#and like a slam by itself it already so impressive but it just fucks w me so much

[rolandkaros]

there is something so sad and fucked up imo about tennis in the way that any tournament win could be a player’s last and for most of them you’d have no idea

[domthedevil]

I'm absolutely loving your gentle series, could you maybe do Beel next? 👉👈

Big Beel is already so gentle and this made me weak in the knees. I don’t know what it is about this series but it’s so fun to write. Thank you for sending this in! Also is 3 AM so ignore my horrible errors.

Be Gentle pt 4

Warnings: Beel x AFAB!MC, loss of virginity

The stupid way Asmo and Mammon bickered over who you liked better only made Beel’s stomach rumble. Thinking there were better places to be, Beel crept out of the room and made his way to your room. He remembered you’d brought a special snack from the Human World for him. And he’d be lying if he said the previous conversation didn’t make him want to see you.

Hearing a knock on your door - a single loud thunk, you called for Beel to come in in response. Joyfully he walked in to see you relaxing in bed. He forgot you had been waiting for him to give this gift the him. He apologized softly before sitting behind you on the bed, wrapping his arms around you and the small present you held. Beel’s chin rested on your shoulder as your cheeks grew warm.

“I got a present from home. It’s my favorite.” Kissing his cheek softly you opened the box to show him the treat you had picked out just for him. That little dribble of drool you thought was adorable grazed your cheek. “B-Beel!!”

“S-Sorry!” He clumsily wiped his mouth and your cheek with the sleeve of his jacket. Your laugh assured him that you weren’t actually mad. Shifting to sit in his lap facing him, hands on his shoulders, you kissed his cheek again. Beel noticed hot warm your cheek was against his when you spoke lowly.

“Actually Beel...I was hoping I could ask you something?”

“Of course!” Beel managed to make out in between bites.

“MC...Im really happy.” His red cheeks framed the huge smile across his face. “I want to...be close to you.”

“You’re being too honest.” You nervously laughed. “But...if it’s you Beel, I know you’ll be gentle.”

“Of course.”

His husky voice brushed against Your lips as he kissed you softly. Too softly. But you smiled as he slowly pressed against you harder. Broad arms shed the jacket he normally wore, followed by his shirt. He knew they wouldn’t be missed. Now that they were bare, Beel’s arms wrapped around you tightly.

A small moan slipped through your puffy lips. Beel’s tongue wrestled yours into submission. His kisses were so different from anyone else’s. He knew how to work this muscle to achieve its peak performance. He groaned in response before further exploring your mouth. These small noises you made while he kissed you drove him insane. Beel blushed slightly as he thought about coming the other night to the thought of this. Of sharing this experience.

Rubbing his chest, soft but firm under your finger tips, your hips rocked slowly against his. Parting a moment from the intoxicating kiss, you let out a subtle gasp for air. Beel’s big hands travelled to your hips. Holding them still as he used his own hips to rub against you. The rough way he pressed his hardening cock against you made you wet. He was an impressive size. And you worried for a moment what it would feel like.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you MC.” His low soothing voice resounded in your core.

Holding you close, he rolled you both over. A little too eagerly, Beel helped you out of your clothing. Seeing you naked in front of him had that same small trail of drool run down his chin. You felt a little embarrassed, but flattered all the same. Wiping his mouth clean again, he lied onto you so that he could kiss you, and trail down to your sensitive nubs. A shaky moan from your excited voice made his member twitch with need.

“Is this good MC?” Beel needed validation and confirmation.

“You can be...a little rougher.” Your voice was small but laced with lust. Arms on his shoulders, you braces your self as his teeth nibbled around your peaks. Sucking and licking hungrily. “Nngh-! Y-yes...that’s good.”

As your hands tangle in his bright locks, his hands traveled under you. Your hips twitch at the feeling of his rough finger against your clit. Huffing Beel’s name quietly, he moved his finger in tight circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves. Making small waves of heat run through you. Beel grew harder the more you said his name. Fuck he was trying so hard to hold back. But this was about you, not just him.

Slipping a finger into your entrance, Beel was met with little resistance, though it felt as if it were two of your own fingers at once. You had already soaked the underwear you’d been wearing earlier,helping him ease into you. His second finger made your voice crack. Though not too thick or long, his fingers were still able to stretch parts of you that you’d never felt before. Beel whispered small encouragements as he worked to stretch you more.

“Does it hurt MC? I’ll stop if it does.”

“N-No. Don’t stop now.”

“You’re doing so well MC. Relax and let me take care of you.”

Moving away a moment, Beel’s face turned a deep red as he watched you watching him. Slowly the buckle on his belt and underwear descended and there you gazed upon his cock for the first time. He was intimidating, but you still bit your bottom lip with desire. The glazed look in your eye made Beel’s heart pound.

Holding your thighs together with his hands, Beel pulled you to the edge of your bed. Holding your legs vertically, he aligned his cock with the space between your thighs and swollen clit.

“Squeeze your thighs MC...I want to show you a little...how it’s going to feel.”

Following his suggestion and squeezing your legs tightly together, Beel thrusted his cock between your legs, tucked right above your dripping sex and slamming the tip of his cock against your clit. You couldn’t stop the moans leaving you breathless. Gripping at the sheets below you and twisting with pleasure only encouraged Beel to thrust faster and harder.

A deep burning in your core started to become unbearable. Every ridge on his shaft covered itself in your delicious slick. Your sensitive pearl being roughly pressed sent wave after wave of ecstasy over you. Soon it crashed against your shores. Walls clenching around nothing, your first orgasm had your hips twitching. Beel had to stop himself from drooling again as he admired your lewd expression. His hips had stopped once he realized your moans were growing sexier and sexier.

“M-more. Beel I want more...” you managed to puff and pant out as you spread your legs.

“I love you MC.” He held your hands in his large and rough ones. Rubbing his slick covered dick in short thrusts and pressing the tip of his cock inside you, your relaxed walls and wet pussy wanted to suck him inside. However he was going to move slow. Easing himself in, Beel groaned as it passed inside of you for the first time. You hissed loudly, holding back the cry you wanted to let out. A few small tears fell as your breathing regulated. A sharp pain had scared you a moment, but it had faded to a dull ache.

“Beel...I love you.” Your shaky voice rang out as he continued to sink himself into your warmth. “It feels so strange but...it feels so good too.”

“Do you want me to move?”

You nodded as your arms wrapped around his neck. Placing a soft kiss to your cheek, he lifted his hips in slow thrusts. Letting the feeling of his dick pulling in and out of you linger each time he moved. Licking soothingly on your neck he moved as evenly as possible.

“Is that good?”

“Mmn...m-more Beel.”

His grin and the glimmer in his amethyst eyes made you fall even more in love with him. As his hips sped up he began to press against a very sensitive spot. With how much he was stretching you it felt like every thrust built the heat in your core.

“Y-yes.”

He loved how vocal you were. Hearing how much you liked it encouraged him. Gave him freedom to indulge as well. Knowing he was the first to see this side of you made him blush furiously. This sight was just for him. Straightening his back, Beel looked down at you as he bounced you up and down his cock. Seeing the full picture made his orgasm quicken. And soon your name fell from his lips like a spell he had to remember for class.

“Beel I’m close again. It’s so tight and hot. W-what do I do?” There was a slight panic in your tone.

“Shhh...hold on to me.”

Wrapping his arms around your torso again, Beel buried his face into your neck. Your hasty moans and whimpers made him drool uncontrollably. This time there was no stopping it. But you were too focused on the burning coil about to spring inside you.

“Coming...” Beel could barely make out your whine. But he knew he had heard you clearly when your walls flexed and pulsed and squeezed around him. A deep guttural sound echoed in your room as Beel unexpectedly felt himself come inside you. You begged him to still a moment as your whole body twitched and adjusted back to gravity. Your orgasm had run so deep your toes were numb.

“MC. Are you...?” Beel’s voice trailed off as he finished cleaning you and himself up. Still nude, he rested on the bed beside you. Locking eyes with yours.

“I’m great Beel. That was so amazing.” You bit your lip again, looking at him with bedroom eyes. “Can we...do it again?”

Letting out a hearty chuckle, Beel lifted you so that you straddled his waist above him.

“Anything for you MC.”

“You’re drooling Beel...”

This is a continuation of a request. Read more here:

Be Gentle (Levi x AFAB!MC)

Be Gentle (Belphegore x AFAB!MC)

Be Gentle (Satan x AFAB!MC)

[lilacte]

#PegHawks2020

Pairings: Hawks x Reader

Summary: You peg Hawks. That's it. That's the plot.

Word Count: 2.1k+

Warnings: smut (18+), dom!reader, sub!hawks, pegging, sex toys, anal fingering, dirty talk, light bondage(?), edging, overstimulation, plot i guess (if you squint)

A/N: My first submission for @bnhabookclub's Bingo Event! Thank you to @honeytama and @dragonhrte for beta-reading my fic! Also huge thanks to my wife @royal-after-dark for helping me so much with my fic.

Taglist: @royal-after-dark @mrs-takami-keigo @keigod @shoutogepi @gr0vndz3ro @honeytama​

The first time Hawks met you, his heart hammered so loudly that it felt like it was going to burst in his chest. Your eyes gazed at him with such cold sharpness that he can't help but swallow the lump forming in his throat. You were (Y/N)(L/N), a Pro-Hero just like him. You regarded him with cold disposition and barely spared him a glance, not even a word spoken to him. 

Maybe that's what sparked his interest in you. 

The next time he saw you was at a high-end bar. You were in the V.I.P section, surrounded by what he assumed were your friends, sitting on the plush sofa while sipping on your drink as your eyes dragged around the dancefloor in boredom. And then your eyes met his, and Hawks felt his blood rushing to his groin when you eyed him up and down erotically. A few hours later, Hawks was pinned harshly against the wall as both of you reached your hotel room. Your lips against his neck, causing frenzy to seize his veins, your bright red lipstick staining his skin. The next day Hawks woke up in your hotel room without you beside him anymore.

You left your phone number on the nightstand, though.

Three months later, you started dating. It's been six months into the relationship when you brought up the idea of pegging. Hawks humored the idea, confident that he could do it.

He really, really wants to impress you.

That was why he was in his apartment right now, on all fours and naked, facing the mirror as you prod two lubed fingers in his hole. At first, it stung a bit, still unsure about the odd sensation he was feeling. Your fingers slide in, your movements slow at first to help him relax. 

"Do you feel alright, Hawks?" You ask, tone soft yet reserved.

"I can barely feel anything, babe. This is nothing I can't handle. Ah-"

Hawks jolts when he feels you push your fingers deep inside of him, hitting the right spot. A traitorous moan escapes his lips as your fingers teased his prostate.

"Oh? Are you sure? It sounded like you enjoyed that one, Hawks." Glancing at the mirror in front of him, Hawks meets your heated gaze, cheeks coloring with embarrassment as your lips twist in a smug grin.

"I-Is that the best you can do, babe?" Hawks exhales, voice starting to tremble as your fingers move faster inside of him. 

"You're taking my fingers so well, baby bird. Such a dirty little slut for me, hmm?" you taunt as you add in a third lubed finger in his hole, and Hawks involuntarily clenches around your fingers as you continue to pump inside of him, teasing his insides.

"So tight just for me. I can't wait to fuck you, Hawks." You murmur. Your free hand travels to the underside of his dick, knuckles ghosting his skin, and he melts at the feeling. His cock becomes uncomfortably hard between his thighs, and he whines, aching for you to give it attention.

"Ngh. Fuck-" Hawks shudders, arms gripping the carpet as your fingers spread inside of him, scissoring up and down, stretching him so much and sending jolts of tension throughout his body. 

"Do you think you're ready for my cock, pretty bird?" 

Hawks nods eagerly, and you gently withdraw your fingers from his hole, satisfied, and Hawks whines at the loss of your fingers. 

Hawks sits down properly on his knees, and you undress in front of him, unbuttoning your white blouse. Hawks admires your naked body, and you give him a small smirk as you go behind him.

"I'll tie you up now. Tell me if it hurts." You whisper in his ear, so softly that it sends tremors of pleasure tickling down his spine.

"That's easy stuff. I can handle it." 

Grabbing both his wrists, you place them behind him, tying them firmly with your white blouse. You stand up, putting the harness around your hips, and Hawks stares at your bright red, huge cock that hangs in front of it. 

Smiling sweetly at him, you say, "Come on, now. This cock isn't going to suck itself." 

He snickers, golden eyes staring back at you arrogantly.  

"Don't make me laugh, chickadee. This will be a piece of cake." 

Hawks tongue glides over your cock, from base to tip. He stares up into your eyes as he finally wraps his lips around your dick, cheeks hollowing as he sinks to take in your length, saliva pooling against his tongue and coating it. His head bobs up and down your cock, taking his time with it.

"Look at you, such a whore for mommy's cock, getting it nice and ready for that tight little hole of yours." You grab onto his blond strands harshly, and with a small smirk, you force him down deeper until he's gagging on your cock. 

"Keep your eyes on me, my pretty bird." His golden eyes stare up to you, and you can't help but purr in delight as unshed tears start to form in his eyes. His moans are muffled as you continue to guide him by the hair, soft choking sounds like music to your ears. 

"You look so good on your knees like that." You murmur, bucking your hips faster. Hawks can barely breathe, throat constricted around your dick, cheeks reddening as he chokes on your strap-on. With his hands tied behind him, he can't do anything but let you have your way with him. Strings of saliva spill from the corners of his mouth, dribbling down to his chest. 

After a few more minutes, you stop your thrusts, pulling him away from your cock, and Hawks can finally breathe, jaw burning as he sucks in as much air as possible. Your fingers cup his cheeks, tracing his wet lips with your thumb, admiring his reddened state.

"What an undignified look you have." You mock.

"Stand up and lay on the bed on your stomach." Hawks does what you tell him to eagerly, his face buried into the pillow. You kneel behind him, hands finding their way to his hips, and position him with his ass up in the air, adding a pillow to support his body. You position the tip of your large red dildo onto his already drenched hole and add more lube before you slowly slide your silicone cock into him.

"F-Fuck, that feels good." Hawks hisses, tugging at his restraints as you stretch his walls. 

You set a slow, steady pace as you fill him up.

"Look at you, pretty bird. Taking it so well already." You hum appreciatively, fingers digging deep into his skin as your hips rock against him, and his vermillion wings flutter excitedly at the comment.

Hawks bites into the pillow as your dick slides in and out of him, stirring his gummy walls and friction building up inside of him. You hover above Hawks, hand settling on either side of his head. His back arches as your cock prods at his prostate.

"You like me fucking you like this, Hawks? Tell mommy how much you like it." You inch close to him, your hot breath fanning his ear.

"Ngh! V-Very much. Give me more, mommy~" Hawks desperately pushes back against your cock, face flushed so red in arousal. You adjust your position, hitting that sweet spot over and over again, driving Hawks insanely.

"Fuck! P-Please, m-mommy. I'm going to come!" Anticipation builds in his lower belly, euphoria surging red hot in his veins—a few more thrusts into him, and his orgasm tears through him. Hawks pants harshly, face twisting with absolute bliss. 

You smack his ass harshly and Hawks yelps in response, lifting his head up to eye you through the mirror.

"W-what?" Hawks asks, eyes still hazy as his orgasm settles in his body. You let out a displeased sigh, running a hand through your hair as you eye Hawks' reflection.

"I never said you could come, Hawks," Your lips curl up in a wicked grin, eyes glinting maliciously before your hands grab onto his wings.

"Now, you need to be punished." Using his wings as support, you rock your hips into him, this time, at a much rougher pace.

You don't let Hawks cum.

Every time Hawks was close, you always pulled out, not giving him the sweet release he desperately wanted. By now, he was just a jumbled mess. The words spilling out of his mouth are a disarray of incoherencies. His choked sobs were like aphrodisiac to your ears and that you can't help but want to torture him more.

"Hnn… ah! Too… hng! Ah!! Deep, hnn. Ah!" Hawks gasps at the overwhelming sensation, ragged breaths leaving his lips as you slam into him mercilessly. His body feels achingly sore, yet the pleasure is so overwhelmingly powerful that he can't help but beg for more.

"You were all talk, baby. Now you can't even say a word. Who knew you liked to be fucked like this? What would others think about you when they found out, hmm?" You snicker condescendingly.

It was all too much. It was so good it hurt.

"Too much! I want to cum, mommy! Please let me cum! I'll be your good little fuck hole from now on!" Hawks cries out, tears streaming down his cheeks and saliva dribbling down his chin. His hands pull at the makeshift restraints, itching to grab onto something as his body jerks from your relentless thrusts.

"Beg for it like the whore you are then." You purr, burying yourself into him as deep as you can, your pace unrelenting. Hawks jaw slacks open, breathless moans escaping his mouth, tongue lolling out of his face, mind going haywire as you hit the right spots inside him. His neglected cock aches between his legs, loads of his pre-cum leaking out. With all of his might, Hawks breaks free from the makeshift handcuffs, the fabric ripping away, his hands immediately flying in front of him to grasp the sheets.

Your arms leave their hold on his wings, one hand snaking around his waist and the other wrapping around the base of his cock. His cock twitches in your grasp, and he gasps, eyes rolling the back of his head as you pump him up and down, circling his tip, and fucking him from behind.

Everything was so overwhelmingly good and Hawks can barely breathe.

"Let me hear your scream, my pretty bird." 

"Ah, ngh! So… good! I'm a whore for your cock! Mommy's cock is so good! Mommy!" Hawks cries out breathlessly, his mind is blank from the numbing pleasure, all rational thoughts leaving his head.

You let out a chuckle, deciding that you've tortured Hawks long enough. Your hips rut into him at a faster pace, your hand wrapped around his shaft, doing the same.

"Come for me then, pretty bird." 

A pleased guttural moan escapes Hawks' lips as he finally comes, body trembling as rivulets of his seed drips down his cock and in your hands and on the bedsheets. Hawks lifts his head, meeting your heated stare through the mirror, and he gives you a dazed grin. Face so flushed with the trails of tears running down his face and viscous strings of saliva running down his chin.

His body trembles from his orgasm, wings twitching with delight, and before long, his body goes limp in your arms. 

"Hawks?" you question, shaking him slightly in your arms. When he doesn't move, you release your hold on Hawks, setting him down onto the mattress face first. You grip onto his hips softly as you pull your cock out from his used hole. You remove the harness, placing it down on the floor. You leave the room and come back moments later with a damp cloth and new clothes. You let out a sigh as you survey Hawks' worn-out features. 

"I think I was too rough on you. Sorry." You whisper as you clean him up.

Before you leave Hawks' apartment, you give him a chaste kiss on the cheeks and cover his body with a blanket.

.

The next day Hawks arrived at a Hero meeting, limping so badly and so very achingly sore. When he entered the room, everyone saw how the winged-hero staggered, intrigued at what happened to him.

"What… happened to you, Hawks?" Endeavor asks, tone cold with a hint of curiosity.

"Had a... nasty fight… with a villain." Hawks lamely replies to which Endeavour simply nods, believing it before changing the subject to the meeting. Hawks looks around the room and spots you talking to Miruko.

Feeling his eyes linger on you, you turn to look at him, a sly smirk graces your lips as you eyed him up and down before flashing him a wink.

Hawks legs gave in at that moment.

[infernalrevenge]

The Greatest Show

Fandom: Resident Evil 8: Village

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Rating: G

Summary: Donna and Angie attempt to cheer Reader up after a bad day.

Notes: A little bit of domesticity and comfort from our resident dollmaker. Yes, Reader is still a servant in the house while also being her partner -- because why not HAHAHA. Just thought this would be a fun silly thing to write.

----------

This day was not going the way you thought it would. Well, that was putting it nicely -- this day was going to shit.

It was bad enough that you had a hard time falling asleep last night and woke up in a sour mood, but then you had an argument with a new vendor at the village who not only exclaimed that there was no new shipment of vegetables that morning, but also had the gall to try and throw you out of the store under virtue that they "didn't want the freak servants of one of the freak lords tainting their good establishment." The fucking nerve!

When you got back to the manor empty-handed, fuming but attempting to prepare lunch (sans vegetables), you accidentally burned your hand on the hot stove. As if that wasn't bad enough, when you jumped back in pain, you knocked over a few plates onto the floor and had to clean all that up too. You had to complete all your other chores with just one usable hand, the other one wrapped in a loose bandage. Fantastic.

You wanted to scream. Just let out a long scream to let the frustration out.

But you didn't. You couldn't. You still had other things to do, and you weren't going to let a few setbacks ruin it all. You went about your day as usual -- or at least you tried to, because you didn't quite notice how you would grip onto cups a little tighter, with your jaw set and locked as your grit your teeth, and had a perpetual furrow in your brow that worried Donna and Angie.

"What's up with them?" the doll muttered as she watched you slam a tray down in the kitchen when you thought no one else was around.

Donna didn't reply, only looking at the tension you held in your posture -- like you were set to burst with just one wrong move.

Your thoughts were consumed with tasks to perform for the rest of the day, chanting "Just get through it, you'll be fine" over and over in your head like a mantra. You didn't want to worry Donna over such trivial matters. This was just one bad day. You were better than this! You could do this. Just get through it. Just push! Just do it!

It was close to evening when you found your last task for the day before supper: Tidying up the library. Maybe you'll see Donna and Angie there and they could help lift your spirits. Finally, something to look forward to! Angie would probably make some quip about your bandaged hand, and Donna would be winding down on the couch and picking out a movie to watch after supper while you could talk about something to take your mind off the stress. But when you were greeted with a dark and empty space, neither of them in sight, you only sighed in disappointment.

Just get through it, you'll be fine.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and blinked away the blurriness in your eyes, picking up the duster in the corner.

Just get through it, you'll be fine.

You looked up at the clock. Half an hour until supper. Right on time. You took a deep breath to calm yourself and headed for the kitchen.

You were already going through the menu in your head when you felt an insistent force collide onto your chest, nearly knocking you over.

"Angie?"

Donna wasn't with her, and didn't seem to be anywhere nearby either. She was merely floating on her own. "Y/N, just the person I'm lookin' for! Come on, I gotta show you something!" She seemed rather urgent and excited at the same time. What was she planning now?

She took your uninjured hand and started pulling.

"Wait, but I have to get ready for supper--”

"Supper schmupper, this is way more important!"

"But--”

Angie dragged you by the pant leg to the living room, leaving you no choice but to hop along and follow. There, you saw a table laying on its side covered in a shiny silky cloth, obscuring your view of what or who could be behind it. You could just barely see a familiar veil-clad head crouching underneath. Before you could ask, she yelled at you to sit down on the short stool in front of the set up.

"Angie, what's going on?"

"You'll see, I promise. Now be quiet, the show's about to start!"

With that, she waddled away behind the table, seemingly greeted by a chorus of soft giggles. You tucked your knees close to your chest and waited for the commotion to settle down... whatever this was. You were used to Angie's antics at this point, but what kind of show was she talking--

Suddenly, three puppets dressed like the lords popped up from behind the table, with another one looking like a smaller replica of Angie. They all had cutesy and somewhat exaggerated features, completely made out of felt, cloth, and stuffing. Like plushies.

What the...?

"Don't be sad, Y/N!" they said in unison, their voices remarkably similar to each respective lord, if not much higher in pitch.

"Welcome to the village, we're so glad you're here! Turn that frown upside down and give us a cheer!" they sang, each of the dolls moving along to the beat they made.

"Donna, Angie, w-what..." you started, but they kept singing. You weren't quite sure who exactly might be providing these voices -- the dolls themselves, maybe even Donna -- but you were getting more and more amused by the second.

After their short number, introducing each lord to you (Big Sister Dimi, Mr. Heisenberg, Moreau the Fish Man, and Angie, as you recall), they proceeded with the show proper. Apparently that song wasn't all the two of them had up their sleeves.

"Okay, everyone! We have something very important to do!" the doll that looked like Angie spoke up (probably played by Angie herself) "How do we cheer up a loved one?"

"A loved one?" Doll-Moreau repeated.

"Yes! When someone we care about is sad, we should help in any way we can to cheer them up, right?"

"Right!" Doll-Dimitrescu agreed.

You felt a small smile start to crack your facade. Was this all for you?

"But how do we do that?" Doll-Heisenberg chimed in.

"Well what are things that they like? What makes them happy?" Doll-Moreau asked, who turned to Doll-Angie.

"They like cookies! Chocolate chip are their favorite!"

As if on cue, you felt something tug on your leg, and you looked down to see a porcelain doll in a sailor suit lifting up a plate of cookies to you, littered with chunks of chocolate in the dough. "Thank you," you said softly, giving the little one a gentle pat on the head before they ran off back behind the table. You placed the plate on your lap and started to nibble on one as the show went on.

"What else can we do to make them happy?"

"They also like tea with their cookies!"

You could just barely hear someone whisper "Tea? Ew, why not milk?" before they were swiftly hushed. On cue again, another doll emerged with a cup of hot tea for you. You whispered another thanks before they went back, taking a sip of your drink.

"We can sing their favorite songs!" Doll-Heisenberg started trying to sing before Doll-Dimitrescu interfered with a swift knock to his head. "Not with your voice, you can't."

That was a little mean, but you couldn't help but laugh anyway. You would've choked on your tea if you had been drinking it still.

"Why don't we ask them?" Doll-Angie said, turning to face the audience -- you. "What would make you happy, Y/N?"

The smile on your face only widened, tapping a finger on your chin as you made a show of thinking deeply. Might as well play along if they put in so much effort. "Well, what would make me happy is to have my lovely girlfriend here to share these cookies with."

"You heard 'em, Donna, get over there!" The real Angie peeped from behind the table, with the puppet lords cheering on as well as she emerged from her hiding place. You didn't even need to see under her veil to know she was blushing madly at the attention, even though it was just you and the dolls in her company right now.

You moved the plate of cookies from your lap to make room for her. "Y/N..." she was about to protest, and you pouted in response, giving your best puppy dog impression and opening your arms. "I thought you wanted to cheer me up, love?"

With a sigh and a shake of her head, she settled herself on your lap, your arms wrapped around her waist to keep her steady. You looked up at her fondly and pulled her against you -- it suddenly felt like the day's worries had melted away, and all that mattered was having the woman you loved so close to you. That in itself was a great comfort.

Angie seemed to have taken the reins now, the show getting louder and more chaotic as it went on -- the dialogue was reminiscent of the banter you had with her, and some jokes were made at the expense of the other lords (and sometimes Donna), much to her embarrassment. You rested your chin on her shoulder and couldn't help but laugh along.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," Donna whispered, tilting her head slightly to look at you.

"You... noticed then?" Your shoulders sagged, head weighing heavier onto hers, feeling like you wanted to hide.

"I did. It was a little hard not to." She gently took your bandaged hand in hers, pressing a tender kiss onto it. "But I didn't want to stand by and not do something about it, so... I hope this was okay."

You felt your heart swell with affection for her -- when did you get so lucky to have such a thoughtful woman by your side? "More than okay. This was very sweet of you and Angie."

A moment passed before Donna spoke again, "I just want you to know that... if there's anything you want to talk about, anything at all, know that I'm here for you, love. Always."

You could almost feel a tear come to your eye at that, "I'll keep that in mind."

You caught a glimpse of her smile at this angle, "You know I'd do anything to see you happy."

And she could see yours, "You already do."

.

.

.

(After learning of the existence of these "lord puppets", it became a game between you and Angie to hide them in plain sight whenever each lord would come visit the estate and bet on how long it took for them to notice it.

Lord Heisenberg almost never seemed to see his -- you weren't sure if he just didn't care to look around, or found it once and opted to ignore it, muttering something about it being "creepy".

Lord Moreau took a while to find his too, but when he did, you couldn't forget the look of joy and flattery on his face. It was quite adorable, and it turned to how quickly he could find the doll in a new room instead.

Lady Dimitrescu never visited, but when you and Donna went over to her castle, you always made sure to bring it with you. You would catch her daughters trying to hide their snickers when you would just stand around carrying the doll like Donna did with Angie, but whenever the lady tried to find out why, she never thought to look at you to see the commotion. Your girlfriend sometimes scolded you for it, but Angie always had a high five ready for you at the end of every visit.)

[aomine-ryo]

could I req a scenario where it’s ur first time w aomine pls!! xx

Sure!! I hope you like this xx

Scenario: Your first time with Aomine (nsfw)

It had been about a month since you and Aomine had begun dating and things were going rather smoothly. The two of you had been good friends before you started dating so you were able to skip the awkward stage most new relationships struggle with; your conversations weren’t any different now that you were dating, it’s just that there was a lot more touching and physical affection involved. It was still kind of weird getting used to having Aomine wrap his arms around you spontaneously or plant a kiss on your lips out of the blue, but it was always a welcome surprise.

The two of you never really got further than kisses and make out sessions though, however as time went on, it was becoming increasingly obvious that both of you wanted more.

An opportunity finally presented itself when Aomine was home alone one day and called you to come over. You had been texting each other back and forth prior to it and the conversation kept taking very suggestive turns until your boyfriend seemingly got frustrated by the lack of your touch.

When you knocked on Aomine’s front door, you were greeted by the usual, “Hey babe,” and peck on the lips before he welcomed you in.

His bedroom was in its usual state: a mess. With clothes sprawled out on the floor and a variety of magazines ranging from sports-related to gravure, scattered across his desk, his room was just as one would expect it to be.

“Er, sorry about the mess,” he said out of courtesy, though he didn’t seem the slightest bit embarrassed about it

“When is it not a mess?” You said, sarcasm laced in your tone.

“Momoi usually comes over and ends up cleaning. I guess it’s clean then,” he shrugged as he plopped onto his bed with his back resting against the headboard.

You were about to take a seat at the chair by his desk, but Aomine gave you a confused look that made you stop and stare back with an equally confused glare, “What?”

“Why are you sitting there?” he asked as if you did something criminally wrong.

“Is there something wrong with this chair?” you questioned, not putting it past him to have a broken chair in his room.

“No, but come sit with me,” he said, patting down the empty space next to him on the bed.

Sighing and shaking your head at his clinginess, you moved over and climbed onto the bed, leaning against the headboard as your shoulders touched. “Happy now?” you asked sarcastically, your head turning to him with a soft smile on your face.

“Overjoyed,” Aomine returned your sarcasm. “So overjoyed in fact, that I might just kiss you out of sheer joy,” he grinned.

“Well I hope you don’t because I’m saving my first kiss till marriage,” you said, making him chuckle.

“Seems like you’ve already broken that rule so you shouldn’t mind this too much,” he said, playing along before leaning in close. You could feel the smile on his lips as he kissed you, his hand slowly making its way to your waist, which he pulled closer to himself. As your tongues danced with each other’s, Aomine slowly rolled over so that he was laying on top of you, not losing contact with your lips for even a moment.

Aomine’s hips eventually began to move against you as his mouth slowly made its way down to your neck. Your skin was so soft and tasted so sweet that Aomine couldn’t resist nibbling on your neck from time to time, gaining soft groans from you as he continued to leave marks behind. The navy haired boy wanted more though. He wanted to leave marks all over your body. So as he fiddled with the hem of your shirt, he finally stopped his movements and looked at you underneath him with a devious look in his eyes. “Hey, why don’t we go all the way today?” he suggested, voice low and raspy after having kissed you for so long.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sound of those words. “Are you sure? Do you have a condom?”

He reached over to his bedside drawer and picked out a small blue square shaped packet. “Yep, right here,” he said, waving it around.

“Then sure, why not,” you smiled dorkily.

With a wide smile on his face, Aomine reconnected his lips with yours, lingering on them for a while before making his way down your neck again, however he soon pulled your shirt off, gawking at your chest for a bit before he continued to work on leaving more marks along your torso. He finally reached the waistband of your pants when he looked back up at you again.

“Are we really doing this?” he asked, unable to believe that it was actually going to happen, as he became giddy with excitement that was evident with the sparkle in his dark eyes.

Your hand met his cheek, softly caressing it as you nodded lightly, “Yes, let’s do it,” you smiled.

It was your first time with Aomine and you weren’t sure what to expect. As he pulled his shirt off soon after taking off your pants, you couldn’t help but get more excited upon the sight of his toned upper body, which undoubtedly had you holding back drool as he just looked so hot. Aomine seemed to know his way around though, effortlessly pulling clothes off and tossing them to the side until you were both completely naked.

You had to admit, a naked Aomine was definitely a sight to see. Every single part had you swooning over him, and his length was certainly impressive. Aomine seemed to be equally taken aback by your body too though. No matter how many gravure magazines he went through, seeing the real deal right in front of him never failed to leave his mouth hanging.

He quickly snapped out of it though and he began to leave kisses on your inner thigh. As he did so, your fingers began running through his hair absentmindedly, however they quickly gripped onto his short strands when he suddenly licked between your thighs. Flinching slightly at the sudden tug on his hair, he soon began to smirk as his tongue began to lick over, slowly making its way inside you as well. Hearing your gasps and heavy breathing only encouraged him to do it more, but he was also aching to feel you wrapped around him.

Aomine reluctantly pulled away from your body and tore open the plastic packet he’d taken out earlier. After rolling it onto his length, he lined himself between your thighs and looked at you eagerly underneath him.

Your cheeks were still flushed red from his tongue and Aomine seemed to be proud at the sight of it. You still managed to give him a small nod as a way of telling him to continue. So Aomine slowly pushed himself into you, making you flinch from the slight pain you felt of being stretched open. Aomine let out a deep long groan as his length was completely wrapped by your insides. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, feeling relieved that he was finally able to do this after he’d been aching for it for a while.

He paused for a moment to let you adjust as he leaned down to kiss you again. “Daiki,” you gasped when he pulled away, “Please move.”

Without hesitation, he did as you asked, slowly beginning to move in and out of you and gaining soft moans from you as he did. “Is this okay?” he asked you after a few moments, wanting to make sure that he wasn’t hurting you. He had a tendency to be quite rough in bed, so he was very cautious since it was only his first time with you.

You nodded, as pain soon subsided and was taken over by pleasure. “F-Faster,” you gasped.

Aomine slowly picked up his pace, though he was still holding back and you could feel it. It was clearly out of concern for you, but little did he know that you too liked it rough.

“Daiki, please go faster,” you begged, your hands gripping onto the bedsheets in desperation as your hips tried to move too in attempt to go faster yourself.

“Are you sure?” Aomine asked, voice soft as he looked at your small squirming body underneath him.

Your eyes stared straight into his with confidence, “I want you to fucking wreck me,” you said, the sound of those words along with the desperate look you gave him sending a wave of excitement throughout Aomine’s body as he became even more turned on.

“Well then, don’t complain when you can’t walk tomorrow,” he smirked before lifting your legs so they were over his shoulders before thrusting into you faster than you could imagine. He somehow managed to go deeper with every thrust, causing the volume of your moans to gradually increase as he went on. Before you knew it, you were screaming so loud that Aomine was sure even the people living three blocks away from him could hear. The navy haired boy pushed his lips against yours to engage you in a sloppy kiss that shut you up. As much as he loved the sound of you screaming for him, he loved feeling you struggle to kiss him back just as much.

After a minute or so of this, he finally pulled away from your lips but also pulled out completely, making you whine at the loss of contact.

Aomine flipped you over so that you were on all fours, with your ass facing him. He slipped inside you once more, making you moan in pleasure of being filled again. He leaned over to your ear and whispered, “I hope you’re still okay, because I’m not gonna go easy on you now.”

You felt shivers run down your spine as a smile spread across your face. “Do your worst,” you challenged, eager to see what Aomine was truly like in bed.

The navy haired boy straightened his back and gripped your hips tightly. Before you knew it, he was slamming into you faster and harder than before, hitting your spot with every thrust. You were once again screaming helplessly in pleasure, making Aomine inch closer and closer to his climax as his movements became sloppier and he began to let out groans of satisfaction.

“D-Daiki, I’m close,” you said breathlessly in between screams and moans.

You felt Aomine’s grip on your hips get tighter. “God you feel so good, Y/N,” he groaned, “I’m close too.”

With a loud moan of his name, you finally reached your high, tightening yourself around Aomine who was finding it increasingly difficult to hold himself together. Soon after you did, he too reached his climax and finally let himself go, feeling nothing but euphoria as he collapsed into his mattress, skin glistening with sweat.

“I didn’t know you liked it that rough, Y/N,” he smirked as the two of you laid in bed, catching your breaths.

“Well, I guess you know now,” you smiled, flustered.

A grin spread across Aomine’s reddened face. He could definitely get used to having more of this.

[whenisitenoughtrees]

infinity, and beyond

He remembers the first time he kissed Janus. He remembers the way they were curled up against each other, the lights dimmed and the television on low volume, neither of them paying attention to the images on the screen. It was messy and terrible, as far as kisses go, and Patton loved every moment of it, and when they pulled away from each other, they were both breathless, smiling, and he knew then that what he felt, Janus felt too.

He remembers, too, the moment he heard about Virgil.

It's not every day that your husband's long-lost kid breaks into your house. It's not every day that you find out your husband of four years is an alien.

Patton's just trying to roll with the punches.

Content Warnings: threats of violence, mild body horror, brief, non-graphic panic attack

Word Count: 7,168

Pairings: Moceit, parental Anxceit

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

Patton’s day begins with a teenager holding a knife to his throat.

Technically, the day has already begun; it is mid-morning, the sun inching steadily toward noon. But Patton has barely been awake an hour, has been sitting at the kitchen table with his mug of coffee, staring at all the final exams he has yet to grade as he waits for his brain to start functioning. He likes Saturday mornings; he would go so far as to say that they’re usually his favorite part of the week, because usually, Saturday mornings mean sleeping in, wrapped in his husband’s arms, and later, a big brunch and a lazy day. But today, an emergency called Janus into the office, and he has a backlog of grading to finish this weekend, so here he is. Squinting, bleary-eyed, and with a sad lack of a husband to keep him company.

That is when the teenager appears.

Appears, because there is no better word for what happens. There is no break-in, no slamming of doors or shattering of windows. One minute, he is alone, and the next, there is another person in the kitchen, a young person who can’t be any older than seventeen or eighteen, and Patton barely has time to process that before they lunge for him, knocking him from his chair and to the floor, pinning him against the cool tile.

It takes a second to process the bite of cold, sharp metal against his throat, but as soon as he does, Patton wakes up very, very quickly.

“Please—” he tries, but the teenager hisses at him, actually hisses, and through the panic that is filling his mind and drowning out all logical thought, Patton realizes that something about this isn’t right. Something beyond the fact that there is a knife against his throat and oh god oh god oh god there is a knife against his throat—

The teenager opens their mouth, their face set in a harsh, threatening glare— and it’s their face, there’s something wrong about their face but he can’t quite— but the sounds that come out are gibberish, something guttural and rasping and nothing like any language that Patton has ever heard.

“Please,” he gasps, his voice thin and high and terrified, “please, I don’t know what you’re saying, I can’t—”

He breaks off, because he thinks that if he tries to say any more, it will come out as nonsensical crying, and somehow, he doesn’t particularly think that this person will be swayed by something like that.

The teenager’s lips twist into an impressive scowl, and with the hand not holding the knife, they reach for the pocket of their— hoodie? If it’s a hoodie, it doesn’t quite look like one. It’s something about the fabric, something about the way it moves as they do, but Patton can’t spend energy on figuring that out right now. He tenses as they root around in their pocket, clearly searching for something, and muttering to themself in that same garbled speech pattern. They come up holding something, and Patton can only catch a glimpse of it— what looks like a small, silver disk— before their hand is moving, clapping it against and then inside his ear and—

There is a moment of sharp, almost blinding pain, starting with his ear and shooting through his skull, and then nothing, and he struggles to regain his breath.

“I said,” the teenager growls, “where is he?”

Patton blinks. The sounds they are making are still the same, are still strange and incomprehensible, only, they’re not exactly, because they resolve into recognizable words inside his brain, and if he hadn’t been panicked before, this would definitely be enough to do the job, because what exactly did this person just shove inside his ear?

“What—” he starts, and then the words themselves catch up to him. “Where is who?”

The teenager growls— and it is truly a growl, like an animal would make— and presses the knife in closer. Patton valiantly resists the urge to whimper.

“Don’t fucking play with me,” they snap, and somewhere, back in some hysterical portion of Patton’s mind, he is tempted to chide them for their language. “His DNA signature is all over this fucking house, so where is he? What’ve you done with him?”

Patton can only stare.

Part of his mind has devoted itself to putting the pieces together, no matter the impossible picture they form. Part of his mind is taking in the pale skin that isn’t white at all, but rather a light purple, the way their facial features are just a bit too sharp, a bit too angular to be those of a typical young adult, the way that the spots under and around their eyes aren’t makeup, but instead move, twitching to and fro in unison with their gaze, and that alone is almost enough to send him spiraling, to draw him toward a conclusion that can’t possibly be true, that he can’t possibly comprehend.

The rest of his mind devotes itself to being astonished.

“Are you talking about Janus?” he asks, and he can’t keep the incredulity from his voice.

He doesn’t know which seems more unlikely to him, that this strange, violent, maybe-probably not human person has broken into his house and is threatening him with a sharp knife, or that this strange, violent, maybe-probably not human person is looking for his husband. His husband, who makes him breakfast in bed in the mornings and tea in the afternoons, when he has too many essays to look over and a headache pounding behind his eyes. His husband, who bristles and snarks at everyone around him, who works a corporate job he dislikes and comes home exhausted and irritated at the end of the day and still smiles, that soft, sweet smile that is meant only for him, that nobody else is privileged enough to see. His husband, who he has been married to for four years now, the best four years of his life, who he fell in love with in coffee shops and movie theaters and in the rain, that one day when they were caught out in the park without their umbrellas and had to run all the way home, soaking wet but giggling, grinning and knocking into each other.

His husband, who refuses to talk about his past beyond a sentence or two, here and there, brief anecdotes that never reveal much at all. But Patton has never needed to know his past to know him, and even now, when it seems that his secrets have burst into their shared life in the most violent way possible, disrupting all sense of equilibrium and turning the world on its head, he refuses to believe that there is any secret so great as to force a divide between them.

The teenager— if that is what they are, if the appearance of youth is an accurate indication at all— bares their teeth, teeth that are too sharp, too pointed, teeth that scream predator. “Who else?” they demand. “I won’t fucking ask again. Where is he?”

“He’s not— He’s not here,” he manages. “He’s at work, I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

Please, let that satisfy them. Please, let them leave. Please, let Janus come home. Please, let Janus not come home, let him stay at the office, far away and safe. Please, let him come home and tell me what’s going on, why this is happening, who this is and how they know each other. Please, please, please.

He doesn’t know what he wants. Doesn’t know that he wants to know what he wants.

“Yeah, right,” they say, and he would be insulted by their skepticism if he had room for any emotion other than fear. “That’s likely. You could have him cut up in the basement for all I know.”

He gapes, stunned by the accusation. And for a moment, his indignation is enough to override all common sense, ignore all the impossibilities of the person holding him to the floor, ignore the knife pressing up against his skin. Because, well, first of all, he has no idea where that idea came from, but the very thought that he would do something like that at all, much less to—

“Cut—” he starts, and has to try again, because he can’t wrap his head around the notion, around the idea that that could potentially be something he would want to do, that that is the first thing this person thinks to accuse him of. “Cut up? Janus is my husband.”

Their eyes widen. “Your what?”

“My husband,” he repeats, the reaction emboldening him. “We’ve been married for four years.”

They blink at him, and it’s a motion that takes up their entire face rather than just their eyes, because those moving dots… those are eyes, too. Patton can’t deny it, can’t deny that this person, whatever they are, has eight eyes. Eight eyes, just like a spider, and his outrage fizzles out in the face of that realization, fades back into terror, into a racing pulse and breaths that come too short and quick, and he is confused now too, confused at what this person wants, because their words almost seem to suggest that they don’t want to see Janus harmed at all, that they think he is the threat. That they think he is a threat to Janus.

But Patton isn’t the one with the knife.

“Please,” he says. “Please, just, you can look around the house, there’s pictures of us. We’re together, we’re happy, and I don’t know what you want, but just please, please don’t hurt him.”

“Don’t hurt him?” they repeat, and somehow, whatever strange translation system is at work in his head manages to convey their disbelieving tone. “What the hell are you talking about?”

They seem surprised that Patton is making the insinuation at all, and Patton can’t help the incredulous noise that escapes him.

“You’re holding a knife to my throat!” he all but shrieks, the words ripping out of him at a much higher volume than he intends. “What am I supposed to think you want?”

They make a strangled sound, one that his mind doesn’t resolve into words.

“You—”

And then, they stop, tilting their head. A moment later, Patton hears it too, and dread forms a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach. There is a clattering sound, a key turning in the lock, and the unmistakable creak as the front door opens. The teenager stands, suddenly, a fluid motion, but Patton is frozen in place, barely noticing the removal of the knife and the pressure holding him down, too busy trying to think of a way out of this, or to protect Janus, if worst comes to worst. He’s trembling so hard that he’s not sure how quickly he’ll be able to get up, but once he does, he’s in the kitchen. There are weapons here. All he has to do is grab one, no matter how ill it makes him feel to use his cooking instruments in such a way.

He won’t let this person hurt Janus. Not if he has any say.

“I’m home, love!” Janus’ voice drifts through the house, smooth and unconcerned. There is a familiar thump; that will be his briefcase hitting the floor, and then a rustle of clothing as he sheds his suit jacket. His footsteps draw nearer, and even as the person’s face shifts into an expression Patton has no hope of interpreting, he readies himself to leap to his feet, to fight if need be.

“I just love when idiots call me in for an issue that it would take someone with half a brain twenty minutes to solve,” Janus says, sounding terribly exasperated, and normally, this is when Patton would go to him and give him a hug, would lean his chin on his shoulder and hold him close, or at the very least call out to respond to him. But he stays still and quiet, and the footsteps pause.

“Patton?” He sounds uncertain now, but he’s coming closer again, and Patton finds himself staring fixedly at the entryway to the kitchen, raising his head from the floor to see. Oddly enough, the teenager stands stock still, making no motion to turn to where Janus will appear in mere seconds.

And then, there he is, and Patton cannot help the instantaneous flood of relief at seeing him, at seeing Janus, his husband, poised and confident and unharmed and here. He stands on the threshold, adjusting the gloves on his hands, and Patton watches as his face transitions from calm to confusion to something between anger and fear as he takes in the scene, the toppled chair and rumpled papers, the figure standing in the midst of it all, knife clutched in one hand. And then, he locks gazes with Patton himself, and his eyes blow wide with worry even as the rest of his face schools itself.

“And just who the fuck are you?” he demands of the person. To anyone else, he would sound completely collected, but Patton knows him too well to miss the tremor in his voice.

The person doesn’t move.

“I’d appreciate an answer,” Janus continues. “I’d also appreciate it if you’d step away from my husband.” Janus gives him a tight smile, one that is probably meant to be reassuring, and he returns it as best he can.

And then, slowly, the person pivots on their heel, putting their back to Patton. He can no longer see their facial expression, blank and unhelpful though it was, but he can see Janus’ perfectly well, and as such, he can see the way he holds onto his cool anger for all of five seconds, before it shifts into undiluted shock. His face pales, his lips parting slightly, and he actually takes one stumbling, hesitant step forward, and Patton’s heart begins beating triple time because he has no idea what could make him react like this.

And then, the person speaks.

“Janus,” they say, and the noises that spill from their mouth remain strange and unfamiliar, but somehow, Patton hears the wetness in the name, the fragility, the desperate hope. The knife goes clattering to the floor.

Janus makes a sound, wounded, astonished, and Patton has never heard anything like that come from his husband’s throat, and it scares him.

“Virgil?” he rasps, and evidently, that is all this person needs, because they launch themself forward, and Patton’s instincts scream at him to try to stop them, to leap at them or grab at their hoodie or do something. But Janus’ arms open wide to receive them, and then the two of them are hugging, holding each other tightly, and from here, Patton can see the way Janus’ hands fist in the odd material of the teenager’s clothing, the way he buries his face in their shoulder, and Patton has never been more lost.

Virgil. He recognizes the name, he thinks, and it only takes a moment to summon the memory from the depths of his mind, blurred with age and the faint buzz of alcohol and the heat of the summer night. But Virgil rings out in his mind as clear as a bell, somehow bringing more questions and few answers, because none of this makes any sense at all, because one night, two and a half years ago, Janus told him that he had a son, and that he loved him, and that he lost him, and that his name was Virgil, and then he refused to say any more, and Patton let it go in favor of holding him because the look of devastation on Janus’ face was like none he had ever seen before.

So, this cannot be Virgil. But surely, Janus would know the face of his own son, would never embrace a stranger, and would never embrace… whatever this person is, because Janus is sharp and Janus is observant, and he has most certainly picked up on all their unusual features, on all the ways that they cannot possibly be human. So that means that this must be Virgil after all, and Patton can only watch as they cling to each other, like they’re both afraid the other will disappear if they let go.

And Patton doesn’t know what this means.

-----------

He remembers the first time he kissed Janus. He remembers the way they were curled up against each other, the lights dimmed and the television on low volume, neither of them paying attention to the images on the screen. They stared at each other for a long time before he leaned in, before he dared to take the initiative, and he has never felt happier than in the moment when Janus met him halfway, pressing his lips firmly against his, their noses knocking into each other, their teeth almost clacking together as they sought more, more contact, more closeness. It was messy and terrible, as far as kisses go, and Patton loved every moment of it, and when they pulled away from each other, they were both breathless, smiling, and he knew then that what he felt, Janus felt too.

He remembers, too, the moment he heard about Virgil. He remembers, because he knows only fragments of Janus’ past, a past that he is certain is dark and full of sorrow, and that is why he has never pushed for more than what Janus is willing to give, content to gather up the bits and pieces he is offered and guard them close.

Most of the surrounding conversation is hazy, blurred by one too many glasses of fine wine and a summer heat wave that permeated every inch of the apartment they rented at the time, no matter the efforts of the air conditioner to banish it. But he remembers the way Janus quieted, all of a sudden, face still and contemplative and sad in a way that made his heart clench.

“Have I ever told you,” he said, “that I have a son?”

And he could only stare and shake his head; the answer, of course, was no, the revelation so unexpected that he had no idea how to react.

Janus smiled, small and bitter, like a gash in his face, bleeding him dry. “I do,” he said. “He’s beyond my reach, now. I won’t be able to see him again.”

He remembers he made a noise, tiny and shocked, and that he stretched a hand out, placed it on his, and Janus accepted the touch readily enough.

“His name is Virgil,” Janus continued. “I think he would like you. At least, I hope he would.” He tilted his head, eyes distant. “He’s prickly, slow to trust, abrasive in general. But he’s a good kid. Was a good kid. I suppose he’s not… well. It’s been five years, now.” He closed his eyes, bowing his head. “He would like you,” he repeated, sounding more than a little broken. “He would like you.”

And he didn’t know what to say to that. Didn’t know what to say at all, his words failing him. So he tugged him closer with both arms, leaning him against his chest and rocking him gently, holding him close, and Janus pressed into the contact and didn’t say anything else.

He drew the conclusion that Virgil was dead, died tragically young, somehow. Looking back, he’s not sure how he arrived there, when Janus used the present tense the entire time, quite clearly speaking as though Virgil was alive and well, just somewhere he couldn’t go.

He thinks he might understand that part a bit better now, at least, though most of it refuses to sink in. But the facts are these: Virgil, if this is Virgil, cannot possibly be human. No human looks like he does. And this fact, too, leaves Patton with far more questions than answers.

-----------

“You did what?”

Janus’ voice is loud, sharp, and it brings Patton back to the present in an instant. He doesn’t know how much time has passed while he ruminated, tried to fit all the puzzle pieces together while well aware that he only has about half of them, but Janus and Virgil have drawn back from each other, Janus’ face twisted in alarm.

“We did research before I came down here!” Virgil says. “I’ve seen what humans want to do to us! For all I knew, he’d locked you up in a room and dissected you.”

Ah. So Janus isn’t pleased that his son—his son, his son, this is Janus’ son, his husband’s son— threatened Patton with a knife. Patton would feel more gratified if he weren’t stuck on us, trying desperately to ignore the voice that whispers in the back of his mind, the one that says, well, doesn’t that make sense? Virgil’s not human, that much is obvious, so doesn’t that mean that Janus is—

“You—”

And for the first time since he recognized Virgil, named him aloud, Janus looks at Patton, and Patton looks back, unsure of exactly what emotion is showing on his face. Confusion, probably; lord knows he’s feeling enough of it right now. But for whatever reason, Janus’ expression crumples, and he gently places his hand on Virgil’s shoulder, moving him to the side.

“Virgil,” he says quietly, and for the first time, Patton realizes that he isn’t speaking English at all, but rather, that same unfamiliar language that Virgil has been utilizing, the one that morphs in his head into something that makes sense. “I… need a moment.”

“But we only just—” Virgil begins, turning so that he can see both of them at once. And then, he stops, something odd passing across his face, something that Patton can’t interpret at all. “So you really are… with him.”

“Yes.”

“But he doesn’t know,” Virgil states.

Janus closes his eyes. “No,” he says.

Virgil is silent for a long moment. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll just… go in this other room, I guess. Over here.” And with that, he backs out of the kitchen and into the living room, disappearing from Patton’s line of sight.

Patton glances back to Janus, who is just standing there, still as stone, staring at him, and he opens his mouth, fully intending to chide him for talking about him, or about something tangentially related to him, at least, like he’s not sitting right here. But no sound comes out of his mouth, and suddenly, he finds himself wheezing, gasping for breath as the events of the past few minutes crash over him, and oh god, how is he supposed to process this, reconcile himself to this, because he knew his husband had secrets and he still doesn’t think he understands fully but he does understand just enough to know that everything he thought he knew is not as it seems and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with this and—

“Breathe, Patton,” Janus says, and a gloved hand appears in his vision. He grasps it thankfully, squeezing it tight, and the contact serves to ground him, allows him to calm his panic, little by little, until his mind clears enough to realize that Janus is kneeling in front of him, expression twisted into some awful combination of worry and apprehension and a hesitance that Patton has not seen in a long, long time, not since the earliest days of their relationship, when Janus seemed so uncertain that his affections were welcomed or wanted at all, and Patton had to work so hard to convince him otherwise.

But before he can do something to comfort him, Janus draws into himself, pulling his hand back and looking at the ground. “I suppose you have questions,” he says, and Patton almost laughs at the understatement, restraining himself at the last second.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and he wants to reach out, wants to take Janus’ hand again, but Janus’ body language is so closed off that he’s not sure any touch at all would be welcome. “So, uh, that’s Virgil.”

Janus nods.

“Your son, Virgil.”

Janus nods again, his eyes flickering up for a moment and then back to the floor again.

“I’m sorry he acted the way he did,” he murmurs. “He was scared for me, so he jumped to the worst possible conclusion.”

“There was no harm done,” Patton replies, matching his soft tone. “I mean, that was really scary. I was scared. I think I still am. But I’m not hurt, and everything’s turned out okay.” Even as the words leave his mouth, he has no idea whether he’s telling the truth or not. Have things turned out okay? Have they really? He feels like they’re dancing around the most important subject, the elephant in the room, and what’s more than that, they both know they’re doing it, neither of them quite willing to broach the topic.

But they need to. So Patton does.

“He’s not…” He pauses, taking a breath, marshaling all the courage he has left in him. “He’s not human.”

The statement hangs in the air between them, like a comma in a sentence, waiting for the inevitable continuation.

Janus shakes his head, just slightly, the motion so small that Patton might have missed it had he not been looking. “No,” he says, “he’s not.” And he falls silent, unwilling to elaborate, still unwilling to so much as meet Patton’s eyes, and that leaves the impetus of the conversation on him, doesn’t it? It leaves him to voice the rest, to dare to seek confirmation of a fact that half an hour ago, would have been too unbelievable to consider. Still is, to be frank.

“He’s… an alien. He’s not from earth,” he says, putting off the inevitable for as long as possible. He stares at his husband, who he loves, who he cherishes, who he treasures, who he thought he knew. And he still does, surely, because he knows what Janus is like, knows who he is if not what he is, and that has to be enough. He’s determined to make it enough. “So… are you? An alien, I mean?”

The question is out there, now. There is no taking it back. And Janus looks up at him, finally, expression pained.

“Yes,” he says simply, and Patton has to take a moment to breathe, to wrest his spiraling thoughts back under control, because what exactly is he supposed to make of this? This feels too big for him, too vast and too shocking and too incomprehensible, and nothing, nothing has ever prepared him for this possibility.

“Okay,” he says, even though he feels like it’s really not. “Okay. That’s… okay. I need a second to, um. I just need a second.”

“Of course,” Janus says, inclining his head, and then he moves as if to stand, and no, that is absolutely not what Patton wants, so he grabs at his sleeve with one hand. Janus freezes, staring at the spot where his fingers connect with his shirt.

“That doesn’t mean I want you to leave,” he says, his voice coming out somewhere between cross and petulant. “I can have a second perfectly well with you here.”

“Oh,” Janus says, settling back on the floor. He looks more than a little bit lost, as if he can’t fathom why Patton would want him to stay, and that does hurt a bit, the implication that he thinks Patton might not want him anymore, because of this. Which, he supposes it’s a rational fear; it is, after all, a rather large secret to drop on someone four years into a marriage. But Patton just needs time to process, and once he has, he thinks he’ll be alright.

So, he closes his eyes, focusing on the texture of Janus’ sleeve against his fingers, soft and silky.

What does this change, really? A lot, obviously, but how much of that actually matters? Does Janus being an alien change the fact that he always eats the last of the ice cream, or that he insists on doing the dishes by hand, or that he cried when Bambi’s mom died even though he pretended not to so that he could comfort Patton? Does it change the fact that he’s a terrible blanket hog, or that he denies loving to cuddle but instantly latches onto Patton the moment they’re both in bed together, or that he always seems to know just what to do or say when Patton is tired and sad and all the world feels gray?

Does it change that he loves him?

No. No, it can’t possibly affect any of that at all. And he’s known that all along, really, the realization lurking just under the surface, waiting for him to have it on his own time. He feels relief flood him, because alright. His husband is an alien. It’s going to take a long time for him to be used to that. But he’ll be damned before he lets that come between them.

He opens his eyes.

“I love you,” he says, and he puts all of his sincerity, all of the reassurance he can muster into those three words. And he is prepared to say more, to go on at length about all the reasons why, but Janus winces, turns his head away.

“You can’t say that,” he says. “Patton, you don’t even know what I look like.”

He frowns. Janus’ tone edges on defeat, on something uncomfortably close to despair, and he doesn’t like that at all.

“I’m looking at you right now,” he tries, but Janus just shakes his head.

“I’m a shapeshifter,” he says, cold and biting and yet, still reluctant, as if the admission is being ripped from him. “I literally hide my true appearance from you on a daily basis. I’m not human, and I don’t look like one, not when I’m not trying to.” He turns back to him then, meets his eyes, and it’s almost like a challenge, as if he’s certain in his words, certain that Patton will turn his back on him over something like appearance. And it’s true, this new admission throws him for a bit of a loop, but he thinks if he can accept the fact that he is married to an actual alien, he can accept this, too.

Janus is a very attractive man. But Patton didn’t marry him for his looks. And no matter what sort of alien he is, no matter what he’s hiding, whether it’s tentacles or feathers or extra eyes or what-have-you, Patton will love him just the same. What concerns him most is that Janus doesn’t seem to know that, seems to think that this will be the deal-breaker, will be what sends Patton running. And he is expecting Patton to run; that is becoming increasingly clear with every passing minute.

He spent a lot of time, early on in their relationship, showing Janus that he cared about him, showing Janus that he was allowed to be cared for. He didn’t expect to have to do it again, didn’t expect to have to prove his affections once more, four years into a happy marriage, but he will do whatever it takes.

“Then show me,” he says softly, and pitches his words carefully, trying to make it seem like a request and not a demand, trying to make sure Janus knows that he doesn’t have to do anything at all, not if he doesn’t want to. “Show me what you look like.”

Janus laughs, short and sharp, like a razor’s edge. He passes a hand across his face, and Patton’s fingers finally slip from his sleeve. He removes his hat, and then, to Patton’s surprise, he begins to unbutton his shirt, shrugging it from his shoulders, and then follows that with his gloves. Patton watches as the garments hit the floor, suddenly anxious, though he tries not to show it. Whatever Janus is about to show him, it is crucial that he doesn’t allow himself to have a negative knee-jerk reaction, doesn’t allow himself to recoil before his head and heart catch up to his instincts.

Even if Janus turns into… a giant spider person, or something equally scary, he’ll still love him. He knows that, knows that there is nothing that Janus could do or be to make him stop, but what is most important right now is making sure that Janus knows that.

Janus doesn’t say anything else, just settles back firmly on his haunches, bracing his hands against his thighs, shutting his eyes. And his face slides into something blank, into something impassive, but for just a moment, Patton thinks he sees a flicker of apprehension, even of fear, and he wants nothing more to reach out, to insist that everything is going to be alright. But he knows that Janus won’t believe him right now, will shrug off any touch, so he restrains himself, and watches as Janus begins to change.

It’s slow, at first, subtle. His skin almost seems to ripple in place, and then it— flips, for lack of a better word. It reminds him of Mystique from the X-Men movies, or one of those sequined pillows or shirts that has another color on the other side, revealed when you rub the sequins the other way. His skin flips, and in its place is scales, smooth and gleaming, in dappled patterns all across the left side of his face and down his chest. And as Patton stares, utterly fascinated, they move and shift across his body, curling into different designs and reflecting different colors, green and brown and yellow. And where his skin is still bare, it seems to even out, any blemishes disappearing, and it takes on a slightly yellow tint.

And Patton is so occupied by this that he almost doesn’t see the extra arms, folding out of seemingly nowhere, two extra pairs, one resting limp at his side and the other curling around his abdomen protectively. Three pairs of arms, six hands, each one now tipped with sharp claws, and Patton gapes at them, allowing himself one moment of pure surprise before turning his attention back to Janus’ face.

It looks sharper, more angular, a bit thinner, just different enough to throw him off balance a bit. But looking at Janus, his eyes screwed shut and lips pressed into a thin line, as if awaiting judgment, he can only see his husband there, not the stranger he half feared would take his place.

And the scales, well. The scales are lovely. They shimmer and shine in the light, and Patton can’t quite tell what color they’re trying to be, nor if there is any meaning to their movements across Janus’ skin, but he is captivated by them, by their twisting, shifting beauty. They almost look as if they are dancing.

So, he does the only thing he can think to do, and reaches out to caress his face.

Janus starts, eyes flying open, jerking back, but Patton pursues him, tracing his thumb across his cheekbone. The scales there are smooth and cool to the touch, just slightly bumpy, and Patton runs his fingertips across them, learning their shape and feel. Then, Janus makes a whimpering sound, and he freezes, watching him for any additional reaction.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Should I not do that? Does it hurt?”

“No,” Janus says, almost a stutter, “no. It— feels good. It’s just, I’m not used to—” He breaks off, shuddering, and he presses his face into Patton’s hand. His eyes are open wide, flitting across Patton’s face, and he realizes that his eyes have changed, too. One is the familiar, warm brown that Patton is used to, but the other is golden-yellow and slit, like a cat, or like a snake, and it’s quite possibly one of the most gorgeous things that Patton has ever seen.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says. “You’ve been so scared, haven’t you?”

At any other time, he thinks that Janus would deny it. Janus has never been one to admit to his own vulnerabilities, has always preferred to cover everything up in a layer of sarcasm and insults and misdirection, and on the worst days, even he has trouble getting him to admit that something is wrong. But now, Janus just shakes against his hand, his whole body trembling, and says nothing at all.

“I’m so sorry you felt like you needed to hide this,” he tells him. “I think you’re beautiful.”

“I have six arms,” Janus says hoarsely, as if he thinks Patton can’t see them. “Patton, I— I have scales, I have six arms, I have—”

He cuts off with a strangled gasp as Patton grasps one of his hands, one of the new ones, one of the ones hanging at his sides, and brings it up to his lips, planting a gentle kiss on his knuckles.

“They’re very nice arms,” he tells him. “And I think it’s ridiculous that I could have been having six-armed hugs this entire time. Don’t think I’m not going to have you make up for that, mister.”

Janus laughs wetly, and this time, it’s more genuine, and laced with surprise. There are tears in his eyes, Patton realizes, tears in his eyes and beginning to streak down his cheeks, and he reaches out to wipe them away on autopilot. Janus shivers every time he makes contact with a scale, but his eyes never leave his face.

“I love you,” Patton says. “I love you, all of you, no matter what you look like or what planet you’re from. I’d love you if you were a slimy tentacle alien like in the movies. I’d love you if you had an extra head, or, or a really long neck, or if you were secretly two feet tall and bright blue. And I told you on our wedding day that I would follow you to the ends of the earth, do you remember that? But I only said that because I didn’t know that going further was an option.”

He scoots a bit closer, removing his hand from Janus’ face so that he can grab two hands at once, not paying attention to which ones. Janus’ breath hitches.

“If you honestly think,” he says seriously, “that you could ever do anything to get rid of me, you’ve got another thing coming.”

And at that, Janus lets out a sob, loud and messy, and throws himself forward, colliding with Patton’s chest. It’s an awkward angle for a hug, but Patton is too preoccupied to care, is too busy bringing his arms up to hold him, rubbing circles into his back and tracing the scales he finds there. And he’s basking in the sensation, too, drinking in the fact that there are six arms hugging him right now, clutching at him tightly, holding onto the fabric of his shirt for dear life, and he has never felt so safe, never felt so warm. So he relaxes into his husband’s embrace, embraces him in turn, lets him weep and shudder against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Janus gasps out, “I’m so sorry I doubted you, I—”

“It’s okay,” Patton murmurs. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, I’ve--” He stops, his attention suddenly distracted. “Is that a tail? Do you have a tail?”

It certainly looks like one, snaking its way out of Janus’ pants, long and thin and scaled, and how he missed that, he has no idea. Janus pulls back a bit to look him in the face. His eyes are red-rimmed, his skin flushed orange rather than pink.

“Yes,” he says. “Is that… alright?”

Curious, Patton extends a hand. The tail wraps around his wrist snugly, tugging at his arm, and he giggles a bit.

“Oh goodness,” he says, in lieu of a real response, not bothering to stop the delighted grin that spreads across his face. Janus relaxes, untensing, and slumps forward again to rest his head on his chest, releasing a long, heavy sigh.

“I’m still sorry that I kept this from you,” he murmurs, and Patton glances down at him, carding his free hand through his hair.

“You don’t have to be,” he says.

“Maybe not, but I am,” Janus replies. He shifts in place, angling himself to be able to meet his eyes. And Patton once again finds himself fascinated by his heterochromia, at the contrast between the eye he knows well and the eye that is new. It’s almost a comforting sight, once that reminds him that no matter his appearance, Janus remains the man he knows and loves.

“Did you mean it?” Janus asks. “When you said that you would go further than the earth, if given the option?”

A thrill runs through him. “Are you giving me the option?”

Janus hums. “Virgil is hardly going to be content with leaving me here,” he says, and then twists around further to stare Patton full in the face. “But I won’t leave you,” he insists, voice growing vehement. “And I won’t ask you for more than you’re willing to give. If you want to stay here, then we’ll stay here. The choice is yours.”

And Patton leans forward and kisses him on the lips, soft and short and sweet. “I’ve told you,” he says. “Where you go, I’ll follow.”

And he means it. He means it more than anything else he’s said in his life. He means it with the weight of all the years they’ve spent together, all the love he has to offer. Where Janus goes, he will follow, to the ends of the earth and beyond it, and there is a whole universe out there, waiting to be explored. He will have to make arrangements, of course, will have to contact his school and figure out something to tell his parents, and perhaps he should be dreading that, but all he can feel is exhilaration. Because his husband is an alien, has surely seen so many things that are so much bigger than their little lives here on earth, and yet, he is willing to stay here, with Patton, for Patton, and all Patton would have to do is ask.

But just as Janus has chosen him, he has chosen Janus. And for Janus, he would go anywhere.

“Because you know,” he continues, “I think you’re pretty out of this world. In fact, I’d even say that you’re a real star.”

Janus snorts, messy and undignified, and Patton smiles, pleased by the reaction.

“So, how about you introduce me to your kiddo,” he says. “Without the knives, this time. And you can tell me what I should pack.”

And Janus smiles at him, sweet and joyful, one of those expressions that no one else gets to see. Despite everything, that smile is still the same.

“Okay,” he says, and stands, pulling Patton up with him. “Let’s do that.”

And Patton clasps one of his hands, and lets Janus lead him onward.

----------

End Note: There are plenty of things that I would like to explore in this ‘verse, including putting proper focus on the anxceit, having Virgil deal with suddenly having another dad, Patton continuing to adjust himself to the new circumstances, and whatever the other sides are up to. So, I’m tentatively going to label this as a series. Future installments will be under the tag ‘it’s a space opera (and oh how the arias soar)’

General Taglist: @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina @psodtqueer @mrbubbajones @snek-boii@severelylackinginquality @aceawkwardunicorn @gayerplease

[ghostly-cabbage]

Frigid (Chapter 5)

Genre: Horror, Angst, Enemies to Friends (to maybe more??? ohoho) 

Chapter Rating: T (Language, Canon Typical Violence, Brief Mention of Underage Drug Use) 

Word Count: 6,554

AO3 FFN

<<Previous | Next>>

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The black and white dashed pavement was all Wes saw. It moved underneath his clumsy feet in slow motion. 

Someone was holding his hand; he could feel the heat of their palm enveloping his. His hand was small in theirs. His shoulders were heavy, weighed down by a backpack. 

He wrung the padded red strap with his free hand. The person leading him tugged him along after them, insistent, but not unkind. When he looked up, he couldn’t see who it was. The sun was too bright, glinting in his eyes and allowing nothing but the dark impression of a silhouette. 

He had to get home, Wes remembered faintly. They had to get home or they’d be in trouble. An odd feeling crept up his legs, and he stumbled over an untied shoelace. The person with him made sure he didn’t fall, pulling up on his arm. 

“Silly Wesley, I thought you said you knew how to tie your shoes?” The person said. Their voice sounded muffled, like he was underwater. It sounded… familiar. Somehow. Like Wes should recognize it. 

They kept walking across the street, the far side growing no closer.

Wes swallowed, his throat dry. 

“Something’s wrong,” he said. His tongue felt clumsy in his mouth. He tried to look up at the person guiding him. They weren’t looking at him, and the sun drove his gaze away again. He looked back at the road, then over his shoulder where the blurry shape of school became more distant with every step.

 “Please listen to me this time, something isn’t right,” he tried again. His voice was small in his throat. His chaperone ignored him, or maybe they just couldn’t hear him. 

Cold panic seeped into him and he tried to resist against the person guiding him. He dug his heels into the rough hot pavement. He twisted and pulled at his hand, gripping the person's wrist in hopes he could slow them down. 

“It’s okay, Wessie! Your friends will be there when you come back,” came the voice, happy and completely oblivious. “I know it’s sad, but you’ll see your friends again, you’ll see.” 

“No,” he protested, the fear condensing into a lump in his throat. “No, we can’t keep going.” He didn’t know why. He just knew they had to stop. 

They had to stop before it happened. 

It ached deep in his bones, the dread and the sirens. His vision swirled and he blinked furiously against the tears. 

“Please,” he pleaded. “Please, stop, you have to.” He yanked on them, but they showed no sign of being inconvenienced. A wail rose in his throat. 

Why were they not listening?

“Maybe your Mom will let us have some fruit snacks when we get there, how’s that sound?” 

And then it was too late. 

His guardian gasped, and yanked him back. It sent a painful jolt through his arm. He stumbled backwards and hit the ground so hard it rattled his brain. 

The sound he could never push from his memories filled the world. The squeal of tires and a wet crunch. A squeal: high pitched and girlish. The solid thunk and crack of a body hitting the pavement, skidding and rolling and breaking and—

Wes sat bolt upright, strangling back a scream. 

Panic tingled over his skin and he clutched at his chest, fingers curling into the cotton of his nightshirt. His breath came in rapid gulps and his eyes darted around his room. Like he was expecting to see— 

He screwed his eyes shut and bit into his bottom lip until he tasted blood. God… He hadn’t had one that bad— that vivid in a long time. He focused on the beat of his heart for several long seconds, forcing his breathing to slow. 

God. He hated nightmares. 

He opened his eyes, taking in the dimly illuminated shapes of his dresser, desk and footboard. His curtains were drawn, and the weak light of morning tried in vain to worm it’s way into the room from behind the fabric. 

Wes reached for his phone on his bedside table. He unplugged it from the charger and winced against the light of the screen, 6:31 a.m. Friday. 

They’d had the last two days off from school due to damages to the plumbing system, but apparently it was all fixed up because school hadn’t been cancelled today. 

After that, going back to sleep was a lost cause. 

He shook his head and peeled his covers back. Might as well get an early start on getting ready for school. With a yawn he opened his door and glanced down the hall. 

Kyle’s door wasn’t open yet, which wasn’t surprising. Kyle was late most mornings; he liked sleeping in about as much as he liked weed… he slept in so much because of the weed more specifically. 

The house was chilly and quiet. 

That was until Wes heard footsteps and the sounds of drawers opening and closing in the kitchen. 

His right hand slid along the guide rail, the polished wood still smelling of lemon. Reaching the bottom of the stairs he poked his head around the corner of the wall and into the kitchen. He blinked. 

It was his dad. He was standing at the toaster, a butter knife held in his hand. Neatly ironed suit already on. 

Wes walked in without announcing himself and went to the cupboard. His dad jumped, catching a glimpse of him over his shoulder. 

“Oh, Wesley.” He cleared his throat and shifted towards him. “You’re up early.” 

“Yep.” 

He got a box of cereal and closed the cupboard. He turned his back to his father to get a clean bowl. 

“Right. Uhm. Did you… want toast?”

Wes nudged the cupboard door closed with an elbow. 

“No, I don’t want toast.” He put his bowl on the dining table and filled it with cereal. His dad watched him. 

“There’s eggs in the fridge too if you—” 

“Dad, it’s fine.” Wes didn’t look at him, and put the cereal box away. He got the jug of milk from the fridge and poured it over the sugary monstrosity that had the audacity to call itself a balanced breakfast. Other than the sound of the milk glugging, the kitchen was tense and silent. Wes screwed the cap back on the milk and put it back in the fridge, getting a spoon next from the silverware drawer. 

The toaster popped, and his Dad startled. 

Under different circumstances Wes might have laughed. 

He pulled out a seat at the table, its legs scraping over the hardwood floor. He sank down into the cold chair and started eating. He pulled his phone out from his sweatpant pocket and scrolled without really paying attention to the images and text that slid past. 

“Aren’t you late for work or something?” he said. His dad stopped scraping the butter on his toast. 

“Now that I’m finally settled into the office a bit more I don’t have to be in till seven.” 

Wes clicked his tongue. “Oh. Joy.” He shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. His dad sighed, and he could see his shoulders slump out of the corner of his eye. 

“Your uh, tryouts are today, right?” 

“Why’s it matter? Not like you ever have time to come to my games anyway.” He said it hoping it would hurt. It was childish, Wes knew it was, but he just wanted his dad to get it for once.

“Wesley, kiddo... I know this has been hard on you and your brother—” Wes snorted. His Dad pressed on. “But this job was an amazing opportunity, I really think it could do a lot of good for us.” 

“We were fine with the job you had.”

“I thought a change of environment would help after everything that happened. I’m only doing what’s best for the two of you. For all of us, as a family.”

Wes laughed. It was empty and brittle. 

“Well, that’s news to me. We’re hardly even a family anymore.” 

“Wesley,” his dad’s voice took on a stern edge. 

“You didn’t care about us, if you did you would have asked what we wanted.” 

“And this is exactly why I didn’t.” His Dad gestured jerkily towards him with the butter knife.

“What’s that mean?” Wes slapped his phone down and glared up at his dad.

“It’s clear that you’re still too immature to deal with this like an adult. I’m doing this with your futures in mind, Wesley.” 

“By ripping us away from home? From all our friends? From Grandma and Grandpa? Uncle Ronnie?” Wes’ heart was thumping in his ears and he wanted to scream, flip the table over, something to make the pressure in his chest go away. 

His dad scoffed. 

“Don’t raise your voice at me. I told you when we moved that we would visit for the holidays.” 

“That just makes it all better. Doesn’t it?” he pushed through grit teeth. He squeezed the handle of his spoon in his fist, the cool metal pressing indentions into his skin. 

“The world doesn’t revolve around you and what you want. It’s no one's fault but your own that you’re choosing to learn it the hard way.” 

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite.” 

“Wesley!” his dad snapped. “One thing you won’t do is speak to me like that under my roof, you understand me?”

Wes held his dad’s gaze, not backing down.

“After tryouts you come right home and stay here for the weekend.” 

“What? Seriously?!” 

“Yes, seriously.”

Rage whirled in his throat and he bit down on his tongue. He stood up, his chair skidding backwards. Fucking bullshit. It was fucking bullshit. 

He threw his spoon down onto the table. It clattered and bounced off the side of his bowl. He snatched his phone and stormed away from the table and back up to his room. He slammed his door behind him and stood there seething, his hands balled into fists. 

He stood there as the seconds ticked by, eyes roaming over his room for something he wouldn’t mind breaking. The buzz of his phone distracted him, and he looked down, turning on the screen.

If it was from Dad he was gonna—

Alien Fucker: ? 

Oh. Right. 

It made sense that he’d probably woken up Kyle. He typed a message back into their chat. 

Basketball Freak: Nothing

Alien Fucker: Didn’t sound like nothing 

Basketball Freak: Dad grounded me again 

...

it’s whatever at this point  

Alien Fucker: F in the chat

…

want me to talk to him?  

Basketball Freak: no, its fine 

Alien Fucker: K just lemme know 

Kyle always felt like he had to be the mediator. In the year leading up to the divorce he was the middle man between Mom and Dad, despite Wes telling him that it was ridiculous. Their parents were grown-ass adults. They shouldn’t have fucking needed their seventeen-year-old-son to deliver messages back and forth because they couldn’t stand to talk to each other. And Dad called him immature. 

Kyle hated the tension, he took on the peacekeeper role like a job, trying to hold them all together in vain as the family crumbled around him. Wes probably hadn’t helped any, looking back. 

He picked fights with Dad like it was his job. 

And Mom… He still didn’t talk to Mom. 

He tried to get where Kyle was coming from, he really did. But pretending that shit wasn't fucked wasn’t going to unfuck it. 

Their parents deserved to know what they'd done was wrong. And if hating them was what it took, then goddamnit, Wes was going to do it.  

Wes tossed his phone onto his bed and started getting dressed for school. 

***

The school day passed by uneventful. Mia had the scoop about some couple that had broken up over the two day break that Wes hardly paid attention to. He helped her set her shutter speed and they took pictures of fast moving objects outside. 

At lunch he sat with Kyle and his stoner friends. 

In chemistry, Wes got there after Danny. He set his stuff down, scooting his stool away from him. They ignored each other the best they could as people got settled for class. 

 Wes bounced his leg on the stool’s rung and kept an eye on the clock. Two more classes until tryouts. 

Mrs. Merriweather erased the notes on the board from last class and once the bell rang her iron gaze flicked over the class to make sure everyone was where they were supposed to be. 

“Once I take roll, you’ll work on writing your findings from the last lab in a short essay.” An unenthused murmur filtered through the class. Wes glanced sideways to see Danny grimacing. 

Hah. Served him right. 

“Mr. Fenton. You can make up for your absence last class in an hour's detention after school today.”

Some of their classmates turned to look at Danny, half smiles and shared glances. Nothing was more unifying in a classroom than someone who wasn't you getting in trouble. 

Danny hunched his shoulders and sighed.

“Yes, Mrs. Merriweather,” he said.     

Sucked for him, but really, what did he expect? Skipping class was a risk he decided to take. 

Wes used his notes from the lab he’d done by himself, and started writing his short essay. The class quieted and the only sound was the occasional whisper and the shuffle of papers. 

Danny was quiet, fiddling with a pencil and looking at his phone under the table when Mrs. Merriweather wasn’t watching. Wes couldn’t tell who Danny was messaging, but if he had to guess it’d be the other two-thirds of his friend group. Eventually, Danny pulled out papers from a beat up binder and started working on it. From the corner of his eye he’d guess it was history homework.  

All Wes cared about was that Danny didn’t bother him. He wrote his essay with his mind half on the words and half on the growing excitement of hitting the court. Finally, finally he’d be able to do one of the only things he was good at. The minutes dragged past and around the fiftieth time he’d glanced up at the clock Danny shifted next to him. 

“Dude, chill out, you’re making me nervous,” he said quietly. He didn’t even look up from his homework when he said it. 

Wes lifted his head from his partially done essay and narrowed his eyes. 

“Mind your own business, Fenton.” 

Fenton rolled his eyes but said no more. 

Class wrapped up twenty minutes later, Wes turned in his sloppily written essay and bolted out of the room. The hallways swelled with students as they poured from their classrooms. Econ was all that stood between Wes and tryouts. He swung by his locker, grabbing his books. 

He was about to turn to leave when he bumped into someone. They both stumbled back and Wes recognized the pungent smell coming off the other person. 

“Whoa man, sorry ‘bout that.” Said a guy with blond hair and a beanie slouched over his head. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Wes said, trying to get around him. 

“Hey wait, you’re Wesley, right? Kyle’s lil bro.” 

Well, that explained the smell. 

“Uh, yeah that’s me. Sorry, but I’ve gotta—” 

“Dude, sweet. Name’s Robbie, I’m pretty chill with your brother,” he said. 

“That’s nice. Well, nice to meet you and stuff.” Wes stepped around the stoner and headed towards his class. 

“Yeah, totally! I wasn’t here for lunch but Kyle said you hung out with the group today—” Robbie said, following after Wes. 

He pushed a breath between his teeth. Great, guess this was happening now. 

“—but like Kyle’s told me a lot about you, man.” 

“Cool?” Seriously, why was this guy talking to him? 

“Yeah, I just wanted to say the group’s mega on your side.” 

“Uh-huh. Cool.” 

Wait. 

“On my side about what?” Wes slowed his pace.

“The ghosts, bro!” 

“What about them?” 

“Pf, bruh. We’ve lived in Amity Park for like, ever? We’re trying to convince him that this ghost stuff is legit.” 

Wes scoffed. “Good luck with that. I’ve been trying since I was like six.” 

Robbie shook his head. “I know what’cha mean, bro. Dude’s like a steel trap... or however that saying goes.” Robbie shrugged. 

Wes chuckled. “Let me know if you guys make any progress with him,” he said. He’d meant it as a joke, but Robbie nodded seriously. 

“Hell yeah, dude, that’s what’s up. You can count on me.” He held out a closed fist to Wes. 

He rolled his eyes but didn’t hide his grin. He fist bumped Robbie. 

“Okay, well… I’m going to class now.” 

Robbie held up his hands. “Oh, yeah, totes. I should probably do that too, now that I think about it.”

“Probably.” 

Robbie turned and walked away in the opposite direction, a single textbook swinging in his grasp. Kyle’s friends were always friendly. Even if they were a bit annoying. 

Wes was almost late for Econ, thanks to the fact the class was on the other side of the building. He slipped into the room and sat down, letting out a breath when the last bell rang thirty seconds later. 

Mr. Brown took his place at the front of the class, voice as monotonous as ever. His button-up was wrinkled around his midsection, and he ran his hands over it like that would help.

“Alright class, we’re going to start talking about the stock market today,” he said, pulling up Google on the projector.    

Wes hardly absorbed a word from Mr. Brown’s lecture, which was a total snooze-fest. The stock market wasn’t exactly riveting stuff. He bounced his leg under his desk, watching the clock.

Mr. Brown was in the middle of describing the homework: picking three stocks and tracking their ups and downs through-out the weekend, when the bell rang. Wes had been about ready to start pulling his hair out. 

He shot up from his seat and was first out the door.  

Wes made a beeline for his locker. Or at least he tried. He got stuck behind kids walking at a snail's pace three times. He got a few dirty looks for pushing past people loitering in their groups. 

Eventually, he made it to his locker and fumbled with the lock. Once open, he stuffed his books and notes anywhere they’d fit. Papers crumpled and his notebook creaseed down the center. He pulled his bag from the hook and slung it over his shoulder. He headed to the locker rooms at a jog, back to bobbing and weaving around people in the halls.  

“Mr. Weston, no running in the halls!” He heard Mr. Lancer call after him as he went past the English room. He slowed down to a power walk, not caring that he looked stupid. 

He got to the locker room and got his gym clothes out. He changed quickly, ripping his shirt off and almost tripping over his jeans. 

There were other guys in the room, some he recognized and others he didn’t. Before he put his phone away he checked it, the screen lighting up. At the very top of the lock screen was a message notification. 

Mom: How was the first week of school?

His fingers tightened around his phone, pushing the blood away from his fingertips and leaving them pale. He stared at it until the screen dimmed. 

He didn’t want to think about it, not now—not at all. He tossed his phone into his bag and zipped it up. 

Out of sight out of mind. 

He locked up the rest of his stuff and left the locker room. He followed a few other guys into the gym. 

The overhead lights reflected in bright streaks on the polished wood floor. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the smell of cleaners and old set in sweat. He scuffed the toe of his sneaker on the floor. The high pitched sound echoed around the room; it felt like home. 

Mrs. Tetslaff was standing by the bleachers, writing something on a clipboard. A few students that looked like freshmen were wheeling out a wire cart heaped with basketballs. 

Wes walked towards Tetslaff, coming to stop a ways away. He shifted from foot to foot in anticipation. Within a minute or two there was a loose ring of guys waiting around. A majority were talking amongst themselves, joking around. Clearly they were last year’s team, bonded by hours of blood, sweat, and tears. Wes was on the outside. He felt a sour twinge in his stomach watching them. He wondered how his old team was doing… None of them had messaged him since he left. Not even Cole or Adam.

“Ay, new kid!” 

Wes turned to see a guy with short black hair and olive brown skin. The guy was a bit taller than him. He came up and clapped Wes on the back so hard it stung his skin. He stumbled forward a bit before catching himself. 

“I hear you played point in Cali.” 

Wes tapped the toe of his shoe against the ground a few times. “Yeah?” 

The guy smiled, dark eyes sparkling. He had a nicely structured face, the stubble on his chin making it a reasonable guess that he was a senior. 

“I’m José. Wesley, right? ” He crossed his arms over his chest. Wes didn’t know if he was intending to show off his biceps or not, but it certainly seemed like he was. “I was point-guard last year, and ain’t no way in hell some lanky California kid is gonna yoink my spot.” 

Wes carefully gaged for any hostility, but there was none. José was all smiles. A friendly challenge? 

“I guess we’ll just see about that, won’t we?” He smirked back. 

Somehow José’s smile got bigger. He laughed, his posture breaking into something more casual. 

“I like you already, Wesley.” He stuck out his hand for a handshake. Wes obliged. José grabbed his hand without mercy and shook so vigorously Wes thought he’d lose his arm.

“Just ‘Wes’ is fine,” he said with a wince. José released his hand. “Ow,” he muttered, shaking his hand out. 

“C’mon, you can hang with us, save you the embarrassment of mingling with the Freshmen.” José slung an arm around his shoulders and steered him into the inner circle of guys. He followed, mostly because he didn’t have much of a choice. As they got close the group looked up, varying levels of welcoming. 

“Wes, this is Mark,” he pointed to the dude the farthest from them. He was shorter than Wes, long brown hair tied behind his head. 

“‘Sup.” 

“Next we got Joseph.” José motioned to a guy with terrible posture, it made it hard to tell how tall he was. He looked familiar and it took a few seconds for the light bulb to come on. It clicked and Wes remembered he had Homeroom with him. “We just call him Jo or Joey though.” The guy in question threw up a peace sign. He had light grey hair, obviously the product of a good chunk of money and some bleach. 

Now that Wes thought of it, living in Amity Park, it was weird how many people didn’t have crazy bleached or dyed hair. Maybe it was more of a west coast thing? Or Amity was just behind on the times. Probably both.  

“This is Anthony,” José moved to the next guy. He was about Wes’ height and he had neatly cut and styled almond brown hair. He looked like he belonged in a boy band. His eyes were hazel green, and he looked Wes up and down. 

“Hey,” was all he said. Wes tried not to stare too long as José moved on. 

“Last but not least we got our boy Isaac.” He had black hair, shaved on the sides and longer on top with loose curls. He had dark skin like José. Isaac pointed finger guns at him. 

“Yo, man, pleasure to meet ya,” he said. He had more of a detectable latin accent than José.   

José broke away from Wes to clap hands with Isaac and pull him into a one armed hug. 

“This here our inner circle, Joey and Mark are Juniors like you, but the rest of us ’re Seniors.” 

“It’s nice to meet all you guys, God, you don’t know how long it feels like I’ve waited for today,” he said. He rubbed his upper arm.  

“I just hope you ain’t rusty. I heard you got game.” Isaac said.

Wes shrugged a shoulder. “I mean…” 

“Humble,” José nodded. “I like that about you, Wes. I’m ‘bouta smoke you, make sure you stay that way.” 

The rest of the group let out a chorus of “oh”s. The gauntlet had officially been thrown down in front of witnesses. Wes didn’t fight his smile as he sank into the familiar feeling. 

“Cool, dude. Just don’t cry when I dunk on your ass, okay?” 

The group oh’d louder this time. 

“Dammnn, new kid! You got spunk, never would have guessed from class,” Joseph laughed. “Seriously, in Homeroom he never talks to anyone,” he told the rest of the group. 

“Hey, no judgment, Anthony’s been needing another introvert to keep him company.” Mark grabbed Anthony by the shoulders and gave him a rattle. 

Anthony waved him off. “Shut up.” 

The sound of a whistle pierced through the gym. They all cringed and turned to look at the source of the noise.

Mrs. Testlaff had her hands on her hips. 

“What’re you all waiting around for? You know the drill, warm-ups first.” She clapped a palm against the back of her clipboard. Her voice boomed through the gym.  “Two laps around the gym, go!” 

***

The amount of drills they did had to be criminal. Wes’ muscles burned and his hair was spiked with sweat and water from the fountain down the hall. He’d forgotten his water bottle at home, which he wholeheartedly blamed on his dad.  

It took a while, shaking off the rust and sinking back into his comfort zone. It felt like the court snapped into focus and all that mattered was the squeak of shoes and the fleeting touch of the ball against the curve of his palm. His body moved the exact way he wanted it to. He spun and dodged, nailed three point shots more often than not, felt like he was riding a high.

They practiced individual skills before they moved onto mock games. José was no joke. He moved like he could read the offence’s mind. It was frustrating and exhilarating at the same time. 

The group’s synchronicity of their plays made their history together obvious. 

The practice games were intense and competitive. For every layup and three pointer Wes scored, José would score the same. The others weren’t pushovers either. Isaac would shut him out with a shit-eating grin and Anthony was way faster than he looked. 

José blew past his sophomore defender and jumped, slamming the ball through the basket and holding onto the rim for a few seconds before he dropped. He bounced into a jog, whooping in triumph. Isaac and Mark high-fived him while Joseph and Anthony, who were on Wes’s side, groaned.

Mrs. Tetslaff blew the whistle and everyone stopped, turning towards her. 

“Alright, gentlemen, good job today. Take a five minute break. Go get some water and then we’ll move into cool downs.” 

Wes sighed, his shoulders sagging. Admittedly, he was tired, but he didn’t want to stop. His new friend group walked towards the corner of the gym to a bench where they had water bottles and towels. Wes, who had neither, just went for the company. Issac grabbed his shoulder as he neared. 

“Shit, man, you can actually play,” he said, giving him a shake.

“So can you guys,” he breathed. Wes grabbed the hem of his shirt and used it to wipe the sweat off his face. “You didn’t take it easy on me that’s for sure.” 

“Mrs. Tetslaff was impressed, I could tell,” Joseph said, sprawling out on one of the benches. 

“You think so?” Wes glanced back at the stern woman who was in the middle of yelling at a pair of Freshmen across the gym.

“For sure, bro. The way you played you might jus’ make varsity,” José said, smacking the cap of his water bottle closed. 

“‘Might’?” Wes quirked a brow. 

“Homie, yer gonna have to get past us to make varsity,” Isaac pointed out, gesturing to the rest of the guys. Wes blinked, looking at the five of them. 

“Damn, guess you’re right.” 

“It’s okay, you can take Joey’s spot, he won’t miss it,” Mark said, snapping his hand towel at Joseph. He squawked and rolled off the bench onto the floor with a thud. 

“Asshole! And what the hell d’you mean I wouldn’t miss it?” He pushed himself up to glare up at Mark. 

“Bruh, all last season you cared more about flirting with Tiff than showing up to practice on time.” 

Joseph’s cheeks flushed pink. 

“So? I still got better stats than you did. Plus who doesn’t lose track of time when flirting with a cute girl?”

“I dunno, man. Sounds like a straight problem,” Anthony said from Wes’ other side. Wes looked over at him, a little surprised. 

Joseph pushed himself up. “Shut up, Anthony, as if you haven’t been late because you’re flirting with some guy.” 

Anthony snorted. “At this school? Gimme a break.” 

“Whatever, dude, at least I don’t wanna fuck a ghost.” 

That managed to get a reaction out of Anthony. He stiffened, cheeks tinting red. His gaze darted around the ground before his expression hardened.

“If I remember right, Joseph, you retweeted Dash’s ‘Its not gay if he’s dead’ tweet just like everybody else,” he shot back, lifting his chin.

Joseph’s eyes widened. 

Isaac, Mark and José spluttered from behind Joseph. Anthony smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Because it was funny! It was a meme, dude!”

“No need to get defensive now, it’s okay. You can admit that Phantom made you have a gay awakening.” Anthony had an evil twinkle in his eye, like a shark that’d caught the scent of blood.

“What? Dude, no I— Guys come on, help me out here.” 

Isaac stepped up next to Joseph and threw an arm around him, pulling him closer by his neck. 

“Homie, no cap, I wasn’t bi till I moved here. That probably ain’t no coincidence, know wha’m’sayin’?  

Joseph looked stricken, like he could feel himself losing the argument. 

“Oh come on—what about you, newbie?” 

All eyes turned to Wes and he swallowed. Oh, God. Why were people in Amity so goddamn weird? Attracted? To a ghost? 

“Uhm… I mean. Uh. I’ve only seen him once…” He twisted the toe of his shoe against the ground. “Also he’s technically dead, right? Isn’t that like, messed up?” 

Everyone who wasn’t Joseph just rolled their eyes or puffed out a breath. 

“He’s new, give him a while, he’ll come around,” Isaac said, sharing glances with the guys in support of literally thinking a ghost was hot. Wes tried to hide his bewilderment. He seriously doubted he’d “come around”. What was wrong with these people? 

Joseph shoved himself away from Isaac’s grip and interlocked his arm with Wes’. 

“Fuck you guys, Wes is my new bestfriend now.” 

“Boy, you literally out here with silver hair, who’da fuck you think you foolin?” José said, jabbing a flat hand towards him.

“...Elliot said it’d help me get girls’ numbers,” he said softly, lifting his hands to tend it with a frown.  

“You actually listened to that clown?” Anthony grimaced. 

“Bro, I thought you said you liked it?” 

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” 

“Oof, Anthony hit his word limit, guys.” Mark said. The guys broke into laughter. For the first time since moving to Amity Park, Wes actually didn’t hate being there. 

But because it was in-fact Amity Park, of course that’s when shit went sideways. 

There was an explosion from above them. Wes flinched, whipping around towards the source of the sound. The overhead lights flickered, and debris rained down on the center of the court. There was a gaping hole in the ceiling of the gym, sunlight streaming through. A huge shape flew down through the hole, stopping to float thirty feet up. The being glowed unnaturally and had what looked like a mohawk of green flames. The thing looked around, and then flew straight towards Wes and the group. Wes stumbled back into Isaac, his brain short circuiting.

“What the hell—” 

“Ghost!” someone screamed, and that’s all it took for the gym to descend into chaos. People scattered, fleeting through the nearest exits. 

But Wes and his new friends had nowhere to go. They all backed up, pushed against each other in the corner.

“Oh shit,” José said, voice hushed. “It’s Skulker.” 

“What? Who?” Wes whispered back. 

“Dude, shut up! He’s coming closer,” Joseph hissed, slapping a hand over Wes’ mouth. He didn’t even have time to be pissed about it before the ghost was right on top of them.

It grinned. The air felt heavy and Wes’ heart kicked in his chest. Its body was grey and sleek like metal. Out of all the ghosts that they could have, of course Amity had a fucking cyborg ghost. 

The ghost loomed over them. “Have any of you feeble little humans seen the Ghost Child recently?” Its voice was gruff and low, echoing horribly against Wes’ ears. Its eyes were disks of solid green burning into them as it stared. It was still smiling, jagged metal teeth gleaming in the dim reflected light. 

Wes wanted to say “no”, maybe that would make it leave, but Joey’s hand was still firmly over his mouth. The ghost leaned closer, its glare narrowing. 

“Well? Speak, you sniveling humans,” it growled. 

There was a moment’s silence, then: “recently? No.” 

Wes, along with the rest of the group’s attention snapped over in dismay to Anthony. He looked nonchalant, or would have if not for the rigidness of his arms and the tension in his brow. Their gaze slowly craned back over to the ghost, terrified of its reaction.

But the ghost leaned back, demeanor doing a complete one-eighty. “Huh, you haven’t?” Its eyes went cartoonishly big. He looked at a panel that appeared on the back of his wrist. “My scanners say he’s in the area.” The ghost tapped in the scanner a few times, before he gave up and shrugged. 

“No matter.” The cruel smile spread over its face again. “All I have to do is stir up a bit more trouble and my prey will surely appear.” 

Wes watched in horror as long wicked green blades extended out from the ghost’s arms. It closed the small gap between them, a chuckle building up from its throat—or whatever ghosts had. 

“Why hasn’t someone hit the Ghost Alarm?” Mark whispered. 

“Shh,” José snapped. 

Wes swallowed, his mouth going dry and his knees shaking. 

Yeah, he absolutely hated it here again. 

The ghost lifted a blade, resting its tip just above his collarbone. Holy shit, holy shit, holy—

Wes caught the sight of movement from behind the ghost: a flash of black and white. 

“Skulker, leave them alone,” came another echoing voice. Instead of feeling hot and stuffy a chill spread over Wes’ skin as the temperature of the gym dropped. 

The metal ghost spun around, its absence opening up the group's line of sight enough to see none other than Phantom. He was floating some ten feet away, arms crossed over his chest. He paid them no attention, his eyes fully locked on the hulking metal ghost. 

“Oh thank fuck,” Joseph breathed, relaxing enough to release Wes. 

“There you are, Ghost Child,” the cyborg said, sounding pleased. “I was wondering when you’d decide to—” Phantom became a blur. The next thing Wes knew, the huge ghost was sent flying, crashing into a wall on the right side of the gym. 

Phantom was now occupying the space the cyborg ghost had just been. He shook out his hand before curling it back into a fist. “Seriously, how many times do I have to tell you not to drag people into our shit, Skulker?” There was a beat, and Phantom looked over at them, like he’d just remembered they were there in the first place. His eyes flicked over all of them, and Wes couldn’t suppress his shiver when the ghost looked at him. 

“Oh, ‘sup. You guys might wanna, ya’know...” He jerked his head towards the closest exit. And then Phantom was gone, reappearing across the gym. The group didn’t need to be told twice, the next second they were moving. They scrambled out of the corner, practically tripping over one another. 

Wes felt like he was frozen in place. He stared dumbly at where Phantom and the metal ghost were now locked in battle. 

“Dude, what’re you waiting for? Let’s go!” José said, grabbing Wes by the arm and hauling him towards the doors. 

“Wait—” he objected weakly. His legs felt like jelly as he moved. He wanted to see the fight, see Phantom. He didn’t know why, but something in the back of his mind was screaming at him. 

He had questions.

But his new friends didn’t stop until they’d dragged him out through the metal swinging doors of the gym and into the hallway. The door slowly swung back closed, and Wes caught a glimpse of green bolts streaking like comets through the air and Phantom colliding with the ground.  

[takonei]

Beta AU - Main story, Chapter 6, Investigation (Part 1)

Note of the author: Guess who’s baaaack? ;) Boy have I been waiting for this chapter.

Chapter 6: My killing game, our killing game

...

A young boy wanders in the cafeteria, a rather tasty-looking meal on his plate.

He spots the two other people present and approaches them.

"C-Can I sit here?"

The girl was mindlessly picking the vegetables on her plate with a fork, head resting in her palm. "Suit yourself."

The silence immediately settled back.

It's not like there was anything to say. What was the point of talking anyway?

... He doesn't know how much time passed before he heard the sound of footsteps behind him.

The person didn't even ask before sitting next to them.

He had seen him back then, so his face was not so unfamiliar.

The other guy stared at him curiously, then raised his head.

"... I feel like I've seen you somewhere before." he said. "Not that it really matters anymore."

The new guy rolled his eyes. "Yes, I killed someone a year ago and my face was plastered on every single newspaper for two weeks. Big deal."

The girl raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be... you know... in prison?"

"It was a pain making my way out here, but I'm used to orchestrating mastermind-ish plans. It's a must-have in this world."

"I see..."

Leaning back into his chair, the supposed murderer glanced at the other side of the cafeteria, where two other people were discussing, far away from them. A rather frail-looking boy and a strong-looking young woman. He narrowed his eyes at them, like a predator analyzing its prey.

But the silence was rather cut short as the sound of a breaking plate was heard, accompanied by a person stumbling on the ground, now covered in food.

A man was standing next to the victim, clearly the one responsible for the incident. "Watch where you're going, skeleton."

The smaller girl looked like she wanted to cry, trying to retrieve what she could with difficulty.

He swore he saw a smirk forming on the killer's face before turning back to look at the scene. "Hey, jackass. Try to get a better adversary next time, would you? You look pathetic bullying someone half your size, just saying."

"What did you say?!"

"How about you try and fight mademoiselle over here instead?" he glanced at the tall woman in the back. "Unless you're scared of getting your ass handed to you by a girl."

"I'll fucking show you-!"

"ENOUGH!!"

Everyone turned to the source of the voice.

Just their presence was enough to make everyone on edge, but their wrath was feared by all. Like a god among men, a single misstep around them was enough to put your life and dignity on the line.

And they were not here to play poker.

"You two better not cause any more trouble. I could snap my fingers and you two would become cannon fodder for them. You wouldn't want that for yourself, would you?"

The two's gazes met. The tall man's eyes were full of rage, but the other was not letting any emotion slip out. Perhaps one could see annoyance with a hint of pride, if they were perceptive enough.

But both knew their place. It was wiser not to respond.

"... That's what I thought. Because you are here does not mean you are safe yet, remember that."

Silence settled back in the cafeteria, but the dread did not fade away.

But they were here now, and there was no going back.

Not now, not ever.

 ...

 --

 ...

The stars were illuminating the night sky as always, giving the academy a semblance of light in the darkness.

Although that is only a lie Shuichi told himself to feel more human, even though he would never admit it out loud.

An artificial sky looming over an academy of students with fake memories and pasts.

His sense of reality was decaying over time. If he really took a moment to think for himself, he would probably feel his mind falling apart. Nothing but a structure of lies that unconsciously kept him sane, slowly crumbling into ruins.

After watching Rantaro's video and learning the truth about his intentions and his wretched success, they had left the building.

Miu stopped in her tracks. Her eyes wide, she had been staring at the ground the entire time.

"This is... This is so wrong..." she muttered.

Kaito put a hand on her shoulder. "At least... He succeeded in his own way."

The young woman immediately jerked away. "Succeeded?! Rantaro died! He killed himself and Ryoma for his plan and you're telling me he succeeded?!"

"I never said the way he did so wasn't completely fucked up!!" Kaito yelled back. "Hell, I don't even know why he considers it a success in the first place, I'm just quoting him!"

Shuichi didn't have the courage to look at them in the eyes, but spoke anyway. "He said it would kill Monokuma's will to continue the game, but... Is this really true?"

"Who the fuck cares about that?!" tears formed in Miu's eyes. "Why did he think that killing himself was something that would truly end the game?!"

Kokichi didn't even try to say anything. He could only stare at the argument.

"We don't know what Monokuma is planning to do now, he could put us through another time limit for all we know!!" Miu continued rambling. "Monokuma wants to make us suffer no matter what, why did he think he would stop after that?!"

"I don't fucking know!!" Kaito could only try to keep up. It's not like the others could. "I don't know what went through Rantaro's head nor what led him to believe that this would be a brilliant plan!"

"I don't think trying to understand his thought process would lead us somewhere."

Shuichi jumped at the voice.

Kirumi was staring at the ground. She looked... distressed.

"He was too far gone. There's something in his eyes that felt unnatural."

"Something, dare I say... not even human. I cannot describe it, but it's not an emotion you would ever want to see in someone."

The violinist felt his heart sting. He had seen it, too. The two were the ones who witnessed the most of him. Not the facade of the leader who fought no matter what, but the vulnerable him. The real him.

But Miu lost even more of her temper than she already had. She approached Kirumi and grabbed her by the strands of her corset. "Rantaro was our friend!! And you're saying he doesn't even deserve to be called 'human'?!"

Shuichi tried to step in. "That's not what she meant! Miu, please! We're all-

"Am I the only one who even remotely cared about him?!"

She slammed a hand to her chest. Her voice was cracking, and tears were now yet again flowing from her eyes.

"You're all yelling about how there was no hope in Rantaro, that he wasn't even human in your eyes!! You're all claiming to like him but can't even show him respect after he's dead!!"

"How did I even bring myself to befriend any of you monsters?!"

Shuichi felt himself stiffen.

There's a part of him that knew Miu meant her words.

He quickly realized he was not the only one who froze.

Everyone was silently staring at her.

The artist stared back, slowly realizing what she had just said. She slammed her hands on her mouth. "I..."

"It's fine."

Shuichi immediately looked at Kokichi.

"You don't need to say anything. I... I know I must have said way worse back then."

She glanced away. "You... You were just grieving."

"And so are you!" he exclaimed. "You said it to me back in my lab! We all should take the time to grieve! Why would you be an exception to this?!"

She stared at him with dumbfounded eyes.

“Please... I don’t want you to lament in despair like I did and I... I don’t want you to go through the pain I experienced.” Kokichi muttered.

“I don’t want anyone else to go through this ever again.”

His voice was low, like each of his words was difficult to speak out.

Her eyes met the ground, hoping to hide her tears just a little.

"Miu..."

Kaito took a step forward. "We've all been assholes to each other at some point or another, and me more than anyone else."

“Perhaps I’m just projecting, but... I know you had faith in me when I was at my worst, so it’s only fair I have faith in you when you are at your worst.”

The young woman sniffled. "I'm sorry, it’s just... Rantaro isn't..."

"No. Rantaro was not a monster." Kirumi spoke, eyes closed. "What I do believe is that the game had much more impact on him than he let us know. Things he hid from us for our sake. This closure must have led him to believe he had to go to extremes to help us, and thus orchestrated this... ‘case’, if we can even call it that way."

"We should have been more careful about him. But now is too late to lament ourselves over our mistakes."

"I should have worded my thoughts differently, I apologize."

Shuichi felt his heart calm down, for some reason.

Kokichi nodded. "That's... the impression he gave to me, too..."

He could only agree.

Kaito continued looking at his friend, who seemed lost in thoughts. "Maybe we should settle for the night? We might be in a better state to-

"No." Miu raised her head. "We're not sitting here doing nothing."

The violinist's eyes widened. "Are you... planning on doing something?"

"Rantaro's goal was to end the game. And the only way to honor him is to put an end to this right here, right now."

"Tonight we discover the last truths of the killing game. We investigate about Keebo's death, what really happened to us and we expose the-

Miu was cut short by the sound of an explosion right above their heads- It was coming from the building itself.

"W-What's going on?!" Kokichi exclaimed.

"I don't know but we need to get out of here!" the girl yelled.

The group immediately started fleeing.

"I can't run for shit, idiots!" Kaito shouted.

Shuichi looked back. "Guys! We gotta help Kaito!"

Kirumi stared at him for a moment, then sighed. She wrapped one of her arms around his back as support and the two followed the rest of the group.

After getting to the dorms, they turned back to the main building, witnessing the destruction caused by an unknown force.

It seemed as though an exisal -the blue one from what he was seeing- started getting involved in the chaos, but...

"Why is everything exploding?!" Shuichi exclaimed. "Monokuma wouldn't do this, right? So who is destroying the building? Who is piloting the exisal?!"

There were only one of the deadly machines. Monokuma could be the one piloting it, but that didn't explain why he would do so.

"If Monokuma is using an exisal to stop the chaos, then... Who is destroying the building?" Kokichi asked.

They all turned to him.

The bear would not create that scene by himself. So who?

They were all here. It wasn't any of the five survivors.

But before they could ponder more, another exisal showed up. The green one.

The two mechas faced each other, and not even ten seconds later, the blue exisal was tossed across the courtyard.

They could only watch the scene unfold, bewildered by the sudden appearance of the machines.

Who? Who was fighting?

He glanced at Kirumi, who seemed to wonder the same.

But she suddenly perked up, becoming as pale as the fake moon above their heads.

He turned to her. "What is it?! Do you know who is in here?!"

The others faced her as well.

She stayed silent for a moment.

"... Where is Monodam?"

Shuichi blinked. "What- Monodam? But he's dead! Ryoma killed him!"

"Have any of you seen his dead body?"

The violinist's eyes widened. "Huh?"

"This is the number one rule any assassin or mercenary must follow, no matter what."

"If there is no dead body, there is no victim."

"So where is Monodam?"

Kokichi shook his head. "Are you suggesting he is alive?"

"Can you tell for sure he was dismantled by Ryoma? Have you seen his carcass in pieces?"

Miu frowned. "Didn't Rantaro say he took him apart?"

"Do you still believe anything Rantaro says when it comes to the plan in which he managed to deceive everyone, including Monokuma and his own partner?"

... She froze.

Shuichi looked at the green exisal that was approaching them.

The machine stopped, then bent down.

The top of the exisal opened. Something jumped and flawlessly landed on the ground.

A tiny dichromatic bear.

But...

Something wasn't right.

It wasn't the white and green bear they all expected to see.

Whatever was standing before them did have its right side white, but the left side was painted in a dark grey-blue color. Its hands were no more, replaced by small black and bright blue canons, and the pacifier had the same colors as them. Small blue pins were attached to its mechanical limbs, with tiny cables entering the body.

The belly, instead of being plain white, had a particular pattern on it. Two dark scissor blades surrounded by even more thin cables.

A symbol that was all too familiar to them now.

But what stood out the most was its right eye. It was hard to tell what even was stuck on it. The piece had been attached here artificially, cables going around the head to keep it in place.

The blue parts were slightly glowing, somehow giving an eery feeling to the robot.

The new bear took a few steps forward.

They could only stare at him with wide eyes. What was he even going to do?

"5-OUT-OF-6. SOMEONE-IS-MISSING."

Missing? Everyone was here, though...

The bear made a strange noise as the others glanced at each other.

"MISSING-PERSON: RANTARO-AMAMI. PLAYING-'INTRODUCTION'."

His eye started glowing green, and 'Monodam' started talking again.

"Hey."

They all recognized that voice instantly.

Ryoma...?

The man sighed. "I really didn't want to record this part. But I had to keep in mind the possibility that this plan would fail. That Rantaro would get executed."

If only he knew...

"If you haven't guessed it already, no, I didn't kill Monodam. The hacking gun only knocked him out. All I did was repair and modify him to act as I wanted. It was tough, but manageable. What you're looking at is the project I have worked on for the past two days."

"Meet Monoshi. An upgraded version of Monodam specifically made to end the game after the trial, whether both of us died or just me. But if this introduction is playing, then that means things didn't go as planned."

"Have you guys watched the videos about Monodam's faked death and my real cause of death?"

The light in his right eye changed to a bright yellow. Was he waiting for them to answer?

"Yes, we did..." Shuichi replied.

"PLAYING-'INTRODUCTION-3'." the bear spoke again, his eye gaining back its green color.

"Good. Then you must have realized this trial was incredibly unfair for the both of us. But I'm not here to talk about that. Pretty sure Rantaro did that already, and if he missed any details, I have noted the important stuff in my lab for you guys just in case."

"As Tsumugi said in her notebook, you guys have to investigate Keebo's death. Now is the perfect opportunity to put an end to this game once and for all."

'Monoshi' approached Kaito and extended its hand to him. The mechanism opened to reveal a green key.

"Kaito. I heard from Rantaro that you wanted to pilot the exisals." he said as the biker's eyes widened. "I am giving you the key to the green one. I don't think it should be that hard to control considering those fingerless bears are able to do so. Do your best."

"Monoshi will take care of opening secret passages and entrances that are not accessible right now. Monodam knew what places are left to visit, so Monoshi does as well. Although for that, bombs will be used so make sure to get out of the way when needed."

"Kaito, you and Monoshi will have to keep Monokuma busy long enough for the others to complete the investigation."

The bombs...

Shuichi felt like he should have expected that, for some reason.

The robot turned to the blonde woman. "Miu."

"To be honest, I cannot exactly pinpoint why, but Rantaro seemed to trust you more than anyone else if we exclude me. He asked me to give you the task to lead the group for the investigation in case things didn't work out for him."

The street artist jumped.

"Huh?" she muttered, surprised by his words. But the robot didn't seem to register that.

"In short- Monoshi will unlock the secret entrances, he and Kaito will distract Monokuma and the rest of you will investigate everything you possibly can."

Shuichi nodded.

But his heart suddenly stopped when he heard a crash from behind them.

Monokuma came back with not one, but the four other exisals.

"My, my! My sweet Monodam, already an angsty teenager going through a rebellious phase... But to want to kill your own father? Puhuhu! That is not something I expected from the most tender and affectionate kid of mine!"

"But you see, with the joy of modern technology, your wonderful brothers and sisters could cross the boundary of life and death once again and come back to our marvelous and colorful world!"

"Do you seriously think you could steal *my* exisals for *your* goals? Puhuhu! These two had a great sense of humor!"

Monoshi's eye turned blue for a moment.

"VOICE-RECOGNIZED: MONOKUMA. PLAYING-'GREETINGS'."

As the eye turned green, the modified robot spoke again.

"Hey there. Knew you were going to try and stop this. But do you seriously think you're gonna win?"

"Rantaro and I have prepared a lot more than you could possibly imagine. You and this entire academy are going down whether you like it or not."

Monokuma laughed. "Puhuhu! I must admit I am impressed! To trick me into thinking my precious monokub was dead when in reality, he was rebelling against me? Such despair!"

"But you're forgetting that *I* am the headmaster of the academy and the one managing the killing game!"

"This little tamper tantrum is over!"

...

Monoshi stayed silent for what felt like an eternity. And then-

His eye glowed red.

"HOSTILITY-RECOGNIZED. PROCEED-TO-EXTERMINATION."

"What-

The bear pointed his canon at Monokuma and immediately started firing. Their captor dodged, but the group now had to get out of this conflict and fast if they didn't want to die because of collateral damage.

The exisals started shooting missiles at Monoshi as well, but he was just as agile. Their battle quickly moved away from them, the bears chasing each other in the courtyard. The scene looked unreal.

"Now's our chance!" Miu exclaimed. "Kaito! You think you can pilot the exisal?"

The biker smirked. "I've been waiting for this. But before that, you guys stay safe, alright? I know you can do this. Go and investigate without me, I'll only slow you down."

Shuichi nodded. "Count on us, Kaito!"

"Also..."

He approached Miu, and suddenly held her in his arms. The girl was surprised, but she did not push him away. After a few seconds, he took a step back and put his hands on her shoulders. "I know you can lead this group to our freedom. I better see you alive at the end. Alright?"

"I better see you alive at the end! But I promise."

She turned to the rest of them.

"Let's end this everyone! Tonight, we're ending this killing game once and for all!"

The tone in her voice warmed his heart. This strength, this emotion... He had seen it before.

It was reminiscent of the old Rantaro they had known at the beginning of the game.

A great leader guiding them to victory.

Kaito climbed into the exisal, using the key Monoshi had given him.

The mecha stood up.

"LET'S FUCKING GO!!"

The machine jumped towards the fight between the robotic bears.

This was it.

Their chance to fight back and win.

The investigation they all had been waiting to do finally started.

...

Kokichi spoke up. "How do we even start?"

Miu hummed. "Kirumi, no offense but you're the one who should know the most about how to get away with murder... How would you proceed to cover the evidence?"

"None taken." The woman pondered. "But investigating Keebo's death will be extremely difficult, and it is not the only thing we need to investigate. Monoshi talked about secret rooms as well."

"We need to know everything about this killing game."

"Good point." the artist replied. "Keebo's death was long ago and essential evidence might have disappeared since then."

She was right. The killer- the mastermind must have cleaned up after themselves. Was it even possible to solve this case now?

"For now, Kaito and Monoshi are keeping the monokubs busy, so the rooms might be opened later. We should focus on what we can investigate." Kirumi continued.

"How about groups of two? We might be able to cover more ground this way." Shuichi suggested.

"I already know I am headed to the fifth floor for Ryoma's notes, so whoever comes with me, please make up your mind fast." the mercenary raised a hand.

"Can I leave this to you, Shuichi?" Miu asked. "Kokichi and I will go to the exisal hangar to see if we can recover anything."

The violinist nodded. "Sounds good!" he turned to Kirumi. "Shall we go?"

The groups separated. His partner was fast, but she often checked to see if he was following.

And true to her words, the duo went to the fifth floor. To Ryoma's lab.

The doors had been destroyed, supposedly by Monoshi when he made his way out.

"Do you think there is something else we can get here?" Shuichi asked.

She entered the lab. "That's what we'll find out. I wouldn't be surprised if they somehow had another trick in their sleeves, even though both of them are dead now."

It was hard not to be impressed by their genius. Kiyo and Tsumugi might have tried to help from beyond the grave with their notebooks, but Ryoma and Rantaro were on a whole other level, and are still actively helping them.

Some boxes looked intact, but some had been completely destroyed and seemed to have exploded from the inside. The two started walking towards the back of the lab, but before they could do so, they noticed a box that stood out from the rest.

It was burned in the shape of an X, and judging from the way it looked, someone had done that on purpose.

However, it was easy to tell who did the damage.

Kirumi didn't wait and immediately climbed on the box. Monoshi, or rather Ryoma must have wanted them to find what was inside. Perhaps it was the notebook?

"The lock was destroyed. I'll see what I can find in there." she said.

"Alright..." Shuichi muttered. Out of nervousness, he kept going through the lab to see if anything else was worth investigating.

He did notice another box that was partially exploded, with nothing interesting inside. The lock didn't seem to have been destroyed, though.

Was this the box Monoshi was kept in?

The back of the lab, despite what Shuichi first thought, hadn't changed at all. Everything was the same as it was during their last visit earlier.

"I found the notebook."

The violinist jumped at Kirumi's sudden appearance. "Really?"

The two approached the source of light.

"Did you find anything else?" she asked as she opened the book.

He shook his head. "I mean, I found the box Monoshi might have been kept in, but nothing worth our attention."

Kirumi hummed as she read the first page. "... This indeed seems to be a recap of everything they have discovered. The summary states that this was made in case Rantaro didn't have time to tell us everything, just like Monoshi said."

"I see..." Shuichi muttered. They took a considerable amount of precautions- although the two were never on the same page in the first place.

"The flashback lights, the cameras, ending the killing game... Hm?"

Shuichi blinked. "What is it?"

"There is a chapter called 'The mastermind's goals.' I don't think Rantaro explained anything about this."

"Let me see!"

Kirumi put the book on the workspace.

--

Entry n°4

Don't expect me to know about the reasons why this game was created, I don't know. Neither of us do and it's for you guys to find out. At first, we did ask ourselves why, but it became clear pretty quickly that the 'why' was unimportant.

This is about the motives given to us. We didn't think much about that compared to other stuff so don't expect clear explanations. Those are just Rantaro and I's theories so take this with a grain of salt.

The first motive: the time limit and the first blood perk, were obviously to start the game by all means necessary. I don't know what else to say. Easy way to start things with someone obviously falling for this shit. Fantastic.

The second, we're not sure. That might have been to expose some of our secrets, like Kirumi's talent. The tablets were obviously switched intentionally. There's no way the only two tablets that didn't reach their owners coincidentally happened to be those of the one who hid her talent and someone who was likely to watch their video. In other words, it was to reveal stuff that we would have never guessed if not for Monokuma's 'help'. The accomplice perk was made to turn our cooperation against us. To dissuade us to work together, make sure we all become paranoid and break us mentally. Not difficult to understand.

The third is incomprehensible to me. By that, I mean the 'how'. Why would I turn into a coward? I don't know if I was kidnapped again or some shit, but whoever was with them wasn't me. But anyway, the mastermind obviously wanted to eliminate temporarily the smart people (Tsumugi, Rantaro and I) to do their little scheme in peace, which was Keebo's murder.

The fourth may have been to expose our last secrets like Kaito's leg, Kokichi's trauma, Kirumi's condition, and as Rantaro said, manipulate Kiyo into killing Tsumugi by putting more and more pressure on him.

The fifth motive doesn't make any damn sense. I know he blackmailed Kiyo to make the trial last longer to extend a new time limit, but he could have ditched it after his death for despair or some other stupid excuse. Although with the circumstances,  I can see why he would put a second time limit. But offering equipment to explore the outside world? He could have shut his mouth and nothing would have changed. Fucking idiot. He should know better by now.

Anyway, this is the least important part and the one we're the less certain about, but those were the most solid theories we had.

--

Shuichi blinked, clearly not expecting the tone in the soldier's writing. "That's... Interesting..."

However, he quickly noticed something. "Wait, you told Ryoma about your condition?"

She shook her head. "I didn't. But I believe Rantaro must have told him."

"What is done, is done. Everyone knows now, and I do not think it is useful to hide it anymore."

Those two exchanged everything they knew, so it was not surprising, actually.

The woman sighed. "A part of me thought that the 'tablet switch mistake' for the second motive was intentional, but I see that I was not the only one who got to this conclusion."

He winced.

"Although what makes me worried is the third motive." she said. "Kidnapped and replaced by some sort of clone temporarily?"

He hummed. "But... Ryoma said he wasn't sure... Can we really trust this?"

After a short pause, Kirumi closed the book. "Probably not. But we should keep this in mind."

Obtained truth bullet! Killing game motives

"Is there anything else worth reading in this?" Shuichi asked.

His partner reopened the book, and that's when the two noticed the last part of the summary. 

1. Flashback lights 2. Cameras 3. Ending the killing game 4. The mastermind's goals 5. Monoshi 6. Stuff

"Stuff?" Shuichi frowned. "That sounds odd..."

Kirumi quickly turned the pages.

--

Entry n°6

I don't care if the person reading this is Rantaro or not. I'll be dead by the time anyone finds this anyway, and perhaps you are now dead too, boss. So I'm just going to assume someone else is reading.

I don't know why, but it feels like Rantaro is still hiding things. That he never shared certain details with me. I always told him everything I knew, I grew to know him and his habits more than anyone else here. I always somehow managed to get him to speak to me truthfully up until... I would say the 4th trial.

Ever since then, things have changed, somehow. He's been suggesting solid theories more than ever, but at the same time, he seems to be hiding even more information from me.

There is something he knows that I don't. I never got him to speak the truth and it's frustrating as hell.

We're supposed to be damn soldiers, the smartest and the strongest of the group, and our job is to help everyone escape. Why is he withholding information from me?

In any case, I'm extremely worried. I will keep the stoic face because it's easier for me to manage, but at this point I know I cannot do anything anymore and I have accepted it.  It's probably too late now, but I wanted to write this somewhere. One could count this as venting, I guess.

Good luck in ending the game, I hope you guys will make it out alive, for our sake.

Sincerely, Ryoma Hoshi.

--

Shuichi glanced away from the book. "Do you think... He knew Rantaro had planned to die from the beginning?"

Kirumi stared at the text. "I don't think so."

She closed the notebook and gave it to him. "I am more inclined to think he told Ryoma just the right amount of information for him to cooperate with his plan without any sort of hesitation. He didn't tell him things that could hurt his feelings and make him unwilling to act, or realize the mission could be pointless."

The violinist winced. "That's kind of harsh, don't you think? Rantaro... I understand he might have hidden things from Ryoma but... He wasn't a heartless manipulator, was he?"

The mercenary stayed silent for a moment.

"What would you have done in Ryoma's position if you knew nothing was real?"

He paused. That was not a question he expected to hear.

"If you knew your entire life didn't matter, that everything you had done up until now was nothing but meaningless lies, would you have accepted to sacrifice your life for everyone?"

"I-I..." Shuichi stuttered. How could he even answer that?

"Both Ryoma and Rantaro were devoted soldiers. Even after discovering all of his memories could have been faked, Rantaro continued. He went through this plan and sacrificed himself and Ryoma for us. But what about Ryoma? Would he have followed him, knowing this sacrifice could be pointless, or just not for him to do?"

...

Shuichi stared at the ground. "This is..." he looked up to the young woman, hoping to find answers. "W-What do you mean?"

The silence as Kirumi seemed to be choosing her words was almost eerie.

"... This dilemma is what I have supposedly been living for a long time. I didn't have the full details of my missions. Perhaps the target was a good person, but I was told they were vile and needed to be eliminated. The less you are told, the less likely you are to rebel or regret your actions afterwards."

"So you obey, murder, and move onto the next target without asking yourself any questions."

She turned her back, facing the exit.

"With what Rantaro told us after the vote, those philosophies are starting to lose meaning. Perhaps it is time for me to reconstruct my beliefs, and find out who I really am."

"I should be glad there is a possibility I am not the killer of numerous innocents, but somehow, I am not."

"The unknown has always been humanity's greatest fear, as they say."

Without another word, she slowly made her way towards the entrance.

Shuichi could only stare.

... Perhaps it was indeed the time to start questioning what he truly believes in.

Obtained truth bullet! Unknown memories

The two left the lab since there was nothing else to see.

But the moment they stepped on the stairs, the building started trembling, like something was happening above the fifth floor.

"What's going on?!" Shuichi turned to Kirumi.

"It looks like either the rooftop or Himiko's lab has been damaged. We need to go now."

The two ran as fast as they could.

They reached the first floor and spotted Miu and Kokichi.

"Monoshi has opened something in Himiko's lab!" Miu exclaimed. "I don't know what it is, but that's what he told us before going back to help Kaito."

"But we also need to investigate the rest of the building for evidence about Keebo's case..." Kokichi said.

"Then Kokichi and I will investigate the building itself while you two go to the lab." Kirumi suggested.

"There's no time to waste! Shuichi, let's go!" the street artist immediately made her way to the black and white door, the violinist following her.

He had forgotten how long those stairs were, but this wasn't the time to complain.

The star-patterned door opened, and the two immediately spotted two gaping holes in the lab. One giving a direct view of the fight between Kaito and the bears in the courtyard, and another leading into a strange white room in the back of the lab.

They entered and saw sixteen cabins attached to powerful-looking machines.

"What the hell are these?!" Miu approached one of them. "And why do they feel... familiar?"

She stepped inside. Only one person could fit in these. But before she knew it, the thing shut, trapping her in. "Hey! Let me out!"

Shuichi panicked. "Miu!"

He inspected the machine, but it seemed nothing was of use. His eyes darted on all sides of the room and then found a red button in the back.

Emergency shutdown system Do not press if the person inside is not in immediate danger.

The violinist did not think and immediately slammed the button.

The cabin Miu was in immediately opened, letting out some steam.

The girl stumbled out of it, a hand on her forehead. "Ugh..."

Shuichi went by her side to support her. "Are you okay?"

She rubbed her eyes. "I... I don't know, but..."

"I remember."

Shuichi's eyes widened. "Remember what?"

She glanced around the room. "We were here... We were trapped in those... I don't know for how much time but we were here at some point..."

He frowned. "For the Gofer project?"

"Yes! But... Is it, really? Rantaro and Ryoma confirmed the Gofer project was a lie, so... Why?"

Vague memories resurfaced in Shuichi's mind. He had been in this room, once. But now he wasn't so sure.

Were other people with him? Familiar faces?

Nothing was clear, and all the memories felt like they were drowned in a sea of white noise.

"I mean, I do remember being here and... I think I do remember seeing you guys but everything is so fuzzy..." she said, before gripping her head. "Ugh. My head hurts."

Obtained truth bullet! Familiar cabins

Shuichi narrowed his eyes. "Perhaps we should think about it later... There are so many places we need to explore."

He glanced at the file on the table near them. "Perhaps this could help us?"

The two approached the papers and started reading them.

It seemed to be some sort of summary.

Gofer Project Participant List

- Akamatsu Kaede - Amami Rantaro - Chabashira Tenko - Gokuhara Gonta - Harukawa Maki - Hoshi Ryoma - Idabashi Tatsuya - Iruma Miu - Momota Kaito - Ouma Kokichi - Saihara Shuichi - Shinguji Korekiyo - Shirogane Tsumugi - Tojo Kirumi - Yonaga Angie - Yumeno Himiko

Miu frowned. "Who the fuck is Tatsuya Idabashi?!"

Shuichi was just as confused. "And why isn't Keebo on this list? He was one of us!"

The two glanced at each other, trying to apprehend what was in front of them.

"... And here I thought we were looking for answers."

"Now we just have more questions."

"Great."

Obtained truth bullet! Gofer project participant list

Miu paused for a moment. "Hold on."

Shuichi pondered as well. The list looked a bit too odd for his liking.

The girl stared at the unknown name for a moment. "Do you think... This guy is the person we're looking for?"

"You know, the mastermind?"

Shuichi jumped. They had theorized the mastermind was not actually someone in the survivor group because Kiyo had not been suspicious of any of them, no matter how much he studied them.

That added to the fact that Kokichi's karma never seemed to have hit them despite all of the horrible things they had done.

But somehow, this felt... wrong.

Even after all this time, he was still praying that the mastermind was not any of his friends. And yet when an unknown name magically shows up and could solve all of his problems, he couldn't bring himself to assume the worst of them.

"I don't think we should automatically assume that... We don't even know who he is."

"But think about it, Shuichi!" Miu exclaimed. "Someone who didn't participate in the killing game with us, who is probably hiding somewhere in the academy! Someone we've never heard of before now, that's him for sure!"

"We don't know that yet! Monokuma could have just added that name on the list to throw us off for all we know!"

Miu paused. "That's..." she frowned, pondering to herself for a moment. "... not actually impossible."

She flipped the pages to see the mysterious person.

A black and white picture was provided, but they did not recognize this face.

The boy had little to no hair and looked rather scrawny and weak. He almost looked younger than them.

--

Tatsuya Idabashi - Ultimate robotics engineer

Day of birth: 29/10 Gender: Male

Height: 168 cm Weight: 55kg Blood type: O

Family: None

Value: Essential Role: Ensuring the safety of the structure itself by doing regular check-ups, as well as educating the rest of the group about his skills to ensure a safer journey. Will also be maintaining the exisals in check.

Status: Dead

--

Shuichi stared at the profile with concern. "What? He's... dead?"

Miu shook her head. "I don't even know what I expected, but dead...?"

He hummed. "If this profile was made before the game, then there's no way he is the mastermind..."

"Didn't you say we couldn't trust anything Monokuma gives us like two minutes ago?"

Fair.

"But still... I don't think this profile comes out of nowhere."

Miu sighed. "We better find new info because whoever the fuck this guy is, I do not trust him."

He didn't either, but it was too early to assume things.

Obtained truth bullet! Tatsuya Idabashi

They looked around the room, but nothing else was worth inspecting.

"Let's not waste any more time here, the others need us to investigate the rest of the academy." Miu started making her way out.

After going down the stairs -which was still a long way- they walked to the second floor. They quickly met Kirumi and Kokichi investigating the labs as much as they could.

"So? Anything new?" Kirumi asked.

"It's very weird, not gonna lie." Miu replied, blinking. "But for now we should keep investigating, I don't know how much longer Kaito and Monoshi will be able to hold back Monokuma and the monokubs."

Shuichi nodded. "How about you guys?"

"Check your monopads. Kokichi and I managed to unlock the previous files and clues we got from the third investigation, although it's not much." Kirumi explained.

"Sweet!" Miu smiled, taking out the tablet.

And true to their words, the file was available, and it looked exactly the same as the one they had back then.

Monokuma file #3 -updated-

The second victim is Keebo, the ultimate ???

The body was discovered in the entrance hall.

The estimated time of death is 8:00 AM.

The cause of death is unknown.

No injuries were noted in the victim’s body.

Obtained truth bullet! Monokuma file #3

"We're trying to find new clues, but... For now, we got next to nothing..." Kokichi muttered.

Shuichi hummed. "Maybe we should switch partners? Perhaps we'll get a fresh view of the case."

Miu clicked her tongue. "Gotcha." she turned to the mercenary. "Kirumi? Wanna continue with me?"

She nodded. "Of course. Let's go."

The two girls confidently headed further into the corridors. Somehow Shuichi could sense a powerful aura coming from these two.

"So... Where are we headed?" Kokichi took him out of his thoughts.

Shuichi put a finger on his chin, humming. "Where did you guys investigate?"

"Mainly the first and second floor... We might need to cover the basement, though."

He nodded. "Then let's go!"

The duo headed back to the first floor, but immediately after stepping in the main entrance, they stopped in their tracks.

One of the machines outside shot the main door and provoked a large explosion right in front of their faces.

The two coughed as the smoke dissipated. They noticed Monoshi, standing right outside the door, a cannon aimed at the floor.

That's only then that they realized there was a large hole almost right in front of their feet.

Shuichi approached the damage and realized there were stairs leading underground. "What on earth...?"

Monoshi stared at them with his glowing mechanical blue eye. "SECRET-ENTRANCE-UNLOCKED: UNDERGROUND-PASSAGEWAY. ONE-SECRET-ENTRANCE-REMAINING."

The bear immediately stormed off.

Kokichi and Shuichi stared at each other before looking down. "Is this where we're headed now?"

The corridor looked devoid of light, the darkness of the night not helping at all. He could see iron grids and cables, which gave him the impression that this was made as a last-minute addition.

The violinist took a step forward. "We have no choice. There must be answers waiting for us down here."

Kokichi nodded.

The two boys headed down. Hopefully, they would find the solutions to the problems that the investigation itself made them aware of, as well as the truth of Keebo's death.

"It's our goal to seek the truth and we have no time to waste."

[gnar-slabdash]

Leverage 01:02 The Homecoming Job

Before I even start, lemme just say: I’m a little apprehensive about this. I know there’s good stuff in it because, well, it’s the first standard formula episode so we get to see how things go for the first time when everybody is working together for reals and not spending as much time trying to figure out what that looks like. But at the same time, well....... do I really wanna spend an hour watching them take on the evilprivate contractor  bad guys in order to save the REAL MILITARY HEROES? Ehhhhhhhh idk, let’s find out. 

So the impllication of the opening scenes is  a) Nate and Hardison have been working together to find jobs while the rest of the crew just..... goes off and does their thing. I like this cause Hardison was clearly the one most jazzed about working together at the end of 01.01, so it ties that together b) To me this also helps explain why Nate and Hardison are the ones who set things up in Season 5, they already have this sort of system down together to put things in motion. Plus Hardison has to be around to create the home base cause that’s his thing cause he’s a Cancer. c) The client “found him on the internet???” What does this MEAN how did this HAPPEN? I’m SO CURIOUS. I’ve seen a great post suggesting Hardison makes EXTREMELY MICRO TARGETED ads and I think that’s a pretty fantastic theory. d) Anyway I just think it’s really cute that Nate and Hardison are often doing the behind the scenes work tomorrow and I think that particular relationship gets overlooked a lot.

My wife points out the excellent dynamic of the rehab nurse trying to be a grownup and explain things vs “I’m a Mastermind and I got this but also I am so hungover idek what you’re saying.”

AH! It’s the first “very distinctive sound!”

Does Nate legit have a thing about shrimp? Is that what he used to mess up the guy’s jacket? 

HI HELLO YES I AM LINGUIST AND I HAVE TWO THINGS TO SAY 1. Idk why Parker can supposedly read IPA but I love the possibilities?? Speech therapy? Stealing the Rosetta Stone? 2. If anyone’s curious about the accuracy, YES that is a real IPA chart and YES those are real phoneme symbols but NO theyy absolutely do not mean what phoneme chart real symbols not whart shes saying y can parker read ipa?

lol so far we’re two for two in “episodes that include a cutaway just as somebody’s about to say FUCK”

OMG First “very distinctive” AND the first time Eliot body slams somebody out of nowhere. 

Look I know this follows TV rules but legit Nate may have just done his first murder with that defibrilator. But also I think this is where he’s really won Eliot over finally, Eliot’s just like “that’s fucked up, I’m reluctantly impressed.”

I don’t understand the argument after that scene -- they’re mad bc the kid couldve got hurt? but they saved him, and he woulda got REAL hurt if they hadnt’ been involved, right? it didn’t happen CAUSE of them. Are they just upset cause there was FIGHTING? IN which case wtf did thye think eliot was there for? I get why the writers WANTED to have an argument here but..... I’m not sure it was well set up.

I love the thing where nate pours a drink but then drinks from the bottle, it happens a few times i think? 

lol usually my question is wtf is that accent SOPHIE is doing, but NATE has this one partiular accent/voice/THING he does when he’s acting a sleazy muckymuck, and SERIOUSLY WTF is it supposed to be? 

I like the part where eliot and hardison are just genuinely having a good time together fucking w the guy’s house. like, the banter is great but it’s nice to see them just genuinely getting along too.

LOVE that the popcorn seems to be a running thing too -- first eliot made popcorn for the first briefing, now nate brings popcorn to watch parker steal a law. It’s just, like, they’re all into the “also have FUN” aspect and that makes it more fun for US too.

Okay the “buy a senator” speech plus the “turning the government into a money laundering scam” thing does kinda make up for the pro military stuff. KINDA. 

i’m watching this episode with my brand new tiny puppy and she doesn’t give a shit about the explosions and yelling but she gets startled when i laugh.

i like everything about the scam itself except the stupid fucking optical illusion thing? is it supposed to be a callback to finding out hardison is an artist, is that what? tbh one of the least believable moments to me.

“Corporal. Thank YOU.” FUcking gag me. That’d be terrible even if the client WASN’T a sleazebag. And by the way if I haven’t mentioned it: THE CLIENT IS SUCH A SLEAZEBAG. 

Oh that goddamn tesla lmao. and parker at the end idk what she’s doing and i don’t think she does either but it’s cute and one more little hint that actually she’s kind of the main character. 

i miss how in the early seasons they did that cw thing where they play sad indie artists at the end? It only happens like two or three times but it’s cute.

[bambinovak]

Late Morning Rush — Sam Winchester

summary; in which one stanford student finds herself late for one of her classes and takes the shortcut through the library. instead, she meets sam, and the raging blush on her cheeks and the shy smiles that are exchanged make her later than ever - but she doesn’t mind, not at all. [201017]

warnings; swearing

word count;1.6k

masterlist

YOUR NORMAL, CONSECUTIVE morning routine never changed. Your annoying alarm tone screeching in your ears and provoking an over-dramatic groan to tumble from your lips as you considered staying in bed all day and not going to class. Today, that routine had been broken. There was an eerie absence of an alarm, not that you (piled under your blankets and snoring ever so softly) noticed.

You had woken up naturally, your eyes fluttering open and an inevitable yawn escaping. You found yourself burying your head further into the solace of your soft, feathery pillow to shade your irises from the sun's warm rays that seeped in through the window. You had almost fell back asleep, feeling so warm and comfortable, until a thought striked.

It was incredibly sunny for eight o'clock in the morning. In the middle of November.

The sudden realisation made your heart jump and spelled any sleep from your body. Your eyes snapped open and you shot up, flailing slightly as you shoved the blankets from you.

Your hands snatched up your phone from its place on your bedside table and roughly pressed the power button; the screen lit up and you eyed the illuminated numbers. 9:56 am. You had exactly four minutes to make it your psychology class. Your professor already thought bad of you for forgetting to hand in one essay a few weeks ago and being late, again, would just pile onto his list of reasons why he couldn't tolerate you. Plus, there was no way that anyone could do anything in under four minutes.

"Fuck," The curse fell from your lips in mumbles and then, the late morning rush began.

Haphazardly brushing the knots out of your hair, another inevitable string of curse words followed but eventually, you managed to throw your silky hair up into a ponytail. You shoved your glasses onto your face, knowing that you wouldn't have time to sit and poke at your eyes with your contacts before trying your best to brush your teeth and rummage through your closet for something to wear coherently, but simultaneously.

Four minutes had come and gone and it was already 9:20 am by the time you had successfully chapped your lips with your peach flavoured chapstick, grabbed all your books and slammed your door closed with a shallow huff, the puff of air whisking the loose, unkempt strands of hair that delicately framed your features around.

Your jean clad legs carried you rapidly down the corridors full of fatigued and enervated students, taking their time and trudging down the halls exasperatingly slow. Taking a quick break from dodging all the sluggish bodies, you eyed the busy stairway with narrowed orbs, mapping the grounds of the vast complex out in your mind - highlighting the quickest route to your class, instead.

When you were struck with the idea, you almost cursed at yourself again for not thinking of it sooner before taking off into a jog to the doors of the ample library that sat in the heart of Stanford's grounds. You flung the heavy, glass doors open and winced when your librarian shot you an irritated glare and grumbled under her breath at the sudden noise breaking through the comfortable quietness.

However, you continued on your trek when she finally looked away, peering down at her computer with a huff. Glancing swiftly at the big clock hanging on the far right wall, you didn't realise that you were heading straight into a firm chest until it was too late and a quiet yelp escaped past your lips and your books tumbled from your arms. They scattered across the floor with a thud, surely earning another scowl from the librarian but you were far too flustered to care at that point.

"Oh god! I'm sorry!" You immediately found yourself bending down, attempting to collect all your books quickly as you let out an embarrassed chuckle. You kept your head down, making sure the bits of loose hair covered the heat rising to your cheeks.  

"Hey, it's okay - my fault," Came the deep reply and your breath hitched in your throat at the unfamiliar but captivating sound. The faint hue of pink that tainted the apples of your cheeks deepened considerably as you gingerly glanced up at the tall boy through your lashes.

Then, came the stutters that fell from your lips as your fingers subconsciously came up to gently push your crooked glasses back up the bridge of your nose and set them straight. "No, really - I... I was late and wasn't looking where I was going. I-I'm so sorry. I'm literally a walking disaster, jeez."

The sound of his deep laugh filled your ears at your shy ramblings before he held out his arm towards you; your wide eyes tentatively followed his movement to where one of your books held delicately in his large hand and a sweet smile edged at the corners of his lips.

Another wave of heat blossomed across your features at his simple, kind action, setting your skin aglow once again. "Uh - thank you," Shyly chuckling, you took the book from him - trying desperately to ignore and not acknowledge the fact that your fingers lightly brushed against his during collection.

Seeming to have forgotten that you had somewhere to be, you sent him a gentle and kind smile before snatching up the brave attribute that lingered in the air and deciding to take a leap of faith. "So, I... Um- I haven't seen you around here before," You commented, being completely honest. You were pretty sure that if you had seen the particularly tall boy, his piercing hazel eyes and his dark locks before, you'd sure as hell would've remembered it.

His captivating smile widened as he peered down at you, his hazel irises holding yours endearingly, "Yeah, I moved here recently." You nodded along with him, not sure what you should say next until he spoke up again, his tone teasing, "Could use some help getting to know the campus, though."

And although you were pretty sure that he was directing his comment towards you, you couldn't help but feel uneasy and out of place to be making suggestions. However, you decided to brave through your query nevertheless, "W-well, I could - uh... I could show you around, maybe, sometime?" With raging red colouring your cheeks once again, your shy gaze travelled back to the floor - embarrassed by the clumsiness of your stutters.

You found yourself readjusting the mass of books in your arms and continuously tucking strands and wisps of your soft hair behind your ear every so often as a distraction from the bumbling mess that you'd put yourself in. His quiet laugh rang through your ears and your eyes snapped up to meet his - terrified that he was laughing at you. But, when his hazel caught your (y/e/c), you knew that wasn't the case and the hot blush painting your features slowly began to fade.

"I'd like that," His teeth delicately encased his bottom lip as he tried to reign in the grin that was threatening to take over his features as he listened to you adorably ramble away. "I'm Sam."

You let out a calm and almost relieved breath of air that you didn't realise you were keeping imprisoned as he introduced himself. "Sam," You spoke gently, his name rolling off your tongue as you tested it out. It suited him, you unspokenly decided. He, also, unspokenly decided that he liked the way his name tumbled from your lips, adequate with hope, potential, promise.

"(Y/N)," You muttered with a sweet smile plastered on your lips, the bashful and reserved feelings from prior completely erased. The way he peered down at you and the smile tugging at his lips, you felt at ease with him already. You could tell he was nothing but nice. A breath of fresh air. And he was undeniably cute.

"Well, (Y/N), can I walk you to whatever is left of the class you were basically sprinting to earlier?" The grin written on his lips widened, a deep chuckle in his throat as he eyed your reaction.

"Oh, shit," Came the reply once you looked towards the large, ticking clock. Your eyes widened. But truth was, despite your words of realisation, you couldn't find it in yourself to really care that you had missed yet another class. Letting a breathy laugh escape, you gave Sam an innocent smile, accompanied by an innocuous shrug of your shoulders. "Well, I only have ten minutes of that class left, anyway. I could skip the rest? For you," Impressed by your sudden surging confidence and boldness, you found yourself chuckling under your minty breath at your words right after. Sam, himself, was also slightly stunned by your change of persona - the confidence and courage suddenly rolling off you in waves had him attracted to you even more so now.

"You'd skip just for me?" He repeated, the mock of an astonished tug at his lips presented itself, "I'm honoured."

A bubble of laughter escaped, accompanied by an amused roll of your eyes and a teasing smirk, "Well, you've already kept me here long enough. You're a bad influence."

"Hm," He hummed lightly, jokingly agreeing with your statement. "Lead the way," Sam beamed blissfully, gesturing for you to take the lead. His eyes followed you as you turned around, glancing over your shoulder at him with a glint in your eyes. He was compelled to trail after you through the busy library, his stomach doing flips with excitement.

What a morning, you both found yourselves thinking, feeling optimistic in the most delightful way.

[airakorainies]

Trapped Against You

((... the sexual tension in this title-))

New? it’s part six of THIS saiibo (or sailboat thanks to autocorrect) fanfiction!

~~

“I have no clue what I’m going to do!” Shuichi was pulling at the ends of his hair, pacing back and forth. His breath fell out fast, rushing like an elaborate river of anxiety. “I have literally nothing else besides the exact same clothes to wear. I didn’t even plan a time to meet up with Kiibo and I’m too afraid to ask. I’ve got terrible bedhead on of course the best day to have it. And my anxiety is so bad I feel like I’m going to puke.” The detective sighed and he defeatedly stood still, crossing his arms.

Tsumugi felt a small smile of pity amuse itself onto her face, her hands neatly folded in her lap. She readjusted her legs as she scooted a little more forward on Shuichi’s bed. Then she quickly let out a small chuckle. “I think this is the longest I’ve heard you ramble about something besides a trial and murder, Shuichi.”

“It’s not that amusing to me.” He sighed and tilted his head. “Maybe I should just call it off.”

“Now hold it right there!” She jumped up and walked in front of him, placing her arms under her bosom in anger. “You worked so hard to achieve this date with Kiibo! And you want to call it off because of a little bedhead?! I promised I’d come help you get ready, but if you’re scared just because of this? Then maybe...” she shook her head and turned around, a small glance over her shoulder full of disgust took place. “Maybe you don’t like him at all.”

“N-No!” Shuichi panicked and felt tension run through his body. He gritted his teeth before shaking his head. He wondered if Tsumugi could hear his heart. “I know I like him! I’m sorry. I’m just so nervous.” He heard the girl giggle and turn around, readjusting her glasses.

“Good! Now I won’t have to worry about scraping this fanfiction!”

“This what now?”

“Shuichi, did you know the way you wear an outfit can make it become a totally different outfit on its own?” She quickly changed the topic as she began to unbutton her top. Shuichi panicked and turned around. She giggled, “No no. I’m not taking it off. I’m just showing a bit more of my undershirt!” She tugged down at her skirt, staying conscious of how much she could. She rolled her sleeves up and pulled her hair to the side. She loosened up her undershirt just a tad and removed her ribbon from around her neck. She took away her glasses and placed them on the end table. “Turn around.” She ordered, her attitude weirdly changing.

Shuichi did as he was told and when he saw her, he had to step back a bit. She seemed like a completely different person. Her eyes retreated to a smaller size as her face appeared more defined. Her stance was different as she placed a hand on her hip and cocked it outward a little bit. She seemed more relaxed. More casual. More... Shuichi found this an odd way to describe it, but more herself.

She giggled and placed her hands out in a jazz hands sort of fashion. “Ta-da! See? I told you. It’s how you wear the clothes that make an impression. I’ve learned this from a many a year of cosplaying and conventions.” As she spoke, she reversed the process in which she had changed herself. “Now! Let’s see what we can do to fix you up. Oh, and about the time, I don’t think you’ll have to worry. Gonta has it covered!”

A breath of relief escaped from the edge of Shuichi’s lips. In his hectic panic, he had forgotten all the help his friends so graciously have given him. To be fair, it was because of them he has even made it this far. Both in the game and in his relationship with Kiibo. A small ray of light illuminated on his face as contentment washed over him. Everything would be just fine.

Tsumugi couldn’t help but furrow her eyebrows and play a small pitiful smile. She then cleared her throat. “First, grab the cleanest set of clothes that you’ve got.” Shuichi nodded and turned towards his closet, examining each set of clothes closely.

After a moment, a click of the hanger suggested he had made his decision. “I think this might be the one. I have yet to touch this one so far so I guess this will make due.”

Tsumugi put a hand to her chin and closed her eyes nodding. She then moved her hands behind her back and laughed as an expected order fell from her pink lips, “Now strip!”

“W-What?” Shuichi gasped loudly, his face flurrying in all assortments of rose colors. She couldn’t help but grace the air with a giggle.

“Don’t worry! People have to get changed quickly in conventions all the time. I’m used to seeing some things! But here, I’ll go into the bathroom while you get changed out here. Quickly though! I’ll only wait two minutes. We must make progress!” She began to walk towards his bathroom door before he called back to her.

“W-Wait. Just let me change in the bathroom. No point in having you wait around in there. Plus, I think it would be rude to have my guest wait in the bathroom.”

Tsumugi shrugged and seemed to show no difference in emotions. Despite her teasing, her interest in Shuichi seemed to not desire anything past just being friends. No blush came to her cheeks as she danced around with his emotions and due to his kindness, her fun seemed to slow a little. She, at that moment, realized how Kokichi feels. “Oh what a lie!”

“Um, what did you say?”

Tsumugi giggled, “I agree to your terms. But you better hurry! Your date is waiting.” Her smile held no sort of tease this time. A genuine smile. One jealous and yet pitiful of love. Her heart heated for one person, and yet, she could never have what Shuichi has. Tsumugi walked over and sat on the bed, and began to hold back something that had begun to stir within her.

Shuichi moved right along into the bathroom, a content smile and pale red painting a beautiful masterpiece upon his acute face.

~

“Kokichi!” Kiibo cried out in a panic, hearing the little gremlin laugh with excitement. The poor robot’s face was nothing but deep shades of red. His body seemed hot and sweat began to emerge from the compartments on his head.

“Haha!” Kokichi laughed, poking Kiibo, who had buried his face in his hands, everywhere he could. “That dream told you something Kiiboy! It told you how much of a naughty, naughty boy you are! Nishishi!”

Miu couldn’t help but laugh as she used her wrench, screwing some bolt on a large machine into place. “I just can’t believe you had the kind of brain power to think such perverted thoughts!” She dropped the wrench quickly and had an idea. She then turned around, drool seeping from her mouth. She hugged herself tightly, her legs rubbing together. She stared right at Kiibo as she just kept laughing. “Did it make hard and wet down there? Did you want to see more you dirty robot? I can’t help but give you some credit! I bet you fucking loved it!”

Kiibo started to scream before Kokichi pated his shoulder, a face of pity masked on. Kiibo wanted to find out if it was a lie or just a prank. Or both. “Now now Miu,” Kokichi spoke, shaking his head as if he were disappointed, “You can’t say that to our poor robot friend here. We don’t even know if he has a dick to do such things!” The laughter from Kokichi told everything. Kiibo sighed heavily, quickly moving away from Kokichi’s arm. Who, very quickly, snapped up and looked excited at Kiibo. “Wait a minute! If you can remove the outer shell off your chest, then can you remove everything else?!”

Miu jumped at that. She ran over besides Kokichi and leaned in with him. A new form of determination filled their eyes. “Now this I gotta see!”

And with Kiibo screaming, they pounced.

It was only just a moment later when the door to Miu’s lab was slammed open by a gentle giant. “Kiibo?! Is everything alright? Gonta heard you scream!” The sight he had to take in was quite the... how to describe it. Kiibo on the ground, tears beckoning on his eyes. His body was pinned to the floor and Kokichi and Miu were on top of him. “What’s going on?!”

“Gonta! Help me!” The smaller robot cried and Gonta nodded. In less than a second, Kokichi and Miu were lifted up and placed gently under two arms, wrapping around both of them.

“D-Don’t be so rough...” Miu muttered, her face red as she reached up and scratched it. Kokichi bit his lip and genuinely felt a little bad. Quickly, they were placed down into two chairs.

“Gonta is disappointed in the two of you. Gonta knows you enjoy teasing Kiibo but this was too far. We are supposed to help him, not scare him. Understand?” His words were sweet and gentle, his body down on a kneel as he spoke like a father towards them.

“B-But Gonta! I wasn’t going to do anything! All I wanted to do was see his di-“

“Kokichi!” His face squinted as he cast a disappointed look on his face. He sighed and then placed a gentle hand on top of the much smaller boy’s head. “Gonta knows you’re not feeling well. And that it hurts right here,” Gonta’s other hand moved over his heart, “But that doesn’t mean you can take it out on Kiibo, or Shuichi, or anyone else here for that matter. Besides, Gonta already promised he’d help you later.”

Miu just stared. For whatever reason, Kokichi’s face of hurt when he was scolded seemed so out of place. So... real. For once (and maybe for the better), she was at a loss for words.

“W-Wait,” Kiibo spoke as he scrambled off the floor, “Kokichi is upset? Why?” Despite the constant out-lash he gets from Kokichi, the robot’s kind heart couldn’t help but be concerned.

Kokichi suddenly laughed and peered over Gonta’s shoulder. “I have no idea what he’s talking about! Haha!” That was a lie. An obvious lie.

“Besides! We need to go ahead and get you ready Kiibo. Oh and...” the purple liar stood up and nodded to Gonta, showing he will do no harm. He walked up to Kiibo, who justifiably stepped back, and looked down. He sighed before looking straight in the eyes, a different kind and rare smile on his face. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have done that to you. And I hope this won’t make you feel any different from when I tease you in the future!” He giggled and then quickly ran off, gently patting Kiibo’s shoulder as he ran by.

The robot sighed and turned to Gonta. Who then turned to Miu. Her foot began to stomp on the ground, her face red and she looked away. “D-Don’t look at me like that! Ugh fine!” She quickly jumped up and approached a hand out to Kiibo. “Look I guess I’m s... so.... sorr.... s-so....” Though despite her troubles, her excited and red face showed this dialogue was from a different sort of embarrassment. She then quickly shook her head and looked Kiibo in the eyes as well. “I’m sorry alright! Geez! With a look like that, I can’t help but... never mind. I’ll give you a free oiling later as an apology. I guess I got...” She didn’t wanna finish. Her laugh became short and creepy as she scratched her chin. She then cleared her throat. “Right! Well! I promised you could use my lab to ready yourself with Gonta. I’ll go out and meet the others!” It seemed so out of place for Miu to be nice without asking for her boots licked in return. In a way, Kiibo felt it was as if she really did feel bad.

He felt a small smile appear on his face, causing him to turn to Gonta. “Alright.” His face then quickly melded into one of anxiousness, “Help! What do I do on a date?!”

~

“Okay. Okay. Just deep breaths Kiibo! You’re ready. You talked with Gonta. You dealt with Kokichi and Miu’s wild antics today. You’re ready to face the boy you like!” And that sentence right there caused Kiibo to let go of the pool’s door handles and slap a hand to his face, sighing as he tried to hide his red from people who weren’t there. His appearance didn’t change much at all. He could remove his outer shell but at the moment, it leaves many wiring and gears exposed and he was afraid of Shuichi somehow hurting himself. Or Kiibo oddly hurting himself on himself. What he did do was prep talk himself to be ready for anything! He even had Miu include a water resistant coating on his body (before the whole ordeal with Kokichi and her) so he may swim if Shuichi so chose to. Gonta had told Kiibo about the pool being the date area so Kiibo wanted to make sure he was ready for any scenario.

Well, all scenarios besides looking at Shuichi. Kiibo knew that it’d be hard to even look at Shuichi. He did something so embarrassing in front of everyone by accepting it the way he did. All he could think about is how it may have affected his good friend.

He quickly shook his head, knowing that if he kept worrying here all day, he’d never actually go inside. So he returned the hands onto the handles and walked inside.

Two towels near the pool, two seats neatly moved close together under an umbrella. A smoothie made by who knows sitting peacefully on one of the pool tables, two straws in it. There were flower petals all sprinkled about, a red hue gracing the ends of each yellow petal.

The robot couldn’t help but blush yet again at the view. He knew his friends had set up the area but it didn’t mean it still wasn’t embarrassing. He then walked with a weird pep in his step onto the sky blue towel, sitting down with his legs laying off the edge of the pool. He placed his hands into his lap and fiddled with his fingers as he watched the calm water before him.

All he can do now was wait.

“Ah! Kiibo?” His voice carried easily through the silent room, reaching to the ears of a certain nervous robot. Quickly, Kiibo turned into the direction of the voice and felt the world slow.

There he was. Beautiful as could be. He had his normal clothes on but it was... different. His jacket was unbuttoned revealing a black t-shirt from underneath. It was untucked and was hanging slightly over his knees. His sleeves were folded back into cuffs that laid just slightly above his elbows. He held his hand up, scratching his cheek in nervousness. His eyes couldn’t meet with Kiibo’s as his blush contrasted his pale skin. His hair was slicked back in the front, giving his outfit the complete effect. The detective cleared his throat and approached Kiibo.

“A-Ah! Shuichi you look...” Kiibo stumbled, still staring.

Shuichi sat on the dark blue towel next to the robot. He laughed as he looked over towards his boyfriend. “Weird, right? Tsumugi was really set on ‘transforming’ my look. I still can’t believe what she did with my normal outfit haha.”

“N-No! You don’t look weird! In fact, you look,” Kiibo’s face became a quick red as he fumbled with his fingers even more, “you look handsome.”

Shuichi’s face became a deep red, brighter than before. His face showed one of shock and then embarrassment. It was so bad he couldn’t help but laugh in the face of his nerves.

Kiibo thought to himself how much he adored Shuichi’s laugh.

And then the silence fell. It was so awkward. But yet, it was a peaceful silence. Something comforting about being alone with your significant other. But Shuichi’s nerves couldn’t take it. It was then he noticed a box. “So, I’m really happy our friends set this place up for us. But, um, why did they put a Monokuma looking box here?”

“Huh?” The clueless robot asked, looking in the direction Shuichi was pointing. He was right. There was a weird Monokuma themed box across the pool. The detective rose, beginning to make way before Kiibo spoke up. “Wait! Shuichi! I’ll come with you.”

“Kiibo,” he spoke his name softly. A sense of longing and protection hidden within his sweet tone. “I’m just going to go check it out. I don’t want you getting hurt if it’s a little trick Monokuma put out for us.”

The smaller boy shook his head, puffing out his delicate cheeks while his face lit up a small shade of red. “I can take care of myself, thank you very much! If anything, I’d want to be the one protecting you.” It was then his face was torn away to look up directly at the detective.

His hands were soft. The robot couldn’t helped but reach up and twist his fingers around Shuichi’s hands. His eyes widened slightly, shocked by both his boyfriend and his own actions. Shuichi, despite having an extreme blush on his face, narrowed his eyes and looked towards Kiibo with nothing but pure love in his eyes. “Let me take care of you, at least.” He spoke, his voice as sweet as a graceful raven’s. He released Kiibo’s face before turning around. “It will only take a moment. I promise.”

“R-Right.” Kiibo cleared his throat and went to sit back down. He had to suppress the urge to just stare at the beauty of his boyfriend. His insides were churning with something he had never experienced before. Something inside of him was racing. Pumping and beating with each short breath he took. Kiibo couldn’t help but put his hands up to his face, so off balanced by his own actions and reactions he wanted to cry.

Shuichi gave a small sigh to himself, pulling his hand up in front of his body to keep Kiibo from seeing just how much his hand was shaking. He couldn’t help but smile at his own nerves. He was surprised by his own actions.

He arrived at the box and saw a hole on the top of it. It was rectangular and hard to peer in to see what the box held. He then noticed the writing above the hole. His body froze and his eye twitched.

“Don’t forget protection! Puhuhu!”

Shuichi reeled his foot back and then kicked the box, watching as it flew forward and bounced between the wall of the school and back down onto the ground. He sighed and brushed his hands together, as if he just finished some hard work.

When he returned, Kiibo had his knees all tucked up next to his chest and his arms were wrapped around them. He looked up at Shuichi and lifted his eyebrow. It seemed, too, the robot had reclaimed some composure. “So? What was the box?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just a dumb joke by our one and only.” Shuichi shot a glance at a camera nearby.

“Oh, I see.” Shuichi returned to his spot next to Kiibo and leaned back against his hands, watching the water sway back and forth. It was quiet at first but with each passing moment, a smile crept up on Kiibo’s face.

“Shuichi!”

“Y-Yeah?” He stuttered, a little jumped for being torn from his daze.

“I heard from Kaito that if you look into the pool, you can see your future reflection! Like, what you will look like in the future.”

Shuichi gave a small smile and shook his head, a breath full of cheer escaping his pale lips. “I think Kaito is just pulling your leg, Kiibo.”

Kiibo turned and gave a puzzled look. “But Kaito is not here to pull my leg? But anyway! It’s true! I looked into the water and saw my functions different! My face got an upgrade too!” Shuichi raised his eyebrow and became curious.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to check.” He slowly creeped out from his spot and looked over the pool’s edge, staring into the water. “I don’t see anything different- WHOA!”

It was very quick. The small shove from the giggling robot to the tiny shriek of distress from the detective. He fell into the water and felt his world be bogged down by heavy clothes and water. He resurfaced to hear the song of an angel’s laughter. He looked up at Kiibo with a smile on his face.

“Oh Shuichi! I can’t believe you fell for that! Everyone knows I’m ahead of my time! Besides, it was really cute for me to-“ but he too became surprised. It didn’t take much for Shuichi to pull the robot down into the water with him.

The detective then panicked. “Wait Kiibo! I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking please come back up-“

“It’s alright Shuichi,” Kiibo spoke when he resurfaced, “I have implemented water functions and resistances in my body for just the occasion! Now we may have a casually romantic swim together.”

A smile and reddened cheeks answered the detective’s worries. He then floated over to the edge of the pool and stood up, reaching down to the bottom of his shirt. He began to unbutton his detective’s jacket and moved it over. It was only when he began to pull of his undershirt that the robot screamed!

“W-Wah!! W-What are you doing?!” Kiibo the pure bean buried his face into his hands. But, he couldn’t help but raise his head and split his fingers apart to see.

Shuichi felt his face flush but also had to laugh. “Sorry. I guess I should have warned you. But I’m not gonna swim with heavy and wet clothes pulling me down.” An idea struck his mind. Shuichi is not exactly the type to take initiative but teasing his boyfriend was something he wouldn’t mind doing.

He spun around with a smirk plastered on his face and a new sort of sparkle in his eyes. Kiibo looked up with both amazement and confusion. “W-What is it?”

Shuichi took a couple steps closer. “Could it be that you were upset because...” He took as many steps as it took before he stopped and towered only slightly over the robot. He moved his hands up and cupped the Kiibo’s face within them. He then moved closer and whispered softly into his dear’s ear, his breath sinking into the metal skin of his boyfriend. “You wanted to removed my shirt yourself?”

Shuichi could practically feel the chills that ran up Kiibo’s spine. He was pushed away and was rewarded with a gorgeous sight. Kiibo so red and so shocked his mouth seemed screwed closed. His hands were up and shaking very badly. He could feel the strength that was holding him upright give way and he slowly sunk into the water. Just a tad before he readjusted himself. He tried to look back up at Shuichi but he couldn’t look anywhere else but his boyfriend’s bare chest.

“Consider it payback for throwing me into the water!”

“W-What? I did that for fun! You teased me because your cruel.”

“Aw.” Shuichi’s eyebrows furrowed and he waded through the water. Kiibo jolted but didn’t move. He felt his hand be grasped and lifted out of the water. Gently, it was placed against the detective’s chest. He could feel Shuichi’s heart. Each beat. It was going abnormally fast. “If it makes you feel any better, that took a lot out of me. I feel like I’m going to collapse I got so nervous. So consider it even.”

“No!” Kiibo’s face became determined. “Don’t collapse! Here. Let’s get you back on the edge there.”

And the night fell, their feet in the water. They seemed closer and their smiles were content. Shuichi was wrapped up in a towel while he was leaning his head down against Kiibo’s shoulder. All seemed right.

No jokes.

No games.

No murders.

No betrayals.

And no more lies. Everything, right now, is right.

~~

“That was adorable!” Tsumugi was crying so hard as she peered into the pool’s window. Everyone else was celebrating (and eavesdropping in their own way too).

Kaito had a hand against a cheery Maki and had tears of his own streaming down his face. “My boy became a man today!”

Kokichi wasn’t looking at the window but was, instead, making fun of everyone else. “Come on! You’re all such babies haha!”

“Ah Young Love! What a wonderful thing to have!” His voice sent panic through everyone, scaring a few.

“Kaito. Get out from my arms.”

“S-Sorry Maki Roll. He just spooked me...”

Monokuma giggled. “Puhuhu! But oh what a shame! It seems like it’s nighttime and their feet are in the pool! That is a school regulation is that being broken right there!” His smile grew devilish. “You know what that means!”

“No!”

“Please! Leave them be!”

Monokuma only laughed more. “But rules are rules! I can’t make exceptions just because you said ‘pwetty pwease’! Now if you’ll excuse me-“

Kokichi stood between Monokuma and the pool’s window, his hands up as if he was protecting the window. Tears were streaming down his face. The restless classmates fell silent and even Monokuma greeted the quiet. “If it’s one thing I won’t stand for, it’s seeing people I care about being hurt! This game has twisted me from the inside and I can’t breathe anymore! But if you think you’re going to kill the person I lo- the people I care the most about just because they’re young and in love, then you’re so wrong! Take another step, Bear, I dare you!”

Normally, Monokuma would immediately take Kokichi down and move on. But it seems letting him live would be more torturous. The bear smiled and put a paw up to his chin. “Weeeeell~, if they were to prove their love, I might let them go this once. Like a kiss maybe~?”

The faces of all the suspects sighed, smiles appearing on a few of their faces.

Monokuma’s vanished. “Why aren’t you all worried? They probably won’t kiss! Your friends have to do something they don’t know about to even live!”

Kokichi held his stomach as he spoke, a large smile on his face distracting from the tears. “Have you met those two? They’re too lovey dovey to NOT kiss! Besides...”

He turned his head over his shoulder and gave a soft smile no one could see. “He’s not one to let opportunities to slip by...”

~

His heart was beating. Or well, his chest was exploding. Shuichi was leaning against him. His eyes were closed and he looked so peaceful. His body was exposed and the air was still. Not a sound or worry in sight. It reminded him of the shed.

Though now, circumstances were better. Kiibo slowly moved his head down and leaned it against his boyfriend’s head.

Shuichi stirred.

He shot back up.

“Kiibo.” His voice was quiet and rasp, like it was the last word he would ever say.

“Y-Yes?” The robot felt the weight on his shoulder disappear and a small new weight pressing on his heart. He felt himself wishing they stayed like that a little while longer. He turned his head and saw Shuichi’s face close... too close. He couldn’t help but blush at the distance.

Shuichi paused for a moment, staring at Kiibo before he looked down. A look of shame fell upon his face. “I’m sorry.”

Kiibo blinked and placed his hands in Shuichi’s shoulders. “Why? You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“No I’m sorry. I can’t win. This killing game it... it keeps tearing us apart from each other. I can’t stop it. I’m trying my best but I just can’t.” Shuichi reached his hands up and placed them around Kiibo. “I can’t protect you. I’m sorry.”

“Shuichi...” His voice was calm and soothing. He reached his hands up and cupped his hands around Shuichi’s head, forcing him to pull off and look him in the eyes. After a moment, Kiibo began to stare at his boyfriend. His face shifted as the moon appeared on his face. “Your eyes are very pretty.”

“Ah-!” His face flourished with a red that Kiibo had to smile at.

“Can I look at them closer?”

“What do you mean-“

A connection of fate. A twist of life. How cruel it must be. Everyday your life hangs on the edge of death. But yet, you make the best of it.

They were soft. Both his lips and their hearts. His eyes couldn’t stay open as much as he would have loved to keep gazing at the stars in his beloved’s eyes. The eyelashes fluttered down as he found himself being invited in. It was their first.

And it was their last.

“Kiibo...” He gasped his name as they moved apart, as much as he wanted to stay closer.

“Shu.” Kiibo smiled at the nickname he deemed for his boyfriend. But it wasn’t long before he panicked. “S-Shu! Why are you crying?!”

The tears fell down gently, but it wasn’t as gentle as the smile on his face. He pulled Kiibo in close for a tight embrace, the poor boy surprised and startled. “Thank you.”

His words were simple. They chimed in Kiibo’s ears. But he knew Shuichi had everything poured into those words. So he reached around and returned his embrace. “Shu, I’m happy to be here. As awful as this place is, even though we are trapped here. I’m happy to be trapped against you, with my body snug in your arms. I will do all I can to keep you from harm.”

My love.

Trapped no longer.

Our love.

Stuck forever.

((HOLY FUCK I’M DONE! 😭 I’M SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG! I reeeeeeeally wanted it to be special! I hope you liked it. And I really really like the next part 👀. It’s gonna break all our hearts :D thank you for reading! Till next time!))

[sleepyfan-blog]

Fandom: Darkness!Drifter by @bl3ppsn3kk Driftverse by @onebizarrekai

Characters and pairing: Underfell!Sans, Underswap!Sans, Dream, Nightmare, Underkeep!Sans, Outertale!Sans, Epic!Sans, Cross!Sans, Darkness!Dreammare

Warnings: character death, swearing, violence, manipulation, abusive relationship tw, angst 

Word count: 4,034

Summary: Darkness!Drifter, but with Asshole Nightmare.

Underfell Sans 9054’s reaction when he stabbed the other straight through the soul, pinning the other bodily as well, hissing “You arrogant fool, did you really think that I wouldn’t notice that you’ve been finding ways to slip information to those pathetic rebels in your insignificant AU?”

“F-FUCK YOU! YOU PROMISED THAT YOU WOULD LET PAP LIVE IF I HELPED YOU!” The Fell Sans cursed, struggling with his final breath to summon an attack, even as his body crumbled to dust slowly around him.

“And I did let him live - up until the fool attempted to attack me. Then he died, as all traitors do. I warned you that if you crossed me, you would pay with your life.” Nightmare smirked, his visible eye light shining brightly “I do regret not killing him in front of you. Perhaps that would have broken some of the rebellious spirit inside of you. Then again, through your bumbling attempts at stealth and secrecy have led me straight to the so-called leaders of this pathetic attempt at resistance.”

“F… Fu...Ck… You…” The Fell Sans spat, managing to gather up enough energy to summon a blaster and sending a weak pulse of pure magic Nightmare’s way.

Entirely too slowly, and the dark overlord laughs as he casually steps aside, avoiding the slow burst of the dying monster’s magic, flicking his tentacle and wiping it clean of the mustard and dust that had coated it on the other’s now empty clothes.

~

“P-Please… I-I’ll do anything! J-Just please s-stop th-this!” Underswap Sans 2166 begged, tears streaming down his face. Interestingly enough, this Sans wore golden armor, instead of the usual blue. He was on his hands and knees, trembling violently.

Nightmare hummed for a moment - the other’s magical tears were a light teal color - and he wrapped a tentacle around the other’s waist, glancing at the other consideringly. The other’s despair and fear were exquisite for the lord of negativity to feel. Besides, Dust had been complaining that his latest toy had broken recently “And what would you give me in exchange for sparing your world, hmmm?”

“I… A-any… Anything! W-Whatever you w-want of me, I-I’ll do it!” The Swap Sans begged, the tears continuing to stream down his face. On the other hand, the younger skeleton was doing admirably not to snivel and crawl up into an unintelligible ball of fear and distress - which was impressive for a swap.

“Very well. You will accompany me to another world. You will be… Trained by the person I give you too, for what he requires of you. Do you understand?” Nightmare explained, a small smirk appearing on his face.

His brother was barely conscious, and fear, hatred and distress were the Papyrus’s greatest emotions at this point in time. The other called out weakly “B-Bro… D… Don’t do it…”

Curiously, the Swap Sans rallied himself a little at the sound of his brother’s voice, wiping his face free of tears, a bit of steel entering the other’s voice “O… Okay. As long as you promise that neither you, nor any of your people will ever step foot in this world again. I will… I will go with you. B-But first I want the human released back here, so that… So that all of the damage that has been caused to this world can be undone.”

Nightmare blinked a little bit in surprise - not expecting the other to try to negotiate with him. Hmm, perhaps the other might be useful in other ways? The grin on his face stretched wider and he answered “Agreed.” He snapped his fingers, and the unconscious form of the determined human child reappeared. They were badly injured, but still breathing if only barely. The tentacle wrapped around the Underswap Sans’s waist tightened a little as he created a portal, pulling the both of them through. Nightmare paused just long enough once on the other side of the portal to strike the human directly through the chest, shattering their soul in order to force a reset.

He of course let the Swap Sans see this, and hear the human’s scream of dying agony.

~

“Nightmare, you don’t have to do this! You can… You can stop fighting, and we… We can look for a cure for the corruption together.” Dream called out from where he was crouching, perched on a sturdy tree branch, his bow strung and pointed directly at the other, his hands shaking just a little, despite the confidence in his voice.

“And just why should I stop? They never stopped trying to hurt me, no matter how much I begged them? Now I have the power to do as I wish to whoever I want. Where are those adorable friends of yours, Dream? I thought that you and Ink were joined at the hip - along with at least one mortal tagalong for cannon fodder.” Nightmare purred as he stalked closer to his other half, making his way to the other. This was a surface AU - a rather pretty one at that. It was going to be so much fun to twist.

“None of them are cannon fodder! They are my friends and allies, Nightmare!” Dream hissed, his eye light shrinking a little, shifting a bit on his perch before teleporting to the other side of the clearing and shooting at him.

Nightmare didn’t even have to dodge as the arrow flew wide and buried itself in a bush before dissipating. The corrupted guardian laughed “Come now, Dream. I know you’re a better marksman than that. Or was that a warning shot? You know I won’t stop simply because you plead with me and cry.” He sent a couple of tentacles after Dream, grinning as he watched the other dodge, leaping from branch to branch.

Dream never saw one of his tentacles move one of the branches, which whacked the other out of the canopy and sending him sprawling on the ground, landing on one of his sides with a would-be sickening crack if he cared about the other’s health and safety. But it wasn’t a mortal blow, so Nightmare didn’t care. The other groaned weakly, trying to get up, only to collapse against the ground, stunned and bleeding magic.

Nightmare sent several tentacles after Dream, intent on capturing the other again - only to hiss and draw away as several Gaster Blasters appeared out of nowhere, their raw magical energy slamming into his grasping tentacles and severing them as he withdrew them. An Underkeep and an Outerfell Sans appeared out of nowhere, similar scowls of protective fury on their faces and in their emotional auras, sending wave after wave of bones after him in a surprisingly synchronized attack. “Everything’s clear - Ink sent us on ahead to see how you were fairing! We’ll grab you and retreat back to safety.” The Underkeep Sans called over his shoulder at the injured Dream, who only groaned in response. They escaped before Nightmare could break through their bone walls.

~

Outertale 123. It was a post-pacifist AU where the monsters had been set free of the barrier decades ago in their timeline, and after some initial bumpiness, both humans and monsters grew to love and respect one another, and explored and terraformed distant stars and planets to their souls’ content. It was exactly the sickeningly sweet bullshit that his other half would be so delighted to see.

Naturally it disgusted Nightmare. These people were far too happy for his liking. A dark smirk played on his lips as he stalked after the Sans of this timeline. He’d been picking off people in the other’s life for weeks now - killing them when they were alone, and leaving their dust for the Sans alone to find. The other had gone from concerned and confused, to wary and despairing. What made it better was the fact that rumors and whispers of that Sans being the one to blame for their deaths, despite being the head arbiter of Monster kind, and a well-respected and beloved comedian.

He was on his way to talk to his brother, Papyrus, who believed in and loved his brother, and had agreed to watch over the other, in case something was happening to him when he slept. The two of them walked down a star-lit alleyway, and Nightmare couldn’t help but laugh, the dark, echoing sound causing both of the younger skeletons to freeze. “Well, well. Isn’t this just sweet?”

“Oh fuck. I recognize you from my worst nightmares!” The Outertale Sans swore, dragging his brother back behind him “P-Papyrus, run! I… I’ll handle this guy. G-Go to Undyne and tell her to bring the guard - and I mean all of them!”

“BROTHER? IS THIS SOMEONE FROM THOSE SIGHT-VISION THINGS OF YOURS?” The Papyrus asked with a frown, unwilling to leave his brother behind to this goopy stranger.

“Huh… You’re a Seer. That’s rather unusual for a Sans. But I already have three of you working for me anyways.” Nightmare shrugged “So I’m sorry, but you’d just be unnecessary.”

“PAPYRUS RUN NOW!” The Sans yelled, throwing up several walls of bones and summoning several blasters at the same time, breaking out his bold voice.

The Papyrus made it three steps before Nightmare teleported behind both of the brothers and pierced both of their souls with his tentacles, laughing darkly as he did so “Far too late, little seer. Your power is no match for mine.” They coughed, sputtered once and turned to dust, desperately trying to reach out to one another to hold hands, their fingers turning to dust and mixing together.

~

“Bruh! It’s been forever since we’ve seen each other! I’ve missed you superbad, man.” A tall, purple clad Sans called out, tackling Cross and hugging him tightly “Ink has been.. Such a cagey jerk about where you’ve been and it’s sucked! But you’re here! I’ve got so many dank memes to show you.”

“Dude! I didn’t know you were visiting this timeline!” Cross responded, a wide grin appearing on his face as he hugged the other back just as tightly “Yeah… I’m really mad at Ink for… Reasons I totally don’t want to go into, because it will bring down my mood, and with you here, I feel great. You always make me happy, E.” The normally stoic Sans’s face had light up, and his emotions were much lighter than Nightmare had ever sensed them.

What the actual fuck was going on? Curious and intrigued, Nightmare leaned against one of the huge buildings of this world, content to watch for the moment.

“Ouch, bruh. I mean, I totally get it - Ink can be such a bastard sometimes- especially if he’s forgotten to take his vials and Dream’s not around him… Wait, have you even met Dream?” E as he was so named asked, his eye lights brightening a little “The little dude is amazing, you totally should. It’s like… Just being around him makes me feel as if everything’s going to be okay. He tries super hard to help everyone and is…” The skeleton brought two fingers up to his teeth and kissed his fingers with his hand before gesturing away from himself briefly.

That had absolutely no meaning whatsoever to Nightmare, who tilted his head a little, and was further confused at the incredibly over-dramatic gasp from Cross, who’s eye lights had widened before turning into stars for fuck’s sake.

“No! I haven’t. But if he really can do something like that… I’d love to meet him.” Cross responded, his eye lights still stars. His emotions were almost entirely positive in nature, and that stupid smile was still on his face. He frowned a little, the good feelings fading somewhat “I… Have met someone else though. He uhh… He’s a scary dude. And the skeles he runs with…” Cross shudders, his bones rattling a little, grimacing a little.

“That bad, bruh?” E prodded, a look of concern appearing on his face as he pulled the other a little bit closer. The two of them hadn’t stopped hugging since the purple Sans had tackled him minutes ago. It was odd to see Cross allowing such sustained contact with someone willingly.

“You have. No idea. Dude, I… I just wanna hang with you, man. I don’t want to think about him or the jackass squad. They’re worse than Fresh and Error.” Cross muttered, shuddering again and looking around “Dude! Is that a meme store I see! We should go in! I wonder if they’ve got rubber chickens that we could fight with. That was so much fun last time.”

Nightmare wondered if this was code for something. However as Cross excitedly dragged the other into the obnoxiously neon colored store and back out minutes later, there were two rubber chickens clutched tightly in both Sanses’ hands. Cross turned to face the other, a serious expression on his face for the first time since they’d started talking “You ready for this, dude?”

“You betcha, bruh!” E called out, gripping his rubber chickens and charging Cross, whacking him over the head with one of them, an unholy sound leaving the strange toy. It sent a shudder straight through Nightmare, who suddenly teleported between the two of them “That is it. Cross, put those ridiculous things down right now. You either kill this hapless moron right now, or I will.”

The joy and happiness within Cross’s emotional aura - and the smile on his face - vanished abruptly. He took a couple of small steps back, his eye lights shrinking to pinpricks “Ni… Nightmare… How long have… Have you-” The other stuttered, fear and panic in his aura.

“Since the two of you first started hugging. Kill him, Cross.” Nightmare ordered, scowling darkly at his unruly subordinate.

“Uhhh… Who the fu-” The purple skeleton started, only to be cut off by Cross.

“Epic, p-please let me handle this!” Cross snapped, shaking a little “I… I’m s-sorry for acting s-so ridiculous in front of you, Boss! He… He’s a powerful fighter. He’s from an AU called Epic!Tale and he’s a powerful fighter. He can be really useful to you please don’t make me kill him or kill him in front of me! P… Please? He… He’s my best friend…”

Nightmare tilted his head a little, as if considering the other’s plea “... And how do I have any indication that he’s more than the ridiculous simpleton that he was when the two of you were acting like before you realized that I was here, hmm? Or is that his special ability, to make other people act like idiots?”

“It-It’s not like that boss, I swear! We… We’ve both had some really shitty lives before… Before we met each other and… And together we use humor in order to cope and relate to each other.” Cross had fallen to his knees, his hands cupped in front of him in a pleading gesture, tears gathering in his eye sockets “Please… Boss… Epic c-can be useful to you, an-and I’ll make sure that he knows the rules and everything!”

“One week. You have one week to prove that he is a useful tool to me - and if he resists any order I give him, you will wish you’d have killed him by the time I’ve finished with him. Is that understood?” The fallen guardian hissed. Cross nodded frantically and dragged his friend away from him, whispering frantically, eye lights dim and shattered.

~

Nightmare gasped a little as he woke from the memories that the strange voices had prompted him to remember. A small smirk appeared on his lips as thousands more memories of causing others fear and pain flashed through his mind. A soft, dangerous chuckle rumbled through his chest as he wondered if he was alone in this body - or if Dream resided somewhere within this body - perhaps slumbering? He froze up for a moment as another memory rushed to the forefront of his mind… However this one, was from his other half.

Nightmare loomed over him, his cyan eye lights burning brightly, the other’s fury and indignation pressing hard against Dream’s senses, causing the corrupted positive spirit to whimper a little as he cringed away from the other “N-Nightmare?” He asked, voice trembling a little as he tried to figure out why the other was so upset.

“I told you not to leave this room, didn’t I?” Nightmare growled, grabbing his wrists with one hand and pressing them over his head, the other’s grip painful and bruising.

“Y-You d-did, Nightmare.” Dream stammered out, his eye lights shrinking to pinpricks as he glanced away from the other. He flinched as he felt the negative guardian’s other hand grab his chin and yank his face so he was forced to look up at the other.

“So why did Killer and Dust tell me that they saw you in the kitchen, Dream? I don’t make these rules up because I want to. My minions are violent and unstable. While I have informed them that you aren’t a threat to them any longer, I don’t trust them not to try to hurt you anyways.” Nightmare hissed, shaking the other’s head a little “And if they kill you, that will kill me too? Is that what you want? Do you want the both of us to die?”

“N-No, Ni-Nightmare! I… I’m s-sorry I le-left your be-bedroom. I sh-shouldn’t have.” Dream stuttered, feeling a strange, tarry substance start to drip out of his eye sockets and slide along his temples, onto the other’s expensive sheets.

“Why did  you leave this room, anyways?” Nightmare pressed, glaring darkly down at him “I ask so little of you, I just thought that you might be able to follow such a simple request…” he clicked his tongue at him, shaking his head, disappointed. He suddenly let the other go, refusing to look at the other.

Somehow that was even worse than the anger and bruising touches. “I…” Dream started, his voice small and ashamed.

The lord of darkness briefly glanced at his other half before looking away again, huffing a little “I hope this isn’t a prelude to you abandoning me again, Dream.”

“N-No of c-course not! I was just… I was just hu-hungry… And w… Wanted to get something to eat…” Dream admitted very quietly, shrinking in on himself. He tentatively reached out to Nightmare, his voice gaining a little bit of strength “I… I’m sorry…”

Nightmare brushed off his touch and got off of his bed, snapping at Dream as the other started to move “Stay put. And you keep saying that, over and over again… Yet I can’t help but wonder if you really mean it, or if your apologies are completely without sincerity.”

Dream flinched but stayed put, hoping that his obedience now would show the other that he was genuinely apologetic - along with how he was feeling. “M-My a-apologies are genuine, N-Nightmare! I-I promise… I’m sorry… I’ll s-stay here. I w-won’t move… I wo-won’t let anyone in here b-but you… I’m sorry, p-please d-don’t se-send me away N-Nightmare! I… I’ll behave. I promise!” The strange substance started to flow down his cheeks again as Dream shook, waiting desperately for the other to respond.

It felt like an eternity before Nightmare responded, his voice clipped and irritated “Look at me Dream.”

The fallen guardian of positivity obeyed instantly, staring at the other with wide, terrified eye lights, waiting for the other to decide his fate “Y-Yes, N-Nightmare…”

“I want to believe you when you say that you’ll do as I say… But you haven’t been able to prove that to me. On the contrary, it’s been less than a week since you’ve come to live with me, and you’ve disobeyed me twice now. I’m afraid that I’m going to have more than just promises that you’ll behave this time, Dream.” The other sighed, shaking his head a little as he got up, walking over to one of his drawers and pulling out a set of chains. They were long enough for someone to wander around the bedroom - provided that they were attached to someone’s legs, but no further. Nightmare then attached one of the ends of the manacles to one of the feet of the massive four-poster bed, the other still in his hands as the other looked at him steady “Now, I’m going to give you a choice. Do you want one of your wrists bound to the bed, or one of your ankles?”

Dream froze up for a moment, feeling as if all the air in the room had vanished. No. He trusted Nightmare. He loved Nightmare. And the other loved him back. The other could have just forced the chains on one of his limbs without asking- Nightmare had the brute strength to do so, but he hadn’t. He crawled towards the other on the bed and, after a moment’s hesitation, stuck out his right arm for the other to chain “My… My right wrist please…” Dream couldn’t quite look the other in the eye lights, starting a little as he felt the buzz of magic-restricting runes against his bones as the manacle clicked around his wrist.

Nightmare smirked a little, gently tilting Dream’s chin so that he had to look the other directly again “Thank you for cooperating with me. I understand that these rules will be an adjustment for you… But please believe me when I tell you that I will provide for your needs, Dream? You do trust me, don’t you?”

“I do trust you, Nighty! I promise.” Dream answered quickly, nodding a little and trying to suppress a yawn and failing… He’d been a little tired before, but with the magic-restricting nature of the manacle on his wrist, it was quickly sapping him of energy.

Nightmare chuckled softly, getting back on the bed and scooping up his other half, pressing a light kiss to the other’s forehead “Rest, Dream. I have finished my work for the day, and I don’t mind watching you sleep… Besides, a nap sounds wonderful.”

The formerly positive spirit yawned a little more, nuzzling into Nightmare as he slowly relaxed into the other’s grasp. What felt like minutes later, Dream woke up with a startled gasp, flailing a little and panicking briefly as he felt Nightmare hold him… Before he remembered surrendering to his other half and being brought home. He smiled in relief as he realized that he had no chains on either of his wrists. They ached a little but he’d apparently been sleeping on them, so that made sense. Dream didn’t notice the silver manacle on one end of the bed, and most of it was hidden beneath the blankets that Nightmare had covered him by - but the other half of the end of the chain was wrapped lightly around both of Dream’s ankles.

Nightmare mentally shook himself as he pulled himself free of Dream’s memories before he could get lost in the many manipulations he’d pulled on the other. Of course the other loved him dearly and desperately… Given all that he’d manage to cajole the other into doing since Dream had surrendered to him. But it was wonderful to feel just how deeply and completely the other felt for him. Nightmare was curious to see whether or not Dream could feel his own feelings of care for the other…

“... Nightmare?” Dream called out, insubstantial and see-through. He was still wearing the outfit that he’d picked out for him, his eye lights mostly blue with hints of gold. “W-What’s going on?”

“The two of us were somehow combined into a single being. I’m not sure how or why.” Nightmare responded, a small smirk playing on his lips as he sat down and looked up at the tree of feelings, the positive and negative apples just… Hanging there. Waiting to be taken.

“Oh… At least that means that no one can ever take us away from each other! We’ll be together forever.” Dream responded after a moment, a brilliant smile appearing on his face “That makes me so happy!”

“I’m glad that we’ll be together forever as well, my darling daydream…” Nightmare purred quietly in response, reflecting on what he wanted to do next. There were so many possibilities.

[honeyandfiregame]

Day's pov when he finds out mc is being abused while he's in love with them could be interesting? :o

Put under the cut for violence, mentions of abuse of course, no happy ending, and for length (3.5k words. Also I did not edit this in the slightest and there’s definitely mistakes.)

In this line of work, whatever way you try to live, life provides you an aesthetic. It doesn’t care who you try to be, it knows who you are. A style that bleeds into the cracks and solidifies, marking you like a second skin. An identifier of your being. Who are you. How lonely you are.

You can wear your longcoat, your hat, the boots sturdy enough to stomp someone’s skull in. You can wear the scowl on your face and the tightness in your muscles. You can put up your fronts, but the truth is always the devil in the details.

They’ll see the whole picture, but they won’t see the tears in the seams of your coat repaired again and again, the bloodstains too dark to be seen in the black fabric of your hat. They won’t see the shine behind your glare, the emotions kept in check, or the fact the tightness in your muscles has had you incapable of unclenching your jaw for almost 20 years. Or all the years of running and fighting that dulled the leather and weathered the sturdy heels of those boots.

And how those weathered heels are now grinding into the cheek of someone who deserves a little more than a skull-stomping.

Day’s eyes are cold, nearly completely dull and dead. His mouth and ears shut to the world, his heart unbeating in his chest; he hasn’t the energy to spare for worthless scum.

The man cries out against the pressure, one hand wrapped around Day’s ankle, the other trying to find purchase further up his leg, trying and failing to remove the weight that’s now shifted to his throat. A frown finds its way to Day’s face at the feeling.

“You don’t have permission to touch me, swine,” he growls. Memories swirl in his mind, half blown out of his head with the force of his bloodied rage.

But it’s not the usual memories, no, for the past hour he’s actually been trying to force those memories back into his head. For once. If only because the fear-induced dissociation would keep his anger in check from the actual memories taken hold of him for the time being.

Memories of you. The tears you thought he didn’t notice, the excuses you gave. To him. Your best friend. That’s not a title he’s given willingly before. And now you’re lying to him, lying with bruises on your skin and all because of…

Day’s head slowly tilts, the red of his eyes nearly vanished in the black as he stares with dilated pupils down at the gallows walker pinned under his boot.

Him.

He did this. He made you hurt, he made you cry, he made you feel like you need to lie to your friends.

Day’s heart would twist if it didn’t already feel like it’s leapt halfway up his throat.

“I never liked humans much.” His mouth is disconnected from his cognizance, no command given for the words that are falling out. Though, that’s not out of the ordinary for him. “But I work with a few of them. Good people… so I always felt bad for thinking that.”

His foot finally removes itself from the throat of the man, who begins to choke and gasp with the gratefulness of someone who doesn’t know what’s coming. Day jerks back a step, raising a hand to wipe some of the blood from his chin. It might be his, but it’s probably not. Although his claws have no doubt shredded up his palms by this point. He swallows down the tremor in his throat that threatens to shake his hard tone. Why does everything that has to do with you do that to him?

“But you… people like you.” A woman’s face, with the deepest of red hair and the sharpest of shark’s smiles, appears in his mind for just a brief moment and he’s safe. There’s no tremble in his dead tone. “People like you serve to remind me why I never fucking liked humans, just certain people.”

He can’t help the way his frown deepens, eyebrows drawing together, like he’s staring at something disgusting. It’s because he is. And every second facing the man who not only stole your heart but shattered it feels like Day’s own heart is dying. If he could be certain he had one anymore.

But then again… perhaps it’s you who proved there’s still something beating in his chest. Weakly, ever since he watched you choose another man, but still there.

Day shakes the thought away. Not the time to get soft now. He focuses his eyes and mind on the bleeding mess of a human crumbled on the ground at his feet.

“I’m wondering if I ought to keep beating you into the ground or…”

He doesn’t even get to finish his sentence when the sorry excuse chokes, spluttering words between spatters of blood.

“W-wait! Please, I’ll-I’ll stay away from them! I promise!” His begging just makes Day’s throbbing headache worse. “We’ll break up, if that’s what you want! Just… just let me go…”

Wait…

Day tilts his head like a curious dog. His eyes are as cold as ever.

“Do you… think you’re getting out of this alive?” The words come with a tint of confusion, a furrow in his brow, a genuine realization that he hadn’t yet killed the hope within this man.

“Oh, no, no…” he breathes, crouching down. He reaches out and, with the gentlest of touches, drags his finger through the blood smeared across the bastard’s face. “I don’t think you realize just what you’ve done. You see, I won’t… I don’t let people like you live.”

He leans closer, ever so gently, perhaps even with the impression of someone loving, cupping a bruised cheek. He’ll pretend a primal, sadistic part deep inside of him doesn’t shiver with pleasure at the way the man’s eyes widen, fear blooming in huge pupils.

“Never have, never will. And I can’t lie and say this isn’t about them.” He taps black claws against a vulnerable temple. “But I also know what people like you deserve and since there doesn’t seem to be anyone else who’ll give it to you, I’ll be the one to do it.”

He drags a claw sharpened to a point across the man’s throat, watches the way it moves with a nervous swallow, watches the absolute terror that sprawls his features. Like a person seeing a real, true monster.

The thought makes Day smile.

Because that’s what he is.

“Because I’m a bad person. Not unlike you.”

***

The silence is suffocating and that’s not a feeling Day usually has. Typically the silence is a soothing balm on a bruised, dissociated mind. Now it’s just a reminder of what’s to come.

And what’s to come has him nervously shaking his leg, digging his nails into his upper arms.

Consequences trail actions; how many times is he going to learn that? Eventually, he’s going to have to start thinking before he acts.

…

Yeah, no, he’ll burn in all seven Hells before he does that.

Besides, he holds no regret. He did that for you. And for him. And for every man, woman, and child that’s suffered at the hands of another.

Hells, when did he get so righteous…

But more importantly than that, he did it for you. For an angel like you, you deserve only the best the world has to offer. Which wasn’t that guy… which might not be him either.

Just as a sigh escapes him, a hand comes down on his shoulder. He jolts, a rush of adrenaline having his fingers aching with the urge to lengthen his nails to claws.

“Settle yourself.” The familiar deep voice has Day relaxing before the sentence is finished. “This isn’t going to get easier anytime soon.” But that doesn’t.

Zenos moves around the desk to basically fall into his chair, leaning back with a sigh. Day watches him with a careful, scrutinizing eye.

“You look tired,” he says without a further thought.

Zenos smiles, which only serves to highlight the exhausted evidence on his features of the all nighter he pulled. “I wonder who caused that,” he replies levelly, idle smile stuck in place.

Day at least has the sense to not reply.

He watches as Zenos leans forward to shuffle about some papers on his desk. It’s hard not to notice the way his eyes are being avoided.

“You’re angry at me,” he states and tries to ignore the way saying that aloud makes his stomach twist.

“As a matter of fact”—Day jumps at the slam of a book on the desk—“I am beyond angry at you.”

Zenos stands, like there’s so much energy in his rant he can’t sit any longer. “I am so thoroughly pissed at you for what you’ve done, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Zenos slams his hands on the desk and Day presses himself back into his chair. His default stoic expression suddenly becomes an effort to maintain as Zenos leans forward, eyes narrowed into a glare. “I don’t know what to do with you. This is one of the worst things you’ve ever done.”

“I’ve done worse.” That sounded weak even to him. And not at all helpful.

“No, Day, you haven’t. You’ve done a lot, all of it really bad, and I forgave you. I didn’t give up on you, I still put up with you. But this is…”

Day sets his jaw, hardening his stare as well as his heart for what he knows is coming.

“Look, I understand.” And that definitely wasn’t it. Day clears his throat, awkwardly shifting in his seat as he finds himself now unsure what to do with the new wall he built for what he expected to be a lot more painful.

Zenos continues, ignoring Day’s sudden discomfort, “You’re not the only one who noticed what was going on. I saw it too, and I wanted to…”

He sighs, coming around the desk to lean on it in front of Day. His voice has dropped to a soft tone that has Day shifting again. “I care about them too. I don’t want to see them hurt. I know why you did it, but Day… there are other ways to handle things.”

Except when you don’t know any other way, because pain and violence is the only way you were taught. To give and to receive, until tears and blood is all you know, until it turns fatal.

Day’s teeth feel like they’re going to crack, his jaw clenched so damned tight.

“I have to punish you for this, you know? But this is so far over the line I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do.”

“You can’t do this again, Day.” Zenos’ eyes are too sincere as he speaks. “And I say that because I know you and I know you would do it again in a heartbeat.”

That’s true. Day’s already thinking back on it, the satisfaction of crushing that bastard’s life in his hands. He would do it again and again to keep you safe, he always will.

A silence falls, Day neither having the words nor the energy to respond. It’s uncomfortable for many reasons, but if Day were to hazard a guess, Zenos might be the most uncomfortable dealing with this situation when his oldest friend is involved. He wants to get angry at him for breaking their promise. But Day knows Zenos enough to know the naive, incredibly sweet dumbass really thought it would never come to this, not to mention the circumstances that lead to this…

He doesn’t know what to do or how to feel and he probably just wishes the whole situation never happened so he never has to deal with it. Being a responsible adult sucks. It’s another bruise beneath the surface of Zenos’ skin.

A sigh breaks him out of his thoughts and he looks up as Zenos pushes himself off the desk.

“You are suspended for now and you will need to go home while I think of just what can make up for what you’ve done… I hope you realize how incredibly lucky you are that no one suspects you and I can keep the Guard off your back.” Day gives a short nod, swallowing down his gratitude as a rock forms in his stomach. He has a bad feeling about what’s going to happen next. And he was right to feel like that, because the hardened mask of a leader has melted and now there’s nothing but pity on Zenos’ face.

“There’s someone else who needs to speak with you before you leave. I will leave you two to sort this out alone.”

Yeah, there it is. That gut-wrenching feeling that has Day wanting to scratch scars into his wrist again.

“No…” He finally speaks, but it’s a broken whisper, nearly inaudible, and Zenos doesn’t hear it. There’s no salvation he can offer even if he had, anyway.

And then the door shuts and then Day is alone. In silence. In the calm before the storm. With discomfort layering an itch on the surface of his skin, making him shift again. Uncomfortable. Nerves. Hard to breathe.

Is this what the verge of a panic attack feels like? Has he had one of those before? Probably… He prefers the dissociation, which is unfortunately not gracing his mental health today. Gods damn it all.

He doesn’t have time to ponder it further. The slam of the door behind him nearly causes him to break the arm of the chair off. A chill shoots up his spine.

“I cannot believe you.”

He doesn’t know the word to describe the emotion in your voice, but it’s not good. It’s not good.

Okay, calm down. Breathe in, do not breathe out. Straighten up; shoulders back, spine stiff. Kill your emotions, end them, make them cry for Mommy. Now breathe out. Slow. Unnoticeable.

The mask slips on too easily.

“This is the worst thing you’ve ever done.”

People really seem keen on calling him out for that today. Shoving the shadowy remnants of his feelings back into the closet, Day rises to his feet and brushes down his pants.

“Is it?” If he bothered to feel anything, he might even pride himself on the dark, steady tone his deep voice settles into with ease. But that all crumbles away as he turns to face you. His eyes widen just a fraction before he catches himself.

It’s not the massive bruise peeking out from the collar of your shirt, he already knew about that, he already got angry about that. It’s that that’s… not an expression he’s ever seen on your face before. He can’t name that emotion either, but it’s not… it’s really not good. You look… more than broken. Your eyes are the same as the pair he sees in the mirror.

The mask slips with the slight tremble of his jaw but he firmly shoves it back in place with a smear of blood.

You step closer and his mettle further bends as he gets a look at the shine of tears in your eyes. “I can’t believe you did this.”

“You already said that,” he rasps.

“Day.” Your tone makes him clamp his mouth shut.

He shuffles back a couple of steps, trying to escape the bubble of tension created around you two. It doesn’t work.

“I thought you were my friend.” The words are nothing more than the whisper of someone trying to hold back tears. Day’s gaze flicks down towards the floor.

“I am your friend…” That, too, sounded weak even to him. And maybe it’s only true on his side, he realizes.

“You…” And there’s the incredulous look. “You think you’re still my friend after you ruined everything like this? Day, I can never forgive you.” And now it’s anger. “You are so beyond fucked I can’t believe I ever trusted you in the first place. You know, I used to think you actually had some decency in you, buried deep inside. Deep, deep inside. Buried under all that broody bullshit!” And that anger has born a vicious glare. “I guess I was wrong.”

Okay, that’s enough.

Day closes the gap in one long stride. You jump as his hand moves so fast you can’t stop him, yanking open your shirt enough to expose the ugly, colorful bruises all across your collarbone.

“I did it because I care,” he hisses. “Deeply. Because he put these bruises there and that’s so fucking wrong, of course I did something about it. You deserve so much better.”

You stare at him, shellshocked, swallowing in disbelief or from maybe his sudden proximity. It only lasts a moment before you bat away his hand and try to recompose yourself. “Who are you to say what I-”

“Because I’m your best friend,” he cuts you off, placing both hands on your shoulders as if that’ll show you how serious he is right now. “I know what you deserve because I’ve been watching you. I watched you pull yourself out of the rubble, only to have some bastard who has no clue about what you’ve been through come and just fucking pile it back on top!”

His mettle breaks. The mask slips off and shatters to the ground and he knows all you can see is every emotion he thought he’d buried under the floorboards, exposed, completely naked and raw on his face.

“I know you deserve the best,” he continues. His voice cracks, so little range to deal with the influx of emotion he never allowed before. “That’s all I wanted for you. I wasn’t going to do anything if you were happy, because that’s all I wanted for you. I wanted to see you smile, in the arms of someone who loves you like I-”

The words slam to a halt in his throat as his brain finally plays catch up. Fuck… this is why he needs to work on his impulse control. He gets it now. Fuck.

Day yanks his hands back, stumbling a step back and straightening himself up. The way you’re looking at him… no, no, he never wanted to see that.

Fuck.

Fuck…

Fuck it.

“Who loves you like I do,” he finishes and finally breaks his own heart. Bandage off. Knife in his throat. It’s better to end it now.

He doesn’t meet your wide-eyed stare, but he does flinch when you whisper his name. It’s too late, isn’t it?

“I just… wanted to protect you,” he says, barely above a whisper. “So you can pick yourself back up. There’s no one out willing to protect people like us, so we have to…”

It’s like you don’t even hear him, you’re so focused on staring at him. Slowly, you reach out. You don’t make contact, like he’s a fragile glass ornament holding your fascination, at least that’s what he thinks he sees in your face.

“Day, are you…”

His hand flies to his face and he feels the wetness of his cheeks at his fingertips. Gods damn it all. He takes a breath to steady himself, as if he can get back any of his stoicism now.

“I’m sorry. All I can do is offer you an apology because I can’t take back what I did… And I wouldn’t if I could, anyway.” There’s too much finality in his words and he can see you thinking the same. It’s too late. “I am sorry. For being in love with you. And for ruining you.”

His jaw trembles again.

“I’m not a good person. I don’t know gentleness or loving. I think I only know hurt and I think I heard once you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” The wry smirk feels as broken as it probably looks. “So, I will stop crossing the line. I will let you handle your life the way you want to and I will leave you alone. For good.”

He brushes past you, you’re left so frozen in place, processing what he’s already said. He stops, hand on the doorknob, when your voice drifts from behind him.

“Day… What are you trying to say?”

He doesn’t look back, he just twists the doorknob with more aggression than he should.

“I’m leaving Amveros.”

He doesn’t hear what your response, he doesn’t listen. He keeps walking.

In this line of work, whatever way you try to live, life provides you an aesthetic. Life gives you the tears in your clothes, the weathered look of your shoes, the dead look in your eyes, the bruises and scars on your skin.

Life does that. Life puts the bruises and scars on your skin. People aren’t supposed to do that. That’s what he always thought. And that’s what he’ll continue to think.

This is another scar for you. You still have enough space on your skin for them. But he just closed the door on his final scar.

[milkte-aa]

" deal breaker! " (myg x y/n x jjk) 001

📍tags/genre ;; angst, satire, demon!au, prince!au.

📍summary ;; many many years ago, an ancestor of yours made a deal with two demon princes and never paid his debt. the demons, who lay dormant, have awoken and want their prize. and as a blessing and a curse, the prize is you.

📍author's note ;; the story is a bit mature, so chapters that don't have gore, violence, or smut, are still best for 16+ readers. but, of course, read at your own expense.

📍to find other chapters search #db-jjkmyg

"Come on, Jungkook! We don't have all year!!"

That loud voice resonated throughout the large, victorian styled manor. The dark hardwood floors were just a clean and shiny as they had been left, back when the victorian era was on the rise. It was a tragic day, when the manor was left behind, and that day would always be remembered as the day when the demons lost the great war. The two demon princes, who resided within this manor had fought and the front lines, and were forced into dormancy when they lost.

The heavy sound of footsteps could be heard at the home's entrance from deep within the many halls. Approaching every so calmly, Yoongi knew his call had been heard.

He gazed into the round mirror next to the coat rack that lay in the manor's entrance hall, fingertips brushing lightly over his cheek and jaw. The last time he'd seen his own face, was over 130 years ago, and there had been a long and deep cut that split his face in half diagonally. It was strange that they woke up, let alone come back completely unharmed or scarred. It left Yoongi to wonder why he was returned to his original state? Why wasn't his black hair matted with blood? Why was his skin left smooth and clean and not cracked, cut, and burned? Why was Jungkook so unhurt as he? He was greatful that his lover was back in the correct mental state, but why was it so?

"Weird isn't it? That we look brand new?" A chuckled rumbled across the entryway, taking Yoongi's attention away from his silvery reflection. He looked to Jungkook, the tall and handsome boy he'd had as a companion for centuries.

Yoongi nodded, looking back towards the mirror for a moment. He watched himself, quietly staring into his dark eyes. Jungkook cleared his throat in an attempt to get the other's attention, "So, hyung, why did you call my name?"

Jungkook had shoved his hands into the pockets of his blazer, with a coy smile on his face. Depsite them having come back so 'new', they were still wearing the same clothes. Black blazer's and slacks, dress shoes, and decorative silk shirts with matching chokers. Silver and gold adorned their fingers and ears, matching the outfit and the era they had left behind.

"Ah yes, we have some unfinished business to conclude." Yoongi turned again to the younger male, "Sadly, that war interrupted us."

Jungkook tilted his head. He was tired and confused, and quite frankly it took a second for him to even recall the very war that took place. But he caught on, remembering the crippled old man that had begged them to cure his only child of an incurable disease. They had done so, with promise that they would be able to collect whatever prize they wished from him when they returned—whether it be riches, land, or a soul. He nodded.

"Is there any prize to collect?"

Yoongi licked his lips. "I believe so. I looked into while you took a nap. The current family isn't rich, so I think we'll be collecting a soul. Unless something else takes our interest."

Jungkook liked the idea of a prize, even though the last thing he could remember was losing a great battle. Souls meant servants. Servants meant things getting back to normal.

Yoongi approached his companion, placing a palm on the younger's cheek. He still saw the condition Jungkook used to be in. The beaten and swollen image lingered in his memories. "I'm so happy you're okay..."

Jungkook smiled, setting his own hand over Yoongi's. "Mhmm, me too. Now, let's go get our well earned prize before it runs away."

"Yes, let's."

Your ancestory had always been a mystery to you. It felt like living in fog, and only ever seeing what was closest to you. You never met your grandparents, as they were all dead before you were born, and so you could never ask silly questions about what wars they lived through or where they grew up. Your parents wouldn't talk about it much, especially after their divorce when you were thirteen.

Though, despite all that you didn't know, there was always one thing that remained clear—your family was cursed.

The story was simple; over 100 years ago, a man in your family made a choice. Would he save his daughter from death or would he let her go and end her suffering? Despite what his little girl had wanted, he chose to save her from the clutches of death, and looked everywhere for the cure. But no books held the answer and no doctor had the time. He had lost hope. That was, until the man was approached by a mysterious creature and offered a deal. He took it without much thought, not caring to ask what the creature was or where it came from. Because of that, his ancestors believed him to have cursed the bloodline— due to making a deal with something that has yet to collect its end of the bargain.

If the family really was cursed, then maybe that would explain why you felt like nothing ever went right. All through highschool, you made mediocre grades and never seemed to impress your parents while simultaneously managing to never make any long lasting friendships. During the year between highschool and college, you had gotten fired at almost every job you took for extremely stupid things. And now, in university, depsite having finally made some good grades you're knee deep in student loan debt. You could hardly pay bills as it was, and soon enough the bank would show up a take you shitty car and even shittier apartment.

But what could you do about that? Nothing, really. Life is just a series of miserable mistakes and regrets, with the only promising goal being growing old and retiring right at the age when freetime is uncomfortable and impossible. Yeah, life is shitty. Life was so shitty sometimes, that it made you wish that the deal your idiot ancestor made would come back and haunt you because then maybe life wouldn't be so painfully drab.

Though, your catch yourself in that thought because demons, or monsters, or fairy tales weren't real.

Ring ring ring!

The distint chime of your cellphone rang at you from your bedroom, gently calling you to answer an important phone call.

"Who is it at this hour? Its almost 10 o'clock..." You pulled yourself up from the old cushions of your hand-me-down couch, eyes briefly passing over the screen of your tv, which flashed with commercials at the moment. With quick steps, you reached your bedroom, which wasn't really that far away at all, and managed to reach your phone before it quit ringing.

"Hello?"

Nothing could be heard from the other end, thought you were certain someone was listening to you.

"Who is this? If you're trying to sell me something just do it already and don't waste my time."

Nothing again, and with that you hung up— people these days were rude over the phone too. You huffed, turning your phone off and chucking it on the bed with a soft thud. Through your annoyed attitude, though, a strange feeling of coldness swept up your spine. It swarmed your brain, filling your mind with a ice so black and dark that it stopped you from thinking for a moment. But it faded, as it some sort of fire or heat had burned it away. Strange, you thought, and then you snapped back into reality.

The tv show you were watching echoed in the distance.

You walked quietly back to the living room, gazing down at your index finger and grumbling at the chipped blue nail polish as you did. You hardly paid attention to your surroundings in this moment, and ran into the couch, slamming your toe against its hard bottom.

"F-fucking hell! Bitchass couch, always in my fucking way!" You yelled out, squeezing your eyes in pain as you reached down to hold your throbbing toe.

A soft sound eerily similar to the clicking of tongue of teeth could be heard, and then...

"Well that wasn't a very ladylike set of words." The low grumble of words jerked you out of your pain, your eyes wide as the shot up to see a man sitting on your kitchen counter, his legs crossed calmly over one another. He was cold. That very coldness you'd felt just before you left you bedroom.

"W-who'er you?!" You scrambled backwards, nearly falling your ass in the process. "How'd you get in my house?!!"

The man chuckled, cleary amused with your prey-like display. His dark gaze raked over you slowly, and his tongue peeked out of his lips for a brief moment. He had black hair, brushed out of his face to show a subtle bit of the pale skin on his forehead. The rest of him was pale, all except his eyes and hair... and the oddly Victorian outfit he wore. "Who am I? How'd I get in? Those are your questions?" He scoffed, "Mortals... You never cease to amuse...."

He trailed off just as you looked to your left, spotting a large black dog towaring over your couch and gazing at you. It looked like a hellhound, but there was something oddly human about it. At closer look, the dog had black horns atop its head and rows of razor sharp teeth and a two-pronged tongue. Its tail swung around carfully, like a snake.

The man on your counter spoke again, "I am a demon, little girl, older than your bloodline and nearly as old as religion itself. This here is my friend, who decided to appear in this form rather than a human one...."

You scoffed, definitely by accident. The reflex in you to pass off stupid claims as symptoms of a low IQ. You regretted this immediately.

The man showed you his teeth, a flashy way to tell you to know your place. "I'm serious, girl. You can stand there all wobbly kneed a pretend that you don't know, deep down inside what we are, but I see right through you." He looked to the dog, that looked back at him and let out an impatient whine. "But... I will be kind and tell you the story, so that maybe then you'll show us some more respect."

You blinked several times, a feeble attempt as waking up from this nightmare. Demons? Imposible! Such a stupid idea. These are just figmants of your imagination. Maybe your family was cursed; but it would be cursed sooner with insanity that it would with demons.

"Once upon a time, during the Victorian Era, a young girl suffered from a bad case of of some very mysterious disease. Her father wanted her to live so very badly, and sold everything he had to find her a cure. But no doctor could care to help, and no witch had a practical solution. He poor, little girl was dying and each day the pale horse grew closer. But, one day, he found himself in the presence of two strange creatures that he passed off as extremely smart hellhounds. Whatever they were, he made a deal with them, selling his soul for his daughter's life. The 'creatures' were nice, and decided to wait until the man got to live a happy life with his daughter before they came to collect his soul and his life. But, those 'creatures' got caught up in a war and were left dormant for over 100 years. And now, they need to get paid for their kindness..."

You could out two and two together, you were mental, the 'deal' your ancestor made was real and it was with this man here and his... dog?

"So that's not really a dog?" You pointed to large mass of dark fur that starred at your with red eyes.

The man shook his head, "No, that's my partner-in-crime Jungkook. And I'm Yoongi. Glad to see you've found your common sense, little girl."

"So, um, Yoongi, what do I have to do with this deal? You can't possibly be here for my soul, I didn't make that stupid deal..." You tried to calm down, but it was difficult to say the least. You were starring death and its dog, er, friend in the face. Who could stay calm during that?

Yoongi looked to his friend, nodding subtlety before he adjusted his hair with a heavily jeweled hand. "I hate to tell you this, but a soul is hard to get once its dead, not unless we were there to grab it. But as I said, its been 100 years, and your great great great grandaddy is probably deep within the inferno. Jungkook and I hardly have the time to find him."

"So, you're going to kill me?" The wind outside your apartment's front door howled, a sign of an on coming storm before it happened. You could almost taste the rain in the air.

The room was silent for a moment, giving your thoughts time to catch up to the situation. You've been acting like this were a real situation. As if! Demons aren't real. Neither was magic or curses ir any of that other mumbo-jumbo. To even believe it for a second would make your insane. Maybe you were. Maybe you were in some sort of looney-bin hospital strapped to a white table and screaming like all hell was loose.

Then, the more fake than real, Yoongi spoke up. He cleared his throat, hopping gracefully off of the marble countertop. The slender man approached you, peering into your fearful and confused face before looking to his hound-shaped companion. The hound thing nodded.

"Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but we can't kill you just yet." Yoongi seemed pleased, a hidden emotion swimming in the dark pools of his eyes. "Remember that war I mentioned? Yeah, well it drained us of our power, and now we can't do something as simple as collect a soul."

Crazy, stupid, gullible girl! This isn't real! Stop responding to your hallucinations!!

You shook your thoughts away, saying nothing to Yoongi at all. He was definitely talkitive and would more than likey continue speaking on his own.

".... So, girl, that means that you're coming with us and will stay under our watch until we're strong enough to do such."

And so he proved you right.

"You don't believe me do you? You think your just a normal, everyday psycho broad who dropped her marbles somewhere and can't find them." Yoongi chuckled. "Do you want to know something? If you were dreaming or imagining this, then you wouldn't be able to feel pain or taste things. And I do recall you jamming your toe not too long ago."

Defiantly, you looked up at him, meeting him eye-to-eye in a show of boldness. "That doesn't prove anything. I could've started hallucinating between then and now. God, look at me, I'm giving into this whole brain fiasco and talking to you! And you're not even real!" You laughed, making this possibility of madness grow.

"Oh how amusing! I, the wonderfully boring and dull, Y/n, have finally gone absolutely insane. I see demons and hellhounds! What's next, fairies and unicorns? Will I begin to preach that I have seen God's true fac-" Your babblings were halted by the most violently pleasant burning sensation, accompanied by the feeling of lips against yours. The mouth against your's was soft, gentle even, with not a hint of malicious intent. You gave in, melt into the touch the snaked around your body— your demon has kissed you.

The moment didn't last long, though you wished it had, because suddenly your bottom lip seared with pain and the taste of blood filled your mouth. Those soft lips tugged themselves away, leaving you with a bloody lip.

"You bit me!" You accused, touching your fingertips to your lip. Yoongi licked his lips, an remnants of your blood disappearing. He grinned.

"Better yet, you would've liked that pain if I kept on with that kiss."

"Why would you do that?" Your ears and cheeks burned with embarrassment. He had done that on purpose, to prove some point more than likey. But the fact that you felt it—his lips, the pain—it meant that-

"This is real. I am real. So is, my very annoyed friend over there." He gestured calmly to the hound who was scrunching its face up, a low rumble emitting from its throat. Your eyes darted back to Yoongi, who was still smiling. "So, sweetheart, are you going to give in and come with us willingly or is he going to drag you?"

You added it all up in your head. Demons, hellhounds, broken deals, war, soul stealing, and ownership. This was crazy... but real. Maybe. The mind is tricky. You contemplated locking yourself in the bathroom and waiting for them to leave, but Jungkook would definitely tear the door down and rip you into ribbons. You could go with them too. Its not like you would be leaving much behind. Your poor parents would be so torn up about it if you just went missing out of nowhere.

Yoongi still stood relatively close to you, so you backed up a bit before you spoke. "I'll go with you, but... let me pack a bag and write a note in case anyone comes looking. Alright?"

You were insane, this was insane, but you had no real choices.

Yoongi nodded, satisfied with your response. "Alright, but hurry. We don't have all year."

And with that, you scurried to your bedroom with two pairs of knowing eyes burying themselves into your back. What had you gotten yourself into, Y/n?

[fangirl--of-everything]

Everything They’ve Built (Warren Worthington III x Reader) Part 3

Word Count: 5020

Request: nope

Chapter Warning: swearing, blood, gore, violence, death, a crazy teenager 

Series Warning: violence, blood, occasional descriptions of gore, swearing, emotionally abused Warren (I will give specific chapter warnings for when each of these things occur in specific chapters)

A/N. Warren’s first cage match! I loved writing this series, but at the same time I hate doing this to him, poor bean. Also, this chapter is twice as long as the last one! Yay! I think this is the goriest chapter, just so everyone knows, and it’s not horrible, but there is blood and violence, just be prepared. Please please please give me a comment and let me know what you think of the series so far, I'm interested in hearing what you guys think. 

(the masterlist and previous chapters are available on my blog under the tag “everything they’ve built”, because this site is being stupid and won’t let my posts show up in the tags if they have links embedded in them)

Alright, enjoy :) 

When Warren woke up he was in a cell. It was small, basically a box, with the left wall made of concrete and the right being a mesh grate, revealing another, empty cell beside his. It smelled like rust, and static, and sweat and blood, and the floor felt gritty again this cheek. He expected his head to hurt, but it didn't, and neither did his wings. The second he realized they weren't tied to his back anymore he shifted onto the balls of his feet and prepared to take off. 

"Don't!" 

He froze, wings half open. 

"Don't." 

He looked up to see the lizard girl in the cell across from him. 

"Why?" He snapped. He was getting really tired of being told what to do, and for the first time since this had all started he was actually in a position to do something about it so why the hell not?

"It's electrified." She explained. "You can try it, but those feathers look really flammable."

He glared at her suspiciously. His wings rustled and he pulled them tight against his back before reaching out and poking the mesh cage in front of him. A jolt of electricity shot up his arm and he jerked back, shaking out the pins and needles in his hand. "Son of a bitch!" 

She laughed. "Told you so." 

He growled at her, pacing around the small cell. She arched an eyebrow and walked to the back of her own cell, settling against the concrete wall. 

"I need to get out of here." He said, more to himself then to her. "I don't belong here."

She threw her head back and barked a laugh. "Do you think any of us belong here?"

"You don't understand." He shook his head. "I'm not like you okay. This--" he gestured around the room. "This isn't me. This isn't my life."

"Tell that to the wings growing out of your back." She rolled her eyes. 

"No, you don't understand. My name is Warren Worthington, my father owns Worthington Industries. I go-- I went to a private school. I'm not like you, I'm not a runaway. I'm not-- I don't fight other mutants. Yeah I listen to loud music, and yeah I-- maybe I liked to get into fights at school, but this-- this--" he takes his hands through his hair. He became aware of the fact that his face didn't hurt anymore. "This is insane! I don't--"

"Look angel boy, do you think anyone wants to be here?" She interrupted. "Do you think I wanted to get grabbed off the street and dragged across two countries to have people gawk at me? And I'm sorry, what makes you think I'm a runaway?" Her eyes were burning with anger. "Fuck you Warren Worthington."

Warren's eyes widened. "Look, that's not--" 

She collapsed, twitching and seizing, on the floor. 

"Woah, hey! Hey! Someone help!" Warren grabbed the front of the cage, then hit the ground as electricity jolted through him. He clenched his jaw as his body spasmed out of his control, breathing a sigh when it finally stopped. He groaned, rolling onto his side, and froze when he saw two armed guards staring down at him. 

"W-what are you doing?" He asked, eyes darting between the two of them. "Help her!"

"Shut up." One of the men snapped. He pressed a button on the side of the cage, and the door slid to the side. Before Warren could move the other guard lifted his gun and fired. Pain ripped through his side and he bent double, arms curling around himself as fiery pain started to spread from the wound. The guards closed the door to the cell and walked away without looking back. 

"H-hey!" He stammered, blood starting to slip through his fingers. "Hey wait! Come back, don't--!" The heavy doors at the end of the hall slammed shut. 

"It's a flesh wound." (Y/n) said weakly from her place on the floor. "They do it to everyone." She lifted the hem of her tank top to show a shiny scar on her side, leaving a gap in her scales. "It's to show they're in control, and you're only alive because they want you to be."

"Why-why didn't you warn me?" He snapped, hysteria slipping into his voice. 

"If I warned you they would have shot you twice." She moved closer to the door of her own cage and leaned against the concrete wall. "And they would have hurt Alina. Sorry, but you're not worth that. Take your shirt off and hold it against the wound."

He glared at her and winced as he tugged the shirt over his head, bunching it up and holding it against his stomach. "This is fucking insane." He groaned as he put pressure on the wound, causing pain to radiate through his side. "Are they going to leave me like this?"

She shook her head. "It's a test to see if you heal. They'll come get you tomorrow and Alina will fix you up. Then they'll do your exam, and if they like you you'll go in the ring. If not…" she trailed off, and he figured the bleeding wound in his stomach was an indication of what he had to look forward to if he didn't impress them. Whoever they were. He slumped against the wall, eyes closed. This was too much.

"Hey!" she snapped her fingers. 

He cracked one eye open to glare at her. "What?" 

She matched his glare head on. "Don't close your eyes. If you go into shock you could die. Talk to me."

"I don't want to talk to you." He snapped. And then quietly, to himself, he added, "I just want to go home."

"Yeah, me too."

He looked up at her. "Really?"

"Are you serious?" She snapped. "Of course I want to go home. Do you think I enjoy being in a cage?" 

"That's not-- I didn't mean--" he groaned. "Fuck! I'm too tired for this. I assumed you were a runaway. Sorry."

"It's because I'm green isn't it?" She asked. 

Warren raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"Shut up." She didn't seem mad though. She leaned her head back against the wall and wrapped her jacket more tightly around herself. "I'm not a runaway. My parents didn't care that me and Alina were mutants. My mom was a mutant."

"Oh." Warren shifted so he could lean against the wall, and he grimaced when a twinge of pain shot through his stomach. "Sorry, I just assumed-- wait, Alina the nurse kid?"

"Yeah." 

"She's your sister?" 

"Yup." She smiled. "I know, we look just like each other."

He sat back, thinking that over. "So you guys got caught together?"

"Yeah." Her voice had gotten quiet. "They killed our dad, and our mom didn't survive the exam. Alina's too young to do any fighting, and she doesn't have an offensive mutation anyway, but she's a healer, and they realized keeping her around meant keeping the rest of us around a lot longer too. And they didn't have to be gentle with us anymore." She trailed off, getting lost in her own head. 

"That sucks." Warren said sympathetically. He felt like it was only fair to share one of his shitty stories now. "My dad tried to rip off my wings."

"Really?" She sat and turned to look at him. "That's crazy! Why would he do that?"

Warren shrugged. "He's just always been like that. He never really accepted that they were a part of me you know? He always thought I could get rid of them if I really tried." 

He proceeded to tell her his life story. He told her about how his father was never around when he was growing up, and how he used to get into fights just so he would get to spend some time with him. He talked about how his dad had figured it out and started sending a bodyguard to pick him up instead, but not before he taught Warren how to throw a proper punch. And how the first, and only time, his father had ever visited him at boarding school was when his wings grew. To this day, no matter how many times he had gotten into fights and come home bruised and bloody, he had never seen his father look as ashamed of him as he did when Warren stood up, tearstained and looking for comfort, with wings growing out of his back. 

He told her all about how his father had dragged him to dozens of doctors, and how as each one said there was nothing they could do his father got more and more angry. And how one day when he was fifteen some crazy doctor had said that he could get rid of the wings. 

She called Warren Worthington Jr. a stream of words so foul they made him blush when he told her about the procedure. 

He'd locked himself in his room for two days and begged his father not to make him go, and he'd cried and begged more then he'd ever cried before. The procedure itself had happened in one of his father's facilities, where he'd been strapped down to a table face down. Laura had held his hand. The man who claimed he was a doctor had dug into Warren's back, cutting into his flesh with almost no anaesthetic, and hadn't stopped, or been stopped by Warren's father, no matter how much he'd screamed. 

The doctor hadn't stopped until his father had made him, and that was only because Laura had threatened to shoot him if he didn't. The man had already done serious damage to the muscles in his back by that point, and Laura told him later that of she hadn't been able to heal him he wouldn't have been able to use his wings, or his left arm, again.

"Wow." She gave him a sympathetic look. "Your dad's a dick."

She then proceeded to tell him all about her. It was only fair. He learned that she'd been here for six months. They were from Poland, and had gotten caught when Alina had used her powers to save someone after a car accident. Their small town was actually very accepting of mutants, and no one had a problem with her scales, or the fact that she occasionally set things on fire. Purely by accident of course. She explained that her father was a doctor, and her mother was a healer like her sister. She had no idea where her mutation came from. 

She also told him what it was she could do. Besides the tail and the green, scale covered skin, she was inhumanly strong and her palms could catch fire. Warren didn't believe her, and she was forced to prove it. His eyes widened when orange flames leapt from her palm and danced up her arm. 

"So you're literally a dragon." He laughed. It wasn't a real laugh, but it was better than nothing. 

"Yeah." She smiled. "I can find gold too if you ever wanna go looking for it."

She told him about how when she was younger she used to always accidentally set things on fire, and how when she was six and it really dawned on her that she looked different her dad had sat her down and made her feel better about it. In their family, he had explained, he was the freak. How was he supposed to fit in with a family full of mutants? It made her feel a lot better. She had learned that it was all about perspective. And even here, she had explained, the more of a freak you were the more the crowd loved you. 

They talked all night, and Warren almost forgot about the bleeding wound in his side, and the fact that he was trapped in a cage in Germany, far from anything he knew. -----/--/----- Then next morning-- or what he assumed was morning-- two guards came in, guns raised. 

"Don't resist." (Y/n) warned, backing up against the wall. "And feel free to scream. They won't care."

They bound his wings tightly to his back, and then his hands, and dragged him out of the cell, one landing a solid punch to the wound in his stomach. He bit his cheek, hard, causing blood to fill his mouth. They dragged him to his feet, and one of the guards hit him in the face with the butt of his gun and he hit the ground hard. They dragged him out of the room, and when he shot one look over his shoulder to see (y/n) watching him from her cell, palms burning, jaw clenched tightly. 

The exam was the worst thing he had ever experienced. They dragged him into a different room then before, one with tables lined with medical instruments, and chained him to a metal table with his wings spread wide. They did everything possible to him, from taking his temperature to sawing into bone and extracting bone marrow. He learned then that his bones were hollow, like a bird’s. They even cut off one of his fingers and had Alina reattach it. They cut into his wings, plucked feathers, and dug into his back to get to the root of his wings. Every time he blacked out they woke him back up before continuing. By the time they were done his throat was hoarse from screaming. 

"I'm sorry." Alina said quietly, brushing her fingers over his forehead. "Are you okay?" 

He was barely conscious, but he gave a small nod. She was only thirteen, and he felt a compulsive need to protect her, and make it seem like things weren't as bad as they seemed. It seemed bizarre, considering she had reattached his finger and repaired almost all the bones in his body over the past few hours. She didn't have much innocence left to protect. He groaned as the bones in his chest started to knit themselves back together, the skin resealing over top of his repaired ribs. 

"You know," Alina said quietly, hands ghosting over his chest, "they sometimes let you go. If you bring them enough money."

"Really?" Warren asked, sitting up and looking at her with wide eyes. 

She nodded. Then she bit her lip and shook her head. "No. No they don't. It's a lie (y/n) told me to make me feel better. I thought it might help you too. Just at first. Roll over please."

Warren groaned as he rolled over onto his side. "I figured as much. These people don't seem like the type to let money go. My dad's the same way."

"Your dad runs a mutant fight ring too?" She asked, eyes widening in surprise.

"No. No, nothing like that. He owns a big company. And assets, you know, things that are making him money, he holds onto those tight. It's the things that don't make money that he lets go."

She nodded thoughtfully. "They don't let anyone go here. If you don't make them money they kill you."

Warren nodded. "Yeah, my dad does that too." Her eyes widened again, but only slightly. "He kills a project instead of selling it. That way no one else can make money on it either."

"Oh. So American business is a lot like this then?"

"No." Warren shook his head. "This is much worse. But it does make you rich and powerful in America."

Her eyes lit up. "Will your father come looking for you? Maybe if he's so powerful he can find us and rescue us."

Warren opened his mouth to tell her that, no, his father wouldn't be looking for him, he was most certainly glad his embarrassment of a son was out of his life, but her face was glowing with excitement and it was the first time he'd seen the skinny girl look anything but somber, and too old for her years. So he said nothing, looking down at his hands as she finished knitting his ribs back together. She worked in silence for a minute, content in her fantasy of rescue, until she paused. 

"Can you tell (y/n) something for me?" She whispered.  

"Yeah." Warren nodded. 

She gave him a small smile. "Just tell her I love her okay?"

His heart actually hurt for her. She was just a kid, she didn't belong here. He nodded. "Yeah of course."

Once she was finished repairing all the damage they had done, she gave him a small smile and two guards led him from the room. He expected them to lead him back to the cells, but instead they dragged him down a long, dark hallway. As the neared two large heavy doors he heard noises from the other side. (Y/n) was leaning against the doorway, three guards standing around her. 

"Stop." One of the guards tugged him to a stop and spun him around. 

"What are you--"

"Shut up." The butt of a gun slammed into his gut and he bent double, wheezing. 

"Hey!" (Y/n) snapped, taking a step forward. One of the men pressed a button on his belt and she seized up immediately, jaw locking. 

One of the guards grabbed Warren by the hair and yanked his head back,  and other clicked something around his neck before shoving him away. He stumbled forward, balance thrown off by his bound wings and hands. The guard held up a small device. "See this?" Warren nodded warily. "It does that." He pointed to (y/n), who was seizing on the floor. "Push me and I'll use it on you got it?" Warren nodded again. 

The guard who was shocking (y/n) released the button, and she went limp on the floor with a gasp. "One day Monroe." She growled, still breathing heavily. He pressed the button one more time, just a quick zap. She twitched, shooting him one more glare but keeping her mouth shut. 

"Go on Dragon." One of the guards  nudged her side in heavily accented English. "Tell the kid what's about to go down."

She pushed herself to her feet, still glaring, before meeting Warren's gaze. "This is the cage. Remember I was telling you about it yesterday?" 

"Yeah, I remember." Warren said quietly. He remembered the horror stories she had told him about what mutants had to do in there, and how the humans bet money on it. It was sick. 

"Okay, good." She nodded. "Well, here are the rules. You fight, or you die. If you refuse to fight, these lovely gentlemen," she gestured to the guards, "will kill both you and your opponent. It isn't necessary to kill your opponent, and in fact it's encouraged not to, as we are very fond of recycling." The words were bitter and sarcastic as she spit them out. "If they tell you to stop, you stop. If they tell you to kill your opponent, you do it. Trust me, it's better for everyone. There are fifteen matches a night. If you win, you fight again until you lose. The more money you make, the more perks you get. Got it?" 

He nodded again. 

"Alright angel boy." She gave him a small smile. "We've shared a lot  of person information with each other the last couple days, and I'm gonna consider us friends, so I'm gonna give you a hug, sound good?"

She pulled his head down before he could protest, her chin resting on his shoulder. He tensed-- her scales were cold and he still wasn't wearing a shirt. 

"What are you--"

"Shut up and listen." She hissed in his ear. "Puppet Master only has an attack radius of about six feet, and if he can't see you he can't get you. Stay out of his reach, and strike fast. Got it?" He nodded against her shoulder. "Good." She pulled away, studying his face. "Don't die."

"Okay." He said shakily. She nodded again, taking a step back. 

"Hey wait." She froze, turning to look at him and raising an eyebrow. "I have a message from your sister. She said she loves you."

She gave him a small smile. "Thanks Angel."

He gave her a small smile back, and then they shoved him forward hard, and he stumbled through the heavy doors. He flinched immediately when the noise reached him-- hundreds of screaming people, cheering and swearing. Over the noise he could hear someone saying something in German, but he couldn't tell what it was. When he saw that the guards were dragging him towards a large metal cage in the middle of the room he tensed, struggling to pull away. His wings strained against the ropes binding them to his back, but all that did was make his shoulders scream. He dug in his heels and tried to jerk his arms free. All that got him was a punch in the face. The crowd screamed with pleasure. 

His arms and wings were released, and before he could do anything about it he was shoved into the cage. He stumbled and hit the ground hard, the metal floor cold against his skin. His wings had snapped out immediately, and he felt a tingle of static against the very edges of his feathers as they almost brushed the edges of the cage. He heard movement, different from the shouting outside of the cage. This was in here with him. 

"Puppenspieler gegen Engel!” The announcer shouted. The crowd cheered. 

Warren scrambled to his feet, making sure to keep away from the wall, and caught sight of his opponent on the other side of the cage. Puppet Master was a lean boy, no older then fifteen, but that didn't mean he wasn't scary as fuck. All angles and bones, he looked like a puppet himself, with jerky movements and a head that lolled eerily to one side. He had dark smudges of something around his eyes, and his face was flecked with dried blood. Now that Warren looked closer he saw that even his dark hair was wet with it, matted and tangled with dried blood in some places. Those dark smudges around his eyes, those were blood too. When he grinned even his teeth were stained with it. 

"Such a pretty angel." The boy giggled. "Show the crowd your wings pretty angel." He took a jerky step forward and Warren took a step back, hissing when his foot brushed the wall of the cage, sending a painful jolt of electricity through his leg. He stumbled forward, away from the wall, and the other boy lunged. 

Warren jumped, wings flapping twice, and he grabbed one of the rafters about ten feet off the ground, dragging himself up. He tried to stand, but his balance was off and he settled for crouching, both hands on the beam, wings spread wide for balance. The crowd was screaming, cheering at the sight of his wings. He felt the urge to curl them around himself and disappear. He'd always wanted people to accept his wings, but this seemed more like mocking then acceptance. 

"Come down pretty angel." Puppet Master called, looking up at him. "The people want to see you dance."

Warren shifted but didn't move. Looking up, he saw (y/n) standing in a small hole in the wall, separated from the crowd by a metal cage. She was watching him intently, biting her bottom lip. When she met his gaze she gestured with her head, directing his attention to the guards below, who were shifting with their hands on their guns. Warren bit the inside of his cheek, took a deep breath, and gave her a small nod. 

"Come down pretty angel." Puppet Master pouted. "Our friends don't like waiting. They get bored so fast."

Warren took a deep breath, shifting on his perch. "Come get it freak." 

He jumped, landing on the skinny boy's shoulders, causing them both to hit the ground. He landed on top, not that it did anything, as they ended up in a tangle of limbs, but he was able to scramble free first. He stumbled back, remembering what (y/n) had said, and jumped back up into the air. By the time the other boy had scrambled to his feet Warren was comfortable back on his perch in the rafters. The crowd was screaming, but the tone had shifted. 

"Engel!" They were chanting. "Engel! Engel!"

Warren looked over at (y/n), and she gave him a thumbs up. She watched him shift back and forth on the rafter, watching Puppet Master. 

"Okay." (Y/n) mumbled to herself, running her thumb over her bottom lip. "Okay, good. Don't get too close." 

"Ouch." Puppet Master said quietly. "Alright pretty angel. I see how it is." He tilted his head, still smiling. 

God she hated that kid. He was absolutely crazy, one of the worst ones here. He liked this. He enjoyed fighting, he enjoyed playing with his victims. They had to keep him in a private room because he had gotten in the habit of torturing and killing other mutants in the cells. They didn’t make any money that way. Warren dropped again, this time landing right in front of the boy. He punched the kid in the face before Puppet Master could move. 

"Okay," she mumbled, "okay now pull back."

But he didn't. Warren grabbed the boy by the front of his shirt and hit him in the face again. 

"Do you like that?" He shouted over the screaming crowd. "Do you like that you freak?" He punched him again. 

"No," she breathed. "No Angel stop." 

"You like hurting people?" He punched him again. Puppet Master raised his hands, flinching back. 

"Warren move!" (Y/n) screamed over the crowd. A guard slammed the butt of his gun into the back of her head. 

Too late. His gaze snapped up to meet hers and he jumped back, remembering her advice. He beat his wings once, rising off the ground. 

"Too late." Puppet Master grinned. "Now freeze pretty angel."

Warren did. His body went still, wings mid stroke. Puppet Master jerked his hands down, and Warren hit the ground hard. 

"Fuck." (Y/n) swore. 

"Come here beautiful." Puppet Master lifted his hands, and Warren stood jerkily. His jaw worked and his eyes darted around, panic evident on his face, but he walked forward slowly, coming to a stop right in front of the smaller boy. Puppet Master tilted his head to the side, fingers twitching. Warren's wings rustled in response. 

"So dass sie wollen, dass ich den Engel tanzen zu machen?" Puppet Master shouted to the crowd, who screamed in response. "Do you want me to make the Angel dance for you?" The crowd cheered. He raised one fist and roared, Warren's arm rising to mimic it. 

"Tanzen!” The crowd shouted. "Tanzen!"

Puppet Master turned, grinning, hands twitching. Warren screamed as his arm twisted behind his back. (Y/n) squeezed her eyes shut. Warren screamed again, and her palms started to itch and burn. 

"Do you like that pretty angel?" Puppet Master cooed. "Let me look at you."

Warren's body moved on its own, wings stretching to their full length. He gritted his teeth, struggling to force them back down, but his body wasn't listening. His arms lowered to his sides, and he screamed as pain shot through his injured shoulder. He was frozen, chest heaving, arms wide, wings spread. Puppet Master looked him over, as did the crowd. 

"I think we'll start here." Puppet Master trailed a long, thin finger over Warren's chest. "Was denken sie?" 

The crowd cheered, shouting things, and Warren was glad he hadn't taken German in school. Puppet Master pulled out a long, rusty, bloodstained knife, and Warren tensed. There wasn't anything he could do though. The younger boy met his gaze and gestured that he should come closer. Warren gritted his teeth as he leaned forward against his will. 

"Will you scream for me pretty angel?" Puppet Master asked quietly. "Not for them. They don't care about you. Will you scream for me?" 

"No." Warren growled through his teeth. 

The other boy frowned. "Oh. I think you're wrong." He stroked Warren's hair, and Warren suppressed a shudder. "I think you will."

He jammed the knife into Warren's stomach. 

Warren bit the inside of his cheek, causing blood to flood into his mouth, but it did the trick. He didn't scream, only let out a loud groan as the serrated knife dug into his stomach. The other boy pulled the knife out, and he groaned again. The crowd was screaming. 

"Mehr?" Puppet Master shouted, turning to the crowd. "Do you want more?" The crowd cheered in response. 

The boy turned with a grin, sliding the knife down Warren's stomach, leaving a shallow cut. Warren gritted his teeth, breathing heavily, but this time he didn't make a noise. He just glared. 

"I'm gonna kill you you little freak." He growled. 

Puppet Master's smile fell, and he looked serious. "Do it."

Warren blinked in surprise, and then the manic grin was back. He couldn't hold back a scream as the knife dug deep, right below his collarbone, and dragged down his chest. He groaned as Puppet Master pulled out the knife, looking smug. 

"I told you you would scream for me." The younger boy said smugly, turning back to the crowd. 

Warren sagged, chest heaving, wings drooping. Then he froze, ruffling the feathers of his wings. His body was still locked, completely outside of his control, but his wings...

Puppet Master shrieked when Warren's wing caught him like a club across his back, sending him flying into the fence. Warren's muscles went limp immediately, and he collapsed, but he forced himself to his feet and grabbed the younger boy, throwing him to the ground. Warren jumped on top of him, using his knees to pin the other other boy's hands to the ground. He didn't know if it would help, but he did remember what (y/n) had said. If he can't see you he can't get you. His fingers went for the younger boy's eyes, and soon Puppet Master was the one screaming, and the crowd was cheering Warren's name. 

[dememarquette]

Office Raid

I heard a knock on the door, flaring my temper. I'm not usually this impatient, it's just that time of the year. Tax Season. My primary line of work is in Greed. Meaning, I pitch businesses, get them started, and hand over the keys. I do accounting in the background, ensuring my clients maintain their wealth so they can enjoy it. That, unfortunately, includes managing their accounts. I know every tax break in the book. It's all a matter of playing Tetris with finances to keep them happy- for, say...hundreds of people. If not thousands. Because of this, everything between January to April is a nightmare. I have hateful quotas, and my free time is sank into inane questions like 'How can I claim my employees as dependents?' The batshit accounting of my multi-million dollar clients doesn't happen overnight. My schedule is clean of new patronage until April 12th, but lot of good it does when they still arrive at my door. I wanted to put up a sign, 'Come back in May.' "Come on in." I say instead. Julia would kill me if I turned down anyone, regardless if I was up to my eyeballs in W-2's and Form SS-4's. "But make it snappy." I said snappy- I know I did- but I think he heard 'blast my goddamn door open.' The seven foot panel blew off its hinges, sailing across the room at an flawless horizontal angle. I stared as it smacked against the wall, cracking the already-unstable structure. I gave the curious incident the benefit of doubt. This is Hell, after all. I couldn't jump to conclusions to accuse my guest- But the moment one armored boot stepped into the room, it became a safe assumption. The forth circle isn't known for its sturdy craftsmanship but he was still pleased with himself. He sauntered in like he'd receive an ovation. I did stand, but it was scantly out of reverence. "Hello." I said, at a loss. "Why don't you make yourself at home?" "Demetrius Marquette," He announced, standing grandiose just inside the entry way. Decked out in red and gold, the familiar uniform took such majestic inspiration from the Romans that it'd be impressive if it wasn’t set off by a swampy water cooler in the background. "I am Arodeus, and I have orders bestowed upon me by the 6th Choir to terminate you immediately." I don't know how one is normally supposed to oppose a declaration like that, so I did my best. "...Not guilty," I reasoned. "Of which part, exactly?" "...All of it." His head canted. One arm eminently held a thick document to his chest like he was here to strongarm a petition on climate change. "The dozens of counts of violating your celibacy vows? Sacrilege? Fraud? The hundreds of documented instances of simony during your time as a member of the clergy? And all of the Hellish transactions that succeeded it?" He posed. "All of that?" I considered carefully. Yeah. Checks out. "Hey, uh- listen. It sounds awful when you word it like that, but my application was fifty pages for a reason. By the way, who let you in-?" "Consider it rejected." With practiced dispassion, his wrist flicked. The ream of pages scattered across my office floor in a manner about half as cool as he pictured it. I recognized my giant letterhead anywhere. Alone, it presented a very large problem but in the category of 'will kill me now' versus 'will get me killed later,' the angel was in the former. "You know what?" I took a generous step backward. "Totally understood. Thanks for stopping by." "Not that easy." His wings snapped, and he shot across the floor. I had a split second's notice to move. That manifested as a genius two foot teleport to the side. His reflexes were faster. My tail was yanked a sharp pull to the left. All 200lbs of my weight was shifted off center, rocking my balance. I fell forward straight into his fist as he lobbed an uppercut at my ribs, working with gravity to double-team me. 'Fuck-' I folded as the air was forcibly vented from my lungs. Retaliating in that instant, I wrenched my elbow to his gut, but he was prepared. Agile, he suspended himself to take the force out of the blow. My hit simply guided him in the air of where he'd float next. I stumbled with his weight gone suddenly, while he touched ground for a graceful landing. "Did you even read it?!" "Oh I read it. We all did." "It wasn't your mail!" "No-" He pondered. "No it wasn't. Not until your name was flagged as a repeat offender. At which point, yeah. It was ours. Good read though." "Thanks?" I combusted to appear at his side. I learned that the hard way what his answer to that was. My hand connected, and if I had taken Tak's punching class I was sure it would have cracked. The moment he lost sight of me for the barest of seconds he threw up a shield. My knuckles skinned where it graze off the surface. I had no time to re-evaluate before the wall disappeared, priming him to deliver another kick. This one rocketed me into my bookshelves. They tipped, threatening to crush me with the likes of the Intradimensional Exchange Rates and the Necroeconomicon, but held steady. Arodeus was already closing in for a second round, but I could already feel the air tense for a second shield. Knowing better than to go on the offense close range, I lifted my hand to fake out a hook. It worked, long enough for him to to summon a defense just for me to spark a fire inside it. It flared bright, a globe of flames that ignited him like a goddamn lava lamp. He howled out a sharp note of agony before it popped. The blaze released, and the forcefield burst in a wave of Holy heat. His wings flared wide, putting out the unassuming fires in one pump of his wings. His feathers were left dusted with ash, frayed so thin it looked like he hadn't used conditioner in two years. Still, even if he looked like a BP oil spill duckling, he was more humored by my counter than threatened. As someone who was actually proud of that maneuver, that was actually very concerning. I threw my hands up, making it clear I never intended to cause the damage I didn't actually reap. "Listen guy, I don't want to fight!" "Ah, great! You don't have to!" He grabbed my client chair. I reared back into the wall behind my desk. A moment too late I realized that it happened to be against the most priceless fixture of my office. I couldn't tell if it was out of spite or sudden inspiration, but he held the chair over his head. My eyes widened- "NO! No! N-NOT-" And hurled it into the glass. "-the fish tank!" I cried. "You ASShole!" A torrent jetted from the top, breaching my office with an aggravated geyser of mineral treated water and glass. Katy perry's Last Friday Night sputtered into distorted gargling as the damage claimed everything. The atmosphere of Hell turned my desk into a grill; my gobies and angelfish fried instantly. The rest erupted into a veil of steam, obscuring me long enough to crawl under my desk. I yanked open the drawer, hand blindingly reaching for anything of use. Scissors, letter opener- I'll take a Montblanc if it meant not being defenseless. The angel rounded the corner, tearing shit up as he passed. He couldn't see clearly so anything vaguely smart and stylish was destroyed in his warpath. My lamp shattered against the wall, and my accent table overturned, with my artisanly selected selfies lost to the destruction. I very much doubt his memo for my extermination today included office renovation. He was being a dick, and my neighbors on either side were complacent jackasses too. They throw a fit if Lady Gaga was belting it too hard but you bet my asskicking was music to their ears. And because my intuition stops short of fisticuffs, he found me too soon. Cornered, I blasted him in the face. The inferno lasted all of two seconds as the shower behind him put it out and doused me in turn. He reeled back, leaving my hand to fizzle out in a thin line of smoke. "Shit-!" Arodeus drew a reedy breath through his teeth. He cradled his face, one palm to a shiny, fleshy cheek. It healed in a glow of white, alighting the skin until there was no trace of trauma at all. His grimace of pain turned into a cheerful 'ta-da,' showmanship for my benefit. I hadn't ruined even one of his perfect eyebrows. On my very short list of lines of defense, that was it. "Oh come on!" I angled to take a shot at his kneecaps but he got me first. One kick to the spine of my seat, and he tipped it on its wheels. It bashed into me one, two, three times in rapid succession. Defending myself meant getting a hand caught in the metal bars and slammed ­­­­into my face. The collateral damage from my elbows alone drew blood. I was crushed up against the wall of my desk like a 1980's nuculear drill. An attempt for freedom put me in the perfect spot for a forth blow knocked my knee into my jaw. I slid to the ground, favoring my side. My world blurred- a smear of reds and oranges- as he snagged my collar, and fished me out to the open to be salt-waterboarded. "You do realize I'm just an accountant right?" I croaked. A stream was still cascading over the jagged glass, spilling directly onto my face and the nape of his neck. His charred wings were being weighed down, but he made up for it in the delighted posture of a man about to finish the job. Borrowing his words, it would not be that easy. "389 hostage souls say differently." "What? Hostage-?!" I squinted through the burn. "They're not hostages. They're legally attained!" "Gee, I hope you kept the receipts." (For the record: I did, but he wasn't here for semantics.) The heat of a holy fist charging up was unmistakable. My vision was still flickering through static but his power presented itself as a flare of white in my retinas that'd be debilitating had I not had protection. Just before the hit would land, I was reminded of a prior engagement. My office phone beeped- the antiquated hunk of plastic, too ancient and powerful to be bothered by the sizzling fish carcasses and water damage. "Mr.Marquette, your 2PM?" "Yeah!" My head lolled. "Send them in!" My attacker snapped toward the door, and I disappeared under his weight. - - - Cross-planar, and thousands of miles away, I hit the sidewalk in a limp. I had moved without thinking, landing in a pleasant suburb bathed in spring's afternoon sunlight. It served as a delightful contrast to how I was feeling- which was shit. I was screwed. I was so fucked. If the angel was worth his salt, I'd be tracked right after he dealt with whoever walked into my office, no matter what corner of the globe I popped to. I was running on borrowed time, and with all my options exhausted, I turned to my phone. My contact list spun like a rotary. Demon, demon, demon- Why am I friends with so many demons? The thought was counter-intuitive to me before 2013, now they made up half my friendslist and are completely useless in the face of celestial opposition. I slumped against a tree as I searched for alternatives. I recognized the neighborhood as upstate Washington, a personal spot for me. It shouldn't be the first go-to in an emergency, but I was concussed and apparently craving foie gras. Down the block, surrounded by a beautiful lot of imported cars, Chez Tzaz stood tall. No other spots were coming to my bruised brain when I needed them most. But it was as safe of a spot as any when it came down to it. At least there I had a bouncer. Not only that, but it sparked a sudden moment of clarity. I jerked the scrollbar back up to the top. Adria. I shot off a text. It was unfortunately less than polite. [2:03 PM] do u mind calling rock me amadeus off my back!! Her response was instantaneous. [2:03 PM] WHAT?? WHO?? [2:03 PM] the angel sent to my office!! said he was there to kill me?? i thought you said you'd warn me!! [2:04 PM] ARE YOU SERIOUS?? WHERE ARE YOU?? I twitched my thumbs volley a text back but arguing in the distance caught my attention. Someone without a reservation had made it to the door and was causing a scene. Sure, I was still seeing stars, but it was hard to miss the glaring refraction of light off their heels. That damn uniform again. My heart fell to the pit of my stomach. [2:05 PM] they are at my restaurant too??? That has to mean my apartment has already been raided. And my vacation home. And who knows what else. I'm not modest with my brand. Anything that has my involvement is emblazoned with my logo- I've plastered it everywhere I could make my mark because nuance isn't my strong suit. The unsaid consequences of this made my head pound. [2:06 PM] IF YOU ARE CLOSE ENOUGH TO SEE THEM, YOU ARE CLOSE ENOUGH FOR THEM TO SENSE YOU. GET. OUT OF THERE. I wanted to. I truly did. But all of the locations I could visualize in my mind belonged to that of other demons. Archer's apartment just thirty minutes away, Niko's office who already suffered a remodeling this year, my favorite cafe- I didn't want to drag my trouble to them. Especially not when it was looking inevitable. Meanwhile, in the distance my dutiful hostess was patiently and condescendingly explaining the dress code policy just like I taught her (armor is NOT formal-wear post the 1700's, please see the handbook). The distraught angel launched into full riposte about her obstruction of justice, so much so that I ignored my phone for ten whole seconds. By then, Adria already had an essay, surmised with a frantic, 'What are you going to do? I'm serious, where are you?' rephrased a spectacular three different ways with various usage of caps lock. [2:08 PM] im at chez tzaz. washington [2:08 PM] WHAT? WHY? WHY ARE YOU STILL THERE? [2:08 PM] why are THEY here??? The text bubble popped. The three ellipses disappeared with her abandoned thought, and I was left on read. I couldn't tell if it was a bust. Not until I heard the timely flapping of wings behind me, noticeably less toasty than Mr.Arodeus. The sound should have made me panic, but I had no doubt who it was. "What did I say? Are you an idiot?!" She hissed. As a cordial 'hello,' she shoved me into a tree. "Go!" "Ow?!" "You can 'ow' when you're safe!!" "Well?? Where do you want me to go, huh? They can find me!" I thought about jumping to whatever I could think of. Maybe to the first thing Google maps would suggest, but for it to work I had to seriously think about my location before going. At that moment, I wasn't sure if it was possible. It felt like my mind was jumbled to the point where if I tried again, I'd end up in the exact same spot. Did I also mention I felt safer by her? Because that too. She combed her bangs back, stressing as she craned around me and the tree to view the angel at the door. Looking between the two of them, they matched. How narrow was the chance that she'd be on my execution team? "Friend of yours?" "I told you to stop pushing it! They definitely have a kill order on you now." "What fantastic information that would have been earlier." "I. TOLD. YOU!" She shot back, barely restrained. Scratch that- her voice was kept low so she had dibs on killing me first. "I told you this would happen! You have friends right? Go to them!" "And endanger them too?" "Go to someone, I don't know, capable!" "You?" "Not me!! I have to deal with this." My hostess was now calling security. And in the face of one haughty college student, the angel apparently felt the need to as well. Now there was two of them, and the arrival of the second seemed to register on Adria's radar. She turned around at the same time- -And looked like she was about to blow a gasket. "Oh my God- you need to go NOW." "And what are you going to do?" "This isn't about me Mr.Sends-My-Lifestory-to-the-people-who-want-to-murder-me! LEAVE! Now!!" "I can't-" "NO! No more talking! LEAVE!" I couldn't argue any more. Our bickering caused two heads across the way to snap up. She gave me one final, violent shove, and I disappeared to the last place muscle memory remembered her pissed at me. The cowboy strip club was a start. - - - Six hours later, I was across the United States and checked into a motel. After my headache faded, I broke up my trail into pieces, ranging from teleports, taxis, and one distressing trip aboard public transport. Under the assumption that no angel would dare subject themselves to the general populace on such intimate terms (see: wedged between the lunch rush and earlybird boozers), I felt safe. Adria did not. "This is my fault." She said, for a third time, pacing the floor. I looked up from the pages of a Better Homes and Gardens magazine, spoon in mouth. The first time we had this conversation, I was covertly panicked. By the second, I wore myself out. And by the third? I have more productive things to talk about. "I knew it was a bad idea. I knew they were doing raids-" "Do you always do this?" It couldn't just be me noticing it, that there was something egregiously wrong with this picture. She was an angel- a Power, a soldier of Heaven's prestigious battalion- worrying this hard over a demon she met two months ago. Don't get me wrong. I get it, I'm charming, I'm suave, and maybe in the right light my atoning adds a tragic depth to my character that may drive the angels wild- But I was still just that. A player on the opposite team, who made a huge mistake that got me booked in the first motel who'd take cash instead of card, until I was sure I wasn't being followed and I looked presentable enough to see my friends again. And she was here with me, inexplicably, trying to make my screw-ups her own. Why? I had no idea. "Do what?" "Overthink." "This is not overthinking!" She said, denial in gusto. I began worrying a lot less when her catastrophic thinking began siphoning all the energy in the room. That left her fretting on her own, while I examined Martha Stewart's upcoming Spring line. I much preferred being told how to pick the perfect counter-top than conduct my own life. "I should have been the adult. I shouldn't have sent the letter knowing what was going on upstairs." I snorted, flipping a page idly. "Don't take credit for my plan." "I'm not taking credit, I'm taking responsibility!" "And why would you do a thing like that?" She rolled her eyes. "What are you going to do now? Tell me." "Easy. I get Dr.Nikolai to write me a doctor's note." "Really?" She stopped, sudden. Her tensely folded arms fell loose. Taken off-step of our normal rhythm, I almost didn't have the heart to issue a reality check. She caught up to me in the next beat though, defeated with a heavy sigh. "Aren't you afraid..?" "Yes and no." I shrugged. "I need this to wrap up. I already miss my shower and my kitchen, I mean look at that-" I waved a hand at the sad, sad kitchenette through the door. One half-wall was fencing it off from the living room. It sounds trendy in theory, but the execution here had bar stools doubling as coffee tables, and the bite-size microwave trying to hop the border. The whole layout was claustrophobic, and pretending that this was the biggest of my problems worked for me. Not her. She plunged onto the edge of the bed, her head in her hands. Her bangs fell over her eyes in a tousled mess that matched her fringing braid. My busted up face didn't hold a candle- looking at the two of us, you would have thought her life was the one turned upside down. "You aren't taking this seriously." "I'm taking it seriously, Adria. Are you just trying to admit you are afraid?" "Yeah! Yeah, I am actually! It's like every time I try to help I only make things worse!" "Well that's funny because I refuse to do anything but believe you helped me." I shut the magazine, scooting to her side, with Ben & Jerry's in tow. "I wanted my name up there. Guess what? Now it's there. What's a little clout?" "Clout," She spurned, tired. "Would you call what he did to your face clout too?" Her hand delicately lifted to assess the damage but I ducked away. Not today, ma'am. I shifted my shades like it'd cover the bruise bleeding down into my cheek bone. It wasn't the worst of it. I imagined my chest to be a blotchy bovine pattern by now, but I sensed her concern for what it was: another way for her to feel worse about herself. Another way to be a failure. "No touching." "Yeah, well. Here's the rest of your things." She tossed me a bag. They were necessities I requested. The woman had yet to get herself an iPhone but had no problem grabbing my shopping list of moisturizers and specific detergents. The Green Giant wasn't on my list (it was her own addition to my list of demands, which she loving refereed to as 'shit you ACTUALLY need') but she grabbed that. Punching the bag into submission seemed to give her reprieve when just saying she helped didn't. I watched her pulverize the frozen vegetables, under the guise of breaking them up for me, until it was just sad and vaguely terrifying. The Quick And Easy Dinnertime Medley didn't deserve this, nor did she. Something bad was going on in that head of hers- guilt. I didn't understand it, but I know I didn't need to because it was ridiculous to begin with. "Hey. Heeeey," I leaned into her shoulder. "I don't know why you're so broken up about this but it's fine. I'm the one who should be worrying right?" "But you're NOT. I am! And I can't help it, okay." "You helped me, alright? You did," I rescued the bag, putting it against my sore ribs like she originally intended. "You did something for me no one else could. And for some reason that wasn't enough, and now you're here!" "Yes." She admitted, biting her lip. "Doing nothing." "Nope- nope. You're leaving out the cool part. You're here breaking three heavenly laws in the process." "Definitely." "Like a rebel. Like a spy. And my hero~" "And getting you putted on a most wanted list by mail, and delivering frozen peas? They should make me a saint, too." "Yup. Saint Kyriakoloupoulos, Patron of unconventional assistance." I said, mocking prayer. "And fists. If only I invoked you then." You could tell she wanted to answer something else melodramatic and guilt ridden, but her gaze fell to my hands.

The beginnings of a smile tried to set in, trickling in through the recesses of her totalitarian 'No Fun Allowed' conscious. "...Did you even get a hit in?" I grinned, quickly concealing my bare knuckles behind my back. The worst of it was healed to superficial scrapes, which regrettably looked a lot less cool when trying to impress a girl with non-existent fighting prowess. "Depends. Are you rooting for my side?" I pretended like I wasn't expecting a specific response. That the wrong one wouldn't disappoint me, and that this bag of groceries may be the last piece of divine intervention I get out of this woman who already followed me down to the strip clubs of 2nd, and was now tagging along my fugitive romp across America. But she didn't. She pulled her legs up onto the bed, trying to mull over my question as if the answer wasn't clear on her face. She always was a bad liar. "Maybe." "Thought so. Ice cream?"