#and also nobody can figure out why i was sent there anyway bc this isn’t a normal protocol

[sweetteaswift]

it’s been.... a long day already

[luvteez]

bassists do it deeper

pairing: yunho x genderneutral!reader genre + tags: smut, band au | kink discovery, exhibitionism, a brief segment of semi-public sex, hand kink, size kink, yunho monster cock bc this deserves a tag, power play, switch dynamics (i think??), dom!yunho pulls through in the end, unprotected sex wc: 6.3k

note: big thanks to my fav babie @lustjoong​ for motivating me to combine the two ideas i had for the prompt into one and motivating me to finish this!! here’s my take on the unspoken obligatory yunho size kink fic every ateez smut writer should have written once but make him a bassist. also, the band au to this pwp is literally just there as an excuse to make yeosang the lead singer of the band bc if kq won’t give yeosang lines, i will 

A lot can happen throughout a single weekend, as your English professor suddenly quitting her job, your brother Yeosang almost burning down the kitchen from deep frying an egg, an influx of voicemails in your inbox all sent from Wooyoung, as well as Yeosang’s punk rock band losing a member. It’s a lot to process when all you’ve done is stay the night at Yuqi’s, even harder so when Wooyoung keeps repeating every five seconds that Seonghwa quit the band. (”Why did it have to be Seonghwa who left Stereowave? He was the hottest one!”)

That being said, you expected to come home to a beyond grumpy Yeosang who was trying to find a replacement asap. A band without a bassist sounds empty, and while Stereowave has garnered a big enough fanbase over the years that wouldn’t mind the band continuing as a trio, it just feels wrong. Besides, branding a group consisting of Yeosang the frontman, San the guitarist, Mingi the drummer, and nobody covering the bassist position a band doesn’t sit right.

You were prepared for the worst; a messy kitchen, Yeosang walking around in clothes he wore for five days straight, possibly the outbreak of World War III depending on how shitty he’s feeling. But instead, you find the kitchen exceptionally clean and Yeosang acting as if nothing ever happened.

“Can you help set up the camera? The guys and I wanna film a new song.”

“Uh, sure,” you answer irritatedly. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about finding a replacement for Seonghwa though?”

“Oh, we already have a new bassist,” he waves off casually, “What are you gaping at? Shut that jaw of yours before flies fly into your nasty mouth.”

“First of all, rude.” Yeosang rolls his eyes at that comment. For a split second, you’re contemplating letting him figure out on his own how to use the camera because he’s the walking embodiment of a technology illiterate, but your curiosity about the new band member is bigger. “But how did you manage to find a new replacement so fast? It’s been like, what, a day since Seonghwa left?”

Yeosang sighs. “He’s been thinking of quitting for weeks now, so I had enough time to look for a new bassist. It’s not that big of a deal anyway.”

And this is exactly why you should never get dicked down by your bandmate several times in a month, you think to yourself. Seonghwa and Yeosang thought they were slick, but everyone figured they were more than friends. Needless to say, it was only a matter of time until the strain of their relationship wreaked havoc within the band.

“So,” you say as you two walk to the makeshift studio in the basement, “Is the new guy good? What’s his name?”

The change of topic makes Yeosang relax visibly. There’s a sheepish smile on his face and he replies, “You’ll see.”

You arch a brow. For some reason, that doesn’t settle comfortably in your gut. Then there’s the fact that Yeosang is slightly skipping, and that makes you more concerned than relieved. Because Yeosang barely skips, only when he’s being petty and is planning on pranking somebody. (Most of the time, it’s San.)

The faint vibrations of drums and guitars ring in your ears before you step a foot into the basement. Mingi is the first to acknowledge your presence, immediately dampening the cymbals before waving at you. That causes the other two guys to stop playing their instruments and turn their heads around. You greet San like you normally do, and when your eyes flit to the new addition, all brightness drops from your face.

“What. The. Fuck.”

Yunho cocks his head to the side almost tauntingly, eyes challenging. The corners of his mouth quirk upwards, though more with the intention of saying hah you thought you’d never see me again. “Hello to you too, honey. Looks like fate brought us together once more, eh?”

You blink multiple times to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. To your dismay, they sure aren’t. It really is Yunho standing right next to an utterly confused San, and the bass in his hands just confirms it furthermore.

“Since when do you play an instrument?” you gawk. There’s no fucking way he could’ve had time to pick up music, not when his schedule was already jammed with basketball training and student council activities. Then again, that was his schedule in middle school.

“Since I was fifteen,” he drawls, unaffected by your outburst. “Any other questions, honey? Preferably something along the lines of how have you been? I expected a warmer welcome from you, not gonna lie.”

“What does Yeosang even see in you?” you splutter instead, disgust prevalent in your voice.

“Talent. Believe it or not.”

“Guys, no fighting,” Yeosang warns, but you’re too busy sending Yunho daggers and every pg rated curse under the sun your brain can wrack up.

Meanwhile, San shifts his weight on one leg awkwardly and asks in the background as your verbal dispute continues, “Are they exes or something?”

“Nah, just childhood enemies,” Mingi mumbles, clearly used to your interactions to the point where he’s becoming bored of it. He’s heard all the profanities too many times coming out from the same mouth, hence why he isn’t as disturbed as San is.

“Listen up, you piec—“ 

“(y/n), the camera. Help your older brother out, will ya?” Yeosang cuts you off urgently, the warning tone in his words hard to miss.

“Yeah, help your brother out, shorty,” Yunho snickers. Appalled by his blatant shamelessness, you scowl.

“I’m not that short—!”

“Still shorter than I am, shorty. Or do you prefer honey?”

World War III would’ve broken out right then and there if it weren’t for Yeosang’s death glare — you know, the look he has etched on his face whenever he means business and is willing to go so far and expose all of the nasty mishaps you’ve done in middle school, which is definitely something that should never see the light of day.

“I prefer neither,” you mutter after weighing the gravity of Yeosang’s wrath, avoiding any eyes before you set up the camera. Luckily, nobody further comments on that and eventually, everybody resumes practicing their parts of the songs.

Just in time as Mingi takes another short break to chug his water down, you stumble across a problem. “Uh, Yeosang? You should buy a new camera. This is still usable, but you might have to reset every ten minutes or so.”

A groan leaves him, followed by a shrill guitar riff, and you can see that he’d prefer death over spending money for a new one. “Can’t you just stay here during practice and reset it? You also get to hear some new tracks of the upcoming EP!” That fucker, he’s just too lazy to run forward and press a button every few minutes.

“I have to be on standby for the Block B ticket sale,” you lie. Technically, it’s not really a lie because you do plan on going to the Block B concert with Wooyoung, but 1) the ticket sale isn’t even today and 2) it’s always Wooyoung who buys the tickets. Yeosang doesn’t need to know that though. Any excuse is better than having to sit through practice and see if Yunho is as good as he claims.

Seems like Yeosang desperately doesn’t want to keep running back and forth to reset the camera as he suddenly says, “You can do it here too.” You would argue that the garage has its separate WiFi and only the band members have access to it, but then: “You can use my laptop instead.”

And letting you use his laptop is something he never does. You failed to submit an assignment in time because your own laptop broke down and he didn’t let you borrow his computer for even that.

“Fine,” you sigh in defeat. Yeosang thanks you with a smile so obnoxiously sweet it makes you gag. When all he gets in return from you is the middle finger, his demeanor drops and he mutters something inaudible under his breath, pointing to the small table at the side where all their phones and laptops are lying before he goes back to the others.

Once all four of them are in position and ready to play, you press the record button before flipping yourself onto the old patchwork couch Yeosang bought at a garage sale for only thirty quid a few years back. To your surprise, Yeosang’s MacBook is already unlocked, the default wallpaper of mountains and northern lights quite jarring to your eyes.

When given the rare chance to have unlimited access to your sibling’s devices, it’s self-explanatory what to do. You either a) go through all of their accounts and find as much dirt as possible about them that serves as good material for future blackmail purposes or b) sign them up to as many online subscriptions as possible that will make them go crazy. Unfortunately, that doesn’t work on Yeosang because 1) he doesn’t mind online subscriptions, and 2) he never checks his email account, hence why his inbox is filled with over 2000 mails, a third of them most likely unopened. On top of that, his MacBook is strictly meant for work, so if you really wanted to find out his most embarrassing secrets, your only shot is his phone.

That being said, you’re left with option c) which is checking out Block B’s concert merch since that’s the only sensible thing you can do right now. Forget productivity; that isn’t doable when Yeosang’s deep timbre is blaring in your ears along with the instruments. To be honest, you really enjoy Stereowave’s music and that’s on their music, not because your brother is the lead singer. You’ve enjoyed each of their performances and perhaps you’ve been indulging in the privilege of hearing their new songs first.

But now that Yunho’s involved, suddenly the prospect of having a new favorite band sounds tempting. What was Yuqi’s favorite band again? Day6? You should take a closer look at their discography.

As much as you want to mute the sound, from San’s riffs to Mingi’s drum solo, you fail to do so. One moment you’re opening the search browser, and in the next, your eyes are set on the group. They’re practicing like they usually do; fun etched on their faces as they lose themselves in the music. Yeosang is singing as if he was performing in front of a million viewers while San improvises a solo on a whim. Mingi messes up the beat for a split second after failing to catch his stick and somehow, your eyes have zoomed in on Yunho. It doesn’t take you five seconds to realize:

Yunho is good.

While he might not seem as fired up as the other three, he’s visibly relaxed. Just like Seonghwa, he plays smoothly and isn’t overpowered by the others, but he seems to have an easier time gliding his fingers across the fingerboard. The bassline is easy to filter out, not the generic pattern you can find in every second pop song, yet still compliments the other instruments.

He can play, fair game. However, that’s the least of your worries. You’re more attentive to the ratio of his hands to the bass. His hands are larger than Seonghwa’s by far, no doubt. That makes sense given his height, maybe an inch taller than Mingi. But Mingi doesn’t have that big hands. Doesn’t that mean that Yunho’s body is disproportional?

Before you know it, you drag your gaze from his shoes up to his legs and stop at his hands briefly, only to proceed upwards until you see the cocky smirk and amused eyes directed at you. All clogs in your brain come to a stillstand and despite that, that’s when you realize you’ve been 1) enjoying his music, 2) checking him out, and 3) checking him out and caught red-handed.

It feels as if you were living on the sun instead of on Earth as you burn up in embarrassment. Knowing there’s no way you can deflect what you just did, you quickly turn back to the laptop, the Google search bar staring back at you.

You’re about to type in something when the search history pops up, catching your eyes. A gasp leaves you but it goes under the music, everyone too immersed in their own thing to notice the prevalent horror settling on your face.

exhibitionism

getting off in public

best crowded places to have sex and get away with it

You blink, thinking that your sleep deprivation got the worst out of you and that you’ve finally reached the stage where you start hallucinating. Except, you know you’re not hallucinating. After going through the words again and again, you know that you’re really not fucking hallucinating and that your nonexistent sleep cycle isn’t as bad as Yuqi makes it out to be.

When you said you wanted to dig up dirt on your brother, you didn’t mean it in the form of his kinks. Money can’t buy everything, but how you wish it could so you could unsee that shocking discovery.

Since this is Yeosang’s work computer and he’s signed into his Google account, he must make use of the drive to save a copy of his ideas. It probably won’t amount to anything since he’s the walking embodiment of staying unbothered, but writing him a note on his docs about how he’s made your life worse by not clearing his search history is better than staying silent.

You click on the little icon on the top right corner, expecting to see Yeosang’s name right above the email address. But then you see Yunho’s name instead, and suddenly everything makes much more sense.

This was never Yeosang’s laptop to begin with.

To say you’re at a loss of words is an understatement. There’s no way someone could have as little self-awareness and leave their laptop unlocked, let alone Yunho out of all people. Then again, the last thing you expected from him was to play the bass and blend well with the rest of the band as if he’s always been the bassist of Stereowave and not the newly found replacement.

This is absolutely bonkers. But:

You could have fun with it. Maybe it’s for the better that money can’t buy everything.

Besides dozens of articles about semi-public sex and even a blogpost titled Shagging in Broad Daylight for Dummies, his search history of the last 24 hours consists of many forum links discussing the morality of exhibitionism, conspiracy theories, and hand care guides. You wheeze when you see the private playlist he saved on his YouTube account; a collection of videos about filing your nails properly and the best hand cream brands for dry skin.

Yeosang calls in for a break, and everyone’s grateful for it. San lets out a relieved noise as he places his guitar on the stand before catching the water bottle Mingi chucks at him.

“My arms are beat,” Mingi complains.

San sends him an incredulous look and snorts, “All you do is bang! crash! ppang! while my throat is fucked! And so are my legs!”

“Not my fault if you keep doing your high pitched oows! while jumping around like a— like a cricket!”

“A cricket? Are you serious?”

“I’m tired, okay!”

“Then that means we should call it a day and go home and rest, right?”

“Choi San, I think you’re onto something.”

“Absolutely not,” Yeosang deadpans, causing the bickering duo to pout in sync. “We have lots to do especially since Yunho’s now part of the band.” When all he’s met with is an attempt of cute puppy eyes that rather looks like a bad rendition of any horror movie featuring creepy dolls, Yeosang sighs, “I ordered chicken for dinner and yes, it’s on me.”

In an instant, Mingi and San’s faces brighten up and they’re celebrating as if they won a free cruise to the Bahamas. They don’t hesitate to envelop Yeosang in a bear hug, crushing the life out of him. A chuckle escapes you at the sight of your brother wringing for his sanity. Sometimes you wonder how on Earth those three guys are the same three guys who perform in abandoned warehouses, jamming out their punk rock songs while looking all edgy (in a cool way that has at least half of their fans thirsting after them).

Meanwhile, Yunho drops himself on the other end of the couch. Propping his right leg on the coffee table in front, he digs around in his pockets before pulling something out.

“Since when do you file your nails?” You pointedly raise a brow at him. Although your extensive research on his browser history already answered that question, you ask him just for the sake of it.

“Hand care is important, shorty,” Yunho replies, keeping his eyes trained on his fingers as he works the file around a nail. “If Kageyama Tobio files his nails, I can too. But enough with the small talk, what do you want?”

“I didn’t peg you as an exhibitionist.”

His hand stops moving. Yunho looks up at you, irritation written all over his features. “Because I file my nails...? A bold assumption, honey.”

There’s a reason why Yunho has always gotten away with pretty much everything. He’s a good actor who’s able to feign innocence at any time. His posture is relaxed, voice genuinely sounding flabbergasted that not even your shit-eating grin can throw him off guard.

You can’t, but your proof will do the job.

“I never said it’s because of your hand fixation.” You turn the laptop screen his way and once his eyes flicker on it and decipher the words, his face falls. Gone is the faux-confusion; as all color drains from him, his eyes look like they’re about to fall out of their sockets. “Is it really a bold assumption now, honey?”

Yunho inhales sharply when you scoot closer to him and put a firm hand on his left leg, his laptop now closed and long forgotten. Your fingers are placed too high for it to be friendly, skimming lightly on the inside of his thigh. Yeosang and the others are busy minding their own business but the chance of getting caught in the act is still there. The simple realization has adrenaline running a hundred miles an hour in your veins, and with the way Yunho clenches his jaw — a desperate attempt to fight the groan that’s threatening in the back of his throat — you’re not the only one who’s aroused by the setup.

Slowly, your hand inches closer to his growing bulge. Before you can dare yet another experimental squeeze, Yunho’s hand surges forward and holds your wrist in a vice grip.

“Don’t,” he snarls through gritted teeth, but it sounds sadder than it is intimidating when he’s sporting a boner right in front of your eyes.

You cock your head to the side, almost in a mocking demeanor. “You sure? Think about it, it’s a win-win situation. You get to live out your exhibitionist right here in front of your new bandmates, and I get the confirmation that you’re into it. But if you really don’t want to…” you try to retreat your hand but Yunho doesn’t let you budge, hand still enclosed around yours. That won’t do as an answer.

“Which one is it? Say it, Yunho,” you assert, narrowing your eyes. Yunho looks distraught, feverishly biting his lip while he’s internally fighting with himself, but he eventually chokes out a response.

“As long as nobody notices—”

“You either say you want me to touch you or not. I don’t want any roundabout stories.”

“Touch me,” he whispers defeatedly and the grip on your hand disappears completely. “But I swear to God if anyone realizes what you’re doing— hhnh—!” he cuts himself off with a low moan when you cup him over the material of his jeans.

“Yes yes, I get it. I don’t need Yeosang to know about this,” you dismiss. “And oh wow, you’re getting hard fast when I’m just touching you over your pants.”

“Just get to it.”

The snappish attitude causes you to stop dead in your tracks. “You think you’re in the position to tell me what to do? I can be mean too, y’know,” you start nonchalantly, a stark contrast to the way your heart is shaking in your ribcage. The power you suddenly hold is exhilarating. “I could just leave you like this, and then you’d have to try to cover your situation down there while practice goes on. How would the others react if they only knew your dick is hard? Probably won’t take them too long to find out since standing for a long time can be tiring, hm?”

Yunho’s head lolls back in response as he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. His breathing is uneven and the resulting moan that follows suit makes you smirk. You lightly smack the inside of his thigh, causing another wave of arousal to rupture in him. He chokes out a hushed ‘f-fuck’ and at this point, the constriction around his cock must be bordering painful.

“Who would’ve thought that the big bad Jeong Yunho is actually a submissive bitch who’s hungry for attention?” you ask gleefully, delivering another slap before stroking the area. “Who would’ve fucking thought you were a sub?”

“I-I’m not— shit, s-stop that, hngh— a fucking sub.”

“Yeah yeah, say that to yourself.” You rip your gaze away from Yunho’s flushed face to check if the coast is clear before targeting his fisted hands. He stiffens when you pry his hand open and bring three digits to your lips, sticking your tongue out to give kitten licks to his fingertips before pushing them into your mouth. You hum, suck, swirl your tongue around his fingers, giggling when all he does is stare at you wordlessly, unable to form any coherent thoughts. “See? Not even once have you put up a fight.”

That seems to snap him out of his daze. In an instant, his eyes darken and his jaw clenches.

“Oh honey, you know, you really shouldn’t tease me.”

You snicker, seeing through his bluff. “Wow, I’m so scared. What do you wanna do? Leave practice right now? Drag me to my room and pound me into the mattress?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“You could never, sub.”

Whatever strands of self-control were still residing in Yunho have turned to dust by now. One moment he’s towering over you in full height, looking down on your sitting form in bitter distaste, and in the next, he’s dragging you out of the basement, unaffected by the sudden silence and Yeosang, Mingi and San’s confused expressions.

Once you’re in the living room, Yunho wastes no time crowding you against the wall and crashing his lips against yours. The kiss is a messy clash of teeth and tongues, but it leaves you hot and lightheaded and aching for more. Yunho knows no limits and snakes one arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, the other hand fisting your hair. He tugs harshly and the sharp sting sends all your nerves into a frenzy.

“Bedroom. Now.” The sudden huskiness in his tone catches you off guard and you wonder when his voice has ever sounded so rough. You moan into the kiss, fisting his shirt as you stumble your way to your bedroom.

Yunho pins you against the door once you’re in your bedroom. His lips are addictive, just like the groans he slips in kisses and his hands roaming your body. He gets rid of your clothes until you’re left in your underwear, then forces a knee between your legs to keep them from closing. Your eyes roll back at the friction, growing needier and hotter when he presses his thigh against you harder. 

When you finally pull away, his eyes are hooded and his lips are red and swollen. There’s no trace of inhibitions left in him as he watches you like a predator. With horror, you realize that the tables have turned, and when he easily locks both of your wrists above your head with one hand only, that’s when you know you’re undisputedly powerless against him.

“Who’s the sub now?” he pants, eyes sparkling with glee.

“Still y-you.” The response sounds pathetic to your own ears, but you have too big of an ego to admit it out loud. Yunho doesn’t buy it either if his quirked brow wasn’t telling enough.

“Still in denial, honey? I see. Guess I’ll have to do more then.” His free hand reaches down to tug on the waistband of your underwear, only to let it snap against your skin. The slight sting is enough to render your knees into mush and set fog into your vision. He does it again, and then he actually tugs the fabric down and you finally grab his motives.

“You’re bluffing— y-you wouldn’t put y-your fingers,” you ramble, hyperaware about how dangerously close his fingers are. Just when you think he’s about to shove a digit in, he pulls away completely.

“You know, you keep talking about my hands. It’s always my hands this, my hands that,” Yunho says casually, giving his nails a quick glance before meeting your eyes. “Rather than me having a hand fixation, it’s you who has a thing for hands. My hands specifically.”

You don’t like how every word is true. You don’t want to acknowledge that he’s correct. Verbally, because your body is moving on its own and has betrayed you long ago.

Yunho taps on your bottom lip and you comply reluctantly, letting him shove the same three fingers you sucked before. Mumbling unintelligible words under his breath, he watches intently as you hum around him, eyes fluttering shut when he slowly moves them in and out of your mouth. A whine escapes you when he pulls them out for good, soaked wet with your spit.

“Tell me.” Yunho grins, “Tell me what you like about them. Or else I’ll leave you hanging.” He’s not lying and you know it. The look he sends you is enough proof that he wouldn’t hesitate to leave you high and dry.

You don’t like how he’s stringing you on like a rag doll. You don’t like how he’s stripping you off your dignity step by step. Strangely enough, you feel yourself leaking and wanting nothing but his pretty long fingers inside of you.

“I like how they, agh I— I l-like how—” you stutter, losing all levels of rationality when he suddenly circles around your entrance. Yunho urges you to continue and it takes up all of your brainpower to pick up where you left off, “—they’re so long and big and pretty—”

“So you have a size kink.”

You stare at him in disbelief. Now that, that’s something he shouldn’t have deduced. “W-wha— I don’t!”

“Seems to me that you have one though. You kept stressing how big and bad and tall I was after all.” You stiffen. Did you? Did you really? You don’t recall saying it that many times but it's hard to think straight when Yunho still has your wrists above your head and is looking down at you in a downright patronizing way. It leaves you trembling pitifully, feeling called out and feeling so, so small.

He really wants you to hit your lowest peak because he doesn’t stop there. “Who’s the real sub here? Is it really me? Or is it you who likes feeling so short, small, tiny.” His smirk widens when your breath hitches ever so slightly. “I fucking knew it.”

“You don’t know shit,” you bark back, but to no avail. Your credibility has diminished the moment he caught up to your kinks.

“Say whatever you want but that won’t change the fact that you’re tiny baby,” he pauses, takes his bottom lip between his teeth as he’s giving you a thorough once-over and then enunciates the next syllables with such clarity that forces time to stop, “My tiny, helpless baby.”

The pet name breaks you. It’s the final trigger that takes all your inhibitions away and the pathetic size of an ego that was left in your stubborn head.

“Please,” your voice cracks but that’s the least of your worries. You can’t move, can’t talk back, and won’t get anything in return. Yunho is right in front of you, finding satisfaction in your internal destruction and yet, after all of the things he’s slaughtered you to, he won’t give you anything in return.

“Just a little bit more, baby. I’ll give you what you want if you repeat after me; I’m your—”

“I’m your tiny, helpless baby who desperately wants you to fuck me.” Yunho is mildly taken aback that you were still able to think and get it right before he even finished his sentence. “Now get on to it, Yunho. Please.”

You’re sniffling at this point, begging for any kind of stimulation that shoots you to the stars. You’re fucking sniffling, and that’s all it takes for Yunho to manhandle you on the bed. A gasp escapes you, not expecting this turn of events at all. It all happens in a flash and the next thing you know, you’re on all fours, face buried in the pillow.

“Yunho, I t-thought y-you’d fuck me,” you complain, glancing behind to see what’s taking him so long. Your mouth waters at the sight.

“Patience, baby,” he says as he’s unbuckling his belt, taking his sweet time. You rub your legs together to ease the tension, but you can’t really say you’re not enjoying the show. Yunho’s lean, slightly defined, and once he’s only left in his underwear, you swallow heavily. There’s a large, dark patch on the fabric and the bulge seems more prominent than before.

If your mouth was only watering, you’re drooling by now. Yunho takes off his boxers, revealing his painfully hard cock, tip red and oozing precum. Just like the rest of him, he’s abnormally huge.

You have two thoughts. One: Fuck, you want him. Now. Two:

“That’s never going to fit inside of me.”

“Oh it will,” he says with such confidence it gives you shivers. “I’ll pound you into the mattress and you’ll take it all.”

He grabs you by your thighs to pull you closer to him before positioning himself right behind you. “W-wait!” you cry, heart suddenly feeling heavy in your chest, “D-don’t just put it in without prep— o-oh, hnngh—” your body feels like jelly when Yunho presses two spit-coated fingers past your entrance, stretching you out with finesse.

“I’m not that heartless,” he chuckles amusedly, right at the same time he curls his digits right against your sweet spot, sending you headfirst into bliss. “You’re so small you wouldn’t be able to take an inch without prep.”

You only whine into the pillow, arching your back as he continues his ministrations. Once Yunho deems you stretched out enough, he retreats his fingers and replaces them immediately with his cock.

The difference is like night and day. It’s like his fingers didn’t amount to anything compared to this. The high-pitched cry that escapes you is loud as you grasp onto the pillow for dear life.

“How can you be so big?” you pant. There’s no way he’s past four inches deep inside of you. You’re far from being filled, but your walls are already clenching hard around him.

“Bassists do it deeper for a reason.” The innuendo is tacky but in your current headspace, it sounds like the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard. Yunho stills his hips, letting you get used to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Guh—” he chuckles at your inability to form coherent words, let alone thoughts. “So big.”

“You’ll get used to it, honey.” He leans forward to pet your hair. “Tell me when I can move,” he adds gently, and you swear you could melt right then.

It takes you a moment to get your breathing steady, and then he pushes more of his length inside. Whimpering, you writhe beneath him, feeling as if you’re being torn apart. Meanwhile, he’s breathing hard through his nose, trying his damn hardest to go as slow as possible. At a certain point, Yunho stops pressing for more and pulls out ever so slightly before rocking his hips back forward. It starts out slowly, but he gradually picks up the pace and you lose yourself into him.

“Faster,” you moan, bending your back for an even deeper angle. “Hnngh, so full. Want m-more.”

“You were right, you can’t take me to the hilt.” Yunho readjusts his grip on his hips and you know that bruises are going to last until the end of the week. “God, you’re so fucking small that you can’t take me to the fucking hilt.”

Your vision turns foggy once the meaning gets through you. Now that he’s saying it, how much of his cock is inside of you? Half of it? A third? He’s stretching you out so well, filling you up so impossibly deep and that wasn’t even his everything?

“That’s not— want more of you, all of you,” you stammer, not realizing what you’re even saying. “Baby wants all of you.” God, you’re so drunk and desperate for his cock that you can’t refer yourself in the first person anymore.

Yunho reacts just as perplexed, eyes widening. His hips still once more, and though you’d want to shout at him to keep on moving, you don’t find the energy to move your head, or even lift a finger.

“So fucking greedy,” he growls, pulling out of you completely. Not even a second later, he flips you around on your back so that you’re facing him dead in the eye, and then he pushes back in. The new position has you gurgling on broken words as your arms flail around for dear life.

Yunho throws a leg over his shoulder, creating a deeper angle. You don’t know if he’s actually giving you more if he’s managed to force more of him into you. All you register is the messy squelch of liquids and your moans bouncing off the walls. You can’t even see properly, everything a blur and a mix of different colors.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper, sensing your demise nearing closer and closer.

“Then cum,” Yunho orders in between groans, then adds in a louder voice, “You hear that baby? Cum and make a mess out of yourself.”

Your orgasm crashes onto you in a big singular wave as you tremble under his frame, walls clenching around him tightly. His name leaves your mouth like a mantra as you continue to convulse. Yunho pulls out moments later, just to spurt white on your abdomen. His face is flushed and beads of sweat are forming on his forehead while he jerks himself dry.

It’s a miracle that Yunho hasn’t toppled on you once he slowly comes down from his high. The fog in your vision clears up gradually, but your limbs are as good as worthless. You won’t be able to move freely for a good day or two.

As you continue to blink at the ceiling, only finding the energy to breathe, Yunho grabs the box of tissues from your nightstand and wipes himself off before doing the same to you. His touch is gentle unlike before, and you’d thank him if your vocal cords were still functioning.

You’re about to drift to sleep until he suddenly leans down and pecks your lips. In an instant, you narrow your eyes at him and ask, “What was that for?”

“You had some cum on your lip. I wanted to taste too.” Yunho smiles cheekily and runs his tongue against his bottom lip, then grimaces. “It tastes... yikes.”

He cleans you up in silence before plopping onto the bed right next to you. No words are exchanged up until you say, “Yeosang is going to kill you.”

“He can’t afford to kill me. He needs me for the band,” he muses.

“He’ll still kill you.”

“I appreciate the concern, honey.”

“Just scram back to practice.”

“Don’t you want to go to the bathroom first?”

“I can do it myself.”

“Oh really?”

“... Yunho, help me on my legs and then scram back to practice.”

Meanwhile, back in the basement, the guys are waiting for their bandmate to come back so they can finally finish practice and then eat chicken.

“You sure (y/n) and Yunho are only childhood enemies? They’ve been going at it like rabbits if he isn’t back here yet!” San exclaims, throwing his arms up for dramatic effect.

Mingi can’t counter that because San has a point, so he whips his head to Yeosang. “Dude, you sure they’re not in a relationship? They have to be at least fuckbuddies! Or fuckrivals? Fuckenemies? Or…”

“I do not know and I do not care,” Yeosang says blankly, looking like he’s about to bang his head against the wall because he sure won’t walk into your room and curse his eyes for the rest of his life. Damnit, all he wants is to practice and get the band together; their next gig is only a few weeks away. “In fact, I want to unsee what I just saw and unhear what you just said.”

[danteinthedevildom]

- kicks door open dramatically - Money. How does it work in the Devildom? -zoomed in eye emoji-

I love that when I ask my friends to remind me to write things they send me anons with flare. Y’all so good to me, Ily, enablin my Thoughts bc I got carried away. 

(For context this’s just how I like thinkin the boys get that sweet cash money, bc I Have Thoughts On That, apparently). 

- Student Council Members all get paid for their service. It’s pretty self explanatory, I think, but c’mon; that’s a job, as well as a technical governmental position. You can’t NOT pay them.

- The brothers do NOT get to see this money. Student Council paychecks go straight to Lucifer as part of the budget for the House of Lamentation; they are not allowed to so much as think about touching this money, because it’s what he uses to pay for all of their household expenses. Food allowance, maintanence, WIFI router fees, their TV license... it’s all accounted for using the very steady and non-fluctuating income they get. 

- Any income the brothers make outside of this is purely their own! All of Mammon’s paychecks from his modeling gigs go straight to his own bank account, and the same can be said for the money Asmo earns from his designer brand. They can do anything they want with this money, and Lucifer is not allowed to touch it unless in some form of punishment. 

- Admittedly that “punishment” doesn’t happen often. He doesn’t really enjoy messing with their money, especially not when they’ve actually worked for it - which is why he’s content to leave it as their money, rather than the Household’s as a whole - but if it’s clear that they’ll use their money to do something irresponsible or damaging, he’ll call the bank and force them to put the account on hold. 

- (By “irresponsible or damaging”, I mean to the tune of “Satan once tried to use his funds to buy an extremely suspicious amount of Very Deadly Ingredients at the same time Belphie uncharacteristically offered to assist in the preparation for Lucifer’s birthday party”. He really doesn’t care what they spend it on beyond that, so something like Levi spending all of his Grimm on the same CD over a thousand times? Lucifer doesn’t exactly get it, but eh, that’s legit.)

- Yes, Lucifer can do this. He’s the overseer of the accounts, in technicality; though he lets the brothers do as they please, they’re all legally in his name. It’s one of those things that the bank has been personally informed of since the start. Yeah, they treat the individual brothers as the account holders, but if Lucifer phones up and says the brother in question isn’t allowed to access his funds? Then the bank goes, “yes, sir”, and nothing can get them back in except Lucifer phoning the bank up again. 

- Lucifer’s pretty good at handling their fees, thanks to the several millenia he’s had doing it. Things can get a little tight, but he’s always able to leave some money at the end as a sort of backup allowance (a last resort pool for each brother). Even at the worst possible point, he refuses to take from the backup allowances unless absolutely necessary - which is mostly on the very, very rare occassions that their expenditure exceeds Student Council funding.

- Each of the brothers are allowed to have a Credit Card that is separate from the backup allowance. They’re fully expected to pay back the Card with their own money - not their Student Council funding - and if they’re incapable of doing so, they can use their backup allowance to pay it off. Goldie is Mammon’s, and obviously the most well-known, but the others can have one, too - if they want to. 

- If they run out of their backup allowance, well, they’re just shit out of luck, because they can only have access to it when all other resources run dry. It really is like a last resort; something that’s just meant to tide them over till they next get paid. After that, their Credit Card gets frozen, and Lucifer just lets them deal with their own problems - so long as it doesn’t impact the finances of the House as a whole, anyway.

- So, obviously Mammon has his modeling job - I mentioned that before! Levi gets his own income from streams, and Satan gets his from the patents he has on various spells and hexes he’s created. Asmo, beyond the designer brand he owns, does get a lot of income from his status as a Devilgram Influencer, and Beel gets a lot of his income from Fangoal sponsorships. Nobody actually knows where Belphie’s income comes from. He just kind of... gets it? There’s rumours that it’s hush money, but he’s never said and nobody’s sure how to ask and get an actual answer out of him. 

- Unsurprisingly, Asmo makes the most, which the other brothers think is complete bullshit. It’s quickly followed by Belphie and Beel, then by Levi, then Satan, and Mammon makes the least. 

- Lucifer doesn’t need a source of income. Anything he could want or need - more than that, even - is bought for him by Diavolo (heedless of anything he says against it). He’d have absolutely nothing to spend the money on, and if he did buy things for himself, he’d have no idea what to say to Diavolo when asked what the Prince can buy him. 

- The brothers are EXPRESSLY FORBIDDEN from posting anything about things they want or debts they have, because it has happened in the past that they’ll mysteriously find a debt erased or the thing they wanted sent to the House of Lamentation, and Lucifer is honestly so exhausted with trying to get Diavolo to just stop buying them shit.

- Honestly, the only reason they get a set income at all is because Lucifer was too Proud to accept Diavolo’s original plan of “if you need something, let me know”. He’s already eternally indebted to the Prince as-is; he does not want to be in literal, actual monetary debt with him. At least if it’s a wage, he’s being paid for a service, and he can ensure that Diavolo isn’t just splurging a ridiculous amount of Grimm on them for the sake of spending.

- (As a side note, it’s also just a little less embarrassing to pay for any damages his brothers do out of pocket. Nothing was worse than, in those early days after the Fall, awkwardly looking somewhere to Diavolo’s right and biting out that he would very much be grateful if Diavolo could pay for a contractor to fix the outer wall of the House. And the interior wall of the House. And the Kitchen as a whole, actually.)

Bonus:

- MC gets an allowance that’s just a little less than what the Student Council members get. Though the Exchange Programme covers any Household expenses, like food, Diavolo wasn’t just going to let them end up there without something to spend. They can, of course, go out and work on top of that - just like the brothers do - but they don’t actually pay for anything beyond the things they want, so it’s genuinely not necessary. It’s even less necessary since Diavolo finds it much easier to sneak them away on shopping trips. 

- Diavolo and MC frequently play a fun game of “how much can Diavolo buy MC before Lucifer figures out where they are and drags MC away!” The answer? A lot. Like, so much. There genuinely isn’t a more surreal - or admittedly hilarious - sight than watching the Avatar of Pride standing in front of the Prince of the Devildom with his arms crossed over his chest, tapping a foot against the floor, as Diavolo gently places down an absolutely obscene amount of bags filled with goodies solely for MC. Well, until Lucifer says, “And the rest,” and suddenly another, smaller bag is pulled out of his jacket. 

[sirdust]

 more striker analysis/rambling bc i just. won’t shut up

this dude is actually deceptively tough to figure out in some ways. i don’t think he’s going to be as complex as our main characters because, frankly, you don’t hire a voice actor that expensive for a character you plan on spending a whole lot of time with. that doesn’t mean he has no depth though.

i’ve already talked at length about how he’s class-conscious but cruel, which makes him in some ways more threatening than if he was cruel but unaware. i really am starting to think he has a superiority complex with the way he talks about and treats other imps, because while he’s initially friendly, he’s clearly disdainful of them by the end of the episode. see: calling himself and blitz superior, kicking a random audience member in the face, etc. you get it by now

even though the majority of his antagonism is directed at moxxie specifically, his attitude toward blitz is also interesting. even though they tie at the games, his song suggests that he considers himself the only winner, and he calls blitz a rodeo clown behind his back, which makes it seem as if he doesn’t respect him. he also lies to him about why he’s trying to kill stolas and actually manages to pinpoint his exact insecurities after a very brief time of knowing him, which is interesting. and they are similar, they’re both imp assassins who have deals with the goetia family, and my current guess is that stella is the source of striker’s angelic weapons (in parallel to how stolas is the source of the grimoire for blitz). so it’s possible striker understands what blitz is up against and how it’s affecting him in a way nobody else blitz has met before does. the problem is, like i said, he’s using that against him.

i really do think striker is out for himself. he’s aware of the oppression imps face, but he’s internalized the idea that imps are inferior and he needs to distance himself in order to be on the same level as those in the upper echelon of their society. at the same time, by doing that and by working for someone who actively wishes to maintain the status quo, he’s playing into the system, and i wonder if that’s what he doesn’t realize. if he does then he’s really just purely mercenary, but it’s interesting to think about.

but i also want to get back to his relationship with blitz, because even though i don’t think he truly views him as an equal, he does seem to think more highly of him than he does moxxie (or at least recognizes his strength, and recognizes that strength could be useful to him). there is one thing i saw pointed out though that i hadn’t really considered and it does... throw a bit of a wrench in what i was reading into this character before now. 

...he has his knife during this entire fight and doesn’t, like, use it. granted, in this particular scene he’s using it as a distraction so he can wrench the barrel of blitz’s pistol towards moxxie, but we don’t see it knocked out of his hand during the subsequent action sequence or anything (unlike with blitz’s pistol) so we can assume he still has it by the time he gets away. arguably there were no opportunities for him to get stabby, but deliberately showing that he has his knife is interesting to do here from a writing perspective, because the fact it doesn’t play a key part in the fight itself seems more noticeable upon revisiting.

maybe the reason he doesn’t stab him is so he can maintain some potential emotional leeway, but he does point his shotgun at him and moxxie during this fight with seeming intent to kill. i don’t think he really had plans to let blitz get away from this encounter, so his seeming restraint here is strange. in the end, the fact he doesn’t use his knife could possibly be an oversight, but it’s too interesting to ignore.

that isn’t even to mention the fact that he mockingly calls him “blitzy” at the end, which is a nickname that stolas has always meant to be affectionate but blitz takes as condescending. its usage in that scene could actually imply many things, but here are my primary takeaways:

1) this was originally pointed out by some lovely person whose account i cannot remember for the life of me, but it contrasts with the usage of “blitzo” by verosika and fizz. whereas “blitzo” encapsulates the ways blitz is dissatisfied with his past, “blitzy” encapsulates that with which he’s dissatisfied in the present.

2) it’s, again, condescending. striker implies that by relying on other “weaker” imps instead of rejecting solidarity with them to pursue his own interests, blitz is equal to “weaker” imps, and any exceptional skill he may possess is rendered moot by his place in society. that’s how the higher-ups in hell already view the situation, anyways, so striker is once again using his insecurity against him.

3) arguably of less importance but still interesting, the overt attraction blitz has to striker throughout the episode serves to place him in the role of pseudo-love interest as well as rival. having striker use the nickname coined by blitz’s main love interest draws the contrast between their attitudes towards blitz to the forefront. stolas is above blitz in terms of class, but he seems to like blitz for who he is (he’s still the only character he’s shown to be attracted to), and his prejudice is born out of ignorance and not malice. striker actually share’s blitz’s class interests, but seems to value him on the basis of how useful he could be as a partner in crime and maliciously exploits his anxieties about life at the bottom.

(i forgot how i was originally going to end this, holy shit this got long)

so yeah. to sum up, while i don’t think we’ll be seeing striker too many times throughout the series, this character is becoming more interesting the more i look back, and his relationship with blitz really does present an interesting question for blitz as a character. at the same time, it may serve to provide striker more depth later, but we really have to wait and see since his behavior has sent contradictory messages to us as the audience. not in a way that feels unintentional, just difficult to parse without further information.

[herether]

Noragami Chapter 88.2 Thoughts

//breathes\\

This post is gonna be kinda long bc there are a few (a LOT) of important panels this chapter. Holy Smokes. Pls bear with me.

“your sister would whimper things like “I wish I could come back as something else” or “maybe i’d be happier in heaven.””

“and you’d say, “but then you’d have to die, right?” ”

Holy. Fuck.

Idk what AdachiToka was thinking putting this in, but this is the REAL stab in the heart. What the fuck. Especially the next panel:

Run towards the future.

Haru (Yukine) would say they’d get out of there someday, together, running towards the future where they could get away from the abuse they were experiencing and live happily. Their goal was to get out of here, and every time his older sister would whimper about wanting to die, (which, by the way, is fucking devastating and soul crushing), Haru would tell her—hey, I know it’s hard, but we’ll work though it. It’ll ease up on us. We’ll get out of here. You can’t die.

Her little brother.

I cant imagine what’s weighing on her conscience after this. After all, she was the one that ended up living and not him. How absolutely traumatic it must feel for her.

Yukine’s asking why he sent his sister letters when they had telephones, and although I imagine most of you probably figured the answer out, i’ll just add it in here anyways.

It was too dangerous to call her.

After his mother and Yuka left, his mother probably tugging Yuka as quickly as she could out of that house and leaving Haru behind, their trash father .2 was more than likely in such a state of hatred that he never wanted to hear from them again. He would probably demand from Haru not talk to them/see them, so it was too dangerous to do anything other than send her letters.

Regarding his web-search, I was a little confused as to why there’s absolutely nothing about him. But thinking about it more, it could be that as some of you mentioned, it isn’t Yukine’s full name. Haru could be short for ‘Haruka’ or something. Even then, though, the search would still bring up something, right?

So I came up with the conclusion that no, that probably wasn’t why nothing showed up, but rather the fact that nobody looked for him. Nobody bothered, his dad couldn’t care less about it other than those ‘flyers’ (?) he was passing around. 35 years ago might have been a time where stuff like that was just.... hopeless. If a child was gone that was it. You wouldn’t find him again. There was no point. Or maybe— many people in the neighborhood didn’t bother looking because they knew the Tajima family’s father. They knew that he was abusive and assumed that Haru had ran away to find his mother and sister, so they thought, hey, there’s no point. He’s fine where he is.

Although Yukine was talking about his past family with the whole “why did they leave me behind” thing, I think it ties in pretty well to what’s going on now. I’ve already seen a couple posts talking about this, where, the lovely noragami fandom have said that what happened before his death is coming back full circle to what’s happening now. In Yukine’s eyes, everyone around him: Yato, Hiyori (ESPECIALLY THESE TWO.) Kofuku, Ebisu, Tenjin—Daikoku, Mayu— everyone abandoned him again. It’s almost as if he just didn’t matter. No one cares about his existence, now, in Hagusa’s eyes, Father is the only “kind” one.

Then— we get a panel showing the Child abuse cases rising, and Hagusa realizes he isn’t the only one this has happened to. He accepts this darkness, accepts what’s going on, why he is this way, and in the last panel we see Yuuki, Hagusa’s final form finally being able to fully take over him. Hagusa lets him in—accepts him, hence the black hair.

Wanted to put this in here because UM HELLO IMAGINE seeing your CHILD looking like THAT and ?!;&:&:&:!:!:!:¥~$~!;’ The absolute FEAR in Yato’s eyes hohmygod.

Also I swear if Yato loses an eye after that scratch—

We can imagine AdachiToka will probably end up giving him some kind of scar as a reminder, especially for Yukine, that this had happened. Since AdachiToka really likes these fkin reminders. With Sakura, the “ne”, with Bishamon and the “ma”— we might as well give Yukine a reminder of what happened and give Yato one eye :D no? IF THAT HAPPENS IM GONNA LOSE MY SHIT PLS NO.

And finally:

I want to remind every single one of you that Yukine still has Hiyori and Yato’s charms so everything is going to be OK. ALRIGHT. OK.

[leporellian]

how i would rewrite warrior cats: into the wild

rewriting the entire series is a big Thing in the warrior cats fandom, and i don’t have the time to do that. however i have been having Ideas about what i would do if i rewrote the books, and the changes are... drastic, to say the least, so i figured i would write them down in a bullet-point style List Thing to see what happens.

- we open on henry, an old wise sage-type kittypet, telling two kittypet kits- rusty and smudge- about the forest cats and their legends, primarily that of how the clans were born

- there were always little groups of cats in the forest, and they were originally very hostile- except for a lush spot full of prey, herbs, just about anything needed for survival. this spot has had many names and is referred to by a different name for each clan but universally, it’s called fourtrees, because there are four grand oaks that guard the area. this spot was something of a truce area where all the groups could get along

- however tension slowly boiled throughout the forest until there was a massive war at fourtrees. lots of cats dead and even more wounded. their spirits joined together to form starclan, who told the cats to unite or die- and as punishment for breaking the fourtrees truce, they set the whole thing ablaze. it’s no longer the survival spot it was

- however, the spirits say, the four oaks will grow from their charred remains again, as will the rest of the area. everything will be as it once was in time. starclan themselves cannot last, and must be reborn every 600 moons (or some other large number) from the midst of celestial battle. however, every time this happens, the spirits say, the coming of the ‘end of the stars’ will always and only be heralded by a heroic cat in a flame-orange coat, as a nod to the fire that started the clans to begin with. so it’s kind of like an avatar thing

- anyway 6 moons later there’s a battle at sunningrocks that kills redtail and oakheart. bluestar and spottedleaf, while discussing who will replace redtail, see a comet across the sky

- every falling star means a warrior has faded in starclan, and it means they are to be reborn- and something wonderful is on the cusp of beginning, says spottedleaf. spottedleaf also notes that according to the calendar system kept by the medicine cats the ‘fire alone’ cat should have arrived about 6 months ago, so everyone’s worried about what’s going on w/ that, Where Are They. she does note however that a lot of cats think the calendar had a miscalculation at some point and that the ‘fire alone’ cat is shadowclan’s new leader

- anyway rusty, the kittypet, decides to enter the forest. the twoleg nests here are Not A Good Place for cats to live, bc there’s constant fighting between the kittypets and everyone has their own boundaries and it’s very chaotic. there is a group that tries to monitor it called the blood brothers, but they’re usually in the city so their guidance isn’t often There. so both rusty and smudge want to Get Out and join the clans

- like in the original books he meets graypaw, who’s always interested in outsiders, and then bluestar, lionheart, and tigerclaw. lionheart is graypaw’s mentor, bluestar is thunderclan’s leader, and tigerclaw is bluestar’s nephew who is kindly yet determined, and has become deputy after redtail’s demise. again like in the originals he’s accepted into thunderclan fast

- smudge feels Betrayed. for some reason the writing takes special note of the glimmer in his striped collar- it’s all kind of colors, purple, red, blue, yellow. it’s very distinctive...

- next morning, lionheart and tigerclaw lead rusty to the thunderclan camp. all is well and good until longpaw and sandpaw roll up

- longpaw and sandpaw are twins and look exactly alike. they’re also the children of redtail and are both very competitive with everyone and each other (although they are very close) because they want to be Like Their Dad. both are taking redtail’s death hard

- longpaw is like ‘i wanna beat him up’ and given these are two 10 year olds basically everyone’s like ‘well rusty can fight too so Bet.’ it’s an even fight, longpaw gets his ear torn and rusty gets his collar ripped off

- this fight proves rusty is capable of being in thunderclan, and he’s renamed firepaw, which is a nod to the ‘fire alone’ thing as a ‘hey isn’t it funny he came right after the clock lined up for a fire-cloaked savior? strange lol’

- anyway firepaw is introduced to some Other Characters besides everyone i’ve mentioned thus far: - ravenpaw, medicine cat apprentice. he was a loner kit found abandoned on the territory and he’s constantly nervous and jittery. he’s also kind of clingy and a tad annoying because he’s constantly worried of being abandoned again, but he Is endearing - graypaw and darkpaw, twins similar to longpaw and sandpaw (although unlike them they have an ‘opposite twins’ kinda thing). both are the sons of willowpelt and a shadowclan tom, but both deal with it differently: graypaw is a dreamer who constantly is interested in cats from outside thunderclan ‘like him’, and darkpaw wants to try and overcompensate for it by being nothing but loyal- especially to his mentor, tigerclaw, who’s a father figure to him. dark isn’t mean but he is very sardonic and sarcastic, and it’s also made increasingly obvious that he Knows Something and is very nervous about it. weird - (yes, longpaw and sandpaw are annoyed that they’re the only ‘fully clan’ cats in this batch of apprentices.) - spottedleaf, thunderclan medicine cat. kind of a ditzy aunt type, it’s joked that she acts like a stoner bc she’s inhaling all the Herb Scents all day. fully enables all of the kids to do Dumb Things - the elders, who dislike all these new apprentices bc besides long and sand none of them are fully clan-blooded. the most vocal about this is thistleclaw, an elder always trying to start shit, and tigerclaw’s father (altho tiger is embarrassed by thistle’s outbursts). - and finally, cinderkit, who always tags along w/ the apprentices although she isn’t supposed to. she is however very smart and the apprentices don’t mind her tagging along. she’s made an apprentice like 1/2 way through here

- anyway at the gathering windclan is MISSING and NOBODY seems to know what is going on, but both riverclan and shadowclan are acting shady about it. 

- also brokenstar, The New ShadowClan Leader, seems like a nice guy, a Poster Boy type. his fur is bright orange so everyone’s like, ‘yea he’s the fire that’ll herald feline gottdammerung’ but nobody wants to THINK about feline gottdammerung yet because like, That’s An Upsetting Thought! it’s also noted that he’s way young for a leader

- anyway the apprentices (and cinderkit) are like. ‘we gotta know what's happening and why windclan vanished’ and everyone is involved (although sand and long keep their distance). it’s a very ‘up at midnight at a slumber party’ kind of aesthetic. everyone in shadow and river also has a motive, and at points there’s even evidence that something caused windclan to die out. lots of red herrings

- eventually yellowfang comes into the picture like she does in canon and they figure out shadowclan drove windclan out and that windclan is Alive and Out There somewhere. the evidence is enough that spottedleaf and tigerclaw (who's like the Cool Resident Dad) agree about it and so a spy patrol is sent to sneak in on shadowclan

- anyway everyone discovers how fucked up shadowclan is behind the curtain (what with the elder abuse and child warfare) and is like ‘holy shit we gotta stop these guys’ so there’s a big fight like in the original book and brokenstar is dethroned like he is in canon and brought to thunderclan

- thunderclan saves the day, yellowfang joins spottedleaf in the med cat den, and the apprentices all get names (save ravenpaw who’s a med cat apprentice)- firepaw is fireheart, graypaw is graystripe, darkpaw is darkstripe, longpaw is longtail (in honor of redtail), and sandpaw is sandstorm. it’s noted darkstripe looks super uncomfortable when tigerclaw is mentioned to be deputy. long and sand have a humorous argument abt their names and who got the Cooler One 

- however everyone’s like ‘ok so brokenstar wasn’t the Fire Savior so who IS’ and fire is dismissed out of hand bc he’s a kittypet and all the past fire saviors was clanborn. ravenpaw however tells fireheart in private that he believes fireheart is the Fire Alone, and that Shit Is About To Go The Fuck Down

- meanwhile, darkstripe asks if he can see fireheart alone, and fireheart obliges. darkstripe sits down and, very quietly, says ‘i have to tell you about what happened to redtail.’

- and it ends there lol that’s book one.

[hotchley]

🦄 i know i sent the gideon ask like forever ago but i was also thinking about it recently. again, disclaimer, gideon is ooc bc tbh i don't even remember his character from 10 seasons ago lmaoo

so you know how the entire team hates therapy? after adrian bale, gideon doesn't effectively use his therapy (bc he's a profiler, he knows how to get around these questions) and thus never really recovered from his trauma. but he knows how he should act so around the team, he pretends. and he does it quite well for a while but of course the anger and grief and sadness was gonna erupt eventually. and hotch is just there. and hotch is his friend. and it was just so easily to blow out on hotch, to rage and scream and cry, bc he's unit chief ssa aaron hotchner, he can take it. in ways that morgan can't and reid is so young. and also bc aaron let him, forgave him for the first time, ran interference for the second, pulled him into his office for third and by the ninth, he doesn't even pretend to have an ulterior motive.

they both don't even know how they got here, how their relationship got so out of balance. but somewhere along the way, anger took over the sadness and venting to hotch became more about demeaning him. bc it made him feel a little bit better, a little more in control, to remind aaron that even if he is their unit chief, he isn't the team's favorite senior member. that reid still looks to him more than he looks to hotch, and that when strauss reaches her boiling point, she'll have morgan replace him. besides, the team likes morgan more anyway. morgan is their friend, and hotch is just their drill sargeant.

hotch saw gideon leaving from miles away. he knew he just had to wait it out, bc gideon was breaking, and he can't help but feel a little bit responsible bc he's the one who said gideon was ready. and he can take it. at the beginning, he was so sure that he wouldn't break before gideon does. how did they even get here, with him constantly closing the door and blinds to his office, pretending that he's swamped with paperwork when all he's doing is praying that gideon doesn't knock on his door. that the rest of the team doesn't catch him crying or having a panic attack. hail marys that the rest of the team doesn't see what gideon sees, doesn't think what gideon snarks at him.

and tobias hankel was the last straw, the case that breaks hotch. bc gideon was right after all. they hate him. of course gideon would hate him if reid thinks he's a narcissist. prentiss doesn't even know him and can see that he's a misogynist. he can't figure out why morgan is the only one being nice, bc being called a drill sargeant stings so much less than being called a bully from jj. and he's so afraid of what gideon would say that he cuts it off right there, and hopes that gideon would do him at least the courtesy of finding him in private before digging into him. (of course he doesn't. he's finally almost dozing off before he hears gideon mutter his worst quality but he's awake enough to hear reid's sharp gasp and the rest of the team exchange looks, but not say anything in his defense.)

i really like ur idea of strauss feeling like something is wrong and trying to help in her own way. but aaron misinterprets her and thinks she hates him too (of course, prentiss must have already told her he's a misogynist). i like thinking that in this au, strauss reaches out to rossi bc somehow, no matter what, rossi always manages to get thru to aaron.

also like. more angst on rossi's side bc this is his friend, heck even his best friend (gideon did name his son after rossi). how did this even happen. he's in disbelief and slight denial bc how could gideon ever do this to their mutual friend. and he can't even confront him bc gideon is gone. the job broke him, so much so he resorted to breaking aaron just to feel like he had some control in his life.

wow this got waaayyy too long lmaoo

AAH THIS IS LIKE PERFECT AND IF YOU WANTED TO WRITE THE ENTIRE AU I WOULD TELL YOU TO GO FOR IT!!

Hotch knows Gideon well. He knows his mannerisms and his tells and everything. So he knows that something is wrong, and the answers he gave to his therapist were lies designed to get him back in the field as soon as possible. But he was afraid so he signed off on his return, even though he knew it was a mistake.

Spencer wasn’t there when Adrian Bale killed six agents that Jason was responsible for. Neither was Derek. They were at the precinct. But Aaron... Aaron was right there. He saw what happened first-hand and Jason hates him because he didn’t die. It’s wrong, he knows that, but he can’t help him.

The first time he loses control, it’s about what happened in Boston. Aaron blames himself too, so he just takes it and apologises. The second time is about Dave leaving, and Hotch just closes the door so nobody worries. And Gideon likes the way it makes him feel. Unsubs fight back. Hotch does not.

The digs get more and more personal each time. But Hotch takes it because the team don’t hate him. They may not like him very much, but they respect him, which is more than what Jason does.

When Tobias Hankel happens, Jason doesn’t even bother to whisper it. Hotch is finally relaxing and Gideon just says: Your worst quality is that you’re incapable of being enough. You weren’t enough then, you’re not enough now and you won’t be enough in the future.

Strauss tries to help, but at the end of the day, she’s a woman in a position of power and her superiors will look at any caring move and turn it into weak emotion and she can’t let that happen. So when Hotch becomes even more guarded with her, she reaches out to Dave. Because if Dave can’t do it, nobody can.

And Dave is terrified. He’s absolutely distraught. Because he knows how important it is to believe the victim, and what can happen if they’re not believed. And he knows that appearances can and will be deceiving. But he doesn’t... he can’t wrap his head around it. It makes him sick, to think that he trusted Jason with Aaron, only for this to happen. 

He doesn’t want to believe it but he knows that he needs to. So he comes back, and is in Quantico when Strauss phones to say that Jason is gone but Aaron isn’t getting anyone new because it would mean he has to go home and he’s still waiting, just in case.

Dave turns up, not even pausing to think what will happen if Aaron doesn’t want him there, but it’s fine because Hotch hugs him like nothing has changed, and it’s not much but there’s a slight smile on his face and Dave knows that it will be a long journey, but he’s here now and Jason won’t ever hurt him again.

[presumenothing]

a concept: working from home, east city military edition. Obviously they don't have internet but if they get sent home with paperwork bc the office is temporarily unusable (probably ed's fault honestly) who finishes their work, who tries and fails, and who makes 0 effort?

Jean just wants to make one thing – okay, a few things – very clear.

First of all: this whole mess is only “probably” Ed’s fault in the same way that any explosion in his vicinity is maybe connected to him. 

Or that one time the electricity went out in a nearly two-mile radius around East Command at the same time Ed was messing around with some magnetic alchemy thing. (Though to be fair Fuery had also been messing around with an unusually large number of radios at the time, so who knew.)

Which is to say that once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, and thrice is the other sort of coincidence where a lady might look at him despite the Colonel being in the same room. Also pigs might fly, and Breda might lose at chess.

That kind of coincidence.

At least the coincidence had possessed the decency to not burst the pipes all over the paperwork this time, because there aren’t enough cigarettes in the world to make Jean redo this whole lot from scratch again. The coincidence is, actually, sheepishly transmuting watertight boxes so they can carry stuff without it being dripped on out in the corridors, but unfortunately no amount of clapping is going to solve the fact that Jean’s flat is so not ready for the commitment of being the home in “home office”.

It’s not like he lives in a pigsty or anything – helping out in his parents’ general store since forever has instilled basic housekeeping by force, and ha-ha-East-country-hick aesthetic isn’t something you exactly want to bring people home to anyway. Just that he’d decorated with… a very specific purpose in mind, okay? 

That brings him to point number two: he doesn’t have a desk. 

Aside from the one in the office, obviously. Which is where, y’know, he’d kind of expected to be doing all of his paperwork? 

Sure, he could probably rediscover the surface of his dining table if he cleared enough of the clutter away. But somehow Jean has a deep-seated fear – nay, certainty – that the Lieutenant will know if he writes his reports on anything short of A Proper Desk, and make him do it all over again, I understand the temptation but please do refrain from cursing in official paperwork, Lieutenant Havoc.

Ed’s doing the closest equivalent of wringing his hands, tugging at the edges of his coat like he’s got half a mind to disappear into it, and why haven’t they started enforcing not letting him do alchemy experiments in the office when Al isn’t around? They really really should, and by that Jean mostly means the Lieutenant. 

God knows she’s the embodiment of 80% of their common sense and all of their impulse control anyway.

“Sorry about this,” Ed says again, followed by, “Sure you don’t want me to fix it? I could probably figure it out in like, five minutes flat if I could just find a building plan with the pipes included.”

“I think we’ve had enough of experimenting for today, Fullmetal. Unless you also gained a professional plumber’s license while I wasn’t looking,” the Colonel observes very dryly, and the collective wince goes around the room like a summer cold; that tone has never boded well for anyone except (once again) the Lieutenant. “And you have nothing to be sorry for, only in the most literal sense, because we are all putting this down as a freak accident. Which nobody here had any part in causing, and which will never happen again. Do I make myself clear?”

…aaaaand there’s the third thing: barefaced lying about the first so that Finance and Personnel don’t both descend upon them like a kettle of administrative vultures.

Ed looks properly chastised. Jean even gives him a very generous three weeks before he gets back to it again.

Well. Maybe he can help transmute a writing desk for Jean before then, at least.

.

.

.

(more fics here)

[luminousbeansarewe]

what are your takes/version of how the sequel trilogy went down? because i also have my own version in my head, not.... that, but im really interested in the ideas other people have had for it

hoo boy there’s a lot of ground to cover here lmao i will try to keep them as short as i can... i also enjoy multiple versions of events and outcomes for the sequels as long as they’re in-character so i’m not trying to say no other version of the sequels is good or cool bc only a sith deals in absolutes amirite? (i won’t apologize for that dumb joke.) first the jumping-off points:

first of all, i fully support Force-sensitive Finn. even if he didn’t become a full-blown Jedi, if the entire concept of the Jedi was reforged and we don’t see him become the kind of Jedi we saw in the prequels (more on that later), i see him as someone who was attuned to the Force in a way that is similar to how i conceive of Barriss; empathetic to the suffering and joy of others. this would drive him to defect from the Empire and fear it, too. i also saw him becoming a reluctant leader for the rebellion, and there’s a GREAT fic which i’ll link here that riffs on the idea that he creates a spark within the stormtrooper ranks and more and more of them begin to defect... which i love

Rey being a nobody is cool to me. the ONE character moment where she became super relatable for me was when she realized how frightened she was of her own Force abilities. but i don’t think she has to be the legacy of Palps to have that. she doesn’t need supercharged powers to be spooked by them in a post-Jedi Order world where the most recent memory anybody has of the Force is Vader. (also Rey being a Kenobi seems more out of character for Obi-Wan than anything else lol he was pretty committed to the ways of the Order even after they were destroyed, plus he already had one kid to furtively watch over... just imo). this also ties into my expansion on the Force.

Poe being not a carbon copy of Han. i think Leia looked after him, found him somehow after she sent Ben to the Jedi Academy and was a motherly figure in his life. i like the idea that he was a little shit, and she’s the one who taught him to turn his reactive defiance of authority into bravery when fighting for the rebels. i think he looked up to her, wanted to be a leader like her. i saw him in the position of generals like Akbar by the end, as he learns to balance risk-taking with steady leadership. I wanted to see that growth, how those leaders are formed, see Leia get to impart her wisdom to someone. (also i fully support Finn/Poe and Finn/Rey/Poe, i’m not a committed shipper so i’m down with no romance at all between them but those ships are choice af and Stormpilot is all Oscar Isaac wanted anyway, so...) plus can u imagine the dichotomy of Ben the fallen son with Poe, the “adopted” son who became what Ben couldn’t? the guilt of Leia for not knowing how to teach her son about the Force, doing better half-raising a nobody who had the same shitty attitude as Han when they met but no Force ability? THIS IS JUICY CHARACTER CONTENT

Rose was given cheesy lines to introduce an important topic: that fighting is all well and good but throwing away your principles defeats the purpose of the fight in the first place (an important theme in the Clone Wars era, too.) she was there to be the voice of the truly little people in the gffa, who we don’t hear much about in the other trilogies. Finn’s sensitivity puts him at risk of the sorrow-to-hate arc i described for Barriss; Rose is there to be the empathy that sustains hope rather than becomes a crushing weight. i love the idea that she might rally volunteers from blue-collar places (like... Lothal, for example?) and spearhead the notion that the New Republic should be very different from the old one, calling out the fact that working conditions didn’t change with the shift from republic to empire and the First Order simply took it to an extreme that left her and her sister with nothing else to lose.

Ben Solo, hoo boy. so here’s the thing, we don’t KNOW Ben Solo. we were expected to want him to be redeemed because he was the son of Han and Leia, and that’s it. that’s lazy as fuck. him killing Han in the first movie (if it happened it should have been in movie #2, that’s how fucking second acts work) was an excuse to shock people, subvert the ‘i can’t kill my own father’ thing, and make sure we knew he was “evil” even though we’re supposed to also want a redemption arc? you have to read the Rise of Kylo Ren comics to learn that he was a) hounded by the voice of Snoke in his head from childhood, manipulated by it, which is horrific bc it’s like grooming... or b) that he felt HUGE pressure as a legacy Force-user to save the galaxy, lead the New Jedi Order, etc. these are much more empathy-generating and we should have learned them in TFA. echoes of Anakin much? which is why i think him being redeemed in a way other than self-sacrifice (which made sense for Vader given his long history of being a terrible person, knowing it was too late for him in the end, and really just wanting to save his son rather than “become good again”) is more interesting than him just falling (which is too much the same as the prequels.)

it should have been Finn’s call, a moment of Truth that held the balance of Finn as either falling prey to darkness or learning forgiveness, whether or not Kylo got redeemed. Finn and Rey working together to get to that point while Rose and Poe took on the military aspect of the Big Finale would have been great. Finn with a lightsaber to Kylo’s throat, feeling the temptation to murder him instead of making him face what he’s become in a meaningful way? Rey trying to urge him away from darkness as she’s been tempted before, but this is the first time Finn’s really been tested, and he was the one who so often reminded her of her own humanity? Rey calling up Rose’s point of creating a new paradigm instead of recreating the old one, of Poe’s growth or Leia’s willingness to take Ben back showing it’s possible? shiiiiiiit

the rest is going under a cut!

SO... given those things as a basis...

there being no scene where Force-ghost Anakin bops Kylo on the head (but you know, more subtly and with gorgeous metaphor ofc) was a travesty. we needed some version of that, also imo that reaffirms that Anakin was the chosen one... as him redirecting his grandson away from that path would be restoring hella balance

Snoke should have had his own fucked up backstory, if he was even there at all. a dark sider fucking with Ben Solo is reasonable to me, but Snoke could have been someone who looked up to Palps as much as Kylo supposedly looked up to Vader. that would have been interesting... maybe there are multiple “nobodies” who are being touched by the Force, just like there always were in the prequels era, but some are going dark with no Jedi to try to convince them otherwise? or, maybe Snoke’s life was ruined by the Empire and he chose to become the beast that harmed him, whereas Kylo becomes the version where you think you want to do that but then realize that it’s just as bad and you still have empathy and regret what you’ve done?

Thrawn being the main military antagonist, since they couldn’t be arsed to make Hux into anything but a sniveling baby fascist (despite his really upsetting backstory of an abusive father, also found in the comics... noticing a trend here?). Thrawn was already established and beloved in the legends. why would you not use him. whY?? he’s like a foil for Tarkin. contention between him and the Force-users in charge (Snoke and Kylo) would have been VERY interesting, esp with the character of Thrawn in the new canon seeing the Empire as a ‘necessary evil’ and now maybe having the potential to make it into something else? how’s JOINING WITH THE NEW REPUBLIC for a subversion of the classic tropes, Rian?????? you fucker????

if Thrawn’s history is “too storied” for a bunch of cowards to "fit” into a new movie trilogy, invent another antivillain to take Thrawn’s place whose history is a little more concurrent with the sequel era... you cowards

Luke fucking off after his failure isn’t out of character IMO. he was THE STRONGEST JEDI EVER and his star pupil still fell? maybe he broke under the same pressure Ben did. maybe that’s what allows him to reach back out towards Kylo and reconnect, admitting his failure. i want to hear more about him cutting himself off from the Force bc i LOVE KOTOR 2 and Kreia, but maybe that’s too much for one trilogy to delve into meaningfully, i dunno

Han fucking off after Ben wrecked the temple isn’t OOC either. i think Han was always a little frightened of the Force, the way many non-sensitives are. I think he was critical as a father, because he was critical of himself and Han is the king of projection. i wanted more of the dysfunctional relationship between him and Ben.

if Kylo kills Han, the scene needs to show more of the fact that Kylo actually regretted it, which Snoke only alludes to in TLJ, foreshadowing his future. i rewrote Han’s death scene for a friend and got a lot of good feedback about it so maybe i’ll post it here sometime. i can get behind a version where he doesn’t die, too, i just haven’t fleshed it out in my own head.

i like the idea that the Jedi Order needed to be remade, and that Luke saw the failure of the old order when he saw Ben turn like so many of the Jedi in the Order did. i like that Rey and Finn might spearhead this, and maybe Kylo’s role is to know the dark side intimately enough now that he can actually teach how it works, how to deal with it... how inevitable its temptation is. because...

in this canon, i don’t think the Force has light or darkness. i think it’s Force-users who do. it is their internal landscapes which cause them to “fall” or be redeemed or not, after all. Finn can attest to the same, so can Rey and Luke... so like, all the Jedi need DBT therapy or something i guess. lmao hold the dialectic, you nerds

the Force has shown time and time again that it cannot be “balanced” so maybe it is ourselves who need to become balanced instead

the Force is chaos, a never-ending series of colliding butterfly effects that to us will always and inevitably be seen as turmoil, cause and effect on a cosmic scale. if you drink too greedily of its power, or try to exert total control over it, by its nature it will consume you because it is beyond your mortal ken. whatever you hunger for, the force will give you more and more of it until you are overwhelmed, drowning in it

this is why peace was a central teaching of the Jedi... peace, the antithesis of chaos, which can only ever be created from within, the eye of the storm which must be sought time and time again

anyway thanks for coming to my ted talk? i’m always down to hear other people’s ideas for these characters tbh. and always down to get more into these topics if you want to know more... esp as it relates to the failure of the Jedi Order, or KOTOR 2 and Revan and Kreia, or OF COURSE my OCs because Sol has a very interesting relationship with the Force.

thank you for this ask lordimperius!! ^_^

[reluctantly-plus-ultra]

So....I'm literally in love with your rei&lov stuff and wanted to ask if you're still taking scenario suggestions? In case you do; how about dabihawks, in which dabi figures out/always knew that hawks is actually a spy but convinces hawks to actually become a villain? Or literally any hawks&shouto interaction in which they talk for some reason(internship?) And bc of that hawks figures out that dabi=touya and endevour=horrible and has kinda a breakdown? (Bonus points of shouto already knew) Thx

First of all, thank you so much! I’m definitely still taking requests- sorry this one took a while to post, but I’ve been in finals this past week and things have been hectic. Second, I’m going to have to apologize in advance because I saw all of your awesome suggestions here and instead of tackling this like any sane person would by choosing one thing to write about, I decided to write all of them in one request… So in other words, this sucker is LONG. Anyway, without further ado, enjoy the piece!

[REQUESTED] DABIHAWKS: DARK SIDE

- All it takes is one boy being saved for everything to go absolutely batshit crazy.

- Keigo “Hawks” Takami is a cunning man, ruthless when it comes to intelligence, speed, determination. He’s been trained- raised his whole life to be the personification of the perfect working hero: instinctive, quick, capable of wearing as many masks as it takes to get the job done and hiding all of that deadly capability behind a warm, smiling face that keeps him the darling of the public eye. 

- And yet, despite his wit, despite his impeccable skill for analysis, despite every sign that should have given him a few warning bells about this situation, Hawks had stumbled in completely blind. Nothing could’ve prepared him for this.

- It had started off as nothing more than a basic street brawl. Hawks had taken the day to patrol with Enji and Shouto, the young man having returned to his father’s agency for his internship. In fact, it was mostly because of Shouto that Hawks had decided to head out with Endeavor in the first place- he was curious about the youngest Todoroki. The boy already had a pretty impressive reputation regardless of the fact that he hadn’t yet gone pro, and Hawks was curious to see whether or not he would hold up in person.

- So when they’d gotten the call that there was a robbery four blocks away and that a fight had broken out in the square, he hadn’t given two thoughts about it, really. Hell, the kid had faced off against the League shortly after entering his first year and come out without a scratch. He could take a couple amateur thugs no problem.

- And at first, things actually go really well. Shouto’s got some serious skill, and it doesn’t take long for them to get the situation sorted out-

- That is, at least, until a few familiar faces show up.

- Hawks swears he’s going to kick Dabi’s ass into next week when he, Toga, Compress and Twice all round the corner and straight into the whole mess. Like, it’s bad enough that now he’s going to have to put up a fight with them, but for fuck’s sake the last thing he needs is to be gearing up to face them while also trying to put on a nonchalant expression as Toga starts laughing her ass off at the sight of him being there.

- So of course shit goes sideways and a second fight breaks out. Hawks has never been more thankful of Twice, because the man just keeps sending clone after clone his way and it’s keeping him busy enough that he doesn’t have to throw punches at any of the others. After all, the League had just started warming up to him, and he really doesn’t want to be sending anybody home packing black eyes on his account.

- But that also leaves three villains against two Todorokis, and while that still shouldn’t be a problem, it turns out to be.

- In hindsight knowing what he’d come to learn much later, maybe it was the way Endeavor barked the boy’s name. Maybe it was how he’d whipped around so suddenly the flames on his body guttered and flared. Maybe it was even just the simple matter of having his arm raised when he turned.

- Either way, whatever he’d been going to tell his youngest child goes unsaid, be it advice or otherwise.

- All Hawks knows is that it takes a full two seconds for Endeavour to shout his son’s name, to wheel around to face him, arm still rigid above his head from the last burst of flame he’d sent at Compress, hand exploding into a raging blaze once more- and then Dabi is fucking sprinting.

- And at first, Hawks almost goes after him because it seems like the fire-user is about to take out Shouto and quite frankly, it didn’t matter who you are: going after a child is a low blow, plain and simple.

- So when he dispatches Twice’s next clone in a messy hurry and moves to follow, he’s stopped dead in his tracks by a display he never thought he’d witness: the patchwork villain yelling “Sho!” so loudly his voice cracks before quite literally hauling the young hero behind him and bracing his free arm in front of them both in a gesture that is so inherently and naturally defensive it makes Hawks pause.

- Half a second later, there’s an explosion of blue fire so fierce and bright that it’s damn near blinding. It takes a few moments for the winged hero to blink the light from his eyes, but when he manages to do so, it is only to take in the sight of three faces equally painted in horror.

- And here’s the thing; Hawks expects some kind of reaction from Shouto, so the fact that he’s still stunned and unmoving behind this villain isn’t exactly a surprise. Hell, he expects a reaction from Dabi too, because that degree of defensiveness, that scale of fire, the sheer desperation in his movements seconds before the explosive blast- it’s so unlike him, especially over some hero’s son?

- But it’s when Enji Todoroki blanches just as pale as the other two, eyes wide as Shouto’s, hands shaking like Dabi’s, that Hawks feels an uncomfortable clench in his gut. That feeling persists, too, as the fighting stops around them, and everything falls into silence, ashes falling down around them like snow. It’s the first time that Hawks has noticed that the walls of the surrounding buildings have been scorched black from the heat, smoke still rising in the air. 

- There’s blood leaking down Dabi’s face, his arms, past his burnt jacket sleeves and the collar of his shirt. He’s in pain, Hawks can tell, even from where he’s standing. That move took a lot out of him- 

- But there’s also no way he wouldn’t have known that before doing it, and that raises more than a few questions.

- All three men look like they’re reliving some kind of flashback, some kind of memory or unanimous nightmare. It’s Shouto who speaks first, voice wavering, and even then it’s only one word, indistinguishable from their current distance- but it’s enough to snap Dabi out of whatever reverie he’s in and cause him to snarl and bolt.

- Nobody goes after him, not even Endeavor, and in seconds the patchwork man is gone, lost to the shadows and alleys. Being realistic, it would take Hawks less than a minute to soar up above the buildings and scout him down, demand some answers, but Twice is quicker to the punch.

“Let us handle this for now- you can take of him later, I’m not handling his broody side.”

- The rest of the League is in the process of disappearing as well as Hawks makes his way up to the pair of still shell-shocked heroes, quirking an eyebrow and tugging at a few feathers that got bent in his fight.

- “You want to tell me what that was all about? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

- The hard glint in Enji’s eye as he glances at him and then spins around on his heel without a word, walking in the opposite direction is all the confirmation he needs to know that maybe they have.

- Days pass. It had been hard enough not asking questions for the rest of their patrol but when, four days later, Endeavor still won’t give him the time of day and Dabi won’t respond to any of his texts and calls, Hawks has had about enough.

- Aizawa’s not exactly thrilled about the Number Two hero calling in to ask if he can take part of the morning to talk to Todoroki about some of the events of their last patrol, but he presses that it’s important, and Aizawa eventually gives in on the grounds that it’s safer for them to talk at the school about mission work than anywhere else, really.

- And that’s how he and the dual-quirked boy end up facing one another over cold coffee in the otherwise vacant teacher’s lounge, Shouto guarded as ever, and Hawks feeling a bit nervous despite the circumstances. Truth being told, he isn’t sure what he’s looking to find here, exactly, but the whole situation has been burning a hole in his stomach for half a week, and something about it really isn’t sitting right.

- “…This is about the whole… Incident with him, isn’t it?” Todoroki asks eventually, tone flat, and Hawks has to admit that he’s chosen some interesting phrasing.

- “Pretty much, yeah,” Hawks scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, unsure where to even start. The whole thing seems pretty absurd. The youngest Todoroki hums and sips at his cold coffee, the light rippling of the liquid being the only thing betraying the slight tremour of his hands.

- “If you have questions, why not ask him instead?” Hawks immediately wrinkles his nose at that.

- “Who, Endeavor? Something tells me he wouldn’t be the most willing audie-”

- “Not Endeavor.” Shouto fixes his cup back on its saucer before turning curious but carefully blank eyes on him, “Dabi. You two seem close enough for it.”

- Well, fuck.

- Hawks’ brain is going a mile a minute trying to figure out how Shouto managed to put two and two together. There’s no way he’d figured it out from that patrol day- they hadn’t even interacted at all, and Hawks had been careful not to mention the patchwork villain around any of the other heroes so as to not raise suspicion with his mission, or to have anyone go snooping too deeply into something that could also get him in a huge deal of shit. 

- Not really knowing how else to play his cards but to try and save face, Hawks squints and shakes his head at the boy in confusion, hoping the “dumb-bird” act will save his ass. Underneath the surface, though, he can feel the pinpricks of an impending anxiety attack, the boy’s blunt and unexpected words having shredded every assumption of caution that he thought he’d put up. Hell, if Shouto has figured things out this far, has he also figured out Hawks’ connection to the League? Has he told anyone else? The Commission is going to skin him alive when they found out-

- “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about,” Hawks tries, grimacing at the end of the statement for effect, “Unless you’re meaning because I didn’t intervene when everything went down and help you guys out- sorry about that by the way, but I figured you two would have everything under control, and when all the fighting stopped, I just froze.” He shrugs, trying his best to look sheepish, “It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes when the shock is great enough I’m more of a natural freezer than a reactor. Probably some kind of weird bird thing.”

- Shouto regards him for a solid second, unblinking, before cracking a small smile.

- “You’re a good liar.” He says simply, before sipping his coffee again. “But that’s not what I’m talking about at all.”

- Those pinpricks return again, and Hawks’ wings flutter somewhat nervously on their own accord. He resists the urge to let them expand just to give himself a bit more of a size advantage, and instead tries playing it off again. Shouto’s eyebrows raise at the attempt, and it’s with almost exaggerated disbelief that he sets his cup down for the second time and announces, in that odd, cool way of his, “So you just let any villain wear your feathers, then?”

- Hawks chokes on his coffee.

- This time, he legitimately does not know what the hell Todoroki’s talking about, but it turns out that the observant teen had caught sight of a long stretch of cord that had shifted somewhat out from under the other man’s loose shirt when he spun around to run.

- And there’s nothing weird about that in itself. Dabi’s kinda a jewelry guy, and Heaven knows he’s got enough piercings to prove it. But when Todoroki gets to mentioning that there was a small red feather on the end of the rope, Hawks can’t help but flush pink just a little bit because he’d left that feather as a calling card to tell the other man he’d broken into his apartment two weeks ago and he’d gone and strung it on a necklace what an absolute fucking dork-

- “I don’t think Endeavor saw,” Todoroki continues absently, “So it’s just me that knows, and I don’t want any of the details,” He looks at Hawks solemnly again, this time his voice growing quieter, “I’ll keep your secret, but forgive me for using it to make sure you keep mine.”

- Hawks examines him for a slow moment, fully aware that neither of them are moving, and the air is growing tense. This boy could bring his career crashing down around his ears with a few words muttered in the right direction, and yet Hawks is inclined to believe him when he says he’ll keep a secret. With a sigh, the winged hero extends a hand.

- “Deal.” He agrees, shivering at the contact of ice on his palm, Todoroki apologizing for the slip under his breath. “Now, what’s this secret, then?”

- Shouto chews his lip for a moment before sitting back in his seat, hands clenched into fists.

- “I need to tell you a story.”

______________________________________________________

- An hour later, the entire fucking world has been turned on its head, and nothing is ever going to be the same.

- Shouto Todoroki sits quietly for a moment, before calmly reaching out for his coffee cup again, more for the simple grounding action of holding it than anything else. The silence in the room is stifling, especially after the burrage of information Hawks has had dumped on him in the last sixty minutes, and his brain is still sluggishly trying to process most of it.

- “He’s… He’s your brother?” The hero manages eventually, mouth feeling dry, stomach churning. That panging ache in his stomach that he’d felt before has returned tenfold, and it takes everything in Hawks’ apparent willpower to not run for a garbage bin and puke from all the nausea. 

- Todoroki won’t meet his eye, and Hawks doesn’t blame him- after everything that’s been revealed at this coffee table, he’s not sure he could look the younger man dead in the face without breaking down in some way. Seeing his scar, mentally comparing it to Dabi’s many, brain running lists of all their similarities and those lists coming up remarkably long.

- The worst of it is the carpet that got all but torn out from under his feet as Shouto had explained what his father had put them all through, his involvement at home, how they had assumed for so long that their oldest sibling had died, and that it had been their father’s fault, no different than Rei’s hospitalization and, by extension, Shouto’s burned eye. It’s this news that curdles his stomach more than anything, makes his blood freeze in his veins.

- He can already tell that when he allows that news to settle, it’s going to hit like a bombshell, but he can’t do that in front of Shouto, so he pushes it to the back of his mind for now until he can handle it later and instead tries to focus on the subjects that he thinks can be safely discussed.

- Todoroki just nods, seemingly spent on this whole ordeal as well, and also not really knowing what to do with it. 

- “I’d had some suspicions,” He admits softly, fiddling with his hands, “But I didn’t want to think on them too closely or get my hopes up- he was dead, or supposed to be anyway. And then that patrol happened, and… I don’t remember much of him, really. The memories are all hazy. I was so young- but he used to call me Sho as a nickname when we were kids. When he ran out in front of me though, I…”

- “You remembered it wasn’t the first time.” Hawks concludes, and Shouto nods again, his shoulders slumping.

- “It was exactly the same,” He murmurs softly, “And it just… Triggered memories of all of these things I’d forgotten, but now they’re all coming back, and I don’t-” He sighs in frustration, taking a deep breath to rein in his thoughts, “I don’t know what to do because he’s not dead anymore, but at the same time, I’m not sure that he’s really alive either. That part of him that I knew might be gone entirely- I’m willing to believe that his actions during our patrol were out of memory reflex more than anything.”

- But Hawks is already thinking about all of those times that Dabi has helped Toga arrange her hair into buns when it’s being too stubborn, and the almost-petty sibling banter he slings back and forth with Shigaraki sometimes just to get a rise out of him. There are other habits too, just little things here and there, but the more Hawks imagines Dabi being a former sibling, the more connections he sees.

- They clean up their dishes quietly, dirty laundry aired, secrets hanging heavy. Before they leave, though, Hawks turns back to Todoroki one last time.

- “You know I can’t bring him back, right?”

- It’s a harsh reality, but a very real one. Quite frankly, Hawks suspects that there’s a lot of the person Todoroki remembers in this new Dabi figure, but no matter how much of that remains, no matter how many different and surprising and kind, soft, gentle, loyal angles Dabi has, it doesn’t change the fact that he is first and foremost a villain. That takes precedence over anything, and there’s really no turning back from it, not now, and not after the extent he’s gone to. Shouto nods, hair falling in his face, though Hawks can see through the fringe that his eyes are clear. There’s no judgement, no upset. He’s more than aware, and something in Hawks’ chest twinges again at how quickly this child had to grow up, seeing the world with such adult eyes.

- There’s something else still tickling the back of his mind, and at first he hesitates to ask it. Shouto’s been through enough today as it is, and he doesn’t want to push too far, but at the same time, he’s dying to know. There’s this sense in him that it’s probably important, and Hawks has long ago learned better than to ignore his gut.

- “One more thing- what did you say to him that day? Right before he ran?”

- Shouto’s hand freezes on the doorknob, literally freezes on the doorknob, ice crawling over his fingers. For a second, Hawks is considering apologizing and moving on, afraid that he’s overstepped a boundary. But then Shouto’s grip on the handle eases, and the ice crackles and falls away from his hand, falling to melt in the fibres of the carpet underfoot.

- “Touya. I called him Touya.”

- They leave the room and don’t look back.

_______________________________________________

- Hawks walks Shouto back to class, only to pull Eraserhead outside for a moment and explain nothing more into the situation than that the youngest Todoroki experienced some stressful things during their last patrol, and that after their discussion that morning, it probably wouldn’t hurt to have him take the rest of the day off just to recuperate a little.

- And with any of the other teachers, he might have been hit with a hardass no, but this is Shouta Aizawa, and if there’s anything that man cares more about than cats, coffee, and the occasional witty remark, it’s rest and his students. As much as he likes to deny it, he keeps a better eye on those kids than they know, and he’s caught Todoroki acting a bit more reserved than normal, less concentrated. He nods slowly, dismisses Hawks with a casual comment about wasting his time, and goes to fetch Shouto from the classroom again.

- The winged hero leaves to the sound of Aizawa telling Shouto that he’ll get a notes package done up for him for the day, and to go rest. There’s some muffled arguing before the older man makes some statement about mental health that effectively shuts Shouto up and sends him back in the direction of the dorms, Hawks grinning to himself the whole way down the hall, until he can no longer hear the two. Shouto Todoroki has had one hell of a life, that much is certain, but nobody can deny that he’s in good hands now and that itself is a relief beyond words.

- That being said, it takes all of ten seconds upon returning home to his apartment and getting the door shut behind him, before Keigo Takami all but collapses on the hardwood and begins to sob. Once the tears start flowing they just won’t stop, and there’s this kind of warm, gentle light streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling-windows that seems to just encourage the outpour even more. 

- Were anyone to see him at that exact moment, they’d probably think it made an interesting picture, the Number Two hero weeping on his knees, wings spread about him like some kind of devastated creature of God, light pouring down his shoulders and face as though his halo had melted and dripped like tear stains over his skin. There’s this burning, raw sensation inside him that just won’t ease, and as he lies there, a crumbled statue of a once proud Icarus, he lets the truth rage over him like wildfire, lets the heat of it all melt the wax and burn the feathers, and feels it pull him into a drop he’s not sure how to recover from, or if he ever will.

- There’s this war raging inside him on how to feel, a million emotions crushing his chest all at once. The first that hits him is disgust, disgust for this man that he had looked up to for so long, who had been a hero to him even when he’d had nothing, nobody, not even a dream. He had put so much faith in him, had defended him at every turn, had stood by him as a colleague, watched his back, taken wounds to keep him safe. This was the man he’d bled for, if he deserved to be called a man at all.

- But the emotions that follow after this are so rapid-fire, they’re almost impossible to keep track of, aside from the pain- the pain lingers and grows, makes itself known in every damned crevice of his being. There’s betrayal, both to the person he is now, and to the young child who’d cheered the fire hero on, who he’d wanted to impress so badly. There’s sadness for the world he thought he knew, for the person he thought he knew, and all of that being stripped away to reveal something so much more grim and ugly. Grief for the loss, mourning for the death of something he’d seen as a foundation to his person, the pain so strong throughout.

- One of the worst, though, is the anger. When the anger arrives, it isn’t in a gradual wave like the other feelings had been, full of upset and still-numb disbelief. When the anger arrives, it is as a battering ram of rage that burns so fiercely in his core, he wants to scream. Rage for Shouto Todoroki, rage for Rei Todoroki, rage for Fuyumi and Natsuo, and damn it all, blistering, agonizing rage for Touya Todoroki and the unjust cards he was dealt. When the anger arrives, it’s with the passion of a man who has longed for family his whole life, and can’t imagine how an individual could so carelessly ruin what another would die for.

- When the anger arrives it stays, and it leaves Hawks trembling on the floor long after the tears have stopped rolling, after the damp spots on his cheeks have dried, after the pain has stopped clawing at his throat, and taken up permanent residence in his heart instead.

- And that’s how Dabi finds him three hours later as night starts setting in, and the light from the windows has faded, the warmth in the floorboards gone. Hawks is so out of it, so physically and emotionally exhausted, that he doesn’t even hear him come in, only notices him when the tall man crouches down in his line of vision, concernedly snapping his fingers in his face.

- Somehow the sight of him just manages to drive the knife in deeper, and he has to take a deep breath to keep his composure. Dabi’s eyebrows are drawn together in worry at the scene, hands beginning to rapidly check him all over for wounds of some kind before Hawks weakly bats his hands away, protesting. The cremation villain sits back on his heels, unimpressed, and flicks the other man’s forehead.

- “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all afternoon- why weren’t you picking up your phone, dumbass? I thought something must have happened.”

- The irritation in his voice thinly covers his relief, and Hawks can only manage to blink up at him once or twice before clenching his eyes shut altogether. He doesn’t mention that Dabi hasn’t responded to any of his messages until today either, figures a fight isn’t what either of them need right now.

- “I talked to Shouto today,” He says quietly, voice so hoarse from crying, it’s almost hard to listen to. Dabi stiffens, but doesn’t turn away or make a sound, so Hawks continues, “He told me… Everything. Everything that happened, everything that that bastard did,” Hawks takes another steadying breath, choosing not to look Dabi in the eye for this part, “He knows who you are- I know about that part too. And that’s fine, really, it is; I won’t call you by that name or anything if you don’t want me to. I just… I can’t believe that I looked up to him so long, and he was doing all of this and nobody knew-

- And suddenly it’s all spilling out all over again, and there are more tears, but much less than last time, a slow and steady trickle compared to the earlier downpour. Dabi doesn’t do anything but listen as the minutes pass, as the sky grows steadily darker and they’re left in the kitchen with no lights on, almost silhouettes in the room. Somehow, it feels comforting- Dabi has a way of making shadows feel less like threats and more like hiding places, and Hawks has never felt it more strongly than now.

- But it isn’t until he’s done his tirade that he realizes his most crucial mistake- that in confessing all of this, he’s just botched his own story of being done with the hero world, the lies that he’d given Dabi when they first met. He’s just outed himself as a turncoat. And not only that, he’s just outed himself as a turncoat to a villain who is still kneeling over him in a dark room, and who would have literally nothing stopping him from crisping the winged hero right there, not even Hawks himself. Fast as he is, he doesn’t think his reflexes will save him quickly enough in this state, and all it will take for him to be completely defenseless would be Dabi moving his hands an inch or two forward to light his wings on fire, exposed as they currently are.

- He can feel the panic building in his chest as Dabi stays silent, breathing picking up a few notches before he’s suddenly scrambling to get into a less vulnerable position, trying to make out Dabi’s expression in the dark. Maybe if he can get out a window fast enough, he’ll be able to catch a draft and soar out of the way- it’s his best bet, but the kitchen island is against his back now because he scooted too far back, and there’s no way for him to get to a window without either getting through Dabi or-

- The panic attack that he was feeling earlier decides to kick in at this exact moment, and that’s when Hawks realizes that if Dabi wants him dead, he’s dying in this room. All of his instincts and nerves are shot, he has no sense of coordination, he can’t see, the dark no longer feels safe-

- The lights come on, and Hawks glances up sharply from his position against the island to see Dabi with his hand still on the lightswitch, expression hard to read, but not the crazed, maniacal look Hawks would have expected to receive if the villain were planning to outright kill him. He watches as the other man slowly walks forward, gaze locked, until he kneels so closely on the floor in front of him that if Hawks so much as slid his knees a centimetre forward, they’d be hitting Dabi in the chest.

- His heart is hammering so fast, he’s sure he’ll either hyperventilate or pass out at any given second, body trembling, brain unable to focus. He manages to force his eyes closed as Dabi extends a hand out, certain that he’ll be feeling those blue flames crawling his skin the second they get close enough to burn. The flames never come.

- Dabi’s fingers trail across his temple, brushing back a few strands of sweaty hair, before going to cup his cheek entirely. The action is so uncharacteristically tender that it causes Hawks’ eyes to flash open again, the scarred man looking at him with intent eyes.

- “Take a few deep breaths, pretty bird.” He says calmly, not even flinching when Hawks’ hand comes up to clench hard on the patchwork man’s bicep.

- “You took all of that info rather well,” Hawks states, almost accusingly, through gritted teeth. His breathing is starting to slow, heartbeat becoming less erratic, though Dabi’s sudden smirk isn’t helping anything.

- “I’ve known that you weren’t legit from the first day,” He scoffs, looking a touch of smug, but also somewhat offended, “Give me more credit than that, sweetheart. This isn’t news.”

- The simple, familiar arrogance of it all forces a sharp laugh from Hawks’ throat, and against all odds he can feel the adrenaline draining from his system, beginning to relax again. 

- “You’re such an asshole, you know that?” Said with a tired grin. ‘I’m relieved this one corner of my world isn’t crumbling down too.’

- “Only time you’ll catch me alive saying guilty as charged.” Said with a smile as crooked as a broken law. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

- They wait like that just a few minutes longer, listening to the hum of the overhead lights, nothing needing to be said for those moments at least. Then, once Hawks has calmed down enough to relocate, they move to the couch.

- “So,” Dabi is the one to begin this time, throwing his lanky form across the whole sofa and stretching out well enough across it that his head can rest on one of the arms, his ankles dangling off the other. “You know about my shitty childhood. I`d rather not talk about that any more tonight, honestly.”

- Hawks, appreciative that he seems to be willing to let to matter of the anxiety attack drop completely, chooses to take a seat on the middle cushion, leaning back against Dabi’s hip as a support and letting his wings fall over the back of the sofa and behind it. The longest feathers drag on the floor from this height, and Dabi watches for a second as Hawks flares them temporarily to adjust his wings in a better position before continuing. “And I know about you not being true to the League. Anything else you’d care to hash out while we’re in the sharing mood?”

- “Yeah, actually,” Hawks shoots him a look and raises an eyebrow, “If you knew I was lying, why the hell did you keep me around?”

- Dabi goes entirely still, one hand subconsciously draping across his chest, and Hawks remembers the comment Shouto made earlier about the necklace. He wonders if the villain is reaching for it now.

- “You don’t ease into anything, do you?” He asks eventually with a chuckle, Hawks’ answering grin speaking for itself. “Alright, it’s… I guess, you know when you’re in a deep body of water and your head goes under, and it kind of hits you that you could drown there? And the first thing you do when you see it is reach for the light?” Hawks nods even though he’s always had an aversion to swimming due to the weight of his wings and has never been close enough to drowning to truly know. “It’s… Fuck, I’m trashing the hell out of this, but it’s like that. I could tell I was sinking, and I didn’t give a shit. And then you showed up, and I knew right off the bat that you were lying to my face, but for once, there’s this light right in front of me, close enough to reach for. I never really meant for it to be more than that.” He paused for a second before adding, “But there was something about the fact that you were batshit crazy enough to walk into the wolves’ den for your cause, and you just kept coming back. You had to know we’d figure it out eventually, and when we did you’d be done, but you kept trying anyway.” Dabi grins slightly, fingers definitely closing around the necklace this time, “That’s real hero shit. I’d spent so long hating all of them that I’d forgotten they weren’t all like the one I grew up with. And I can’t ever be like you, I’m not hero material, but… Reaching for that light here and here, it makes me feel like maybe I can be more than this someday.”

- He didn’t expect this kind of response. He didn’t expect this kind of honesty, barbless and vulnerable and kind. He didn’t really expect to find himself moving to straddle Dabi’s waist so he could be in a better position to kiss him, either, but that happens as well.

- Wordlessly, Hawks tugs Dabi’s hands from his necklace, and settles them on his hips, the winged hero pressing his own palms to either side of the villain’s scarred face, leaning forward to rest their foreheads together. He can feel Dabi’s breath against his mouth and cheeks as the other man lets out a soft exhale, his skin carrying that familiar slight chill that it always does, cooler still where his fingers rest on staples. He could stay in this forever, this moment, safe and sure and grounded. It isn’t until Dabi pulls away from him slightly to trace one hand down the curve of his wing and into his primary feathers that Hawks realizes that in his contentment he’s brought his wings up almost defensively, shielding them off from the rest of the world though there’s no one else around to see.

- “I used to hate the colour red.” Dabi murmurs, repeating the action once again, Hawks fluttering his wing against the fire-user’s calloused hand just to bring a smile to his face. That smile carries into the kiss Dabi pulls him in for an instant later. It isn’t their first kiss, not by a long shot, but there’s something more sweet and slow about this one, and it takes Hawks a second to realize that unlike the kisses they’ve shared in the past, this one isn’t laced with the premonition of an ending. Usually, there’s this sort of rushed tension in their more intimate moments, an unspoken understanding that whatever this thing they have is, it can only last so long. But that’s missing this time, the overlying pressure of awareness, of only whispering things that won’t break your heart later, of never knowing when each embrace might be the last and being prepared to cut your losses if it is. This time is different, sanguine, and Hawks suddenly gets the feeling that things are about to change.

- He isn’t wrong.

- “What if you joined us for real?” Dabi breathes, eyes hooded as they draw apart but still lingering close. Catching Hawks’ incredulous look, he runs his hands up the other man’s arms, taking on a more serious tone. “I mean it. We can get you out from under the Commission- they’d never be able to touch you again. You want a world where heroes have more spare time on their hands than they know what to do with? That’s never going to be a possibility the way things are now. Most of the groups and agencies are corrupt over the profitability of it all, and there’s a lot of heroes in the same boat. Believe me, birdie, they don’t want the crime rate going down- they just want it televised.”

- Hawks knows it’s true- Dabi isn’t just saying this to sway him. The winged hero has seen this firsthand. There are heroes out there who would sooner go into a situation after a disaster has already happened rather than stopping it before anyone can get hurt, because it’s flashier. It’s more likely to gain attention, even if it means innocents being injured or, hell, dying in the process. And there’s all the other stuff too- the notices they get at the beginning of each new year, informing them that if they save ‘x’ number of people from various minority groups, there will be a bonus payout for them by the end of the year, as diversity is good for their public image. Hawks always threw those papers away, but there were some who held onto them, kept a tally going. There are heroes who are only on the field for the money, who couldn’t care less about the people they’re saving so long as there’s a cheque at the end of it with their name on it. Hawks has even heard of a few cases where heroes staged or set up disasters and accidents to be noticed. There’s the Commission, literally grooming child soldiers and people like Endeavor who wear two faces to hide a darker truth from the public eye.

- For an organization made to help, the hero collective is a dog-eats-dog world, and it’s ruthless. Dabi’s right about Hawks’ dream being impossible- because as long as people are profiting off crime, they’ll never allow it to stop.

- Suddenly, all Hawks wants to do is sleep, cut the nightmare short and try to let himself catch up with the feeling of free-falling. He can’t go back to working beside Endeavor like nothing’s happened, he knows that. And to make matters worse, he told Shouto he wouldn’t tell anyone about this though he desperately knows he should, but at this rate he’s not sure it wouldn’t do more harm than good. There may be a time later in the future where the truth can be revealed without completely annihilating the small, fragile, bright world that the youngest Todoroki has been slowly building for himself, but to have the public come after him over something this big, demanding answers and surrounding him at all times… He can’t handle that yet, and Hawks can tell. Someday, but not yet. 

- “And after you dismantle the system? What happens then?” Hawks asks quietly, noting the surprised flicker behind Dabi’s blue eyes. He hadn’t been expecting him to entertain this idea.

- “Hey, my job’s just to burn it to the ground,” Dabi snorts, nonchalant, but his hands stop moving up and down Hawks’ arms, and loosely circle his wrists, “I think I’ll leave the rebuilding to those of you who will do it right. Let the real heroes take care of the hero world, and maybe everything else will settle too. Maybe things can be better- and who knows,” He puts on a smirk, “Maybe the heroes will find they’ve got some spare time on their hands, just like you said.”

- Hawks considers this, nods once, makes up his mind and goes ‘fuck it’ while cutting his losses. 

- “Fine.”

- Dabi freezes under him, confident look replaced by something much more comical.

- “What?”

- “Fine, I’m in.” Dabi goes to say something about considering options for more than three seconds, but Hawks cuts him off. “No, I’m serious. Things need to change, and that’s not going to happen with the way everything’s going now. I’m a hero because I want to help people, not because I have a license, and damn it there are more people I can help by fighting against the hero track than on it, which is really fucked up in itself. I’m in, and I’m saying that while I’m pissed off and bitter enough to go through with it because for fuck’s sake I can’t keep going back to that place and letting them wring me out until I’m dead. None of this is normal or okay, and I can’t keep pretending that it is. I need to do something.”

- The fire-user just stares at him awestruck throughout all this, and for a long while afterwards too, before eventually sitting up.

- “You’re certain?”

- “Yes.”

- “…Damn it, pigeon, what the hell am I going to do with you?”

- Hawks laughs at the weak pet name even as Dabi cups his face and pulls him in for another kiss, the blond’s laughter spilling out across their lips, fingers carding through Dabi’s hair. It’s a bright moment to end a dark day, something hopeful amid the tentative nature of something new. 

- “We’re never rushing this again.” Hawks grins when they both need to take a breath, that warm embrace of security and peace having returned to him once more, settling in his chest and radiating so strongly he’s surprised he’s not glowing. Dabi hums in response, turquoise eyes mostly closed as he leans down to dust a kiss on the other’s collarbone, almost painfully slow as if to prove a point.

- “We won’t have to.” He promises, chuckling lowly at the slight gasp he receives for turning the kiss into a nip, “Welcome to the dark side, birdie.”

[wastrelwoods]

HM i have thots. speculation...again, about juno steel and the mega-ultrabots of cyberjustice

i guess im willing to entertain the crew are actually in dark matters custody solely bc it is a mystery how they all got out of the ship and the ocean unharmed but then like. I dont see the narrative utility of “its a simulation woooo” if it literally does not effect Rita's ability to do a whole heist? unless the heist isn’t real, and the beach isn’t real, and the shipwreck isn’t real, and they’re all just wandering around in a dreamscape wasting time, but, uh. what use does that practically serve besides to be a twist for the sake of having a twist? i also think juno and vespa, specifically, as the most paranoid and perceptive members of the crew, would find something to be suspicious about if their reality was so drastically warped, unless vespa’s distracted with her personal crisis and juno’s just having a fun beach vacation and doesn’t care if its real or not

aNYWAY because dark matters was already at the facility attempting to repossess the Book when rita tried to start her robot heist, i think uhhh they’re after the Curemother Prime, too! it would clarify why the solar government suddenly put a bounty out on M’tendere--they wanted the Key. And going after the carte blanche with the drone (which hasn’t been PROVEN to be dark matters, but, like,,most likely option) and incapacitating the whole crew and crashing the ship could have been and attempt to take the Blade, or a continued hunt for the Key. maybe also the Map, if they figured out the CB had the globe on board

i guess to amend it i could see the planet being real and more or less under dark matters’ control, since its habitable but totally empty, like oldtown was in day that wouldn’t die. but with the actions the crew are able to take i don’t think they’re actively under heavy guard so much as like. kept quietly out of the way for a while on a deserted rock? and the events of shadows on the ship seem much more like an attempt at sabotage than an attempted arrest. if vespa hadn’t disabled the drone by stabbing the hell out of it it probably could have survived the crash and returned to sender

the RUBY 7 is one of the other mysteries acting up right now, since it also mysteriously appeared onshore and doesn’t seem to have the right engine parts, so. maybe dark matters DID take the car? and replaced it with a dummy? or maybe it’s a continuation of jet just trying to figure out where the hell the car came from and how it works, as in tools of rust 

all this to say i think it would be silly buggers to go full ‘this was only a dream’ because you have to keep at least SOME of the premise of the episode real or it would feel like a whole waste of time but also. YEAH i do have to know how they escaped the shipwreck! that one’s stickin’ with me, there’s something weird going on there! hope nobody gets their brains fried on this badass robot heist and they can come back and figure it out 

god if it’s not even dark matters who sent the drone im gonna be back to square one aGAIN and im so tired of being back at square one but also. it wouldn’t stop me i love to theorize

[hashtagartistlife]

I don’t hate a lot of things-- in fact, the list of things ive ‘hated’ in my life are three items long-- but today i had the epiphany that they all have one thing in common and that is: 

they’re all things that are way fucking overrated. 

granted, ‘overrated’ is a subjective distinction to make and Im still working out what makes something ‘overrated’ to me. But like, as an example: the first thing on my ‘things i hate’ list is ‘the fault in our stars’. and like, objectively, as a book, it’s ok. It’s not the best thing ive read, but it’s not technically the worst, either. but it’s the book i hate above all others because when i first read it, the entire world was in the ‘TFIOS IS THE BEST THING EVER WRITTEN’ phase and by virtue of that, i have fucking loathed TFIOS ever since. 

It’s the same for everything else on my ‘things i hate’ list. The one guy i couldn’t fucking stand in uni because he was so arrogant without any fucking cause to be, and-- ih. thats it. thats the list. 

anyway, the reason i had the epiphany was that i saw another ridiculous korean ih tweet today, and it was just-- so incredibly ass-backward and nonsensical that it just... reminded me why i fucking hate the ship so much. it’s not anything in the ship itself, it’s the..... the inflated idea that people have about the ship that annoys me. The ship by itself is just a badly written ship which is ten for a penny in shounen. but the fact that there are actually people who exist who think it wasn’t a textbook standard of how NOT to write an endgame ship just continues to fucking boggle me and fuel my spite. 

so the tweet (thread) was like: 

- hey guys i think i can honestly sorta read kubo, i feel like i’ve got a handle on him-- he tends to be weirdly stubborn about matching certain details in certain places

- for example, matching ih’s hair colour is a place where this stubbornness shows. also, ichigo only uses the serious form of ‘to protect’ to people with orangey-coloured hair [like his mom and orihime] 

- karin, who could ‘see’ hollows, and orihime’s older brother, who ‘became’ a hollow, also have the same coloured hair

- also the fact that orihime’s brother cares for (protects and cherishes) orihime (his younger sister), which is similar to how ichigo (who is an older brother) thinks of his family as people he needs to protect and how karin is also a younger sister

- oh! there’s also the fact that orihime and masaki both have long hair! AND they both faced a hollow together with ichigo and nobody else

- i guess rangiku also has long kind of orangey hair in the anime but in the manga she’s more blonde than orangey!

and thats it. thats the tweet thread

like

these are... words??? they’re words in a certain order that form a sentence i guess but as a whole none of this makes... sense???? WHAT IS THIS PERSON TRYING TO SAY

1. the fact that this person started off this thread with ‘GUYS I THINK I CAN READ KUBO’ like they really thought they figured out some deep underlying hidden message and then listed....... all this

2. i know we keep joking abt how iher’s ship ih bc idfk, their hair is orange, but the fact that THIS PERSON LITERALLY LISTED THAT AS A THING, AND ALSO THOUGHT THAT THEY WERE MAKING A HUGE FUCKING DISCOVERY AT THE SAME TIME

3. ‘orihime and masaki both have orange hair!’ i have seen before. ‘orihime and masaki both have long hair!’ <<<<NEW!!!!!! unfuckingbelievable!!!!!!!!!

4. ‘orihime is a younger sister, and karin is a younger sister! orihimes brother cares about orihime, and ichigo cares about karin!’ incredible. next on captain obvious’s program, rukia is a younger sister! byakuya cares about her!!

5. the absolute pinnacle of this tweet thread is that, the person who tweeted this isn’t even an ih shipper. they’re just a korean person who’s into bleach! they don’t actively ship ih, and in fact their main ship is grimmichi! but here’s the thing: to most people who are only sort of marginally into bleach for a certain few side characters or for the worldbuilding and concepts or whatever.... by virtue of ih being ‘endgame’ they automatically think that cancelled out everything else that was actually in the text and they end up thinking this sort of twisted logic actually makes sense. The fact that people can pull this sort of CRAP from their asses and think they made some big discovery about authorial intent, like this is worthy of analysis and thought, and literally completely ignore ACTUAL THEMES IN THE NARRATIVE, LIKE, OH, I DUNNO, RAIN??????? The fact that other people think points like this is WORTHY OF CONSIDERATION because fucking ih is fucking endgame???? THATS what annoys me about ih endgame. THIS is why i hate ih so much!!! It’s not the ship itself! It’s bc people think it actually had a SMIDGEN of logic to it when it really didn’t!!!!!!!!!! IT DIDN’T!!!!!!!!

ih is fucking overrated. that one anon who sent me that message like ‘you ever think it’s your issue and not korean twitter’s for not worshipping ir’ and like, the answer is no. no! it’s not about worshipping ir it’s about the fact that seeing ih in any positive light is an overestimation of the ship. this is an ih hate zone thank you and good fucking night!!!!! 

[edelgoth]

hi!! its been a while since ive sent an ask, but this is for the house matchup. in general, im like an npc character (i never really start conversations). but once you get to know and get close to me, i’ll be really wack and say random stuff to be funny. very shy to other people and i have pretty good intuitions. like if someones great or not. im able to read the air pretty well. hobby wise, i love to draw and play video games (but aint no videogames in fe, is there?). i like being near (1/?)

(2/2) charming and endearing people, especially people that can protect me and arent mean and strict. loyal ppl and those who are open minded are who i’ll really get along with. idk what else to really say, but if its okay, can i also have a romantic matchup with the person in the house you put me in? thank you!!

eee my first house matchup. i hope you like it!! 

so, i would put you in… 

the golden deer!!

you have this fun sense of chaos to you that would slot in almost perfectly with the golden deer!! also, charming and endearing?? depending on who you ask, that’s the golden deer for you (as claude would have you believe). i also think they’re the most lax of the houses, fulfilling the “aren’t mean and strict” criteria. overall, i think you’d have a good rapport with most of the golden deer, and you have a bit of a chaotic sense of humour that fits in quite well with them!! 

claude: since you’re shy, claude would be quite preoccupied trying to figure out your “secrets” in the beginning. finding out that you were actually quite funny would be both a delight and a disappointment (just because, you know, this is claude and he wants to solve Every Mystery). past that, i think you’d get along wonderfully!! you share a good intuition, and you both value open-mindedness. i think he’d find your sense of humour engaging, and the fact that you don’t really start conversations would be fine; claude’s a Talker, and he’s got so much on his mind all the time. as long a you were willing to listen to him ramble, you’re all good. 

if you’re into boys, i would make claude your romantic match!! it’d just sort of,,, happen, before either of you were really aware of it. but, claude sounds almost exactly like the sort of person you enjoy being around, and you have a very good rapport that’d lead quite nicely into a romantic relationship. 

hilda: i think hilda would find you adorable!! like claude, she’s a big Talker (she literally says something to the effect of “i love hearing myself talk!!”), so you being shy isn’t a problem. past that, i think hilda would be quite amused by you and what you say, simply because it keeps things interesting. hilda’s probably the most charming member of the golden deer, and she’s very good at being endearing. unless your intuition says that her unrivaled ability to get other people to do her work for her is a bad thing, then i think you and hilda would get along great!! 

if you’re into girls, i would make hilda you’re romantic match!! as with claude, i think your relationship would quite naturally become romantic. hilda can be very fond (i mainly think of marianne as i say this), and like i said earlier, she finds you adorable. i also think your intuitive abilities would pair well with how she can read people. maybe you’d be someone who could actually keep her on her toes, to see through her tricks?? but you know that secretly, she’d find that fun.

lorenz: you and lorenz might get off on the wrong foot; i say this because lorenz has some strict ideas about the world, whereas you prefer people who are a bit more open-minded. he also seems the most likely to,,, police your behaviour, being stricter than the average golden deer. i feel like he may also,,, struggle to comprehend your sense of humour. he can be very proper, and that contrasts with the sheer chaos of golden deer. he’s also not the best with shy people (his early marianne supports are a mess), but he is capable of growth. and a more mature, tuned-in lorenz would definitely admire your intuition and how you value loyalty!! it’s a friendship that would take a bit of work, but you’d get there. 

marianne: i think you and marianne would be very close!! you’re both quite shy, and marianne would be grateful to have someone who understood that was like. it might take you a while to get to know each other (you both,,, Never start conversations), but once you were used to each other, i think she’d find it easier to approach you. i think your personality is a nice contrast to hers, as well; you might even get her to smile every now and then with your humour. i think your intuition might come in handy here, too; marianne struggles with sharing how she’s feeling and what she’s thinking, so having a friend who’s able to read the air well could do wonders for her. the more i think about it the more i love this friendship, please take care of my daughter. 

lysithea: i think there might be a bit of conflict between you and lysithea at first, mainly due to how vastly different your personalities are. lysithea is a very straight-shooting sort of person, and she just wouldn’t know what to do whenever you said something random or out of the blue. a lot of supports also feature her just,,, ripping into people because she, like lorenz, has some strict ideas on how people should and shouldn’t behave. but, do get the feeling that as you two grew together, lysithea would start to soften up a bit, and you’d be able to have quite a nice friendship!! once again, your intuition would come in handy; you’d be able to read lysithea much better than some other members of the house, and you might be able to engage with her in a way that she actually enjoys. 

ignatz: i think you and ignatz would have a great rapport!! he’s not the sort to strike up conversations either, but propinquity is a powerful thing. you have similar interests, which ignatz would love to talk about with you, and i think he’d find you very comfortable to be around. he respects your shy nature, and wouldn’t push you to do anything that made you uncomfortable. he may not gel with your sense of humour that well, but he’d be charmed by it. i get the feeling that he’d have a little bit of a crush on you?? but he’s not really a go-getter in that regard (esp. if he saw you and hilda or claude getting along so well). but no matter what, he’s very fond of you. 

raphael: big brother raph!! he would immediately adopt you and take you under his wing, tbh. raphael is sort of everyone’s adopted brother, but since you’re shy but wacky would really just tug on his heartstrings. he’s the perfect example of someone who can protect you without being mean and strict, because he’s just got such a big, loving heart and he wants you to be okay and well looked after. i think everyone would be surprised you were so close at first, since he’s so loud, but he’d find you really funny!! people are just used to hearing raphael’s raucous laughter from the other side of the monastery bc you’ve said something so left-field. 

leonie: i think you and leonie would get along quite well!! i think she’d be intrigued by how your brain works, because it’s quite different to hers. leonie is a pretty open-minded person (her supports with claude really emphasise this), and she’s exceedingly loyal. i also feel like she would be protective without being mean or strict about it. i don’t see you and leonie being super close or anything, but i think you’d find each other comfortable to be around?? 

other notable connections

caspar: i just think you and caspar would have so much fun together?? he’s a little chaos goblin himself, and i think your sense of humour would line up well with his. i think caspar is surprisingly open-minded, and i get the feeling you two would just be,,, constantly embroiled in some kind of mess. you may be shy, but caspar is not, so similarly with some of the golden deer, you’d just end up friends by his sheer force of extroversion alone. also in a modern au caspar is the sort of gamer who rage quits flkjfgdl at the end of the day, i think you two would end up being great friends!! 

flayn: i think you and flayn would be the best of friends!! like claude, she’s a talker, so she’s the one who’ll fill the space. i think she’s another person who’d love your sense of humour, and she’d probably join in?? meaning you have a ton of inside jokes that nobody else quite gets. flayn is also incredibly open-minded, which you enjoy in people, and i’m sure she has so many things to talk to you about (or adventures for the two of you to go on!!)

mercedes: i don’t quite know why i’ve chosen mercedes, but the vibe is just right?? you both have good intuition, and i think mercedes would enjoy talking with someone about that sort of thing. she’s also very charming and endearing (by my count, anyway), which is something else to stoke a friendship between you. mercedes is also quite easy-going and open-minded, so it’d be very easy for you to maintain a relationship with her!! again, i can’t quite justify this as well as the other two, but i just feel like you’d be close. 

[javis-beretta]

To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before (3)

and here’s part three! sorry, this part doesn’t have too much plot stuff, but that’s only bc the next one is gonna be pretty exciting. thank you to everyone who’s been giving this story love, you’re all angels. enjoy! <3 (also i’m still figuring out some of the plot of this, so message me w your theories on who sent the letters or send me memes u think race would tag you in!) 

part 1 / part 2 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8

The next day, you stayed at school a little late, figuring you could catch Race after track practice to discuss your… arrangement. It also had the added benefit of allowing you to avoid Jack, who you knew was spending most afternoons at the community theatre across town, helping them paint backdrops for an upcoming show.

 (You weren’t stalking him, or memorising his schedule, or anything. You were just observant. You took note of behaviour. That was it.)

 Race was on his last lap around the track when he saw you sitting on the bleachers. You gave him a little wave and his face lit up with a smile. He winked and kept on running. When he was done, and presumably back in the locker room, your phone pinged with four rapid texts from an unknown number.

 hey babe I’m just showering and then I’ll come see you ;)

this is race btw

i’m really good at texting like a boyfriend

fake or otherwise

Even though he couldn’t see you, you rolled your eyes anyway.

 Yeah, okay hotshot

Come find me on the bleachers when you’re ready

When Race showed up, with a red face and wet, curly hair he gave you a cheeky grin, looked around to see some of the track team boys were still milling around, and he placed a quick peck on your cheek. You didn’t let yourself blush, remembering that it was all for show, and you pulled up a Word document on your laptop.

“Okay, so, this is going to be our contract,” you said, preparing yourself for his teasing.

“We have a contract? This isn’t Suits, man. It’s a fake relationship. We don’t need a contract!” 

“Uh, we so do need a contract, Higgins! We need to draw boundaries and limits and we need to stick to them.”

 He rolled his eyes and moved a little nearer to you on the bench, so that he could see your laptop screen.

 “Wow, nothing like a list of comprehensive rules and guidelines to really bring the romance, huh?”

 “Fake-romance,” you corrected him.

 “Yeah, yeah, whatever. So, what’s first on the contract?”

 “Okay, first up, no kissing.”

 He spluttered comically for a bit.

 “No kissing? How are we supposed to convince anyone that we’re dating if we can’t kiss?”

 “Look, plenty of couples avoid PDA. We can still, like, link pinkies or whatever.”

 “Link pinkies? Wha-? Are you living in the 80s? This isn’t Grease, babe.”

 “Look, Race, physical stuff may not mean anything to you, but it’s important to me, okay?”

 “Whoever said physical stuff didn’t matter to me?”, he muttered under his breath. But, after a moment he sighed. “Fiine, put it on the contract.

 You typed it up and looked expectantly at him.

“Okay, you get no kissing, but, number two, you have to hang out with me and my friends at lunch and come to parties with me.”

“Technically, that’s two and three. And, I get parties, but why lunch?”

He stared at the ground.

“Spot always sat with us at lunch, so he’d definitely notice if you were with me and the guys.”

“Fair enough.”

You typed that, and then said, “Also, we cannot tell anyone that this is fake. Gossip spreads like wildfire at this school so nobody can know that this isn’t a real relationship. Not even Albert, or your track team buddies.”

“Obviously. And don’t act like I can’t keep secrets. You can’t tell Davey or Katherine. I had journalism with her last year and I’m pretty sure that she would disapprove of this plan.”

He was right, of course he was.

“Fine, deal. Anything else?”

“Oh! You have to come with me on the ski trip trip in December,” he said triumphantly.

Your high school’s annual ski trip was infamous for being the weekend when most of your school lost their virginity. Some schools had the night after prom, but your school had two days and a night spent in the mountains.

“The ski trip? As in the one just before Christmas break? We’d have to stay together for three months to go on that.”

“Listen, no one in a relationship would ever let their boyfriend go on that trip alone. And, if we’ve gotta keep up until then, then so be it. Spot will definitely be there, so he’ll notice if I’m with someone else. We can break up after the trip, no harm, no foul.”

“Okay, fine. But we will not be sharing a room.”

“Yeah, obviously.”

“Anything else you want me to add, oh wise one?” you asked.

“Uh, well, there is this one thing,” he said, sounding a little hesitant. You motioned for him to go on. “Well, Spot always thought it would be cute if I wrote him little letters and put them in his locker or gave them to him, or whatever, and I never did it. Um, if he saw me giving those to you, he’d probably get pretty jealous.”

“Badass Spot Conlon, who would beat up anyone who looked at him wrong wanted love letters? That’s so cute!”

“Yeah, there’s a lot more to him than just being angry and bitchy. I bet he’s got his college boyfriend writing him all sorts of letters now,” Race scoffed.

“He left you for a college guy? That’s rough, Race. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, its whatever,” Race quickly said. “So, that’s the contract, then?”

“Yeah,” you said, satisfied.

“Perfect,” he grinned, and his blue eyes were twinkling again.

“You do know that you missed the bus today, right?” he said, after a moment.

“Uh, yeah, I was just gonna walk home.”

“Holy shit, what is it with you and walking? Do you not have your license?”

“Uh, I do. But driving terrifies me and I’d probably end up killing someone – or myself – if I drove every day. But, yeah, I don’t mind walking.”

“Well, if you’re dating me, there will be no walking. I’ll give you a lift home and a ride to school in the morning, if you want one.”

“Are you serious? You don’t need to do that, Race.”

“Nah, I want to. What kind of fake-boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?”

He smiled at you and you realised that Race had been right the day before. You could do worse. As far as fake high school boyfriends went, Race was probably one of the best options you had.

“I’d appreciate that. Thanks, Higgins.”

“No biggie. Now, let’s go. The Bachelorette is on tonight and I need to see who Becca chooses.”

Before long, Race had dropped you off at home, with a cheeky wink and promise to text. As soon as you were inside, your phone lit up with a message from him.

see ya bright and early tomorrow morning, girlfriend ;)

You rolled your eyes and typed a quick reply. Then, you went to contacts and your hand hovered over Katherine’s name. You’d have to tell her what had happened with Jack and explain that you were now (somehow) dating Race Higgins.

The phone rang twice, and you could practically hear the smile in her voice when she greeted you, as bright and cheerful as ever. You talked for a little bit about school and she told you about college and you realised that you probably couldn’t put it off for any longer. As soon as you said that you had something to tell her, she sounded more than a little worried.

“What’s up? Is everything okay?”

“This story is going to sound pretty weird but hear me out. You know when I was little, I used to write those letters to myself?”

“Yeah, you said that your mom told you to do it if you ever needed help figuring out your feelings.”

“Yeah, well, not all of the letters were to myself. I wrote some to guys I had crushes on and I swear that I never sent any of them out, but, um, somehow, some of those guys, got their letters?”

“Oh, shit. That sounds stressful. Who’d you write to?”

“That’s the thing that I need to tell you… When you first got with Jack, I thought that I was into him and I wrote him a letter. I was never going to send and I’m pretty sure I didn’t actually have feelings for him, I was just a little torn up because it felt like I was losing my best friend to my sister. But, uh, he got the letter. And, I figured that I should tell you before you heard it from someone else. And, also, uh, Race Higgins and I are dating.” The last sentence slipped out so quickly that you hoped she had missed it.

She was silent for a long time and you were worried that the phone might have died while you were talking and then, you heard a sigh.

“That is… a lot. I’m not going to lie, I am pretty pissed off right now. I don’t care if you were into Jack or not. You wrote a love letter to my boyfriend, while I was dating him. And Race Higgins? Like Spot’s Race Higgins? What the fuck? Look, I’ve got a report due tomorrow, and I really don’t need to be stressed right now, so we can just talk about this some other time.”

She was definitely mad.

“Kath, I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to hurt you, I swear.”

“It’s fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

She hung up. It was not fine. You felt like crying and crumpling yourself into a ball, when your phone pinged with a notification from Instagram.

@racehiggins tagged you in a post.

It was some stupid meme, and you knew he’d only tagged you in it because people from school would see it, but it brought a smile to your face, anyway.

Race was getting pretty good at making you smile, and you hadn’t even been fake-dating for a week. Maybe, this would all work out well.

TAGLIST: @hungoverhellhound @seriously-ceci @the-butterfly-anon @ben-cook-can-cook @pinecovewoods @brendonuriehimself

[lazyfox411]

Not You, Not Me, but Us.

So I wanted to whump keith but then it turned into this whole long angsty established klance 14k+ fic that I spent months working on....yeah...somebody be proud of me lol its the longest thing ive ever written and I'm finally done!!!! thanks to @hastalalaterkeith7152​ and @chasethethace223​ for sticking with me throughout this mess XD

a slightly more coherent summary: while Lance is away on a business trip, Keith unwittingly shares a kiss with someone else. Lance doesn't take to this kindly, and throws Keith out in the cold. Unfortunately for Keith, bad people roam the streets at night.

warnings I guess for violence and injury even though I'm bad at writing fight scenes ahaha and alcohol use I guess, also a kiss and interactions that could be considered non-con, basically just use your own discretion my lovelies <3 id love to answer any questions you guys might have about this story

length is 14467ish words 

“Come on, Keith, don't give me that look,” Lance pleaded, doing his best to avoid his boyfriend’s puppy dog eyes.

“But I'm going to miss you.”

“And I’ll miss you, too. But I’ll be back before you know it. You won’t even realize I'm gone.”

“Are you sure about that?” Keith asked, hefting Lance’s suitcase from the trunk of the car. “It feels like you packed everything but the kitchen sink. Just how long are you planning on staying?” he teased.

“I won’t be able to go anywhere at all if I miss my flight. Hurry up, I still need to get my luggage checked.” Lance pulled his scarf tight against the sharp January wind, and scurried towards the entrance, Keith just steps behind him.

Keith tried not to be clingy. He really did. But Lance was one of the few people in his life who hadn't left him, and Keith hated saying goodbye, even if it was only for a few days while Lance travelled for work.

“You need to let go of my hand now,” Lance informed him, chuckling.

Keith let go, then promptly pulled Lance in for a tight hug. “I love you.”

“I love you too, angel,” Lance murmured. “Just a couple of days, okay? It’ll be fine.”

Keith nodded. “Have a good trip. And be safe,” he called after Lance had shouldered his carry-on and strided to the gate.

He and Lance didn't live together, though they had been talking about it for some time now, but they spent almost all of their free time together at one of their apartments. When Keith parked the car- Lance’s car, that Lance had lent him while he was away- and entered his apartment, he found it dark and completely devoid of life. A thin sheen of dust covered the furniture, and this time Lance wasn't here to scold him for neglecting to clean it. Keith didn't need to counter with the excuse he had no time to clean, he was always working or spending time with Lance. He flopped onto the couch and closed his eyes. Maybe he could catch up on some sleep. Work wasn't just an excuse, it was the truth. He’d had night shifts at the pharmacy for the past week.

The next morning, he crossed off Monday on the calendar, and put a little star on Friday, the day Lance would return. Then he sighed, and got ready for work. At least he didn't have night shifts this week. And he had something to look forward to at the end.

By the time Friday evening rolled around, Keith was exhausted. All he’d done was work; he hadn't declined any extra hours since he had nothing else to do. He was more than content now to let his body meld to the couch, lungs huffing out a relaxing breath. Only three hours until he had to pick up Lance at the airport. They’d texted a little bit, but Lance was busy with meetings most of the day and Keith had work, and the difference in time zones made the whole thing a jumbled mess. It would be good to talk to Lance for real, face to face.

The sound of a notification from his phone woke Keith from a peaceful nap. He searched for Lance’s name in anticipation, but it was a text from Shiro.

Shiro> Party tonight. Just a couple university friends. Want to come? I can give u a ride

Keith> Can’t. I need to pick up Lance in an hour

Shiro> Bring him with u

Keith> He’ll probably just want to rest

Shiro> Ok then bring him home and then I’ll pick u up

Keith frowned. Something was up. Shiro was never this pushy.

Keith> I wouldn't want to go without Lance

Shiro> Hang on I'm going to call you

“Great,” Keith muttered. He picked up on the first ring.

“I’m sure Lance wouldn't mind if you came without him,” Shiro said immediately. “You deserve a break. You’ve been working all week.”

Keith sighed. “Why do you want me to come so bad?”

Shiro paused before saying, “Allura is going to be there.”

“Of course,” Keith groaned, “and you want me to keep you from making a fool of yourself.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Yeah, no,” Keith replied bluntly. “I need to pick up Lance, and I am not going to a party without him. Find somebody else to put on Shiro-the-Love-Struck-Blubbering-Idiot duty.”

“Come on, Keith, you’re like my wingman. Plus I have nobody else.”

“What about Hunk?”

“Busy.”

“Pidge?”

“Also busy.”

“Well, I'm busy, too,” Keith said in frustration. “Allura is just going to have to love you for the hopeless romantic that you are.”

“Thanks a lot,” Shiro said sarcastically.

“Anytime,” Keith replied, matching his tone perfectly. The call ended.

He was just about to leave for the airport when he got another text.

Lance> Hey babe. Flight got cancelled bc of the weather. I was really hoping to see you tonight :( but the next flight out isn't until tomorrow

Keith sank back into the couch and dared a peek out the window, where a few shimmering white flakes were gliding from the sky.

Keith> Ok no problem. Just text me when you need to be picked up

He sent the message and pouted at his phone. One more night. He could wait one more night. Couldn't he?

Keith> I miss you

Lance replied with a collection of carefully selected emojis, and Keith sighed. There was a tight, cold feeling worming its way into his chest. Maybe he should get a cat, a goldfish, something to cure the loneliness bubbling inside him. After a full week of keeping to himself, waiting for Lance, only to have his arrival put off by another painstaking day...Keith was sick and tired of being alone. It was that thought that made him open Shiro’s contact.

Keith> Change of plans. Come pick me up whenever

The house was enormous, set on a lake, the driveway a mile long and revealing through the trees a colorfully lit balcony that overlooked the glistening water. The air outside freezing, filled with the muffled sounds of loud music, but upon stepping over the threshold, Keith was hit with a blast of noise and heat that was generated by people pressed together, laughing and dancing and drinking.

“I thought you said only a few people.” Keith had to yell to be heard over all the music and voices.

Shiro just grinned and shrugged apologetically. He had lied.

Of course. Ever since enrolling for med school, Shiro seemed to have changed, dragging Keith to parties and outings, only to have Keith play third wheel for him and Allura, whom Shiro had been head over heels for ever since discovering she lived on campus nearby him.

Shiro was immediately pulled from Keith’s side by a boisterous group of partiers, leaving Keith to be jostled mercilessly through the crowd. People bumped his elbows, brushed against his shoulders, and breathed their smelly alcohol breath in his face. He couldn't see where he was going, the room was dark one second then alive with neon lights the next. The music blared, bass rattling through his bones and piercing his eardrums, warping the room around him into a colorfully numb, tripped out alternate reality. It was too much. All he wanted was to relax, not get stuck in the middle of this, heart pounding and chest tightening. He had to get out.

He had to get out he had to get out he had to get out.

Keith shoved his way to the edge of the room, away from the lights, away from the people. He pressed himself flat to the wall, wishing wildly for Lance. Lance knew huge social gatherings made him anxious, Lance knew he hated to be surrounded like this. If Lance was here, he’d gently take Keith by the hand, lead him away, somewhere quiet, somewhere safe, and sit with him until he could calm down. But Lance wasn’t here. Even Shiro was nowhere to be seen.

People were starting to look at him weird. Keith did his best to smile politely, and ducked away from the confused and somewhat disgusted faces, finding himself stuck behind yet another wall of people.

“Excuse me,” he squeaked, pressing through. And then he spotted it. A doorway. An escape.

It was slightly ajar, and whatever was behind was shrouded in darkness, but anywhere was better than where he was now, Keith figured. He pushed into the door, which delivered him into a narrow hallway. The air here was less stuffy, still stale, but contrasted by the cold, fresh breeze streaming in through an open window. Keith leaned his face on the cool glass, breath fogging as he gulped the night air like a drug, like it was his lifeblood. The music and voices were still loud, but not so glaring, separated by the door Keith slammed shut. Slowly, his heart rate decreased to something more acceptable.

While one problem had been solved, it was quickly becoming apparent that another had been created. Keith was essentially trapped; there was no way he was going back the way he’d come. People were screaming and now something glass was shattering. He looked around for another exit. The window was out of the question, it was way too high off the ground to make a safe jump. There was a door to his left, but upon turning the handle he found it locked. He heard a toilet flush from inside and decided he didn't want to go in there anyway. That left the stairs at the end of the hallway.

The damp, musty smell of basement got stronger with every step. Keith nearly tripped down the stairs when he heard a series of hair-raising, ungodly cries coming from what could only be a bedroom somewhere.

When he dropped off the staircase he was enveloped by a large room, stained white carpet underneath him and ductwork protruding from the low ceiling above. His shadow danced around the faded wallpaper, cast by the dim glow of a lamp that sat amongst the scattered furniture.

It was quiet here, or quieter. The commotion upstairs had faded to background noise, replaced by an old Pink Floyd album playing from a CD player. Keith grabbed a seat on a sinking, tattered old sofa, sparing a quick look around. The room was vacant, save himself and a couple seated on a couch against the far wall, making out. They didn't even stop to glance at him, and Keith sighed with relief. Maybe he could hide out here until things died down, then just head home. He had no idea what he’d been thinking. Coming to a party, when even he himself knew he was a loner.

He was a loner, but he didn't want to be alone. If only Lance were here.

“Mind if I join you?”

The voice clawed at Keith’s already shredded nerves and he let out a sharp gasp. He jerked his head around to see who it belonged to, and found himself looking into the jarring blue eyes of a stranger. He smiled at Keith, revealing a set of dazzling teeth.

“Uh, sure,” Keith said. He really wasn't in the mood for company.

The boy sat next to him, a little closer than Keith would have preferred, but he didn't say anything. This boy, or young man, Keith deduced to be about his age, maybe a little older, smelled like mint.

“Hey, are you okay?” There was that stupid display of teeth again.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Keith said quickly. “Just, um, parties aren't really my thing. Especially not this one.”

“Huh. I guess I'm a pretty bad host, then, aren't I?”

Keith felt his face go beet red. “You...host? This is...your?” He stammered, eyes going wide.

“Haha,” the guy laughed good-naturedly, “no worries, gorgeous. You didn't hurt my feelings. But hey, look at me, still being a terrible host. Can I get you anything? A drink?”

“Yeah, okay,” Keith said. Maybe that was just what he needed. His nerves were about to jump off a ledge, and this guy wasn’t helping, with his unnaturally perfect teeth and pointed chin and shoulder slapping and long blonde hair, so blonde it was almost white.

The guy, Keith still hadn't caught his name, vanished gracefully up the stairs. Keith searched for an exit again, coming up empty-handed. Well, he supposed, being stuck with one person is a lot better than being stuck with a hundred.

He returned surprisingly quickly, carrying two glasses and an assortment of bottles. He poured them each a drink and handed one to Keith, who hesitantly sniffed the sweet-scented liquid and then took a drink. He had expected the alcohol to rake down his throat, but instead it slid down easily and settled in his belly, almost immediately kindling a slow burn.

“So, what do you do?”

“Huh?” Keith shook himself from his thoughts.

“You know, for work. Like a job.”

“Oh, right. I work at the pharmacy, in town. Mostly stocking shelves.” The flush that had finally begun to recede from Keith’s cheeks was returning. He hoped it sounded like a boring job. If he was boring enough, maybe he would be left alone.

“Neat.”

No, Keith thought, not neat. I’m boring. Go back to your party, dude, you’re creeping me out. It was true, this guy, Keith still had no idea who he was, was even closer than before.

“You really don't want to be here, I can tell.”

Keith blanched. “What? No, no, it’s not that, I uh...”

“It’s okay. I get it. You've probably got way cooler things to do with your Friday night.”

Keith couldn't help but scoff out a laugh at that. “Are you kidding? The only reason I’m here is because Shiro practically dragged me. Do you know Shiro?” Keith asked, just in case. He should know who Shiro was, Shiro had said the owner of the house was his friend, hadn't he?

“Of course,” the blond-haired boy rolled his eyes. “Everybody knows Shiro. How long have you known him, though? I haven't seen you around campus.”

“No,” Keith cleared his throat, “I don't go to the university. Shiro and I have known each other our whole lives, pretty much.”

“Your name is Keith, isn't it? I think Shiro’s talked about you before.”

“Yeah, that's me.” Keith smiled a little bit. Somebody actually knew who he was. He wasn't some loser who was only here to be a third wheel.

“He asked you to come because of Allura, didn't he?”

“He did,” Keith laughed softly, “how’d you know?”

“You’re not the only one he drags places. And I gotta say, Allura is a nice girl. Not my type, though. I’ve...got my eye on somebody else now.” He flashed his sparkling teeth again.

Keith felt his ears go red for some reason, and he looked down at his lap. He was surprised to find that he was holding an empty glass. When had that happened? Had it happened more than once tonight? He couldn't recall. They’d been talking for a while.

“I can get you another one,” the guy piped up. Keith made a point to find out his name soon.

Something deep inside him told him that maybe this was a bad idea. Something was off. But he felt warm inside. He wasn't anxious anymore. He felt okay.

“Sure, I’ll have another.”

When he had replenished their glasses, Keith decided to ask, “Hey, what’s your nam-”

“Can I ask you something?” He was cut short.

“Okay.”

“Do you think,” the guy set his arm on the back of the sofa, strangely close to Keith’s shoulders, “that some people, even though they don't know each other that well, are just...really good together?”

Keith sat quietly, sipping his drink. He was confused. What was this guy talking about?

“You mean like Shiro and Allura?” Keith asked.

There were the teeth again, paired with a somewhat exasperated chuckle. “I guess, but I was thinking of someone else, someone...closer...” he trailed off, eyes rising and settling on Keith’s. It was unnerving. Like a tiger locking onto its prey.

Suddenly there were fingertips resting on his cheek, burning into his skin. Keith froze, eyes wide as an owl’s. The fire inside of him flickered, then was doused to smoke. The guy was leaning in. He was leaning in and he was kissing him.

Keith couldn't move. He was stuck, time had stopped, he was trapped and he was kissing someone. Someone who wasn’t Lance. Why didn’t he stop? Why wouldn't he move? His limbs didn't want to cooperate, his head was filled with white noise, he was frozen in shock, he couldn’t even breathe. He couldn’t get free. Why was this lasting so long, why couldn’t he make it stop?

When their lips finally broke apart, Keith was still petrified. He couldn't figure out what had happened or why. What had just occurred? What had brought it on?

The fingertips were coming at him again, probing his face, searching for another kiss.

“No,” Keith forced the word out of his mouth. “No, I...I can’t. I have a boyfriend. I have…” He had to get out. He had been wrong. One person was way, way worse than a hundred.

Keith stood up, fighting against the room as it spun around him. Whatever he’d been drinking was catching up to him. He needed out. Stairs. The stairs would get him out.

He darted up the stairs, feet catching and sending him sprawling. He shakily rose and continued the climb. He didn’t look back. He didn’t want to.

Upstairs, the crowd had thinned to a more tolerable throng. Maybe it was late, or early into the next morning, Keith couldn’t tell. Time wasn’t exactly working for him right now.

“Shiro!” he cried, spotting his friend’s undercut and broad shoulders.

“Heeeey, Keifth,” Shiro dragged out the words, and his pronunciation was more than a little off. Great.

There was a girl latched into Shiro's arm, and she appeared to be the only thing keeping him from toppling flat on his face. Judging by her undeniably beautiful dark skin and silvery hair, this was probably the Allura that Shiro never shut up about. So he had managed to woo her without Keith’s help after all.

“I don’t fthink really I can drive, man,” Shiro slurred, “I’m have to thpend the night here.”

“Yes,” Allura chimed, “I really don’t think he’s in any state to be behind the wheel. Will you be able to get home, Keith? That is your name, right?”

“Yeah,” Keith said. He honestly wasn’t sure which question he was answering. Damn Shiro, standing there with rosy cheeks and glassy eyes, stupid grin plastered on his face. Making him come here, only to ditch him and get hammered and leave him stranded without a ride home.

“Goodnight, Shiro,” Keith muttered. “Nice to meet you, Allura.” He turned on his heel, and didn’t even care if anyone stared when he slammed the door on his way out.

His first thought was to call Lance. Lance could come pick him up. But no, no he couldn’t because he was away, and if Keith called him then he’d know he was at this party and maybe would figure out what had happened, that Keith had kissed somebody, somebody he definitely should not have.

A cab was his next option. He quickly found a number on his phone and punched it in, then sat down on the front step to wait. He'd rather freeze to death out here than go back in that house ever again. Though surprisingly, he didn’t feel all that cold. He was shivering, but he wasn’t cold. It was a strange feeling.

Keith woke the next morning nursing a slight headache. He cracked his eyes open blearily and found he was draped unceremoniously on the couch, jacket and shoes still on. He forced himself to the bathroom and splashed some cold water over his face, and as he reached into the medicine cabinet for aspirin, last night’s events came flooding back to him.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked dirty. He felt dirty. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the cool glass of the mirror, but now all he could see were those horribly perfect teeth. What the hell had he done? What the hell had he done? What was he going to tell Lance? Keith groaned. He didn’t want to deal with this right now. He didn’t want to deal with this at all. Sleep beckoned him, and he yearned to go, to fall asleep and forget this entire week had ever happened. The shrill buzz of his text alert made him wince.

Lance> Good news!!! Planes are flying today!!! My flight should arrive around 2pm, do u think u can pick me up?

Keith> Yeah ill be there

Lance> Can’t wait to see you!!!<3

Keith let out a sound somewhere between a whine and a growl, shuffling back to the couch. He wanted to just crawl in bed, but he knew if he did that there was a good chance he would never get up. What was he going to do? He couldn’t tell Lance. Could he? Lance would flip. Or would he? Lance seemed to freak out over trivial matters, but when things got serious so was Lance.

Keith didn’t know what to do. He was tired and confused and achy, and through his muddled thoughts he wondered if maybe he was making too big a deal of this. After all, he hadn’t been the one doing the kissing. He’d been kissed, yes, but he hadn’t started it, he hadn’t condoned it, he hadn’t asked for it. Surely, Lance would understand that. Wouldn’t he?

Waiting in the airport terminal, Keith felt sick. His hands were clammy and wouldn’t stop shaking, he was cold and queasy, sweating through his jacket but shivering as nerves churned in his stomach. He still hadn’t decided what he was going to say to Lance.

“Keith!” Lance's smile, though bittersweet to Keith, brought a sense of warmth and comfort. Lance jogged from the gate, dodging cranky travelers and luggage carts, and let his own luggage fall to the ground so he could wrap Keith in his arms and swing him around. The room was spinning when Lance set him down. He must have paled, because Lance seemed to notice something was off. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Keith replied quickly. He snuggled into Lance's embrace, breathing in his familiar scent. Not mint. Better than mint; he smelled like Lance.

“You sure? You don’t look so good,” Lance murmured, pressing a hand to Keith's forehead to check for a fever that was non-existent.

“I just missed you.”

“I missed you, too. So much. And I’m so glad I'm back, because the whole time I was gone there was nothing more I wanted to see in the world than your face.” Lance smiled sheepishly when Keith didn’t respond. “Sorry. Too sappy?”

Keith shook his head. “Lance, I… I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?” Lance asked gently. He was still smiling, encouragingly, sweetly. Keith ran his gaze over Lance's beautiful, perfect teeth, the teeth he loved to see, the teeth that would never be pushy, or creepy, that would always care about him. He stared into the sea of Lance's eyes, getting utterly lost as waves rocked the pathetic little raft he was floating on. Waves of love, unconditional, undying love, they were drowning him. But it was so warm. So safe. Not like the warmth he'd felt last night, no, this felt good, this felt right, not forced, not rushed. Lance loved him. Nobody else loved him, not like Lance did. Nobody else had ever really loved him.

What if, after what had happened, Lance didn’t want to love him anymore? Keith didn’t think he could handle that. He couldn’t take the chance. He couldn’t lose the best thing he'd ever had.

“What is it?” Lance repeated, frowning as he watched Keith space out right before his eyes.

“Smile again? Please?”

“Uh, sure,” Lance chuckled, parting his lips awkwardly. Keith was sure. Those were truly the most gorgeous teeth he'd ever seen.

“You have really nice teeth,” Keith said.

Lance smiled wider. “Thanks. Now, I don’t know about you, but I am totally ready to go home.”

Keith nodded. Lance picked up his bags and put an arm around Keith's shoulders as they started walking. “Do you want to hang out at my place?” he asked.

Keith gulped. That didn’t sound like a good idea right now. “I’m…kinda tired. It’s been a long week.”

“No kidding,” Lance huffed dramatically. “That’s no problem though, I have some notes to go over anyway. Stupid business presentations…” he then launched into a detailed recap of his trip. Keith listened without really hearing, leaning into Lance's warmth, knowing full well he didn’t deserve to. He didn’t deserve Lance's affection. He didn’t deserve Lance.

Guilt. It had settled in Keith's stomach like a ton of bricks, hard, heavy, and painful. Storms roiled in the back of his mind, rumbling feelings of doubt and shame. He told Lance everything. Everything. And in turn, Lance was open and honest with him. So why, all the times that he'd tried to say something, to call, send a text, why had his fingers frozen, his voice stopped, lungs shriveled away inside his hollow, guilty chest? It wasn’t even his fault. He hadn’t been doing the kissing. But he hadn’t pulled away either.

It was eating him up inside, stomach twisting into knots and gnawing at his ribs like a lion licking its kill clean. Keith couldn’t stand it. He tried to tell himself he'd done nothing wrong, that he wasn’t at fault, but then, surely it must be? He couldn’t bring himself to admit to Lance he'd done something wrong. Because then Lance might not want him. And that rejection would be even worse than the one he was feeling right now.

He lasted about a week. Until he was shaking because he couldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t function, knowing he'd done something that could hurt the person he loved most in the world, and he still hadn’t come clean about it.

Keith rolled over in bed and picked up his phone to check the time. 2:36 am. Sleep wouldn’t come, he was beyond tired now, practically zombified and just roaming the streets under a barely human disguise. What would Lance do if he were me? he asked himself, like he'd done countless times before. And he knew. Lance would feel awful. He'd be disgusted with himself, just as Keith was now. But he would be honest. Keith opened his phone again.

Keith> Hey r u awake?

Lance> Barely. Whats up

Keith> Can I tell you something

Lance> You can tell me anything babe. U alright?

Keith froze for what felt like the millionth time that week. You weren’t supposed to break up over the phone. Not that that was what he wanted. No, that was the last thing he would ever want. But it was easily what might happen.

Keith> I think it needs to be in person. Can I come over

He knew full well it was late. Or, technically early. But this couldn’t wait. Not any longer.

Lance> Sure

There was only one bus that made a run at 3 in the morning, and Keith was the only one on it. He paid the driver and stumbled out onto the curb in front of Lance's apartment. If he didn’t do this soon he was going to be sick.

As soon as Lance opened the door, he knew something was wrong. Keith's eyes were red, not teary yet, but on the way.

“What’s wrong?” Lance asked immediately, leading Keith to the couch and sitting close beside him. Keith shied away.

“I…I need to tell you something, Lance,” Keith choked out, struggling to stifle the thick layer of emotion that was stuck in his throat.

Lance looked like he was almost scared, rubbing Keith's arm. “What is it, baby?”

The words came out in a rushed, stuttered mess, and once they started Keith couldn’t make them stop. “While you were-were a-away, Friday night, Sh-Shiro d-dragged me to this stupid party, and, and I told him, I told him I didn’t want to go, especially not without you, but he kept saying something about being a wingman, and I don’t know, I went, Lance. I went, and there was this guy, and he…we…kissed.”

Keith felt his heart clench when the hand on his arm stopped stroking, and Lance's face fell. There was a new expression there, one he hadn’t quite seen before. Hesitant anger, festering sadness, overwhelming confusion, all stemming from betrayal. And above all, hurt. It was a physical pain, beating throughout his entire being, to see Lance hurt. It was excruciating to know he'd caused it.

“You…what?” Lance nearly whispered.

“Lance, please, I'm sorry,” Keith pleaded, taking his boyfriend’s hand, “it was an accident, I didn’t mean for it to happen, I swear.”

“You don’t just accidentally kiss someone, Keith.” Lance's eyes were cold. His voice shook.

“It’s not my fault, Lance. He kissed me!”

“Well, did you at least try to stop him?”

“I couldn’t! I don’t know, it was like I was frozen, I couldn’t move, I didn’t know what to do! It didn’t mean anything, Lance, you have to believe me. And it’s just been eating me up inside, I had to tell you, I'm sorry.”

“So the only reason you told me was because you couldn’t deal with the guilt.” It wasn’t a question. Lance jerked his hand away, expression steeling over.

“No, that’s not what I meant, I…” Keith desperately searched for any hint of compassion in Lance's features. It was fruitless. “I'm sorry! I didn’t want any of this to happen, Lance, I didn’t! I love you! You know that!”

Lance shook his head in exasperation, staring up at the ceiling with a humorless laugh. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

“Too good…to…what? What are you talking about?”

“You,” Lance waved his hands between them, “us! This! This perfect relationship, with the perfect person. It was too good to be true, because you can’t just go around kissing random people without meaning it! That’s not how life works, Keith! What about when we kiss, does that mean anything to you?”

“Lance, of course it does! It was just a kiss, okay? What we have is real, that was just…just…” Keith felt tears sting the corners of his eyes. His throat prickled. What was this? What was he doing? He wasn’t a crier.

“I don’t want to hear it.” Lance wasn’t usually a crier either, and yet here they were.

“What do you want to hear, then? I'm sorry? I’ll say it a million times, Lance, from the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.”

“I can’t believe you! You think I'm just going to bend over backwards because you apologized? I'm not that shallow. I'm not you.”

Anger and pain flared in Keith's belly. Couldn’t Lance see how awful he felt about this? Why was it so hard to forgive? It was one stupid kiss, and this was one stupid, stupid fight…

“I'm not perfect, okay, Lance? Surprise! I have flaws. I make bad decisions and I do things I regret. But you’re not perfect either!”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Lance cried indignantly.

“It means…it means,” Keith searched for the words. He could feel his lips trembling. “You're annoying! You sing too much, and you never shut up about your family, and you always spam my phone, and post too many selfies, and what about Nyma, at the office? You're constantly flirting with her!”

Lance's eyes widened, then narrowed to slits. “You really wanna go there, Keith? I can play the game, too. You work too much. You're impulsive. You never clean your apartment, and you refuse to get a haircut. And don’t even get me started on how clingy you are. God, you are clingy. And you're talking shit about my family? And accusing me of cheating, when you're the one who went and kissed somebody behind my back? I can’t believe I ever loved you!”

“Take that back,” Keith snapped. His entire body jerked with the force of the statement. He couldn’t see properly; his eyes were welled up with tears.

“I will not! It’s the truth!”

“Please, Lance,” Keith tried one more time, “I'm begging you, you have to know I didn’t intend for this to happen. Shiro dragged me there, and then we started drinking, and I don’t know, things just got out of hand.”

Lance looked like he hated Keith in that moment. Keith felt a strong, genuine urge to kiss him. He held back.

“Get out,” Lance hissed.

“But—”

“Get the hell out, Keith! I never want to see you again!”

Keith shakily rose to his feet. Lance wasn’t joking. He spared one last glance behind him, at the boy he loved, the only person he could truly be himself around, who hadn’t left him, the only person he could ever be happy with, the only one he ever wanted to be happy with. Lance glared back.

“I'm sorry,” Keith said softly, his hand on the doorknob. “I love you.” He left Lance's apartment for what might be the last time.

It was a cold, starless night. Wind whipped at his hair, and froze the tears that streaked his face. They kept flowing, steady and frigid, no matter how hard he wiped at them. Why hadn’t he brought a coat? Or some gloves, or a hat, or anything that might ease the numbness that was taking over his body. But perhaps that wasn’t entirely from the weather.

Even with the wind buffeting past his ears, Keith heard the telltale whine of heavy brakes. The bus. He was still two blocks away.

“No, no, no no no,” Keith muttered, willing his legs to move faster. He skidded around the corner, but it was too late. He stumbled after the fading tail lights of the bus, only to collapse in defeat against the hard, frosty surface of the bench that sat at the bus stop. The street was shrouded in darkness now, except for a single streetlight that hung above Keith’s head. A spotlight, saying “hey, everybody. Look at this loser.”

Keith put his head in his hands, fresh tears spilling into his palms. How had he managed to screw things up so bad? He hadn’t meant any of the things he'd said about Lance, Keith loved his singing, and his family, and he knew that Lance and Nyma were nothing more than friendly colleagues.

“Stupid,” he muttered, raking in breath, “stupid, stupid, stupid. You just had to go and mess it up, just like you always do. What did Lance ever see in you anyway?” Keith asked himself, face tipped to the sky as a dusting of precipitation—rain, snow, he couldn’t tell, he didn’t care—came falling upon him. Maybe this was for the best. Lance deserved so much better than him anyway, right? Right.

Keith shivered, wrapping trembling arms around himself in a useless effort to get warm. He would just have to walk home. He didn’t have enough money on him for a cab and there was no way was he going to sit around waiting in the cold for the next dumb bus to come.

The side streets were darker, but also faster, and so Keith ducked through alleyways and under sparsely lit streetlights towards his own apartment. He was pretty much all cried out, and what he could now tell was snow was washing away the salty mess that coated his cheeks. That didn’t stop a little hiccough from heaving out of his chest every so often. He couldn’t have stopped them if he tried.

He hadn’t gotten very far before he heard the crunch of pebbles against the sidewalk coming from behind him. A stray cat, maybe? No, these were footsteps, much heavier than a cat’s. A person. Keith quickened his pace, and the crunching behind him sped up, too. It was too dark to sneak a proper glance behind, but he was pretty sure he saw the glisten of a smile, menacing, hungry. After taking several random turns without shaking the guy, Keith was sure: someone was following him.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, clumsily scrolling through his contacts. Without thinking, he clicked on Lance.

“Pick up, pick up,” he hissed, almost jogging now, hoping to lose whoever was trailing him. Of course Lance didn’t answer. Who else was there to call? Lance was closest, and by the time he got ahold of Shiro, or anyone else for that matter, he could be dead meat.

It had just occurred to Keith that calling the police might be a good idea when it happened. He felt it more than saw it, another presence, a figure surging towards him from the depths of an alley. And before Keith could react, someone had grabbed him.

“Get offa me!” he growled, struggling against strong hands that pinned his arms behind his back.

The only response he got was laughter.

“I called the cops!”

“No, you didn’t.” Someone, a man with a deep, rasping voice, was bending over pick up his phone from the ground, where it had fallen, unlocked, from Keith's grip. Keith could almost picture the smirk on the guy’s face as he asked, “Who’s Lance?”

Up until now Keith had thought he only had two assailants; one holding him and the other holding his phone. But a third voice piped up, a snarky, weaseling tone that said, “Oh, look, you’ve got a little heart by his name. Why don’t we give lover boy a call?”

“Leave him out of this,” Keith snarled, trying to jerk his arms free. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

“Don’t worry, we just want to have a little fun.”

A fist slammed into his gut at the word, and Keith bit back a yelp, gulping for breath. This was not his idea of fun. If he could just get free then he could fight back. He stomped on his capturer’s foot. The hands around his wrists loosened, and Keith jerked free.

He could see the dim outlines of the three men. They surrounded him, still laughing, a sound that haunted Keith from the party. It was a funny sort of laugh, like maybe they were drunk.

Still winded from having the air knocked out of him, Keith swung his arms up just in time to block another punch. He wasn’t completely helpless. He could fight. But against three angry lunatics…

His strategy was defense. Duck, block, swing, repeat. The darkness wasn’t helping. As soon as Keith felt his fist connect with something, someone else’s fist connected with him. The fresh snow was slippery underneath his feet.

He took a hit to the face that sent him reeling, the sickening metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth. He could feel it, hot and sticky, trickling from his nose, his lips, his knuckles, busted open.

Shaking away dizziness, Keith readied himself for another battering. He wasn’t prepared when two of his attackers charged him, pinning him to the wall. His spine rubbed against the jagged brick and he gasped for air as he fought their hold.

With two people holding him back, the third was free to do some serious damage. Keith couldn’t hold back the cries of pain that escaped him as fists and feet pounded him, no sign of slowing, no sign of mercy.

He wasn’t sure how far these people were going to take this. He didn’t want to find out. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t know if these people wanted to kill him, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let it happen. Using the two guys on either side of him to boost himself up, Keith aimed a kick that sent the third sprawling on the ground, crashing into nearby trash bins with a loud clash.

They were all tired. Keith could see it in their body language, the way their shoulders slouched beyond a normal fighter’s stance, the way their chests heaved. The one he'd kicked was still on the ground behind him, the other two backed into a corner in front of him.

Maybe he could win this. Maybe he could make it out of here. Maybe…

Maybe the guy behind him wasn’t as out of commission as Keith had thought. Because the next thing he knew, something had clocked him on the back of the head, and he went down, body smacking against the pavement, ears ringing, vision filling with brightly colored stars.

“Oh, shit.”

“Is he dead?”

“I don’t know, and I'm not sticking around to check. Come on.”

Keith blinked wearily as the three people took off into the night, feet pounding against the sidewalk. He lay there in the alleyway, pain throbbing through his head, seeping into his limbs, searing across his chest. Tiny snowflakes landed on his skin. It hurt too much to brush them away. It felt kind of nice anyway, cool and soothing on the bruises that were beginning to swell. But it still hurt. Keith moaned as everything melded into one swirling, nauseating haze.

“Damn it, Keith,” Lance huffed, hovering over his phone. “Just answer me.”

Keith had called roughly ten minutes after leaving, which had prompted Lance to throw his phone across the room. But after staring at the wall in silence for the better part of half an hour, Lance had gone to retrieve it and sent Keith a quick text.

Lance> Hey

It had gone unanswered, so Lance had sent another.

Lance> I'm sorry I flipped out. Can we talk?

Still no answer.

Lance> Keith?

Lance> Keith I know you're mad at me but can u please answer just so I know you're ok?

Lance> keith

Lance> KEITH

And so that had led him here, pacing the floor of his apartment. The rational part of him—the part that was still furious with Keith not just for what he'd done, but also what he'd said—knew that Keith was just upset, and was giving him the silent treatment, payback for not picking up his call. But another part of him, the part that still cared, and probably would never truly stop caring about Keith—that part was afraid. What if something had happened him? What if his bus crashed? The weather wasn’t exactly great for driving. What if he'd gotten locked out of his apartment? It had happened to Lance often enough.

Lance knew he would never be able to sleep. He knew what he'd said had really hurt Keith, but Keith had really hurt him. Kissing somebody else? Lance would never have done that. He was a naturally flirtatious person, and he was well aware of it, but ever since he'd begun dating Keith, he'd made sure to be polite and nothing more to anybody else. Keith was the love of his life, and Lance would never do anything to jeopardize that. Even now that Keith had, Lance wasn’t sure he was willing to let go.

Lance> if you don’t answer me in thirty seconds I'm coming to find u

That was it. Lance pulled his jacket on, grabbed his keys, and went out into the snow.

Keith wasn’t really aware of time passing, but when he squinted out of swollen eyes, a dull, grey daylight was just beginning to sneak its way around the edges of buildings, still too dark to make out anything but shadows. He could feel the hard ground underneath him, and a pool of wetness that had been last night’s snow. He shivered, even though the cold was starting to fade, replaced by a strange, stinging tingle.

Pain stabbed at his chest when he drew breath, and a soft, whining moan left him on the exhale. Obviously no one had heard last night’s scuffle, because here he was, body throbbing against the wet cement. The melted snow felt good on his bruised skin, but that was about the only comfort he could find. Too exhausted and hurt to move, Keith lay there and let the world spin around him, hoping that someone would find him soon.

He allowed his mind to swim in and out of consciousness, listening to the gentle flutter of pigeons, and water dripping from rooftops. He focused on that, or tried to, tried not to think, not to feel the pain that coursed through his being. It was starting to disappear now, replaced almost entirely by the tingling sensation.

Everything around him was a blurry mess when he heard the squeal of brakes and slam of a car door, as if they were far away, separated from the real world by a fuzzy tunnel of time and space.

And then Keith heard his name. Is this what death feels like, he wondered, was some angel-voiced deity calling out to him?

“Keith!” He heard it again, louder this time. He knew that voice. This wasn’t some higher power, calling him to the afterlife. No, this was his boyfriend. He needed that voice.

“Lance,” he croaked.

“Keith, oh my god, what happened? Who did this to you?”

“Lance,” Keith rasped, “m’sorry. I...didn’t mean to—” he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth as Lance touched his shoulder, and winced at the way his chest rejected the sudden intake of air.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Lance murmured, quickly pulling his hand away. “Can you tell me what hurts?”

Keith mumbled something unintelligible.

“Keith, now’s not the time to play tough guy. I need you to tell me what hurts and how bad, right now.”

“Ev’thing,” Keith slurred. “Pretty bad.”

“Can you get up? Keith? Answer me, buddy.”

Keith moaned and pressed his face further into the ground.

“That’s it, I'm calling an ambulance,” Lance said, whipping out his cell phone out of his pocket. As he dialed the three digits, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over Keith's near-lifeless frame. “Hang in there. Help is on the way.”

“He’s sleeping, but you can go in to see him if you’d like.”

“Thank you,” Lance sighed as the nurse let him into Keith's room. He eased himself into an old wooden chair next to the bed and let his hand find Keith's.

Keith lay there, fast asleep under a mound of blankets that moved with the steady rise and fall of his chest. He'd needed stitches in his lip, and in a few other cuts on his face. Lance couldn’t bear to look at the grotesque bruises that marred his soft, porcelain skin, and he busied his eyes with the cream walls of the room and pale blue curtains pulled firmly over the window. But he wasn’t able to keep his eyes off Keith for long.

He ghosted his lips over the tender skin of Keith's cheek in a delicate kiss, gently tucking a strand of loose hair behind his ear.

“I'm so sorry, angel,” Lance whispered. “This is all my fault.”

“Are you two a couple?”

Lance sat up in surprise, averting his gaze to the doctor who had just entered.

“We’re,” Lance paused. Were they still a couple? Keith had kissed someone, someone who wasn’t Lance, and Lance had told him to get out, that he never wanted to see him again. A slight part of him had meant it, but…

“We’re really close,” Lance replied. “He is gonna be okay, right?”

“Yes. I know he looks pretty rough, but with plenty of rest he’ll be just fine. You're lucky you found him when you did, temperatures dipped fairly low last night. Too much longer and he could have begun to develop hypothermia.”

Lance pressed his fingers over his lips. He couldn’t do anything other than nod. Keith could have died. He could have frozen to death, all alone, because Lance had screamed at him and made him go outside in the middle of the night, in the beginning of a storm.

“It’s my fault,” Lance said. His throat felt tight.

“What do you mean?”

“I…we fought…and I told him get lost. I made him leave, he never would’ve gotten hurt if I would’ve just calmed down and let him stay. It’s all my fault,” Lance rubbed furiously at the tears starting to trickle from his eyes, “it’s all my fault.”

“Sir, if you can't remain calm, I'm going to need to ask you to leave.” The doctor looked at him, eyes caring but voice stern.

Lance nodded. He took a deep breath. “I know. I'm sorry. I just…when I found him, lying there, he was so small and so still I thought he was dead. I could never live with myself if he was dead.” Lance shook his head.

“I trust the police were contacted about the incident?” the doctor changed the subject.

“Yeah. They filed a report and stuff, and they’re trying to find whoever assaulted him. They're going to come by and ask Keith a few questions once he's feeling better.”

“Good. Well, that’s all I have to say, other than to remind you to keep the both of you calm and comfortable. Someone on staff will be by to check on Keith in an hour. If he wakes up before then, just make sure he knows he's safe, and tell him to go back to sleep. The pain medication will most likely make him drowsy, so it shouldn’t be a problem. If you need anything, the nurses are always walking the halls. Don’t hesitate to give us a shout.”

“Thank you,” Lance said as he processed the information. “Thank you so much, Dr…I'm sorry, I missed your name.”

“Smythe,” the man said, turning on his heel and leaving the room with a wink.

Lance settled down in the old, hard chair, sneaking his hand around Keith's once again.

The first thing Keith was aware of was a sense of weightlessness. He was floating. Maybe he really was dead.

That possibility was immediately ruled out when he tried sitting up. Pain flared through his ribs and seized his brain as the world began turning much too fast. He flopped back down with a groan.

“Keith?” The voice was soft on his pounding head. Exhaustion tugged at every fiber of his being, willing him to return to the blissful darkness of sleep, but he knew that voice. He needed that voice. He did his best to speak back.

“La,” was all he managed, still fighting the swimming haze that clouded his mind.

“Yeah, baby, it’s me,” Lance cooed.

Keith blearily forced his eyes open. He blinked, and slowly took in the view around him. “Where’m I?”

“You're in the hospital, love.” Lance hovered over him, speaking like he was calming an abused puppy. His face was pinched with worry.

Keith panicked. Hospitals meant you were hurt, bad. Hospitals meant doctors and needles and stitches and anesthesia and no knowledge or control over what was going on. He had to get out.

Trapped underneath the mountain of blankets, Keith writhed to get free despite the heavy ache of every bone in his body screaming at him not to. A pair of hands pushed him firmly back onto the bed.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Lance said quickly, “you're okay, Keith. It’s okay.”

“I’m scared,” Keith whimpered. He wanted to slap himself for admitting that, but he couldn’t think straight and he had no clue what was going on and he needed Lance to understand.

“It’s alright, baby,” Lance murmured. “You're safe. I'm right here, I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Just lie still, you're safe now.”

Keith couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like Lance was crying. “M’sorry,” he mumbled.

“No, no,” Lance said softly, cupping a hand under Keith's jaw, “you don’t need to apologize right now. Just go back to sleep. Can you do that for me?”

Keith nodded slightly, his movements already weak from exhaustion. Sleep overtook him easily.

When Keith woke up next, he felt a lot less weightless and a lot more aware. He tentatively touched his fingers to his temple. His head still hurt. Everything hurt, a dull, persistent ache that settled over him and wouldn’t go away.

“Lance?” he coughed. No answer. A glance around the room told him he was alone, the lights dimmed, doors and curtains shut tight. Had Lance been here at all, or was it just a dream?

Keith sighed. Lance wasn’t here; he had no reason to be. Any relationship they had was pretty much over. Lance wanted Keith out of his life, he had made that pretty clear.

After struggling to disentangle himself from the blanket mound, Keith rose to his feet. Or, he tried to. His knees wobbled and the room spun, and he gripped the edge of the bed to keep his balance. Being upright hurt more, and he could feel what little energy he had leaking away. He was shaking after just two seconds.

Keith froze when the door clicked open to reveal Lance, of all people, sipping steaming liquid from a styrofoam cup.

Lance's eyes widened. “What do you think you're doing?”

“I…um…” Keith stared at Lance blankly, knees buckling. He had no idea what he was doing. He might have been a little more out of it than he’d like to admit.

Lance sighed and set his drink on the bedside table amongst the many other empty cups and soda cans that had accumulated there.

“Come on, let’s get you back to bed,” Lance reached out to him.

“No,” Keith snapped, pushing the hands away. He didn’t want anybody touching him, not right now, not when he was hurt and confused.

“Yes,” Lance clipped off the word. “Bed. Now.”

“I don’t need to listen to you,” Keith said, warily eyeing Lance's arms coming toward him again. He really didn’t feel well. Too much longer and he was either going to pass out or throw up.

“Yes, you do. Doctor’s orders. And if you don’t follow them right away, I'm calling him in here. So get your butt in bed, grouchypants.”

Keith sunk into the bed with a grunt, and fumbled to pull up the blankets. It hurt to move.

“Let me help,” Lance offered. He arranged the blankets and fluffed the pillow with military precision, but there was something missing, a loving-kindness that Keith had grown used to. Lance pulled his chair closer to the bed. “How’s that?”

“Good,” Keith nodded. Then he frowned. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“What do mean by that?” Lance tilted his chin back defensively.

“I'm just going to end up saying something stupid again. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I can handle myself just fine, thank you very much. And I have a right to be here, I am both your emergency contact and the one who found you knocked out and shivering in the slush.”

“Lance, what happened?”

“What happened?” Lance asked incredulously. “Why don’t you tell me? You're the one who was half dead in an alley! Broken ribs, borderline hypothermic, concussion, multiple lacerations, whatever the hell that even means—”

“No, I mean…what happened to us?”

“Oh.”

Yeah, oh, Keith thought miserably. All Lance seemed to care about was that he'd gotten beat up. Not one of his best days, sure, but all that had stemmed from the now-missing link in their relationship.

“I don’t know, Keith. I don’t know. I love you, but I don’t understand how you let that happen, kissing some stranger while I'm halfway across the country. And it’s just killing me to see you all laid up like this, when it’s my fault for making you go out in that storm, in the middle of the night—”

“Stop.” Keith groped around the top of the bed for Lance's hand and eventually settling on grabbing his wrist. “S’ not your fault. I should have been more careful.”

“Can we just not talk about it right now?” Lance asked. “You need to rest, and I…I just can't.”

“Okay,” Keith whispered. He let go of Lance's arm.

“How do you feel? Somebody is supposed to come around soon to give you another dose of pain meds.”

“Spectacular,” Keith muttered.

“This is humiliating.”

“Keith, there is nothing humiliating about a wheelchair. There are a lot of people who would be very offended by what you just said.”

“No,” Keith groaned, “not the wheelchair itself. The fact that even though I am completely capable of walking on my own, I'm being forced to sit and have you parade me around the parking lot.”

“Completely capable? Keith, you almost passed out because you sat up too fast. Besides, I think it would be fun,” Lance said innocently.

“Well, it’s not. Just hurry up and push me. I want to get out of this damn thing.”

Keith was pretty sure he fell asleep on the ride to his apartment, because the next thing he knew, he was home and Lance was easing him into bed. Whatever drugs they’d given him at the hospital must still have been taking effect, because he was too tired to protest.

“Do you want a snack?” Lance asked. “Or a drink?”

“No. I just want to sleep.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“Go home, Lance. You don’t need to look after me.”

“I don’t like the idea of you here all by yourself.”

“I’ve always been by myself, Lance. I'm used to it. You're probably tired anyway.”

“You got me there,” Lance sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Thank god for crappy hospital coffee or else I’d be flat on my face right now.” He chuckled. Keith couldn’t help but feel it was forced.

With some effort, Keith managed to roll onto his side. He looked at the other side of the bed, the spot that had always belonged to Lance when he slept over. Not anymore.

“I'm not going to leave you here alone,” Lance decided, raising his hand to block Keith's protests, “but I definitely need a nap.” He eyed the same spot Keith just had, but he seemed to think better of it, for he asked, “Do you mind if I use your couch?”

“Sure,” Keith said.

“Okay. Holler if you need me.”

“Sleep well, Lance.” Keith felt his face drain as soon as he said it. You weren’t supposed to say things like that to someone who didn’t love you anymore.

Lance looked a little surprised. Then his face morphed to something more neutral. Almost bored. “You too.”

Keith spent his first waking hours moping. He was bored, and wanted to get out of bed, but he was too tired and sore to really do anything. A simple trip to the bathroom was enough to wear him out. Looking at the spread of snacks and drinks Lance had left next to his bed, he was glad he hadn’t forced Lance to leave. But at the same time, having Lance here was driving him insane.

“Keith, you have absolutely no groceries!”

“This is a crummy apartment, Lance, not a five-star hotel. What did you expect?” Keith grumbled. He had to yell for Lance to hear him from the kitchen, and it was taking energy he didn’t have.

“I wasn’t expecting a four-course meal, but come on, you have to have more than Mr. Noodles.”

“Well, I don’t.”

Lance’s head popped around the corner. He looked blankly at Keith in bed, buried in the comfort of what felt like a million blankets and pillows. “Forgive me, your highness,” he deadpanned. “I guess I'm stopping by the store on my way back from work. What are you going to do while I'm gone? I can call Shiro to come stay with you.”

“No, don’t bother Shiro. I'm fine by myself.”

“He’s a med student, I'm sure he'd like the extra practice.”

“Shiro didn’t spend thousands of dollars in tuition fees to watch me hobble around the house eating Mr. Noodles.”

Lance sighed. He sounded tired more than anything. “Alright, but call me if you need anything.”

“I’ll be fine,” Keith repeated for the thousandth time. “Just go, before you're late for work.”

Lance nodded. He looked back at Keith, sadly, as if he were an injured animal. Keith caught his eye and Lance's face hardened. And then he was gone.

Keith didn’t mind Lance complaining about his lack of groceries. What he did mind was having Lance simultaneously taking tender care of him and then hating him for his betrayal. Why was Lance going through all this trouble for him if he hated Keith now? Keith didn’t know where he stood at this point. Maybe Lance was only here out of pity. Keith probably looked pretty pathetic, laid up in bed with only microwavable pasta to eat. But Lance had insisted he stay in bed as much as possible. Keith didn’t want to upset him any more than he already had.

Maybe that was part of it. Upsetting each other. Keith thought about what he’d do if he was in Lance's shoes. Yes, he would be angry. He would be furious, and hurt, and confused. But he couldn’t think that he would ever stop caring about Lance entirely. It just wasn’t possible to not care about someone who you had once loved. Who you still loved. If Lance still loved him then maybe he had a chance. Maybe he wasn’t going to be cast out, just as he had been cast out from his family, from school, even from Shiro after his first year at university. All those times Lance had tilted Keith's chin up, told him not to worry, that he would always love him, that it didn’t matter what his family said, because Lance was his family now—those had all meant something. They still did. Lance was a part of who he was now, and nothing was going to change that, whether Lance ever forgave him or not.

Moping aside, Keith also got in some restless nap time. It was in the middle of one such session that a knock at the front door roused him.

“Hullo?” he asked groggily. “Come in.” He wondered vaguely why Lance would be knocking. Maybe it was to be formal. Formal usually meant broken up. They might really be broken up. Then it occurred to him that whoever was outside might not be Lance.

Keith bolted out of bed so fast his head spun. He crept out of his room and towards the door, wrapped loosely in a blanket. Lance wouldn’t be knocking. Who would? Were tax collectors still a thing? Keith had never seen a tax collector. Maybe it was charity. Charity was good. What wasn’t good was if Keith had been somehow tracked to this apartment. Maybe the guys in the alleyway were really out to get him. For what, Keith had no idea. But they would come in, and beat him up again, or worse, and Lance would come home to find the mess and Keith would feel awful all over again.

He was on the verge of hyperventilating and jumping into a fighting stance when the door swung open gently to show Shiro, standing on the porch. He let himself relax.

Shiro looked him over, a sheepish smile quickly giving way to a grimace. “You don’t look so good. Lance told me what happened, how are you feeling?”

“I feel fine.” Keith scowled, blankets dragging on the floor as he made his way back to the couch.

“Listen, Keith. I'm really sorry. This was all my fault.”

“No, it isn’t. You're not the one who kissed some other dude, are you?”

“What are you talking about?”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know?”

Shiro blinked. He shook his head. “I thought Lance was just angry you went without him.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Keith said. He pulled his knees to his chest. It hurt his ribs, but he felt safer this way. Shiro wouldn’t see the gaping hole where his heart used to be. No one would see how broken he was.

“Keith, you okay?” Shiro lightly brushed against his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Keith replied. His mouth felt dry. His eyes didn’t. But he wasn’t crying. Not yet.

“You know you can talk to me.”

Keith sighed. What the hell, he figured. If he didn’t tell Shiro, then Lance would.

“I…I messed up, Shiro.”

Shiro sat closer to him, nodding, encouraging. Understanding. For the first time in a long time, Keith caught a glimpse of the Shiro he knew. The Shiro he trusted.

“I'm sorry,” Keith whispered as he began to shake. This was too much. It was all too much. Why had he been so emotional lately? He hated it.

Shiro understood. Somewhere beneath the newfound frat boy attitude, his old self shone through. “Shh,” he murmured. “It’s okay, Keith. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not,” Keith drew a rattling breath, one that hurt just about every part of him. “Lance might be breaking up with me. I don’t even know for sure because he won’t talk about it. He stays here in my apartment and looks after me, but he won’t talk about us.”

“He just wants you to focus on getting better.”

“How am I supposed to get better when he's making me feel so awful?”

“Tell him that.”

“I can’t.”

“You're going to have to.”

Keith sighed. He didn’t want to think about this anymore. Not with Shiro anyway. “What are you even doing here?” he asked.

“Lance texted me to come check on you.”

“Of course he did,” Keith groaned.

“Well, since I'm here, is there anything I can get you?”

Keith miserably sunk into the couch. “No.”

“Do you want to play checkers or something? You must be bored.”

“Checkers, Shiro? I'm not five.” Keith was, indeed, bored out of his mind, but really all he wanted to do was go back to sleep. His bed seemed even more welcoming than it had before.

“Okay,” Shiro replied.

They sat in silence. Keith shifted restlessly, but each time he moved he only became more uncomfortable.

“I’m really glad you're okay,” Shiro said softly.

Keith glanced at him. “Thanks.”

“I'm sorry I’ve been acting so weird. It’s just…” Shiro huffed, and dragged a hand over his face. “I’m not doing too well in school, and I guess I’ve just been trying to distract myself. But I'm getting it together. Starting with you. I apologize.”

Keith felt his jaw part in awe. Shiro was apologizing? Keith didn’t feel worthy of anyone’s apology. Especially after he’d just told Shiro what an ass he'd been to Lance.

“I mean it,” Shiro pressed.

Keith nodded. “Thank you.”

Lance came home late. Shiro had left hours ago, and Keith was still sitting on the couch. He had picked up a sketchbook and was working away on a detailed picture of the tv remote in front of him. He couldn’t watch tv because of his concussion, so he'd settle for this.

“Hey,” Lance mumbled. He dumped his stuff on the kitchen table.

“Hey.” Keith looked over at him. He was leaned against the table, eyes shut, rubbing the back of his neck and wincing.

“Sleeping on the couch can't be too comfortable,” Keith observed.

Lance gave a sort of half-shrug, half-nod. “Certainly not what I'm used to.”

Keith bit his lip. How was he supposed to say this without it seeming like he was just trying to get on Lance's good side? “You can take the bed tonight. I’ll be fine on the couch.”

Keith was surprised to see that Lance actually looked appreciative. He was not surprised to hear the answer, “No, it’s alright.”

Lance had taken his first advance at reconciliation well, so he decided to try another. “You look like you could use a massage.” Keith grimaced at how awkwardly that had come out. But it was something Lance had often done for him, and it was calming, and Keith could feel the tension coming off of Lance in waves. Lance declined.

“Okay,” Keith said. “I'm gonna head to bed, then. Goodnight.”

Lance didn’t say goodnight back.

The alley was dark. Water dripped from the pipes that ran up the sides of the buildings. Keith looked down at his hands. They were dripping, too—with blood. He looked up. Someone was hunched in the shadows before him, just out of reach. Keith leaned forward to get a better look at the hooded figure. He took a step forward. On the next step he found he couldn’t move his feet, and they stuck uselessly to the pavement as if he were part of a statue. He tried again, but the more he struggled the more stuck he felt, until a suffocating blackness yanked him free and rushed him against a wall. He was pinned there, by enemies he couldn’t see, without hope of escape.

Slowly, in one fluid motion, the figure turned to face him. Its eyes were shrouded with darkness. The only parts of skin visible were the thing’s hands and mouth. They glistened with blood, too. Keith sucked in a breath as it advanced towards him. It paused just before him, and he felt the impending sense of doom, waiting like a roller coaster teetering at the top of a slope. The mouth parted.

Keith jolted awake, gasping for air. He couldn’t breathe, his hair clung to his body in a sheen of sweat, all he could see was a row of perfect, sparkling, pointed teeth. He shuddered, nausea creeping up his throat, seeping into his nose, he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t see he couldn’t think all he knew was there was something evil out there and it had kissed him and it was after him again and Lance was going to be mad Lance already hated him Lance was going to tell him he was stupid and mean and ignorant and uncaring and awful—Keith threw back the covers of his bed and stumbled out, bare feet hitting the ice cold floor, washed in gray moonlight. He managed two steps before crashing against a dresser and tumbling to the floor.

Keith was still shaking, he could tell as he raised a hand to dab at the mess of tears spilling down his face, wondering what the hell he was doing here on the floor. He had to get up, he had to move, had to run, those perfect shining teeth were coming to ruin his life all over again. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to get up, still couldn’t get a proper breath, couldn’t hear anything over the guttural sobbing coming from his mouth, and so he lay, skin exposed to the freezing linoleum. His fingernails found the edges of the floorboards, and he gripped as hard as he could. And he wept. He wept, because of the dream, because of Lance, because he was tired of feeling miserable and sorry for himself, and just tired in general.

The bedroom door creaked open. A pair of feet shuffled in, clad in a pair of fuzzy blue slippers. Keith squinted through the hazy mist of tears and moonlight, eyes following from the slippers, up the legs, chest, and to the face of Lance. It was stuck mid-yawn.

“Lance,” he whimpered. “Lance. Lance, the teeth. His teeth and he kissed me and I love you and I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Keith sobbed, “I never meant to, I didn’t want to, he had teeth and he kissed me, Lance, he kissed me and I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.”

Lance knelt down, tentatively resting a hand on Keith's back. “Hey,” he murmured. “Hey, Keith, hey. What’s going on? Hey, hey, look at me, you're okay. You’re okay, it’s okay.”

Keith looked fearfully into Lance's eyes. There was no anger there, only concern. “Lance,” he croaked.

“Yeah, it’s me. I'm right here. I think you had a bad dream, buddy. Is that what happened? Did you have a bad dream, Keith?”

“Y-Yeah, I- I think so.”

Lance sighed. He sounded relieved. “Let’s get you back in bed. You're okay.”

With Lance’s steady hand on his back, Keith crawled back into bed. He couldn’t make himself stop shaking.

Lance sat on the edge of the bed, eyes downcast. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Don’t go.”

“Yeah, that’s what stay means, silly.” Lance swung his legs up onto the mattress and leaned back. One arm pillowed his head, the other draped over Keith. “Try to sleep,” he murmured.

When Keith leaned into him, eyes shut tight, soaking up Lance's warmth, Lance wasn’t sure what to do. So he didn’t do anything. He held still, felt his arm rise over Keith's chest as he breathed. He soon stopped shaking under Lance's touch, and his eyelids fluttered, lashes brushing against Lance's skin as he drifted off the sleep. Lance wished he could do the same. But now he was torn, inner turmoil wreaking havoc like a tornado through his brain. He should be mad at Keith, right? Keith had betrayed him, for lack of a better word. But Keith was sorry. There was no doubt about that. And Lance knew he shouldn’t be bending over backwards because of apologies alone, and he wasn’t.

Keith needed him, that much was obvious as he clenched his jaw in his sleep and clutched fitfully at Lance's t-shirt. Lance rubbed his back, and murmured to him, and he settled. He'd never even considered the psychological effects getting jumped in an alley would have on Keith. No wonder Keith was being so high-strung and looked like he was about to lash out.

Lance felt like a horrible person. He'd made Keith go out in the dark all alone. He'd left Keith to deal with the aftermath of being attacked all alone. But was that really why he was here now? Because he felt guilty? No. He'd been assuming Keith deserved all of it. But he didn’t, not really. It hurt to see him suffer like this. That brought the question again; why was Lance here? It wasn’t pity. No. it was something deep. A connection. Love.

He still loved Keith. He would probably never stop. It was impossible to just stop caring about someone who you had invested so much time and emotion and feelings into. Even if something had changed, the feelings were still there. Feelings don’t just go away. Lance had never been one to ignore his feelings. He wrapped his other arm around the sleeping Keith and pulled him close.

Keith was still curled around him when Lance woke, his head tucked neatly into the crook of Lance's neck. His breaths were soft and even, starkly different from how Lance had found him last night. He was warm, keeping Lance from feeling the chilly edge of apartment air.

Lance would never know the reason, but he felt a hint of panic when Keith stirred. It was replaced by a softer, easy warmth in his chest when he looked at the way Keith's forehead wrinkled as he yawned, and he felt Keith's fingers curl tighter around him for a moment and then let go. His eyes flicked open lazily, and he blinked a few times, until his eyes found Lance.

A red hue crept onto Keith's face when he noticed Lance was staring at him. He realized he was wrapped around Lance like a human sushi roll, and he quickly disentangled himself.

“Sorry,” he muttered, voice still husky with sleep.

Lance didn’t reply. Instead, he said, “I have the day off today.”

“That’s nice,” Keith said.

“Yeah.” Lance decided not to mention that it was because his boss had heard about Keith's little hospital trip, and insisted that Lance take the time off until Keith was better.

“I'm hungry,” Keith said. “Did you buy groceries?”

Lance sighed, “No. I was tired so I just came back here.” He felt bad about it now, especially since Keith was finally showing some sign of an appetite since the whole ordeal.

“Oh. I guess I’ll go heat up some Mr. Noodles.”

“Hang on. Let me get dressed, and we can go out somewhere and get real breakfast. My treat.”

“Okay.”

When Lance was ready and Keith was bundled up in more layers than was probably necessary, they buckled themselves into Lance's car. Keith didn’t know where they were going, but Lance looked confident behind the wheel so he didn’t ask.

“Keith?”

Keith raised an eyebrow in Lance's direction.

“Who was it? That you—that kissed you?”

Keith bit his lip. This was a story Lance wasn’t going to enjoy hearing.

“I won’t get mad. I just want to know.”

The way he said it was sincere, so Keith told him, “I don’t really know much about him. I only met him that night, and, honestly…I didn’t even get his name.”

Lance frowned.

Keith sighed, “I was kind of freaking out, because I couldn’t find Shiro, and there were too many people, and then I ended up pretty much alone in the basement with this guy. He was kind of weirding me out at first, but he was nice, and I don’t know, we just talked. And had a couple drinks. I don’t know,” Keith repeated. He felt awful talking about it, but Lance deserved to know. “He just sort of leaned in, and…kissed me. And I didn’t know what to do. I panicked. It was like I was paralyzed. And when he pulled away, I guess I came to, I don’t know, but I told him…I told him it wasn’t right, I told him…I told him I had you. And that was all I needed. I got out of there right away.”

Lance was quiet, which was unusual for him. Keith stared down at his hands. He didn’t even look up when the car came to a stop.

“Hey. Earth to Keith. You still hungry?” Lance asked softly.

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Keith mumbled. He hadn’t really been eating enough lately.

Lance waited patiently for Keith to extract himself from the car, and walked by his side through the parking lot. Keith thought about taking his hand, but then decided it probably wasn’t a good idea.

He hadn’t been paying attention to where he was when he stepped out of the car, just following Lance. Only after walking past the large yellow M above the doorway and smelling the aroma of fry grease did he realize Lance had driven them to McDonald’s. Keith couldn’t help but notice how the other people waiting in line were giving him strange looks. They were probably concerned about his face, he figured, he still looked pretty beat up. Normally he wouldn’t be bothered but today he just felt so out of place he wanted to curl up and be a hermit the rest of his life.

Lance had noticed. “Why don’t you go grab us a seat,” he suggested gently, “and I’ll order us hash browns or something.”

Keith nodded. He liked hash browns. He was glad the breakfast menu was available all day; the analogue clock on the wall said it was more like lunch.

He picked a little table in the corner, away from the people, save for a sweet-looking old couple a few seats down. Keith sat and waited for Lance, busying himself with flicking some stray crumbs off the table.

“Hey.”

Keith looked up, expecting to see Lance, but he was met with a blinding smile and a swish of long ash-blond hair.

“You,” he stammered out, “w-what are you doing here?”

A shrug. “I guess I just like the company.”

“You need to leave.” Keith's voice was low. Dangerous.

He was ignored. “Man, what happened to you? Such a pretty face, all covered in bruises.”

Keith felt a snarl crawl up his throat. “Leave. Now.”

“Aw, come on. Listen, I just want to apologize. I was drunk, and impulsive,” he got closer with each word, “and what can I say, I'm weak for something so beautiful.”

No. This was not okay. Nothing about this was anything even resembling okay.

“Get away from me. You’ve ruined my life already, so just leave me alone.” Keith saw something move out of the corner of his eye. Lance.

“Hey, babe,” Lance said with fake cheer, sensing that something was up. He sauntered over with a tray of breakfast food. “Who’s this?”

“Someone who was just leaving,” Keith growled. Lance frowned.

“Damn, you said you had a boyfriend, but you never said he was this hot.”

That was when Keith snapped. Injuries and etiquette be damned, he was going to flatten this guy. Hands balled into fists, he lunged forward.

Lance beat him to it. The tray toppled to the floor, and the guy went flying over the nearest table with a crash of chairs. He didn’t get up. The old couple stared with mouths agape. Lance gracefully picked up the tray and stray food, as if nothing had happened. He led Keith out of the McDonald’s.

Keith couldn’t keep up with him, he was walking too fast. But Lance stopped in the middle of the parking lot, still gripping the tray. He picked up a hash brown and bit into it fiercely.

“That was him,” Keith explained solemnly.

“Yeah,” Lance said, oddly focused on eating his hash brown despite it having fallen on the floor. “I know. I knew the second I saw him.”

They went grocery shopping after that. Lance didn’t speak other than to ask about milk, “two percent or one?” Keith answered two, so they bought two. When they got back to Keith's apartment, Lance insisted on spending the rest of the afternoon preparing a “proper dinner. No more Mr. Noodles.” He refused to let Keith help, insisting that he go to bed and rest. Keith didn’t protest. He was exhausted.

It was hours later, from a deep and dreamless sleep, that Lance came to wake him.

“Hey, sleepyhead. You hungry?”

“Mflmsflrem,” Keith mumbled.

“What?”

Keith groaned and tried to wake himself up. He was pretty sure he could hear his bones creak.

“I see how it is,” Lance said, “you think I'm a terrible cook.” There was a small smirk on his face.

“I like your cooking,” Keith protested, doing his best to sit up, “I'm just stiff. S’hard to get up.”

Lance frowned and sat on the edge of the bed. “What hurts?”

Keith didn’t answer.

“Come on,” Lance sighed, “don’t be like that.”

Keith sighed. “Shoulders,” he shrugged a little, “ribs.”

Lance bit his lip and reached out a hand. “Can I?”

Keith didn’t say no, so Lance gently set his hands on his shoulders and prodded at the tense muscles.

“Gee,” he said. “You must be sore.”

“You don’t need to tell me,” Keith muttered, though his voice lost all its edge as Lance began to rub the ache from his shoulders.

“Better?” Lance asked after a minute.

“Better,” Keith nodded.

“Alright. Let’s eat.”

Dinner was nothing short of fantastic. Lance had outdone himself with an array of what could only be described as comfort food, taste fit for a king, with enough carbs to fuel a full-grown moose running a marathon.

“This is good,” Keith told him. “Like, really good.”

“Thanks,” Lance grinned. Then he chuckled.

“What?” Keith frowned.

“Don’t pout,” Lance was still laughing, “you just, you got a little something.”

Keith just pouted more and grabbed a napkin.

It was after dinner, curled up on the couch, that Keith felt fatigue take over his body once more. He stifled a yawn and raised his head to ask Lance what time it was.

“No clue,” Lance said, masking a yawn of his own, “but I'm tired.”

“Me too,” Keith said. “I'm going to bed. You…you, um, don’t have to sleep on the couch. If you don’t want to. You can sleep in the bed…with me…if you want.”

The corner of Lance's mouth quirked up in what could almost be called a smile. “I’ll be there in a couple minutes,” he said.

Keith got up from the couch and gingerly stretched his arms. He trudged off to get cleaned up and into bed, thinking he would wait up for Lance, but once he was nestled under the covers, the gravity of sleep pulled his eyelids over his eyes, and he was dragged down with them.

The early hours of the morning replaced the dark peace of sleep with restless waking. Keith shifted uncomfortably and tried to force himself back asleep, but napping for so long earlier had given him no reason for more rest.

Lance was next to him, he realized after a moment, not touching him but close enough to radiate warmth. Curled up on the other side of the bed, wearing an old t-shirt of Keith’s, his small frame rising unevenly under the fabric. Lance wasn’t sleeping either.

“Lance?” Keith ventured tentatively.

“Yeah?”

“I…I can't sleep.”

Lance sighed. “Me either.”

“What are you thinking about?”

Keith felt Lance's eyes on him, and he turned his head to meet them.

“You,” Lance said.

“Me?”

Lance nodded. “Honestly, you're all I can think about. The past few days have been hell. It’s not the same without you by my side, Keith. I...I’m not happy. I'm tired, and grumpy, and I miss you. I overreacted to this whole thing.”

“You didn’t overreact,” Keith said quietly.

“Fine, I wrong-reacted, then. Either way, I ruined everything, and now I'm just running around pretending I'm okay, because if anyone knew…if they knew, that on top of everything else, I screwed this up, too…” Lance roughly turned to face the wall. His voice was muffled in the blankets, but Keith was pretty sure he was crying. “All I ever do is make mistakes. And this just proves it. I've lost you. And now I don’t know what to do. I'm sorry, Keith. I'm sorry.”

“Lance,” Keith tugged at his arm, “hey. Come on,” he said softly. “Look at me.”

Lance sniffed and let Keith pull him to his other side. He shut his eyes and bit down on his lip. He heard Keith sigh, and then there was a hand, small and warm, rubbing his arm, and a voice, soft and safe, whispering it’ll be okay.

“You didn’t…you didn’t lose me,” Keith mumbled after a moment. “I still love you.”

Lance looked up at him with wide eyes. “I love you, too. Always. I don’t want this to be the end. I want us to work.”

“Me too,” Keith blinked, slow and sure.

“Does that mean we can…we can be us, again?” Lance asked tentatively.

“Yeah,” Keith smiled, “I think it does.”

[hollowbastionsurvivor]

Episode 9 - "We made a play and swung for the fences" ~Kim

Individual Immunity: https://hollowbastionsurvivor.tumblr.com/post/631100066023768064/individual-immunity-4

Kevin creates an alliance chat with Adaora, Christina, and Amy (the heartless faithful)

Kevin, Amy, Adaora, and Christina share idol spots to hunt for the idol

Wow, I did it! I can't believe that worked. I guess ellie/kim are saving their idols?? Idk. I mean next round the heartless 3 are gonna have to do some quick moves to save ourselves from an idol play. But i believe in us! I'm so excited! that was fun! 

After hands up tribal: https://youtu.be/aYO6iSl4_78

I’m not really sure what to do. It’s 4-3 and I know if I want to be sitting at the end I have to make a move now. But I don’t really trust Dylan or Ellie and Kim never talks game with me. Is it wise to split off now? Or is it better for me to just hold on for one more round? Only time will tell...

~~~~~

Results: https://hollowbastionsurvivor.tumblr.com/post/631181422736162816/results-chain-reaction

That was a really interesting challenge. Looks like it might be time for me to flip? I don’t want to be the 4th wheel in a strong 3 person alliance. The fact that they all had each other at least on the top 3 of one of their lists is not sitting right with me. I’m definitely on the bottom, and I need to flip and take control ASAP! I just have to be really careful. How I play this round could determine if I am in FTC or if I’m gone next round. I need to check in with Dylan though. Are they willing to flip and vote someone from heartless (preferably Christina) out, or are they trying to buy their way back in their good graces? Their vote is crucial and I need to secure it in order to correctly execute this plan. 

That was some tribal. I mean we made a play and swung for the fences but Kevin thought ahead and neither i or Ellie felt the need to play the idol. I feel excited to play with Dylan because they're someone who we know will play with us

~~~~~

Ellie transfers her idol to Dylan

Dylan and Kim have the idols

This round i am almost absolutely using my idol. Whether or not i end up wasting it , we'll know during tribal

https://youtu.be/brlj_3hn68k

~~~~~

The target seems to be firmly on Dylan after flipping on the Heartless.

Kevin - Needs to maintain his F3 with Christina and Amy

Amy/Chrstina - Need to YEET Kevin before FTC

Adaora - Needs to flip

Dylan/Ellie/Kim - Need to survive

Update: I just found out Kim was going to save me if He had just been awake. I’m so annoyed because that definitely would’ve changed EVERYTHING! I have no doubt I would’ve won this immunity. If Kim saved me in round 5, I would’ve saved Amy, Amy saves Kevin, and then Christina would’ve been knocked out. Christina most likely would’ve picked Kevin, Kevin saves Amy, and Amy saves me, which knocks out Kim in round 4. Kim would’ve picked me to stay again, I would’ve saved Amy and Kevin gets knocked out. This would leave Amy and I in final 2 and I think would’ve won as I would’ve had Ellie and Kim’s vote for sure! So all I had to do was convince either Kevin or Christina. It’s so frustrating that I lost this challenge because Kim decided to fall asleep. I’m so annoyed!

I WON IMMUNITYYYYYYY!!!!! That chain reaction challenge was interesting, though. I doubted Kevin’s loyalty to me, but I was his first choice. I’m glad I had him as mine. I still don’t think I can go to f2 with him, though. He would win because he’s liked and he’s been targeted and survived. Amy also tried to play it like she felt she had to vote Kevin. Girl. Whatever. Anyway, adaora seems a little messy recently. I think she’s in bed with what’s left of the nobody tribe. Dylan... lol. Dylan is on an island as far as I’m concerned. I think their move was idiotic and I will take pleasure in taking them out. 💜 Time’s running out on these advantages, so I need to make a move ASAP. 

~~~~~

Adaora contemplates making a Big Move this round, but it is dependent on who wins immunity.

Amy expresses concern about taking Kevin to FTC

I think I know what I need to do now. I need to convince Ellie to use her idol tonight. I know I would much rather flip and work with Ellie and Kim but I just can’t quite trust Ellie completely, as there is a 99% chance she has an idol. Emma was pretty certain of it, and as all over the place as Emma was, she was right about a lot of things. So if she wholeheartedly believed that Ellie has an idol, I have no choice but to believe it. I have to get her to use it tonight so we can send Kevin home. This is going to be tricky, but I think if I drive the point home that we can’t rely on Dylan’s vote, and if I tell Ellie it’s going to be her tonight, Ellie will see that we don’t have the numbers to get Kevin out so She needs to get him out using an idol. Once she does that, I’ll officially flip and work with Ellie and Kim. At the same time, I’ll also still be good with Christina and Amy as they don’t talk to Ellie and Kim enough to know how close I am with them. I’ll be in two 3 person alliances in Final 6, making me the most powerful person in the game. Hopefully I can convince both sides to get out Dylan at Final 6, as they are the one Person I don’t have any type of deals with. If this plan fails or in the small chance that Ellie does not have an idol, I don’t see a path for me to get to that Final 3 seat AND WIN. :/ So I seriously need to get to work. This is by far going to be the most crucial vote for me and the most defining moment of this game for me. -Delusional Queen rants 

~~~~~

Ellie has a wrong read and thinks they will go for Kim. If they misplay the idol, Dylan will be sent packing

Here’s what’s been going on in my host chat!! “Ellie, 7:23 AM There’s nothing in the world quite like finding two idols and ending up with zero without playing any 🤩🤩 Omen, 10:56 AM Ednndnwnwkw Omen, 10:57 AM Why did you give Dylan your idol? Ellie, 10:57 AM I was scared for them Ellie, 10:57 AM Like they flipped, soooooo of course they’re stressed and scared. Thought an idol would help them out Ellie, 10:58 AM Plus I trust that both Kim and Dylan would play an idol on me if I need it Ellie, 10:58 AM And if not, then 7th is a fun placement sjfjdjrjsjrj Omen, 10:58 AM Wig Ellie, 10:58 AM Also I’m convincing the heartless that Dylan isn’t actually with us Ellie, 10:59 AM And it was just a in the moment thing Ellie, 10:59 AM So that Dylan might be able to get back in with them Omen, 10:59 AM Why would you need to do that? Ellie, 10:59 AM I mean, it’s either Kim, Dylan, or I. Most likely Kim or myself and with both idols we have a 66% chance of playing them correctly Ellie, 11:00 AM But that’s not as high as I’d like it Ellie, 11:00 AM Plus I’d like to save one if at all possible Ellie, 11:00 AM Now it’s highly likely they’ll lie to Dylan and give them a fake name Ellie, 11:00 AM So it might end up coming down to chance Ellie, 11:01 AM But if they were to choose a target between Dylan, Kim, and I? They think I have an idol and know if I did I would play it, probably still want the nobodies gone, and would end up going for Kim Ellie, 11:02 AM But it’s no guarantee, just a guess Ellie, 11:02 AM I’m hoping to get last in the challenge, or at least Dylan or Kim get last too Omen, 11:03 AM Wig Ellie, 11:03 AM I need whatever reward there is Ellie, 11:03 AM I think I’ve 1 uped how stupid I was in kalymnos Ellie, 11:03 AM Lowkey impressive Ellie, 11:05 AM Sorry for going off on a tangent I’m just nervous and excited Ellie, 11:05 AM I’ll figure out if I made the right choice depending on if I get 7th place or not Ellie, 11:06 AM Plus I can always bluff and be like, I do have an idol if I need to Ellie, 11:06 AM They already think I have one soooo” That’s all!! And currently where we’re at is me planning to hopefully work with adaora, Kim, and Dylan to get Kevin out! And if not, Dylan will have to play their idol and we vote Kevin.

I am really nervous for this tribal . On one hand i have an idol that i can play for myself. But what if i don't need to use it and i end up wasting it and needing it next round ? 

~~~~~

Kevin talks to Amy and Adaora. He tries to convince them to go for Ellie. Their plan is to tell Ellie that they are going for Dylan so that Ellie will play an idol on Dylan. This might instead just make Ellie ask for an idol to be played on her.

You so I didn't realize the challenge would be like that and just have me choose kevin so I went to heartless three and said we really need to butter up Adaora. Kevin and I jumped in a video call with her for like 30 minutes and I think she is solid. We also all 4 started sharing hunts we've tried so we know what's not working. Bow I have -10% for next immunity lol. Anyway I think we solidified it. Kevin basically said firemaking / rocks at 4 so I think Adaora is good with that to stay with us. And here I am seeing if I need to change it to be me, Adaora, and christina at the end. I have a feeling christina is going to win this. I think she's been talking to people more. Anyway I think we are solid. We are voting ellie but if they ask we are voting dylan bc we are mad. I just hope no one pulls an idol or extra vote. We are kind of banking on the nobodies to vote dylan, but really, why would they when they can use dylan to tie us up? I don't know why kevin decided to not talk to dylan... At all .. I want to tell tell we are voting kim.

~~~~~

Adaora still doesn’t trust them after this call. However, her only barrier is trusting Ellie enough to go through with it. If that bridge gets mended, we might see a shake up this round.

Ellie doesn’t know if she can trust Adaora, but the idol needs to be played correctly or else Ellie will be going home.

Ellie believes that Kevin is telling her the truth about going after Dylan. Ellie has told Kim and Dylan this. The idol is likely to be misplayed tonight, unless Adaora reveals Kevin’s plan to Ellie

This just in, I'm bad at math. We are up 4-3. Praying for no steal a vote. Still a possibility this is BAD. For me.

~~~~~

Adaora creates Hot Mess Express (Herself, Dylan, Kim, Ellie)

Adaora commits to flipping

Dylan plans to use the idol on themselves

Dylan doubts using the idol. Discusses with Ellie. They end up deciding not to use the idol and put their faith in Adaora.

I truly want to believe I'm safe tonight and that Adaora and Dylan are voting with us . It would be perfect.

Adaora tells Ellie that she is getting votes tonight at tribal council. This makes Ellie trust Adaora enough to not have the idols used tonight, despite Kim and Dylan wanting to. This demonstrates Ellie’s firm hold on Kim’s and Dylan’s decisions.

Tribal Council: https://hollowbastionsurvivor.tumblr.com/post/631273955535273984/tribal-council-7-seekers-tribe

Kevin is voted out

~~~~~

Edgic:

Closer Views for Episodes 6-9: