcers' apprehension towards the inhabitants of Zaun was proof enough that the fine line that had once existed between Piltover and the underground had begun to dissipate.

Especially after the unsuccessful incursion that Vi and the rest had pulled off the day before.

You had felt guilty, at first, worry lurking in the shadows as soon as they had failed to show up at the appointed time. And the emptiness in your chest had grown by the minute, uncertainty eating you alive, as you tried to keep your hands busy to avoid conjuring up dire possibilities. Then you had been flooded with relief, seeing them appear, all four seemingly well. And after the tense conversation with Vander, before Vi distracted you with her kisses, you had felt confused, a swirl of uneasiness growing inside you.

Even that morning, when you woke up, you were still restless. You had awakened to the soothing weight of Vi's sleeping body draped over yours, Powder finishing one of her projects in absolute silence in the bed next beside you. It had to be late, though it was hard to tell with the permanent ashen sky over the city, but the day before they had returned so full of adrenaline that they hadn't realised how tired they were until they had collapsed onto their mattresses. It was only natural, after such an intense day, that you had woken up at lunchtime.

You had carefully slipped out from under the covers, leaning on the edge of the bed to do a little stretching for your ankle. You'd been doing it for almost three weeks, but that morning was the first time that rolling your foot backwards hadn't made it stutter in pain, and your heart leapt in your chest at the realisation. It probably had something to do with the fact that you'd spent most of the day sitting, not really moving much, though you hated having to agree with Vander on that one.

Nevertheless, when Vi had proposed spending the afternoon in the abandoned basement you had turned into your meeting place, a couple of streets away from The Last Drop, you couldn't help but ask to join them. And Vi couldn't help but agree, giving in to your pout. With the cane Vander had made for you under one arm, and Claggor providing support under the other, you had walked steadily over the cobblestone streets of the undercity, making your way into the large playroom.

Vi had gone straight to her boxing ground, her body restless with pent-up energy and the need to always be ready to defend you all, and the rest of you had scattered around the room, looking for something to entertain yourselves with. You had let Claggor help you practise fencing footwork, slowly and surely, so as not to lose practice while you were injured. At least until you realised that Powder had taken refuge among the cables and mechanisms of the firing field, and then you hopped up on the counter to make sure you didn't miss anything.

Watching Powder shoot was always a delight, especially after a cocky Mylo didn't hit a single one, and you loved to referee. You had considered shooting as a valid method of defence when your first few weeks of boxing training had left your knuckles raw and too slow to heal, so you weren't bad at it. And although you had never stopped boxing —your name was written next to Vi's on the leaderboard— you had eventually developed a taste for sword fighting. Wooden or bronze swords, of course, because no one really trusted a sixteen-year-old girl with a weapon.

Just as the gun you held in your hands, checking that no one had tampered with its mechanism, had blank ammunition, fun enough to practice with but completely harmless. Thanks to Powder's colourful dyes, the only problem was how long it took for the paint stain to come out if you were shot.

‘Remind me why we bother with this dump,’ uttered Mylo, checking the gun as soon as you handed it back to him while curving your lips into an enigmatic smile, knowing that he was wary of your nimble hands.

‘Vander said to lay low,’ Vi replied, and you looked her way at the sound of her voice, swinging your legs from the table that separated the shooting field from the rest of the room. She was at the other end, in front of the boxing machine you had helped her fix a few years ago, and she paused her punches for a moment to respond, wiping the sweat from her brow with the outside of her forearm. ‘Enforcers never come down here, so this is as good a place as any.’

You nodded, forming a gesture of concern, but glanced behind the table to check on Powder. Her blue hair was moving to the rhythm of a tune that played only in her head, giving the finishing touches to the machinery that made the dummies on the shooting field move on simple rails, all of them painted menacingly and fluorescently by her, and you didn't bother to stifle a smile as you realised how quickly she was learning all the tricks you were teaching her.

‘Oh, what's the matter, Mylo?’ you heard Claggor say behind you. ‘You worried Powder's gonna beat you again?’

You glanced quickly towards him, wanting to know his answer, a chuckle slipping quietly from your throat, and you widened your smile as you saw him frown, clearly feeling attacked, ‘Hey, if she didn't keep fixing these things, I wouldn't keep missing.’

‘Suure,’ you muttered, scrunching up your nose playfully, resting your hands on the table and leaning back slightly.

‘It's true!’ he tried to defend himself, pointing his threatening finger at you. But before you could answer him, ready to start one of your teasing wars, Powder leapt to his feet, the cables of the mechanism in her hands.

With a sharp gaze fixed on Mylo, a wolfish grin curving her lips, she connected the ends, the lights going out behind her back once the greenish substance that started the game ran along the connected wires. You raised your hand as soon as she slid past you to stand next to Mylo, and Powder high-fived you enthusiastically, letting out a small giggle as you said, ‘That's my girl!

You turned slightly, watching the different figures glow in the shadows, and narrowed your eyes, focusing on all the targets. You weren't sure if Mylo would be able to hit any of them, but it was going to be difficult. Powder had been fiddling with the setup system so she could increase the difficulty level because she was getting better and better at it. Sometimes she would come to you on the rooftop of The Last Drop, where you usually hung out with your girlfriend, to ask your advice when she reached a point where she didn't know how to proceed. And you would always hold her hand and tell her everything you knew.

You had no idea how fast the game was set that afternoon, but you knew you were going to have a good time. You pulled your legs up onto the counter, crossing them so you could massage your ankle absentmindedly, and you didn't see Mylo getting ready to shoot. The first sound caught you by surprise, startling you, and you saw the pink ball of ammunition pass by the target without even brushing it. 

‘You guys know I wouldn't take you on a job you couldn't handle, right?’ mumbled Vi, and suddenly all your attention was focused on her, who had finished her boxing session and was taking off her gloves in an exasperated gesture.

‘Are you kidding?’ replied Mylo, his eyes riveted on the fluorescent dolls, and you didn't get to witness him continuing to shoot relentlessly, though you did hear him. ‘Maybe just don't take Powder next time.’

You couldn't even roll your eyes at his words, the satisfied hum of Claggor letting you know that, as you'd hoped, Mylo hadn't hit a single one. You stared at Vi, at the way her chest rose and fell after hitting the hard cushions of the boxing machine for so long, the perspiration covering the edges of her shirt, the unsure gleam in her eyes.

You heard Powder take Mylo's position in front of the firing area, you felt the warmth of her body next to yours as she prepared to shoot, and you heard every breathy sound she let escape between her lips before each bullet, but you didn't need to look at her. She wasn't going to miss. She never did. Mylo provided her with enough motivation not to.

What worried you was that the night before Vi hadn't wanted to tell you how she really felt. She never kept anything from you —you were both open books to each other. But you knew that the conversation she'd had with her father had awakened something in her. Something dormant, of course, because Vi had always felt that fire inside her when it came to protecting her people, but something you couldn't quite put your finger on. And that, added to the certain consequences the explosion had been caused in Piltover, kept you anxious about what the future would bring.

You rested a hand on Powder's shoulder as soon as she finished, a proud smile tugging at your lips as she looked up at you with satisfaction shining in her eyes, and you planted a kiss on her forehead under Mylo's bitter gaze, who had to put up with Claggor's teasing remarks. And as soon as Powder ran to the slot machine leaning against the wall, you jumped down, ignoring the two boys to walk slowly towards your girlfriend.

You rested your arms on the banister that separated the area where the boxing machine was located from the rest of the room, smiling softly at her, and reached out a hand to slide it down her forearm. Her eyes turned gentle under your attention, intertwining her fingers with yours, and you fixed your gaze on the bandages around her wrists and knuckles, trying to fix those spots where they had come loose with your other hand. Vi crouched down beside you to make your job easier, and sighed heavily.

‘We'll talk, right?’ you asked, your tone calm and collected. You weren't accusing her, you simply wanted to know that everything was okay.

But her reply was drowned out by the sound of shattering glass, your eyes widening, and you turned hurriedly as the glass that had held up for so many years shattered into pieces, a man's body slamming through it. He ended up unconscious a few steps away from you, while a group of Enforcers glared at you, analysing you with disdain, from the street. You all stood for a few seconds in complete silence, paralysed, until you heard the low, menacing voice of one of the topside cops announce, ‘Search them’.

It took you a heartbeat to cross the room, as fast as your ankle would allow, and position yourself in front of Powder with one hand resting on her arm. They advanced slowly, the glass cracking under their boots, while you raised your hands. They had nothing on your friends, it was impossible. They were simply making a routine round, asking easy questions, in case anyone knew anything about the explosion at Piltover. If you lied, calmly resisting their provocations, they would be gone in no time, and you could go home.

‘Go ahead, idiots,’ said Mylo, looking up and down at the Enforcer in front of him. ‘We got nothing.’

And then it all happened too fast. You didn't see Vi gesture to Claggor, but you knew it was she who had instructed him to pull the lever. The room was suddenly plunged into darkness, the fluorescent colours glowing from the shooting range dummies and the monkey doodle Powder had designed years ago and painted in the floor the only illumination, and Powder grabbed your hand to help you slide over the counter, both of you fleeing between the dummies.

You had no idea if the others were following you, to look back being too risky, just that you did your best to grind your teeth every time you stepped on your run and your ankle twitched to the side that hurt the most. Your breath caught in your throat when you felt a hand on your spine, and you stifled a scream, but Powder let go of your hand, sprinting towards the back door, and you let yourself be caught in his arms when you realised it was Claggor at your back.

Mylo was on the other side, running after Powder to get outside, and as you looked back you saw Vi close the door behind her and block it with your cane. You threw your arms around Claggor's shoulders to make yourself as small as possible, easying the task of running with you down the alley, and you all followed Vi, trusting that she would know which way to disappear. But then she stopped dead in her tracks, the suddenness of it causing you to fall to the ground, when she saw two Enforcers attacking a citizen. They stopped too, looking at you, and you felt Mylo's hands on your shoulders, helping you to your feet, as they ran to you. You saw the panic in Vi's eyes as you made eye contact with her.

You had screwed up. Big time.

The silence of the street was interrupted by your quickened breaths, but also by a loud whistling sound that drew your attention upwards. An old metal ladder creaked towards you as you heard Ekko mutter an ‘Over here!’ and you only had time to process his presence when Vi grabbed your hips and propelled you upwards. You clung on as best you could, scrambling upwards, grabbing Ekko's hand to pull yourself onto the wooden bridge that spanned between two houses, and stood beside him to help pull the rest up.

Mylo grabbed your arm, jumping to your side and pulling Ekko by the shoulders to run away, Claggor following soon after. Your heart stopped when you saw one of the Enforcers trying to climb after Powder, and you grabbed Vi at full speed so the kid could get to safety.

You paused for a moment once Vi had broken the ladder, preventing them from following you, taking a deep breath in the great pipes that connected Zaun's poorer neighbourhoods, and you held on to the wall, limping, as Powder walked alongside his sister. They had been discovered. The Piltover police now knew that it was four children from the undercity who had allegedly caused the explosion, and they were not going to stop until they had them punished. You had to tell Vander, and that was perhaps what scared you the most.

If an adult had to know about it, things's were getting way too serious.

The Last Drop was usually packed on any given weeknight, the music playing muffled under the constant murmur of conversation, and Vander always behind the bar, serving beer to all his customers. That night there were many more people, but the walls of the bar wailed in the silence that permeated the atmosphere, broken only by the cold voice of Sevika, who seemed to be holding back her temper.

‘We should hit them back,’ she said, leaving a loud thump on the wooden table. ‘We've got the numbers to beat them.’

Before her words, many of the attendees at the impromptu meeting Vander had organised murmured their approval, ‘Yeah! Let's teach them what it means to mess with us!’

You, leaning in the shadows, always relegated to the sidelines with the rest of the kids, listened with your heart in your mouth, knowing that the tension in the air went far beyond the occasional dispute that Vander had to resolve. Youall had confessed everything that had happened as soon as you arrived at the place, Vander's eyes shadowed by what you said, and he had no choice but to announce it to the rest of the Lanes' inhabitants.

Now he was leaning against the counter, on the wrong side of it, and Benzo was standing next to him, folding his arms, as serious as the bar owner. He pulled a match from his pocket, as you had seen him do countless times since you had met him, and lit his pipe calmly, creating anticipation among those around him.

‘You sure that's what you want?’ he asked, the smoke spiralling through the air, knowing what answer he was going to get. ‘We crossed that bridge once before, and we all know how that ended.’

It had been a long time ago, when the streets had whispered his name in awe. Your mother had ended up telling you the story.

‘You're just protecting your kids,’ protested a man you didn't know, frowning. And it hurt you to hear it, because you knew it was partly true.

‘I'm protecting our people,’ he replied, quickly, stoking his pipe as if he meant to attack someone. ‘I'd do the same for any of you,’ he continued, looking around at the rest of those present. ‘We look out for each other. It's the way it's always been. This will blow over, we just need to stand together’.

‘The Vander I knew, the one who built the underground,’ Sevika interjected, anger trembling in her voice, ’would not be afraid to fight.’

Vander took two steps towards her, standing face to face, ‘Do I look afraid?’

‘No,’ she replied, calm but menacing, ‘you look weak.’

Without waiting for an answer, she whistled, the sound attracting the attention of her people, and turned around, her coat floating behind her, some of those beside her following her outside. You sighed, knowing that Sevika was the only one who could dare stand up to Vander, and crossed your arms, leaning against the back wall. The conversation would die once she was no longer willing to fuel it.

‘Why isn't he doing anything?’ muttered Claggor, looking almost apologetic.

‘We kicked the Enforcers‘ butts with just the four of us,’ Powder replied, angrily, her scowl making her look even more adorable than usual. ‘Imagine what the whole of the Lanes could do.’

‘Jeez, even Powder wants to fight,’ exclaimed Mylo, opening the door leading down into the hall.

‘So why aren't we?’ protested Vi, exasperated.

You remained silent, as did Ekko, leaning against your arm, and sighed again. Claggor followed Mylo once he went downstairs to lie on the couch. You put your arm around Ekko's shoulders, caressing his hair, and noticed how unusually quiet he had been. Vi also noticed, raising an eyebrow in his direction, ‘Spill it Ekko’.

‘Huh, oh, okay,’ he stammered, and it made you frown. You knew Ekko was an expert at finding out secrets, but often conversations between adults made little sense to you. It was rare that he had any information about Piltover at all. ‘Well, um, Vander's got a deal with the Enforcers.’

‘What deal?’ you asked, exchanging a glance with Vi.

But Ekko shrugged. 

You sighed a third time, drawing a smile from both of them, and ended up laughing too, covering your mouth with one hand. It was wrong to look so happy when something so serious had just happened just a few feet away, but it was also a way of dealing with it. Your heart was pounding as if you were on the edge of a cliff, on the verge of an event that could turn out to be catastrophic, but you just wanted a moment of peace. 

You pulled your pocket watch out of your waistcoat as Ekko walked past you to meet Powder downstairs, and checked the time. You knew that if no client showed up unannounced, your mother would have a free moment in a few minutes. You hadn't been in the brothel for almost three days, so it could be a good time to stop by and stay for a bit.

You looked at Vi, deciding what to do next.

‘I might sleep over at my Mom's tonight,’ you commented, pouting.

She nodded, taking your hands in hers, ‘We'll be fine.’

‘I know,’ you replied, moving closer to her and leaving a fleeting kiss on her lips. ‘They're always safe with you.’

She kissed you back in the shadows, burying her bandaged hand in your hair, and stifled an annoyed huff when she had to pull away from you. She leaned her forehead against yours, biting her lip, and then let you go, disappearing up the stairs. They could do with a rest, you knew. Better a quiet night, and face the problems the next day.

You walked through the streets of Zaun, hair hastily pulled back in a bun, but at a slow pace, when you left the bar. You tried to rotate your ankle every few steps, grimacing when it hurt but determined to make the effort to walk without limping. When you reached the entrance to The Gilded Lily you dodged some drunken clients, sneaking up the stairs until you reached your mother's room. You kept your ear to the door, listening for any sound that might indicate you couldn't stay there.

When only your mother's sweet voice sounded, humming a made-up melody, and you knew she was alone, you tapped the surface of the door twice before stepping inside. Your mother's gaze lit up as she recognised you, rising from her vanity chair to hug you, ‘Hi, baby!’

‘Hi, Mom,’ you smiled back, taking refuge in her arms.

‘Did you come to get those pieces you left behind last week?’ she asked, after kissing your cheek and sitting back down, taking the lipstick stick between her slender fingers.

‘What pieces?’ you asked, and frowned as you followed the direction she pointed as she continued to prepare herself, wiggling her fingers absently.

Your mother's wardrobe. Raven was one of the prostitutes who got the most clients —the one who made Madam win more money among her girls— and that had earned her some privileges at the brothel. In addition to being able to raise you, to allow you to grow up in her room and not have anyone complain when they had to take care of you, she was also allowed to have the only room with a built-in wardrobe in the building, apart from the owner's. When you were little, you used to hide there quite often. Since you couldn't fit anymore, you only kept your clothes and a big box with projects you were working on.

But you didn't remember leaving any behind the last time you spent the night there.

You opened the heavy doors, and it felt like getting another hug from your mother. All the clothes she had stuffed in there, with exotic silk kimonos, long linen dresses and velvety nightgowns, smelled like the cheap fruity cologne you had once gotten her on the black market in town, and then kept getting because she had loved it. You smiled when you saw the chaos of fabrics jumbled among all the shelves, and bent down to open the drawer where you kept your things. 

Inside was a jumble of metal, tools, multiple loose papers with drafts of diagrams and a complex mechanism wrapped in a rag. Your eyes widened in surprise when you remembered that you had indeed left the invention hidden there, and you pulled it out at full speed, sitting cross-legged on the floor and checking what you had left to do the last time. You didn't notice the way your mother was looking at you through the mirror, admiring the way you were working, so focused on the gears in your hands.

You didn't even notice the clock hand ticking, too focused on the artefact you had designed a few months ago, changing parts you thought you had misplaced, modifying data in the designs you had spread out on the floor. You became again the child you had once been, hiding in your mother's wardrobe with heavy headphones that isolated any noise from the outside, oblivious to reality. Since you had met Vander's children, you had kept most of your gadgets in the workshop they had let you keep in their house, but going back to work on the floor of your mother's room felt like coming home.

You remained in that state of abstraction until you felt your mother's lips pressed against your temple in a warm kiss.

‘Imma go downstairs, baby,’ she said, and you just nodded.

She was going to have a quiet night, then. Whenever Raven appeared downstairs it was always to relax and flirt with curious first or second-time visitors to The Gilded Lily, too shy to wander into one of the upstairs rooms. You were glad. As your mother got older she didn't lose beauty, let alone charm, but she got much more tired. She deserved more time to rest.

You remained working on the small portable radio until your back began to complain, and you had to get up to stretch a little. 

And then you heard it. A soft, stifled sound coming from the window. You frowned, leaving the device on the cloth it had been wrapped in, and walked across the room. Of the two panes of glazed glass that served as shutters, one could not be opened because you had nailed it against the frame years ago, so that you could place a made up air-purifier box on that side of the sill and allow your mother to get cleaner air from outside.

As you opened the other, however, and looked down, you caught a glimpse of your girlfriend's pink hair camouflaged under her hood, ready to throw another pebble to get your attention. You smiled at the sight of her, motioned for her to wait there, and crossed the carpet as quickly as you could. You paused for a moment as you reached the door, and retraced your steps to pick up the almost finished radio and tuck it into one of the pockets of your cargo trousers, but you headed back out into the hallway, descending the stairs of the brothel by sliding down the banister, as you had done so often when you were younger.

As soon as you stepped onto the street you walked the few metres between the entrance and the alley around the corner, and walked towards Vi with a smile tugging at your lips. She had been leaning against the wall, her hands in the pockets of her slacks, but she pulled them out to wrap them around your hips as soon as she had you close enough.

‘You couldn't wait until tomorrow to see me, couldn't you, pretty girl?’ you asked, grinning against her lips.

‘I wanted to see you before I went to sleep,’ she whispered, her gaze downcast, her fingers playing with your belt buckles.

‘Hey, did something happen?’ you asked, worry swirling in your chest, sliding your hands up to cup her cheeks, your thumbs caressing her freckled skin.

‘The enforcers came,’ she replied, her muffled voice sending shivers down your spine.

‘My God,’ your hands tightened against her face, and you frowned. ‘Are you all okay?’

‘Yeah, yeah, nothing bad happened,’ she said, trying to reassure you. ‘Vander managed to warn us in time for us to hide.’

But her explanation failed to calm you in the slightest. Vi looked pale, almost sickly, as if whatever had happened had scared her to death. You felt the nervous twitch of her fingers at the waistband of your trousers, fiddling with the fabric almost anxiously, and a void opened ravenously in your throat. You didn't like seeing her like that. It was unnatural, not being able to enjoy her jokes and her teasing remarks, that the gleam in her eyes didn't greet you when you looked at her, and that her stiff shoulders seemed to slump under the weight of a responsibility that wasn't hers.

‘Listen,’ you began, trying to make eye contact with her, ’we'll be alright, okay?’

‘I know, I promised,’ she replied, leaning against the touch of your palm.

‘I already know we'll be alright,’ you added, stubbornly. ‘What I mean is, it'll all pass. We'll go on with our lives as before, because the enforcers will get tired of looking around, and we'll hide great, yeah? I can promise you that.’

‘Oh, yeah?’

‘Uh-huh,’ you nodded, memorising every detail of her face. ‘I'll find a place to hide Powder, and I'll help her practise to make her little bombs work. I'll show her what I do to make my inventions work. And I'll tie Mylo to a chair so he doesn't screw up anything. I wouldn't worry so much about Claggor. And you can come to the roof of the Lily, and do some boxing with me. We'll steal food from Madam.’

‘Wow, you've got it all figured out, huh?’ she finally smiled, sighing.

‘You know I'll always want you to have the option of stepping back when it all gets too much,’ you whispered to her.

‘I know,’ he replied, leaning her forehead against yours. ‘I'm glad I have you. I'm glad Powder has you.’

‘Don't be silly, I'll never leave you’ you replied, shaking your head slightly, your eyes closed. ‘Besides, Powder has you, she doesn't really need me.’

‘Pow-Pow's my little sister,’ she explained, her breath brushing against your skin, ‘she needs the other girl in the group so she can have some time away from me. She adores you, I'm glad she has that.’

‘Well, I know for a fact she looks up to you a lot, so...’ you replied, sliding your head down to rest on her shoulder, remaining hugged against the brothel wall. ‘She still needs you. She will always need you.’

Silence swirled around you, and you felt a soft hum exhaled between Vi's lips.

‘Besides, I'm working on a radio that will allow us to spy on the enforcers,’ you announced, leaning in.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ you confirmed, pulling it out of your pocket. It was a small metal box, which fit in your hand. ‘Wait until I press the button and say something nice.’

You connected the two loose wires, and the radio started up with a soft buzz. You frowned as you tried to remember which was the button that recorded and which was the one that played back, and finally pressed the one you had painted blue. Both were buttons you had taken from your mother's old clothes, and Vi smiled as she realised. You nudged her arm to get her to start talking.

‘I love you, cupcake,’ she whispered, and you covered your mouth with your hand so she wouldn't see you blush. ‘You'll always be my girl.’

You stopped recording, shaking your head, but didn't say a word, pressing the second button. Vi's voice echoed between you, somewhat canned, repeating word for word what she had just said. When you looked up, Vi already had her eyes on you, delighted.

‘This is awesome, cupcake,’ she murmured, her voice watery.

‘Oh, don't be like that,’ you reproached, checking the device. ‘It still needs improvement.’

‘You're a genius,’ she attacked again, sliding her hands up and down your back.

You put the radio back in your pocket, embarrassed.

‘You could add it to the mechanical crow you have at home,’ she proposed, clinging to you, ‘so you could spy even more closely, and no one would notice.’’

You opened your eyes wide in amazement, and patted her on the shoulder, ‘That is genius!’

Her giggles echoed through the alley, and you swooned against her body, ‘I need to write that down as soon as possible,’ you said, dead serious, ‘I'll stop by The Last Drop tomorrow to see if it would be possible to implement the radio into the design I have done.

‘I love you, cupcake,’ she repeated, and you grabbed her by the the collar of her sleeveless hoodie, bringing your lips together in a kiss.

‘I love you too, pretty girl,’ you replied, pulling away from her. And then you added, a little louder, just to tease, ‘I love youu, Violet!’

You kissed her goodbye with another peck, resting your hand on the wall behind her head, and let her lips move over yours, hungrily, for a few more minutes. But when Vi moved her leg between yours, her mouth sliding down your neck, and your heart began to pound in your throat, you decided to stop once more.

‘You should go get some rest, Vi, baby,’ you whispered, your breath hitching.

‘I love you,’ she whispered again, and you melted against her, ’I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.’

‘I love you too, my love,’ you sighed, as she parted her lips from your skin, ’but it's getting late.’

You felt her hand slide down your abdomen, up to your chest, and you held your breath. But she simply pulled your pocket watch out of its pocket, glancing at the time. Her shoulders tensed again, leaving the watch in your hand, and she murmured a soft, ‘Yeah, it's pretty late.’

‘See you tomorrow,’ you whispered, taking a step back.

She made an affirmative noise, peeling away from the wall, and you turned to head back to the brothel. With your girlfriend's voice stored in your radio, you climbed the stairs, adrenaline coursing through your system, barely aware of the pain in your ankle, and dropped to the floor as soon as you reached your mother's room, picking up a blank sheet of paper to begin designing a new model of your robot.

It wasn't until a few minutes later that your heart began to race again, when Raven came in quietly, and you were startled by her stealth.

‘What did you go out for?’ she asked you, taking off her black lace jacket.

‘Oh, Vi came to see me,’ you replied, pausing your pencil over the paper. Your mother knew who she was and what relationship you had, you weren't worried about what she could say.

‘That's weird,’ she uttered, your heartbeat quickening in your mouth, ‘she usually never comes. I thought something bad had happened.’

And then your heart stopped for a moment. Something bad had happened. The enforcers had discovered them. But Vi's gaze had remained opaque the whole time she'd been with you, and though it had seemed to you that she was still frightened by what had happened, perhaps you'd misinterpreted it. You knew those grey eyes better than you knew yourself. She had been scared about what was going to happen.

‘Do you think she would do something foolish to protect her family?’ you asked your mother.

‘Oh, baby,’ she murmured, a drop of sadness spilling over her face, ’she'd do anything to make sure you're okay, just like you would for her.’

You closed your eyes for a moment, frowning, angry that you hadn't noticed sooner.

When you opened them, you stood up and walked out of The Gilded Lily, determined to find Vi.

⠀⠀𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍.⠀( send an ask or comment under the series to be part of it , just if you're going to interact with it ━reblogging with feedback. )⠀@im-just-a-simp-le-whore , @celestialzdiviner , @corpsebridenightamare , @louissst28 , @astr1dblogs , @notsolarry , @starlostastronaut , @yoonkinii , @padsfirewhisky

ㅤㅤ© dilemmars ★ do not copy, translate, repost or share this work as yours on other platforms ! consider leaving a comment or reblogging.

[peppertaemint]

Jikook & "Are You Sure?!" : The Beauty of Mundane

The much-maligned reality-TV format deserves most of the criticism and ire it provokes. Schlocky production values and pre-tense often lead to melodramatic fakery that people want to believe because they're bored. We've all succumbed to it; I've seen more than my fair share of Big Brother seasons. But the thing that reality can do, if it doesn't try too hard, is give us a window to life that sits between documentary and that unscripted faux-world, and I think Are You Sure?! makes a wonderful example.

The situations are both planned and imposed on this show, from Connecticut to Jeju to Sappparo. Jungkook and Jimin planned the trip along with producers and agreed to film it as content, a loathsome word if there ever was one. What we see is not genuine real-life, despite what Jimin states in Sapporo; it's a mediated view into the pair's life on camera together -- a life they seem to want to share together and with fans.

What makes AYS work so well is their naturalness on camera and together. I'm struck by how comfortable both facets of their lives seem after just over ten years of vlogging together under agency Big Hit.

We see how much they enjoy existing together, grappling with the highs and lows of the mundanity of travel. I say mundanity specifically because so much of travel is just that -- your life simply transported to a pretty view. It's still full of stomach aches and flus, good and bad food and wide-ranging moods. Seeing Jungkook patiently take care of Jimin, ensuring he took his medicine, and then creating a doltap, the traditional practice of rock stacking to ward off bad luck and bring in good energy, was a healthy glimpse into the everyday of their shared life.

The most telling part of the show is, rather ironically, the worst part -- the three-episode interlude with their unexpected guest in Jeju, Taehyung. Our duo made no bones about the fact that the guest invited himself to their trip -- their special time -- and took every possible opportunity to remind him of his status as unwanted guest.

The entire vibe of the show changed because of Taehyung's presence, and not just because JiKook were put out by the whole thing. His presence changed their dynamic toward one another as well, seemingly disrupting their status as a duo. It was as though there was a need to cater to the guest, to an extent, and to put aside their interest in one another to a marked degree. That in itself is incredibly telling for their relationship.

Luckily, the show bookended itself with JiKook solo trips, and it ended in Sapporo where the duo seemed to be most comfortable and in their element, embracing the romance and magic of the snow resort in Japan. This was a welcome contrast to the funny, fish-out-of-water vibe of NY and Connecticut.

What will stay with me is the joy in the mundanity that the two showed throughout the show, but especially when left alone. The fun of grocery shopping when you're with your person. The enjoyment of playing cards, cooking, or simply going to bed when you're with your person. It's easy to forget there is a team of people watching over them for the majority of the show, filming or simply observing. And I wonder if sometimes Jungkook and Jimin forget, too.

[tnbsecretsanta]

Welcome to the Advent Calendar 2024!

Didn't make it to Secret Santa due to lack of time? Don't worry! This year, there will be a complementary event called "Advent Calendar" where you can spread your love for the series without sticking to a schedule!

What is an Advent Calendar? Traditionally, an advent calendar is a special type of calendar that counts down the days until Christmas Day, starting from 1st December.

How do I participate? Simply create a Tumblr or Twitter post with the activity indicated for the day and use the tag #TnBAdvent24, and we'll reblog/retweet it!

Do I have to participate every day? No! The point of this side event is for you to spread your love for the series without the pressure of a schedule like in the Secret Santa! You can participate any day you want: one, two, ten, all of them! Your choice!

Can I participate in the side event if I joined the Secret Santa? Yes! This event is entirely free, so that you can participate at your leisure.

If I missed an activity from a previous day, can I still post it? Yes! Just use the tag we'll reblog/retweet it! We just suggest that you don't use an activity scheduled for a later date and wait until the indicated day to publish it.

Happy creating!

See below the cut for the text version of the activities indicated

1st - Start reading a Fanfic (emphasis on start, no need to finish it the same day)

2nd - Create a NEXT power

3rd - Which Proverb would make for a good episode title?

4th - Share your favorite piece of official art

5th - Post a WIP (This can be any work-in-progress related to T&B, a merch collection, a shrine, a cosplay, art, MMD video, ita bag, progress of your read-through of the manga, that stuff!)

6th - Share your Favorite Tiger & Bunny-related song (This means any song made for Tiger & Bunny specifically, including character songs and music used in the episodes and credits)

7th - Re-watch any episode of Tiger & Bunny (and then feel free to post a review of it)

8th - What do you want Tiger & Bunny to collab with next? (Collaboration in this context is a collab with another property, such as a company like Sanrio, a store chain like 7-11, restaurant/fast food chains, games, and similar)

9th - Make a fancast for a hypothetical Live Action Adaptation of Tiger & Bunny

10th - Share a headcanon - new or old - that you have

11th - Share an instance of "Tiger & Bunny Spotting" you've seen IRL (T&B Spotting is seeing things like their colours or associated animals-theming in unexpected places. Pets can count for this; If it's not your pet, ask for permission before posting.)

12th - Come up with a food or drink themed around a character. Actually making it is entirely optional!

13th - Come up with an 'Alternate Universe' (AU) plot. You don't have to write anything beyond a plot synopsis or roles.

14th - Ramble about your favorite character or pairing!

15th - Share either a "hidden Gem" fic, or your favourite fanfic! Maybe it's both?

16th - Pitch a Season 3 or Third Movie plot

17th - Post a meme you really like, or make a meme from scratch

18th - Share your favorite OR your most wanted piece of Tiger & Bunny Merchandise

19th - Tell us about your favorite Villain

20th - Picture/Write about yourself as if you lived in Sternbild

21st - Assign a song you like to a character or a pairing

22nd - Share your favorite piece of fanart! Make sure to credit the artist, or repost the art directly through reblog or retweet or similar features.

23rd - Share your favorite piece of trivia about any Tiger & Bunny character

24th - Tell us what Tiger & Bunny means to you

25th - Free Day! Happy Holidays!

[theseveredspirit]

Hela was so BEAUTIFULLY done in today's Episode of "WHAT IF...?'

Marvel brang a new side of her that was so heartbreaking and endearing!

It comes to show that Odin is ALWAYS holding his own children back from their potential. Look how much they can be without HIM!

To see Hela grow, is so Poetic! Like this one of the most unexpected welcomings i've seen in a Marvel Project. 🥺

I don't think i've ever been so invested in a character who was so Bloodlusted and then for her to realize what she had actually wanted for herself through the Majestic Forms of Arts. She LITERALLY was brought to a New Light at what seemed to be the last of her Dying breath.

To top it off, the Original Actor, Cate Blancheet from Thor Ragnarok returned to Voice Her! She did a well-done effort to bring a different side of Hela! Couldn't have done it any other way with someone in place!

Just look at her genuine Smile as she has finally found herself!

Hela just became one of my Top Favorites in all of Marvel Characters! It was a short episode, but just the use of Culture and Finding Purpose through your Troubled Past did this one for me.

Hela, The Goddess of Life!

🥹🤍

[30dtsc]

30-Day Tatort Saarbrücken Challenge: Countdown to "Das Ende der Nacht"

Welcome to the Tatort Saarbrücken 30-Day Challenge! 🎉 As we count down to the release of the new episode, Das Ende der Nacht on January 26, we’ll be diving deep into the world of our favorite favorite sad, gay and morally gray German detectives from Tatort Saarbrücken. Whether you're a fan of fanfiction, GIFs, fanart, or just want to share your thoughts, this challenge is open to everyone!

Each day, we’ll explore a different aspect of the show. From your favorite characters and quotes to unexpected moments and underrated scenes, this is your chance to celebrate everything that makes Tatort Saarbrücken unforgettable. Feel free to interpret each prompt however you like—there’s no wrong way to participate! ✨

Here’s how it works:

Starting on December 28, you’ll post your responses to the daily prompts, leading up to the big episode release on January 26.

You can participate in any format—whether that’s writing fanfiction, creating fanart, sharing GIFs, or simply offering your thoughts and reactions in a text post.

Of course you don't have to participate every single day, heaven knows we all have lives. Feel free to share your content, even if just for one prompt!

Don’t forget to tag your posts with #30dtsc so we can all see your awesome creations! All posts with this tag will be reblogged here.

Despite the fact that this post is written in English, of course feel free to use German (or any other language, really), too! Truth is I don't know enought German to write a whole post and I also wish for non-German speakers to be able to participate in this event as well.

Here are the daily prompts:

December 28 - Day 1: Favorite episode. December 29 - Day 2: Favorite character. December 30 - Day 3: Favorite case. December 31 - Day 4: Closure. January 1 - Day 5: New beginnings. January 2 - Day 6: Favorite line(s). January 3 - Day 7: Favorite outfit(s). January 4 - Day 8: Favorite underrated moment(s). January 5 - Day 9: Favorite side character. January 6 - Day 10: Favorite bond. January 7 - Day 11: Sleeping on the job. January 8 - Day 12: Snacking on the job. January 9 - Day 13: Cleverest detail. January 10 - Day 14: Favorite location. January 11 - Day 15: Morally dubious police work. January 12 - Day 16: The squad. January 13 - Day 17: Tearjerker moment(s). January 14 - Day 18: Lighthearted moment(s). January 15 - Day 19: Love languages. January 16 - Day 20: Alternate Universe. January 17 - Day 21: Cross-over. January 18 - Day 22: Job equipment. January 19 - Day 23: The S in Saarbrücken stands for... January 20 - Day 24: Nighttime. January 21 - Day 25: Unspoken. January 22 - Day 26: Favorite character trait(s). January 23 - Day 27: Favorite actor/actress. January 24 - Day 28: Music. January 25 - Day 29: Waiting. January 26 - Day 30: Hype for Das Ende der Nacht.

Special thanks to @nichtspizzamitlinkemglitzer for helping me defining the prompts!

My spatort sideblog: @leo-woods

[hongjoongscafe]

Foto📷

Episode: 1 <Oh!>

☕︎Pairing: vlogger!jungkook x photographer!reader

☕︎Genre: fluff, smut, angst, influencer au.

☕︎Summary: amid their own separate journeys, they stumbled across each other and began a new journey together.

☕︎Warnings: none for this episode:)

☕︎Word count: 3.4k+

☕︎Note: lemme know if you wanna be added to the permanent or specific taglist! This is more of a free-mind series. I'm just going to build up the plot, make them be in love and then you guys can request stuff later on keeping in mind the aesthetics and plot of this series. This is going to be a relaxing day-to-day life thing-y.

☕︎Masterlist.

☕︎Serieslist.

~JUNGKOOK~

“Welcome back to my YouTube channel, everyone! It has been a while since we last spoke.” I, a passionate vlogger or videographer by passion, speak to my dearest camera.

“It was just last week,” Sullivan, my partner slash manager, grumbles sassily beside me.

I chuckle, being beyond used to his sassy self. “Don’t worry about him, you all. He has been constipated for two days and is now a grump.” I wink at the camera with mischief.

Sullivan snarles and hits me on the head, playfully. “Hey, that’s not true!”

“I’ve got the receipts,” I wiggle my eyebrows at the man who in return shakes his head in disbelief and walks faster to get to the stall of fruits they were going at. “Anyway, we are now in Milan, Italy! My last trip to Paris was nice but this place is what I’m most excited about, honestly. I’ve always wanted to visit Italy, and you all made it possible. So thank you guys for watching my vlogs and subscribing to my channel.”

I lower my camera and try to catch up with Sullivan, but he is fast. The market is a bit stuffy but I love places like this where the beauty of life shuffles around. I look around the market.

I smile widely as I see a little kid clinging to his mother, sulking about something in Italian. A couple are walking hand in hand and giggling about something. “Ah. Sometimes I feel super jealous of these couples. They are always so cute and lovey-dovey. It is so cute…” he spoke to the camera. “I want that,” I pouted but chuckled but was not really jealous. This just gives me hope that filmy love is possible.

My previous relationship could have been better (for the sake of a few years which we have spent, I'm gonna put it nicely, lol). It has been four years now since we parted ways. After my then-girlfriend broke my heart, I started to vlog my daily life as an escape from the pain. I have always been a hopeless romantic, believing in movie-like love. Some romance movies are based on real-life events so why not believe in that kind of love?

Maybe one day, I’ll get my own customised filmy happy ending with a beautiful bride in a white gown, where I am clad in a dashing tuxedo. All the while there are swans in the lake behind us forming their signature heart as my bride and I kiss under a perfect romantic sky and people who love us cheering for our love and future married life.

I sigh at my imagination. Now my heart is jealous of my own imagination of myself.

Catching up with my partner, I see some delicious, and fresh figs. Sullivan picks some up fills his bag and hands them to the vendor. “I have heard that figs in Italy are popular. I may be wrong tho. My quick Google search could be wrong,” I mutter while eying the fruits. “Look at them!” I turn my camera to the pile of fruits. “Although June to October is figs season, they still look so fresh in December.”

Sullivan pays and then turns to the next stall and then next. Like this, we spend the next hour jumping from one market stall to another, not really buying stuff but just looking at how everything works.

Currently, we are resting at a hotel but we have booked an Airbnb for the rest of the trip but the owners said that unfortunately, we couldn’t use it until the next three days as there have been some unexpected issues. On the bright side, they are giving us a good discount for the inconvenience. Win-win!

Honestly speaking, will there be any inconvenience to two bachelors of age 26 who have spent their time sleeping in the car when the other one needed the dorm room for the nasty?

I know you must be wondering, “JK, why didn’t you sleep at your girlfriend’s at such a time?” Well, the short answer in even shorter words– roommate.

So, basically, what I am trying to say is we don’t need much to bring back to the hotel as we can simply order food even in the middle of the night for some extra price (what? Anything for food. There is nothing between me and my late night munchies).

“Did you guys know that the world’s oldest shopping mall is here in Milan?” I say while looking wide eye into the camera. “It is called The Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II. Quite surprising, no? I think we will go there tomorrow to check it out.”

“It is really beautiful. It opened in the 1870s if I am not wrong. This mall is frankly very famous. A great tourist attraction,” the grump adds. “I think we will be able to get some sexy clips there of the architecture. In this cold minimalist era, it is difficult to see such wonderful structures.”

I nod in agreement. There is a reason why both of us get attracted to places where we can see older, breathtaking architects. France was wonderful, too. It had many places to be where we could bless our eyes with such antique beauty.

“Everything is so beautiful here,” I gape like a kid as we walk through the beautiful streets of Milan. “I must say, I like the vibes here. Everything is so alive. Look!” on the other side of the street, there was a cute flower shop where a man was sitting and playing an organetto. I turn my camera and capture the scene. Then I turn it back.

I keep talking to the camera about how I like the tune the man is playing with my undivided attention. Because of that, I don’t realize when I run into someone by mistake.

“Oh!” I huff. “I’m sorry!” I quickly apologize with a slight bow. Without looking up.

“It's okay,” a sweet voice softly mutters. I try to look at the face of such a honey-like voice but I am met with a curtain of hair hiding her face. She was fiddling with her camera.

Without looking at her face, I move along. The embarrassment crawled up my spine but it soon was replaced by joy when we crossed the road to take a better look at the organ player.

Using my Fujifilm X-T3, I take some shots of the man and the shop.

We spent the next couple of hours recording and exploring the local market. It was refreshing but soon we retired to our hotel to get some rest. After we landed in Italy, we were both on our feet looking around.

…

It is around 7:30 in the evening as we walk down the famous Navigli street. The canals are stunning and the streets are shining with the warm lights and filled with the delicious scent of food.

My mouth waters as we pass by the tables full of food. I pull out my vlogging camera to record myself and the street for my viewers. They are like me. I guess, that is why they like to watch my silly vlogs. “It is now evening here. We took some rest but for you guys, it was only a second,” I point out. “You people are so lucky that you have me to show you around. See, the canal is so pretty!” I show them around. “After having dinner, we will take some shots from that little bridge. Hopefully, we get some good angles.”

I turn off the camera for now.

“Ugh, I’m starving. Honestly, I’ll eat anything at this point,” Sullivan musses.

I had to agree with him. It was our fault that we went back hotel and ordered only one pizza. It was not even filling enough for both of us. But we were too tired to care and just shared it before hitting the bed.

While looking around, we find a cute restaurant there. There were still some empty tables so we rushed in and sat on a table for two which is right by the window overlooking the canal. I roll my vlogging camera and record some quick clips and then on my Fujifilm. We order some local special meals and wait.

The brick walls are painted white and there are some cool posters of some old classics and paintings of the city and the canal. The name of the place is engraved in the middle between two wine racks. This place was comforting. Even the background music was adding to the vibe of the place.

Shortly, the food arrives at our table. The waiter fills our glasses with fine wine and water in the other glasses. After taking a quick video of the meal I place the camera on the table facing me. Being a vlogger wasn’t easy especially when hungry. I still had to record for my viewers even tho I know they would mind looking at my half-eaten plate.

I take one bite of my meal and my Costoletta Orecchia D'elefante brings goosebumps to my skin. The red wine is also silky smooth. The vibes and the delicious food add to the whole new cosy feeling of the restaurant. I order some Risotto all’onda after I finish my first dish. It makes me oddly feel at home.

I yap about the place and food to the camera, without paying any mind to the people around. Everything was in front of me anyway.

Sullivan took out his camera and proposed to click some of my pictures for the thumbnail of the ‘Day 1 vlog in Milan’. It is always funny to take some thumbnail pictures. Somehow, I find it hilarious to take an exaggerated shitty picture that my lovely people love to laugh about. And after that, he took some random pictures to add to my random Instagram posts thread.

“I would 10 on 10 recommend you all to visit this place. I’ll leave the address in the description box for you all.”

…

On the cold December night, the streets are filled with fairy lights and Christmas magic.

Everything looks so romantic. I wish I had some to kiss here, in the middle of all the magic. I look at my partner and scoff as he adjusts his camera for my pictures. He is not the best at camera but still finds a way to be good at stuff. He is mainly an editor. He edited my videos other than my vlogs.

I love editing my vlogs. But he edits the videos for my other channel for my Travel Montages. And my pictures as well. He works as a freelancer for many other projects as well. I learned to edit from him. He is best at that.

As much as I love him as a friend, I am envious of him sometimes. He is still in a relationship with his high school sweetheart.

I remember quite vividly how he used to roam around Luna like a love-sick dog with his tongue hanging out and two gigantic hearts for eyes. His static attitude always used to melt into a puddle.

Nothing has changed. He is still that love-sick dog around her. Honestly, they both deserve each other. Just two blondies loving each other.

But it does not dull the longing ache in my heart. I have had some freaky one-night stands here and there. And if I find a chance to get laid here then I’m all in.

But c’mon! I wanna be a love-sick dog, too!

Sighing, I say, “Take some good shots of me, okay? Who knows maybe my future wife is drooling at my pictures.”

“Have I ever told you that you are full of shit sometimes?” he grumbles.

“Many times. But Luna says I’m a delight and that she loves my company, Ivan,” I cheerily smile.

“She would say the same thing to a goddamn gutter rat she saw while waiting for her train at the subway,” Ivan rolls his eyes and stand in position and jerks his head to me to pose for the camera. “Now be an actual delight and smile for me, sexy,” he taunts with a cringy smile.

Yeah, we are like this. Dont ask anything, okay? Just… get on with it.

There is my vlogging camera in my hand which is rolling, I will probably not be cutting out our sweet-sweet banter. It is what keeps them all entertained. Just two cool dudes having banter under a romantic sky.

I pose in different poses. I also made one of my favourite poses where I click a picture of the camera clicking my picture so it imitates a mirror selfie.

I return the favour by clicking his pictures. He is photogenic. His dusty blond hair compliments his light grey-ish green eyes with a dark sea green ring around them. In all honesty, he is a handsome man– not that I will ever say that to his face. The bastard is already cocky enough.

I do record him for my travel montages. His rosegold-rimmed wire glasses and winter attire just add to the fantasy of the viewers. I like to add myself and my friends in these videos as well, it gives a perfect personal touch of warmth.

…

It is around one in the morning and I still haven’t gone to bed. I use this time to edit my vlog. My vlogs are not that big. I try to keep them minimal as I post almost every day. They are usually anywhere between 6-15 minutes. It is rare when they exceed that limit and make a part two out of it.

Vlogging is therapeutic for me so is videography. I thought about cinematography but it takes a lot. And I don't like that kind of pressure. I do own two high-end cinematic cameras but I pull them out if we take any wedding-related project or maybe some other high-end projects where we need to pull them out. But most of these cinematic shots are possible to take on other relatively cheaper and smaller cameras.

In short, I love what I do. And I won’t change it for anything.

As I am editing my vlog, I reach the clip where I accidentally run into someone. In the clip I, without looking at the person out of embarrassment, apologised and looked elsewhere but now I notice how the person looked at my back and muttered a cute little it’s okay. And then lowers her head and fiddles with her camera.

I quickly pause the clip and rewind it. Then I zoom into the face of that lady. My breath hitches when I see her.

“What the…” I trail. I don’t know how to describe but dear lord she is beautiful. Her brunette hair is shiny under the pale sun and long. Her pouty lips are tinted with a perfect hue of red which matches the blush of her cheeks. She is utterly adorable. She has some acne around her cheeks which just makes her adorable nonetheless.

In the clip, I was only a second late to turn around or else I would have witnessed such a beauty in person.

“Fuck you, JK,” I scold myself. “Couldn’t you have seen her just a second earlier or waited for her to turn around, you embarrassed jackass,” I huff.

I know I’m acting like a hormonal teenager but hey, she is so gorgeous. If you were me, you would have been acting like me. But alas, I missed the opportunity to see her.

Concluding that I’m a dumbass, I keep going through other clips and editing them. When I reach the recordings at the restaurant, I curse out loud as I find the same girl sitting behind me. And guess what? ALONE. I wish I had turned around then. But what’s the point in sulking now when I am sitting in this hotel room all by myself and editing these clips full of regret?

While editing, I sent a quick text to Ivan to send me the raw, unedited pictures of me in the restaurant, as I think she has to be in some of those pictures.

I nearly jump and scream out loud when I find her again in my video on that bridge where we are taking pictures after dinner. In the video, I am checking the photos that Ivan clicked and that girl passed by us, briefly looking into my camera lens.

Her pretty eyes widen slightly in surprise. But now I have no idea why. I wish she had stopped there and asked whatever piqued her interest that it brought shining stars in her already sprinkly eyes. Or at least I have paid attention rather than being a fucking narcissistic bitch in those times.

Okay, I know I’m being harsh and ridiculous. But… she is magnificent.

I quickly edit the rest of my video and do a voice-over in the part where I see her the first time.

“I know this going to sound crazy but look at that girl,” I whine. “Why is she so pretty?”

Keeping my hormones aside, I take a deep breath and let the sudden burst of adrenaline die down. I set the timer for the video. It will be up while I am asleep. Closing all the tabs, I shut down my laptop and slid deeper into my mattress.

It does not take long before I fall asleep sandwiched between the warm blanket and bedding.

…

I jolt wake up as there is a pounding at my door.

“Yo sleepy hoe, wake up! It is time to explore the world, princess. Wouldn’t want to deprive the world of my immaculate beauty,” Sullivan yaps.

I barely open my eyes as I stumble across the room and open the door for the extra hyped man outside my holy chambers. “Yeah, wake up the whole floor, will ya?” I grumble as he enters my room and plop onto my bed.

“I will but they won’t be going out to take some sexy montages now will they? So I gotta wake this hoe up,” he kicks my ass from where he is sprawled on my bed.

“For someone who is usually extra shitty in the morning, you are very much charming today. Why so? Did the beast finally get kissed by the beauty?” I yawn and open my suitcase to pull out my morning toiletries and clothes for the day. I pull the curtain aside and a thick fog is blocking much of the scene. So I pull out my bear jacket.

I look at Ivan who is looking at me with a sparkly glint in his eyes. His smirk grew on his face. I think I know why he is so chirpy this morning. “You had online sex,” I don't ask but state the fact that is written on his face.

My theory is confirmed when his smirk turns into a smile. “I miss her, dude. I wish it was real skin to skin but boy when you wake up with a horny video call, it just hits extra horny,” he sigh, dreamily.

I pause whatever I am doing and look at him. “Are you sure you are making sense?” I chuckle. Happy that at least one of us is happier. Yes, I am happy but just not over-the-moon-in-love-happy if that makes sense.

He just closes his eyes and turns to his side. “Just get ready, princess.”

After I got ready, we left the hotel (we grabbed the smallest breakfast as we were running late plus some coffee. We will have food later on somewhere authentic.), and now we are on our way to the Milan Cathedral. It is about twenty minutes by car. So I open my YouTube to see how my video is doing and to reply to some of the comments.

The moment I open the comment section, I am hit by one main topic. I read the top comment that says—

bigpicturehal: It is funny how you sound so anguished. And I’m surprised you don’t know her. She is Y/N. She has a channel about a bit of vlogging, mainly her photography and tutorials. Her channel is TheCosyTimes. You are welcome;) Oh and what do you mean you got the receipts for constipation?!

My heart picks up speed and I read the comment again and again. She is like me. I mean a person with a camera. And she makes content as well. Fucking perfect.

A silly smile widens on my face which Sullivan notices.

“What happened? Got invited to an orgy?” he askes.

“Better than that,” I mutter. “Do you know who TheCosyTimes is?” I ask him.

“Heard about it. I think I have watched a couple of videos from that channel. I dont recall much,” he thinks about it.

Y/n… I smile widely as I follow her on Instagram and subscribe to her YouTube channel. Now I have a new obsession…

TheCosyTimes.

.....

Taglist:

@veneziamadness @cheline @sansmilkbread @jayb17 @constantlydelulusional @8tinytings @tea4sykes @chimmisbae @demonshauntingthedoves

@jjkkkk15

Have a nice day/night💓

[stevie-petey]

episode four: the body

For the second time within a week, Steve Harrington almost kills you with his stupid BMW. Granted, the first time wasn’t necessarily his fault due to your crying, but this time just felt personal.  “Hey! Henderson!” “Jesus Christ-” You’re biking to the Wheeler’s, lost in thought as the sun begins to set, when stupid Harrington scares the shit out of you.  His unexpected shouting causes you to swerve your bike towards his car and he has to slam on his brakes to avoid hitting you.  “Do you, like, have a fantasy about me hitting you with my car?”

Summary: you basically have a "no babe don't cry over ur dead brother ur so sexy" moment with jonathan, hopper plays mr love doctor (cute date idea: coffin shopping), and somehow nancy wheeler makes you realize that you're a horrible babysitter and an even bigger idiot. meanwhile: steve harrington is frustratingly charming.

Rating: general but plenty of cursing as usual.

Warnings: cursing, fem!reader, and use of y/n.

Words: 8k

Before you swing in: hello ! happy eve of a spending time with loved ones, however ya choose to celebrate or not celebrate and all that jazz. i hope y'all are well and doing okay :) a LOT happens in this chapter, so buckle up. so many feelings and revelations my god. also this chapter is one i really loved writing purely because i got to explore more of steve and reader so ,,, ya welcome ! (hopefully i was able to clear up jonathans thoughts and how he processes, i really want it to come across as someone hurt and overwhelmed rather than just him being cranky lmao). anyways, enjoy !!

-

It’s a quiet morning.

You roll over, the sunlight streaming through your curtains, and for a moment you forget. It’s a blissful moment, sweet naivety that strokes your cheek and coaxes your eyes open. As you throw your arms over your head and stretch, last night’s events haven’t caught up to you quite yet. 

Then you feel Jonathan’s body next to yours and for a moment you’re confused. He never sleeps in your bed whenever he spends the night, being ever the gentleman. No matter how many times you offer, he always insists on respecting your mother’s wishes and sleeping on the giant beanbag chair within your room, and it always makes your heart warm. 

Your mother had specifically bought the beanbag for Jonathan when you were thirteen. He had been spending more and more nights at your home, sneaking in through your window to avoid his parents fighting. At first he would simply fall asleep on your carpet, despite your many reassurances that he could sleep in your bed, so when your mom unexpectedly barged into your room one morning and saw him lying face down on the ground, she freaked. 

Once you had explained everything to her (with Jonathan’s permission), she had shoved you guys into her car, dropped him off at his house, and then found the beanbag at a garage sale for $10. 

“This way, he’ll have a place to sleep that’s soft and cozy, away from my young daughter,” she had said during the drive home. You had covered your face in embarrassment at her implication, but you were also incredibly proud to call her your mom at that moment. She may be overbearing at times, but she was the kindest woman you’ve ever met. 

You rub your eyes and glance at the bean bag that sits between your bed and wall, its dusty blue color almost glowing in the early morning light. Then you glance at Jonathan, who has woken up before you, and notice the redness in his eyes and the dark circles now darker than ever. 

Then it all comes rushing back to you. 

Will’s body in the quarry. 

Holding your brother as he mourned his friend. 

El, so quiet and shy and sweet, running away after your cruel dismissal. 

Jonathan showing up to your window hours later, broken and devastated. 

Then, late into the night, the two of you falling asleep, side by side in your bed, both needing each other more than ever before. 

The two of you get ready without saying anything. You hand Jonathan some spare clothes of his that you keep in a drawer before giving him some space as you go and take a shower. You spend longer than usual getting ready, but you pay no attention to the clock. There’s no way you’re going to school today. You’re not leaving Jonathan alone for even a second. 

Jonathan finishes getting ready before you do and waits in your room. Neither of you have said anything yet, last night being too fresh in your memories, but words aren’t needed between the two of you. 

You take his hand and lead him into your kitchen and wordlessly hand him a banana. He stares at you, and you stare back, silently challenging him to decline the food. He needs to eat. You’ve noticed how thin he’s gotten with everything happening. 

He sighs, knowing he won’t win this fight, and takes a bite out of the banana in a mocking manner, but you’re just relieved he’s eating. 

You grab your own breakfast before writing a note for your mom, informing her that you’ll be with Jonathan today and promising to make up any missed assignments as soon as you can. Then you quietly go into Dustin’s room to check up on him, but his bed is empty. You glance at his alarm clock and note the early hour, he doesn’t normally leave for school for another thirty minutes, which makes you frown. 

Where the hell did the kid run off to?

An uneasy feeling settles over you, but you don’t have time to question anything. Knowing Dustin, he ran off to school earlier than usual to see his friends and distract himself from last night. While your mom offered you both to stay home for the rest of the week due to Will’s death, neither of you have ever been good at staying put and dealing with your emotions.

Wherever your brother is, you know he needs his space.

Once everything is settled, you join Jonathan in his car and drive to his place. While he never explicitly asked you to this morning, you know that you’re going to his house with him to help him deal with his mother and the funeral preparations. 

He doesn’t have to ask, and you don’t have to tell him that you’ll help. 

You both just know. 

About halfway to his place, Jonathan finally speaks. 

“The cops say that Will crashed his bike and fell into the quarry,”

“Jonathan, we don’t have to talk about it right now-”

“My mom doesn’t believe that he’s dead. She-she insists that he’s in the walls, that he can speak through-through… Christmas lights.”

His voice shakes as he speaks, and you can’t tell if it’s due to grief or anger. 

“Will is dead and my mom chooses to believe that there’s some monster in our walls that took him.”

“A monster?” you think about El and her powers and the fear on the boys’ faces when she pulled out the Demogorgon piece. Then you remember the other night at the Byers’ home when Joyce came running outside as the lights were flickering wildly. Her fear had been genuine. 

“A fucking monster that’s hiding in our walls. She wouldn’t… she wouldn’t listen, Y/N. I tried talking to her, to calm her down, but she just…” His words fade off, and he clenches his jaw as tightens his hands around the steering wheel. 

You’re not sure what to say. It’s a tough situation, a fucking heartbreaking one, and it’s all so unfair. Jonathan needs his mom, but his mom needs Will. 

You rest your hand behind his head and allow your fingers to rub circles against his skin. He leans into your touch, and for now this is all you can do. 

The state of the Byers’ home has only gotten worse since the last time you were there. There’s now letters painted on the wall and string lights placed all throughout the house. There’s also clothes in random corners and trash thrown around. 

Jonathan had been staying in this house alone, watching his mother spiral. Your stomach twists with guilt. 

You should’ve been there more for him, but instead you allowed your petty need to help everyone distract you from what’s important. 

Joyce is passed out on the couch with an ax clutched between her hands, which breaks your heart even more. Jonathan walks over to wake her up and you give the two of them some privacy as you head into the kitchen to make Joyce some breakfast. 

Their fridge is barren, but you aren’t surprised. You make do with the few eggs you find and get to work; it isn’t much, but it’ll have to do. As you prepare breakfast, you notice a stack of Will’s drawings on the kitchen table, which causes you to gag with remorse. 

There’s still so much of Will within these walls, his entire childhood still locked inside, untouched, and yet the house lacks his presence. 

He’s gone. 

– 

You wait with Hopper in the morgue waiting room, nervously tapping your foot and frantically trying to distract yourself with a comic. The words blur together in your head and the images float around. You can’t focus on anything. For once, Spidey’s quips and banter can’t distract you from reality. 

Not only are you incredibly worried for Joyce and Jonathan, but the thought of Will’s body being a wall away from you sends chills down your spine. You can’t imagine what’s happening behind the doors, and you’re secretly relieved that you’ll never know. 

“What’s taking so long?” Hopper’s voice breaks you from your thoughts.

You put your comic down and listen, figuring that it’s best if you’re caught up on everything so that you can store away any useful information for later. 

The front desk lady sighs. “Well, everything’s been a bit chaotic around here without Gary.”

This catches Hopper’s attention. “Without Gary?”

“I thought you knew. Those men from State, they… they sent Gary home last night.”

Now this catches your attention. Why would the State replace the town’s coroner? 

“So who did the autopsy?” 

“Someone from State.” 

Hopper looks at you, almost as if to ask if you’re also hearing this, and you give him a slight nod. It’s odd, really damn odd. 

“Why would they send someone for a little boy?” You ask Hopper, but he only shakes his head in response. 

In the back of your mind, you think about what El had warned you of. The bad men, the people she has to hide from… it didn’t make sense at the time, but now…

Your thoughts are cut off as Jonathan runs out the door, his hand over his mouth, and you immediately get up to help him outside. He throws up against the wall outside, and you wince at the smell. You’ve never been good with people getting sick, but Jonathan needs you right now, so you rub soothing circles on his back as he throws up. Once he’s done, you head back inside and wait for Joyce. 

You offer Jonathan a tissue before coaxing him to rest his head on your shoulder. Having nothing else to do, yet urgently wanting to help, you begin to read him some panels from your comic. He doesn’t say anything, so you take it as a sign to keep going. Your voice is hoarse from all your crying, but you read aloud anyways. 

Hopper watches your interaction with a small interest. You don’t notice his curious eyes and the way they seem to glint with sincerity. In his eyes, the two of you will get together soon enough. 

After a couple minutes, Hopper finally asks Jonathan how Joyce is holding up. The boy straightens up, but grabs your hand to steady himself, and responds as best as he can. He explains the lights, the letters on the wall, everything. 

“She’s had anxiety problems in the past, but this…? I don’t know.” He takes a shaky breath, and you draw reassuring patterns on the back of his hand. “I’m worried it could be… god, I don’t know.”

“She’s grieving,” you remind him, and he nods. 

“Yeah, she’s grieving, but she’ll be okay. We’ll be okay; my mom, she’s tough.”

“Like Spider-Man,” you say, though you don’t really mean to. You’re tired and the words just slip out, but Jonathan begins to laugh. 

“Yeah, like Spider-Man, you’re right. Thanks, bug.” 

“Anytime, bee.” 

Jonathan smiles at you, still softly laughing, and it’s then that you realize. He hasn’t laughed in days, he’s hardly even smiled, and yet here he is, smiling at the stupid nickname you gave him and laughing at the stupid joke you didn’t even mean to say; you realize you’d do anything to get him to laugh again, to give you that smile that he’s only ever reserved for you. He squeezes your hand and his eyes shine for a moment with a familiar warmness that has always made you weak. 

It hits you like a cold, cruel wave on a harsh winter day. 

You’re in love with Jonathan. 

Fuck.

It’s horrible timing, and you feel sick with guilt for realizing that you love your best friend merely hours after his brother has died, but now it’s all you can think about. 

You love him, you love him more than you’ve ever loved anything before, but you can’t tell him. It wouldn’t be fair, and you don’t have the time. 

You’re thankful when Hopper begins to talk again, reiterating that Joyce is tough, so that you have the time to process your newfound feelings. 

Then Joyce comes crashing through the door, screaming about how whatever is in the other room isn’t Will, ignoring everyone who tells her to calm down. Both you and Jonathan stand up to calm her down, your comic dropping to the ground in the process, but she doesn’t listen and instead runs outside. 

“Mom!” Jonathan follows after her. 

You sigh and tuck your hair behind your ears before picking up the comic. You know that Jonathan needs to be alone with Joyce right now, give them some privacy, it’s a personal matter. More personal than anything else, and yet you also selfishly don’t want to be near him for a few moments so you can collect yourself as well. 

As you’re gathering your things, Hopper clears his throat. 

“Do you love him?”

You freeze, having not expected such a personal question. You’ve only just realized your feelings for him, how the hell has Hopper already figured it out? “What does it matter? His brother is dead and his mom is losing it.”

Hopper rubs his hand over his face, giving you a warning look. “But do you love the kid?”

It’s the way he says it, like it means life or death, that has you respond, “I do.”

“Take care of him, then.” He looks you in the eyes as he says it, urging you to understand the weight of his words, and you do. 

You’ve heard about how his daughter had died and his wife divorced him soon after. They’d only ever been rumors to you, but now you know that they’re true. He’s telling you to take care of Jonathan, that your love for him means that you have to take care of him in a way that no one else can. 

In a way, you suppose that you and Hopper aren’t so different after all, and you gain a new sense of respect for the man. 

You swallow deeply and nod at him before excusing yourself to follow after Jonathan and Joyce. 

– 

The mother and son in question are a few blocks down the street, Joyce waving her son away as he follows her with the car. 

You sigh. 

This day definitely sucks. 

Running up to them is a pain in the ass, honestly. You get that you gave them some privacy, but damn. Did Jonathan seriously have to take the car as well? 

When you finally catch up, he’s parking. “Hey, what are you-” 

He doesn’t spare you a glance as he turns the engine off and runs after his mom. 

“Seriously?” You groan, clutching at a stitch in your side from running. Usually you’re a great runner, actually choosing to go for a run whenever you’re particularly stressed out or anxious. However with the shitshow that this week has been, you haven’t gone on your morning run in a while and you’re starting to feel the effects of being out of practice. 

Joyce, being surprisingly fast, is hard to catch up with, but you do your best as Jonathan sprints ahead of you. When he finally reaches her, he grabs at her jacket with a determined look in his eyes. 

You hang back, now regretting the fact that you left the coroner’s office in the first place. 

“Mom, stop!” 

“Just go home, Jonathan.”

“No, this is not an okay time for you to shut down.”

“Shut down… what-” The confusion in Joyce’s eyes is enough to make you feel Jonathan’s frustration as well. You feel for the woman, you really do, but she has another son to worry about. Jonathan is still here, he’s lost his own baby brother, he needs his mom now more than ever.

But Joyce, too lost in her own grief and desperation, can’t see that. 

“We have to deal with this, mom. We have to deal with the funeral!” You’ve never heard Jonathan raise his voice at his mom before, but after days of begging for her attention, you’re proud of him for defending himself.

The word “funeral” seems to snap Joyce out of her daze and once again she goes on her tangent about how Will’s body isn’t really back at the morgue, that he’s still alive, and Jonathan’s anger in his voice makes you ache. 

As he and his mom continue to yell at one another, a few nosy people in the town area stand and watch. They whisper to each other, no doubt about how Will’s death has made Joyce Byers crazy, and you kick a few rocks at them. 

“Fuck off! At least pretend that you aren’t a bunch of nosy assholes like most decent people do.” A woman sneers at you, but you wave your arms above your head, “Oh! Scary! Get fucked!” 

Eventually they do as they’re told and walk away from the screaming mother and son, which pleases you. 

You really hope that random lady wasn’t a patron of Bookstrordinary though. 

“Yeah, well, while you’re talking to the lights, Y/N and I will be planning a funeral for Will!” Jonathan’s voice is laced with bitterness as he screams at his mother, breaking your heart even more. “I’m not letting him sit in that freezer another day!” 

Joyce storms off, but you notice that her shoulders shake with tears as she leaves. 

It’s such a devastating situation, and while you’re also frustrated with the way she’s been treating Jonathan, you also know that maybe her craziness isn’t exactly “crazy”. El is still out there, even if you’re not sure where, and you think about how she was able to control the comic book and the game pieces. The static electricity you felt in the air when she used her powers, the same static you felt at the Byers’ home a few nights ago when Joyce came running outside with the lights flashing and Will’s song playing on the radio.

But then you think about how El promised that Will was alive. 

He isn’t; you see his dead body every time you close your eyes. 

So really, what is there to believe?

Lost in thought, you don’t notice Jonathan walking towards you until he grasps at your arm and flings you along back to the car with him. He’s breathing heavily and you notice that he’s shaking. He’s in no condition to drive. 

As you near the car you quickly reach around and grab his keys from his pocket before running over to the driver’s side and throwing yourself into the seat. Jonathan hates when you drive the car, not because you’re a bad driver, but because some part of him truly believes it’s impolite to make a girl drive. 

As cute as you think his chivalry is, today you couldn’t give more of a damn. 

Jonathan stands outside your door. “Y/N-”

“Nope, no time to argue, Byers. Get in.” 

“But-” 

“In.”

He does as he’s told, albeit with some attitude, but eventually the two of you are off. Without having to ask, you drive to the local funeral home. While you and Jonathan are similar in many ways, the one thing that pulls you together is planning. You both cling onto the stability that planning provides, and right now Jonathan is clinging onto his responsibilities for Will’s funeral.

Like he told his mom earlier, you and him have a funeral to plan. 

The funeral home is closer to the edge of Hawkins, so the drive is a longer one. Along the way Jonathan slowly begins to calm down, untensing his shoulders and releasing his clenched jaw. You let him take all the time he needs, thankful that for now you have some time to yourself to reflect over today’s revelation.

You love Jonathan. 

Those three words are heavy within your chest, and you almost don’t want to think about them, but you know that sooner or later you’ll have to. You glance at Jonathan, the late fall sun casts a warm glow on his face that for a brief moment brings back the boy you knew only a week ago, before everything changed. Then he turns to face you and you see the red in his eyes, his cheeks sunken in, and you know that you don’t have the time to unravel whatever you feel for him. 

He needs his best friend right now.

Jonathan’s voice breaks you from your thoughts, his voice cracking a bit from disuse. “Can we talk about yesterday?” 

You cast him a quick glance. “Yesterday?”

“Our… our fight, I guess.” 

“Oh,” you shift your hands on the steering wheel, now suddenly painfully aware of the silence within the car. “We don’t have to right now, bee. We should be focusing on the funeral arrangements.” 

Your voice catches on the word “funeral”, it still hasn’t sunk in yet that Will is really gone. 

“Bug, for the past eighteen hours all I’ve been thinking about is Will,” he takes a shaky breath and you gently place a hand on his, encouraging him to keep talking, “but when I’m not thinking about him… I’m thinking about you and what-what you said yesterday.” 

“I said a lot yesterday-” 

Jonathan gives you a pleading look. “Please just let me get this out, okay?”

You purse your lips but remain silent. 

“I will never, ever deserve you. This week and my actions have proven that. This isn’t some pathetic attempt to make you pity me, I was an asshole to you and I recognize that. You love people in a way that terrifies me, Y/N. You’re my best friend and I think I would actually die if I ever lost you.”

A snort escapes your lips, “you probably would.”

“I definitely would, but this isn’t about me. I’m so, so sorry for how I’ve been treating you lately and the fact that you’re driving me to a funeral home after watching my mom have a meltdown in the town square without even batting an eye is all the more proof that you’re too good for me.” 

“I wouldn’t say too good, but yeah. Close enough.”

“It’s more than enough, bug. That’s what terrifies me: I’m afraid that I’ll never be able to repay you for all that you’ve done for me, even before Will disappeared; you’ve been taking care of me since we were twelve.”

His words hang in the air as you allow them to wash over you. There’s so much you want to disagree with, namely the fact that he doesn't deserve you, but you know that he wouldn’t want to hear your arguments. 

Again you think about how similar the two of you are, and while you both give your all to the people that you love, your love comes freely while Jonathan has grown up believing that it comes with conditions. It’s never been a problem in your relationship until now, but you guess with how much you’ve been overcompensating for everything, the need to return it all has caught up with him. 

Finally, you speak. “You feel that you can’t accept my help because I’ve already done enough for you. Is that it?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan takes a deep breath. “I know it’s stupid, especially because I’m asking for your help right now with the funeral preparations, but…”

“I understand, but we’ll get through it,” you pull into the funeral home parking lot and turn the car off. “We always do, right?” 

“Right,” Jonathan’s smile is a weak one, but you accept it nonetheless. 

“Now, you ready to go look at children’s coffins like real men and women do?” 

He laughs at your poor attempt at a joke, but even he can admit that objectively the entire situation is morbid. “Only real best friends go coffin shopping together.” 

“My thoughts exactly, good sir.” Then, before you forget, you reach over and whack Jonathan’s head with the back of your hand. 

“Ow! What was that for?”

You shrug your shoulders, “ask Nancy.”

And with that, you unbuckle your seatbelt and head into the funeral home, trusting that Jonathan will follow eventually enough. Things aren’t exactly the same between the two of you, especially with your newfound feelings for him, but it’s a start. 

“I deserved that,” you hear Jonathan grumble, which makes you smile. 

You’ll take whatever you can get.

– 

You spot Nancy before Jonathan does. 

It wasn’t intentional, really, but the funeral home director was droning on and on about the different wood selections for coffins and finishes that you can customize and it all makes you want to throw up; the coffins before you are so small, you weren't really paying attention in the first place. 

She stands in the doorway and motions for you to get Jonathan’s attention, who is deeply focused on everything the old man is saying. A part of you wants to ignore the girl, but the scared look on her face tells you that this is something serious. 

You nudge your shoulder against Jonathan’s and point at Nancy; he excuses the two of you as you walk towards her. 

Jonathan shoves his hands in his pockets, a bit guarded. “Hey,”

“Hey, your mom, um… said you’d be here.” 

“You talked to Mrs. Byers?” You ask, feeling a sudden possessiveness over the woman. Sure, you were kind of okay sharing Jonathan with Nancy so long as she was with Harrington, but Joyce? She’s like a second mother to you.

It made you uneasy that Joyce even talked to her in the first place. 

Nancy tilts her head at you. “Yeah, it was only for a brief moment though. She seemed pretty… distracted.” 

“No shit. Her son died, Nancy.” 

The girl flinches a bit at your tone, which causes Jonathan to yank at your sleeve and shove you behind him. “Ignore her, we’ve had… Well, it’s been a long day.” 

You feel your shoulders drop and unclench your fists. “Sorry, is everything okay? Is it the boys?”

“No, they’re fine, I just,” Nancy’s eyes shoot towards you, uncertain, before directing them towards Jonathan. “Can we talk for a second?”

The photos Nancy shows you makes your blood run cold. They start with Barb sitting alone by the pool, but slowly she pulls out more and more pieces of the torn picture to create a terrifying image with a shadow-like figure looming over her friend. 

Jonathan tries to sum the shadow up to lens distortion, but you know that he’s wrong. Nancy asks more questions, trying to figure out exactly what has happened to Barb, but all you can think about is El. 

You check the time on your watch and curse. It’s late afternoon now, you’ve been gone with Jonathan since early this morning. Dustin hadn’t been in his room when you left and you stupidly assumed that he’d gone off to school. Now, seeing the picture of Barb and that thing… Something is so goddamn wrong. 

“The cops think that she ran away,” Nancy says. 

“Just like they did with Will,” you’re whispering more to yourself than to them, but Jonathan hears you anyway. 

“Maybe she did run away-” 

Nancy shakes her head. “No, she wouldn’t do that. They don’t know Barb. When I went back to Steve’s… I thought I saw something.”

Your head shoots up. “Nancy, what did you see?”

“Some weird man,” the urgence in your voice confuses the girl, but you silently push her to keep talking, “or… I don’t know what it was.”

Both you and Jonathan are quiet afterwards for very different reasons. 

He’s quiet because he probably thinks Nancy is crazy, just like his mom. 

You’re quiet because you’re currently afraid you’ve accidentally left your idiotic brother and his friends and El alone with very real monsters and possible bad men. The figure Nancy saw… El being terrified of bad people finding and hurting her…

Well shit. 

“I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t have come here today-”

You stop Nancy from leaving. “No, you should stay… I think,” you look at Jonathan, nervous for how he may react to what you’re about to say. “I think I might have an idea of what you saw last night. A lot has happened since Will disappeared, things that I’m still trying to understand, but I think I know where to start finding an explanation.” 

Jonathan turns to you. “What? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Technically I did try telling you a few nights ago but then you yelled at me and threw a jacket at my face-” 

“You threw a jacket at Y/N?” Nancy asks, which you and Jonathan ignore. 

“But for now I can’t tell you anything else. I made a promise, and I’m not sure I’m right or even sane for considering it an explanation, but we need to leave. Now.”

“A promise? To who?” There’s an edge of hurt in Jonathan’s voice and you desperately wish you could explain more to him, but now isn’t the time. Not with Nancy sitting between you two and her own brother involved. You don’t want to cause any unnecessary worry for her; right now she needs to focus on Barb. You’ll wrangle in the boys, it’s your fault they’re even alone right now with El.

“I can’t exactly say who, but just trust me, okay? Again: I really hope I’m just insane and worried about nothing and that this will all be an embarrassing laugh for us later.”

“Y/N-”

“Jonathan, we need to go.” 

“‘We’?” Nancy now speaks up, seemingly fed up by your vague exchange with Jonathan.

You try to collect yourself and pretend like you have some amazing plan. “Yes, we. Jonathan will take you to the photo developing room at school and see if you can make the pictures clearer. On the way there, he’ll drop me off at home so I can grab my bike and head out.”

“And what will you be doing?” The boy asks.

“Tracking down my brother, unfortunately.” 

He gives you a doubtful look. “C’mon, you can’t expect me to just let you run off on your own without more of an explanation.” 

You know he’s right, but you just… you can’t tell him about El and the bad men yet. You can’t. Not until you know for sure what the hell is happening. 

“I’m sure it’s nothing… but just in case, I really need to find Dustin, okay?” 

I’m a really, really bad babysitter, you think. 

Jonathan opens his mouth again as if to argue, but you hold your hand up to silence him. You really don’t want to waste time fighting with him. He has to trust you on this, whether he likes it or not. 

He sighs with defeat, “Just be safe, please.”

You also really don’t want to put anyone else in danger. It’s bad enough that you allowed the boys to get dragged into this mess, but you refuse to drag your best friend in as well. But really, who knows? Maybe you’re just a regular idiot who believes in fairy tales and monsters, not some idiot who leaves three overly naive boys alone with a girl with superpowers. 

God you hope you’re just a regular idiot. 

However, if Joyce believes that Will is alive, even without the knowledge of El and her powers, then you’re sure that the boys also believe he’s alive and will inevitably go looking for him again. Alone. In the same woods Nancy saw that strange figure. 

You cast those thoughts out of your head and give Jonathan what you hope is a reassuring smile. “When am I not safe?”

You really, truly hope that you’re just an idiot, but if the photos that you just saw scare you. Before he can change his mind, you quickly reach over and snatch Jonathan’s keys from his jacket and give him a peck on the cheek before running out to his car.

“I call shotgun, Nancy!”

– 

Unsurprisingly, the drive with Nancy and Jonathan is an awkward one. Things are still a bit tense between you and him for reasons you’re not sure you can tell him about just yet, and now Nancy is in the backseat trying not to make any sound, so really it was a doomed car ride from the start. 

It’s not that you don’t like the girl, but there’s something about the way she acts around Jonathan that honestly makes you want to collapse. You know she’s with Harrington, but the tenderness Jonathan has shown her the few times they’ve interacted makes you uneasy. 

Yesterday you chalked the uneasiness to simply never sharing Jonathan before, but now you know the truth. 

You’re jealous because you’re in love with him. 

It’s a nauseating feeling. 

“So, how long have the two of you been friends?” Nancy’s question surprises you, mostly because she should already know the answer. You know she’s just trying to make conversation, but the question itself further reminds you of why the two of you had drifted apart in the first place. 

“I moved here when I was twelve, remember? Your family helped us move in.” 

“Oh, right. Sorry,” You see Nancy nervously playing with her fingers in the rearview mirror, which makes you feel bad. She’s trying, you know she is. 

“It’s fine,” you try to catch her eye, and when you do you give her a smile. “I know you probably don’t remember much from that day. It was the middle of the school year and our brothers immediately started being annoying together, so you had gone inside after only a couple minutes.” 

Nancy laughs, now remembering that day. “Didn’t Mike hold an initiation for Dustin that night?” 

“Yeah,” you laugh with her now. “That’s actually how Jonathan and I met. Remember, bee?” 

Jonathan’s smile is a soft one, a smile that makes you feel weak because you know you’re the reason it’s there. “Of course I do. We both showed up at the Wheeler’s house at the same time to pick up our brothers.” 

“And then-” 

“I answered the door.” Nancy finishes for you. 

“Yup. Ever since then, Jonathan hasn’t been able to get rid of me.” 

“It’s been horrible,” he says with a monotone voice, but it’s clear to everyone that he’s joking. 

You punch his shoulder. “You weren’t complaining when I saved you from those bullies later that week.” 

Jonathan gives you a pointed look and tries to subtly motion towards Nancy, clearly embarrassed that you've brought the bullies up in front of her. Like he wants her to think he’s someone cooler than he really is. 

Your smile vanishes. 

He wants to impress her. 

“Right, sorry,” you clear your throat and if Nancy notices your sudden mood change, she doesn’t say anything. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment and remind yourself that what matters right now are the boys and El. They should be your priority, not petty boy drama. 

Luckily Jonathan pulls into your driveway not long after the abrupt conversation ending, which you’re thankful for. 

You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to face Nancy, and it takes everything in you to force a smile on your face. “Alright, well, this is my stop! Nancy, I’m trusting you to tell me whatever you and Jonathan find. I’d ask him to keep me updated, but I know he’ll inevitably forget.”

The girl nods at you. “You can trust me.” 

Can I?

Although you’re not exactly sure what it is that you don’t think you can trust her with. Then, your eyes drift to Jonathan and the way he’s staring at her from his own mirror, and you realize that maybe she’s not the one you should be worried about. 

“Good,” you turn to Jonathan now. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

“And I’ll answer… probably.” 

“You’re so sweet to me.”

“I know, right?” 

You snort at the boy and wave goodbye to him and Nancy before getting out of the car. Your bike is in the shed, so you motion to Jonathan that he’s good to leave. When he’s sure you’re okay, he waves at you one last time and drives away. 

It feels like you’ve made a huge mistake as you watch Jonathan and Nancy leave, but you don’t have time to think about why. Dustin’s bike isn’t in the shed alongside yours, which you expected, and you have to find him. 

Your brother and his idiotic friends need you right now. 

– 

For the second time within a week, Steve Harrington almost kills you with his stupid BMW. Granted, the first time wasn’t necessarily his fault due to your crying, but this time just felt personal. 

“Henderson!”

“Jesus Christ-” You’re biking to the Wheeler’s, lost in thought as the sun begins to set, when stupid Harrington scares the shit out of you. 

His unexpected shouting from the other side of the road causes you to swerve your bike towards his car and he has to slam on his brakes to avoid hitting you. 

“Do you, like, have a fantasy about me hitting you with my car?” 

You glare at the boy. “You are a man, I am a woman. It’s getting dark outside. What exactly made you think it’s a good idea to yell out at me?”

“Well, I mean, I called after you.” He says, so matter of factly that it makes you want to strangle him. 

You hate him. You really do.

A strand of hair has fallen in your face, so you blow it away before bothering to answer. “My apologies, you called after me and almost killed me in the process.”

Steve winks at you. “Apology accepted.” 

You stare at him, unamused and still in the middle of the damn road, and after a couple beats of silence you cock your head at the boy. “Are you going to tell me what you need or…?”

“Oh,” Steve coughs, as if startled by your question. “Honestly I didn’t really have a plan when I called after you. I just kinda did, so…” 

“Right, well.” You clench your jaw in annoyance. Why are you even surprised that Harrington has wasted your time? “This was fun, let’s never do it again sometime!”

You ride off on your bike, trying to quickly get up the hill so that you can get to the Wheeler’s before it gets too dark to see. The hill is brutal and it’s almost embarrassing how long it’s taking you to get up it, and as you’re huffing and dripping in sweat, headlights come up from behind you. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you groan. 

Steve’s car is now right next to you, the fucker having done a complete u-turn to follow after you. His window is still rolled down and he has one hand on the steering wheel and the other hanging out his window. 

“Hello again, Henderson.” 

“I never said hello back to you.” 

“C’mon, at least pretend to be happy to see me.”

You let out another groan as you continue to struggle up the hill. “I physically cannot do that, sorry.” 

Steve, ever the comedian, responds, “It doesn’t seem like you can physically get up this hill either.” 

You don’t give him the satisfaction of laughing, but you’re a bit annoyed that his quip was funny. What a jackass, honestly. 

“Henderson,” your silence doesn’t deter the boy, “just get in the damn car already.”

Once again you almost crash into the BMW, this time because of your complete shock at his request.

“What?”

He gives you a look as if you’re the insane one in this situation. “You’re sweatier than I am after basketball, and at the rate you’re going I’d say you’ll reach your destination in about three to five business days.”

You stare at him, speechless. 

He stares back at you with a smirk on his smug little face, knowing that he’s won the argument. “Get in the car and I’ll throw your bike in the back.” 

You do as he says, your mind completely blank and still taken aback. Sweatier than him after basketball? There’s no way that’s true, and also who says that to someone they barely even know? As if you’re really that sweaty-

You see your reflection in his car mirror and wince. 

Okay, so maybe you’re a little sweaty. 

Fuck Steve Harrington. 

The boy in question tosses your bike in the trunk as you hesitantly get in the car. He watches as you sit yourself down and laughs. “It’s a car, Henderson. It won’t bite.” 

“Yeah, but you might.” You slap a hand over your mouth, embarrassed by the implications of your words. 

Steve raises an eyebrow at you as he turns the car back on. “Careful there, last I checked you’re a taken lady.”

The embarrassment you previously felt is gone, now replaced with your usual annoyance when it comes to Steve. You think about what he did yesterday to Jonathan’s camera, the cruelty in his eyes as he watched the thing shatter onto the ground. He didn’t show any remorse, and while you understand that he had been defending his girlfriend, he had taken it too far. 

“How many times do I have to tell you that Jonathan and I are just friends?” 

“Please,” Steve huffs with amusement, “the two of you have been inseparable for years. Besides, no way a guy like Byers can just be friends with a girl like you. Not scientifically possible.” 

You wrinkle your nose. “What’s ‘a girl like you’ supposed to mean?” Then another thought occurs to you, “Also, you didn’t even know my name until this week, so don’t go acting like you know my relationship with Jonathan.”

“Relax, Henderson. It was a compliment. All I meant is that you’re decently pretty, all things considered, so I wouldn’t blame Byers if he was in love with you. It’s human nature.”

“Okay, that’s just really sexist-”

“As for knowing your name only this week, you’re wrong.”

“I’m sorry?” You ask, confused. 

Steve places a hand over his chest, almost as if he’s reaching for his heart. “Apology accepted, it means a lot to me.”

“Ugh,” you scoff at him. “That wasn’t an apology and you know it. Can you just take me to the Wheeler’s, please?”

“Woah, slow down there. First I need you to tell me why you thought I didn’t know your name, then I’ll take you to my girlfriend’s house. Free of charge.” 

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that you see some offense in Steve’s eyes for thinking he only recently learned your name, but why would he care? Besides, you know he’s never paid any attention to you before this week.

“It was literally this week that I had to tell you my name after you almost hit me with your car, Harrington.”

“Okay, hey,” the boy holds a finger up. “Actually, you almost hit me with your bike because you were too busy hysterically sobbing.”

He’s right, but you won’t tell him that. Minor details, honestly. You’re about to tell him as much before you realize what he’s said. “Wait, you knew I had been crying?”

Steve gives you a well, duh look. “Yeah, that’s why I pretended not to know your name. Figured you wouldn’t want to talk about it and the least I could do was make you laugh. And viola, I did.” 

He had willingly tried to make you laugh?

His words make you flush, which seems to only amuse him further as he chuckles at you. You wave your hand at him, now more annoyed than ever. “Okay, fine. Whatever, so you knew my name before this week, big whoop. Can you just drive now?”

“I’ll take that as an ‘I’m sorry Steve for assuming you’re an asshole who hadn’t noticed a girl you’ve known since you were thirteen’, then.” Steve takes the car out of park and begins to drive to the Wheeler’s which you’re relieved by. 

You feel uncomfortably warm after that conversation, regardless of the fact that you’re still overheated from your biking. There’s no way that Steve has seriously known about you since you were twelve and he was thirteen. No, you decide that he must be lying, playing up his usual boyish charm. He’s been this untouchable entity ever since you moved to Hawkins, so why would he have paid any attention to you?

Then your mind floats to his compliment, calling you “decently pretty”, but then again not even five minutes earlier he stated that you sweat more than he does after basketball, so really his words should mean nothing.  

And yet, after the week you’ve had and your fight with Jonathan and Will’s death and El’s mysterious powers… 

Steve’s words make you a bit giddy, embarrassingly enough. You hate that they do, because he’s Steve Harrington and he’s with Nancy who is beautiful and kind and everything you’re not. It doesn’t matter what he thinks of you. 

You pick at your nails as he drives, the car silent, and you accidentally graze against the cut on your finger from yesterday. It’s scabbed over by now, but the pain is still fresh. 

“I know that what Jonathan did was wrong, I won’t excuse his actions. Standing up for Nancy was the right thing to do and I admire you for it, really,” Steve spares you a glance as he drives, nodding his head slightly to indicate that he’s listening. “But breaking Jonathan’s camera wasn’t.” 

He groans. “Nancy said the same thing, but what’s the big deal? The creep shouldn’t have access to a camera if he can’t use it properly.”

The slight warmth that Steve had somehow put in your chest dissipates at his words. “Jonathan isn’t a creep, but regardless of the situation, the big deal is this: not everyone can afford a fancy BMW and Raybans. Not everyone in Hawkins lives in a giant mansion with a pool. He worked so hard to afford that camera, it’s not something that he can just buy again on a whim.” 

Steve shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Henderson, you know I didn’t mean it like that-”

“I know, but it was still a shitty thing to do.”

The silence that settles in the car is a heavy one, and you almost feel bad for Steve. You know he hadn’t thought about the repercussions of his actions, but you suppose that the fact that he hadn’t considered the price of a camera was proof enough of his naivety. 

When you get to the Wheeler’s, Steve gets out of the car to help you with your bike. He doesn’t let you do a thing, so you stand there and awkwardly watch. You can tell that he’s trying to make up for his actions from yesterday, which you appreciate. 

“Thank you,” you say once he places the bike down. 

“All in a day’s work.” Steve responds, wiping his hands off on his jeans. 

As he turns to leave, you stop him. “And thank you for earlier this week, ya know, for making me laugh after falling off my bike. I, uh, appreciate it.” 

He seems surprised by your sincerity, but he smiles. “Again: all in a day’s work. And listen, I’m sorry about Byers’ camera,” Then he quickly adds, as if afraid he won’t have the nerve to later, “I’m sorry about Will, too. I figure you were close with him and now he’s…”

His words trail off, not wanting to say the word “dead”, which you can’t blame him for. 

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re a bad person.” Steve turns to face you now, your words catching his undivided attention. “You just have the worst taste in friends, but when you aren’t around them… I guess you’re alright.” 

He laughs a bit, but there’s a certain emotion in his eyes that you can’t quite name; you have to stop yourself from leaning in closer to him. Suddenly the space between you feels too close and you take a step back, but as you move you feel Steve’s hand ruffle your hair. “I guess you’re ‘alright’ too, Henderson.” 

You watch as he leaves, standing in the Wheeler’s driveway for longer than necessary. You place your hand on your head and find yourself smiling, the warmth of his touch still faintly there.

-

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[piracytheorist]

Twilight Eyes Project: "Secure a Wife" (part 1)

Previous episode analysis here

Unsurprisingly, as the very first scene of the episode is Twilight deciding that Franky isn't eligible for the wife role, we get Twilight eyes.

And as mentioned before, it's with certain expressions still visible through them.

We continue to closed Twilight eyes.

Eyebrows are still furrowed down towards his nose. That's usually a big telltale.

Continuing with more Twilight eyes.

I might not need to actually catalogue every single time we see his eyes. But those scenes were purely business as usual, with only Anya and Franky present. It makes sense why he wouldn't use "Loid eyes" or reveal his real face with Franky... but it's interesting how he doesn't use "Loid eyes" for Anya either. In his mind, being "neutral" like that works, so he doesn't bother putting more effort to make himself look more approachable to Anya. Little does he know why Anya already trusts him 😆

Then, we're onto the boutique scene. He looks at Anya with neutral Twilight eyes, wondering where she learns words like "getting trafficked",

and then, investigative eyes as he considers his options around the boutique.

After he rejects two possibilities and considers it will take a long time to find an ideal fake wife, in the manga we're still on investigative eyes looking to the front, but in the anime it's Twilight eyes looking to the side (where the shop owner was, as his attention was on her).

I believe this was done in order to emphasize on the animation of his face as he reacts to Yor's sudden presence behind him. The manga goes from the expression above to an immediate jolt. The anime allows him a small reaction of "wait what's that" before he also jolts.

And just who is that woman that sneaked up on him? Time for work! Thus, focused Twilight eyes.

Another difference: when the memory of Yor's picture pops in his mind, the eye we see in the manga is open, while in the anime they're both closed (in concentration). A deliberate change?

His eyes open right after, outside the "memory effect", as he looks back at Yor and inner-monologues about Yor's situation.

In the manga, he seems to turn a little back so he stands by her side, though pretending to not be looking at her. (at first he was leaning his side on the counter, so Yor came up right behind him. Now he's turned to lean his back on the counter, and I assume he did so he could check out who she was)

In the anime, he keeps his back turned on her. Still, in the manga he looks to his other side, away from Yor, as he berates himself for not noticing her immediately.

After all, Yor is supposed to be an everyday citizen, working a casual job at city hall, right? Why would she be able to sneak up on him? Must be his fault.

Anyway, the positioning is a little different here, though both cases seem to make Yor noticing his gaze make more sense. In the manga, if he turned around so he could keep her in his periphery, it would be noticed by her. In the anime, him looking over his shoulder at her is quite distinct.

Yor confronts him about his stare, and he swings a chance, telling her he thinks she's pretty. Yor reacts positively (albeit not in the way he'd expect from a honey pot target), and... though he activates Loid voice, his eyes are more expressive of his surprise at her reaction than anything else.

To be fair, her reaction was unexpected, so he probably wasn't sure whether the welcoming, over-willing "Loid eyes" would be appropriate. I just like that it threw him off, haha.

The anime treats us to another view of his face as he looks at her, having no idea she's about to ask him to be her pretend boyfriend and thus make all his plans fit into place.

Hi pot, meet kettle!

Twilight eyes as he considers asking Yor to play the wife role, then grows doubts about it. Kind of a miss for the anime to not have him say that he had doubts because he thought that Yor being so intuitive might become a hurdle.

Anya puts her plan to motion, Yor asks about the wife, and we get our first Loid eyes of the chapter/episode.

His backstory is already established (even though Franky called him a divorcee in the beginning, was that a translation error?) so he doesn't need "work" eyes, and said wife never actually existed so there's no emotions tied to her, so no excuse for "real eyes". But he gotta look approachable to Yor. He's but a mere single father, trying to do his best for his daughter that he definitely knows longer than a week, see!

I don't claim to be an expert in this analysis, so half the reasons I share these posts is so that more people can chime in. I don't think those below are "Twilight eyes", while Yor explains her situation.

They look more neutral than anything else. Definitely focused, but more relaxed since, curiously enough, Yor seems to be setting a very fruitful foundation for his plan. Almost too good to be true. If only he knew it will actually get even easier 😆

They do, however, turn into Twilight eyes as he undoubtedly goes like "That's it. That's my chance."

The next manga panel is too small to discern his reaction, but in the anime he immediately switches to Loid (?) eyes as he accepts Yor's request.

My question mark is there because "Loid eyes" make sense there, cause he's about to warm her up to his request, which is a far more complicated ordeal than hers. However, his eyes aren't as wide open as "Loid eyes" usually are. His smile reaches his eyes, making him look calmer - this is usually the telltale sign for "real eyes". But I think it's too early for him to show any honesty with Yor there. Maybe I'm overthinking it. There will be a lot of that down the line XD

Anyway! Twilight eyes as he explains his situation, and makes himself look like a very dedicated father who totally wants to honour the wishes of his late wife, who totally, 100% existed.

Narrowed, focused eyes. This is his one chance to get the ideal wife for the mission and the rest of his life. He can't pass it up.

And then, a complete change! Investigative eyes (aka extreme "Twilight eyes") in the manga... and Loid eyes in the anime!

I get the need for a change, though. The manga has a "shadow" over Twilight's face, suggesting that it focuses more on his inner thoughts - and planning - than what is being said. In the same manner, in the anime, the sound focus is on Twilight's thoughts, with his speaking voice being almost inaudible under the former. But! He's still trying to get Yor to trust him - he can't look shady like that. In reality, he does look at her with Loid eyes.

In a way, the manga gives us a more "inner" view, aimed at the audience. The anime shows us what the camera sees, aimed at the characters in-show.

Welcome to my blog. We overanalyze things here.

The supermarket cashier passes on a code to Twilight, and it's back to work with Twilight eyes.

Twilight realizes that his new side mission creates a hurdle to his meeting with Yor. The anime allows a second of animation to show him go from shock to Twilight eyes as he immediately puts a plan together.

(continued in part 2)

(anime only fan here, don't spoil me for the manga)

[dustysalmon]

Eye of the Storm - Chapter 3

Pairing: Silco x Reader Rating: Explicit Warnings/Tags: graphic depiction of violence; slow burn; enemies to lovers, enforcer!reader Word count: 4.2k

Summary: After a chain of unexpected events, Jinx is arrested, and you find yourself in possession of the gemstone. On top of it all, you are forced into a reluctant alliance with Silco. What else could possibly go wrong?

Takes up at the end of episode 7.

Read on ao3 ⎜ Previous chapter ⎜Next chapter

The air is wrong, heavy and oppressive, pressing against your chest like a weight. It reeks of iron, sharp and metallic, clinging to the back of your throat until you can taste it. The ground shifts beneath you, unstable. There is chatter everywhere all at once, voices raging you on, they echo like a vicious prayer, going on and on. You don’t catch the words, not all of them, but one cuts through the noise.

"Do it."

The sound of a broken bottle shattering in the street jolts you awake from your regenerative slumber. You run a hand through your hair and glance at the old pendulum clock. Shit, you’ve been asleep for nearly three hours. You sigh. When does a nap become not a nap anymore? The coffee you’d made before slipping into unconsciousness still sits on your desk. As expected, it’s cold as rain, but you drink a sip regardless. It tastes just as bad as it sounds, and by the time you’re halfway through the third gulp, you regret it. You’ve never really liked coffee. Too bitter and burnt. Too ashy. You know that taste, breathed it in and consumed it for years working in the mines. Of all the memories you have from that time, this is one you’d rather do without. But the drink certainly provides you a with a much needed kick, though, so occasionally, you give in.  

You put the cup down next to your folded uniform with a sound of disgust. You fidget with the golden epaulettes, wondering if showing up in full gear at what is likely the heart of the undercity is a judicious idea. Enforcers have never been particularly welcome in these parts. Save for the industrial district, they don’t really venture these streets anymore unless some unexpected event arises, or the Council explicitly demands it. Walking the streets is not inherently dangerous, but showing up like this at the Eye of Zaun’s doorstep could easily be taken as provocation. 

No vest, you decide, and definitely not that ridiculous helmet. You put on your uniform pants, secure your thigh holster tightly, and slide your weapon into place. For good measure, you tuck a sizeable dagger into your boot. Your badge is a little worn out, scratched and not as shiny as it once was. Good thing they’ll be giving you a brand new one soon. You snap it onto your belt and take a breath.

Before falling asleep, you had the time to think about how you would approach this. But as it’s time to go now, you’re not so sure of your decision anymore. The Gemstone still lays intact in its nest of straw and cotton. Bringing it with you had seemed like a reasonable idea a few hours ago, but now that you’re well-rested, it just sounds dangerous. Even so, you take it out and carefully place it in one of your utility pouches.

It’s an insanely risky move, you realise that, but it’s not like you have much else to show for. If there is one chance to get Silco to hear you out, then the Gemstone has to be it. The man dealt with Marcus after all—there must have been some kind of exchange or agreement between them. That means he’s not entirely opposed to working with enforcers. If anything it’s simply a calculated move on his part. 

Piltover and the undercity are not mutually exclusive, despite all the disagreements and conflicts that oppose them. And while it is common knowledge that many Zaunites want its independence, from a purely economical standpoint, it seems unrealistic to pull out completely from topside’s economy. Virtually all exports go there—chemtech, Shimmer, food. And needless to say that underground food is already not too popular. Shimmer, though frowned upon in Piltover, plays vastly different roles depending on where you are. For most Pilties, it’s just a recreational drug. But for Zaunites, it’s often a desperate means of survival, a lifeline—one as brutal as it is short-lived. Most in the undercity can’t even afford it, and those who can tend to die quickly, whether from overdoses or the craving that comes afterward. 

The undercity cannot sustain itself completely with the way things are at the moment, shutting down the export would be the final nail in the coffin. Merchants are visibly suffering from the recent blockade, and it’s only been a couple of days. If tensions don’t subside soon, the damage would be irreparable. Maybe you could get a word in with Warren now that he is in charge—the thought makes you uncomfortable— but you doubt he would lift the blockade. He’s always looked at the undergrounds with nothing but disdain and contempt. Lots to think about, you sigh, and lock the door behind you. 

You take one of the city elevators to get to the upper levels. If there is a thing that works in the undercity, it’s those massive moving platforms. They’re essential to everyone who lives or works in the undergrounds. Whenever one of them breaks down, maintenance workers know better than to delay repairs—unless they want to risk being "encouraged" to act faster in a dark back alley. Before heading to your final destination, you stop by a scrap workshop to send a memo through the pneumatic tube systems. The riskiness of the situation isn’t lost on you, so…contingencies. 

The Lanes are a much more pleasant district than where you come from—by undercity standards. If your mom weren't so stubborn about clinging to her old house, you would have moved there with her. The area is buzzing with bars, fighting pits, brothels and enough entertainment for a lifetime. This part of town never truly sleeps. And situated right in the heart of it is the Last Drop. It is some kind of an institution—the place where Zaunites come to meet, drink, and brawl. It’s definitely not as family-friendly as it once was, but you would argue it kept its charm.  

The building certainly stands out, a large neon green eye on its front, overlooking the streets, watching and monitoring like an invisible hand. Loud muffled music fills your ears even though the entrance is still a couple feet away. Two drunkards are being unceremoniously tossed out by a bouncer that is twice the size of any human you’ve ever seen. The pair keep swinging at each other outside, bottles in hand, emptying a little more at each movement. Frankly, the wind has more to fear than anyone else. While the bouncer is still busy keeping them away from the establishment, you sleep in through the unmistakable asymmetric door. 

The bass thrums through the floorboards, making the place vibrate, you can feel each beat  in your core. The air is filled with sweat and burnt ozone. Smoke from cheap cigars curls lazily beneath the neon lights buzzing overhead, plunging the room in vibrant greens, blues, and  reds.

People chatter and shout at the bar, desperately trying to compete with the music. Good thing most of the occupations you see don’t require much talking. In the back, a pool game unfolds with a small crowd pressing close, exploding with cheers and groans whenever the cue ball cracks against its target. Coins fly from all parts, clattering onto the felt as bets are settled. Closer to you, a drinking game is in full swing, the two participants slamming their fists in time with the chanting onlookers. Other tables host quieter contests like cards games, dice rolls, the opponents faces locked in concentration despite the noise.

Your enforcer instincts can’t help but zero in on the plethora of illicit activities taking place in the not-so-discreet booths lining the edges of the venue. In one of them, an older man with a clockwork monocle sits alone, a small stack of coins and a ledger in front of him. He adjusts the monocle with a twitch of his hand as he counts. People come and go from his table in quick exchanges, sliding small bags of coins or slips of paper across to him, always leaving with a vial or two of chem-fluids—you can’t exactly tell which one. And then of course, there’s Shimmer—everywhere. You’re in the belly of the beast after all. 

In another booth, a trio is enjoying the product in all its forms. One of them, a woman with a mechanical hand, uncaps a vial with a twist, the purple liquid inside glows faintly, very distinctive. She pours a drop onto her tongue, her eyes dilate instantly as she leans back with an exhale. One of her companions breathes in the product directly from a mask, and the man sitting across from them seems to be injecting himself directly via a makeshift IV device. All is well in the heart of the undercity: ugly, loud, and oddly energetic. Maybe you should go out more often. 

You make your way through the raucous crowd, some rare customers are sober enough to recognise the badge hanging from your belt. If they feel offended or even slightly threatened by your presence, they make no show of it. Having worked quite a bit around the industrial district, you recognise a few of Smeech’s goons. They’re hard to miss with the outrageous body augments—unsurprising, given that it’s their boss’s area of expertise. They make sure to flaunt it every chance they get.

It is no secret that they take a lot of pride working for the chem-barons, whichever one it may be. It’s a sign of status that is rather difficult to achieve in these streets. Chem-barons quite simply represent the ruling class among Zaunites. They reign supreme over their respective districts with an iron hand, always dancing on the questionable edge of order and terror. Most topsiders are incapable of admitting that the undercity is anything more than a giant disorganised cesspool, a realm of anarchy. But those who call it home know that this couldn’t be further from the truth. Within the city lies a cleverly constructed hierarchy with distinct branches, loosely implemented laws, and, ironically, even a council. It’s perfectly imperfect, but it’s been holding the undercity together for as long as you can remember—no mere fit. you suspect that the man you’re here to meet tonight, should he be so inclined, is at least partially responsible for that. 

A set of stairs and balcony hover above the bar, which you guess lead directly to the lair of the Eye of Zaun, but as you expected, two bouncers are blocking the way, arms crossed and menacing faces on display. You nod politely to both of them, not that you believe manners will get you anywhere here. They look you up and down, eyes stopping briefly on the gun resting at your hips.

"I’m here to see your boss." You shout over the music, unsure if they can hear you at all. By their shared expression, you can tell that they do—they’ve adapted to this cacophony long ago.

"He’s not expecting," says the man on the left, though you have to read it on his lips as he doesn’t bother to speak up. 

You press your luck. "It’s very important that I speak with him," you insist.

You try to plead your case, but they don’t seem very inclined to let you pass. Fuck, you didn’t think this through at all. And who’s idea was it to come at this hour, with this racket all around you. The last thing you want to do is make a scene in front of an audience. You go for the usual techniques, asking them to imagine what would happen if their boss found out they prevented crucial information from reaching him. But they remain unmoved.

"Is there a problem here?" a voice asks from the side. You turn around and crane your neck up about sixty degrees to look at the imposing woman towering over you. Silco’s right hand, Sevika, if you’re not mistaken. A no-nonsense type for certain. People know better than to fuck about when she’s around. You decide to be straightforward this time. 

"It’s about the girl." Her eyes widen, if only briefly. Clearly you should have started with that. No wonder you weren’t appointed to the crisis negotiation unit. Like the bouncers before her, she glances at your weapon, and holds out her hand. Without a fuss, you hand it over, which seems to surprise her in a good way. With a tilt from her head, she motions for you to move ahead. You do as instructed climbing the stairs and following a long corridor until you reach a weathered wooden door. Sevika opens it without a word, or knock, and gestures for you to step inside, moving behind you like a shadow.

And there he is, sitting in a large armchair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest, and a cigar smouldering between his long fingers. He doesn’t greet you or offer any pretence of civility—you expected nothing less. He does look at you intently however, his good eye fixed on you, sharp and calculating, while the other glows faintly in the dim light of the room. It’s not shocking, not when you are from the undercity, but it is striking. Unavoidable. For a fleeting second, something flickers in his expression. Recognition. He doesn’t bother to hide it, but his face remains composed. Your pulse quickens, heart drumming in your ears, feeling even louder than the music downstairs. There’s no hostility in his gaze, just that unsettling calm that feels more dangerous than any overt threat.

His outfit catches your attention. A crimson shirt, freshly pressed, with intricate golden embroidery on the cuffs; a sophisticated waistcoat adorned with elaborate patterns, straps and polished gold buttons; and a white silk tie, knotted in a cafe style. The spitting image of a Piltovian gentleman if you ignore the venue. Curious.

For what feels like an eternity, he doesn’t speak, and neither do you. The room is filled only with the muffled music coming from the bar. Impressive walls, you think to yourself. Must be nice. You hold his gaze, refusing to flinch or look away, even as his lips curl into the faintest suggestion of a smirk. You get the exact same feeling you got when you saw him first on the bridge. This inexplicable gravitas, this pull. It’s in the way he carries himself, as if the room, the city, the world itself bends around him without him even needing to try.

He takes a slow drag from his cigar, the ember flaring, before blowing the smoke aside in a cloud. You square your shoulders and lift your chin, matching his stare with one of your own. Unfortunately, you’ve never been good at this game, and start clearing your throat.

Subtly, Silco eyes’s drift to Sevika, and before you can figure out the meaning of that minuscule gesture, the woman’s mechanical arm comes swinging at you with great speed. The only reason you successfully dodge it is because you heard the metal clinking a little too close to your face. She sneers at you, her grey eyes glinting. She is incredibly fast, inhumanly so. She grips one of your wrists in her large hand and twists your arm around and behind your back. It hurts like hell but you’re not about to fold so quickly. You throw your head back and hit her square in the nose. This actually seems to hurt her a little, given the way she groans, and lets go of you. 

From the comfort of his armchair, Silco is looking very irritated, mostly with himself. Perhaps he should have heard you out right away, and spared himself this spectacle. Well, it’s too late for that now. With great efforts, you land a couple of blows to Sevika’s stomach and thigh, but she seems utterly unphased. Meanwhile, you feel the energy quickly draining from you. One moment of inattention, and you are flipped around and forcefully dropped to the ground. She has you this time. One harsh movement and you may end up with a dislocated shoulder, perhaps worse, considering the woman’s strength. 

Finally, Silco puts out his cigar and rises from his chair. He goes to stand by the window, looking away from you and Sevika. 

"Whatever you have for me, it better be worth my time." His voice is smooth but low and menacing, like the gentle press of a knife against your throat. You turn your head as much as you can to address Sevika.

"Utility pouch on the right side." You groan, your arm is starting to seriously hurt. With one hand, Sevika pokes around, making sure to keep the mechanical one firmly on you. You can’t really see what’s going on but by the way she suddenly stops moving and releases her grip completely, you can guess that she has found what you wanted her to find.

Silco’s mask finally wavers, his eyes fixed on the blue glowing orb, as if hypnotised. He shifts his gaze between you and the shiny object. He looks perplexed. On a good day, he reads his associates and foes like an open book, that’s always been his strength. It’s much easier to control people if you know what they want, and what they are ready to lose in order to get it. But you, he completely misread you. And that angers him on many levels.

"It was bold, coming here alone. I could simply order Sevika to take the gemstone from you, and dump your body in a dark alley." An empty threat, probably. You’ve always imagined the Eye of Zaun to be unapologetically ruthless, but not unreasonable. No one makes it to the very top and keeps their seat for so long without compromising. But now that he is overtly threatening your life, with intent, you are tempted to reconsider.

"We both know you have no use for it. Not until you’ve figured out how to exploit it."

"What makes you think I haven’t?" He asks, shifting his head towards you as you rise to your feet.

"I figured if you wanted to use the stone you would have done it already." Silco easily hears the doubt in your voice. 

"But you don’t know that for certain. You came here on a hunch."

"Listen, if this wasn’t obvious, I don’t know where I’m going with this," you say, a mix of panic and irritation overtaking you. "But there are people in topside who are hellbent on using Hextech technology to ends you don’t wanna find out. I came here in good faith. I came to you first."

"What is it that you want from me?" He asks, walking around the desk towards Sevika. 

"For the meantime, I am asking you—" that gets you a raised eyebrow from both Silco and Sevika. "—to not attempt any retaliation. It’ll only convince them to strike back even harder." Silco’s brain stops on that particular word, "retaliation". Does that lady enforcer have it all figured out already? What Jinx is to him? He could have sworn he’d been more careful than that. His eyes meet Sevika’s, and her message is clear. She’s warned him multiple times about his carelessness lately, and now it’s coming back to bite him in the ass. 

Sevika drops the gemstone in the palm of his hand. He rolls it around slowly, reminiscing about the day Jinx brought it back to him, then turns to you. In truth, he had hoped you would have been the one to bring her up first. Him being the one doing it, that might as well be a confession. That makes him vulnerable, he’s aware, but when it comes to Jinx, he simply can’t help it. He grabs the whisky glass that’s been sitting on the desk, and downs it in a single gulp. A hopeless attempt at displaying disinterest that is not as convincing as he thinks.

"How is she?" About time, you think to yourself. He looked about ready to burn the bridge down to get to that blue-haired girl the other day. You have yet to discover what that was all about, but you have your theories. Although it’s difficult to picture the big bad kingpin of the undercity as a father figure, it’s not as far-fetched as it seems. Or maybe Jinx is simply that good, not expandable. Something you wouldn't argue against, given the trouble she’s given you and your colleagues lately. 

"Still in recovery. You’re probably already planning some kind of extraction." You pause in the hopes of getting a hint of a confirmation, but he’s giving you nothing. "Don’t bother. For now, her best chances are with Piltover’s doctors. It’s probably more than she deserves."

Silco slams his now empty glass on the desk. You continue before he gets a chance to spit his venom towards you. "A lot of men died yesterday."

"Forgive me if I don’t collapse in a heap of grief on their behalf." You lower your head, a bitter smile adorning your face. 

"She will be transferred to Stillwater once they’re done with her. I need your word." He stays silent, weighing his options. "The Council doesn’t know I’m in possession of the Gemstone. Or anybody else, for that matter. Only the people in this room. I intend to keep it that way."

"I’m sure you understand that I cannot just take your word for it." He is right, as much as you loathe it. It only takes him a couple of seconds to come up with his terms. "I want regular updates on her condition, and a physician’s report, just to make sure you’re playing fair. It’s always…difficult to tell with enforcers."

"You want me to steal documents from the medical facility?"

"I need a guarantee." He says matter-of-factly, and deep inside, you know it is a perfectly justified request, but still.

"What’s my guarantee?" You shoot back.

"You get to walk out of here alive. It’s probably more than you deserve." He says nonchalantly, purely to spite you, and you don’t know whether you’re supposed to laugh, or strangle him. You realise that you can’t haggle your way out of this. The Gemstone was your only bargaining chip, and you used it from the get go. You don’t have any other offers to make, or any additional information to share regarding Jinx. Either you take the deal, or find out what happens when you rile up the Eye of Zaun.

"I’ll see what I can do." You say with a sigh, feeling beaten. Silco didn’t expect an enthusiastic response, but he is used to it. Something you learn when you’re accustomed to getting the better end of every deal—a skill he is not hitching to let go of. 

Satisfied, he leans against the edge of the desk after handing you back the stone, scrutinising you with narrowed eyes.

"You're not from topside, are you?"

You raise an eyebrow, a bit wary. "What gave me away?" Silco shrugs, tilting his head to the side.

"You came to me." He says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Yes, because that is what all Zaunites usually do at the end of the day, they turn to him. No matter his reputation or the gruesome tales surrounding him. He has always been considered the voice of the people of the undercity, and that counts for a lot. "And also," he adds, a sly smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. "You lack that air of superiority they all have. Not quite high and mighty enough." He crosses his arms. "But the way you talk—the way you hold yourself. Almost as if you think you belong up there." You frown slightly, a hint defensive, but decide not to respond. 

Sevika hands you your weapon, and you recognise it as your sign to take your leave. Neither you or Silco set a time or place for an eventual new meeting. That’s alright. He knows you know where to find him, you think to yourself before leaving.

Sevika waits for the door to shut completely before turning to her boss.

"That’s unlike you. Swinging before talking." She says, picking up a rag somewhere to properly clean her bloody nose.

"I was right to do so, apparently. You almost made a fool of yourself there." He taunts, and Sevika scoffs, only mildly offended. Although she recognises that the little brawl shouldn’t have lasted as long as it did. She would never admit it, though.

"I wasn’t trying." 

They proceed to talk about the day, as they always do, and Silco purposely avoids the topic of the most recent meeting. It’s still too fresh in his head, and he knows that whenever Jinx is in the picture, he and Sevika can only disagree. So he asks her about the Firelights, Shimmer sales, anything to get his mind off that new deal he just made, if he can call it that. 

Suddenly, there’s an insistent knock at the door, and as soon as Sevika opens it, one of the bouncers barges in breathless, sweat covering his forehead. 

"There was an attack, sir," he says, a hand resting on his pounding chest. "It’s one of the Shimmer factories."

Thank you for reading!

Let me know if you would like a taglist :)

Chapter 1 ⎜ Chapter 2 ⎜ Chapter 3 ⎜ Chapter 4 ⎜ Chapter 5

[nikoniclove]

this is so random but i thought it was an interesting concept:

would you be willing to write something set at a time where ace’s darkness has been heavier than usual, and one morning when she’s feeling good she goes for a morning run and leaves a love note for emily and jj, but them being protective girlfriends means they jump to the worst case scenario. they freak the fuck out because ace accidentally forgot her phone in the apartment and is gone for like 2 hours.

i’d love to see your take on how it might end too! love your work <33

TW: depression, canon implied reference to suic*de

Things have been dark and suffocating. Something stupid triggered a panic attack, which led to your depression choosing to kick you while you were down. You’re not sure how many days it’s been, but it’s felt eternal. Emily and JJ are no strangers to any of your mental health circus by now, so they’ve been keeping your basic needs afloat, not letting you drown too much in your own bullshit. When you wake up on Saturday morning, JJ curled protectively around your balled form, you’re surprised that it’s easier to breathe. You hadn’t noticed the depressive episode fading when you went to bed the night before, so it’s unexpected. Very welcome, but unexpected nevertheless. For a long few minutes, you enjoy the lighter quality in your brain. JJ’s warm, steady breath tickles your neck, and your lips curve with a small but genuine smile that feels almost foreign after the last few days. Twisting slightly, you kiss her forehead and slip out of bed, careful not to disturb either of your sleeping partners.

Quietly you tiptoe into the kitchen, avoiding the one panel that squeaks. It always sounds too harsh in the early morning. Sergio pounces onto the counter, and you cuddle him to your chest, chastising him for his tricks, while you make a pot of coffee and collect three mugs. He purrs and lifts his head under your chin. “Missed you too, buddy.”

Your stomach growls, which it definitely hasn’t done, and you gather the ingredients for a quick breakfast. You still remember the trainer on base teaching about recalibrating to civilian life. <<i>> It’s not an easy recipe if you have to dice an onion or need more ingredients than fingers on your hand. <<i>> You took that wise tidbit to heart and learned a handful of recipes one at a time that you can make by heart. A little butter, eggs, pre-made biscuit dough, bacon, some salt and pepper. Technically 6 ingredients, but seasoning can count as 1, so you’re still abiding by the adage.

With your breakfast sandwich and coffee in hand, you sit at the table and quietly eat your food, letting the warm sustenance fill your belly and further thaw any of the lingering darkness. You assemble extra sandwiches for JJ and Emily, keeping them in the warmed oven, and clean up.

Your body itches to move, so you dig around in the laundry room for some clean shorts and a shirt. Your phone is more of a brick than a communication device, so you set it to charge. Knowing that your girlfriends worry, you write a note.

Running.

Phone is dead.

I love you.

You include a heart for good measure and slip out of the apartment.

——

JJ knows the middle of the bed is empty before she even opens her eyes. The sheets are cold, which is never a good sign, when one of her partners is struggling with her mental health. She smells breakfast before she opens her eyes as well. Potentially promising, JJ thinks to herself. She heads to the bathroom and then closes the bedroom door quietly since Emily is still fast asleep, dark hair ruffled and her forearm slung over her eyes.

The empty apartment sends that potentially promising train of thought careening off the tracks in a collision of dread and worry. The note doesn’t help. Specifically it doesn’t say when the young woman will be back. Running. Running from what? Running where? Running how long? And with no phone? JJ feels the tendrils of anxiety twining tightly around her logical thinking. She walks it through. Ace woke up, took care of Sergio, made breakfast for everyone, and cleaned up. It’s a startling change of pace given yesterday JJ was still reminding her to drink sips of water throughout the day. She traces the heart Ace drew at the bottom of the note over and over again. “It’s fine,” JJ whispers to herself. “Ace will be back in no time.”

Unfortunately her own traumatic past reminds her of the days just before Ros made a very final and fatal choice. JJ remembers how much more at ease her sister seemed, happier, lighter. Now with decades to think about it and a lot of training about behavior, JJ knows it’s because Ros made up her mind and that’s why she seemed to feel better, not because it was fixed but because to Ros, it wouldn’t continue. JJ can’t help but draw parallels. She paces the length of the living room, chewing her thumb, arms crossed tightly in front of her chest. She can’t remember if they plugged in Ace’s phone or not last night, so it’s possible it really was out of battery. She scrambles across the apartment to check the percentage, audibly sighing in relief at the red numbers. “Ace didn’t leave it on purpose,” JJ rationalizes out loud. “Well yes on purpose but not because she didn’t want to be found. It’s okay. She’ll be back soon.”

The other thing the note doesn’t have is a timestamp. JJ doesn’t know how long Ace was awake or how long she’s been gone. Just that the worry is starting to eat her alive because the young woman still isn’t back yet.

JJ makes it just over forty minutes before she rouses Emily, who looks at her blearily for a second before snapping to attention. Her dark eyes jut to the center of the bed, which is notably empty. In a rushed breath, JJ explains. The light fabric of her robe swishes as Emily pulls it over her shoulders and heads to the kitchen to inspect the note herself.

Seven words and a heart.

It’s not reading like a cry for help. “She did leave a note,” Emily comments. “If it was really bad, Ace would have just disappeared.”

“She took care of Sergio. She took care of us. She cleaned up after herself, and then she left.”

“Depressive episode and panic attack aside, Ace does that order of events like clockwork every Saturday. Rather she doesn’t leave, so much as she finds a way to move her body, especially if we’re not up yet.”

JJ resumes her pacing. She throws her hands up. “You can’t just negate those things so frivolously. It’s been at the forefront for days; we can normally tell when her symptoms are decreasing, and it didn’t seem like that. You’re normally the first of us to jump to overprotective with Ace. Where is that fiery protection now? Why aren’t you freaking out?” Quietly, hesitantly, anxiously, JJ tells Emily about her fear and the possible parallels to Ros. “What if this is that?”

Emily knows JJ and this side of her trauma well enough to know that the only thing that will soothe this worry is their partner’s safe return. Still she pulls JJ into her arms anyway to comfort her while they wait.

——

You feel better. Your blood is flowing. Your lungs can finally take a deep breath again. Your head is clearer. As you walk down the hallway, sweat rolling down your spine, you dig your key out of the tiny pocket in the waistband of your shorts. It’s in the lock all of a few seconds before the door flies open, and you jump. Your feet are still on the welcome mat in the hall when JJ barrels into you like a runaway train. Her arms wrap around your neck, squeezing with determination. “What… Hi?”

“Don’t hi me,” JJ growls, still holding you lightly. “Where have you been?”

“I went running. I left a note.”

“That was at least 102 minutes ago!”

You blink slowly because you don’t understand. You seem to have done something wrong, but you’re not sure what that is. Emily ushers you both inside. “Jen, let her breathe. Look her over. Soothe the worry. She’s okay.” She glances at you in silent confirmation.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I woke up and was hungry. My brain didn’t feel so heavy, so I did what I normally do on the weekends. I intended to take my phone for music and whatever, but it was dead. I left it to charge.”

“You didn’t feel so heavy,” JJ repeats, cradling your face in her hands. It feels like she’s trying to stare into your soul. “Because it was better or because you made a choice?” Your brow furrows with a bit of confusion. JJ clarifies in a whisper, almost afraid to put it into the air. “And that’s not a choice you get to make about your life.”

“It never was a consideration this time,” you answer truthfully. Her shoulders tremble with relief. “I’m sorry I worried you; it certainly wasn’t the intention. I woke up and it felt easier to exist. I felt hunger cues. I needed to move my body.”

For the rest of the day, JJ clings to you. She’s in your shower and then helps you with your braid. On the couch, she wraps around you like a crawling vine. When the three of you venture out in the afternoon for some errands, her hand seems permanently glued to yours. It feels like a lot of contact, especially coming out of a depressive episode, but you allow it, letting her use physical touch to soothe her mind of its fear. Emily winks at you in understanding. When you take a late afternoon nap because you’re exhausted from the emotional toll of the last few days, JJ pulls you into her arms, so you find a way to get comfortable sleeping on top of her. (It doesn’t take much.)

“I’m not making that choice. I fought too hard,” you whisper with a kiss to her cheek. “I’m really sorry I scared you.”

“No need to apologize, baby. You didn’t do anything wrong. My past colored my reaction, and it was so easy to find connections and patterns there. Get some rest. I got you.” With her heartbeat like a steady soundtrack and her scent surrounding you, you do just that.

[moirindeclermont]

Bridgerton folks, thank you for the warm reception of my new story.

This is "5 times Colin was Pen's first + 1 she was his", second episode. Here you'll find the first episode.

Today episode may also be titled "Pen meets Mr. Fingerton" 🔥🥵

***

Pen thought she might have dreamed the whole night.

No way Colin declared he wanted her and proceed to give her the best first kiss ever, and while she had not experienced it before, she knew the stories... Usually a first kiss was not all of that magical. Maybe it was because it was her and it was Colin. Everything they did seem kinda magical to her.

She was, again, at the door of his apartment and she was almost waiting for the moment he would start to treat her as a friend.

Instead, what happened, was that Colin opened the door, gave her his brightest smile and then a light kiss on her lips. So, maybe it was real.

"Sorry, I should have asked, I didn't know if you wanted-" he was adorable when he rumbled, Pen observed.

"Don't worry Colin. It's just, unexpected. I love welcoming you like this. Every day for the rest of my days".

She didn't have to worry about waiting for such declarations. Yesterday they talked at length about the future and them as a couple.

They both confessed they were yearning for this for quite some time, and they both laugh at their idiocy. But they were on the same page now. And they both know this was not a phase or temporary. They both were fully invested since the beginning.

That was the reason for seeing each other tonight. Well, that... And other reasons, at least Pen was hoping there were also other reasons.

She waited to damn long and she was ready. Possibly in that moment.

They ate and talk, laying out plans for their announcement as a couple (next Sunday on the bridgerton brunch). Pen was to ask her boss if she could do all remote (so she could come with Colin on his travels, as by his ask) and Colin was looking for a permanent place in London, so they could have a home base to stay when they were in the city (and eventually, when they were going to have kids).

Then, they looked at each other and it was like a magnet was at work.

They find themselves on the sofa, Pen on Colin's lap, kissing and touching every part they could reach.

Colin nibbled on her neck, before asking in a very deep voice "can I try something, Pen?"

She nodded. She wanted to try everything with him.

Colin flipped their position, then threw a pillow on the floor and knelt in front of her. She had a camisole and her lacy bra was barely visible. He took his time to unbutton her slowly, and Pen gulped when he was done. "Beautiful," he whispered.

Colin cupped her through the bra, teasing her. "May I?" He asked again and she responded by unclasping her bra herself. "Wow, Pen" Colin exhaled as his fingers were tracing her areola lightly. Her nipple was fastly caught it n between his fingers, making her moan. Colin looked at her with a wicked and deeply erotic smile, as he lowered his head to touch the sensitive skin with his tongue. "Ohh," his were the only fingers outside of her own that played with her breasts, and it felt marvelous.

Colin seemed obsessed by her neck and her cleavage. Pen was on fire, but she needed more. When his hand found hers, she rather directly pointed him towards where she was aching to be touched.

He looked at her. "Sure?"

"Never been more sure in my life," and Colin kissed her again, before finding her thigh and sliding his hand. He found her bare, much to his surprise.

"Miss Featherington!"

She was a bit embarrassed. "I had them on before. But then I thought why not and asked to use the bath."

His eyes were dark with desire. "Oh I do understand. You're an eager little thing, aren't you?"

Speechless. This was a new side of Colin she could not wait to explore. She just nodded as he skimmed over her auburn curls, "yup, eager and wet," he said as he went to touch her folds, using her wetness to lube his fingers.

He touched her lightly at first, watching her reactions, sometimes teasing her nipple s again, sometimes giving her little kisses.

"I can't believe I get to see you like this, Pen" and she wanted to respond but Colin choose that moment to slowly enter her with just the tip of his middle finger. "I can't believe I get to touch you like this," as his finger slide in deeper. Her mouth opened, the sensation so different from the one she was used too when she touched herself. A loud moan escaped her lips and he started a slow rhythm that made her tingle all over.

"Yes, like that love," he told her as he begin to touch with his thumb her clït, adding another level of pleasure. After some time he asked "another?" And she nodded her consent, feeling how herself was responding to his second finger inside her.

"I want to make you come on my fingers, is that okay Pen?"

Dear God in heaven. She might as well be in paradise. "Yes, Colin. Please!" She told him and then her brain went out of service as Colin kissed her.

It was clear he knew what he was doing, as he moved his fingers inside her with a motion that was working very fast for her. That and the light touch on her nub left her breathless, as Colin watched her again. That was the hottest thing. His look on her, as she was breaking into pieces under his touch. Pen used his arms to steady herself as Colin increased his rhythm until suddenly she was on the precipe and Colin remained steady in his movements.

She moaned a loud "Colin" a moment after, coming on his fingers. She moaned when she saw him sucking on his fingers like a it was his favorite dessert. "Next time," he said to her and she trembled.

Colin sat next to her, holding her steady. "That was... Incredible!" He looked smug, and Pen was looking at his very visible erection. "Do you want to?"

He looked at her. "I want to. But I also want to wait. Just a bit longer. It's weird to explain." But she understood.

"it's not. These are our firsts. We might have some in the future, but after so long waiting for each other, pacing these experiences makes them more meaningful."

He looked at her. "You nailed it."

She grinned. "Nope, you did."

Colin laughed loudly. "Not yet, love. Not yet." As he settled her on his side, kissing the top of her head sweetly.

She always imagined cuddle was as good as people told her, but somehow, it was even better than her imagination. These days everything was.

[sgiandubh]

Did you write the post about C's FMT Gin ? I'm not sure if I missed it or not but don't worry I know you are busy. Also in an earlier post you thanked some sources calling them unexpected friends. Are they anti who became nice with our side ?

Dear FMN Gin Anon,

I haven't written that post yet. I haven't lit the first Advent candle with you, as planned. I haven't written the three #jottings I owed to myself and to all of you, about Season 7B. Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, I haven't even watched the last two episodes -however, I have the best (or perhaps the worst) excuse for all of the above: my country was, still is somewhat, on fire. Our lives, as we knew them, were suddenly poised to capsize. Our plans - bound to flounder piteously. Our freedoms were in clear and present danger, so much so that I wondered if we could make it to the Paris Landcon, next April: we will, stop fretting. So much so that we were actively discussing emigration and wondering where we could go: France seemed to be the most logical option, but France itself is facing turmoil and unrest on its own. In the meantime, rumors were sweeping all across Bucharest, that the New People with their New Order had lists of enemies to throw in prison or worse: among those lists were all the diplomats having served or serving what they believed to be a rotten regime.

You think this is science fiction? Welcome to Eastern Europe, darling: it happened before and your naivete should be forgiven immediately. You'd have to live it, to understand it: something I wouldn't wish for my worst enemy, so to speak. I am still in awe of our collective resilience and I am still wondering how the hell I managed to cope with an absurd, one month-long nightmare. Probably also thanks to all of the wonderful people of this community, who stepped in here or in DMs, asking for news, following their morning newspapers for same news, worrying and offering their prayers and warm thoughts of encouragement and hope. I could never properly thank all of them and I do hope they know or feel how grateful and humbled we are.

As for my sources (ROFLMAO) being repenting Antis, the answer is a firm 'no'. I do not believe in seeing the light, anymore - not at this point in time. Ask yourself how did we manage to have info that was confirmed afterwards and you'll have your decent answer. If you expected more, I am sorry, darling: a good magician never reveals their tricks. And it takes time to build trust - this is something I will never expose or jeopardize.

Finally, something you should also know: much of what is on this page has been further researched by me, after being tipped. My responsibility and my opinion only.

[art-by-jas]

𝑈𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 (AO3)

𝘋𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘚𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘺 𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘪 𝘑𝘳 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Word Count: 5k

Rating: M

Summary: As the new addition to the Manhattan SVU, Detective Sonny Carisi found it challenging to fit in without causing a stir. He had a chance encounter with you while doing laundry late one night in the new apartment he moved into. The following day, after a long shift working a case, he happens to run into you again at the coffee shop where you work.

As the clock strikes midnight, the old laundry room in the apartment building is illuminated by the dim, flickering overhead lights. The air is thick with the scent of damp fabric and the rhythmic hum of the aging washing machines. 

 The sound of rain pounding against the glass can be heard through the small, grimy window. There is a sense of calm doing laundry at this hour.

 The door to the room creaks open, the sound barely registering in your consciousness as you sit hunched over your phone, thumb mindlessly scrolling through an endless feed. 

 “Hey, Ummm… I’m sorry to bother you, but do you have a few quarters? The machine decided to munch on mine! I just need a few for the dryer." A cheerful voice interrupted your dissociated episode of staring at your phone screen.

As you lift your gaze from the flickering screen, the unexpected sight of another person in the dimly lit room greets you.

"Yeah, sure," you say, reluctantly setting down your phone to retrieve a few quarters from your pocket. "Here you go," you say, passing the coins to the newcomer. "I have had that happen before; it is annoying as hell."

With a chuckle, the man reaches out his hand and accepts the quarters. "Thank you so much," he says, his warm smile brightening his face. An easy grace and a playful glint in his eyes gave him an endearing quality.

 He glances at the whirring machines, watching the damp clothes spin inside. "Doing laundry at this hour? Couldn't sleep?" He opens the washer, transfers the wet clothes to the dryer, and feeds quarters into the slot. His strong, steady fingers move with precision, confidently guiding the process.

"Yeah," you reply. "Insomnia's been keeping me company lately. You?"

The man echoes, "Same here," as he closes the panel on the machine and presses the start button. The machine instantly springs back to life, its hum resuming with renewed vigor. 

Turning back to you, the man's warm smile remains. "It’s my first day at a new location for my job soon," he explains, leaning against the machine.

"Sometimes I have late nights at the office, so my sleep schedule's all over the place."

"I noticed the room across from mine was being cleared out. Did you just move in? You don’t look familiar," you ask.

The man's soft, low chuckle sends a strange flutter through your chest. "Yeah, you caught me," he admits, smiling at you. "I just moved in last week, and I'm still unpacking, trying to figure out where to put everything." He pauses, meeting your gaze. "I'm Sonny, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Sonny. Welcome to the building. I know it's not much, but it's a nice little spot to call home." You introduce yourself to him as you move to shake his outstretched hand.

Sonny tips his head in acknowledgment, his gaze holding yours for a moment. "Thanks; I appreciate it," he replies, his voice low and soft. "I've lived in worse places, so this is a definite upgrade." Sonny runs his hand through his silvery hair. He glances at the machines, then turns to you with a casual curiosity. "So, I take it you've been here for a while?" he asks.

You nod, "Yeah, a few years now." The realization you’ve lived here long enough to be considered a "long-term resident" is faintly disturbing. You run a hand through your hair, feeling slightly disheveled. "It's a fairly quiet building, for the most part."

Sonny’s voice took on a thoughtful tone. "That's good. I've lived in places where the noise was constant. You could never get a moment's peace. It was maddening, to say the least." He turns his gaze toward the window, his eyes taking in the faint glow of streetlights filtering through the rain.

"If you don't mind me asking, where did you live previously?" You inquire.

"I used to live in Queens," he replies, "but it didn't work out, and my job ended up transferring me here instead," Sonny speaks, his fingers tracing an idle pattern on the cool metal surface of the washing machines. "But it's not all bad," he adds, a hint of optimism resurfacing in his voice. "New places can be good. Fresh starts, you know? Sometimes we need those."

A moment of silent understanding passes between the both of you before he speaks again, a half-smile playing at the corners of his lips. "And hey, at least I’ve got neighbors like you to keep the company."

You manage a small chuckle, the compliment sending a subtle flush of warmth through you. 

Sonny's smile widens, his eyes holding yours for a moment. The silence returns, but it feels different this time—more comfortable, less isolating. The rhythmic hum of the machines continued to fill the room, like a shared heartbeat between two strangers in the night. The rain continues pattering softly against the window, creating an intimate atmosphere in the old laundry room.

The washing machine beeped, signaling that your laundry was finished and ready to be transferred to the dryer. He observes, watching as you transfer your wet clothes to the dryer. As you make small talk, time idles by while you wait for your clothes to finish.

"So," he finally says, "what do you do when you're not doing laundry at ungodly hours?"

The unexpected question momentarily catches you off guard, prompting you to pause and carefully formulate a response. "Well," you begin, a faint smile tugging at your lips. "When I'm not tackling the laundry, I'd like to think of myself as a fairly interesting person. I'm an avid reader, enjoy experimenting in the kitchen, and may or may not have been known to binge-watch an inordinate number of TV shows."

Sonny's smile reveals his rapt attention as he casually studies you, his eyes brimming with curiosity. "An avid reader, a connoisseur of the kitchen, and a TV aficionado," he muses, his voice laced with amused approval. "Quite the impressive trifecta you've assembled there."

Leaning in slightly, his eyes alight with curiosity, he asks, "So, what shows do you binge-watch? Because the answer will either make us friends for life or enemies for eternity.”

The playful challenge in his tone was unmistakable, and you can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement. "Hmm," you think about, pretending to ponder the question. "Well, I enjoy science fiction, thrillers, and the occasional drama. But if you must know..." You lean in. "My guilty pleasure is baking competition shows. There's something about the dough, sprinkled with the tears of defeated contestants, that really appeals to me."

Sonny's rich, hearty laughter echoed through the room. "Baking competition shows, huh? I enjoy those myself, but 'Cake Boss' is a bit much. I appreciate the artistry, but those cakes are just towering, frosting-laden monstrosities that make my teeth hurt. I'd much rather stick to perfecting my nonna's classic cannoli recipe."

You both exchange a knowing glance. "Ah, cannoli," I reply, my mouth nearly watering. "A classic Italian dessert. Do you come from a large, close-knit family that gathers for lively Sunday dinners?”

Sonny's broad, guilty smile confirms my suspicion. "I come from an Italian family, full of the loud, opinionated, and emotional dynamics you'd expect," he confesses. "And yes, our Sunday dinners are quite the spectacle—a lively blend of mouthwatering food, family gossip, and heated debates on everything from politics to the proper way to season a ragu."

Seeing Sonny's smile, you couldn't help but mirror it, the warmth and vibrancy of his family gatherings stirring a touch of envy within me. 

"It sounds like a lot of fun," you say. "I'm a bit envious. My family is more... subdued, I suppose—less colorful." You chuckle as you watch him, for it’s his turn to retrieve his clothes and begin folding them. A few minutes pass, and you follow his movements of folding your own.

"Shall we head back upstairs then?"

Sonny agrees with a nod. "Yeah, we should probably call it a night—or morning, rather." 

He passes your neatly folded clothes over to you, and his fingertips graze yours, sending a subtle shiver through you.

Your conversation flows effortlessly as you make your way back to your apartment. The dimly lit hallway cast a faint yellow glow, broken only by the soft patter of our footsteps and the occasional creak of the building's aged floorboards. Reaching your doors, you both pause. The silence between you grew comfortable, a lingering sense of familiarity and connection palpable. Sonny's gaze met yours, his eyes conveying a mix of reluctance and resignation.

“It was nice meeting you, Sonny,” you say with a smile.

Sonny's boyish smile returns, his warm gaze stirring an unexpected flutter in your chest. "Likewise," he replies, his pleasant, rumbling voice lingering in the air. "I'll catch ya around, alright? Have a good night."

“Night.”

He vanishes inside, the soft click of the door closing behind him echoing in the otherwise silent corridor.

------------✧♡✧------👮🧺💓🧑-----✧♡✧-------------

Rushing to the precinct, Sonny carries a coffee and takeout bag in one hand and his gym bag in the other, determined to be on time. Realizing the sergeant was not present, he saw no need to rush once he made it inside the bullpen. With a few minutes of free time, he decides to explore and familiarize himself with the layout. Several other detectives sit at their desks, filing paperwork as he looks around.

Two women's voices filtered into the bullpen. The first had dark hair flowing freely, slightly older than the other. The second woman's blonde hair was tied back, with a few stray bangs falling across her face.

As Sonny interrupts their conversation, he exclaims, "They shot at cops right outside the police station? So, they want us to know they're crazy."

"You must be my new detective," the brunette says.

Dominick Carisi, Jr. ” He introduces himself, "Call me Sonny. I brought Zeppoli," as he shakes their hand.

"I asked for an experienced, empathic detective, and they sent you," she says.

"I'm way experienced. Sensitive and moody, too, and I can do that whole empathy thing," he assures.

"Where are you from?" the blonde woman asks.

"Staten Island SVU for two months, Brooklyn for almost a month, and then Queens last week," he rattles on.

“So, they love you wherever you go, Carisi?" The brunette says he later finds out that this is his new boss, Sergeant Benson.

"Call me Sonny. I know I was supposed to start tomorrow, but I heard about the shooting over my scanner, so I came in. What's our read?"

Benson and the blonde, who introduced herself as Detective Amanda Rollins, brought him up to speed on the current case, explaining how it connected to a previous case from a few months ago involving Ellie Porter. Ellie had been the victim of human trafficking and gang-raped before being set on fire—a horrible crime. 

Sonny also learned that the young woman they arrested that morning while 'serving’ a john appears to be associated with the same crew. Benson teams up with Sonny to go pick up the girl and instructs Sonny to follow her lead, warning that failure to do so would result in him being sent to the SVU in the Bronx.

Sonny nods, his expression conveying understanding. "Understood, boss," he replies firmly and resolutely. "You have my word. I'll follow your lead."

Benson drives Sonny and herself to Luna Garcia's house. The peaceful journey was accompanied by a pleasant, cloudless day. Sonny savors the warm sunshine and gentle breeze as they drive. His mind wanders briefly, but he refocuses when Benson speaks up.

"So," Benson begins, "you've worked with the Special Victims Unit before; how was that?"

Sonny gazes out at the passing cityscape. As Benson inquires about his past SVU background, he shifts his attention to her, offering a faint smile. "It was intense, no doubt," he replies. "But also immensely rewarding. Dealing with victims of such heinous crimes is grueling work, yet being able to provide even a small measure of comfort and justice makes it all worthwhile."

His expression softens, his eyes reflecting a glimmer of empathy and understanding. The memory of those past experiences still weighs heavily on him. "It can take a toll, though. The trauma those victims endure... it stays with you, you know?"

A brief sigh crosses Sonny's face, the weight of his memories momentarily visible. After a contemplative pause, his gaze returns to Benson, his tone shifting to a more conversational manner. "My time with the SVU has taught me a lot," he remarks. "How to handle sensitive cases, how to approach victims and witnesses, you know the drill."

Benson's gaze flickers to Sonny before returning to the road. “You seem to have the right mindset and approach,” she observes, 'but I need to ensure you play by the rules,” she says, offering him a kind smile. The drive to the girl's house was filled with pleasant conversation as they got to know each other better.

After bringing Luna back to the precinct, the detectives interview her, showing her a photo of Ellie. At first, Luna was uncooperative, insisting she would rather go to jail than provide any information. Benson tried coaxing her with a gentle tone, but this approach went nowhere fast. 

Sonny then intervened, speaking to Luna in a manner he thought might appeal to her, before switching tactics and offering to help her obtain T-Nonimmigrant Status, but only if she helped and gave them a statement.

After Garcia's sudden change of heart, Serg pulled him to the side, outside of the interrogation room, and told him that what he had just done in there was not how they do things here in Manhattan. Sonny apologized and continued working Luna over.

As the day progresses, Sonny is introduced to his new colleagues, Odafin Tutola, and beat cop Nick Amaro, who originally was in the SVU but due to recent events was demoted. 

Together, they planned for Nick to go undercover as a dirty cop looking for a handout with the information he has and a raid for later that evening. Sonny rubs his tired eyes, surprised by the eventful nature of his first day on the job. He stops at a nearby coffee shop to refuel before the eventful night, while Nick prepares to pull over Joaquin Menendez and warn him of the impending raid, a gesture of good faith to maintain their cover.

˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖

Sonny's fatigued senses were beckoned by the rich aroma of the corner coffee shop as he walked in the door. As he waits, his mind drifts—a mix of energizing adrenaline and overwhelming exhaustion swirls inside him.

Sonny's eyes widen in surprise as he recognizes you standing behind the counter.

“Hello, thanks for stopping by. What can I help- Sonny?” 

Surprise flickers across his face, his blue eyes widening as they meet yours. "Hey," he says, a smile spreading across his face. "I didn't expect to see you here." Joy stirs in his eyes, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. He steps up to the counter, leaning against it lazily. A hint of weariness still clung to his features, but the sight of you brightened his mood considerably.

With a grin, you say, "What can I get for you? It's on the house."

Sonny's eyes widen in disbelief as he protests, "You can't be serious." A grin tugs at the corners of his lips as he shakes his head. "I can't let you do that. Let me pay."

Chuckling at the memory, you reply, "Nonsense, it's not every day you bond over doing laundry at midnight."

He laughs, Alright, alright," he concedes, "if you insist."

Sonny's eyes scan the menu, weighing his options. "I'll have a strong espresso," he declares. "Caffeine is all I've had today."

You frown. "That's it? Sonny, let me get you something from the bake rack. You can't survive on just coffee."

He chuckles faintly at your concern. "Alright," he surrenders again, a sheepish grin on his face. There's something about squabbling with you that feels oddly familiar, comfortable even. "Surprise me, then."

 Sonny waits for his drink and glances around the cozy coffee shop. The walls are adorned with eclectic artwork, and soft music plays in the background, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere. Leaning against the counter, Sonny's gaze occasionally flits to you moving efficiently behind the bar. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the lingering scent of sugar and pastries filled the air. After a few minutes, you place a steaming espresso and a blueberry muffin on the counter. 

Sonny smiles appreciatively as he sips the rich, robust espresso, then bites into the warm, fluffy blueberry muffin. He moans. "This is exactly what I needed," he says, savoring the perfect balance of bitterness from the dark roast and sweetness from the muffin. He settles into a chair near the counter, continuing to sip and nibble on his delightful breakfast.

The espresso's caffeine gradually revives Sonny as he leans back. Every so often, you'd enter the lobby with a rag to clean the tables and restock the napkins, making sure to chat with him whenever you could between helping other customers. As he watches you navigate the coffee shop, skillfully attending to other customers, Sonny couldn't help but admire the seamless way you worked. 

However, he also noticed the subtle signs of tiredness in your eyes; he could empathize. Despite your exhaustion, you continue serving customers with a genuine smile. Sonny's admiration for you grew, not just because of your coffee-making skills but also for your resilience and warm personality.

Sonny gathers his belongings; his thoughts linger on his enjoyable coffee break. He makes his way to the counter.

"Hey," he begins, his voice slightly rough from the potent espresso. "I have to get back, but I just wanted to thank you again for the coffee and muffin. You didn't have to do that."

You dismiss his concern with a casual wave of your hand. "It's no big deal," you say with a warm smile. "I know you've had a long day, and I'm not letting you leave without something in your stomach besides caffeine."

Sonny chuckles softly, knowing that arguing with you is futile. He rubs the back of his neck, still marveling at your kindness. “I owe you one, you know?"

"I'll keep that in mind," you reply with a mischievous grin. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

During a nighttime raid, the SVU team discovers several undocumented girls as well as a 14-year-old named Missy Brooks. They also apprehend Joaquin, but Detective Tutola allows him to leave after he mentions Amaro's name, to make him think the whole Amaro undercover story was real.

At the precinct, Rollins notices Missy's cell phone background is a photo of an infant. She tells Missy that the police raided a house in May and found children inside. Rollins then asks Missy where her baby is. 

Meanwhile, the TARU team examines the phones of the trafficked girls and discovers they all have the QuickRide app installed. However, Missy remains tight-lipped and refuses to provide any information.

As dawn approaches, Sergeant Benson instructs Sonny to go home and rest for the night, assuring him that the team has the situation under control. She promises to call Sonny once they gather more information and leads.

Sonny nods, visibly tired after a long day and an intense raid. Although he wanted to stay and help the case along, he knew Benson was right. He needed rest if he was going to be of any use.

───  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Sonny trudges into his small apartment, shuts the door behind him, and leans against it for a moment, letting out a long, weary sigh. The quiet embrace of his apartment envelopes him, and the realization that he was finally alone after such a hectic day washes over him with a sense of relief.

The apartment fell into a peaceful hush, save for the whisper of Sonny's gentle breaths. Occasional murmurs from the air conditioner and distant city noises punctuated the silence. Sonny finally surrenders to a well-deserved sleep.

───  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

When it rains, it bleeds. In Attica, Little Tino was viciously stabbed by three fellow prisoners and required emergency surgery, narrowly escaping death. 

Meanwhile, in the Bellevue prison ward, someone fatally injects a lethal dose into Diego's neck. 

Across town in Queens, Missy and a client are discovered shot to death inside a car. 

Concerned for her son Noah's safety, Detective Benson calls his nanny Lucy, only to learn she has taken him to the DeWitt Clinton Playground. Suddenly, Benson hears the chilling sound of gunfire over the phone. Racing to the playground, she finds that, mercifully, no one has been harmed. 

At the precinct, the squad regroups, and Sonny is introduced to Rafael Barba, an eccentric Assistant District Attorney. Benson then proposes a plan for Nick to meet with Joaquin again, leading to the arrest of both Nick and Menendez.

Time ticks by, and the squad tirelessly works to piece together the complex puzzle. Sonny can feel the exhaustion of the relentless investigation gnawing at his mind. He glances at the clock on the wall, surprised to realize hours had passed. Rising from his chair, he stretches his limbs, his muscles protesting the prolonged sitting.

Benson and Fin visited a now conscious Tino at the hospital, where they ran into his mother, who told them so information to further the investigation to arrange a meeting with a woman named Carmen on Craigslist to locate Selena.

In the seedy hotel room, Sonny prepares to play his part, pretending to be a disgruntled "John" seeking a rougher, more aggressive sex worker. As the knock on the door signals her arrival, Sonny puts on his creepy charm, complimenting the woman and touching her hair, though he feels conflicted about the situation. When she offers only a massage, Sonny becomes aggressive, prompting the woman to flee to the bathroom and call Selena. Moments later, Selena and her driver arrive and confront Sonny at gunpoint. However, Detectives Fin and Rollins intervene and apprehend Selena and her driver.

After escorting the group back to the precinct, the two detectives left Sonny to take a few minutes for himself. Needing time to refocus and regain his composure, Sonny stepped outside the motel and sat down, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. Knowing a visit to his favorite coffee shop would lift his spirits, Sonny soon headed that way, eager for the comfort of a familiar routine.

The familiar and comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee fills his senses. He notices you behind the counter, your smile effortlessly radiant as you greet him.

Taking a deep breath, he approaches the counter, his nerves and the events of the day already making him tense.

He returns your smile, attempting to appear composed despite the nervous energy coursing through him. "Hey," he began, his voice slightly strained. Sonny made his way into the shop, the familiar and comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee filling his senses. He notices you behind the counter; your smile is effortlessly radiant as you greet him.

"Hey there, can I get a repeat of yesterday?" Sonny steps closer.

"Of course, coming right up," you say with a grin.

Sonny leans against the counter, his eyes on you as you pour the black coffee into the cup. 

You place the cup and this time a banana muffin in front of him. Sonny couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort. "Thanks," he says, his voice slightly rough. "You don't know how much I needed this today."

He accepts the cup and muffin, his fingers subtly touching yours for a brief moment, sending a jolt through him. The contact felt natural but also electrifying as if his body was hyper-aware of your touch.

He glances up from his cup and muffin, his eyes flickering over to the counter and you. The thought of asking for your number comes to him. He goes to the same chair next to the counter and begins to eat and sip.

After cashing out a customer, he notices you approaching him and takes a seat on the opposite side of his table. 

"Hey," Sonny replies, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He studies you, noticing the little details he hadn't observed before—the subtle sparkle in your eyes.

"I hope I'm not interrupting your lunch," you say, your voice casually light. "But I wanted to check in on how you're doing. You look tired."

Sonny chuckles softly, surprised by your observation. "I am tired," he admits. "It's been a long day." The weariness has settled into his eyes, and his slumped shoulders probably betray his exhaustion. He takes another sip of his coffee. "But I appreciate you checking on me," he adds, his eyes meeting yours.

"How did your first day go? You mentioned in the laundry room that it was coming up soon." You ask.

"It was..." Sonny starts. Where to even begin summing up the events of the two days he’s had? It had been a whirlwind of chaos and danger. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts, then replies. "It was intense, to say the least. Long hours, lots of work,” Sonny smiled slightly, touched that you remembered their brief conversation from a few days ago. 

You let out a lighthearted laugh as you remarked, "Well, that's not at all mysterious and cryptic."

Sonny chuckles at your remark, feeling the tension in his shoulders lighten a little. "Can't give away all the secrets," he replies, his voice just slightly teasing.

Sonny appreciated that you didn't pry further, even if he could see the curiosity and maybe a bit of concern in your gaze. It was refreshing to be with someone who respected his boundaries and understood not to press for details. He takes another sip of his coffee, the conversation settling into a comfortable rhythm between you two.

"How was your day?" he asks, genuinely interested to hear about your life and experiences. Alone with you in the quiet coffee shop, he hoped to continue the conversation, savoring the chance to linger in your company.

“A customer ordered a drink with sparkling water. I handed it to her, but she immediately frowned and asked if it contained sparkling water. I reminded her that the menu clearly listed the ingredients. Ugh, it frustrates me when people don't read.” Your cheeks redden as you realize you are ranting. "Sorry," you say.

Sonny's exhaustion was momentarily forgotten as a soft smile tugged at his lips. Listening to your little story, he finds himself amused by your rant. He could see the frustration in your expression and the way your cheeks flushed just a bit. It was endearing.

"No apologies necessary," he says, his voice gentle. "I get it. Some people just can't be bothered to pay attention, even when it's spelled out right in front of them." He chuckles softly, enjoying the glimpse into your world. He wonders how many other little annoyances you deal with on a daily basis. He finds himself wanting to know more about your life—the things that made you laugh, the things that made you angry. And he couldn't help but realize that he found your rants quite charming.

"Besides the sparkling water incident," he teases, "was the rest of your day uneventful?" He leans back in his chair, his eyes fixed on you, enjoying the lighthearted moment amidst the day's chaos.

"Yeah, it's pretty dead today, which I'm thankful for; last week we were so swamped."

"Well, here's to a quiet day then," Sonny replies, his tone earnest. He takes another sip of his coffee, his eyes still lingering on you. He was grateful for the brief reprieve the calm atmosphere of the coffee shop provided—a chance to reset before diving back into the chaos of his day.

He glances at his watch, realizing he should probably get back to the precinct soon. But the thought of leaving the quiet comfort of the coffee shop and the easy conversation with you made him hesitate for a moment. He wants more time to talk to you and to know more about you. Taking a deep breath, he pushed his chair back, signaling he was getting ready to leave.

"Hey, Sonny..." You begin calling out to him before he leaves. "Can I have your number?"

Sonny stops in his tracks, his heart skipping a beat at your unexpected question. He turns back to you, surprised but pleasantly so.

"Uh...yeah, sure. I'd like that," he replies, a genuine smile spreading across his face. He quickly grabs a nearby napkin from the counter and fishes a pen out of his pocket. Writing his number onto the napkin, he can't help but feel a mix of nervousness and excitement. Handing the napkin over to you, he watches you closely.

"I'll text you later; you go save the city." You giggle as you hold onto the napkin.

Sonny can't help but smile at your words. There's something about the way you say it—so casual yet sincere—that makes his heart skip a beat. Your carefree attitude is a refreshing contrast to the seriousness of his job.

"And you save me a coffee for tomorrow," he replies with a wink before heading out the door.

He can't help but feel a little lighter than he did before—a subtle boost of energy and anticipation. He knows he has an exhausting day ahead of him, but the knowledge that he'll see you and talk to you again soon makes the idea of returning to work much more bearable. 

Sonny enters the precinct, and the familiar sights and sounds immediately bring him back to reality. He put on his game face. He makes his way towards the squad room; a small smile still lingering on his lips, evidence that the thought of you had brought a glimmer of joy to his day.

Chapter 2

[clarionglass]

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all good things should have a bit of malice in them (game master cinematic universe, part 7) | read on ao3

“Sam,” came the tentative voice from a little way down the corridor, and the man in question paused, turning to look at his colleague with a smile. Brian seemed… not quite worried, exactly, but distracted. There was tension in the way he tucked a wisp of hair that had escaped its customary ponytail behind his ear, like he was trying to keep his hands busy while his brain searched for the right words.

“What’s up?”

“I know I’m being manipulated,” Brian said slowly, “but I thought I’d ask anyway. Is there any chance that you’d consider putting the dematerialisation circuit back in Other Sam’s ship? Just for one quick trip?”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “No. Not for another few months of good behaviour, at least. Why do you ask?”

Brian sighed. The answer he’d received wasn’t unexpected, but it was a disappointment all the same. “No reason. Just… something silly, that’s all.”

“What did he say to you?” Sam asked, feeling a knot begin to form in his stomach.

“Honestly, it really wasn’t anything to be worried about,” Brian replied quickly. “It wasn’t a threat, or anything like that. It was just…”

He trailed off, looking almost wistful.

Sam frowned. The immediate spike of anxiety that had shot through him had dulled, fading to concern—a gentler emotion, but no more welcome. “Brian, what happened?”

“Well,” Brian started, taking a deep breath.

---

“I saw your episode of Very Important People,” a familiar voice had said behind him in an unfamiliar cadence, and Brian had nearly choked on his water.

“You watch the shows?” he asked in surprise, turning to look Other Sam in the face. The suit the Time Lord had chosen was a nice touch, he thought—the same cut and style as original Sam’s, but red-shifted to a sort of maroon-purple. “More evil,” indeed.

“Oh, you know,” Other Sam shrugged. “Always good to know a little more about who I’m working with. And you’re certainly an interesting one. You figured out the real time loop in Deja Vu before anyone else, did you know that? Well, of course you don’t, you—”

“Don’t remember,” Brian finished with him, allowing a touch of bitterness to intrude into his tone.

“Exactly,” Other Sam said, with a smile like a shark. “But I’ve been keeping an eye on you since then. You’re bright, for a human.”

“Gee, thanks,” Brian replied, letting the easy reach to sarcasm work to disguise the spark of genuine pride the words had kindled.

Other Sam didn’t look at all perturbed. “Take the compliment or don’t, your choice,” he said. “I’m just saying it because you seem to understand a few things better than the others. Like the perks of control.”

“Oh, hah, that was just a character, you know,” Brian blustered. “For the interview.”

“Of course,” Other Sam hummed in agreement. “Nothing at all like you, I take it?”

Brian nodded sharply.

“So you’re saying that if there was a way that I could get you those sorts of cybernetic enhancements, for real,” Other Sam said innocently, “you wouldn’t be interested?”

Try as he might, Brian couldn’t fully prevent the squeak that escaped him, and Other Sam grinned. 

“Maybe not the claw,” he said, “you didn’t seem as dexterous as would be ideal with that one, but the rest of it? That’s more than possible, and in so many different ways. A quick hop to the future, or any number of planets… All I’d need is to be able to use my ship again.”

There it was, the real reason for the offer, and Brian felt the hopes that had been rising in him despite his better judgement suddenly fall flat. Sam had told him what had happened during the ill-fated Sam Says 4 recording, and had revealed as much as he was able to about Deja Vu. He couldn’t give this guy the key out of the imprisonment he’d only just been put in.

He steeled himself and shook his head. “Sorry.”

Other Sam had just sighed delicately. “Suit yourself. I just thought I’d mention it. How noble of you, playing by the rules.”

And then he’d walked off, seeming none too bothered by Brian’s refusal, which was a relief in and of itself. From what he’d heard, he was worried that saying no might put him in actual danger. But no, he’d met with no consequences. All in all, not the worst encounter he could have had with Other Sam, and when he left the building later that day, the confidence he’d made the right decision sat firm in his chest.

But… damn, Other Sam was good.

That evening, Brian couldn’t keep his mind from returning to that faint wisp of a thought. The memory of the euphoria he’d felt when he opened his eyes to see the almost cyborg version of himself in the mirror haunted him in fleeting bursts. And if he was completely honest with himself, the possibility of living in perfect homeostasis, being able to just create without having to stop and take care of the necessary functions of life, was really quite appealing.

Days passed, and as much as he tried to keep his focus on other things, his thoughts kept drifting back to that particular topic. When it was just a bit of prop work for an improvised interview, it was something he could enjoy for the time it lasted, then put down again. But knowing that it was a real possibility… Even as he tried to suppress the idea, it only grew more seductive.

And when just sitting passively with that concept had become too much to bear, genuine transhumanism dangling within sight but just out of reach, he’d gone to find the real Sam. Of course he’d say no. Still… there was always the chance he might say yes, however slim that was. And he wouldn’t know for sure until he asked.

---

The concern in Sam’s eyes was now mingled with sympathy, and as the recipient of that particular look, Brian felt something in his stomach clench.

“It’s fine,” he said hastily. “Don’t worry about it. Just something silly, like I said.”

Sam looked sad as he drew breath to respond.

“Brian, it’s not silly when it clearly brought you so much joy.”

The words were right, the voice was right, the tone was right. But something was still distinctly wrong, and the hair on the back of his neck started to rise. And half a second later, his brain caught up to what his instincts had already realised, because it struck him like a fist in the gut that he hadn’t seen Sam’s mouth move at all. In fact, Sam’s voice had come from the wrong direction entirely.

He whirled to see Other Sam standing at his back, smiling at him with a look that could have been mistaken for genuine support.

“All I want to do is help,” he continued, every fibre of his being radiating sincerity and gentle patience. 

“Sure,” Sam replied with a roll of his eyes. 

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Other Sam said. “I like him. He's smart, and he could almost think like me. With the right prompting, of course.”

Sam tried to suppress the shudder that rolled through him, and nearly succeeded. “You know the deal was hands off the team.”

“Oh, boo,” Other Sam pouted. “I wouldn't have offered if he didn't want it.”

“He's right,” Brian interjected quietly. 

“Brian—”  Sam started, then paused. His eyes narrowed. “Wait. What's ‘it’, exactly? What's he offered you?”

“Avery Goodman,” Brian said, and Sam nodded in recognition. “All of that. But for real.”

Looking into Brian's face, Sam could see plain as day that trying to dissuade him would be of no use whatsoever. He knew Brian was a smart man, knew that he'd probably considered all the dangers to working with Other Sam, even on something small. But the naked want that shone in Brian's eyes like a beacon burned brightly enough to drown all of that out.

Rather than facing that immediately, he turned to his doppelganger. “It's only been a couple of months, man. You're still very much a flight risk.”

“I know,” Other Sam replied contritely, then cast his gaze around before finally meeting Sam's eyes hesitantly. “But I suppose… Well, we don't have to go offworld for it. I can do a significant number of those procedures myself, as it happens.”

The coyness was very much staged. The way his eyes had lit up before saying that last part, Sam wondered if that hadn't been his double's plan the whole time. 

And implications aside, there were the practical details to consider. “Hang on. You're not doing surgery in my fucking studio!”

A shadow passed across the Master's face. “Not your studio. My TARDIS, and you'd do well to remember that.”

“I don't mind where it happens,” Brian piped up wistfully.

Other Sam placed a hand on his shoulder, the picture of magnanimity. “You see? The gentleman insists. And you've got nothing to be worried about,” he added, turning away from Sam to face Brian properly, and taking a step to propel them both in the direction of the console room. “I was very good at cyber conversion, and it's not something you forget in a hurry.”

“Who said I was worried?” Brian asked. His eyes had been shining since the word “cyber” had been mentioned. 

Sam, on the other hand, had been struck by “conversion”, and the word had left a bad taste in his mouth. “Just wait a minute.”

He pulled out his phone, bringing up the contact he'd been given months before. 

Hi Doctor, it's Sam. Quick question, is “cyber conversion” a good or bad thing? 

“—were right about homeostasis, you won't need to eat, or sleep, or any of those mundane things,” he heard his double say quietly as he waited for a reply. “And there are other pesky things that the procedure takes care of as well—”

His phone pinged.

No way. Sam Reich from Dropout Sam?? Oh my god I'm a massive fan, I was so jealous when the Doctor said he'd met you without me! 

Sam started to frown, confused, when another message appeared. 

Sorry!! Not the Doctor, I'm Ruby, we travel together. I've passed your question on though, and he'll get back to you as soon as we’ve got out of this giant space snail thing. Long story! 

“Are you ratting on me to the Doctor?” Sam's doppelganger asked with a hint of petulant disappointment. “Don't you trust me?”

A third message had popped up, and he opened it before responding. 

Doctor says cyber conversion is no good very bad do not let him do it to anyone, read the clearly hastily-written text. 

“No,” Sam replied. “And for good reason, by the sound of it.”

Other Sam just sighed. 

“I was going to say no to the whole ‘getting rid of my emotions’ bit,” Brian added. “And as much as having an electric blaster arm would be incredibly cool, I don't want that to come at the cost of being stuck in a metal suit for the rest of my life.”

Sam blinked. “Yeah. Not agreeing to all that sounds like a good idea.”

His doppelganger rolled his eyes. “Humans. You people don't know what's good for you.”

“Seems like it's what's good for you, not him,” Sam pointed out. 

“Same thing.”

“It’s really not,” Sam replied. “Look, Brian. What did you want out of this?”

Brian eagerly rattled off a few technical terms that Other Sam must have told him, which Sam tried fruitlessly to transcribe before giving up and asking him to repeat them into a voice memo.

What about these? he sent off to Ruby, with the memo attached. 

Doctor says fine, fine, dubious but okay if your friend agrees to it, and only do that last one under supervision, came the reply.

Okay, I know one of those words means something in the brain, Sam typed out. Please don’t tell me supervision means I have to watch brain surgery. I don’t know anything about brain surgery. And I really don’t want to watch brain surgery. Or any kind of surgery, actually.

The Doctor will do it! We’re nearly out of the snail, just hang on for a mo!

“The Doctor says that, and only that, would be okay,” Sam said slowly. He still wasn’t entirely comfortable with it, if he was being honest, but the shine in Brian’s eyes made it worthwhile.

“Really?” he asked, and Sam nodded.

Other Sam smiled. “Wonderful. We can certainly make that happen.”

“Yeah, yeah, hang on a second,” Sam cut in. “The Doctor said he'll supervise.”

This news was greeted with the look of scorn he expected. “Oh yeah? Is he going to show up? Not likely. He never returns to where he left his mess.”

“Ruby said he would,” Sam shrugged. “Don’t know the how and the why, but she was pretty confident.”

“Ruby?” Brian asked.

“Presumably the latest stray he’s picked up to show off to,” Sam’s doppelganger sniped, his tone heavy with disdain, before Sam himself could get a word in. “She’ll be young. English, probably, or at least British of some description. Ooh, and if she’s blonde, I get an extra point.”

“Couldn’t say,” Sam replied. “We’ve only texted.” 

His double shrugged. “Just you wait. Anyway, Brian,” he said, the contempt dropping from his voice to be replaced by a honeyed gentleness. “Shall we get ready?”

He led Brian through the studio’s corridors, en route to an unremarkable door that was identical to, and somehow even less noticeable than, all the other doors along the way, Sam trailing behind them by a few steps.

He’d already seen inside the console room, back when his doppelganger was trying to make a good impression. Brian, however, had not, and much as Sam was worried by this entire turn of events, he still couldn’t wait to see the look on his friend’s face when he saw the TARDIS properly.

Brian, of course, did not disappoint.

His entire face lit up as Other Sam pushed the door open to reveal a wonderland of otherworldly technology, unrestrained by the confines of what, according to the expected laws of physics, should have been a cupboard-sized room. “No,” he breathed in disbelieving awe, then laughed, a noise of unrestrained, giddy delight. “Oh my god. Oh, my god.”

“Good, isn’t it?” Other Sam said, with no small amount of smugness.

“Good?” Brian repeated, turning in a slow circle to drink it all in. “Holy shit. It’s amazing, I love it!”

Despite his unease, Sam couldn’t help but smile as he watched the display of pure fascination. Even now, even though he was no longer a complete newcomer to the TARDIS, being inside the spacetime machine still felt like pure magic.

His doppelganger tolerated the marvelling for a short while longer, before impatience once again crept into his demeanour. “We’re here for a reason, aren’t we?” he prompted, a distinct bite to his tone. “This way.”

Brian nodded, sufficiently chastened, and with his friend at his side, followed Other Sam deeper into the ship.

“Here,” he announced after a moment. The room he gestured to was bright and sterile, set out like a futuristic operating theatre, and Brian felt his heart rate spike with anticipation as he crossed over the threshold. 

“Should I…?” he asked, motioning to the table in the centre of the room, and Other Sam nodded.

Sam watched as his double set out a bewildering array of medical tools, some familiar, some very not, then paused, examining Brian closely.

“Well, you look ready, and I know I am,” Other Sam said. “So all we need now is for our… supervision… to arrive.”

As if on cue, Sam’s phone lit up with a Whatsapp call.

“Sam!” the Doctor exclaimed, clearly peering around what he was able to see of the room. “And you must be Brian, hello!”

“Hi,” Brian replied, slightly awkward from his prone position on the operating table.

“Sam, babes,” the Doctor started. “Would you be comfortable getting close? I need to be able to see what’s going on properly. Or—ooh, there’s a screen over there, if you just—”

“Fine,” Other Sam sighed, intercepting the request with bad grace and the flick of a switch. 

From the other end of the call, Sam could hear the buzz of the Doctor’s sonic device, and with a squeal of feedback, the video call transferred itself onto the monitor that had just been turned on.

“There we go!” the Doctor grinned, his image blown up to fullscreen view. “Now I can see everything I need to, clear as a bell, and Sam’s got his phone back. And you all can meet Ruby!”

“Hiya,” came a cheerful voice from just offscreen, and a blonde girl—she couldn’t have been more than 20—popped her head into frame and waved. “He’s hijacked my phone, so I get to listen to live medical dramas while I try and get space snail goo off my favourite jacket.”

Sam’s doppelganger shot him a pointed look. “Told you,” he muttered with satisfaction.

Sam ignored him, instead focusing on the Doctor, who had taken back the call. “Brian, I just want to check before you get started on this. You know what these procedures are going to involve? And you fully consent?”

Brian nodded, utterly overwhelmed in the best possible way. “Y-yeah. I do. I consent.”

“Okay,” the Doctor said. “I promise I’ll be keeping a close eye on him through all of this, so nothing will happen outside the limits of what you’ve agreed to, yeah?”

“Okay,” Brian agreed with wide eyes, unable to keep the tremor of excitement out of his voice. It was happening. Oh, god, it was finally happening.

Through the screen, the Doctor and Other Sam shared a look that neither of the humans in the room could quite decipher. But it seemed like some silent agreement had been reached, which was the main thing.

Other Sam picked up something that looked like a scalpel of light, and smiled down at Brian. “Ready?”

“Fuck,” Brian breathed. “Yeah. Ready.”

The Master put down the scalpel and placed his hands on either side of Brian’s face, making direct and unblinking eye contact as he did so. After a second, Brian’s eyelids fluttered shut, and all the tension of consciousness drained from his body. He was out like a light, completely dead to the world.

Hypnotic anaesthesia achieved, the Master flashed a satisfied smirk at Sam, who felt something in his chest go tight. That’s what happened to him the day the Master revealed himself, he realised, a simple little psychic violation that looked so quick and easy, and the air suddenly felt too thick to breathe.

“I’ll wait outside,” he said, and fled to the corridor.

Phone in hand, he spent a while just scrolling through the usual selection of apps to distract himself, time getting sucked into those familiar black holes, before another text from Ruby popped up on the screen. 

I think they’re nearly done!! But just while I’m thinking about it, and this is probably a really weird question so I’m really sorry, but is there an older woman who works at Dropout? English, late 60s, curly hair?

Sam frowned, opening his gallery and thumbing back through months of photos.

Like this? he texted back, attaching a picture from last year’s staff Christmas party. Third from the left at the back is Zan from costuming.

Oh my god. Yeah that’s her.

Sam frowned. Is that okay? I’ve never noticed anything weird about her, she’s actually really lovely.

It’s fine, I think, read the reply. It’s just we’ve been seeing a lot of this woman lately, or people who look identical to her. All in different places, all different, real people, but literally identical. And here she is again. Weird!! But probably nothing for you to be worried about.

That is weird, Sam started to type back, but was distracted by a thin seam of white light that grew wider and wider as the door to the control room opened, and Brian stepped out into the corridor.

That a transformation had occurred was undeniable. To Sam’s surprise, considering the surgery that his friend had undergone, Brian was remarkably unscarred, and the robot arm had been left out of whatever procedures had gone on in that room—but twin points of light peeked above the collar of his shirt, much like the red and yellow LEDs covered by the lab coat he had worn as part of his costume.

“You’re, uh, glowing,” Sam pointed out, realising as he said the words that he was echoing Vic. 

“Oh!” Brian replied. “Hang on, let me turn that down—”

He made a face of intent concentration, and indeed, the lights dimmed and faded altogether. The brightness in his smile, however, didn’t diminish in the slightest.

“Isn’t it brilliant? I’ve got total control, all from up here.”

He tapped his temple, beaming once again as his finger made contact with not flesh, but metal. The most obvious aspect of Brian’s cyborg transformation was the implant that curled around his eye—a near match to the silicone patch that had been glued on for his Avery Goodman costume, but possessed of a certain unarguable realness.

Sam just shook his head, at a loss for words.

“I can hide that, too,” Brian assured him cheerfully. With another look of focus, the air above the metal shimmered and blurred, and in as much time as it took Sam to scratch the sudden itch at the back of his head, it had cleared to reveal smooth, unmarked skin.

“Wow,” was all Sam could say for a moment, before a smile slowly dawned across his face. “Brian… fuck, man. I’m happy for you, genuinely. And I can’t tell you how glad I am that it all worked out.”

Brian beamed.

---

At the console of his grounded TARDIS, lost in thoughts of stolen freedom and schemes that should have been, the Master felt a not unfamiliar sensation at the back of his mind. It was enough to dispel the unhelpful reminiscences, and he smiled, slow and vulpine.

“Do you think it’s bad we didn’t tell him you did this part of it?” he heard, Brian’s voice in his mind as clear as if the other man had been standing in the room with him. “I mean, the Doctor knows, so that’s enough, right?”

“Of course it’s enough,” the Master sent back. “And Sam will find out eventually. But until then, you and I can have some fun.”

—

missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?

original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x

art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x escape the death beam: x

by @bloopdydooooo drawing collection: x

writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): x part three (sam says 4): x part four (you think you know someone): x part five (point and counterpoint): x part six (a selection of correspondence): x part seven (all good things should have a bit of malice in them): you are here!