#Wont Learn Everything Au

[herebutnotpresent]

jetko wippp

[orcelito]

I do love that doing any kind of monsterfucker smut will have you dabbling in speculative biology and going on deep dives into the animal kingdom to draw inspiration for your fictional dragon reproduction system.

Aka for my oviposition dragon vash au I was looking into wonderful subjects such as autogamy, parthenogenesis, and ovoviviparity. Among others.

All just for funsies !

[i-cant-sing]

TT AU PART 13

Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here. Part 4 is here. Part 5 is here. Part 6 is here. Part 7 is here. Part 8 is here. Part 9 is here. Part 10 is here. Part 11 is here. Part 12 is here. Time Traveller au masterlist is here. Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

"I cant do this."

He rolls his eyes. "Not with that attitude." He runs a hand through his hair before nodding at you to follow him. You both enter the dance studio that his grandfather built for his wife inside the house because he loved her and well, he had the money.

"Silas, no one can learn ballet in a month." You state again and he lets out an exhale while Cadbury is bringing in about a dozen of ballet flats. "Even if your grandmother were to try and teach me, I still wont be good enough to perform in front of the queen-"

"Your voice is shrill and piercing and thoroughly unpleasant."

You blink at him before scowling. "A simple "shut up" would suffice, you know."

Silas glances at you. "What is this really about? Are you pretending to have low self esteem so I could offer you sympathy?"

"Excuse me?" Your tone sharpened. "Not that I like to remind anyone of the favours I do, but maybe you have forgotten that I literally saved your social image and status from being tarnished yesterday? Or did you forget about our Nikkah?"

Silas suddenly leaned down, bringing his face close to yours. You backed away, and he tilted his head slightly. "And I'm eternally grateful for that, missus, but the Nikkah saved your image too. Must I remind you that I converted to Islam too?"

"Because it benefitted you, not me." You spat out, only to inhale sharply as he gripped your chin firmly.

"As is the stipend I've been paying you, yet you fail to write a single article on the murders."

He pouted, feigning hurt. "Besides, are you saying I am not a real Muslim? That I have malicious intentions? Doesnt that go against your teachings- what is it? Not to judge someone?"

"I dont need to judge when its all so apparent-"

"Ah, good to see the love birds again!" Sarah's voice made you two pull away from each other. She clasped her hands as she made her way towards you two.

"Nana." Silas greeted her and kissed her cheeks. "Thank God you're here. My sweetheart is so concerned over this performance, even though I've assured her many times that she will be learning from the best. There's just no way she would mess this up!"

Sarah laughed heartily. "Stop buttering me up! And she is right to be concerned. Anyone would be nervous to perform in front of an audience, especially the queen!"

Silas wrapped one arm each around your and Sarah's shoulders, pulling you two close to him. "I only see a queen and a princess here. There's no need to be nervous. Just have fun!"

Just have fun? What kind of bullshit motivation is that-

Sarah smiled and nodded. "He's right, Y/n. As long as you're having fun, you're going to be just fine darling!"

-

Colin never thought he'd have to resort to day drinking.

And yet here he is, adding whatever he could grab his hands on and fill the flask with and mixing it in his coffee.

I need this. He reasoned with himself. Its not that much, just small doses to keep me sane when Y/n comes.

And then you do, in your Sherlock Holmes disguise, cheerfully greeting him before going to Will's office to work on the murder story.

He takes another sip of his coffee as he tries to process... well, everything.

Why was I attracted to you? Why am I still attracted to you even though I acted as a witness to your wedding with that rich bastard-

Another sip. He scowled before adding some more liquour, then he sipped it. Better.

Whats the best way to get over a crush? Crush? Is that what you were? An infatuation, a passing by fancy? So, how do I get over-

Wait. He set his mug down. You know that he and the boys all know that your marriage to Silas is a sham. You never really hid the fact but now they had all witnessed that it was just a rushed, possibly contractual marriage that Silas wants to save his ass.

So the marriage is bound to end. He doesnt have to get over you. No, not really. If anything, I should be spending more time with you. Yes. Yes! This way, when you and Silas end things, Colin will be right there to comfort you and support you! He needs to be the first man there after you dump Silas, lest anyone else gets ideas and wants to marry you as well.

Colin got up and managed to make his way to his boss's office without bumping into anyone. He's going to ask to work on the murder story and then you two will spend time-

"No. Keep working on the asylum story. We have enough people on the murder case." His boss dismissed him.

Colin slumped in his desk as he looked at the coffee mug. Eh, what the hell? He took another sip and another solution popped in his head.

If he cant help you with the murder story, then perhaps you can help him with the asylum story!

-

Silas handed you the invite.

"How did you get it so fast?" You asked, examining the small paper with elegant writing. It was the invite to the Gentleman's club, the one Henry owns. You'd asked Silas to get you an invite to what was an exclusive, members only club (when you tried entering the club, the men at the front laughed you out.)

Silas looked at you unamused, with his arms crossed over his chest. "Must I remind you who I am?"

A pompous ass?

"Of course not, my duke." You said mockingly, before raising a brow at him. "I suppose it would make sense for you to get easy access to shady places like this. You might be their popular customer."

"Oh darling, I'm popular everywhere." Silas shot back before dismissing you with his hand. "You can go now."

"What? You arent going to ask me why I'm going there?" You asked him. "Maybe you dont care that I am going there, but arent you worried about Mrs Fitzgerald or Duchess Y/n being in a place like that?"

Silas shrugged nonchalantly. "No." He leaned back in his chair. "I trust you not to screw up or entangle yourself in scandals. But even if you do end up in trouble, I will stand by you."

"You will?" You couldn’t hide the disbelief in your tone.

He nodded. "Of course. Look, I know we are in this... unconventional relationship and it appears that I couldnt care less about your existence, but you still carry my surname next to yours. And I wont allow anyone to disrespect what or who is associated with me. So, rest assured-" He leans forward, resting his arms on the mahogany desk and clasped his hands. "you have my support in all your endeavours, Mrs Silas."

A small smile formed on your lips. Maybe he's not so bad.

"Thank you, Silas- oh, can you drop me off there?" You knew he was going to leave in the carriage soon.

"No, I dont want my beautiful, pure bred stallions to go through those dirty streets. You can walk."

Jerk.

You stomped out of his study, not noticing the butler going in after you with the dessert you'd made for yourself last night.

"And what's this?" Silas asked him as he took a bite of the decadent, gooey chocolatey dessert.

"Uh, the duchess called it "brown-ies", but I've never heard of it before." Cadburry watched Silas ate it and sighed dreamily. "Do you like it, sir?"

"No." Silas pushed the empty plate towards him. "But I'd rather not have grandmother eat her cooking and say something. Bring me the leftovers."

"Y/n- oh, are you going somewhere?" Sarah asked just as you were about to leave.

"Yes, um- I'm going to meet my friends." Its not like you could tell her that you worked in the paper disguised as a man.

"Male friends?" She asked.

"Yes. My old flatmates." You watched her smile falter. "What?"

"Nothing, dearie. Enjoy your time with them! I hope you'll join us for dinner." You nodded and left while Sarah looked for her grandson.

"Where's Silas? I must speak to him this instant." She asked the maid, who informed her that the duke had went to play tennis just moments ago.

"Tennis?"

The maid nodded. "Yes. With his uncles."

Sarah was a little surprised to hear that. Not the tennis part, no. Silas is extremely well at any sport he plays, but she knows her sons arent ones who are good at athletics, let alone at a sport as strenuous as tennis.

An idea popped in her head.

-

You stood outside the Gentleman's club, watching people go in. Smoothing your hands over your black velvet dress, you made your way to the door.

After handing them your invitation, they let you inside and you saw a waiter handing everyone masquerade masks from a silver tray. Perhaps it was the theme for the club tonight, or maybe the club just gave masks to everyone to conceal their identities.

You were given a black and gold mask that covered the upper half of your face. As you adjusted the mask over your face, you heard a familiar voice.

"I need to see her. Now." You looked over your shoulder and saw Benjamin harshly whisper to one of the waiters. "She told me to come and I'm late as it is. Dont make her wait any longer!" You turned your head away as the waiter lead Benjamin into the club, all while Benjamin yanked a mask off the tray and pulled it over his head.

What is Benny doing here?

You quickly followed him inside, lest you lost sight of him, which you did as soon as you stepped into the main hall and were immediately stunned to your place at the sight.

Loud jazz music played by a band live, smell of smoke and alcohol filled the air and people. There were so many people, despite the club being "exclusive". And as your eyes scanned them, trying to spot familiar faces, your heart dropped at the realisation of what they were doing.

This was... an adult club. That kind of adult club, the one where there are absolutely no limitations on who is doing what with whom, all drunk on pleasure and drugs of course, no inhibitions. You spotted men with men, women with men, and more than one person pleasing another man.

Thats why this is an exclusive club, why they gave everyone masks. Because if word got out that a someone was here doing.... something that was generally a taboo and even punishable by both God and the law, well it would put them in huge trouble. People came here to let loose, to give in to their darkest desires.

What the hell is Benny doing here?

Averting your eyes, you looked for Benjamin and spotted him from afar, going into a room.

Oh God, please dont let it be a- please dont let sweet Benny be a depraved creep.

You waited for him to come out and after about 20 minutes, the door finally opened.

Benny walked out first, adjusting his mask again and then leaving. You're about to follow him, perhaps even confront him for being here when someone else walks out of the room as well.

A tall woman wearing a bright red, backless dress and a golden mask concealing her identity. But what really stood out were two things- first, her fiery red-orange hair that was styled into voluminous Hollywood waves. And second was her figure, her athletic built, or more specifically her broad shoulders and muscled arms.

Everything about this woman screamed important. And if it werent for her looks that demanded attention, then it was certainly her aura. People parted the way when she walked past them, all looking at her as if she was their saviour, an angel or divinity among men, which is ironic considering where you were.

You jumped as you felt an arm snake around your waist.

"What the hell?!" You looked at the culprit, who turned out to be a blonde woman drunk off her head.

"Oh dont be like that! Come on, love, let me show you a good time-" She tried to touch you again but you backed away before she could.

"No, thank you." You dismissed her, going back to looking at the red head.

"Prude." The blonde muttered before following your gaze. "Oh so thats what you're into? Well, put me in a red wig and we can play like that!"

"No, thanks." You huffed, eyes still trained on the woman in red.

The blonde scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, its not like you'd be able to sleep with the club owner."

"She's the club owner? I thought Mr Blackwood owned this place."

"He does, but Lady Scarlett there runs this place, from entertainment to management. She does it all!"

Lady Scarlett? Fitting name.

Pushing away the blonde one more time, you looked for Lady Scarlett, except you lost sight of her now. You scanned the entire ballroom, but she was nowhere in sight.

"Shit." You mumbled, turning around only to stumble back as you came face-to-face with her, or well... face-to-chest. She towered over you.

Her bright red lips smiled knowingly at you. "Looking for me?" She asked in a sultry voice, stalking towards you until you were backed up against the wall.

"N-no-" You yelped as she suddenly grabbed both of your wrists in one hand and pinned them above your head.

You stared at her wide eyed as she leaned down, hovering inches away from your face and thats when it hit you-

Lady Scarlett is a man.

Of course! The muscled arms, the manly built, and now on close inspection, you saw the clean shave under the makeup too.

"Y-you're a man." You stated in disbelief, hoping to catch her or him, off guard. What even is he? A drag queen? A trans? You dont know if they existed in victorian era.

Scarlett tilted her head. "So? Are you the only one who is allowed to cross dress as the other gender?"

What? No, no way she knows-

She leaned in closer, whispering in your ear. "Did I catch you off guard, Mr Holmes?"

She knows!

"How- how did you-"

She smirked. "I know everyone that is associated with Mr Blackwood." She brought a hand up to your face, and you noticed a golden ring on her ring finger. She cupped your face. "And I know for a fact Henry wouldnt like his latest infatuation snooping around in a place like this. So..." She leaned into you again, staring into your eyes. "Leave."

You didnt have to be told twice. Lady Scarlett, that cross dresser creeped you out, even more so when she already knew you.

Stumbling out of the club, you removed your mask, dropping it to the ground. The fresh night air filled your lungs and cleared out the smokey air from the club. It was quiet outside, considering it was way past midnight and everyone was home now.

And I have to walk all the way home. You huffed, rubbing your arms. Because my husband would rather I get hypothermia than let his precious ponies walk through these streets.

You turn around, walking away from the club to see if there was a carriage available at this time, when you hear a shrill scream from the alleyway you're walking past.

And there it is- a woman lying in a puddle of her own blood as huge, dark figure slashed her face over and over again. The moonlight hit the woman's face- a blonde woman-

-the blonde from the club.

Frozen in your place, the figure stood up and looked at you, not at all looking startled at being caught mutiliating someone. It was definitely a man, huge stature, and he stared at you, the dark night concealing his identity. He slowly bent down to pick something up, a top hat, dusting it off before placing it on his head.

And then he tipped his hat at you.

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck-

It wasnt until he took a step towards you that you finally broke out of your trance and ran. You ran and ran, not even risking a look back, not realising where you were running off to until you burst through their door, out of breath and paler than white paint.

"Y/n?" Colin rushed towards you, the Shepherd and Liam rushing into the living room as Colin helped you inside. "What happened? What's wrong?" He feared, as did all the boys, that Silas had done something to you.

"I- I- I-" You shake your head, the image of the dark figure running through your mind, the hat, the long cloak, the knife- it finally pieced together.

"I think I saw Jack the Ripper."

-

You sat at the police station with Colin. After explaining everything, he'd convinced you to report the murder.

The detective lead you inside the interrogation room, motioning for you to sit down as you began giving your statement.

"And who did you think the murderer was?"

"Jack the Ripper." Your answer made him roll his eyes. "And who might that be, miss?"

"I dont know." The investigator shook his head exasperated. "Of course you dont." He muttered, then sighed.

"So, what were you doing at this club?"

"Me?" You didnt pause for long. "I was invited there. My- my husband wanted me to attend on his behalf."

"Your husband-" he paused, reading your surname on the paper. "Fitzgerald? Wait, you're Mrs Silas Fitzgerald?" You nodded, making him sigh. "Guess it makes sense for you to be there..."

Whats that supposed to mean?

"Did you see anyone familiar there?"

"No." You answered curtly, before adding another detail. "Everyone was wearing masks. Couldnt recognise anyone even if I wanted to."

What? I'm not gonna rat out Benjamin and make him the prime suspect without gathering all the facts before.

It's definitely not because I have a soft spot for him since he reminds me of Qasim so much. Nope.

The door suddenly swung open and in walked what you assumed was the detectives superior since the man got up.

"Is this the witness for club murder?" The higher up asked him.

"Yes sir, she was just giving her statement-"

"No need. Dismiss the witness and the case. It's been handled." He told the detective who only nodded.

"Handled by who? You can't just dismiss the case!" You exclaimed getting up. But before he could reply, someone walked in from behind him.

"You can go now, Smith. I'll see Miss Y/n gets home safely." Henry patted the higher ups shoulder who left with the detective.

"What are you doing, Henry?" You crossed your arms.

"I could ask you the same." He leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms as well.

"I'm reporting a murder that happened outside your club! I saw him-"

"Saw who? Jack the Ripper?" He scoffed. "You think you saw him, but all you really saw was a dark shadow."

You shake your head. "I did see him-!"

"And how do you know that he's Jack the Ripper?" He pushed himself off the door frame, walking closer to you. "How do you know that he's the Ripper when no one knows who the man is?!"

You pursed your lips. You could argue that the victim profile and post mortem show a matching pattern but you doubt Henry is going to listen to reason.

"Even so, you should still let me give my statement. Why are you adamant on me not giving one? A woman was murdered for God's sake!" You try to walk past him, but he grabs your arm and yanks you back, making your chest collide with his.

"She was my employee. She worked for the club. And you-" his face hardened. "-you are insulting her death by making it a public frenzy. By stating that some sick nobody, someone who was nicknamed by the papers just to strike fear in people's hearts, killed her. I will not let you use her death so that your paper could make a quick buck! Jack the Ripper is a nobody!"

-

"Why do you think Blackwood's trying to cover up the murder?" Colin asked you as you two made your way towards your next destination.

"I dont know." You huffed. "Maybe he knows who the murderer is? Maybe he's protecting his business? Surely, if people were to hear that a serial killer made an appearance near his club, he'd lose clients."

"Or maybe he's the killer." You stopped and looked at him. Colin looked at you knowingly. "It would make sense for him to be Jack the Ripper, or at least the man who murdered that woman. It is very suspicious of him to probably bribing the coppers to drop the case."

You shake your head. "Its too obvious."

He rolled his eyes. "What? So Henry cant be the murderer because its “too obvious?” People make mistakes-"

"Not Henry." You cut him off. "He's too smart, calculating. There's got to be another reason for him to be sweeping this all under the carpet."

Colin shakes his head in disbelief, shoving his hands in his pockets as he looked ahead. "We're here."

You followed his gaze and saw the building. The sign on the gate read-

"Aveline's Asylum"

"Really? Right now?" You asked Colin, who just smiled cheekily.

"It'll take your mind off things. Just take a break and help me on this assignment and we can go back to speculating what Blackwood's motives are." He raised his brows. "Plus, I think you'll enjoy this one."

You followed him inside the asylum, walking through the lush green gardens and seeing the pristine white building ahead, you wondered how this would help Colin's "exposing horrendous hospital environments and patient care" article when all of this reall just screamed "rehab for the rich".

"Shouldnt we go to an asylum that is in much worse conditions than this? Possibly next to a workhouse?" You asked him, but Colin just smiled. "Why did you choose this place, Colin?”

"You'll see." He says before whispering to you. "Remember your script. And... action!”

While pretending to be insane (which was easy because all you had to say was that you don’t think being a mom or stay-at-home wife is your life’s purpose), you saw a familiar figure there. And he saw you too.

“Y/n? Colin?” Benjamin looked surprised. “What are you two doing here?”

“Working on an article.” Colin replied, glancing at the way you’d gotten quiet, staring at Benjamin.

“Oh. Right, the horrible healthcare environment. But why this place? Its practically one of the finest asylums, housing mostly the wealthy of London.”

Colin nodded. “I know! But I have a hunch about this place-”

“What are you doing here?” You cut him off.

“Me? Oh, I’m here to give haircuts.” Ben chuckled nervously. “Its not a noble cause, but the wealthy unwell patients do pay a lot.”

“Mmhm, where’s your hair kit?” You remember distinctly that Ben was very particular about using his own scissors, so he often carried his own.

Ben looked caught off-guard by your question, but he quickly recovered. “The nurses provided me with their own. Cant carry scissors around an asylum now, can I?”

How convenient.

Colin continued to make small talk with Ben, while you studied him. Even if you didn’t tell anyone that you saw Ben at the club the night of the murder, doesn’t mean that you didn’t suspect him. For all you know, appearances can be deceiving and this sweet man may just be the infamous Jack the Ripper.

Blonde haired, the kindest eyes, the sweetest smile, a golden retriever in human form- could Benjamin really have killed all those women so brutally? Then again, Ted Bundy was also known for his good looks and superficial charm.

Am I really comparing Benny to Ted Bundy? God, I hope I’m wrong.

“I should go now. See you at home?” Ben asked you, hopeful.

“Maybe.” You shrugged, Ben’s smile faltering at your answer. He then raised his hand to shake Colin’s and thats when you noticed a distinctly familiar golden ring on his hand.

The same one you’d seen on Lady Scarlett’s hand.

And just like that, everything fell into place.

-

By the time you’d reached home, you’d pieced out the story. Ben being at the exclusive club and being discrete about it, seen in a room with Lady Scarlett, both wearing the same rings-

He’s in a relationship with her. Or him.

Thats why Ben was at that club! Homosexuality or anything else that isn’t heterosexuality was simply not accepted in Victorian England, and was possibly punishable by law! Just look at Oscar Wilde! Ben is dating Scarlett, keeping it discrete, he never committed any murders because he’s not Jack the Ripper. He’s just not straight!

Oh, I’m so glad you’re not the Ripper, Benny. I knew you weren’t capable of committing such heinous crimes.

As for why he was at the asylum, maybe he’s telling the truth. He did come to give the rich patients a haircut because he needs the money to maintain Scarlett’s lifestyle or maybe be rich enough to whisk her/him away from the club.

Benny is such a gentleman.

Now that Benny is no longer a suspect, that leaves Henry to be the main suspect. Maybe he’s not the one killed the woman, maybe he hired someone? Or maybe Henry’s not the killer either, its just too- obvious.

“Why do you think Henry stopped me from reporting the murder?” You asked Silas as you whisked the eggs before adding them to the pan. Silas had entered the kitchen the moment he heard you were cooking, though he did shoot you a weird look for making scrambled eggs at 11 pm. With you running around London all day, you hadn’t found time to eat until now, and you were just looking for a quick meal really.

“He probably doesn’t want you scaring off his customers. If word gets out that a murderer, or as you claim- “The Ripper” was seen near the club, then people wont be frequenting the place. Or perhaps he’s protecting the murderer?” Silas suggests, swallowing as the smell of butter wafts through the kitchen.

You add cubes of cold butter in, then look at him. “What? You don’t believe that I saw the Ripper?”

“I believe that if you really saw the Ripper, then you wouldn’t still be alive. He had the time and the opportunity to get rid of you.Why else would the notorious killer would let a witness get away?” Silas crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the kitchen counter near the stove.

“Maybe because he targets prostitutes? All of his previous victims match that profile.”

“Like he could tell a difference-”

“Are you saying I look like a prostitute?” You dished out the eggs. “No, you’re saying that. I’m saying that the man you saw kill that woman was just an amateur who was caught offguard by you, otherwise he would’ve attacked you too.” Silas states before grabbing the plate of buttery scrambled eggs on toast from your hands.

“Hey! Thats mine-” “My kitchen, my eggs.” He smirked before walking off. “You can make yourself more, I need to feed my dogs first.”

You glared at him until he left the kitchen, not knowing whether he really was going to feed it to the dogs or it was just a lie disguised as an insult so that he could eat it himself.

It was the latter. Always.

-

The next day, after you’d taken another ballet lesson from Sarah, you were about to go out to investigate the club again but Sarah had other plans for you.

“Y/n, I need you to stay at home today.”

“Oh, is everything alright?” You ask. She never made you stay home before. “Are we having company?”

“No. I think that you should play some sports to keep yourself fit. As a ballerina, it is important to keep both the mind and the body sound, and what better way to achieve that than by playing in the sun!” She lead you outside towards the tennis court, hidden by the huge bushes for privacy from outsiders.

“Tennis?” You ask her, and she confirms it. “Yes. Do you know how to play?”

Do I know how to- if I wasn’t so obsessed with history and sciences (and my mom scared that me wearing a skirt would attract predators), I had plans on playing professionally. Qasim and I used to play tennis at the club he’d won a membership in. We were both very competitive but he was just always a little better than me. He always knew my moves, he read me like an open book.

I was second only to Qasim though. Everyone else? They ate dust.

“Yes, I do.” You smiled at her. “Who am I playing with?”

“Me.” Silas spoke from behind you, dressed in all-white tennis wear. He looked at Sarah unamused. “Nana, I thought you said you had a worthy opponent for me.”

You shot him a glare, but Sarah came to your defense. “Now, now. You don’t know how capable your wife is. And I’m willing to bet that she’d make you run out of breath, Silas.”

You smiled cheekily as Silas scoffed. “We’ll see.” Sarah places a hand on your back. “Why don’t you go get changed, dear? I had the maids prepare an outfit for you.” When you left, Sarah looked at Silas. “Now Silas, I know you play exceptionally well but you must remember that this match is more of a way to spend time with your wife. Not a way to show off. So, be a gentleman, hm?”

You huffed as you returned to the tennis court. What the hell is this? Silas gets to wear a shirt and pants and I have to wear a full length dress with a corset and a hat?!

Mom would probably have let me gone pro if this was the official tennis wear for women.

Sarah sat on the side lines and watched you two play. Silas let you serve first and after a couple of back-and-forth, you won the first point. And then the next. And the next.

“Ah, you’re doing fantastic, Y/n!” Sarah cheered before standing up when the butler informed her that a guest has come to see her. “I’ll be back! You two keep playing!”

As Sarah left, you couldn’t help but tease Silas. What? He still makes you sleep on the floor! “So, how does it feel to lose to a girl?”

“I wouldn’t know.” And with that, Silas threw the ball in the air and served.

The ball shot past your head, just centimetres away from hitting you.

“What the hell? I wasn’t ready-”

“Lame excuses dont work on me.” He pulled out another ball and bounced it. “Are you ready now, duchess?”

You scowled at him before getting in position. “I’m ready, jerk.”

You lost two of the three matches. The first match you almost won was because Sarah was there and Silas was going easy on you, but when Sarah left, Silas regained all those points by serving topspin and slice serves. By the second match, you were finally able to return his fast serves, but now Silas used his speed and your lack of because of your heavy dress and made you run around all over the court trying to return his fast shots. By the third match, you were all out of breath but not out of determination. So, Silas decided that now would be the time to use your body as target practise and he hit the ball over your legs and arms, only stopping when one shot hit you in the head and made you fall on the ground.

“Are you okay?” He asked, barely suppressing the glee in his voice. He held out a hand to help you up, but you swatted it away and got up on your own.

“Finish the game.” You growled and he raised his hands in surrender before returning to his side of the court. For the rest of the third match, he missed all the shots you served and let you win. And he did it so openly, not even being courteous enough to hide his intentions.

Sarah watched you return inside the house, looking all sweaty and angry as you stomped unto your room. Silas trailed in behind, a satisfied grin on his face and Sarah shook her head at him disappointedly. “What did you do, Silas?”

“Nothing. I even let her win the last round, but she’s still angry.” Sarah looked at him admonishingly, making him sigh. “Fine, fine. I’ll go talk to her. The things I do for you, Nana.”

“The things you do for love, Silas.” She corrected him.

Sure. Silas rolled his eyes mentally. I “love” Y/n.

Silas entered the bedroom and saw you had showered and changed into new clothes. “Going somewhere? Perhaps to get some handkerchiefs to wipe all the sweat and tears?” He watched you glare at him through the mirror and he chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, I’m sorry. I’m just teasing. But seriously, where are you going? I could give you a ride.”

“I’m going to an asylum with Colin.” You huff, packing some things in your small purse. Silas nodded. “Good idea to get yourself finally checked-” He dodged the hairbrush you threw at his head, chuckling. “Now now, duchess. It isn’t exactly speaking much for your mental health for you to be chucking things at your dear husband.”

Ignoring his antics, you slipped on your shoes, walking out of the room. He trailed behind you. “Dont be mad. I’m just playing around. Come on, I’ll drop you off at Saint Peters asylum. Its on my way to work.”

“I’m not going to Saint Peters. I’m going to Aveline’s.” You stated, ready to walk off but he grabbed your arm.

“What?” You looked at his shocked face. “What?” You repeated his question. Why did he suddenly look so pale.

“Where are you going?” He asked, his grip tightening when you tried to move. “Which asylum?”

“Aveline’s.” You frowned, grabbing his hand and removing it from your arm. Silas expression paled further.

“Why?”

You shrugged. “Colin wants to do an article on horrible asylum conditions and treatment of patients-”

“Dont.” Silas ordered more than he suggested. “That place- don’t go there.”

“And why not?” You looked at him skeptically. “Colin wants to do a piece on the place-”

“Pick another asylum. I can get you access to any other.” Silas ignored your question, averting his eyes. “You will not go there, and you will not write a piece on that asylum.”

You grabbed his arm to make him look at you. “What are you hiding, Silas?”

Silas stared at you before yanking his arm out of your grasp. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Just- do as I say.” He raised finger, wagging it at your warningly. “I’m telling you- you will not go there again, Y/n. And if I find out that you or Colin or anyone else tried to write about that place, I will shut down that paper and make sure none of them find a job ever.”

You watched Silas leave you there standing dumbfounded.

Did he really just threaten me?

This bitch.

-

Silas watched you leave from the window. He knows you wont listen to him, knows that its inevitable to try to stop you from going to Aveline, so he already sent someone to bribe the staff to not let you on the asylum premises. He’s not worried about who you’re meeting or where you’re going, just as long as its not Aveline.

No. He closed his eyes, painful memories flashing through his mind. You cant know. You cant know.

He sat down on his chair, trying to think of ways to divert your attention from the asylum. You’re as stubborn as a mule, you wont listen to him. So he has to create distractions for you.

Jack the Ripper!

Of course, the murder case!

“Cadburry!” He called his butler. “Arrange me an invite for the Gentleman’s club. Now.”

You were sitting in the boys apartment, Benjamin playing with your hair out of habit, braiding it, unbraiding it, then braiding it again. Colin sat confused. “Why cant we go to the asylum today?”

“I’m not in the mood to see depressing white halls today. Besides, I have an errand to run.” You lean your head further back for Benny.

“And what that might be?” Colin was intrigued.

“Girly errand. You wont understand.” You dismiss him. “But we’ll go to Aveline’s again, thats for sure.” You felt Benny tug your hair at that statement.

“Ow! Benny!” You glare at him. Ben shakes out of his daze, apologising profusely. “Sorry, sorry! I was just lost in my thoughts.”

A coy smile formed on your lips. Lost in thought? Oh, I know exactly what kind of thoughts you’re having, Benny.

Colin stood up with a sigh. “Alright then. I’ll go to office and start writing down a draft.” You nodded as he left you alone with Ben.

Once you heard the door click, you immediately turned around. “Hey, Benny.”

He gave you a gentle smile. “Hey, Y/n.”

“So…” you wiggled your brows at him. “What’s going on with you?”

“Hmm… nothing much really. I got a new customer who wanted a toupee. Apparently word got around that I’m a very skilled barber, no matter how much hair one has or lack of, I can make it work!”

“Yes, thats lovely Benny, but-” you cleared your throat. “I meant, whats going on with you, personally. You look happier, livelier these days.”

He shrugged, offering you another sweet smile. “I guess that’s just the effect you have on people around you.”

Ugh! Stop being so charming, Benny!

“Thanks, Benny. But… I don’t know, I feel like there’s something different about you.” You tried another approach. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I wont ever judge you or anything.”

Though he was smiling, you saw something flicker in his eyes. Doubt? Fear?

“What do you mean, Y/n?” He asked, his voice stable as usual.

Your eyes studied him.

“Did you meet someone new?”

There it is! That flicker in his eyes. His face didn’t let anything away but his eyes, you saw it.

“Yes.” Finally, we’re getting somewhere. “I met you.”

Stupid Benny. Annoying Benny.

Sighing, you realise that maybe he’s just not ready to come out yet. And that I shouldn’t take it personally because I am close with him and he could tell me anything, just like Qasim would. It would be unfair to force Ben to tell you about Lady Scarlett before he’s ready.

“Thanks, Benny.” You said, hiding your disappointment. “I have to go now. Have to go… run that errand.”

“Oh, need me to come?” He got up with you. You shake your head. “No, I’ll manage on my own.”

Why would I tell you when you wont tell me about your love?

-

You were now standing outside the club again. You had initially returned to the back alley to investigate the crime scene again but it had been scrubbed clean and Henry had somehow managed to get a permit to start construction to expand the club further.

He was erasing the crime scene. Henry was trying to hide something.

Speak of the devil, you saw Henry exit the club and get in his carriage. Once you were sure he’d left, you made your way towards the club entrance, still having the invite from last time, only for the guards to stop you.

“I’m sorry but Mr Blackwood has forbidden you from entering the club, Miss Y/n.” One guard said, holding a hand up to halt you.

“Mrs Fitzgerald.” You corrected him, hoping to use the name to get by. “I am the duchess of Westminster!”

“Forgives us, Miss Y/n, but Mr Blackwood specifically instructed us to not let you in and he also instructed us not to address you by anything but Miss Y/n or- um…” The other guard trailed off, making you narrow your eyes at him.

“Or?” You sneered at him to continue.

“Or… future-Mrs Blackwood.” He mumbled but you heard him loud and clear.

I’m going to kill him.

“Listen here and listen clear!” Your voice took a threatening tone, though you’re sure it would look comical to an outsider seeing a woman of your stature trying to intimidate men who were towering over you with their buff physiques.

“I am going to only be addressed as MRS FITZGERALD and you will let me in this club right now or I will have my husband, the duke of Westminster, shut this place down before your twat boss would dare to associate his name with me again!” You yelled with your nostrils flared. “Now, you will march in and inform Lady Scarlett that I’m here to see her. And if she says no, tell her I know about the rings!”

The guards shared a look, probably trying to communicate telepathically whether to let you in or not.

Fortunately for you, your huffing and puffing seemed to work and one of them walked in before returning moments later.

“Please wait for a short while Lady Scarlett entertains some guests.”

After about 20 long minutes, during which you were sure Henry would turn up and have you carried off the premises, the guards finally lead you inside.

“This way, future Mrs Blackwood.” You shot him a glare but didn’t say anything since you were inside the club anyways. They lead you up the stairs towards the room that you had seen Ben go into the last time you were here.

The door opened and you saw a large bed on one side, silk sheets and plush cushions adorning it, and a huge vanity in the other corner, full of makeup and expensive jewels, all arranged in an orderly manner. Then there was a table next to the vanity on which sat a variety of beautiful red haired wigs.

“They’re made from real hair.” A voice said from behind you. You turned to see Lady Scarlett, wearing a maroon robe and a black mask covering her identity. Her trademark red hair, still styled as beautifully as the first time you saw it and that bright red lipstick on her lips. “Benjamin was sweet enough to get them for me.”

She walked past you and sat down on a couch next to the window that opened to the balcony outside, and then she lit up a cigarette, holding it in a vintage cigarette holder.

Not that I would ever condone a nasty habit such as smoking, but she looked absolutely badass in that moment.

“What do you want, Mrs Blackwood?” Scarlett let out a huge exhale of smoke.

“Fitzgerald. I know about the rings.” You state, watching her take another drag.

“What rings?” She asked, feigning innocence.

“The golden rings.” You narrow your eyes. “I saw it on your hand that night and I saw it on Benjamin’s hand as well. I know whats going on, and I’m here to talk about that.” Taking a deep breath, you blurted out your suspicions.

“I know you and Benjamin are in a relationship.”

She looked up at you expectedly, not at all alarmed at being caught. Then again, why would she be caught off guard? Considering the line of business she’s in, she probably has practiced her poker face.

“Is that so, Mrs Blackwood?” Scarlett’s lip’s curled up. “So what?”

So what?

“Look, I mean no harm, but I- I care about Benjamin a lot. He’s like family to me, and I know its not my place but I am very protective of him and I just… I’m just here to make sure that this is not some sort of game for you. I don’t want you playing with his feelings, so if you’re not serious about him then I suggest you end things with him now before it gets too messy.”

Scarlett looked at you before chuckling. “As you wish, Mrs Blackwood.” He stood up with a click of his tongue. “Now, is that all or do you have any more shocking news to pass on to me, Mrs Blackwood? I suggest you do it now because you wont be stepping a foot in this club again.”

“Its Mrs Fitzgerald. And I don’t plan on returning to this depraved scum either.”

“Depraved scum, huh?” Scarlett tilted her head slightly in a mocking manner. “Since you insist on calling yourself Mrs Fitzgerald so proudly, let me show you something as well.” He opened the door and lead you towards the top of the stairwell, from where you could see everyone and everything down below on the dance floor.

She nodded her head to the far right corner and your heart dropped for a second. Is that-

“Mr Fitzgerald seems to be enjoying himself. Though not all that much.” Scarlett said as your eyes remained focused on Silas who was sitting on a chair, looking uninterested by the different women who surrounded him. “Maybe he likes boys. I’ll send some his way-” You rushed out of the club, not able to hear another word or see Silas for another moment longer.

-

Its been a couple of days since you went to the club. Of course, when you arrived home and waited for Silas to return, who upon your questioning about his whereabouts claimed he was meeting a businessman.

He lied.

You tried to distract yourself by taking more ballet lessons from Sarah, but still your attention lingered on him.

Why was he there?

You then tried to divert your mind towards work, and then here you are, sitting on your desk with a blank paper, ready to be filled with words.

Why was he there?

Dropping your pen because you knew you weren’t going to be able to get anything done until you processed your feelings about this.

What feelings? Certainly not jealousy because I am far more mature than this. Its just-

I thought he had standards. Taste. Sure I might not be fine wine, but I’m certainly better than those skank-

Nope. I am a woman. I will not be bringing other women down because of a man.

But Silas… how dare he? Yes, how dare he?! I am not jealous, I am insulted! How dare he act like he’s a polished aristocrat and I’m just ditzy, poorer than a church mouse, a NOBODY, when he goes around prancing his repute and himself in the utter gutters of London?

Maybe he’s just hypersexual. Yes, he’s a depraved, disgusting individual and I married him. Great. So the first man I married, had a NIKKAH with, turned out to be lying, cheating, piece of-

Why did he lie?

Its not like he expects me to sleep with him. If he did, why would he still make me sleep on the floor?

Baldwin would’ve never made me sleep on the floor, always covered me with his cloak because he knew how much the cold bothered me.

And he’s always so rude to me! He beat me at tennis, quite literally!

Salauddin always lost to me in chess. And he let me rub my wins in his face too!

Not to mention, how uncaring he is to my feelings!

Ibrahim always put my happiness above everything. He chose to wait for me, until I was safe- felt safe.

And of all of them, I ended up marrying Silas.

How dare he?

Pushing yourself back into your desk, you began writing down furiously. Fuck Silas, fuck Henry, and fuck Lady Scarlett! I WILL go back to Aveline Asylum, I WILL expose the the Ripper and- if I have time, maybe find Benny a better significant other!

“Woah there- what are you writing?” Colin came up behind you, frowning at the title he read.

“The Ripper strikes again! Murder outside the exclusive club for the wealthy freaks!” Colin looked at you. “Have you gone bonkers?”

“Yes.” You snapped. “You cant talk me out of it, so why don’t you go and get us access into Aveline asylum again. Discreetly, this time.”

By the time everyone was going home, you had finished your article and dropped it on the editor’s desk just as he was about to leave.

“Read this. Trust me, its worth it.” You look over your shoulder. “And I have a witness ready to go public- Mrs Fitzgerald.” Of course, the editor wouldn’t ever figure out that you are Mrs Fitzgerald, not Mr Holmes.

-

However, you were a little surprised to see that he hadn’t published your article in the paper the next morning. Storming to work, you quickly made your way towards the editor’s office, barging in without knocking.

“Hello there, love.” He smiled cheekily. Instead of your editor, Henry Blackwood sat in his chair, his legs propped up on the desk. “I was waiting for you.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“What? You can barge into my business, but I can’t swing by yours?” He asked, feigning hurt.

“No. Now leave.”

“Well then its a good thing that this is also my business now.” Henry grinned, removing his feet from the desk and replacing them with his arms, resting his head in his hand as he stared at your fuming self.

“What?”

“Oh love, you’re looking at your new boss. I just bought the paper this morning.” He winked, standing up and making his way to you. “See, I told you not to come by the club again, I told you to drop the Ripper case, and you didn’t listen either time. So, I’ve come here to tame you. Personally. Seems like you need my undivided attention, kitten-”

“I did drop the Ripper case. I didn’t give my statement to the police!” You exclaimed.

He tutted, wagging his finger at you. “No, but you did write an article. You’re lucky I was here before it got published.”

You frowned. “How- how did you know about the article? I wrote it yesterday, I gave it to the editor at the last moment-”

“I have eyes everywhere, Y/n.” He smirked, leaning down to whisper. “Especially on you, naughty kitten.”

Henry chuckled as he looked at your flushed face, mistaking your anger for bashfulness. He walked out of the door but not before passing another comment to tick you off.

“Nice moustache. Or shall I say… whiskers, kitten?”

-

For the next 3 days, you didn’t leave the house. You didn’t even leave your room. It seemed like all your previous pettiness-driven motivation had run out and dropped you into the well of depression. And here you wallowed in your sadness, taking Silas’s bed even when he was away and looking like a pitiful lump of sadness under the covers.

“What is wrong with you?” Silas asked, exasperated as he sat down on the bed to tie his shoes. “How long will this go on? You have missed your ballet classes and you are worrying grandmother.”

“I’m just sleepy, okay?” You mumbled from under the sheets. “Its not like sleeping on the cold, hard floor is helping me.”

“And it seems like sleeping in my bed hasn’t helped either.” He raised a brow. “Its been 3 days already. This has gone long enough. Now you can either tell me what is wrong or I will have Cadbury drag you out and hose you down in the gardens.”

You shoved the covers down to glare at him. Asshole. You don’t doubt that he would have his butler hose you down.

“I miss… I miss my brother.” You mumbled as you averted your eyes. “Qasim would fix everything for me. He always had a solution, always. And I- I need him right now. To guide me, to handle things for me.”

“So… why don’t you ask for his help?” Silas asked, fixing his tie.

You stared at his back before looking down at your lap. “We’re not on speaking terms… I’m mad at him.”

Silas rolled his eyes. “Well he’s your family, isn’t he? I’m sure you can still talk to him.”

“Cant.” You muttered gloomily, making Silas’s annoyance trigger off.

“And why the bloody hell not?” He turned to glare at you. “You cant get out of my bed! You cant attend work! You cant take your classes! You cant tell me what’s bothering you! And you cant talk to your own brother! Why!? Why?! WHY?!”

You flinched at his harsh town before tears filled your eyes.

“Because… he’s dead.”

Your statement rung in Silas’s ears like a daunting bell. Dead. Dead. Dead.

God, did he feel like shit now.

You threw the covers off you, getting out of bed as you fixed his sheets.

“Sorry for hogging your bed.” You sniffled, using your sleeve to wipe your tears as you walked past him, only for Silas to catch your wrist. With a gentle tug, he had you sitting back down on the bed.

“I’m sorry.” He said, sincerely. “I was just… frustrated due to things at work. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“Its fine, whatever. You’re right, I’ll go to work and classes-” He tightened his grip on your wrist when you tried to leave.

“No.” He tilted your chin towards him. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s wrong. I may not be your brother, but I am your husband.”

You stared at him conflicted. Did he really mean it?

He answered your silent question with a gentle squeeze of your hand. “I will fix your problems, Y/n.” He offered a smile. “Your duke is at your service.”

-

After you told Silas your work situation with Henry and how he’s stopping you from writing anything about Jack the Ripper, how you cant get anything done with his shadow looming over you and monitoring everything you do, Silas explained that solution to it was all simple.

“I will buy the paper from Henry.” He stated nonchalantly, as if he was talking about buying eggs not a newspaper company.

“I dont think he will give you the company. He wont put it up for sale-”

“Everything is for sale, Y/n. You just need to find the right price.” He stood up, assuring you he will buy the company. “I’ll get the company, if you promise to put on a great show. You focus on the ballet classes. After all, the show is only a week from now.”

The following seven days were filled with you doing ballet for hours and hours, all with one motivation.

Not to let Silas down.

Because if I let him down, if I embarrass him, then he wont get the paper from Henry. And I wont be able to find Jack the Ripper or help Colin with the asylum! And Silas will lose trust in me and wont let me have my space at the Westminster palace or wherever so that I can work on my time machine-

Time machine! You face palmed. I’ve been so busy with the murders and shitty men that I forgot to build my machine! My way home!

No, after the show, I’m- I’m demanding- I’m moving out. I don’t care if I get the paper or not, I need to build my machine.

“Oh Y/n, what are you doing in the storage- honey, are you alright? You look like you’re about to pass out! Cadbury! Hurry and open the windows!” Sarah guided you out of the dusty store to sit down, fanning you with her hands. “Oh dear, do you hate confined spaces like Silas too?”

You took deep breaths as fresh air flooded in through the windows, furrowing your brows. “What?”

“Nothing dear, I just thought you felt suffocated in closed spaces, like Silas!” She explained. “He cant stay in a room with closed windows for too long, you know.”

Now that she mentions it, she’s right. You don’t remember Silas being in a room without at least a window open, even as winter rolled around. Hell, he still opens the balcony windows in the bedroom as soon as he wakes up, but you thought that was because he hated your guts and wanted to give you an early wake up call by letting the cold air slap your face and rattle your bones.

“Why does he hate confined spaces?” You ask, letting her loosen your corset.

Sarah looked a little hesitant to tell you, but then relented when you asked her again. “He never told me the reason, but I figured it was the night when his mother passed away. Silas… he was just a young boy, he was hiding in his closet. He liked to scare his mother when she came to check on him, and so he often hid in the closet to give her a fright. He saw his mother get murdered while he was in the closet.” She looked down sadly. “Unfortunately, the killer’s identity was hidden by the dark night. Silas wasn’t able to identify who killed his mother, and I suppose he’s blamed himself a little for that incident.”

Damn. Thats… dark. And sad.

Maybe I can excuse Silas for being rude to me at times. Maybe. Just a tad.

The night of the ballet show rolled around quicker than you’d expected. And despite all the hours of practice and Sarah’s countless assurances that you’d be amazing, you knew the reality.

Your performance was barely passable.

From a young age, you were able to critique yourself very well. As Qasim said- “Only you know yourself the best!” And you knew right now, as you stood backstage, peeking through the curtains at the audience and spotting the queen and her family, you were utterly, truly set up for failure.

NO ONE CAN LEARN BALLET IN 2 MONTHS! AT LEAST NOT ENOUGH TO IMPRESS THE QUEEN!

Your stomach churned, you felt bile rise up your throat, your legs wobbled as you backed away from the curtain, stumbling away, right into Silas’s arms.

“Silas- Silas, I cant do this! I can’t! I can’t!” You cried out and Silas tightened his grip on your arms.

“Okay.”

Okay?

“What?”

“Okay. You cant do it.” He squeezes your shoulders. “I guess I’ll just tell everyone to go home. I’ll apologise to the queen and make up an excuse as to why she wont be seeing a performance by my wife tonight. But hey, she’s family. She’ll understand, right?”

You stared at him in confusion. Silas ran a hand through his fingers. “As for all the journalist who came here to write about you, and all the influential people I’ve invited over because this was your formal introduction into high society, I guess I’ll just have to make something up. But you-“ he gave you a warm smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “-you don’t worry your pretty little head over this. Its okay, I… well, if I’m being honest, I never really expected you to perform.”

“What?”

He shrugged. “I knew you’d back out at the last second. Oh well, what can we do. Now-” he rubbed his chin in thought. “Should I tell the guests that you’ve broken your leg? Or perhaps you cant perform because you’re with child? If we go with the first excuse, people may call you a ditz, maybe unprofessional. And they might come to check on you. But if we go with the second excuse, people will talk about- well, it has been only a month into our marriage-”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Is he… did he set you up?

“You expected me to not perform?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No, Y/n. I expected you to fail to deliver what I require of you. I expected you to perform in front of an audience, and that was all I asked. I didn’t ask you to become a prima donna, I just wanted you to be good enough. Which you are in my opinion. But your doubt in yourself right now is only because you clearly haven’t spent enough time practising because you were too busy running around town, going to clubs and asylums and chasing after a murderer when all of your attention should’ve been on becoming a competent wife!” Silas fumed, tightening his grip on your shoulders. “I asked you again and again to focus on the ballet lessons, and you ignored my advice repeatedly and for what? Because you wanted to prove yourself? Because you wanted to play detective and solve murders? When you cant even do a simple job as putting on a show? And I knew- I knew you would abandon me like this, so you know what, Y/n? While I keep my end of the bargain, while I invited Henry tonight to talk him into selling the paper to me, you continue to let me down. So go on stage or don’t, I really don’t give a shit now. I can’t take your word ever again.”

Silas stormed off, leaving you shell shocked backstage. You sat down on the steps, trying to control your breathing. How could he- how can he say all that to you?

Does he not understand the pressure you’re under? Does he not understand how hard all of this is for you?

You really thought that after you told him about Qasim, after he assured he that he would help you out, that he would fix your problems-

I thought he understood. I thought he had my back.

You let out a shaky exhale, rubbing your chest to ease your ache. Why is it so hard to breathe all of a second?

Tonight, you didn’t invite Colin or Benny or any of the boys, and it only hit you now how truly lonely you were. There’s no Colin. No Benny. No friends. No family. No Qasim. No… Silas.

“Ma’am? Ma’am, are you alright?” Cadbury looked alarmed as he spotted you looking shell shocked, struggling to breathe.

“I… I cant-” You couldn’t speak, and the butler quickly took your nervous, trembling form in and sprung into action.

“Here, duchess- ma’am, drink this.” He brought you a cup of tea. “It’ll calm the nerves, ma’am. Drink it.”

You let the bitter, warm liquid slide down your throat without a second thought.

“You’ll be alright now, ma’am. You’ll be all… right.” The butler assured you kindly, helping you stand up. In just a matter of seconds, your anxiety had melted away and was replaced with… unbridled confidence.

“What did I just drink?” The words slipped out as you felt your heart beat faster. Your eyes snapped towards Cadbury. “What did you give me?” The words came out quickly.

“Nothing special. Its just tea to calm you.” He said, ushering you up the steps towards the stage curtains. “Are you ready now, ma’am?”

Your eyes zeroed in on the white particles on his collar. Like powder.

“Is that snow?” If you weren’t so hyper focused on his collar, it would concern you how fast you were talking. “Is it snowing outside already?”

Cadbury looked down on his collar and suppressed a smile. “Yes, duchess. You could say that. Now- please return your attention to your performance. We are all rooting for you.”

“Not Silas.” You snapped again, your eyes looking at the dark curtains as you take your position. “Not that twat.”

Cadbury’s brows shot up in shock. “Ma’am-”

“I’ll show that twat.” And then the curtains opened.

-

Silas sat down in his seat with a satisfied sigh. Everything is going according to plan. You’re nervous and he just chewed you out so the stage will now be empty because you’ve ran off to cry a river, the royal family will once again be embarrassed as they happily welcomed Silas and his Muslim wife into the family (by making them the duke and duchess) and with all the journalists he invited, the news will now spread like wildfire that Silas rejected a princess, Queen Victoria’s daughter to marry an embarrasment.

The princess was one upped by a fool. A commoner. A failed ballerina.

Did Silas feel bad for you? Just a little, because he didnt like the way you looked at him, hoping for support, maybe even motivation, only for him to break your heart. Broken hearts can be mended, but broken reputations? Nope.

Besides, he’s sure that when he buys the company from Henry and give it to you, you’ll forget all about it! Everything will work out just as he’d planned-

What the hell?

The curtain opened and instead of being met with an empty stage like he’d planned, there you stood in your white tutu skirt, face completely devoid of any expression.

What are you doing?

The pianist began playing a tune he didn’t recognise. Sarah did tell him that of the three songs you had chosen, there was one she hadn’t heard ever before. You’d worked with the pianist to get the tune right, and at that time, he was impressed at how much work you were putting into this.

As the music played, you began dancing. From what his grandmother had told him, he was expecting soft, gentle, shy dance.

And yet you were doing anything but that. Your movements were strong, powerful, determined. You were nothing like the woman whose hope he’d crushed just moments ago. You were all alone on that big stage, but you practically leaped from one side of the stage to the other, your legs faster than lightening.

By no means did you look like a mess, or that you didn’t know what your were doing. Your eyes were wide open, as if hyper aware of your surroundings and your audience. From beside him, Silas could hear his grandmother whispering the choreography.

“En pointe. En pointe. En pointe.” You were now dancing on the tip of your toes, and Silas could only imagine how painful, if not destructive this could be to your feet.

“Tendu. Chaine turn. Chaine turn. Pique manege.” Now, you were moving across the stage while making turns.

And finally, the big ending. “Pirouette. Pirouette. Keep spotting, Y/n. Pirouette.” Silas knew about the pirouettes. He watched you spin around your own axis, in a fixed position on a ground, your body moving first, your head later, your eyes focused on a spot in the dark so that you don’t lose your balance. You turned- 1,2,3, he lost count because you were turning too fast.

“34- was that 34 turns, Silas?”

Thirty four? Thirty four pirouettes?!

The performance ended with fouetté turns, which according to Sarah were about 28 and you exited the stage dancing en pointe, on the tip of your toes.

The ballet hall erupted in applause and cheers, and Silas stood up with everyone else to give a standing ovation to a now empty stage.

What the hell just happened?

-

Its hot. Its hot. I’m burning up!

As soon as you were off stage, of which you have no memory of your performance, you almost fell to the ground if it weren’t for strong arms catching you. And the moment your eyes caught sight of the broad shoulders, you instantly pushed yourself away, throwing yourself against the wall to support yourself.

“Careful there, love.” Henry grinned, clapping his hands in mocking manner. “That was quite the performance you gave, kitten. I’m very impressed.”

“What are you doing here?” You spat out, wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. He tilted his head, amused at the sight of your flushed cheeks. “Silas invited me. He wanted to discuss business. I wonder if the little kitten went to her owner for help because she couldn’t scratch me with her tiny paws?”

“Owner?” You heaved a shaky breath. His smirk widened. “What else would you name it? He bought you to be his wife, because you know and I know that there isn’t and there never will be love between you two. He’s just using you. So drop the charade and come to me-” Henry caught your wrist before you could slap him, and while he may have stopped your physical assault, he wasn’t able to stop your verbal one.

“What would you know about love? You’re here, pursuing a married woman who has insulted you from the very first moment. Those skanks at your disgusting club have more self esteem than you do right now. You’re fucking pathetic and I’d rather eat a cactus and shit it out before I marry an entitled, emasculated prick like you. Fuck off!” You shoved him away and stormed out of there, unaware of just how much Henry wanted to wring your neck (just for a moment) and how a certain someone had overheard this little spat.

And he smiled proudly.

Good job, Y/n. He thought to himself.

-

“Fuck!” You screamed as you burst through the doors and landed out in the gardens, falling to the snowy ground, letting the ice cool your burning temperature.

How the hell am I burning up when its literally snowing?!

You grabbed a fistful of snow and threw it to your face, trying to cool down your body temperature. When that didnt work, you dove face first into the ground, before flipping on your back, letting the snow engulf your body from all sides. Your ballerina costume was thin and sheer as it could be, finally allowing the cold to creep into your skin and slowly into your bones.

Now that the adrenaline rush and whatever the hell was in that tea wore off, your body immediately went into fatigue and became aware of all the aches in your body, especially the pain in your feet. You tried to move, but your muscles didn’t budge. They were tired out, strained beyond their limits.

The cold suddenly became too unbearable and your teeth rattled. You tried to lift your head, tried to yell for help but it was like your mind had suddenly went autopilot and decided to shut down to let your body recover from its fatigue.

“No…” You whispered, as tears slipped out of your eyes. Everyone was inside, the party was loud, no one would even hear you scream for help even if you tried, no one would come to your aid. The realisation that you would freeze to death had you panicking, but alas, your brain refused to cooperate with you.

You heard the sound of footsteps and a glimmer of hope rose in you. Turning your head to the side took the last bit of energy, and your brain put you out of your misery when you saw the daunting shadowy figure that imprinted itself in your mind from the night of the murder.

The cloak, the top hat, a golden ring on his hand and the shiny glint of the knife.

The Ripper is here.

Your mouth fell open in a silent scream before you blacked out.

So??? Thoughts??? Also nobody @ me for not putting a "keep reading" button because I had to edit 12k words TWICE on mobile, I have pulled an all nighters for yall. I have to go to clinic in loke 2 hours.

Yall better send comment and send ask.

[fuqnia]

SP Main Four + butters !College AU Relationship Headcanons

[☆] A/N | hii guys! i recently hit 500 likes on tumblr and i'm like so speechless... i never wouldve thought people would be interested in reading my stupid little writing hehe, so tysm! my long fic, most wanted, is coming to a close soon, and I have been working on another longfic that's a fem!reader insert x main 4 boys in college! i'm also probably going to write a more realistic/sadder headcanons, because this one was toothachingly sweet </3

[☆] C/W | NSFW under the cut, this is also for f!reader, but i'm open to writing a gn!reader or m!reader in the future

[☆] check out my !college au headcanons for the boys + butters here!

☆ stan marsh

hopeless romantic

will definitely do the most cheesy things for you

has a mixtape of songs that remind him of you

writes love letters, but never gives them to you

feels everything deeply, he's a big ol' baby

late night talks about his fears and dreams

craves emotional intimacy and trust w/ you

super duper attentive to your needs

will put you over himself

overthinks

enjoys laid-back dates! like movie dates, thrifting, strolls

gets jealous reallyyy easily

wont outright admit it tho

very insecure, if someone flirts with u, he'll just sulk LOL

avoids confrontations at all costs

not afraid to cry in front of you

vomits on you if you do something really provocative to him

always offer his jacket/hoodie to you

loves holding your hand

laces his fingers thru yours and swings your hands

goofy ah grin when you surprise him with kisses

big on cuddling

gets super flustered when his friends teases him about you

obsessed with your laugh

keeps a picture of you in his wallet

NSFW

sooo nervous during your first time with him

very eager to please!

takes his time learning what you like

kisses every inch of your body

starts with your lips and works his way down

definitely a soft dom

"does this feel good?" "tell me if you want me to stop"

loves holding your hand while in you

eats your p out like your his last meal

i think he would be more into receiving than giving, but doesn't mind giving at all!

gets shy when you compliment him and tell him how good he is making you feel

prefers gentle sex, unless you want it rough

his entire body flushes red when you tease his cock

like palming thru his shorts, or pressing quick kisses to his tip

loves to cum in your mouth

goes crazy if he gets to paint your face tho

i'm sorry but this man is into creampies...

gets turned on when you're really emotional/crying from him pleasuring you

favorite position is definitely cowgirl

definitely an ass man, loves squishing/pinching your skin

kisses your forehead, cheeks and lips after going down on you

i think he would also be kinda quiet, wouldn't let out that many moans

☆ kyle broflovski

shows his love thru actions rather than words

remembers every anniversary, even the little ones :)

makes detailed itineraries for dates

even though he's a yapper, he definitely enjoys listening to you

fiercely loyal

takes no disrespect towards you

ready to work anyone's shit as so much as they look at you funny

probably would like someone who would challenge him intellectually

needs you to have the same core values as him

DO NOT DO PDA WITH THIS MAN

he will just look at you with pure disgust if you even attempt to...

but will secretly hold hands under the table or sneak a kiss when no one is looking

puts too much pressure on himself to be perfect for you

always notices this little things about you

oh you changed your nail color? you applied your makeup differently?

will blush like crazy when you compliment him

awkwardly rubs the back of his neck

will get irrationally jealous

tries to hide it by cracking sarcastic jokes

writes you long thoughtful texts when your apart, updates you about his day, asks you how yours went

becomes super attentive when your sad or stressed

wraps you in a blanket, makes you tea

i feel like he'd hate the feeling of having a crush

but once he's in a relationship, lowkey a romantic, buy you books he'd think you'd like, jewelry that compliments your skin tone

NSFW

overthinks everything at first

constantly asks "is this okay? are you sure?"

like i said, super attentive, he needs to make sure you're okay

loves eye contact while fucking you

gets really shy when you take control but secretly loves it

prefers slow deliberate strokes and touches

has a thing for neck kisses– both giving and receiving

talks your through it

"you're perfect" "you feel so good"

gets competitive if you tease him about lasting longer

please kiss his freckles... he'll go absolutely feral

not afraid to leave hickeys, scratches or nail prints on you

wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck and his life is yours LOL

i think missionary would be his favorite position

needs to see your face

it's his life mission to make you squirt...

loves fingering you

sit on his face ?

super embarrassed about his moans, but lets it out anyways lmfao

loves your titties, no matter the size

will beg you to let him cum in you

☆ kenny mccormick

we all know kenny is a natural flirt

will wink, smirk, and use cheesy pick-up lines to make you blush

loves physical affection

always has an arm around your waist

makes you laugh constantly

goes to extreme lengths to see you smile, whether it's his silly pranks or grand gestures

draws little hearts and doodles on your notebooks/texts

if he's super bored, he'll draw on your skin lmfao

super duper protective— he'll walk you home late at night and make sure you're always safe

loves taking you on adventurous dates, especially sneaking into places you're not supposed to be

calls you "babe," "sweetheart," or "princess" with that drawl of his hehe

not above embarrassing himself, will write cringe worthy poems or songs and serenade you

immediately notices when you're a little bit off

pulls you into a hug, rubbing your back

buys you little trinkets and steals snacks from eric, saying, "i saw this and thought of you!"

obsessed with kissing you, he'll lean in for a quick peck and smirks when he notices your smile

immediately goes back in for a longer kiss

i think he's super good at braiding hair, and loves playing with yours!

please wear his band tees <3

NSFW

super duper confident, definitely knows what he's doing

loves teasing you, using soft kisses and touches to drive you crazy before giving in

worships your body, tracing every curve with his lips and hands

like kyle, adores it when you take charge and being at your mercy

whispers dirty things in your ear, his voice low and sultry

"you're so fuckin' beautiful babe, I can't get enough of you."

VOCAL AS FUCK ! he'll groan, sigh, whisper your name, letting you know exactly how good you're making him feel

has a downright pornographic moan....

obviously a boob guy, he'll suck and manhandle your tits like there's no tomorrow

will cop a feel secretly infront of others as well LOL

also a thigh and neck guy—he'll kiss, nip, and mark you like he's marking a claim on you

definitely cums alot.... i'm sorry lmfao

dirty as fuck as well... spits in your mouth, puts his fingers in your mouth, making you suck him

taps his tip against your tongue, smearing his precum all over your lips

a big fan of sloppy toppy, grabbing your hair and face fucking you

he's tew good with his tongue... and so so messy when eating you out

will not hold back with his noises, literally slurping ???

loves loves loves overstimulation

favorite position is mating press, loves looking at where you guys connect

cusses when he cums

will crack some corny joke afterward to make you laugh,

"so... we're pretty good at this, huh?" and giggles like a schoolgirl

loves cuddling afterwards!

☆ eric cartman

definitely does grand gestures

brags to everyone about being in a relationship

"yeah, she's lucky to have me."

nobody believes that...

hates PDA in theory, but secretly loves it when you grab his hand or kiss his cheek

he'll complain, but his blushing face gives him away

sends you the most random memes and videos throughout the day as his way of saying he's thinking abt you <3

gets ridiculously competitive when it comes to impressing you

if someone else buys you flowers, he'll show up with a bouquet and stuffed animal, screaming profanities at the other person

jealousss to the max

glares daggers at everyone he perceives a threat, coming up with some sick and twisted plan is his head to take 'em down

gets super pouty when you tease him, but loves the banter between the two of you "i'm not fat, i'm big-boned and you know it!"

will absolutely demand you come over to "study", but in reality he just wants to spend time with you hehehe

has a soft spot when you baby him a little

like brushing his hair or adjusting his hoodie, he'll pretend to hate it but he's melting inside

if you're upset, he'll try to cheer you up in his own weird way...

usually a mix of crude jokes and awkward affection ??

please don't cry infront of him, he'll just panic

keeps a picture of you on his phone as his lock screen, and gets super defensive if anyone points it out

"shut up kahl! it's not even a big deal!"

gaslights the hell out of you, but eventually gives in when he realizes you'll just gaslight him back

will bring you up in any and every conversation, and doesn't care if it annoys the fuck out of his friends

proudly shows off your achievements and loudly declare that you're the bestest girlfriend in the world !

until you piss him off...

NSFW

talks a big game about being dominant and kinky

but he's secretly all about soft and sensual moments with you <3

loves loves loves being in control, rarely lets you take the lead

he needs to boost his ego somehow!

will grab your jaw to force you to look at him, his nails pressing hard into your cheeks

"awe, my poor baby is being fucked too dumb, can't even speak properly"

i'm sorry, but this man never shuts up in bed

whether it's dirty talk or low/breathy moans, he's always yapping

really mean too ):

depending on his mood, he'll either take you to pound town, or just veryy lazy sex

gets flustered if you tell him how good he's making you feel, and fails majorly covering it up

"well, duh. i'm amazing."

loves leaving hickeys—he'll mark you in places just barely hidden, so you're always reminded your his.

obsessed with the fat of your ass and tits, doesn't matter the size—he's all about kisses and touches

will 100% lose focus if you whisper in his ear

his cocky demeanor crumbles instantly, and he's completely at your mercy

gets embarrassed easily if you get too emotional, crying and pawing at his chest that you feel too good

this man does not own a single condom... he'll just pull out and paint your stomach

edges you when he's in a particularly bad mood, and only gives in when you're begging

definitely prefers receiving over giving, but likes the feeling of your walls clamping down on his fingers

asks you to stick out your tongue so he can see the load he blew LMFAOO WHY DID I WRITE THIS

i can't decide if he'd prefer doggy style or cowgirl, so ig just depends on his mood?

has a secret stash of candles or mood lighting for when things get "serious"

will deny deny deny it if anyone ever finds out.

his aftercare is surprisingly sweet— he'll tuck you in, grab snacks, and make sure you're comfortable before he starts pretending he doesn't care <3

☆ butters stotch

is THE definition of doting boyfriend

he'll write you sweet notes and hide them in your bag for you to find later

always asks for your opinion on everything

from what outfit he should wear to what movie the two of you should watch

he just wants to make you happy 😭

blushes like crazy when you compliment him, his hands fidgeting nervously as he stammers out a thank you

will call you every nickname under the sun

"sweet pie," "honeybunch," "cutie patootie"

he's so genuine it's impossible not to grab his cheeks and smile

loves holding hands—it makes him feel safe and connected to you

like stan, he'll swing your arms as you walk, grinning ear to ear

will apologize profusely for the tiniest things, even if it's not his fault

"oh, gosh, i’m sorry! did I step on your toe?"

keeps a running list of all your favorite things so he can surprise you with thoughtful gifts or dates!

if you're upset, he'll bake you cookies or cupcakes and sit with you until you feel better

"it's okay to cry, you know. i'm here."

absolutely adores cuddling, but gets super shy at first

once he's comfortable, he's wrapping you in the coziest of hugs

brings you flowers he picked from the campus quad, tied with a little ribbon

"i hope you like ‘em! i thought they were real purdy."

gets starry-eyed whenever you talk about your dreams or passions

he's your biggest cheerleader and believes you can do anything!

definitely giggles as you try to kiss all over his face

allows you to paint his nails, so you both can match

kisses your scratches/bruises whenever you get hurt, then patches you up himself

takes candid photos of you, so he'll always remember the feeling of moments with you <3

NSFW

don't let this man fool you...

he'll act all nervous and shy at first

he'll blush bright red when you undress in front of him

he'll nervously kiss every inch of your skin, murmuring soft compliments as he goes

he'll shyly ask, "is it okay if i touch you there?"

like he's not about to have you begging for him to keep going

once he realizes how much you're into it, he flips a switch

suddenly his shy little kisses turn into biting your lip

pinning you down

murmuring in a low voice, "i'll take care of you, baby"

he'll start slow, watching you squirm under his touch

but he's secretly enjoying the power of making you lose control

SLEEPER AGENT OF KINK

you think he's all soft neck kisses and hand-holding

then he's tugging your hair, love bites on your shoulder

and growling in your ear, "you like that, don't you?"

his hands, his mouth, and his cock alternate between gentle and rough to keep you on edge <3

the moans he'll let out would be so loud and unrestrained

completely enamored with your body

big fan of overstimulation

thrives on praise

eager to learn as well!!

positions where he can see everything—your expressions, your body, the way you react to his touch—drive him wild

not afraid to try something new!

and when it's all over, he's right back to his soft and sweet self

kissing your forehead and pulling you into his arms like he wasn't doing unspeakable things to you five minutes ago.

can you still guess who my favorite is... 💀 also i'm so sorry for whatever this was

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 16/10✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

Anonimo ha chiesto: i absolutely adore your shadowpeach bio-parents au comics they flow really nicely from post to post, and i looove the balance between angst & fluff i feel as if with shadowpeach, its always either angst or fluff- no inbetween, but somehow you've found a really nice mixture of both thanks for singlehandedly keeping me in the LMK fandom haha

Thank you! Fluff and angst keep going around each other like a microwave ahah

Anonimo ha chiesto: So like with mks monkey form does he have to deal with shedding during summer I think it would be funny if macaque and Mk got fluffier during winter. Wukong wouldn't complain about a fluffy macaque though probably like sleeping with the best plushy.

Oh man I think they do indeed haha. Pigsy would scold MK bc he keeps finding fur hair everywhere in the house

Anonimo ha chiesto: You seem like someone who knows a lot about the LMK fandom, so I must ask where does the idea of Princess Iron Fan and Macaque being sworn siblings come from? Like, is it from JTTW, and im just not aware of it, I'm still trying to learn as much as I can, and I need to actually read the book. The fact that people assume I know a lot about the fandom is so hilarious (not in a mocking way, I'm just very surprised) bc like- I watched the whole show in 1 day, speedwatched Overly sarcastic production recap of JTTW and read half of the book in a week. All of this in July. That's everything that I know from the fandom.

I think it's an headcanon. in JTTW Wukong, Macaque and DBK are all part of the brotherhood so.

Anonimo ha chiesto: First off I LOVE your comic but I have the animal autism and wanted to share some Monkey facts: monkeys don't sweat like humans do they mostly sweat on the palms and feet, areas they have no fur. For overheating monkeys mainly seek shade staying under trees , increase respiration (panting), seeking water sources. Also some species might shed for a thinner coat during summer. Sweating is an exclusively human thing and why humans have been so successful humans are persistent hunters. We would often follow herds for miles waiting for them to tire and overheat while sweating keeps us perfectly cool. Humans are also the only animal to blush. Lol Again no hate love the comic I love me some Flustered blushing gay monkeys. I just have the animal autism and wanted to info dump.

Thank you for the animal fact dump! Those were actually super interesting facts!

@draxeanlxia ha chiesto: Hey question that I have no idea if you already answered but how old is MK in your BIO Parents AU? I know people (usually) believe him to at least 18 due to China’s minimum driving age but others believe him to in his early 20s. Also Mac in your AU said was ‘grown ass man’ during the baby arc. So in your AU, how old is MK?

So. in the AU he's 21 y/o. Meaning that when he arrived to Pigsy door they saw him and went "yeah, he looks around 2/3" and from then they counted on. Buut there's also the thing that he looks a little younger than that age. I wont say anything else.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Who your Favorite Lmk character??

mmmmmmm... MK bc he's monkey now. Before season 4 probably Macaque or Wukong. But I have a "thing" for characters discovering they are actually a different species and slowly gaining new/different body features bc of that, so when I saw him flickering at the end of s4 I flew to a different universe. Literally the whole reason this AU exist is because I would die for this trope

Anonimo ha chiesto: What inspired your Human Wukong & Mac designs? Mostly because my brain looks at Macaque and thinks “Cranky middle aged pirate” meanwhile Wukong’s is “That chill gay uncle” (this is based off of purely looks by the way)

Macaque is drama queen so of course he would wear a trenchvoat during fall. plus he's old inside and outside bc of all Wukong bullshit. Wukong is your friendly neighbour who lives in a sketchy house and survives on peach sodas and chips (oh wait that's just canon Wukong.)

ainnur ha chiesto: You know I like how Wukong in your comic just compare something hot with Laozi's furnace. Like with spicy food and time he help MK created the weapon. Mk: You know Wukong you mention Laozi's furnace a lot. Must really tough 49 days for you... Wukong:Yeah worst 49 years *eating peach* Mk: Can tell- wait- years..? Wukong: Yeah a day at heaven is like one year here or so..Do the math, bud *continue to eat the peach* Mk:.... what..? Wukong just casually and accidently recall his trauma because he thought it never effect him like his other trauma. Also the brotherhood have 49 years to help him but they didn't do anything. "Yeah because normally you would rush into my rescue"

Thank you for giving me this traumatic info I didn't know about. Now I will never look at Wukong the same (why did my boy have to suffer so much)

Anonimo ha chiesto: Macaque: I think I'm in love with Wukong . . . Any thoughts. Chiyou: and prayers you're going to need them.

me too bitch, the fuck

@mirror-queen226 ha chiesto: I agree about the last ask you posted (about Wukong surely wearing a dress on a date), and I just couldn't help but say my own headcanon too (with a little bit of knowledge about the ancient times that Wukong was just a child on the jttw and lmk): I dunno if you agree but okay. Honestly, both Wukong and Mac/Mihou (like i usually call him) does not care about clothes, if they feel comfortable with them, be it for woman or man, they'll wear it, especially Wukong though, I feel like he'd act like a famous diva in a on a runway showcasing new high-class clothes from Victoria Secret, Channel, or something, whilst Mac is much more discreet but not too far from that too. And considering Wukong was wearing WOMAN clothes when he was in the brotherhood in the season 4 lmk flashback, it just made me believe in that headcanon even more :) Also, I am really loving your au, it's just so perfect the way you develop every character slow and patiently, keeping their personalities untouched, not changing but instead expanding and showing them a bit more, how they are really trying to improve (Wukong and Mihou in this case) and how satisfying it is to see. I always rush to see the new updates you post about the Biodads au every time i see too, and honestly, one of the 5 best au's ever, you draw so good too, it's adorable! That's all I wanted to say, have a nice day, drink water and take care of your health! 🥰🥰🥰

Yeah true! Like they are shapeshifter, they wouldn't care what species they are, even less the perceived gender norms

Anonimo ha chiesto: Little question, while the monkeys where at Chiyou's forge, shadowpeach where still sleeping together or not?

They were all sleeping in sleeping bags on the floor (but they all were close to each other.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Generally curious what you think would have happened if MK had not been woken up and the stone wasn't broken what do you think would have happen. would he had grown up on FFM?

Aww he probably would have been raised by Wukong. I don't know if that's a good or bad thing.

@wolfsonic ha chiesto: I have question! Does Rumble and Sabage have sentience in your stories? Like, do they have their own personalities like MK clones do? If yes, what do they think of WuKong and MK? Also, will we see more of them? Cause I'd love Mk to meet them when he wasn't stuck as a cub and not remember.

Yeah I think they have a littel bit of personalities. They like both MK and Wukong, but would also do prank on him.

Anonimo ha chiesto: I think I won't say I'm in love from Hercules fits macaque very well

The little monkeys are the muse doing backup choir

Anonimo ha chiesto: Can we see what a courtnapping room typically looks like?

Courtnapping rooms are made specifically for the courted one, so they are all different. Basically, the room should include everything the courted person would need to live comfortable and also a collection of things they like / to pass the time /love.

It must show that the person courtnapping them is able to provide, care and protect for them. And also knows what makes them happy.

So it can be a huge castle full of jewerly and elegant clothes/ornaments or just a cozy room with some chips and video games.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Is LBD going to be a topic in your au again ?

maybe

@wolfasketch ha chiesto: We need MK interacting with his new found Auntie and Uncle please(we also new to see Red being flustered by MK while his parents are around and PIF being like "Ooohhhh")

We are VERY luky Red Son and MK didn't grew up together or we would have thier parents playing love-matching with them while they are toodlers

Anonimo ha chiesto: could we possibly get a traffic light trio and shadopeach grooming train at some point, i would love to see some bonding time between them all <3 and i would love to see mk grooming redsons hair since there's so much of it

Wait who would be the second person to be groomed? I assume RedSon hair are too hot to touch. (when he's flustered, at least)

Anonimo ha chiesto: So like how does Redsons hair/ fire work. Does it just feel warm to MK and Mei. Will it only burn/ hurt you if he doesn't trust you. Another note it must be nice having two fire demon friends during winter.

I think when he's relaxed, the hair is just- a little bit warm, then with his feelings and emotion it can go up to a bigillion degrees, so it's not harmful as long as he can control it.

[heraxic]

Hello :o

I just wanted to say thank you (and also thank crumb) for getting me back into thinking about Karl Heisenberg 24/7.

I really love your artstyle, from the amazing expressions (especially the peeved/angry ones) to the scribbly lineart. As someone that’s trying to learn to draw more digitally, I really like to observe your stuff o.o

Your Moldy Family comics are funny, cozy, sweet and comforting all at the same time, and they made me discover and appreciate Eveline (oh man I love how much of a goth tween she is), and the way you draw Heisenberg (his physicality if that makes sense, his clothes, his hair, his everything) is just *chef’s kiss*.

As a former Greek Mythology child, that AU is so so nice owagh. I love all the monster adaptations/designs, it’s all so clever: I love that Kyril is scaley, hairy AND has wings (which I feel aren’t depicted often nowadays with gorgons), Alina is so majestic, with the black tipped limbs and the blood soaked dress, and the daughters being harpies/sirens(?) is also so perfect.

Idk if you’ve already said it, but what is it about Karl’s character that made him interesting to you?

I hope it makes sense (I’m a bit tired) and thank you again for the excellent food :]

Thank you so much!!!<<<3333

he lives in my head rent free…. his crusty-ass hair and barrel-shaped bod gets me every time

im glad you like my scribbly lineart! I tend to get concerned whether it really looks like anything haha

I miss drawing the mold family but i think my forte has always been fantasy, especially cause i love mythology more than anything. That’s not to say i wont go back to the modern mold family though

For greek au karl i wanted him to look like someone had haphazardly stuck animal parts to him so it’d look deliberately unnatural for him to have a relatively normal human body under all that-

I’m not sure i can fully describe why Karl is so interesting. Surface level, being voiced by Neil Newbon is always a big plus and his face model Joel Hicks is awesome-looking. His character design matches his abilities and personality really well, and speaking of personality, queer-coded villains who make a big show out of everything are always going to be my favourite. His gritty, masculine aesthetic is really inspiring in terms of gender as well. On a deeper level, in spite of all the terrible things he’s done, i find him sympathetic and relatable. After decades spent in a highly dysfunctional family, not living on his own terms, completely alone, I need him to finally be okay and get better for his own sake, with the support of people he trusts. It’s the same reason i love Eveline. Morally dark-grey characters who deserved better and could’ve gotten better with a good support system.

[hermesserpent-stuff]

idea that i may write one day;

gambit being with the brotherhood rather than the acolytes (after rogue left the group)

ive been thinking about this for a while.

i like the idea that remy is a neat freak. and i like the idea of him going to the school lol.

he is not the leader but he makes sure the house stays clean, food comes in and out, and toad gets bathed.

he hates going to school, having been homeschooled his whole life. everything is either something he knows more about than they cover at a highschool level or something he wont need so he is ???? about learning. he knows what he's gonna do in life- be a master thief and be a prince in the thieves guild.

He likes shop class, and works on his bike a lot. He likes latin, able to hold full convos in it but needing some help on the finer points of grammar. (rogue also takes latin and he flirts in latin and french and english) He likes economics but hatteeessss physics. he knows most of it already.

he had joined the brotherhood in the hopes of more training and learning more about his powers. he is quickly finding out that ... there's not a tone of hope for that. and while he has a lot of control and ability, his powers are slowly growing.

he wears sunglasses like scott and tends to dress either flashy or in black. idk. we didn't see him in normal teen clothes lol

(brotherhood gambit au)

[thewriterwithnoplan]

THE TRAITOR'S SOULMATE (2/2)

Summary: Humans once had four legs, four arms, two heads, and two hearts. For humanity's hubris, Zeus struck them in two. You and Luke Castellan are determined to find your way back to each other, but before that can happen, there are things the two of you need to do.

[Part 2 to The Hero's Soulmate]

Soulmate AU: You meet the future version of your soulmate.

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Word Count: 7378

Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, I use the spelling 'mom' because the series is American but I - and I cannot stress this enough - am not American, she a long one.

A/N: I've loved reading your comments, thank you so much for all the support in part one. I hope you enjoy, because we all deserve a little Luke Castellan every now and then!

Masterlist

Amphitrite had been gifted a premonition and the world was all the worse for it. The dream had come from Apollo or perhaps the Oneiroi or whatever great heart pumped blood and Gods and monsters out into the world.

It did not matter to the Goddess from whom the vision came, for in this dream Amphitrite had watched her husband fall in love and sire a child to a mortal paramour. A precious boy that Poseidon might even one day love, with a taste for the colour blue and a heroism that would grow to rival his namesake. And for the Queen of the Seas, that simply would not do.

It would not be the child’s nor his mortal mother’s fault – she was not Hera after all – and so she would have to punish her husband for the blame would be his. But how was one to punish a King among Gods before his crime even came to be? Why to beat him at his own game, of course.

So, Amphitrite set out to sire her own demigod with the mortal man her husband would hate most. A devout catholic.

Amphitrite stayed with her mortal lover and their half-blood daughter until the girl was all but five.  Far longer than the greater Gods were wont to spend with their offspring. But what a precious babe she had bourn and what a traitorous husband she had back home.

But fate and prophecies and soulmates were such funny things. Inciting chaos. Inviting paradox. Introducing dangers untold.

It took Amphitrite all those years – though seemingly short in her immortality – to realise her fatal error. She had been the one to leave Poseidon. She had been the one to sire a child. She had been the one to drive her husband to the surface and his mortal. And so, the blame was hers to shoulder.

Amphitrite decided that she would be a self-fulfilling prophecy no longer. It was time to venture back below the surface.

In a last fit of guilt, she bestowed her first and final act of mercy unto her mortal lover. She told him everything.

When finally, she had gone back to the sea to reconcile with her husband, the catholic man took his turn to bestow his first and final act of mercy unto his young demigod child.

Against all the teachings of his faith. He abandoned his young daughter at Half-Blood Hill. And let the devil-spawn keep her life.

The Spirit of the Hudson River never did learn to like you. You with your greedy hands, snatching debris from its murky waters. You and your strange sea creature friends who would not dare brave such pollution were it not for your presence. Your pile of war spoils tossed aside like children’s toys. Your strange little bubble of air on the sandy floor of the river, where you stowed your treasures and slept bracketed by water. Were it not for the pollution that slopped against the edge of the river as if it were trying to escape you, the Hudson River Spirit might have chased you and your sea friends and your collection of trinkets out of his waters. But as it were, you made a strangely amicable tenant for a demigod. So, as long as you paid your dues the spirit let you keep your little underwater oasis.

For your first years living there, you made your way in New York City by selling lost things dredged from your river home. Bikes and old weaponry and tarnished jewellery and buckets of coins from across the world. You were careful and you coveted your few precious belongings, but with the rivers bounty, you rarely went hungry.

By the time you were fourteen, you found you could venture further into the city without as many questions. You had met an odd assortment of people whilst selling the lost and unloved things of the river; all who knew someone, who knew someone, who needed another set of hands and so you offered yours. You babysat and cleaned, worked in delis and sandwich shops, helped old women with their groceries and young families mend their clothes. A retired teacher gifted you packets of schoolwork and with little else to fill your hours under the river you took to learning. Your numbers came easier than letters and reading always gave you a hard time but the activities she gave you each time you tended to her balcony garden gave you something to do when the sounds of the city kept you up at night.

All the while you followed Percy Jackson from the recesses of the Hudson. Shuffling your little bubble and its blessedly dry treasures up and then back down the river as he was bounced listlessly from school to school. Watching over him as the mythosphere tried desperately to barge into his little mortal life. Feral harpies that tried to snatch him into the air, great snakes that tried to sneak through air vents and all manner of underworld-born sea creatures that sought to pull him below. You had wrestled and dismembered and slayed them all. Adding their feathers and scales and great weapons to your dragons-hoard.

You were sixteen when you finally knocked on Sally Jackson’s door to introduce yourself. You had spent weeks working yourself up to it, planning your outfit and then fussing over each piece. All your clothes had been gifts and were often a size too big or printed with some generic tagline like Spread peace not hate!; or made entirely from yarn that the old woman whose meals you prepped at the start of each week had gifted you after she had taught you how to crochet; or like the dress you wore now, were sown together from thrifted fabric scraps and embellished with pretty shells and baroque pearls. You had planned the time you would arrive down to the minute so that her oppressive husband would be out, but the hour would not be so late as to make an unexpected visit threatening. You had planned to keep Percy safe while you were away from him by entrusting your friends Clarence the Crab and Emily the Squid to supervise him for the evening.

What you had not planned for was the possibility that Sally Jackson would be the most lovely woman you had ever met. You had been struck dumb by it the moment she opened her door and greeted you with a kind smile. Couldn’t your mother have chosen a mortal as gentle as she to be your parent? Alas, the Gods had never done a thing for you.

“Can I help you, lovely?”

You tried not to burst into tears as you asked, “Mrs. Jackson?”

“Are you alright?” She opened the door wider, leant out and scanned the corridor behind you. “Is there something you need?”

“No ma’am. I’m here about your son, Percy. His father sent me.” A good ambiguous statement that would pique her curiosity but let on nothing about the Gods. Allowing you to spin your tale – that you were Percy’s long-lost step-sister, come to reconnect. 

“Poseidon?” Alas, the Gods had truly never done a thing for you. “Is something wrong? Is Percy, okay?”

“He’s fine Mrs. Jackson, I’ve been keeping him safe.” 

She scanned the hall behind you once more, “You best come in.”

Over a cup of tea, you told Sally Jackson everything.

You liked your home under the river. For lack of a better term, it allowed you to remain liquid. You could follow Percy wherever trouble took him. You could stay up until the city grew quiet for that brief moment before dawn. You could train with the Hudson River Spirit, even if he only entertained you because he enjoyed winning.

You liked your bed made out of stacked wood pallets and a mountain of blankets. You liked your wooden chest of draws stuffed full of trinkets and weapons and the precious few items you owned. You liked this place that you had carved out with your own two hands.

But you also liked your home in the Jackson household. Where there was always music playing. Where it was always warm and dry. Where there would always be some blue-ified food in the oven or blue candy in the mason jars by the sink.

It became your job in the summers to babysit Percy, to keep him away from Gabe and from danger while entertaining his endless need for motion. You took him to art galleries (which he hated) and aquariums (which he loved), to craft fairs (which he tolerated because he liked the things you made) and swimming pools (which he only liked when he won your swimming races).

“What even is a soulmate?” Percy had asked you one day at the park.

“The person with the other half of your soul,” You scrunched your nose up, “Or well, that's what people say.”

“You’re saying I’ve been walking around with half a soul?”

“I didn’t say I believed them,” You rattled your water bottle in front of his face until he took it. “Stay hydrated.”

He frowned at you, “You don’t believe in soulmates?”

“Of course I do, but it's a little more complicated than that, kid.” You took the water bottle back and played with the cap for a moment while you thought. “Think of it like this. You can have two different puzzles that are cut the same way, right? So all the pieces from one will fit with all the pieces from the other. But that doesn’t mean they belong together, the picture doesn’t come out quite right because even though the pieces fit, they don’t necessarily belong to the same puzzle. Maybe that’s what it was like for your mom, like she couldn’t find the pieces that made up her picture and so she went with the ones that fit at the time.”

“You don’t think my mom and dad were soulmates?”

“I never met your father.”

“But he’s your dad too.”

“He’s my mom’s husband. Maybe my mom and dad are soulmates.” Percy didn’t seem to like that answer.  “Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe your mom and my mom each have pieces that fit into your dad's puzzle but neither match his picture, or both. Maybe his picture is a year with your mom and a lifetime with mine and having you. Maybe he needs to collect all those little pieces at the right time when they’re the right shape or he’ll end up with a completely different picture at the end.”

“I kind of understand.” But he gave you a look that said he probably didn’t. “What picture are you making?”

You hid your smile behind the lip of your water bottle, “My soulmates about yay-high, pretty as a magazine cover with dimples and all. I’m collecting my puzzle pieces with you and your mom and this city so that I’ll have half of his picture.”

“If you know who he is, why don’t you just go find him now?”

“Still looking for some pieces, I guess.” You kicked a rock with the toe of your boot. “Souls are fragile. If you go rushing in and trying to jam the pieces in when they’re not shaped right just yet you could damage them.”

“What happens if you do that?”

“It’s probably harder to find each other in the next life. You’ll chip pieces away and your souls won’t fit right.” You shoved your hands into the pockets of your cardigan and pulled out a sandwich, you gave Percy the bigger half.

“Who taught you all this?”

“My mom used to tell me and well, I've thought about it a lot.” You tugged Percy by the back of his shirt so he didn't go stomping through a puddle, he glared. “But anyway, some people think it’s just fate. That you find your soulmate no matter what and it’s a perfect fit either way.”

“It would be easier that way.”

“Sometimes that’s just not how the story goes, kid.”

Percy thought that was the most important thing anyone had ever taught him, but he figured some of the other stuff you taught him came in handy too. You taught him the tricks you learned to work around your dyslexia. You taught him to skip stones and to not throw rocks at seagulls. You taught him to flip off the Empire State Building but only when his mom wasn’t around. You taught him to knit and do a cartwheel and make a good cup of tea to take his mother in the morning. You taught him to chew with his mouth shut and to sword fight with wrapping paper rolls. You taught him to braid hair and throw a punch and say all the swears in Ancient Greek.

And then one day, a Satyr came for Percy Jackson, and there was nothing left for you to teach. 

You wrote Sally a brief letter of warning, picked your way through seven years’ worth of belongings and collapsed your life into a backpack. You said goodbye to Clarence and Emily with a brief promise to visit, pushed a final wave of pollution from the waters and thanked the Hudson River Spirit for his hospitality. He gifted you sixteen perfect round pearls and insisted that he never wanted to see you again. You spent the bus ride to Long Island threading them into a necklace made of fishing wire, tying off each pearl with your teeth. 

It was a tentative tradition between demigod soulmates to exchange gifts upon their first meeting. So few and far between were the possessions of a half-blood that even the smallest bauble would likely mean the world. The practice had died out some over the centuries as the Gods received fewer offerings from mortals and turned to their children for sacrifices. Gift-giving to your soulmate as a demigod became all but synonymous with spitting at the feet of the divine and loudly proclaiming you would make offerings to your soulmate instead. A pearl necklace would be an excellent final addition to the collection of small gifts you had assembled over the years. Let the Gods weep at your feet and beg for scraps if they needed them so much, you would ignore them just as they had ignored you. 

You arrived at Camp far sooner than you might have liked, a few hours past mid-day when hopefully the rest of your ilk would be occupied with meaneal chores and activities. You considered waiting at the crest of the hill for someone to notice you only to find a pine tree planted firmly at its peak where you might have stood. Instead, you make the alarmingly easy trek down to the Big House.

“Chiron!” He had always been your favourite of the two men, currently sat on the porch drinking juice and playing cards. 

“Yes, my girl?” He barely spared you a glance as he shuffled his cards between his weathered hands. He stilled for a moment and then tossed his head back in the way a horse might toss its mane. “My dear!” 

You raised a hand, halfway between a salute and a wave, “Nice to know I haven’t been totally forgotten.”

“Au contraire.” Mr. D stuck his nose up at you. “Which one are you again?” 

“The little one that went missing some seven years ago,” Chiron stood as you climbed the stairs onto the porch. “How are you, my dear? Where have you been?”

“Shouldn’t you be at Yancy Academy?”

Mr. D’s eyes turned sharp in the way that had once made your friends whisper that some days, he was more maniac than man , “And how do you know about that little girl?”

“Percy Jackson is at Yancy,” You smiled at him, all teeth, “How did you think he survived long enough for your baby satyr to find him?” 

“You have been protecting young demi-gods?” Chiron asked wearily. 

“Percy Jackson is a full-time job, I’m afraid,” You tugged at the strap of your backpack, praying you could keep control of the conversation. You had a lot of time under the river to think and this was one of many things you had spent countless hours mulling over. Weighing and considering what story you would tell them – to tell the truth of both your parentage and put Percy in harm's way or to lie and balance your life on its sharp edge. “I found him in Manhattan, he was like a magnet for mythological activity. By the time I’d had enough of rebelling and wanted to come back to camp, I was protecting him from attacks every other week. He wouldn’t have lasted a month. I came back as soon as I could.” 

No matter how many times you played it out in your head, the lies won every time. 

“Kids.” Mr. D threw back the last of his juice.

“Perhaps you should settle back into the Hermes Cabin, dear.” Chiron smiled down at you, the corners of his eyes pinched, “You’ve given myself and Mr. D much to talk about. We’ll settle the issue of your paperwork tomorrow.”

“Of course.” You rustled through your bag, digging up a palm sized statuette that you set onto the table. “Before I forget, I brought you a gift Mr. D.”

“A toy,” He snatched it up. “Oh joy.”

“It’s you, as the mortals’ see you. It’s from the gift shop at the Met.”

“How kind of you, my dear.” Chiron softened, and you watched as even Mr. D’s temper seemed to ease, his hands gentle around the gift as he admired it. 

An unseeing piece of plastic for the God who served as no more than a silent observer over the affairs of the camp. Let him choke on his ego, you thought as you left the pair to their discussion. 

Cabin 11 was blessedly empty when you entered, but your old bunk was not. A pile of clothes was thrown haphazardly across the bedspread. You snatched a sleeping bag and a lumpy pillow from the storage closet and threw them down with your bag. If you could not have the bunk that had been yours at twelve, you would claim the corner that had been yours at five. As you shook out the sleeping bag and pulled out your belongings, you tried not to think of your bed of blankets under the river or Sally Jackson’s couch. 

Instead you turned your mind to the Big House and the conversation that was no doubt happening within. 

You had constructed a perfect image, if you did say so yourself. Grown in ways Mr. D could not have predicted but Chiron would insist he had foreseen. Still a rebellious young woman in the mortal sense, with your scuffed leather boots and ripped jeans. But the parts that had screamed ‘insubordination’ to the Gods were neatly tucked away. Your twin knives strapped to your forearms under the billowing sleeves of your crocheted top, your vicious tongue caged behind a sweet grin, your once sharp stare softened at the edges.

Once you had fashioned yourself so that the Gods could not paint you as a hero, now you fashioned yourself so that they might forget you were an enemy. 

Let Chiron think you were a misunderstood wayward girl scout come home from her self-imposed quest. Let Mr. D think you were a stupid girl who had seen the world beyond the Gods’ protection and finally accepted that you needed them. Let them all think wrong. You had left to protect your brother and returned for one reason only. 

“You’re here.” 

You turned, and there he was, “Luke Castellan.” 

He opened his mouth and then closed it, limbs jerking slightly as if he wasn’t sure whether to move toward you or stay put. He was almost certain you could hear the way his pulse was racing, his heartbeat clanging wildly in his chest as he searched desperately for a suave reply, but everything else seemed lack lustre when you said his name like that.

Your face twisted into something like anger and for a moment he thought he’d messed it all up before your lips curled and you practically spat, “I do like your scar.”

And then he was laughing at you, wild and bewildered and not the least bit contained. Before long you were laughing too, neither of you quite sure what was funny, just so wholly relieved as your chests were flooded with wonder and warmth.

It felt like fireworks and popping candy. Just as he had promised all those years ago. You resisted the urge to throw up on his Converse. 

You might have been crying and he might been too but you weren’t exactly sure because one moment you were both laughing at nothing and the next he was on the floor with you. He held you like he had never held a single thing in his life, like he was lost at sea and you were the only solid thing for miles. He tucked your head under his chin and sucked in great forced breaths that you could feel beneath your cheek. Because he was warm and there and real. And that meant the last seven years, the better part of your life, hadn’t been for nothing. 

 You and Luke make your way to dinner side by side. You had spent the afternoon rambling about your lives, about your meetings with your future selves, about your home under the river, about his responsibilities as a camp counsellor and yours as your brother’s keeper. He told you about Annabeth and Thalia and the rest of his siblings, you told him about your parents and Sally Jackson and your sea friends. You gave him his necklace which he lets you fix in place at the base of his throat – you do not spend a moment too long running your hand up the back of his neck and through his curls. 

He had been almost bashful when he gifted you a watch that matched his, inlaid with twin fragments of mother of pearl taken from the same shell – kind of like your soul had been, he had said. You swear you’ve never owned anything as precious. You let him strap it to your wrist as he tells you about spending a summer diving for it in the lake. And then softly, tentatively, he tells you about his quest.

Luke could have cried from the way you were looking at him alone, so very gently, like you could cradle him with your gaze alone. At a loss for words, you simply whispered, “I am so proud of you.”

His grip is iron-clad and you tell your next story with your face pressed into the side of his neck, pretending you can’t feel him shaking softly. 

When you make your way to dinner you’re both glowing with the soft exhaustion of emotion. You all but lean against one another as you collect your goblets and fill your plates.

The other campers steer clear of you, content to leave Luke to chauffeuring the new kid around. You count yourself lucky, it was only a matter of time until one of the older campers recognised you.

You were almost to the end of the Hermes table – that perfect spot at the end where you might just have a chance of holding a private conversation after dinner – when Chiron interrupted you. 

“Mr. Castellan, I see you’ve acquainted yourself with our newly returned camper.”

“That’s my job, sir.” You tried not to stare at the crooked smile he flashed the centaur. 

“Perhaps you ought to show her how to make an offering,” Chiron says pointedly, “She’s been away for a long time, and it’s your responsibility to treat her as you would any other incoming Camper.”

Luke turned to you, his boyish grin still charming but the mirth leaking out of his eyes, “Of course. Do you remember how it’s done?” 

“I do. Just not a lot of food to be spared in the mortal world.” 

You squinted, the corners of your mouth pulled up in what Chiron would likely mistake for sheepishness. But Luke could see it in your eyes. How your anger had made you pointy in all the places someone your age ought to be soft. He wondered how all the jagged edges of you would feel against all the jagged edges of him. He thought maybe if the two of you were careful, you could make something smooth as sea glass and twice as pretty, together.

You dump a clump of mashed potatoes into the fire with an unconcerned flick of your fork. Luke lops part of his own meal on top of yours, you glare enviously at the reasonable portion he had left on his plate. You hoped the food would burn at the bottom of the braiser. 

“Sorry, sir.” You mocked Luke. He stuck his tongue at you once Chiron had turned his back. 

You hurried to snag the seat at the end of his table, sliding into place across from each other. You flounder for a moment, wondering whether to draw your legs as far under your seat as they will go or bask in the gentle brush of his knee against his leg. You settle for the latter and try not to evaporate under his gaze, as he stares at you even as you start eating.

Luke realised he’d spent too long staring when you all but groaned, “Don’t tell me I have to sacrifice my dinner to you too.” 

He flashed you a grin, then tried to say as nonchalantly as possible,“Is that why you left? So you could enjoy a proper meal every once and a while?”

You stared at him for a long while, “You, future you, told me to leave, to find my brother.”

“Why would I do that? If you had stayed at Camp–”

“That’s almost exactly what I said to you.” You pushed your food around as you stared at a point just beyond his head, he thought for a moment that he could see the neurons firing behind your eyes, like a hundred tiny zaps of lightning, “But I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. And I think you were right to send me away.”

“I don’t think I’ll be hearing that very often.” He dodged the pea you fling at him with a grin. 

“I think maybe if I don’t leave, I won’t become this me or do the things I’ve done and maybe that’s important for us or our future or some past you rewrote by telling me to leave.”

“Seems overly complicated.” 

“I think it’s supposed to be complicated,” You couldn’t help but admire the quiet skill with which he wielded his cutlery, “If it were easy, we would find each other in every universe.”

He paused, knife aloft, “You don’t want to find each other in every universe?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.” You speared a leaf of spinach onto your fork to hide your scowl behind as you said, “The Gods have made it this way to keep us separated.”

“We’re together now.” 

“Which means they lost.”

Luke watched you for a drawn out heartbeat, then leaned over to transfer the perfect squares of meat he’d been cutting onto your plate. 

You took a long moment to chew before you said, “So, your plan to send me after Percy worked.”

“I thought it was your plan.”

“I forgot to ask you whose plan it was.”

“I say it’s your plan.” He took a long pull from his goblet that left his lips tinted red. 

“It doesn’t matter what you think.” You passed him a napkin before he could ask, “It’s what you will think.”

“Sure, Precious.” He smothers a laugh into the napkin at the way you scrunch your nose at him, “You know, because you're so protective of your food. Like Gollum with the ring.”

“That’s the stupidest explanation for a pet name I’ve ever heard.” But you’re damn near head down on the table as you laughed. “I definitely got the smarter half of our soul.”

“Then it was definitely your plan.”

You’ve still got a hand pressed to your face to conceal your smile when you say, “What about when I meet you? Any words of wisdom?”

“Try not to fall for me. I can tell you’re pretty charmed but it’s really not appropriate. I’m seventeen, and you’re what? Twenty-four?” 

You launched your bread roll at him. You’re twice as incensed when he catches it whilst looking directly at you, “Asshole.”

“Smartass. See, two can play that game.”

Luke can’t help but think you’re just as pretty sneering as you are smiling, like no expression no matter how ugly could detract from your beauty. Maybe you’re like him, he scarcely dared to hope. Maybe you’re something better, another part of him whispered. The way you talk about the Gods and turn your nose up at them, and play their game only when it suits you. 

You weren’t vengeful in the way he was. You weren’t the spitting vicious thing the Camp had liked to pretend you were when you weren’t around to prove otherwise. You were worse and better and everything he needed. You were a storm on the horizon, a snake coiled tight. You were better than just angry. You were disillusioned. Not a product of juvenile resentment but true wrath born of awareness. Not the wild foaming-at-the-mouth kind that he had imagined when he had first heard your name. But the dark carefully contained kind he had seen in the face you would grow into.

This, Luke thought, you were the start of everything.

It’s some weeks later when you stick your hands through the grating of the bunk above Luke as leverage to lean over him and croon, “Up and at ‘em, Pretty Boy.”

He pushed his face out of his pillow, curls sticking up at odd angles as he looked at you half-asleep, “What?”

“Remember? Training?”

“No,” He scrubbed sleep from his eyes, “What did you call me?”

“Sickly.” 

“I don’t think that was it.” He propped his head up on a fist as he smiled at you sleepily. 

It was so disgustingly cute that you had to turn your back when you said, “Just meet me there.” 

Luke’s freshly showered and holding an apple core when he deigns to join you in the forest. He tossed the apple at you and you caught it without thinking. You fake gag at him as you throw it further into the forest. 

You wiped your hands against his shoulder as you say, “I’m not sure if an apple core counts but that was dangerously close to an Ancient Greek proposal, Castellan.”

“I got hungry.” He shrugged. You squared off across the clearing, stretching as you warmed yourselves up for the ensuing sparring match. 

“You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“Is this you rejecting me?” He landed an open hand on his chest and staggered backward. “You wound me, Precious!”

“Was that you proposing? Because I’m,” You wiped your hand again for good measure, scrunching your nose up, “Disgusted.”

“You would be honoured if I had just proposed to you.” 

“You should be nicer to me.”

“And go easy on you just because you’re my soulmate? Unlikely.”

“Because, asshole, I’m the one who got you out of chores this morning, or have you forgotten already. You seemed rather grateful for your little sleep-in.”

He unsheathed his sword and twirled it round in his hand, “You’re a bad influence.” 

“Like you weren’t ready to worship the ground I walk on when I told Chiron you needed to get my training up to speed.” 

“Do you want me to tell you, you’re brilliant?” He pointed his sword toward you with that grin that made you want to hold him down just so you could admire it longer. “You’re brilliant.”

“You’re stalling.” You pull your knives out, one from your boot, the other from your belt. You miss your old clothes with their pretty sleeves and their personality, your camp shirt seems a poor trade in comparison. 

“Stalling? Me?” Luke scoffed. “Never!”

“Don’t you have a counsellor meeting at half-past?”

“I do, so please don’t feel bad when you lose. I only have half an hour to wrap this up. You understand.”

“Who’s fault is that Mr. Just-five-more-minutes?”

He gasped in mock offence and lunged forward, his sword swinging at you in a great arch. You leapt back, out of his range, then ducked low and rushed toward him. Luke was quick, in a viciously smooth move he swept his sword at you again. You brought your knives together, bracing as the impact ricocheted up your arms. Admittedly, you were at a great disadvantage given that you were reluctant to throw a knife at Luke’s head – even though he’d demonstrated an impressive ability to swipe your wayward throws out of the air – and that he had an additional several feet of reach on you.

Luke feigned to the right, you lashed out at his left side and narrowly avoided his sword as it came down at you. He whistled slowly as both of you backed up to circle each other for a moment. 

“You’ve got moves, I’ll give you that.” 

And so the dance went on. Luke struck, you parried or slipped out of his blade's path with a flourish. You struck, Luke swung his sword and slipped around your blows. Finally, you found the chink in his precious armour. He fell back to his right foot when he deflected a blow. You jerked forward. You jabbed the knife clutched in your left hand toward him as you moved in with the right. Just as you hooked a foot around the back of his leg, Luke’s sword made contact with your left shoulder slicing through sleeve and skin. Luke fell backward with a sharp hiss, his sword flying to the side.

In the end you had laid him out flat in twenty minutes. Luke Castellan had spent the last seven years fighting to win. You had spent them fighting to survive. You supposed it didn’t hurt that the greatest swordsman to enter Camp Half-Blood in nearly three centuries was reluctant to let anything sharp or pointed anywhere near you. You secretly thought he might have been going easy on you for being his soulmate after all. You collapsed on the forest floor beside him, your chest heaving to draw in oxygen. 

“I’m sorry about your shirt,” Luke huffed. 

“Orange isn’t really my colour.”

He turned to you with a wink, “Oh but it is.” 

You wave your hand through the air.

“I’ve gotten very good at putting broken things back together over the years.” He tried not to look at the line of stitching that ran from the ankle of your jeans to the rips at your knee. You tried not to look at his cheek. Instead you reached out and trailed your hands across his necklace where the pearls sat snuggly at the base of his throat. 

“You’re wonderful.” He brushed his knuckles down your shoulder and they came away red. “Even covered in blood you’re the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen.” 

You groaned, “Sweetness, you can’t just say–”

“You call me Sweetness when you visit me.” He whispered it like it was his greatest secret. You traced up his throat to his cheek and pressed your thumb into his dimpled cheek. “You’re still being wonderful. I can’t think when you’re–”

“Wonderful?”

“Okay, Smartass.” He sighed up at the sky, then pulled the both of you to your feet, “Enough lounging, we need to get that cut checked.” 

You let him dust the dirt from you and resheath your knives, one in your boot, the other in your belt. Silently revelling in the gentle way he tugs you this way and that. You were well on your way to the infirmary, shoulders bumping and fingers just barely brushing, before he spoke again.

“Where does it come from? The nickname.”

“Sweetness?” 

He looked away from you and squinted off into the distance, as if you were suddenly too bright to look at, “Yeah.”

“My mom used to tell me this story about meeting her soulmate. She probably meant Poseidon, but at the time I thought it was about my dad,” The back of Luke’s hand bumped into yours again, his fingers catching yours, his gaze resolutely ahead but you were definitely holding hands. “She said it felt like swallowing lightning and gorging yourself on popping candy. Like sweetness.”

“You like popping candy?”

“It’s my favourite.” You gave him a queer look as if to say, it’s not yours, you utter heathen?

Luke laughed at you all the way to the Apollo Cabin as he listed all the reasons it was the sub-par candy option. Nonetheless, when you emerge from the infirmary, he unloads a fistful of little packets he’d pinched from the candy bowl when the Apollo kids’ hadn’t been looking.

“Who has sub-par candy options now, Sweetness?” You teased, your mouth crackling merrily.

“Keep calling me that and you can have all the terrible candy you want.”

“Try some,” You shoved a packet toward him, because if he kept saying silly things like that and looking at you the way he was you were liable to do or say something equally as stupid. “You’ve got half my soul, maybe it’s our favourite.”

“I don’t think they had popping candy when we had one soul,” He flicks the packet held between your fingers. “And aren’t you the one who says we’re puzzle pieces not halves?”

“You have been listening to me!”

“Hard not to.”

“Asshole.” You flashed your teeth at him.

“Smartass.” He said, but the bite wasn’t there. He was watching you again, in that way he did sometimes before he said something stupid that made you want to throw yourself in the lake or run back to Manhattan or do something equally as stupid, like kiss him. “You–”

You twisted your hand in the front of his shirt and jerked him toward you, the little sachet crinkling in your fist. For a heartbeat, you were both silent, an inch away and staring as if you could will the other to be the one to press forward. But then he closed his eyes and Luke Castellan was kissing you. Like lightning and popping candy. With all the elegance of two lovestruck teenage fools and all the heat of two people who knew they had all the time in the world but still couldn’t bear to waste a second of it. His hand held you by the chin and then splayed lightly across your cheek and tucked hair softly behind your ear. You were only just reaching for the mess of curls at the back of his head when someone wolf whistles.

“My favourite.” Luke grinned, licked his lips and then turned. Hands stuffed in his pockets and a big stupid grin stretched across his face, as he shouted at you, “Stay out of trouble.”

You flip off the Aphrodite kid who’d whistled at you, and hurried back to the Apollo Cabin. You and Luke Castellan were going to need a lot more popping candy. 

You’re in the lake, encased in an air bubble, sprawled out side by side with your backs against the sand, when Luke tells you what he’s done. That mere weeks before your arrival he had done the unthinkable. He had robbed the King of the Gods blind and betrayed half the Pantheon in doing so. You weren't sure whether to laugh or cry.

You had simply laid there, silently, for what had felt like aeons to Luke but maybe that had only been because he had to keep reminding himself not to hold his breath. He wasn’t drowning. You weren’t going to turn him in. He hadn’t just blown his whole plan and his life with his soulmate in one fell swoop. He just had to keep breathing and wait for you to say something. He thinks that maybe your mother had passed on some divine knack for diplomacy as Queen of the Sea with the way you seem to turn the issue of his betrayal over and over in your head. 

After a while, you reach your arm toward the bubble and the sky. For a brief, terrifying moment, Luke thinks you’re going to pull the lake down on him. When you don’t Luke spends another infinite second wondering whether he would just let you do it. 

He tosses the thought aside and focuses on the coin weaving between your knuckles. Like magic, it appears and disappears around the bends of your fingers but it wasn't real magic, just you fidgeting. He pressed his lips together and tried not to think about you at the bottom of the Hudson River, flipping your coin and turning over the issue of your soulmate and your brother and the camp you’d left behind. What is it you had said? You’d had plenty of time to think about those things. 

Maybe that's what you need now – time. He’s about to offer it to you, offer to swim his way back to shore so you can think, even if he'd probably drown on the way. He’d give you all the time in the world if he had it. 

But then you finally speak, the golden drachma rolling between your fingers, “If you hurt my brother, soulmate or not, I will kill you.”

“I am your soulmate.” He insisted as the implication made his skin itch.

“You are.” Your smile was so gentle it almost felt sad. “So you understand that my love for him comes before my hatred of the Gods. If you have put him in danger wit–”

“We get married.” He blurted. “We have a future. I woke you, when you visited me. That must mean I win.”

“It means, if that’s the path we’re even on, if those people are even the versions of us that we become… maybe you don’t hurt Percy.”

“I won’t.” He swore and you weren’t sure how to ignore the half of your soul that lies so sweetly. “I wouldn’t.”

“Maybe.” You swallowed like you’d been chewing glass your whole life, and someone had finally offered you something substantial to sink your teeth into. “Maybe if we leave now, there’s a world in which I don’t have to pick between my blood and my soul.”

Luke was quiet for a long moment, “We could recruit him. You said it yourself, he’ll be more powerful than any of us.”

“He’s twelve.”

“He’s the son of Poseidon.”

“He’s twelve.”

“You were twelve when you left to protect him.”

“And look how that turned out,” Your grin was brittle, but he swore you were still the loveliest creature he’d ever laid eyes on. “I’m sat here planning to betray everything I was raised to follow.”

“You’re going to follow me?”

Your eyes traced the shape of his jaw, his nose, his scar. You looked pained, “I fear I would follow you into much worse, Luke Castellan.”

“I’m trying to lead you to something better.” He reached for your hand, took the drachma from your fingers, and pressed a slow, soft kiss to your palm. He smiled and there were dimples in his cheeks and tears in his eyes as he whispered, “We can try for better.”

“Leave Percy.” You pressed your fingers to his cheek, “Let him come to camp, let him join us when he’s ready.”

“You’re sure he’ll join us?”

“He will, I know it. We just need to let him see the Gods’ apathy for himself.” And you sighed. Luke wondered how many lifetimes your souls had seen, how many times you had searched for each other, how many times you had been torn apart. You sound ancient when you say, “You and I have seen more than enough.”

He turned his head and whispered in the scarce distance between you, “What do you propose?” 

“We leave. As soon as anyone catches on, we take anyone who agrees with us and flee.” You brought his hand to your mouth and pressed your lips to his knuckles firmly, “We can plot your revenge and plan my new world on the way.”

Luke feels ancient when he promises, “Okay, on the way then.”

But he swears, as you lean forward and kiss him, that no matter how many times you do it this lifetime or in all the lifetimes until this story – of you and Luke Castellan – became ancient, it would still never stop feeling like the first time.

Like lightning and popping candy.

Tag List:

@emelia07 @star611 @7s3ven @kissingyourgrl @myxticmoon @shermanno @moonsficrec @soleilgrec

[cxcewg]

two pretty best friends

pairing: charles leclerc x model!portuguese!brunette!reader type: social media au author’s note: i saw this reel of charles and pierre and i was like these two would be absolute simps for their girlfriends and i absolutely adore kika so... here we are. obviously i had to make osme changes to the timeline of kika and pierre's relationship reader is naturally brunette btw (she has highlights) which she clarifies (because uh i couldnt find consistent photos) nothing is factual 😘 warnings: badly translated portuguese (feel free to correct) masterlist

liked by francisca.cgomes, pierregasly and 34,712 others

yourusername i dont need anyone but her 😘

tagged francisca.cgomes

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francisca.cgomes 😘

ashlypower yall is that pierre in that second pic? 

lando.4norriss liked by pierre gasly wtf?

liked by pierregasly lando.4norriss 💀 ashlypower hes in the 2nd pic i think

liked by francisca.cgomes, charles_leclerc and 27,813 others

yourusername porto we loved you (though im sure kika particularly had a good time)

tagged francisca.cgomes

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francisca.cgomes sim eu fiz 😘yes i did

yourusername 😌

username gorgeous

charles_leclerc belle pretty

this comment has been deleted

joij.2001 i cant be the only one who saw that comment

ellasbestie i got a screenshot 👌 joij.2001 i love you dm me it

kikagomesstyles we got charles lurking in the likes lmao

kikagomesstyles and the comments too sonotright hes probably in love with her too ynssource get in line charles she’s mine

cantstoppen1 new wag alert?

ynswifey98 nah there’s absolutely no way lmao she’s way too good for them

liked by pierregasly, yourusername and 101,068 others

francisca.cgomes minha irmã de outra mãe my sister from another mother

tagged yourusername

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yourusername ❤️❤️❤️

yourusername te amo love you

team_yuki are you and pierre dating?

likedbypierregasly LIKED BY PIERRE GASLY

ynstyles.s definition of ride or die besties

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc, and 494,185 others

francisca.cgomes ❤️

tagged pierregasly

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pierregasly ❤️

yourusername so much fun thirdwheeling 🙄

yourusername só estou brincando eu te amo im just kidding i love you yourusername your little boyfriend wont steal you away from me francisca.cgomes 😘te amo melhor amiga love you bestie francisca.cgomes você teve charles você está bem 😂you had charles you are fine

f1gossxp.1 shes so pretty omg

elliesheartt pierre can you fight?

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc, and 74,190 others

yourusername she's everything and he's just pierre

tagged pierregasly, francisca.cgomes

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pierregasly glad to know that you like me so much

yourusername just protective over my girl yourusername i want you to know that im a very skilled martial artist francisca.cgomes by that she means she went to 1 class when she was 10 years old pierregasly charles come get your girl this comment has been deleted joij.2001 please tell me someone got a screenshot of that- ellasbestie I GOTCHU GIRL joij.2001 MY SAVIOR IS HERE

yourusername im just kidding everyone i love them so much together

yourusername but anyways you make kika happy so i like you for her

anniern9 i love their friendship so much

f1wagsig 🚨 new wag alert! learn about francisca (kika) gomes from the link in our bio 🚨 

tifosiiif1 pierre can you fight?

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc, and 305,938 others

yourusername amazing to model for l’officiel italia with this guy. thank you 😘

tagged lofficielhommesitalia, charles_leclerc

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francisca.cgomes 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

francisca.cgomes 😉

leclerccnews kika-

emyprks id let her run me over with her car 😭

nici.2020 her and charles modeling together POWER COUPLE DAMN

pierregasly.news1 yn with highlights 😭i love it so much

ynfashion its getting hot in here 🥵

liked by yourusername, francisca.cgomes, and 894,104 others

charles_leclerc black & white. thank you lofficielhommesitalia

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pierregasly im sure you had fun 😉

sonotright oh my god pierre

yourusername ❤️

liked by charles_leclerc chrles.leclerc ok girl chrles.leclerc she shooting her shot

justeeeneedits watch them get together im calling it

chrlsleclerc16 hes so pretty omfg

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yourusername days like these

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patrici.a05 who took the photo?

francisca.cgomes meu melhor amiga 😘 my best friend

gaslyyyy10 isnt she blonde?

yourusername nah im naturally brunette ❤️

charles_leclerc photo creds?

yourusername 📸charles_leclerc yourusername happy? charles_leclerc very patrici.a05 i guess my question was answered 💀

charles_leclerc if i get a podium this weekend will you come to the next race?

yourusername you drive for ferrari its not happening yourusername but sure why not

angiespamms shes annoying

ynsangel shut up bitch

liked by scuderiaferrari, pascale.leclerc.355, and 781,912 others

charles_leclerc Third in the main race today. Nothing we could have done more. Thank you for the support and see you in Miami 🇺🇸

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yourusername im a woman of my word

charles_leclerc check your email ynsangel OH MY GOD YALL ynsangel AAAAAAAA charlos.1655 lmao he really wanted her to come to miami he somehow fixed ferraris strategy and car

alexbenett01 the depression has been lifted!!

danithehoneybadger we owe yn our lives thank you queen for getting charles's shit together for us 😘

liked by yourusername danithehoneybadger OMG SHE LIKED I LOVE YOU 😭

scuderiaferrarifanclub FORZA FERRARI

mitchel01 so proud of you charles ❤️

cjacobs9 lord perceval >>>>

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yourusername thank you so much to the scuderia! miami you were amazing 😚

tagged scuderia_ferrari, charles_leclerc, francisca.cgomes

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charles_leclerc hope you had fun!

yourusername i sure did

lilymhe ❤️

liked by yourusername

carlossainz55 great to finally meet the girl charles talks about all the time

liked by yourusername cl.charles16 damn carlos really just exposed charles

cnrles_leclerc i can feel the sparks flying omg

gaslynews1 charlie boy has rizz damnnnn

osclo_f1 are they dating?

depressionandcars probably depressionandcars but no confirmation

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yourusername im in it for forever, are you? 😘

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charles_leclerc para sempre ❤️ for forever

maxverstappen1 simp

charles_leclerc meu ajinho my angel

maggie.levine06 THIS WAS NOT ON MY 2023BINGO CARD

landonorris disgusting

yourusername hater

francisca.cgomes 😭my girlie is growing up

yourusername girl im 24 pierregasly you act like you're 13

justeeeneedits CALELD IT WHAT DID I TELL YOU GUYS

justeeeneedits I AM LEGIT PSYCHIC oscarpastry81 dont let your head get too big

the.emily bi panic who?!

spamsclyde fr i cant decide if i wanna be her or with her

liked by yourusername, pierregasly and 1,295,923 others

charles_leclerc Minha estrela. my star

tagged yourusername

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yourusername mon amour 🥰my love

elise.percoff im crying this is to o cute

elise.percoff i camtnn see my svreen

francisca.cgomes take good care of my girl

charles_leclerc always lestappenn they're so cute 😭

pierregasly someones learning portuguese to impress the inlaws

charles_leclerc tais toi, hypocrite shut up forza.f1 HELP this is so cute tbh eliz.foods i feel so single rn ;-;

pierrregasly you make me sick haha

charles_leclerc your fault

amie44 where can i get a charles

yourusername sorry hes mine but you can always look online 😚 amie44 💀

yourfriend i've never felt more single

landonorris you free this weekend? norizzlando LANDO 😭

requests are open (and encouraged) 😘- BUT charles/lando/oscar requests will receive priority for the moment being 😊(feel free to be a bit specific or as unspecific as you want, i just want a feel for what everyone wants me to write)

also send me recs in gen (obviously f1 fanfics are also accepted haha) cuz im a sucker for a good read

[misahyochaeng]

“Mami, Esto es Cosa Nuestra”

Momo x Fem!Reader 🌧️

tw’s- momo x fem!reader, mafia!au, angst, fluff, gore, violence, physical abuse, mental abuse, mentions of family trauma, child exploitation, etc.

note: bro i exceeded the max word limit.. please enjoy! also not proofread im sorry for any mistakes! listen with the music on loop you wont regret

—

The first time you met Hirai Momo, she wasn’t wearing one of those sharp suits that would later become her armor. She was just Momo, leaning against a jukebox in a dimly lit bar, tapping her cigarette against the rim of an ashtray. You’d been dragged there by friends, already itching to leave, until your eyes landed on her. She wasn’t trying to stand out, but she did. It was the way she owned the space without even trying.

She caught you staring, her lips curving into a smirk.

“Enjoying the view, Mami?” she asked, her voice smooth as whiskey.

You should’ve looked away, walked out of that bar, and never looked back. But instead, you matched her smirk and sat at the barstool beside her.

That night, you learned her name, her laugh, and the way she tilted her head when she listened. You didn’t learn until much later that she was the youngest boss the Hirai family had ever seen, a woman who ruled the city's underworld with the same ease as she lit a cigarette.

The affair started innocently enough—if anything involving Momo could be called innocent. You found excuses to see her. Coffee in the mornings, stolen moments in her office, late-night drives with jazz playing softly on the radio. She made you feel alive, like you were part of something bigger than yourself, something dangerous and exhilarating.

“Esto es cosa nuestra,” she’d say, her lips brushing against your ear. “No one else will ever understand.”

You believed her, even as the walls began to close in.

Your father found out first, of course. It was impossible to hide the way your gaze lingered on her at the rare social events where your families crossed paths. He wasn’t stupid—he saw the way she looked at you too, like you were hers.

The night he confronted you was the first time you felt the weight of your family name. You were a pawn in his game, a piece to be moved and sacrificed as needed.

“This stops now,” he growled, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. “Do you understand what you’ve done? Do you understand who she is?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The betrayal in his eyes was enough.

The phone rings, dragging you back to the present. You’re sitting on the edge of your bed, knees pulled to your chest, staring at the cracks in the ceiling as if they hold some kind of answer. You don’t want to answer, but you do.

“Momo.” Her name feels heavy on your tongue.

The sound of her exhale comes through the line, followed by the faint flick of a lighter. You can picture her perfectly—leaning against the window of her office, cigarette between her fingers, the city’s neon lights reflecting off her sharp features.

“How bad is it?” she asks, her voice calm but edged with tension.

You swallow hard. “He knows everything. About us. About…everything.”

There’s a pause, and you hear her take a drag from her cigarette. “And?”

“And he’s furious, Momo. He’s calling for a meeting with your family. This isn’t just about us anymore. He’s talking about war.”

The word hangs in the air like a curse.

“I’ll handle it,” she says finally, her tone steady.

You shake your head, even though she can’t see you. “You can’t fix this, Momo. It’s too big.”

“Y/N,” she says, her voice softening, almost breaking. “This is our thing. They won’t understand, but we’ll figure it out. I promise.”

You close your eyes, gripping the phone like it’s the only thing tethering you to her. You want to believe her. You want to believe in the fantasy you’ve built together, but the weight of reality is pressing down on you, threatening to crush you both.

“Momo…” your voice wavers. “Maybe we should stop before—”

“Don’t,” she interrupts sharply. “Don’t say it.”

You hear her take another drag, the silence between you stretching like a chasm.

“This isn’t just you and me anymore,” you whisper. “It’s everyone. Your family. My family. People are going to get hurt.”

Her voice drops, low and dangerous. “Let them come. They don’t get to decide what’s ours.”

And just like that, you remember why you fell for her in the first place.

It wasn’t just the late-night meetings or the stolen glances at crowded events that tied you to her. It was the way Momo made every moment feel like a scene from a movie—intense, passionate, and fleeting, as if you both knew this wasn’t meant to last.

You remember one night in her office, where the scent of smoke and whiskey always lingered. The room was dim, lit only by a desk lamp and the soft glow of the city skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She sat behind her desk, her sleeves rolled up, revealing the faint scars and tattoos etched into her skin.

You were perched on the edge of her desk, playing with the lighter she always kept there. She was reading over papers—probably something about her family’s business—but her eyes kept flicking to you, a quiet smirk playing on her lips.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head. “You,” she replied, leaning back in her chair. “You don’t belong in this world, but here you are.”

“And whose fault is that?” you shot back, tossing the lighter onto the desk.

She stood, stepping closer, her hands sliding to your waist as she pulled you into her space. “Mine,” she admitted, her lips brushing against yours. “And I don’t regret it.”

Other nights, it was the bars. Places you never would’ve dared step foot in before her—hidden, smoky lounges where jazz and blues spilled from old speakers. She was in her element there, always sitting in the shadows with a drink in her hand, her presence commanding the room even in silence.

One time, she played guitar. You hadn’t even known she could, but someone handed her one, and she didn’t hesitate. She sat on a stool under the warm glow of a single spotlight, her fingers moving effortlessly over the strings.

It wasn’t a love song—not exactly—but it felt like one. Her eyes found yours across the room, and for a moment, the world shrank to just the two of you. When the song ended, she nodded at you, a small, knowing smile on her lips, and you thought, *This is it. I’m never walking away from this.*

There were roses, too. Always red, always with the thorns carefully removed. She’d leave them for you in unexpected places—a single stem on your windowsill, a bouquet waiting in the passenger seat of your car.

“You’re predictable,” you teased one night when she handed you another bouquet, this time wrapped in black paper.

“Am I?” she countered, leaning in close. “Then you should’ve known this was coming.” And before you could answer, she kissed you, pressing you back against the wall of her office. Her hands framed your face, her lips possessive and urgent, like she was trying to mark you as hers. You let her, melting into her touch, your fingers tangling in her hair.

There were quiet moments, too, like the time she fell asleep on your couch after a long night. Her head rested on your lap, her guard finally down. You brushed a strand of hair from her face, marveling at how someone so fierce, so untouchable, could be this soft.

“You’re staring,” she murmured without opening her eyes.

“Maybe,” you whispered back.

She didn’t say anything else, just reached for your hand and held it, her fingers laced with yours.

Momo had a way of making you feel like the only person in the world, even when the weight of her empire loomed large over both of you. It was intoxicating, and you drank it all in, even as the cracks began to form.

It wasn’t just the moments you shared or the way Momo made you feel like the world revolved around you—it was the things she left behind, little pieces of herself she gave you as if to prove she was yours.

The first love letter arrived on your windowsill, held in place by one of her silver lighters. You unfolded the parchment paper, its edges slightly burned, and read the words scrawled in her sharp, elegant handwriting.

> “Esto es cosa nuestra. No one else will ever understand. You’re the one thing in this world that makes sense, and I’d burn it all to the ground if it meant keeping you. —M”

You laughed at how dramatic it was, but your fingers lingered on the paper. It smelled faintly of her cologne, the same scent that clung to your clothes after every stolen night together. You pressed the letter to your chest, feeling the weight of her promise even though you knew it would only bring you both trouble.

Then there were her watches. Momo loved her watches, each one custom-made and far too expensive. The first time she gave you one, you nearly refused.

“This is too much,” you protested, holding the sleek timepiece with trembling hands. “It’s just a watch, mami” she said, leaning back in her chair with that infuriating smirk. “And besides…” She gestured to the back.

You turned it over and saw the engraving: *El Zorro.*

Her street name. The one whispered in fear and awe throughout the city.

“You’re giving me your name?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m giving you part of it,” she corrected. “The part that matters.”

You wore it sometimes, even though it felt too heavy on your wrist, a constant reminder of the line you were crossing.

One night, she handed you a folded sheet of paper, its edges creased from being carried in her pocket.

“What’s this?” you asked, opening it to reveal a page of handwritten sheet music.

“A song,” she said, lighting a cigarette and leaning against your kitchen counter. “I wrote it for you.”

“I can’t read music,” you admitted, staring at the notes and lines that meant nothing to you.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Now you have a piece of me.”

You didn’t know why it meant so much, but it did. You tucked it away in a drawer, keeping it safe like a secret.

The roses stopped being enough, so she started leaving you things she knew you wouldn’t expect. A tie she’d worn to a meeting, still knotted the way she liked it. A cufflink that had slipped off during one of your more heated encounters. A tiny pocketknife engraved with her initials.

“These aren’t gifts,” she’d say whenever you protested. “They’re reminders.”

“Of what?”

“That no matter what happens, you’re mine.”

You didn’t have the strength to argue with her.

You found the letters and trinkets piling up, a collection of things that felt like pieces of her soul. Some nights, you’d sit on your bed and lay them all out in front of you—the watches, the sheet music, the love notes—and wonder if she gave them to you because she knew, deep down, that you’d never have all of her.

Momo sighing kicked you out of the trance of memories you were in.

Her voice softens, the dangerous edge replaced by something quieter. “And what do you think, mami?”

“I think I don’t care about the war,” you whisper. “I only care about us.” There’s a faint sound of her shifting, probably leaning back in her chair or propping her feet on her desk. “That’s why you’re different, you know. Everyone else in my life is a pawn or a threat. But you…” She pauses, exhaling smoke. “You make me forget I’m playing this game at all.”

You smile faintly, even though your chest still feels tight. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

“Maybe,” she agrees, but there’s no conviction in her tone. “We’ll figure it out. I’m meeting with your father’s men tomorrow.”

Your stomach drops. “You’re what?”

“Relax,” she says, her voice calm but firm. “They requested it. Neutral ground, all very civilized. I’ll take my people, they’ll take theirs, and we’ll talk.”

“And what exactly are you planning to say?” you ask, gripping the phone tighter.

“That depends on them,” she says, her voice taking on that familiar commanding tone. “But I’ll do what I have to if it means keeping you out of this.”

Your pulse quickens, dread settling in your stomach. “Momo, you can’t just—”

“I know what I’m doing,” she interrupts. “Trust me.”

“I do,” you whisper, but the words feel fragile, like glass about to shatter.

She sighs, and for a moment, you hear the weariness she never lets anyone else see. “Look, I’ll handle your father’s people, baby. But you need to be ready to meet mine.”

You blink. “Your team?”

“Yes,” she says simply. “They’ve been asking about you. Curious, I guess.”

“What do they think of me?”

“They think I’m stupid for dragging you into this,” she admits with a bitter chuckle. “But they’ll understand once they meet you.”

You let out a small laugh despite yourself. “You make it sound like some kind of formal introduction.”

“It is,” she says, dead serious. “You’re important to me, Y/N. That makes you important to them.”

Her words linger, filling the silence between you like a balm for the tension.

“When will this end, Momo?” you ask after a moment.

There’s a long pause, the kind that makes you wonder if the line’s gone dead. Then, softly, she says, “I don’t know. But whatever happens, we’ll get through it. Esto es cosa nuestra, remember?”

You close your eyes, her words settling deep in your chest. “Yeah. I remember.”

“Good,” she says, her voice carrying that familiar steel. “Now get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow after the meeting.”

“Okay,” you say, even though sleep feels impossible.

And with that, the line goes silent, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and the weight of her promise.

—“The Morning of a Fox”—

Momo’s mornings were rituals of control, precision, and preparation. It started with her alarm at exactly 5:30 AM, a soft chime that was neither jarring nor soothing—just enough to wake her without irritation. She rolled out of bed and stretched, her muscles tense from a restless night.

The city was still cloaked in darkness when she stepped into the shower, the hot water hitting her like a reset button. Steam filled the bathroom as she scrubbed away the weight of the previous day, the tension in her shoulders easing as she mapped out her next steps.

The meeting with Y/N’s father’s men was at the forefront of her mind. It wasn’t the first time she’d dealt with rival families, but this was different. This wasn’t just business—it was personal.

After her shower, she dressed carefully: black slacks, a crisp white shirt, and her signature leather jacket. She tied her hair back into a neat ponytail and slipped on her favorite watch, the one engraved with “El Zorro.”

In the kitchen, she poured herself a cup of black coffee and leaned against the counter, lighting a cigarette. The bitter taste of the coffee and the burn of the smoke grounded her, pulling her fully into the day ahead.

By 7:00 AM, the rest of her team had gathered in the main room of the safehouse. It was a converted warehouse, its industrial charm masked by sleek furniture and state-of-the-art tech scattered across the space.

Jihyo was already seated at the long table, a laptop open in front of her as she typed away with a focused intensity. Her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, and a faint line of concentration furrowed her brow.

“Morning, boss,” she said without looking up, her tone clipped but warm.

“Morning, Hyo” Momo replied, taking her usual seat at the head of the table.

Sana was sprawled across the couch, one leg draped over the armrest as she scrolled through her phone. She looked up and gave Momo a playful smirk. “You look like you’re about to seduce a boardroom.”

“I’ll leave that to you,” Momo shot back, smirking.

“Touché,” Sana purred, sitting up and stretching lazily.

Chaeyoung entered next, carrying a tray of breakfast pastries like she was delivering contraband. “Got these from that bakery you like, Jihyo,” she said, setting the tray down on the table.

“Thanks,” Jihyo muttered, glancing up briefly before returning to her screen.

“Did you get me something?” Sana asked, leaning over Chaeyoung’s shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah,” Chaeyoung said, swatting her away. “You’re lucky they had your stupid croissant thing.”

Tzuyu arrived last, keys in hand and a faint scent of gasoline trailing behind her. “Morning,” she said simply, taking a seat and pulling out a tablet.

“Good, everyone’s here,” Momo said, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray. “Let’s get started.”

Momo leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “We’ve got a meeting with Y/N’s father’s men later today. Neutral ground, but we’re not taking chances. I need everyone sharp.”

“Are we expecting trouble?” Jihyo asked, her voice steady but laced with concern.

“Always,” Momo replied. “But this one’s more delicate. They’re not happy about me and Y/N, and they’re using it as leverage.”

Sana raised an eyebrow, a sly grin playing on her lips. “Leverage? Do they even know who they’re messing with?”

“They know,” Jihyo said firmly, shooting Sana a warning glance. “Which is why we have to play this smart.”

“Smart’s boring,” Chaeyoung muttered, twirling a pen between her fingers. “Can’t we just scare them a little? Show them who’s boss?”

“Not this time,” Momo said. “We’re keeping it clean. No theatrics, no threats.”

Chaeyoung groaned but nodded. “Fine. But if they so much as flinch, I’m pulling out my baby Zeusito.”—the name of her favorite pistol, named after the greek god, it had a lightning bolt on it and she thought it was cool, Momo found it stupid though—

Tzuyu tapped her tablet, her calm demeanor unshaken. “I’ve got dossiers on everyone who’ll be at the meeting. I’ll send them to your phones. If they try anything, we’ll know exactly how to hit back.”

“Good,” Momo said, leaning back. She glanced at Jihyo. “You’ve got the escape routes mapped out?”

“Of course,” Jihyo replied, closing her laptop. “Two exit strategies, one on foot, one by car. Tzuyu’s driving if we need the second.”

“And the first?” Momo asked.

Jihyo’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “Sana’s got it covered.”

Sana leaned back, her grin widening. “Trust me, I’m very persuasive.”

“Don’t get carried away,” Jihyo warned, her tone softening slightly.

Sana gave her a playful wink. “Wouldn’t dream of it, babe.”

Momo caught the brief exchange but said nothing, filing it away for later. “All right, that’s the plan. Stay sharp, stay ready.”

The team nodded, each member falling into their role seamlessly. As they dispersed to prepare, Momo lit another cigarette and stared out the window.

This meeting wasn’t just about survival—it was about proving that she and Y/N could exist in a world that wanted to tear them apart. And no matter what it took, Momo would make sure they did.

The neutral ground was anything but neutral. The warehouse’s fluorescent lights flickered above, casting sharp shadows on the peeling walls and rusted metal beams. Momo walked in first, her leather jacket almost blending into the dim surroundings. Jihyo and Chaeyoung flanked her like silent sentinels.

Across the room, Y/N’s father’s men stood in a loose but imposing group. Their leader, Mr. Y/L/N’s lieutenant—a burly man with a scar running down the side of his semi deformed face—stepped forward, his expression already twisted with disdain.

“So, you’re the one causing all the trouble,” he spat, his voice sharp and laced with venom.

Momo didn’t flinch. Her posture was calm, her gaze cold and unyielding. “I’m the one who showed up to talk. Let’s get this over with.”

The man sneered, stepping closer. “You think you can just waltz in here and take what isn’t yours? You’re nothing but a street rat playing dress-up.”

Behind Momo, Jihyo stiffened, her hands curling into fists at her sides. Chaeyoung’s hand twitched toward her concealed pistol, but neither moved. Momo had been clear—no one acted unless she gave the signal.

“Funny,” Momo said coolly, tilting her head slightly. “Last I checked, Y/N makes her own choices. Or does that threaten your fragile little world?”

The man’s face turned an alarming shade of red, and the other men murmured angrily behind him. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” he growled, stepping even closer until he was practically in Momo’s face.

“Neither do you, cabron.” she replied, her tone icy.

The slap came out of nowhere. It cracked through the air like a gunshot, echoing off the warehouse walls. Momo’s head snapped to the side, but she didn’t stumble. A faint red mark bloomed across her cheek, but her expression remained unreadable.

Jihyo took a sharp step forward, but Momo raised a hand without turning, stopping her in her tracks. Chaeyoung looked ready to pounce, but Momo’s silent command kept her rooted to the spot.

“You’ve got guts,” Momo said softly, her voice calm but laced with something dangerous. Slowly, she turned her head back to face the man, her eyes locking onto his with a steely intensity. “But you just made a very stupid mistake.”

The man barked a laugh, clearly trying to mask his growing unease. “What are you gonna do? You’re outnumbered. Outgunned.”

Momo stepped closer, her voice dropping to a low, deadly tone. “You think I need a gun to deal with you?”

The man faltered, his bravado cracking for a split second before he doubled down. “You’re nothing but a pest. A parasite. You—”

Before he could finish, Momo moved. Her fist connected with his jaw in a blur of motion, sending him staggering back into his men. He scrambled to recover, but Momo didn’t follow up. She stood her ground, her stance relaxed but coiled like a spring, ready to strike again if needed.

Behind her, Chaeyoung whispered under her breath, “Let me take him out.”

“Not yet,” Jihyo hissed, her eyes locked on Momo.

The man wiped at his mouth, glaring at her with pure hatred. “You’ll regret that, pendeja.”

“No,” Momo said, her tone sharp enough to cut glass. “You’ll regret ever thinking you could put your hands on me.”

The tension in the room reached a breaking point. One of the other men started to step forward, but Jihyo’s voice cut through the air like a whip. “Try it,” she said, her tone calm but deadly. Her hand rested on the butt of her concealed weapon, her eyes never leaving the man. “See how that works out for you.”

The man froze, glancing between Momo and her team. “Enough,” Momo said, her voice carrying the weight of authority. She stared down the lieutenant, her gaze unwavering. “You came here to talk. So talk.”

For a moment, it seemed like things might escalate further. But then the lieutenant gritted his teeth and waved his men back.

“You think this is over?” he spat, his voice trembling with barely restrained rage.

Momo smirked, her confidence cutting through the tension like a knife. “Oh, I know it’s not. But if you want to keep whatever scrap of dignity you have left, you’ll shut the fuck up and listen.”

The man glared at her, but he didn’t move.

“We’re done here,” Momo said firmly, turning on her heel. She walked away with the same calm confidence she’d entered with, her team falling into step behind her.

Back in the car, the silence was heavy. Jihyo finally spoke, her voice tight with frustration. “You should’ve let us step in.”

“I didn’t need you to,” Momo said simply, lighting a cigarette. The faint glow of the lighter illuminated her face for a moment before she exhaled a plume of smoke.

Chaeyoung huffed. “You’re lucky I didn’t put a bullet in his head.”

“Don’t worry,” Momo said, her lips curling into a smirk. “He’ll think twice before trying that again.”

Jihyo and Chaeyoung exchanged a glance but said nothing. Momo leaned back, staring out the window as the city blurred past.

The war was far from over, but this battle belonged to her. And she intended to win the rest of them, no matter the cost.

As they were back home the hum of the city outside was drowned out by the tension in the warehouse. The slap had set everything in motion, and Momo knew that nothing would be the same after tonight. She stood in the center of the room, arms crossed, eyes scanning the faces of her team as they watched her with a mix of anticipation and concern.

“Here’s the deal,” Momo started, her voice low but steady. “They made their move, now we make ours.” She flicked the cigarette from her fingers, the ember sizzling as it hit the ground. “We hit them where it hurts. Their operation on 5th and Main. It’s a weak point, a perfect target.”

Jihyo was the first to speak, her fingers tapping against the table, a sign she was already calculating. “If we strike, they’ll retaliate. It’s not going to be as clean as last time.”

Momo’s gaze hardened. “Let them come. We’ll be ready.”

Chaeyoung cracked her knuckles, a grin spreading across her face. “I’ve been itching for a fight. If they want a war, they’ll get one.” Her excitement was palpable, and though her voice was playful, the threat in her words was anything but.

Sana leaned back, her lips curving into a smirk. “And we know how to make it interesting. Let’s take everything from them. Make them feel what we felt when they disrespected us.” Her eyes gleamed with a deadly intensity. “I’ll personally handle the cleanup. They won’t see us coming.”

Momo nodded, satisfied with the team’s response. The energy in the room was a mix of resolve and anticipation. They were ready. This wasn’t just about business anymore. This was personal.

Jihyo continued, her voice steady, though a hint of concern lingered in her tone. “And if they make a move against Y/N or any of us?”

Momo paused, letting the question hang in the air. “We handle it,” she said quietly, her gaze hardening as she looked each member of her team in the eye. “But until then, we wait. Get into position, and don’t do anything until I give the signal.”

Tzuyu, who had been silent up until now, spoke softly but with the weight of someone who always had an eye on the details. “I’ve been gathering intel on their movements. I’ll keep tabs on their communication. If anything goes south, we’ll know about it first.”

Momo gave a sharp nod, appreciative of Tzuyu’s vigilance. “Good. Now, get to work. And remember, this isn’t just business. It’s payback. We make them regret ever crossing us.”

As the team scattered to carry out their roles, Momo stood there for a moment longer, staring into the shadows of the warehouse. She could feel the weight of the conflict pressing down on her—one wrong move and everything could fall apart. But there was no turning back now. The lines had been drawn, and she would make sure her enemies knew who they were dealing with.

The war had just begun.

The clock ticked down as Momo’s team gathered in their makeshift headquarters—a quiet, dimly lit warehouse on the edge of town. The buzz of neon lights from the distant city streets barely reached them. The air felt thick, charged with the anticipation of what was to come. They had all agreed on one thing: the time to strike was now. The rival mafia had crossed a line, and it was time to show them what happens when you disrespect Momo’s crew.

Momo sat at the head of the table, a hard silhouette against the faint glow of the streetlights. Her hands were folded in front of her as she exhaled a plume of smoke from her cigarette, letting it curl into the air before speaking.

“This is it. We’re going after them. The underground casino on 5th and Main. It’s not just a casino; it’s their lifeblood—the heart of their money laundering operation. Take that out, and we’ll send a message they’ll never forget.” Her eyes swept across her team, each face set with determination. They knew the stakes, and they were ready.

—“The Plan Begins”—

Sana leaned forward, her fingers toying with the edge of her wine glass, her expression unreadable. “I’ll get us in. They’ll never see it coming.” She’d always been good at playing her part, and this was no different. She was an expert in the art of manipulation. It was almost a game to her, the chase, the seduction. The casino's upper circle would never know what hit them.

Jihyo’s gaze was sharp, calculating. “We’ll need to get past the external security first. I’ll take care of the surveillance systems. If we get the right window, we can disable the cameras for a solid ten minutes. That’s all we need.”

Chaeyoung cracked her knuckles, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. “I’ll handle the distraction outside. We’ll draw them away, just enough for Momo to slip in unnoticed.” She was always the one to embrace the chaos, eager to make her mark. The idea of causing a ruckus thrilled her.

Tzuyu was quiet, focused. She didn’t need to speak much to communicate. Her role was clear. “I’ll secure the getaway vehicles and monitor their internal communications. I’ve already hacked their network, so I’ll know when we’re about to hit the jackpot.”

Momo nodded, pleased with the coordination. “Everyone knows their role. We’re in and out. No mistakes.”

As the night fell, the team split up. Momo’s crew was a well-oiled machine, each member moving with the precision of a surgeon.

Sana, dressed to the nines, slipped into the casino like she owned the place. Her confidence was intoxicating, and she was everything they expected. High heels clicked on the marble floor as she made her way to the VIP area, her charm turning every head. She was an investor, looking for a safe place to park her money—a convenient lie, but one that would work to her advantage.

Once inside, Sana casually scanned the room. There were men in suits, cards being dealt, the clink of chips against felt. But it was the back rooms that caught her attention—the vault, the storage of money. She smiled, knowing her role in this was only just beginning.

Outside, Chaeyoung was the spark that would ignite the flame. She was parked a block away, eyes on the casino’s entrance, waiting for the signal. A slight breeze ruffled her hair as she checked her weapons—her beloved pistols, tucked carefully into their holsters.

With a flick of her wrist, a flash of bright lights broke the calm. The distraction was set. A black car roared into the street, slamming into a parked vehicle. Chaeyoung fired a couple of shots into the air, just enough to draw the attention of the guards. It wasn’t about hitting targets; it was about creating chaos, throwing them off balance.

As expected, the casino’s security began to mobilize. The guards moved toward the commotion, leaving their posts unattended. This was Momo’s opening.

Inside, Jihyo had already hacked the casino’s surveillance system. The screens went black for exactly ten minutes, giving Momo the window she needed. The timer was ticking down. She had no room for error.

Momo moved swiftly, her leather gloves slipping over the keypad of the security system that controlled the vault doors. She’d been here before, studying their defenses. She wasn’t about to let a high-tech lock stop her now.

“Ready, Momo,” Tzuyu’s voice crackled over the comms. “Surveillance is off, and the guards outside are distracted. You’ve got the green light.”

Without a second thought, Momo spun the dial, the vault doors groaning open. A small smile crept across her face as she stepped inside. The walls were lined with stacks of cash, diamonds, and illicit goods. It was a fortune waiting to be taken.

She moved quickly, expertly loading the cash and valuables into bags. The whole operation had to be seamless. Every second counted.

As Momo moved to collect the last of the cash, she noticed something peculiar tucked behind a stack of bills—a ledger. The name on the cover read El Zorro—the same alias she used. Her stomach twisted in recognition.

Opening it, Momo’s eyes skimmed through the pages. It wasn’t just money laundering. This was a detailed list of operations, involving everything from drug trafficking to weapons smuggling. And there, near the back, was something even more alarming: a map. A map to a weapons cache.

Her fingers paused on the page. The weapons cache wasn’t just a stash; it was an arsenal that could arm an army, and it was closer than she thought.

“Jihyo, I’ve got something,” Momo said quietly, her voice steady, but her mind was already racing. “There’s a weapons cache. It’s not far from here. We can hit it now.”

Jihyo’s voice came through the earpiece, calm but with a hint of concern. “You sure? We’ve already got the money. Adding this to the mix could complicate things.”

Momo’s lips curved into a dangerous smile. “I’m not leaving without it.”

With the money secured and the ledger in hand, Momo signaled to her team. The exit was clear. They’d done it.

As Momo moved toward the getaway, the casino’s guards began to realize something was wrong. Their surveillance was back online, and they could see the vault doors were open. Momo gritted her teeth, knowing it was time to leave—now.

Tzuyu was already in position with the getaway car, and the team was waiting at the predetermined rendezvous point.

Momo was the first to step out, and as the team followed, they noticed something else: an unmarked van pulling into the alley, blocking their escape route. It was an ambush.

Chaeyoung didn’t hesitate. She pulled out her gun, her finger tightening on the trigger. Shots rang out, but the enemy was already retreating, realizing they were no match for Momo’s crew.

“Move it!” Momo shouted, her voice urgent. “We need to get out before reinforcements show up.”

Tzuyu was quick on the wheel, the tires screeching as the car tore through the alley. The team was still reeling from the sudden ambush, but they had what they came for. The money, the weapons, and a message: they were not to be messed with.

As they sped through the streets, the city lights flashing past, Momo looked at her team, knowing this was just the beginning.

They had won the battle. But the war was far from over.

The adrenaline was still coursing through Momo’s veins as they returned to the hideout. They had succeeded, but the mission had been far messier than expected. Still, they had what they came for—and something more: the map to the weapons cache.

The team was victorious, but Momo knew that the rival mafia wouldn’t let this slide. And with the weapons cache within their reach, there was no going back.

—

“Y/N are you even listening!?”

The office was cold. The soft hum of the overhead lights felt like the only thing keeping you tethered to reality, and your father's presence across the desk felt like a heavy weight pressing down on your chest. You could feel the heat rising within him—the simmering anger he'd been holding back since the heist.

"You've disappointed me again," your father growled, his eyes dark with fury as his hands gripped the edge of the desk with a force that made the wood creak under the pressure. "This—this is what happens when you get involved with people like her."

You swallowed, trying to steady your breath. You had known this moment would come, but you didn't expect the venom in his voice to be so suffocating. You had made your decision, and there was no turning back now.

"You've gone soft, Y/N. Soft for a criminal—for her," he spat, his words dripping with disgust. "I warned you what would happen if you sided with her. Now look at the mess you've made. We’re losing control. Your mother would be ashamed of you."

His words struck deep, but you didn’t flinch. You couldn’t. Not anymore.

"I’m not afraid of her, Dad," you said, your voice calm, even though your heart was pounding. "Momo isn't like the others. She's not the monster you think she is."

Your father slammed his fist onto the desk, and the sound echoed through the room. "You don’t get it, do you? I’ll make you understand—one way or another. You’re going to regret this decision."

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I’m not going back. Not to you, not to this.”

He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. The rage in his eyes was palpable as he loomed over you. "Fine. But don't come crawling back when everything falls apart. Because it will. And you’ll be the one to clean up the mess, just like always."

You didn't answer him. You didn’t have to.

With a final sneer, he turned and walked toward the door, pausing just before stepping out. "You’ll regret this, Y/N. Mark my words." And with that, he slammed the door behind him, leaving you alone with the quiet hum of the lights and the decision you had made.

—

The team was celebrating. The air was thick with the smell of alcohol, smoke, and the satisfying feeling of a job well done. The sound of laughter and clinking bottles filled the room as Momo leaned back against the wall, the warmth of her drink spreading through her veins. She had done it. They had done it. The heist had gone off without a hitch—well, mostly.

Sana was sprawled across the couch, an empty glass dangling from her hand as she giggled about something Chaeyoung had said. Tzuyu sat quietly next to Jihyo, the two exchanging a few words here and there, but both were content to enjoy the rare moment of peace.

It was almost too easy. They’d done their part, and now all that was left was to enjoy the fruits of their labor.

Momo took a long drag from her cigarette, watching her team unwind. They deserved this. But as much as she wanted to relax, something in the back of her mind nagged at her. There was a tension in the air she couldn’t shake off.

Her phone buzzed, and she immediately pulled it from her pocket. She didn’t recognize the number, but the message was clear: “Remain anonymous. Zorro, they’re planning on holding your girl hostage. They're targeting you. Be careful.”

Her stomach dropped. Her eyes scanned the room, the chaos of her team still ongoing, but now there was an edge of dread creeping up her spine. The phone call had barely ended when her sharp eyes caught something across the room—a red dot, shining brightly on the wall opposite her.

She didn’t hesitate.

"Duck!" Momo yelled, her voice cutting through the noise, just as a burst of gunfire erupted from across the room. Her team scrambled for cover as bullets ripped through the walls, the sound of gunfire deafening. Chaeyoung swore under her breath as she dove for cover, pulling Tzuyu down with her.

"Move!" Momo barked, adrenaline surging through her veins. "Don’t let them get away!"

It all happened so fast. The enemy had been waiting for them, lying in wait just like they had been warned. They were trapped in their own celebration, the joy of the heist quickly turning into the chaos of an ambush.

Momo’s hand shot to her side, grabbing her pistol, her instincts kicking in. She was already on the move, guns blazing as she tore through the building with Chaeyoung, Tzuyu, and Jihyo following close behind. The enemies were fast and ruthless, but they were nowhere near the level of Momo’s team.

They fought their way through the building, dodging bullets and taking cover wherever they could. The stench of gunpowder was thick in the air, the echo of bullets rattling through the walls. It was a game of cat and mouse now, and Momo’s team wasn’t about to lose.

"We need to get out of here!" Jihyo yelled, pulling Momo back into cover just as another round of fire came dangerously close. “The exit’s not far, but we’ve got to move quickly!”

Momo was already planning their escape, every move calculated and precise. But something gnawed at her as they moved deeper into the building. There was one thing she couldn’t shake—the fact that the spy who’d warned her had been right.

Her mind raced. If they had the inside scoop, then they knew everything about her team. Who could it be?

The firefight continued as the team managed to push their attackers back, but the chase wasn’t over. They couldn’t stop until they reached their hideout. Momo's heart was pounding, her thoughts only on one thing now: Y/N.

Finally, after what felt like hours of evading gunfire and chasing shadows, the team made it back to their hideout, the adrenaline still pumping through their bodies. Momo slammed the door shut behind them, locking it with a quick flick of the wrist.

Everyone was breathing heavily, the tension still thick in the air. But Momo didn’t give them time to relax. She stood in the middle of the room, her gaze hard, her jaw clenched.

“Y/N’s been taken hostage.” The words left her lips in a low, controlled tone, and the impact hit her team like a punch to the gut.

Everyone was silent for a moment. No one had expected this. They had just been celebrating their victory, and now this.

“They know everything about us.” Momo’s voice was steady, but beneath the calm exterior, her anger burned like wildfire. “We’ve been compromised. Someone in our ranks is working with them.”

Jihyo’s eyes narrowed. “We’ll figure out who it is. But right now, we need to focus on getting Y/N back.”

Momo nodded, her fists clenching. “We’re going to make them pay. But first, we have to get to her before they do any damage.”

And with that, the game of cat and mouse began anew—only this time, it was personal.

The tension in the safehouse was palpable as the team gathered around the large, scarred table. Weapons, documents, and scattered plans littered the surface. Momo stood at the head, her expression a mix of frustration and determination.

“One of them knows us,” Momo began, her voice sharp and steady. “Knows our moves, our safehouses, and our weaknesses. Someone’s been feeding my father information.”

Jihyo leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed as she stared at the table. “It’s not just betrayal. This is calculated. They’re trying to dismantle us from the inside out.”

Chaeyoung was the first to speak up, her tone fiery. “Then let’s make them pay. Whoever it is, we’ll find them and—”

“Stop,” Jihyo interrupted, her voice calm but firm. “Rushing into this without a plan will just get us killed.”

Sana, leaning against the wall, tapped the handle of her knife against her palm. “Jihyo’s right. This isn’t just a random mole. This is personal. Your father’s trying to destroy everything you’ve built, Momo.”

Tzuyu, hunched over her laptop, spoke without looking up. “If they’re a spy, they’ll slip up eventually. We just need to watch for cracks in their story.”

Momo’s gaze swept across her team, lingering on each of them. She trusted them, but the weight of the betrayal gnawed at her. “We’ll figure out who it is,” she said firmly. “But first, let’s remind ourselves why we’re here.”

“You all know I used to bartend,” Jihyo began, her voice steady but tinged with pain. “What you don’t know is why I stopped.”

She sat up straighter, her gaze fixed on the table. “The night it happened, the bar was packed. Music, laughter, the works. It felt like any other night.”

Her voice faltered for a moment, but she pushed on. “I didn’t see them come in at first. Not until the music stopped, and I heard the first gunshot.”

The room was silent, her words pulling everyone into the memory with her.

“They were looking for someone—a man who owed them money. But they didn’t care who got in the way.” Jihyo’s jaw tightened. “They shot first, asked questions later. I was behind the bar when it started. I hid, clutching a broken bottle, hoping they wouldn’t find me.”

Sana twirled her knife absentmindedly, the blade catching the faint light. She leaned against the wall, her gaze distant.

“I was there that night too,” she started, her voice quieter than usual. “Dancing. Not because I wanted to, but because my father made me.”

The team listened intently. Sana rarely opened up, and when she did, it was usually veiled in sarcasm or flirtation.

“He called it a family business,” she said bitterly. “Said I should be grateful for the ‘opportunity.’ But all he ever did was use me. Paraded me around like a trophy, profited off me, controlled every part of my life.”

Her voice tightened, and she gripped the knife harder. “When the massacre happened, I should’ve run. But I didn’t. I just stood there and watched as they shot him. Watched him bleed out on the floor.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “You’d think I’d feel relief, right? He was gone. But all I felt was anger. Anger that I didn’t get to do it myself. Anger that he got an easy way out.”

Her gaze shifted to Momo. “When you offered me a place on this team, it wasn’t just a way out. It was a chance to finally take control of my life. For once, I wasn’t someone’s puppet.”

“You know,” Sana said, her tone softer now, “I still remember the first time I saw you, Jihyo. You looked so out of place at that bar. All serious and stoic, wiping down glasses like you were waiting for someone to piss you off.”

Jihyo chuckled, shaking her head. “Well, they did piss me off eventually. Just took a massacre for it to happen.”

The room fell quiet for a beat, the gravity of her words settling in.

“I still can’t believe you survived that,” Chaeyoung said, breaking the silence. “I mean, I knew you were tough, but…”

Jihyo shrugged, her expression unreadable. “You do what you have to. That’s all it was.”

“You ever think about that guy?” Tzuyu asked, finally looking up.

“The one they were after?” Jihyo clarified. She shook her head. “No. He’s probably dead by now. Either they got him, or someone else did.”

Chaeyoung, who had been fidgeting with the strap of her rifle, straightened up. “I guess it’s my turn.”

She smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I wasn’t always like this, you know? Trigger-happy, gun-crazy.”

The team exchanged skeptical looks, and Chaeyoung laughed. “Okay, maybe I was always a little gun-crazy. But I wanted to be legit. Open my own business, make my parents proud.”

Her expression darkened. “That dream ended when I crossed paths with a client who didn’t want to pay up. He framed me for a crime I didn’t commit, and just like that, I lost everything.”

She looked at Momo, her grin returning, though this time it was genuine. “And then you showed up. Gave me a chance to use my skills for something that mattered. You didn’t just save my life, Momo. You gave me a new one.”

Sana chimed in, her usual cheekiness returning. “Still dreaming about that legit business you wanted to start?”

Chaeyoung laughed, tossing a peanut into her mouth. “Not really. Crime’s more fun anyway. Plus, I wouldn’t trade this team for anything.”

“Aww, Chaeng,” Sana teased, leaning over to pinch her cheek.

“Don’t get sappy on me,” Chaeyoung grumbled, swatting her hand away.

The conversation shifted again, this time to Tzuyu.

“I don’t know why you stuck with me after that car meet,” Momo said, eyeing Tzuyu. “You could’ve easily gone solo.”

Tzuyu’s lips quirked into a rare smile. “I could have. But you saved me that night. When they rigged the race and tried to take me out, you didn’t have to step in.”

Sana rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Momo just wanted another driver for the team.”

“And look where that got us,” Tzuyu shot back, her voice cool. “I’m the best driver in this room, and you know it.”

“Debatable,” Chaeyoung said, smirking.

“Not even close,” Tzuyu countered, her tone sharper than usual, but there was no malice behind it.

Eventually, the lighthearted tone faded as the conversation shifted to the real reason they were all there.

“So,” Momo said, setting her glass down with a soft clink. “Who’s the rat?”

The room went still. The camaraderie from earlier dissolved into a tense silence as everyone exchanged glances.

“It’s not one of us,” Jihyo said firmly, her gaze sweeping over the table.

“Obviously,” Momo replied, her tone clipped. “But it’s someone close enough to know our moves. Someone who’s been watching us.”

“Could be one of her father’s men posing as an ally,” Tzuyu offered, already typing furiously on her laptop.

“Or one of the newer recruits,” Sana suggested, her voice low. “Someone desperate enough to sell us out for a little cash.”

“Either way,” Chaeyoung said, her fingers tapping restlessly on the table, “we need to figure it out before they get any closer.”

Momo nodded, her expression grim. “And when we do, we make an example out of them.”

The team agreed, their earlier laughter now a distant memory.

Days went by, and the calls kept coming. Every few hours, another message from the spy—always the same calm, cryptic tone, always a reminder of the consequences if she didn’t act. The urgency in the voice wasn’t lost on Momo, but what made her skin crawl was the desperation behind it. This wasn’t just someone trying to manipulate her. This person genuinely wanted to help, to protect her from the storm that was brewing around her.

But it wasn’t the danger that gnawed at Momo the most. It was you.

The spy’s calls were filled with hints, warnings about the bigger plans her enemies had in motion. Yet, no matter how much they hinted, no matter how much they pushed, the message always came back to one thing—*you*. Always you. And every time she heard the voice on the other end, Momo’s chest tightened with a feeling she couldn’t shake. A feeling that she had lost you. That she was never going to get you back.

The first few calls, Momo was patient. She listened, tried to keep calm, to play along with the game of cat and mouse. But the messages—about *her*—kept repeating, as though the spy couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t about the war. It wasn’t about the heists or the rivalries.

It was about you.

“Zorro, you can’t let this go on. You have to stop. She doesn’t want this life. She doesn’t want you.”

It was always the same. Those words, those reminders. Each call made Momo more frantic, more agitated, but she kept it together. For a while, at least.

But then came the final call.

The voice was softer this time, almost as though it were pleading. There was something urgent, desperate in the tone. “She’s not the one pulling the strings anymore. The war is shifting, Zorro. And she’s going to be the one who suffers. Do you really want to see her hurt? Can you live with that?”

The voice dropped to a whisper, almost cracking with emotion. “I’m trying to help you. You have to listen to me. Please…”

Momo’s fingers clenched around the phone. She didn’t want to listen. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Not again.

In that moment, something inside her snapped.

She didn’t know if it was the voice, or the way it spoke of you, or the fact that her world was collapsing around her. All she knew was that she couldn’t take it anymore. She didn’t want to hear about you—didn’t want to hear that she was still helpless, still stuck in this war, still a prisoner of the choices she’d made.

With a roar of frustration, she slammed the phone down, her heart pounding. The room felt like it was closing in on her. Momo stood up, her hands shaking as she clenched them into fists. Without thinking, she stormed toward her desk, grabbing the stack of letters she had been keeping, unopened. The ones she had never sent.

She ripped them from the container, scattering them across the floor in a frenzy. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest tight with emotion. Her fingers trembled as she picked up the first letter, her eyes scanning the familiar handwriting.

It was from you.

“I never got the chance to say what needed to be said. I wish I could hold you, Momo. I wish you would just let me. I know you’ll never forgive me, but I’ll never forget you.”

The words hit her like a ton of bricks. She crumbled to her knees, her vision blurring as the overwhelming weight of everything that had been said and unsaid crashed down on her. The letters spilled out around her, each one a painful reminder of what she had lost. What she had thrown away.

“I still wear the watch you gave me. I keep it close, just like I keep you in my heart. You’ll never know what you really mean to me.”

She stared at the paper for a long time, the words twisting inside her mind, and then her rage flared up once more. With a scream of frustration, she slammed her fist down onto the desk, knocking over the container that had held the letters.

"Esto es cosa nuestra” she screamed, her voice hoarse with fury. "nobody would understand."

She stood up, kicking the letters across the floor, stomping on them in a blind rage. The hurt, the guilt, the anger—it all poured out of her in one violent outburst. The room around her felt like it was suffocating her, the walls closing in on her as the memories flooded back.

“Love is so short, but forgetting's so long.”

The words echoed in her mind, like a song she couldn’t escape. She collapsed onto the floor, her hand buried in her hair, tears streaming down her face. She had done this to herself. She had thrown it all away.

“Why can’t I have you?”

She whispered it, as though asking the universe, as though pleading for an answer.

But there was no answer.

She wiped the tears away, her hands shaking with the need for control. She couldn’t keep crying. She couldn’t let it defeat her. She had made her choice. She had to stick with it.

But the pain—oh, the pain was unbearable.

The letters. The broken promises. The broken love.

She picked up the revolver from her desk, her hands steady now as she loaded it. The metallic click of the bullets was cold, sharp, and it grounded her, bringing her back to the reality she knew best. Violence. Survival. Revenge.

“On the streets, there are eyes crying tears of sorrow. The difference is some keep it in, others let it out.”

Momo stood up, her jaw tight with resolve. “One thing is, I’m not letting it out.” She wasn’t going to let the pain consume her. She couldn’t. She had made her choice.

Her fingers dialed the anonymous number of the spy, her voice a low growl as she spoke into the phone. "You better have something useful for me. This ends tonight."

The phone rang only once before the spy picked up, their voice quiet but steady. "I figured you'd call back."

Momo paced her office, the revolver still in her hand, her knuckles white around the grip. Her tone was sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. "You’ve been playing this game for too long. Time for you to come out of the shadows."

The spy hesitated for a moment before responding, their voice tinged with caution. "I’m only trying to help you, Zorro."

"Help me?" Momo scoffed, her laugh dark and humorless. "By calling me every damn day, reminding me of what I already know? If you really wanted to help, you wouldn’t be hiding behind an anonymous number. So, here’s what’s going to happen—you and I are going to meet, face to face, and you’re going to tell me everything you know. No more games."

The line was quiet for a moment, and Momo could hear the faint sound of the spy’s breathing. "Fine," they said finally. "But on one condition—no guns, no fights. Neutral ground."

Momo smirked, though there was no humor in it. "You think I’d trust you without a backup plan? Listen carefully—if you even think about trying something funny, I’ll have my people on your ass faster than you can blink. And when I say you won’t make it out alive, I mean it. They’ll sink so many bullets into you that your worthless body will be unrecognizable. Are we clear?"

There was a beat of silence before the spy spoke again, their voice low but firm. "Crystal. Just pick a place and a time."

"A jazz club," Momo said after a moment, her mind already calculating the logistics. "Tomorrow night. 10 p.m. Discreet, public, and neutral. You’ll come alone."

"I’ll be there," the spy replied. "And so will you, I assume."

"Don’t test me," Momo warned, her voice icy. "I don’t make empty promises."

The call ended abruptly, and Momo tossed the phone onto her desk. She stared at the scattered remnants of her earlier rage—the letters, the broken glass, the smeared ink. Taking a deep breath, she straightened up, forcing herself to focus. Tomorrow would be a pivotal night.

And no matter what the spy had to say, Momo would be ready.

The next day started with a weight in Momo’s chest that no amount of coffee or cigarettes could shake off. She sat at her desk, a pen in hand, staring at the blank sheet of paper in front of her. She hadn’t written to Y/N since everything started spiraling out of control, but today, something compelled her. Maybe it was the jazz club meeting, maybe it was the gnawing emptiness she couldn’t seem to fill. Whatever it was, her hand moved almost on its own, words spilling onto the page.

She wrote about the things she’d never dared say aloud—her fears, her regrets, her dreams. She admitted how much she missed Y/N, how much she hated herself for the choices she’d made. "Like the leaves and the wind," she wrote, "your memory comes and goes, but it never leaves me for long." Tears welled up in her eyes, falling onto the page and smudging the ink. “Hearing your name is like a sensation that never heals”. She cursed under her breath, brushing them away, but the damage was done. Still, she kept writing until there was nothing left to say.

Once finished, she folded the letter carefully and tucked it away in the same box where the others lay hidden. A bittersweet pang hit her as she closed the lid, knowing full well she’d never send any of them. With a deep breath, she pushed herself to her feet and tried to shake the melancholy off.

The afternoon was spent with her team, a rare moment of downtime before the night’s meeting. They gathered in the lounge, a mismatched room filled with worn leather couches, a pool table, and the scent of fried snacks wafting from the kitchen. Chaeyoung and Tzuyu were locked in a heated debate over which car model was the fastest, while Jihyo tried to mediate, her motherly patience wearing thin. Sana, meanwhile, lounged on the couch, a mischievous smile on her face as she chimed in with playful jabs to stir the pot.

Momo sat back, watching them with a faint smile. She appreciated their attempts to distract her—they all knew she hadn’t been herself lately. Jihyo glanced over, her sharp eyes softening. "You good, boss?" she asked quietly, sitting down beside her.

Momo nodded, though the gesture lacked conviction. "Yeah," she said. "Just thinking about tonight."

At that, the room’s energy shifted. The team turned their attention to her, and Momo leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "We need a plan in case things go sideways. The spy claims they’re trying to help, but I’m not taking any chances. If they try anything funny, we’ll hold them hostage. Worst case... we take them out."

Chaeyoung grinned, her trigger-happy nature shining through. "Blowing their brains out is always an option," she said, earning a glare from Jihyo.

"Not ethical," Jihyo countered, crossing her arms. "We’re not resorting to that unless absolutely necessary."

Sana smirked, her voice laced with mock innocence. "I could always... persuade them to behave."

"Not this time, Sana," Momo said, shaking her head. "We’re keeping it clean and professional. No distractions, no unnecessary risks."

The team nodded in agreement, and after a bit more strategizing, the conversation shifted back to lighter topics. Despite their efforts to lift her spirits, Momo couldn’t fully shake the heaviness in her chest.

Later, Momo retreated to her personal gym. It was her sanctuary, the one place she could unleash the storm brewing inside her without hurting anyone else. She wrapped her hands and began working on the punching bag, her fists colliding with the heavy canvas in rhythmic thuds.

Negative thoughts flooded her mind with every punch—Y/N’s face, the betrayal, the endless chaos of their lives. Her hits grew harder and harder until the bag gave way, splitting open with a loud tear. Sand spilled onto the floor, and Momo stopped, chest heaving, sweat dripping down her face.

She stood there for a moment, hands on her hips, before letting out a long sigh. "Get it together," she muttered to herself. She glanced at the clock and realized it was time to get ready.

After a quick shower, Momo stood in front of her mirror, her movements precise and practiced as she dressed for the night. She chose a sleek black suit, pairing it with a 24-karat gold necklace featuring a fox pendant. She added her signature rings and her engraved watch, spraying on her favorite cologne as the final touch.

When she stepped out of her room, the team was already waiting for her, dressed sharply and ready to go. Momo nodded at them, her expression unreadable. "Let’s go," she said, her voice steady despite the tension simmering beneath the surface.

They moved as one, stepping into the cool night air. The jazz club awaited, and with it, the answers Momo so desperately needed.

Momo stood alone in the semi-private lounge of the jazz club, leaning against the back of a worn leather chair. The dim lighting cast long shadows on the walls, the soft hum of a saxophone playing faintly from the main stage. Her jaw clenched as she glanced at the clock, her patience thinning.

The door creaked open, and Momo's sharp gaze shifted to the figure entering. Tall and clad in a neatly pressed tuxedo, the person moved cautiously, their hands buried in their pockets, head slightly bowed. A pair of thin-rimmed glasses reflected the warm light as the figure stepped forward.

“Zorro?” the woman’s voice was low, almost hesitant, as she stopped a few feet away.

Momo straightened, her fingers brushing the edge of the knife tucked into her jacket pocket. “That’s me,” she replied curtly, her tone laced with suspicion. “Who the hell are you?”

The woman raised her head just enough for Momo to see her face—stern but soft around the edges. “Yoo Jeongyeon,” she answered, standing still, her hands still deep in her pockets. “I’m... I’m a childhood friend of Y/N. We grew up together in her barrio.”

Momo’s brows furrowed. “Childhood friend?” she repeated, her tone skeptical. “Then what the hell are you doing here? Why should I trust you?”

Jeongyeon let out a shaky breath, finally pulling her hands from her pockets to show they were empty. “She’d always talk about you,” she said softly, avoiding Momo’s piercing stare. “I thought it was cute at first, how head over heels she was for you. But now...” She trailed off, her voice breaking slightly. “She’s suffering, Zorro. I’m working for her father, yeah, but I can’t stand seeing her like this anymore. She’s sick. Barely eats. Doesn’t talk. She needs you.”

Momo’s fists clenched, her jaw tightening as she tried to suppress the anger bubbling up. “Empty your pockets,” she ordered coldly, stepping closer to Jeongyeon.

Jeongyeon hesitated for a brief moment before complying, pulling out a wallet, a lighter, and a small set of keys. She set them on the nearby table, then raised her arms. “Satisfied?”

Momo scanned her closely, her eyes sharp. After a beat, she gave a curt nod. “Fine. Sit down,” she commanded, gesturing to the chair opposite her.

Jeongyeon obeyed, lowering herself into the seat with careful movements. “I’m risking everything being here,” she said quietly. “Your girl... she’s on the verge of breaking. And if we don’t act fast, I’m afraid it’ll be too late.”

Momo didn’t respond immediately, her mind racing as she assessed the woman in front of her. “Why are you really doing this?” she asked finally, her voice low and measured. “You’re working for her father. You could easily let her die and save your own skin.”

Jeongyeon’s expression darkened slightly, but she held her composure. “Because she’s my best friend,” she said firmly. “And because I hate her father more than you’ll ever know.”

Momo’s hand shot to her holster, pulling out her pistol in one swift motion. She aimed it squarely at Jeongyeon’s forehead, the cold steel gleaming in the dim light. “Don’t test me, bitch.” she hissed, her voice deadly.

Jeongyeon didn’t flinch, her hands slowly rising in surrender. A small, calm smirk tugged at her lips. “Calm down,” she said evenly. “I’m not testing you. I’m on your side. But you have to understand, both Y/N and I are on the line here. One mistake, and we’re both dead.”

Momo’s grip on the gun tightened for a moment before she exhaled sharply, lowering the weapon. She stepped back, pacing as she processed Jeongyeon’s words. “What do you want?” she asked finally, her tone still icy.

Jeongyeon dropped her hands slowly, adjusting her glasses. “My mom’s sick,” she admitted. “The bills keep piling up, and her father doesn’t give a shit. I need help. Let me work for you, and maybe... a little something to help cover the costs.”

Momo stared at her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she extended a hand. “Fine. You’ll get your reward, but don’t think for a second I won’t blow your brains out if you cross me.”

Jeongyeon reached out, gripping Momo’s hand tightly. The cold metal of Momo’s rings sent a shiver through her fingers. “Understood,” Jeongyeon replied.

“Meet me at the warehouse tomorrow,” Momo said, pulling her hand back. “We don’t have time to waste.”

She grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she turned to leave. The tension in the room lingered as Momo disappeared through the door, her mind already racing with the steps they’d need to take.

The next day, Momo’s team gathered at the warehouse, a quiet yet tense atmosphere settling over the group. A map of the compound was spread across the large table in the center, dim overhead lights casting faint shadows on the markings Jeongyeon had made on it. Everyone was seated or standing nearby, their expressions a mix of focus and unease.

Jeongyeon stood at the head of the table, tapping the edge of the map with her finger. “They’re holding Y/N in an isolated chamber,” she began, her tone grim. “It’s one of the older facilities her father’s team used for brainwashing and torture. It’s practically a shithole—barely ventilated, no proper lighting, and the stench is enough to make you gag. She’s been there for days, and they’re not letting up.”

Momo’s jaw clenched at the words, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “What kind of torture are we talking about?” she asked, her voice low but filled with restrained fury.

Jeongyeon hesitated before responding. “Beatings, starvation, psychological games. They want to break her down completely.”

Momo closed her eyes for a brief moment, steadying herself. “And you know how to get us in?”

Jeongyeon nodded. “They have food deliveries to the compound every few hours. I can smuggle you and your team in through the trucks. Once inside, we’ll need to take down the guards quickly and quietly. From there, I’ll open access to all the internal doors to give you a clear path to her.”

Chaeyoung, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, frowned. “What about their security? Cameras, alarms, patrol schedules—what are we up against?”

“They’re heavily monitored,” Jeongyeon admitted. “But I can disable the cameras temporarily from the control room. The patrols are more sporadic, but I’ve tracked their usual routes. You’ll need to be fast and precise.”

Sana leaned forward, twirling a pen in her hand. “What if something goes wrong?” she asked, her voice calm but pointed. “What if we get separated, or they lock the doors again?”

Jeongyeon slid a separate sheet of paper across the table. “I’ve mapped out alternative routes to the chamber, but they’re longer and more dangerous. If the primary route fails, you’ll have to split into pairs to avoid detection. Timing will be everything.”

Tzuyu, who had been quietly studying the map, spoke up. “And what about reinforcements? If they realize we’re there, they’ll call for backup. We could end up outnumbered.”

“I’ll cut the landlines and jam their radios once we’re inside,” Jeongyeon replied. “That’ll buy us some time, but it won’t stop them from sending word eventually. You’ll need to move fast.”

Jihyo, standing next to Momo, tapped the map with her finger. “And where exactly will Y/N be? We can’t risk wasting time searching.”

Jeongyeon circled a specific area on the map with a red marker. “This is the chamber. It’s deep in the west wing, near the old loading docks. They’ve been using it as a makeshift holding cell. I’ll guide you through every step of the way.”

Momo finally spoke, her voice steady but filled with determination. “What about their guards? How many are we looking at?”

“About fifteen to twenty stationed inside,” Jeongyeon answered. “Most are poorly trained, but a few of them are elite. You’ll need to be careful.”

“And what about you?” Momo asked, her gaze sharp. “Where will you be during all of this?”

Jeongyeon straightened, meeting Momo’s eyes. “I’ll be in the control room, handling the cameras and unlocking the doors. But if things go south, I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

Chaeyoung smirked. “Good to know. Let’s hope you can back that up.”

Momo leaned over the table, studying the map intently. “Here’s the deal,” she said firmly. “We stick to the primary route as long as it’s viable. Chaeyoung and Tzuyu will handle the guards—quietly. No unnecessary noise. Sana, you’ll create a distraction if needed, but keep it subtle. Jihyo, you’re with me. We go straight for Y/N.”

“And if they’re expecting us?” Jihyo asked, raising an eyebrow.

Momo’s expression hardened. “Then we improvise. But we’re getting her out. No matter what.”

Jeongyeon hesitated before adding, “One last thing... They’ll likely have someone stationed near Y/N at all times. If they catch wind of what’s happening, they might use her as leverage.”

A tense silence filled the room at her words. Momo’s fists clenched again, her voice barely above a whisper. “If they touch her again, I’ll make them wish they were never born.”

The team exchanged determined glances, the gravity of the situation sinking in.

Jeongyeon reached into her bag, pulling out a small communication device. “We’ll use these to stay in contact,” she said, distributing them. “Make sure they’re always on. If anything changes, I’ll let you know immediately.”

Momo stood straight, her expression steely. “Get some rest tonight,” she said to her team. “We move out at dawn.”

As the others began to file out, Jeongyeon lingered for a moment, watching Momo. “You’ll need to trust me on this,” she said quietly.

Momo didn’t respond, her eyes still locked on the map. Trust was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

The truck rolled to a stop, its brakes hissing softly in the quiet night. Momo motioned for everyone to move, her sharp eyes scanning the area. Jeongyeon was the last to step out, her posture tense but her expression unreadable.

“Alright,” Jeongyeon whispered, pointing at the compound map she had memorized. “Two guards at the main entrance. After that, you’ll pass through the loading dock. I’ll head inside first, so they don’t suspect anything. Give me five minutes to unlock the internal doors. Then, move.”

Momo’s voice was icy. “Don’t screw this up, Jeongyeon. If anything feels off, we’ll know.”

Jeongyeon nodded, her face hardening. “I know. Just stick to the plan.”

The team dispersed, slipping into the shadows as Jeongyeon strolled up to the entrance. Her posture shifted, casual and unbothered, as if she belonged there. The guards gave her a glance but said nothing as she passed. She disappeared through the main doors, her footsteps fading.

Momo crouched low, her team gathered around her. “Five minutes,” she said, checking her watch. “Chaeyoung, Tzuyu, get in position near the dock. Jihyo, Sana, cover our flank. No mistakes.”

The team moved like phantoms, their dark clothing blending seamlessly into the night.

Inside, Jeongyeon kept her head low as she made her way to the security panel. Her heart raced, but she forced herself to stay calm. She nodded to a passing guard, who barely acknowledged her, then slipped into the server room.

Pulling out a small device, she hacked into the controls, unlocking the gates and disabling the cameras. Her fingers trembled slightly as she worked. *This has to work,* she thought.

When the system beeped softly, confirming the locks were off, she pressed her earpiece. “You’re clear. Doors are open. Move now.”

---

Momo and her team crept through the now-unlocked loading dock. Chaeyoung and Tzuyu took out the guards stationed there with silent precision. Jihyo led them into the compound, her sharp eyes darting around for any signs of an ambush.

As they advanced, the deaths were quick and brutal. Momo’s team worked with ruthless efficiency. Tzuyu dispatched a guard with a garrote, his body slumping quietly to the ground. Sana slid her blade into another’s side, her movements as graceful as a dance.

The smell of blood and mildew filled the air as they approached the final corridor. Momo’s jaw clenched as she gestured for the team to halt. She glanced at Jeongyeon’s signal on the map, indicating the chamber’s location.

Jeongyeon rejoined them near the corridor, her face pale but steady. “It’s at the end,” she whispered. “But be careful. They’ve left traps in the area. I couldn’t disable everything.”

Momo nodded, her voice low and cold. “Stay close. No mistakes.”

The team advanced carefully, avoiding the tripwires and hidden sensors Jeongyeon had warned them about. The corridor felt suffocating, the tension mounting with every step.

Finally, they reached the heavy steel door Jeongyeon had described. Momo pressed her ear against it, listening for any movement inside. She gestured for Jeongyeon to step back.

“You’re not coming in,” Momo said firmly. “Stay here. If this is a trap, you’ll be the first to pay.”

Jeongyeon raised her hands, her voice calm but strained. “Understood. Just get her out.”

Momo nodded to Jihyo, who pried the door open. The creak of the metal echoed ominously, and Momo stepped in, gun raised.

The dim light inside revealed the horrors of the chamber—bloodstains, chains, and the unmistakable stench of suffering. Momo’s eyes scanned the room until they landed on a figure slumped in the corner.

“Oh, you bitch…” Momo muttered under her breath, her voice trembling with fury and disbelief as she took in the sight before her.

Her fingers tightened around her gun, her knuckles white as the scene burned into her mind. Behind her, the team stood frozen, the silence weighing heavy as they waited for her next move.

The metallic clink of chains echoed faintly as Momo stepped deeper into the chamber, her heart pounding. The sight in front of her made her blood run cold. Y/N sat restrained, her face pale and hollow, eyes sunken with exhaustion and despair.

But the real shock was Jeongyeon.

She stood inches away from Y/N, a gun trembling in her grip, pointed directly at her best friend’s head. Her face was a mask of shame and agony, her shoulders hunched as though the weight of the world pressed down on her. Behind her, Y/N’s father loomed, his expression a mixture of arrogance and sadistic satisfaction.

Momo’s voice was a dangerous growl, venom dripping from every word. “Jeongyeon… what the hell are you doing?”

Jeongyeon’s lips trembled, but she said nothing. The shame in her eyes spoke volumes.

“You traitorous bitch,” Momo hissed, taking a step forward.

Y/N’s father’s laughter cut through the tension, cold and cruel. “Oh, look at this. The infamous Momo. So fierce, so proud. And yet, you’re just a pathetic street rat playing mafia boss.”

Momo’s fist clenched, but she didn’t rise to the bait.

The man turned his attention to you, his sneer deepening. “And you. My worthless daughter. Weak. Useless. You’re an embarrassment to the family name. Always chasing after someone to save you. Always the damsel, never the hero.”

Tears burned in your eyes as you shook against your restraints, his words cutting deep.

He then turned to Jeongyeon, his voice cold and commanding. “Do it.”

Jeongyeon’s hands shook even more, her finger hovering over the trigger.

“I can’t,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

“DO IT!” he roared, his voice booming through the chamber. “Don’t you want to make me proud? Think about your mother! Do it!”

Jeongyeon flinched, her resolve crumbling. She closed her eyes, her finger pressing slightly on the trigger.

A gunshot rang out.

Jeongyeon screamed in pain as the gun flew from her hand, clattering to the floor. Blood dripped from her palm where Jihyo’s precise shot had struck. She crumpled to her knees, clutching her injured hand.

“Pathetic,” Y/N’s father snarled, reaching for his own gun.

He never got the chance.

Momo’s gun fired, the shot clean and final. His body collapsed to the floor, lifeless.

“No!” You screamed, your voice cracking as sobs wracked your body. Your restraints bit into your wrists as you shook uncontrollably.

Momo was at your side in an instant, freeing you from the chains and pulling you into her arms. Your cries soaked into her shirt as she held you tightly, her hand cradling the back of your head.

More footsteps echoed in the distance. Reinforcements.

Still holding you, Momo raised her gun and fired with ruthless precision. One after another, the men fell, blood pooling around their bodies. Her grip on you never faltered, even as the chaos unfolded around you.

“We have to go. Now,” Momo ordered, her voice sharp. She glanced at Jeongyeon, who was still cradling her injured hand on the floor. “Take her.”

Chaeyoung and Tzuyu moved to grab Jeongyeon, dragging her to her feet.

Jeongyeon winced but managed to speak through the pain. “There… there are tanks in the lower chambers. Fuel tanks. If you set them off… the whole place will blow.”

Momo nodded, her jaw tight. “Sana, Tzuyu, handle it. The rest of us are heading out.”

The team moved with precision, Momo carrying you as you clung to her, sobbing against her chest. Behind them, the muffled sound of explosions grew louder as Sana and Tzuyu set off the charges.

As the group reached the exit, a deafening boom tore through the air, and the entire compound erupted into flames. The heat was unbearable, but Momo didn’t stop until she was certain you were safe.

Outside, under the cover of night, she set you down gently, her hands still trembling as she wiped the tears from your face. The glow of the burning compound reflected in her dark eyes.

“It’s over,” she whispered, her voice raw. “You’re safe.”

But deep down, she knew the battle was far from finished.

Your vision blurred.

You woke up in a haze, your body aching and weak. The faint scent of roses filled the air, and when you blinked your eyes open, you saw Momo sitting on the edge of her desk, holding a bouquet of roses. She looked at you with such tenderness, it almost made your heart ache. A dark bruise adorned her eye, evidence of the chaos you had just endured.

“You’re finally awake, amor,” she murmured, a soft smile gracing her lips as she leaned down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead.

You sat up instinctively, worry flooding your chest. But the sharp pain in your side made you wince, and you clutched your ribs with a gasp.

“Easy, girl,” Momo warned, her hands steadying you.

You panicked, words spilling out of you in a torrent. “Are you okay? What happened? I missed you so much, Momo, I’m so sorry for everything—Momo silenced you with a kiss, her lips firm but soft, her hands cradling your face as if you might break. The words froze in your throat as your heart stuttered under her touch. “I’ve got it settled,” she said when she pulled away, her voice steady and reassuring. “With your father gone, we don’t have any opposing teams left to worry about. I just want to lay low and take care of you now. I love you, Y/N. And I’ll do anything to keep you with me.”

Her words hit you harder than any bullet ever could, tears welling in your eyes as you nodded. Momo stood and moved to a cabinet near her desk, rummaging through it until she pulled out several containers. She turned to you, her expression soft but serious. You tilted your head in confusion. “What’s this?” She walked back over, setting the containers in front of you. “All the letters I never got to send you.” Her voice wavered, just slightly.

“I want to read them all with you.” Your heart swelled at her confession, and you pouted playfully before leaning in to kiss her lips. “Hey… I love you too,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Momo chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. “Good to know.” As she sat down beside you, her expression turned thoughtful. “Oh… by the way, Jeongyeon’s okay. She’s with Jihyo and Sana right now, being looked after.” A teasing grin curled her lips. “Unless Sana and Jihyo are making out in a corner somewhere, knowing them.”

You laughed softly, though your ribs protested the motion. Momo kissed your temple before standing again. She turned to a guitar propped up against the wall, picking it up with care. She glanced at you with a glimmer in her eye. “You know how I gave you that sheet of music?”

You nodded shyly, reaching into your pocket after a moment of hesitation. The paper was wrinkled and stained with blood, but you handed it to her anyway. “I’m sorry it’s all dirty.” Momo took it, her touch gentle. “It’s okay, love. Guess you’ll finally find out how it goes.”

She adjusted the guitar on her lap, her fingers finding the strings. With a deep breath, she began to strum a hauntingly beautiful melody. Her voice, soft yet rich with emotion, filled the room.

"Esto es cosa nuestra...

“Esto es cosa nuestra…no creo que lo entiendan.”

[bumbldee]

Gristol, Head of HR AU

Where Gristol bitched too much about how poorly ran the Psychonauts is, even citing his sources, and inexplicably gets hired as the Head of HR for his community service.

Some doodles before i go off for holiday, wont be back for like another week

Anyways ramble about this under the cut

Basically, before Gristol gets his verdict, Sasha's assigned to see what's up w him to figure out what's a good punishment.

Gristol spends like a long time ranting about how piss poor the Psychonauts is managed. As he was supposed to blend in, he researched EVERY ethic and code that the psychonauts were oblidged to as he wanted to fit in. His mother never wanted him to end up like his father, so she forced him to learn management and strategy as a kid, and he's DAMN well good at it, except for being a leader. As a stress reliever he'd written down everything wrong with management, and how he'd fix it, for the past 3 years of him working there. Employee's who constantly breached conduct, how shit the hiring security was, etc etc

Sasha sees his manifesto and is like, somewhat impressed with it. He sends it off to Truman, whose also surprised with it.

At first, Gristol tries to escape for like, a month. But then he realized this was the best he was going to get, seeing that he did not have any other skills than management and planning, or even a certified high school degree.

He's actually good at his job, improving employee wellfair and turnout by around 12%. He takes it extremely seriously but at the same time he doesn't want to be there, he's grumpy and it kinda puts everyone off.

Even though he's lived through the life of the common person and what they need, he still believes in Grulovia's dictatorship. His empathy and sudden want for change in management was a result of going through it himself, so he's mostly just serving what he would've wanted. Big ol hypocrite.

Managing a single department has kind of turned him off the idea of trying to be Gzar entirely. He realized the hard way he's not suited for leadership roles.

For like the first few months, he's forced to sit in a little desk next to Truman's with a shitty little typewriter. He's put there because Truman needs to see his performance + it's funny to him. Eventually though he gets really bad backpain from crouching over to type on his little typewriter, and does get his own little office.

Hollis NEVER agreed to hiring him, and was really pissed when Truman did it without her input. They spend a lot of their first interactions arguing, but they do eventually get along somewhat, sharing the same annoyance on dumb decisions Truman or Employees did. They're still hostile but like, they won't try to kill each other anymore.

Gristol has what he needs, he's provided simple accommodations (a small room with a shitty kitchen and a small bathroom) and an allowance (300-500 a month, it's mostly fun + food money).

Lori was originally going to give him a "Best Mail Clerk!" mug, but then the events of Psychonauts 2 happens and she never gets to give him his mug. When he gets hired as head of hr, she cancels out Mail Clerk from the mug and written down "head of HR"

One of Gristol's duties is to water Truman's plants in his office.

Gristol initially tried to have Raz fired, (everyone thought it was because he was salty Raz ruined his plans, nah it's because y'know he's 10) but with Truman's insistence he stayed on, Gristol had updated his contract. Raz is only permitted to go on less dangerous missions and more frequent mental health inspections. He might've had to forge some documents to be able to register Raz to work. Maybe.

[craske]

do you think there would be any future posibility for dejammed shmilk to grow fond of the younger cookies(ginger, wizard, strawberry, etc) and maybe his entertainer persona could come to play in showing them cool things or tricks?

the fucking giggle i let out when i read this ask. anon, you know me so well

anyway, a bit more of a serious answer, thats honestly one of main things that made me wanna start this au. i love character exploration, observing them under a microscope and putting them in situations (especially difficult or unusual to them personally) to see how theyd act.

i really want to put shilk through the horrors of regaining something that he lost a long time ago when he started corrupting. and now that he is basically a regular cookie again, he has the opportunity to interact with others. and the more he spends time with others, the more familiar everything becomes. the hostility and malice slowly melts when he actually realizes that teaching again, or trying to get a genuine laugh out of someone feels... good?

sharing his knowledge with the pink robot kid who soaks up all of it like a sponge and always wants to learn more, or teaching the self-taught wizard hat twerp some more complicated magics, or organizing a show that doesnt require tormenting people, instead providing them with actual fun times is a surprisingly nice change

and it only gets worse when the inevitable soft spot starts forming. oh the horrors, disgusting. all of this is temporary while they work towards a common goal. he cant have a funny feeling in his chest when children let out a genuine laugh, or when the little wizard gleefully manages to cast a difficult spell they both have been working on. unacceptable, stomp that feeling down into the ground and bury it

i wont say he mellows out that much though, i dont want for him to lose what makes him a fun character. plus itd just erase not only what he has done, but also what he experienced. i dont want it to be a total redemption and change of character, but at the same time... i just like the stories where villains/antagonists have to work with the protagonists for one reason or another, becoming begrudging allies and starting to actually bond (megamind or coach oleander and loboto, not to mention earlier ice king or dr nefarious and many other cases)

also, in case anyone wondered if it also includes the other beasts...

hehe

[romanarose]

My favs of 2024!

Hi guys! While this list wont be as extensive I wanted to highlight some of my favorite stories I've read this year!!!

If your story isn't on it please don't fret. 1. I simply have not read as much, and ive taken a heavy veer into the x men fandom 2. if i read yours and its not here, frankly, my memory is shit. Thats a me thing not you. you are all so wonderful! This is just a handful of highlights <3

TLOU, Star Wars, Mojave, X-men, Triple Frontier

Joel Miller

Rolly Polly : by @toxicanonymity Part of her raider!au, this cute little piece has stuck with me for months. Even did a lil drawing of it. Nice little comfort piece

Saving what was lost: Im so behind on this but a comforting fic dealing with sexual trauma by @mermaidgirl30

Devotion: Cult!leader joel! I havnt finished yet but i put my name on it! If you like Rooms on Fire, check this out! @noxturnalnymph

Tommy Miller

Bad blood: Stepdad!tommy and step uncle!joel. For all my Tommy girlies out there, if you ever wanted to make a good man break this is your chance. by @aurorawritestoescape

Jack Jackson and Tom (Mojave)

Done with you: GAY GAY GAY GAY!!!!!! A little one shot with gay sex <3 by @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

Jake Lockley

I don't dance: For my pride even, this cute little male reader one shot is so nice and soft <3 by @ivystoryreader

Din Djarin

Never say never: Pride even again! nonbinary reader representation which we need now more than ever. by @djarinmuse

Santiago Garcia

Catch that buzz: excellent smut by @for-a-longlongtime !!!! made for the pride event as well, my friend here really knows how to write smut that feels so hot and so real.

X-men

(Everything is on ao3. I have one writer here that is now a pal of mine i can tag on tumblr but if anyone happens to know any of the authors of the other stories, feel free to tag them and ill credit! for now, I'll be linking the ao3.)

Poolverine

Until you get sick of me, honestly by @3koboldsinahoodie ongoing series dealing with Logan and Wade getting together delicious slow burn with great smut pay off, and sooooo much lore to learn.

Void: Bit of a mindfuck. After the time ripper, logan gains some of wades 4th wall abilities.... he isnt taking it well.

Logurt

More than genetics: the fic that turned Logurt from a ship to my otp. Logan rescues Kurt from captivity, gay mutant roadtrip! cannot rec enough

Years do not equal experience: Logan and Kurts first time, Logan is more nervous than Kurt despite being the one topping.

Friends: Logan and Kurt explore their "friendship"

Kurt wagners problem: Kurts got a scent kink <3

Blue and Yellow: JUST FINISHED YESTERDAY! Like,t he writer completed it yesterday!!!! Logan helps kurt escape a dangerous ring, and go to the school.

The Tramp and the Vagabond: MORE GAY MUTANT ROAD TRIP! Logan helps kurt, taking him to the school. Kurt is shakey and secretive, but so is logan.

Logan/Remy

Not all who wander are lost : my current read!!! im INHALING its so good. Remy is a young street mutant living of theft and some prostitution. Logan, being logan, quickly becomes attached to the vulnerable kid and tries to help him.

Remy/Kurt

Sins of the flesh: remy kurt smut, a little catholic guilt on the side, yum yum for me, the guilest ex catholic out there.

Thank you to all you amazing writers!!! Many of these stories in the x men section are 10 + years old and i bet the writers would get a kick if we all left a bunch of nice comments (i always try to bc i know how much it meants)

Its been a rough year, for me, my country, and for the world. Thank you for giving me stories to escape into <3

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

hello! i’m love your post and arts so much! I look at your posts after a hard day and my mood immediately changes to excellent. can I ask a couple of questions?

which pairing with Ethan do you prefer?

and… can we get to know you better? a little biography?

Thank you for your time! I'll be waiting for new arts! (sorry if i made mistakes, my english is not so good. im russian)

i like basically every ship with ethan! it mostly depends on the mood im in, but if im being honest, mithan, winterfield, and wintersberg gets frustrating to think about because they all dont treat ethan well canonically... lethan is fun because they have never met and i can make my own assumptions!

i used to like wintersberg the most and i still do like it, i just have expanded my horizons to other ships as well...., its mostly like a punchline to me though. they have the funniest potential which is why a majority of their posts is just joke comics. i do not like how people try to erase how karl is arrogant and egotistical tho. thats like removing the flavor.... the way karl acts is just very funny to me, hes so lame in a good way and i like how everytime he talks to ethan it sounds like hes twirling his hair and kicking his feet. canonically speaking, karl was very much in the wrong for trying to use rose and not elaborating and i will die on this hill. ethan is not in the wrong for being disgusted and angry that karl would ever try and propose that in the deal. karl is very arrogant so when ethan says no to him it makes him mad and he tries to use fear to get ethan to take his deal (kicking his chair and warning him) i like karl, i like how messed up and arrogant he is but i dislike how people try to portray him as a nice guy. however, in a AU where everythings the same except he doesnt try to use rose i do enjoy the dynamic they could have, especially if the teamed up (not with the deal where they use rose. ethan wouldnt agree unless karl never involved rose in the first place). karl is just a very entertaining character and i like him a lot, hes funny and his personality can be extremely hilarious

mia and ethan is pretty tragic and thinking about it too much makes me a bit sad, imo in a reality where ethan survives re8, he needs to divorce mia. im not saying ethan needs to hate mia and never talk to her again i just dont think they should be so intimate together because of her behavior... please do not take this as anti mia. they loved each other dearly but it wasnt healthy. their relationship was kept afloat by lies and mia doesnt change even though she deals with the consequences of her own actions in re7. she actively tries to hide her past from ethan and is mostly focused on trying to move on and have a normal life even if ethan will have to live the rest of his life in the dark.

she loves her family so much, shes very afraid of them leaving her so she hides all the bad things in the hopes that they wont leave. its selfish, its human, its real, her character is so amazing and i love her. she doesnt learn from re7 and hides important information from ethan again. i geniunly think they should have gotten divorced after re8 if ethan had survived. its tragic and its sad but they love each other so much. it sad because they both geniunly love rose so much but they themselves shouldnt be together. its just sad to think about it. whenever i draw them it usually takes place before re7. they should have divorced on good terms and shared custody of rose.........

ethan and chris is also frustrating to think about... chris is a major jerk in re8, whenever i draw it, its under a unspoken AU that chris did not behave the way he did in re8. his weird behavior in re8 is probably for a meta reason imo. capcom wanted to set up a twist villian so they make chris very vague and unesscarily cruel. while its frustrating that they turned chris into a jerk for the sake of a twist, it still happens in canon and i will forever roll my eyes whenever i see him on screen. he did what he thought was best but imo, execution matters more than the intentions. same applies to mia. they both did things that hurt ethan because they thought it would be the best but in the end they just hurt ethan.

all the ships ive discussed with people ethan has met canonically just makes it look like i dont even like the ships... LOL ... ethan just has horrible luck with the people he meets i guess... but i do enjoy the ships and drawing them, but again all of them come with the canon baggage that ends up making me sad because everyone treats ethan poorly whether they had good intentions or not

which is why leon and ethan is the most fun to draw without getting stressed... LOL... they have never met but just drawing what i think their dynamic would be like is very fun.

please dont take this post personally, this isnt a post declaring why ur fave ship sucks, this is just my own personal preferences and in the end i draw all of them anyways

if i had to rank the ships based on drawing silly comics it would be

wintersberg

mithan

lethan

winterfield

wintersberg has the funniest potential just because of karl and mithan can be funny if u water it down to "i love my wife so much" and said wife comes home with suspicious amounts of hard cash

i enjoy making joke comics far to much

if i were to rank the ships based on how healthy they would actually be for ethan it would be

lethan

winterfield, mithan, wintersberg (no particular order)

sorry 😭

leon and ethan have literally never met but imo it would still be the healthiest because ethan gets to start new

the three other ships r all unhealthy in some way, at least canonically without changing much about the characters (i do like winterfield but just because of how chris behaved in re8 it knocked them down)

i cant even rank them on personal preference because my opinion changes so often 😭 it changes based on discussions i have with my friends or recent art i see that inspires me... me and my friends recently had a discussion about mia and ethans relationship which made me very frustrated and sad with mia so i defiently wouldnt be drawing them anytime soon... meanwhile i hvae been talking to a friend who really likes winterfield often so the conversations we have give me art ideas and i end up drawing it more. if a friend of mine really enjoyed wintersberg or lethan and talked to me about it often id probably start drawing it more, the joys of being a multishipper

it changes a lot based on how im feeling and if im in the mood to draw something funny or something serious

sorry u asked a really simple question and i responded with a essay

and a little bit about myself is that i go by crumb, i am 18 and i go by all pronouns and prefer it/its

im vietnamese and live in texas

i made this tumblr acc solely so i could post my ethan art and im a re7/re8 girly so if ur here waiting for me to draw the re1-re6 characters im sorry u should probably expect nothing

i also make personal animations sometimes which u can find here

thanks for the ask and sorry for the rant!

[mono-dot-jpeg]

your strongest potions, shopkeeper! - blue lock

summary; in which you (the reader, not y/n) learn of the tales of rafta

genre/extra tags; scenarios?, heavily inspired by potionomics (great game), characters as potionomics characters, fluff, comedy, modern fantasy au (technically), lots of potionomics references and fantasy talk, y/n a little stupid but it's fine.

a/n; hi, i've been playing potionomics nonstop lately and it's been on my mind and I already miss my silly baptiste. he's so babygirl. and naturally, why not smush my current interests together now since I got the idea in my mind already. i wont be discussing all the characters in the game and matching them with bllk boys unfortunately as im having a hard time wondering who would be who. tbh, a lot of them could probably apply to one character KHDJDKDJ

the ingredient merchant is a teasing one. he's dry, calculating, and more than willing to add fuel to a fire during a heated conversation. but he would never do that with you. but he does live to tease you with his dry remarks and his smug grin. but he's the one who helps supply your potion ingredients, though. you don’t really know how... but you decide not to question it.

karasu tabito is a clairvoyant. he has his large all-seeing orb, which he's told you that it's how he finds all his connections to get all these ingredients. and then he's got his little chest mimic. maybe not that little.. it's bigger than a chair. and he can sit on it like a large ottoman.

he's kind of mysterious despite being one of your first friends you've made in rafta. he doesn't talk a lot of his past, and he appreciates that you don't press hard about it.

he's probably been by your side since the start, watching your growth to defeat the competition in the potion-making industry.

you fell for him first, but he totally fell harder.

"you know i've been getting a lot of visions of a person lately. from my orb." he started. "i see your...stupid face in them." he looks away from you, the large brim of his warlock hat covering the subtle blush on his cheeks. he curls in on himself slightly, resting against his floating all-seeing orb. "you.. see me? wait, does that mean i'm gonna die soon?!" you panic, flinching back at the possible implications of him seeing you in his visions. "god, you're such an idiot. i mean, yeah, we all die someday, but this.. is different. it means.. that i like you." he grumbled. "so, what are you gonna do about it?" "hm.. can i kiss you then?"

the guild master is a man of the people... despite being born with a silver spoon in his mouth. he means well. he strives to make the blue lock guild thrive! he wants to support the amazing adventurers who supply and give their recent monster loot to the potion makers who keep them alive with their adventure commissions. but it's been hard for him, really. he's been so disconnected from the normal life that he doesn't understand low class or middle-class struggles as well as most would.

mikage reo is a man who wishes to experience what most people already have. he's sick of the cushy rich life of having everything (though his mother still sends him a care package of out-of-your-budget hair care). he's a sight for sore eyes, catching plenty of attention from anyone and everyone. he's a gentleman whilst being a little.. passionate (is passionate the right word?) about his experiences and his goal to improve the guild to its rightful peak. he's also the announcer for the potion contests in rafta! he's never biased in those. i promise. (/gen)

like how he's watched you grow to be a masterwork potion maker, you've watched slowly shed free of his insecurities of the past and worrying over not being a great guild master.

he's sweet, a little eccentric, and more than an open book than he realizes. he's loyal to his goal even if the seasoned adventurers give him side eye about his past and lack of proper qualifications to handle a guild.

you fell for each other just as hard as the other.

"lately, i've been going through quite a lot as i learn how to navigate this new life. it's been stormy skies and rough seas..." he said with a sad smile, but it turns into something more softer and happier, "but you've been there for me and had so much faith in my plans." "some days i want nothing more than to go back to luxury. to relax and be free from work." he said with an annoyed frown. "luxury and riches are nice." you nodded. "but you helped me and showed me things i have never experienced." he smiled brightly. "and for that, i found myself falling for you." he pulls out a bright red rose, handing it to you. "do you want to hear the love my heart has to offer to you?" you gently take the rose with your fingertips, "i already hear it loud and clear."

the excitable new hero that was part of the guild was a fun one! he was a hero enthusiast, wanting to become a hero himself because of it. and he made it all the way to rafta! and now he helps gather new ingredients for you, ready for any dangerous adventure. he's absolutely an excited puppy. he loves doing anything as long as it was adventurous! sometimes if he was feeling really crazy, he would try the flavor of the day in the local ice cream parlor. (he cried the day he got his least favorite flavor, mozuku)

he's been kind of hung up on wanting a trophy or large weapon. so many heroes had them, so he should get one! he has to be a great hero after all! but in your eyes, he was already rather great at what he did. he's swifter than a bee and stung like one too. he seemed to have this innate talent for fighting and being adventurous. he just didn't seem to believe it when he was surrounded by hero legends or higher ranked heroes.

he's been your most supportive customer, often visited for plenty of potions or maybe a quick large order. sometimes he gives you a discount for his commissioned work out on the field.

you didn't fall for him at least, but boy, did he fall for you hard.

"it's silly, wanting to have a trophy or weapon to show off for your success." he said softly. "but i really did want one. i wanted to show that i was a great hero, you know?" he laughed sheepishly. "you might not have found one, but you really did prove yourself along the way. you're pretty high ranked, aren't you?" "yeah, it just feels weird to not have anything to show for it.." he smiled wistfully before it melts into a softer grin. "but hearing you say that i proved myself, it makes me feel so much better!" he groaned childishly, "but still! believing in yourself is hard." "well, it's easy for me to believe in you. it's probably the easiest thing i could do." he goes quiet, looking at you with adoration before blurting out, "can i kiss you?"

the succubus currently living in your literal hell of a basement is certainly a character. you had beat him in the potion-making competition and he outed himself as a demon. which wasn't much of a shocker to you, considering his less than savory scams he did with his potions. but even so, he was considerably skilled in charms and illusions more than potions. he just needed some cash.

but now that he's lost, he had found solace in your unfinished cave basement.. that had a whole river of lava running through?! you curse your uncle ego for having such an odd home that's left for you to handle. so, you unwillingly take in the damn demon before he runs amok ruining other poor souls. he's charming. you'll give him that much. he often sells you illusions and charms that would help your potions sell better. and he even gives you some pointers on how to charm the customers into letting their guard down for a great profit. he's been looking for a place to belong in a while, and your home seems to fit that bill as much as he hates to admit. he's rowdy, flirty, invasive, most things that you don't really want to have around (especially since he unsealed the magic barrier that was keeping you safe from the heat of the lava).

but overtime, you seem to find yourself liking the odd presence of him. or maybe he had unintentionally put a charm on you. you may never know.

you fell first, he fell right after.

"you know i really saw you as a threat to my business and all." he said. "it really wasn't love at first sight." he laughed. "but you're still you, even after all your big decisions to change. still the same wrecking ball that crashed into my shop and right into my basement." "i was petty about a lot of things for a long time. many many years probably. when my own home got destroyed. i was just surviving to the next day." he said, frowning slightly. "but i changed. i changed to find my way to you." "now, you're thriving." "i really am thriving. and now, whatever i decide to do with my life. i want you by my side." "i want that too." "then show me, dear."

[saiintvalentiine]

its more werewolf au b/c that's what i was in the mood to write.............. a follow up to this fic that i posted many moons ago. this wont make sense if you havent read the first part ! warnings for injuries and blood. divider

Word count: 1,236

Ken is humming the way he does when he’s thinking. He does it a lot, a stuttering rhythm that tends to trail off once he’s deep in thought. He’s turning Wifies’s head side to side, fingertips hovering over the bloodied and bruised area where the muzzle meets his skin. Wifies tries to not flinch at all, fingers digging into the blanket Ken wrapped around his shoulders, but he can't control the way his ears pin down and his tail curls around him.

“It’s crusted on there,” Ken says, nose scrunched up hard. “Maybe with some warm water, I can soften it up, make it easier to take off.”

“Cut the straps and pull hard,” Wifies whispers. Moving his mouth too much digs the nosepiece of the muzzle into the bridge of his nose unpleasantly, forces his sharp teeth into the soft flesh of his mouth. “It'll come off.”

“It'll hurt!”

“It'll hurt anyway.”

“But we can make it hurt less. Don't move, I'll be right back.”

Ken disappears into another room. His house is colorful just like him, all kinds of hues blending together seamlessly. Wifies's bloodied and battered body doesn't fit in, his black-and-white fur and silver and leather restraints staining the space. He doesn't have anywhere else to go.

Ken returns with a bucket and a fistfull of soft looking rags. Ken places the bucket on the table and soaks a few of the rags.

“How did you ever eat with that thing on?” Ken asks, pulling a rag out and wringing it.

Wifies blinks up at Ken and decides that he doesn't actually want to know the truth. Ken sighs loudly at his silence, rag in hand as he looks down at Wifies.

“I'm gonna start around your nose, okay?”

“Okay.”

Ken's ears flick and he leans over Wifies, eyebrow knitting and tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. The rag is soft and warm and damp as Ken dabs it around the rusted silver of the muzzle.

Wifies closes his eyes so that he doesn't have to see Ken's expression as he trembles. He can't help it. There's no amount of gentleness that will stop the sharp, persistent, heated ache rolling through his face wherever Ken touches. Ken murmurs nonsense, noise to soften the blows, but he's a hit dog and he's trying desperately to not holler.

It only takes a few minutes for Ken to “soften up” the gunk and viscera around the muzzle. The metal shifts just a bit, in a way it hasn't done since it was first put on him.

“There we go,” Ken says, clearly pleased with how well his plan went. “Now we’ll cut the straps and get this thing off of you.”

Wifies doesn’t bother opening his eyes. He can feel the tears built up, partially from the pain, partially from everything else. He hears Ken snipping through the straps, but there’s a pause when he cuts through the strap that runs from the nose of the muzzle over the center of his head.

“It’s stuck,” Ken says, strain lining his voice. “The back of the strap is stuck.”

“My hair,” Wifies blinks the tears away and looks at Ken’s paling face.

“It’s matted in there.”

“One thing at a time,” Wifies says quietly. “Muzzle first.”

Ken takes a sharp breath in and says, “Yeah, of course, sorry.”

It hurts to pull off. Even softened up, there are still welts and bruises all over his skin from where the muzzle sat. Ken takes one of the rags and douses it in a healing potion, hovering over Wifies’s face.

“It’s gonna sting,” he warns, as if it doesn’t already feel like there's a constant burning wherever air touches. Wifies just nods.

When Ken touches the fabric to his face, Wifies learns that healing feels cold. It stings, sure, but the way the breeze does when high up or like too much mint in the air. He leans into Ken’s touch.

“Not too bad,” Wifies’s tail slips out from under the blanket, swaying minutely.

“Good.”

Once Ken is satisfied that Wifies’s face is all healed up, Wifies stands and they do an awkward shuffle to the bathroom. Wifies almost finds it funny. He towers over Ken, but with no confidence, he pales in comparison to Ken's sure footsteps and serious expression. He might as well be two feet tall for all he feels it. When they arrive, Ken grabs the showerhead and starts the water, pointing it into the tub. The noise sets Wifies on edge, ears pinning down.

“If you want to cut your hair later, fine, but for now, I’m gonna try to save it. We’ll scrub all that crud out of it and get that strap out,” Ken says, letting the water run over his hand. “Alright, that should be good.”

When Ken turns around, he points to the edge of the tub.

“Get in.”

“No.”

They stare at each other. Ken blinks.

“Well I’m not cleaning you up outside of the tub,” Ken frowns and puts his freehand on his hip.

“Not— not with you here,” Wifies clarifies.

Ken makes a little ohh noise and scrambles to put the showerhead back in place. He stands there for a second, unsure, before shaking his head.

“Yeah, no, you're right. I'll bring a towel and stuff, uh, yell if you need anything.”

Ken leaves and closes the bathroom door behind him. Wifies watches steam slowly rise from the water, the promise of a hot shower enticing. He waits for Ken to pop back in to awkwardly hand him off a towel and clothes, before stripping and stepping into the stream.

He doesn’t think about anything. It used to take an immense amount of effort, but now it was second nature. He doesn't think about the dark, muddy water washing away into the drain, or the feel of his first warm shower in— possibly ever? His memory doesn’t go back far. But he’s not thinking about it. He uses soap on his hair until the leather strap comes loose, then meticulously untangles it from the muddled mess of his hair, then washes it properly with shampoo. He rubs over bruises and scars, brushes his tail out, cleans under his fingernails. He feels almost like— something. Someone, maybe.

Drying off and redressing in a new set of clothes (that run a little tight, but Wifies will never complain), he picks up as much of the bathroom as possible before heading out with the dirty clothes. The leather strap lays in the depths of the trashcan.

“We definitely have to get you better fitting clothes,” Ken pulls at the fabric on Wifies's shoulder, where the shirt is at it's tightest. “You look much better now.”

Wifies tilts his head at Ken as he takes the clothes out of his arms and whisks them away. Claw marks dot his forearms, and his nails are cracked and broken to bits. His teeth feel too big for his mouth, lips pale where he's cut them over and over again with the blades of his teeth. He was too afraid to look into the mirror in the bathroom and learn some new, impossible to stomach truth about himself. He's not too sure he looks better.

But Ken comes back, hopeful and smiling, and Wifies says, “I feel better,” and it's not so much a lie as it is a wish.