#and no fix it fic in the world can ever achieve the same atmosphere as adventure one because Minna's art was so showstopping and integral t

[sunderedstar]

thinking about ssss makes me So mad because it was *so* beautiful, so poignant, so incredible and well thought out and then the creator went off to go make comics about bunnies being oppressed for being christian instead and like. how do you deal with that! loss of the art!

[cowboy-canoodler]

Can’t Teach The Mad Dog New Tricks, Chapter 1 (Majima Goro x GN! Reader) SMUT

This work is for 18+ readers only, minors DNI ! ! !

You’re the captain to The Majima Family of The Tojo Clan of Kamurocho, a diligent worker who balances out Majima’s own brand of crazy.

You trust him and he trusts you, but does that trust go deeper?

Are there feelings you previously hadn’t thought about?

And just how far are both of you willing to go so the other may survive?

Tags: TW: Blood, knives, stab wounds, bullet wounds, doctors, fighting, smoking, “c-word use” Slow Burn, Angst, Fluff, Smut, blowjob (giving), dry humping, whining, bottom Majima, praise kink, edging, throat fucking, almoat public fingering/handjob, possessive sex, dirty talking, private fingering/anal fingering

Notes:

“Seiko” is a nickname for the reader, not an OC or a specific gender, it’s a moniker like Hawke or Shepherd in their respective games.

Set during the year off in Yakuza 3-4

Also:

When the reader is having sexual things done to them I have included separate vagina and penis versions just read the one that accommodates you. Chest and body descriptions are left gender neutral; it's only genitalia that’s different. If you’re unfamiliar with the way I write I try my best to be as inclusive as I can for the reader. This includes writing separate paragraphs for each genitalia (penis and vagina) while also including non-descript hair, skin, chest, and body sizes. If you feel that I haven’t done a very good job at that in particular parts of this fic please let me know and I will alter it to the best of my ability.Slowly working on this while balancing life.

Also this chapter has no smut but the rest of the work does

“We all know what you and Majima-san get up to you behind the closed doors” the lieutenant of a small family said out loud as you collectively waited patiently for the officers meeting to be finished.

You were there with a calm, level headed, expression. Your eyes fixed on the painting on the other side of the hallway as you stood by for Majima to either be told to leave or for him to walk out on his own terms when it got too boring.

“It’s no wonder a newbie was able to be promoted so quickly in their family,” another snide comment from a different lieutenant, once again from a smaller family but a family that was getting too big for its britches, “sleep with the patriarch and you’re sure to move up in the world.” A couple of them laughed as you took a deep breath in, your calm composure falling ever so slightly as a sensitive topic was touched upon.

It was true that you had moved up quickly within the ranks of The Majima family but you hadn’t gotten to where you are now by sleeping with Majima himself. He had always seen how diligently you had worked, sticking to The Yakuza ideals and always keeping a level head when doing your work. Right now, however, you did not have to work, there was no reason to keep these low-level lieutenants happy with you, or the family you belonged to, as you thought of that your hand slowly slipped into the back of your suit and grasped the dagger that was tucked away, ‘always for safe keeping’ Majima would say to you. This, however, did not mean to keep it safe, but to keep you safe, always.

“Gotta admit” the one who had spoken up first walked towards you, a cocky smirk on his face as he strode towards where you were patiently stood, hidden dagger in hand. “Someone who’s so good at keeping level headed does suit Majima-san the most, like that Nishida guy, gotta keep someone calm to balance out the craaaazyyy” his last few words had been drawn out in a mocking manner, a hand raised to his right temple and jokingly twirling in the air to represent his words.

As the other men laughed you pulled out your dagger, grabbed his hand, and turned the tides, pinning his face down against the wall where you had previously stood while twisting his arm and pressing the dagger against his neck. “Mock me all you like,” you whispered into his ear as the other men gasped, “but mock Majima-sama and we have serious problems,” you pushed the dagger further into his skin, a slither of blood dripping down the blade as he swallowed his pride, along with his saliva, “I don’t think your family would survive against ours, would they?” Your tone was one of feigned ignorance, calm and inquisitive as you asked the quivering coward simple questions. “Perhaps you should think before picking a fight with someone you can’t handle, particularly me and Majima-sama, hm?”

Before your victim could reply the door swung open and Majima came into view, his brow furrowed and an angry glare emanating from his good eye. Immediately you stood back, placed your hands firmly at your sides and bowed to greet him.

“Sir! I wasn’t-“

“It’s nothing Seiko-kun, musta deserved it. What’d he do?” A small grin made its way to Majima’s lips as he admired your devotion, he knew you only got that way when someone had insulted him, or the family, personally.

“Nothing that concerns you, Majima-sama , believe me-“ you glared over at the guy and held up your dagger to him once more, “it’s not worth your precious time” you placed the dagger back into its sheath and hid it behind your back once more

“No sir!” The lieutenants bowed as an apology before Majima shrugged and began walking down the hall.

“If ya say so, let’s go Seiko-kun” Majima began walking away and you followed closely behind, your eyes upfront and calm as you made your way out of Tojo HQ and into the car, you in the driver's seat and Majima behind.

A couple of minutes had passed in silence, both of you enjoying the calm of each other's company as you focused on the road and Majima focused on you. His eye bore a hole into the back of your head and you saw it every time you checked behind the car in the mirror, but you chose to say nothing. He was obviously in a bad mood from the meeting, him escaping partway through with a scowl was enough to tell you that, but usually there was chatter in the car as you rode back to the office.

“So what happened?” Majima broke the silence after a couple minutes of staring out of the window, he must have grown bored with the passing cars.

“They said things I didn’t agree with”

“Like?"

“Do you really need to know?”

“Now,” Majima tutted as a smile made its way back to his face, a finger pointed up and waving side to side, “is that any way to treat your boss?”

“Tch-“ you looked back in the mirror and saw his smirk before moving your eyes back to the road, you hated how he knew your weaknesses, “they said we were sleeping together, and that was the only reason I had been so successful, and so quick, with my promotions in the family”

“Ohh, no wonder you were so harsh on ‘em, I woulda been, too” Majima leaned back and looked out of the window as he crossed his leg, his right ankle on his left knee and his lightly hands resting on the inner of his thighs. “Having your achievements pinned on something you didn’t do that woulda been a lot easier, sure as shit ain’t nice to hear- ah- I didn’t mean it like that-“

Knowing Majima had your back always brought a smile to your, usually calm, face. A small display of emotion that was usually kept hidden, on show just for him. “I know what you mean, don’t worry about it, to be honest, I would have slept with you if I could but you were always so damn busy”

“Oh? You woulda?” Majima’s gaunt cheeks reddened a little as he looked over at you, smirking and staring at him in the mirror, “oh- you’re joking” he rolled his eyes and sighed looking back to the window at the passing cars.

“You got really happy at that Majima-sama, something you wanna tell me?”

“Eat shit”

You sat there staring at each other through the mirror as the car sat at a red light before bursting into fits of laughter

The light turned green and you drove off towards the office once again, the last few minutes sat in a happy silence between you both, appreciating the content atmosphere you had cultivated with Majima. Your eyes often wandered back to the mirror to watch him in his small and comfortable world, one of the few places he could let his guard down a little before heading back into his role as Patriarch and Senpai to the family, plus his jacket did nothing to cover himself and you did so enjoy watching him breathe.

“We're here, sir” you said before stepping out of the car and opening his door for him, once more bowing as he exited.

“Thanks Seiko-kun” Majima smiled at you before walking to the doors, hands in pockets and his guard back up once more in the characteristic sway of his hips. You stood and watched him walk away amongst his family members who were all bowed with their head low to greet their patriarch, and you. Another member ran up to you and bowed as you stood aside to let him take over the car and park it in The Family’s usual spot.

The feeling of walking amongst your peers as their captain was still a strange one, while you had filled in the role easily and commanded their respect it was still very alien to you being their commander. Listening to the shallow breathing of the men at your side as you walked past calm and collected, sticking to the Yakuza code and showing them the amount of respect you were supposed to, was rough and something you had never fully agreed with. These men were willing to die for Majima and the family, the same way you would, and probably will, and not being able to show all of them what that means to both you and Majima was insulting. A code that doesn’t value the people who uphold it, not just the top brass who are in charge but those grunts who do the hard work, is a code that will die. It was inevitable.

As you came to the doors you looked back at the men, still bowing low and waiting for you to enter the building, and then down at the pin on your lapel. A familiar, warm feeling spread through your chest as you felt the comfort of your found family before turning back around and proceeding into the offices.

Majima usually took time to himself after a meeting he didn't agree with, usually they were asking him to do something he didn’t wish to do or demanding The Majima family lay their lives down for some bullshit cause. Everytime a Patriarch dies, or a family has to disband Majima, more often than not, would get up to 200 hundred new recruits into his own, making it the biggest of The Tojo Clan so he’s always asked to lay down his men's lives for the sake of Daigo or the greater good. It’s really one of his biggest peeves about being tied down into the Tojo Clan, while he was, ultimately, in charge of his family he had to obey Daigo’s orders no matter what. Yakuza code to uphold and all, and Majima always upholds his moral codes even at the cost of his dignity, freedom, or life.

-

A couple of hours passed and you had kept yourself occupied looking over paperwork concerning the finances of The Family, sorting out spending, repair work for damages made to Majima family turf, and collection payments from said turf. This was the work that you liked, the filing and organisation of it all, keeping things behind the scenes running smoothly. It was what you were good at, the best in the family if your title was anything to go by, and you often felt proud of the work you did, and how little you made mistakes.

Of course there were others who handled the wages and every day frivolities, you were there to check any major problems or spare work whenever you had a moment to breathe away from Majima… but you hadn’t heard from him, not a hair or even a whisper of what he was doing right now.

“Hmm...” you hummed, quietly putting your documents down and looking out of the window, “he’s been too quiet tonight… maybe I should check in on him” the statement seemed to be questioning but you had already placed your documents into the drawer before speedily heading to the door.

The halls of Millennium Tower were always so quiet, the slightest cough or sneeze ringing and echoing through the walls of your floor. Just like the footsteps you were making that erupted through the desolate silence. As you walked down you nodded to the guards, men were stationed at each door, 2 at yours and Majima’s, and 1 at the lieutenants along with their respective groupies inside the rooms when needed.

Your footsteps continued to echo through the halls as you passed various doors, the guards bowing in respect as menial mumbling chatter rang through the cracks of each room until you came to Majima’s corridor, you walked up and signalled his men to move further down the hall. Still on guard but with a little more privacy. You took a moment to yourself before knocking lightly and waiting for a response.

“Who‘s banging at my door this fuckin’ late?”

“It’s Seiko, sir”

“Oh… justa sec-“

A pause before you heard something heavy drop behind the door and Majima exclaiming painfully.

“Majima-sama? Are you okay?” More groans of pain made your heart quicken in worry, the beating echoing into your ears overpowered your, usually, calm composure, “I’m coming in!” Hastily you opened the door and saw Majima sat on his couch clutching his foot, and a bowling ball on the floor slowly rolling towards you.

“Ah,” you chuckled to yourself, “I think I see what happened”

“Just tryna have a happy memory and it’s gotta do that shit to me?!” Majima sighed and leaned back, legs apart and knees spread wide with his arms stretched out along the back of the seat. You smiled and closed the door behind you before picking up the ball and walking over to him, bowing for respect, and placing the ball back into the open bag on the coffee table, his eye following you every step of the way.

“Are you hurt Majima-san?”

“Naw- well... my pride maybe? Having you see me like this sure is a kick in the dick” he rolled his eye and looked away from you, sending his pout out of the window.

“Better than an actual kick in the dick though, right?” His response was nothing more than a click of his tongue and a sigh as he rolled his head, and his eye, back, “I hadn’t heard from you tonight so I thought I’d check in. After today’s meeting you seemed preoccupied, maybe even a little stressed-“

“I ain’t stressed Seiko-kun” his tone was short and guarded as he raised his head to meet your gaze.

“With all due respect Majima-sama, you are. I know you very well, better than most, and I know something happened in that meeting today” you sighed at his silence and sat in an adjacent chair, placing your chin on your fist and staring at him with bored eyes. He looked at you and scowled before averting his eye back to the window, but you continued to stare and crossed your legs.

“Tch- it’s just- it’s shit The Chairman’s got me doing, now that he’s healed and able to lead again, plus losing Mine and shit, everything’s just gone to fuck and I’m the one who has to put it together again”

You could see how annoyed it made him to be tied down like this, he just wants to do his own thing with people he trusts surrounding him but every time something happened in The Clan Majima was usually the one who had to clean up the mess and with every mess he got tied down even more.

“Unfortunately, this isn’t like in 2006 when you were able to just break away and start on Kamurocho Hills… although-“ he looked back over to you, eye soft and pleading behind his dagger-like glare, “-technically there’s not much stopping you from doing the same right now, if that’s what you choose to do, sir”

“Nothing but a promise”

“To whom?”

“Kiryu Kazama"

You both sat in silence for a moment, the muffled sounds of Kamurocho below echoing into the dimly lit room. The silence was suffocating, unsaid feelings and context ripping the two of you apart before you gathered the courage to break it.

“I see, you do hate breaking promises, sir"

“You really do think you know me don’t you Seiko-chan? Huh?!” Majima stood up and balled up his fists, the soft squelch of leather rubbing against itself filling the angry atmosphere. You sat there and stared at him silently, your eyes telling him you weren’t buying this façade he was putting up. “Ain’t nothing worse n’ a guy who can’t even keep his word. It’s too much that we let Yakuza get this fuckin’ soft all this time, only caring about makin’ money and being on top. Ain't shit without the strength to back it up.”

Majima turned around and sighed before walking over to the window, he placed his elbow above his head and stared down at Kamurocho like a lion watching and guarding over his pride.

“Is this about Makoto Tateyama-san?”

Once again, silence.

You could hear Majima’s breathing getting heavier as he thought about how he wanted to approach this with you and you sat there ready to take it all, he needed to get his emotions out and into the open. Carrying a torch for someone for 21 years wasn’t exactly healthy and the only way Majima knew how to take his mind from it was filling his days with menial tasks, or finding people to fight to prove to himself

“It’s been 4 years since she left the country with her family” you could see Majima’s fist tightening and the scowl on his face getting even angrier as he continued to stare out of the window.

His voice was low, almost a growl, and nothing like his usual scratchy tone “you should know when to shut up and to keep her name outta your mouth”

“I can tell you how she’s doing if you wish, I have people checking on her and her family often to make sure she’s safe”

Majima’s breath hitched in his throat and he looked over to you, his eyebrows still knitted together but now in a combined look of anger, curiosity, and affection. “Why? I never ask’d ya to do that, how’d ya even know?!” He took a step towards you, his arm falling down to his hip and hands still balled into fists. You stood up and clasped your hands behind your back keeping eye contact with him.

“When I joined the family I had my sights fixed on becoming your captain as fast as I could so I dug into your past. The things that happened with Shimano-san and Saejima-san, Yuki-chan and Makoto-san.” He stopped and stared at you, eye wide with awe and mouth slightly agape along with his still knitted brow, “I’ve made it my goal to make sure no loose ends come and bite you in the ass in the future, and that the people you care about are taken care of no matter what. I had hoped to keep your mind at ease.”

“At ease?” Majima’s voice was barely a whisper, the words only just crawling their way to your ears as you stood your ground. “Finding out one of the only people I trust is going behind my back to get info on me, that’s supposed’ta put my mind at ease? Huh?!” Majima’s voice rolled into a roar as he took a step towards you, the anger radiating off of him and his mad eye shaking around as he bore a hole into your skull with glare alone.

“Yes.”

Your reply was short and abrupt, the final tipping point before Majima ran towards you and grabbed your collar pushing you back into the wall. You both grunted at the impact as books fell off of his shelves. Your hands came up and gripped his arms in a futile effort to keep him at bay, there was no way you’d be able to take The Mad Dog in any kind of fight, not that you’d want to but you had to try to calm him down somehow.

“The fuck you think you are?! Huh?!”

“The one person who’s always on your side no matter what Majima-san!” He didn’t budge, “I didn’t do it for blackmail or for any kind of leverage, if I wanted that I wouldn’t have worked so fucking hard to get to where I am now. Here! Right by your fucking side where I plan to stay!”

Tears blinded your vision as you poured your heart out to him, the things you admire most about Majima flashing through your mind as his grip on your collar loosened.

The way he never backed down from fights.

His loyalty to the people close to him, especially his family.

The promises he never breaks no matter how hard it is to get to the result.

How hard he fights when he lets loose, especially when he fights Kiryu.

His smile.

His laugh.

His nose.

His lips.

Him…

“Sei- no… (Y/N)-kun…” him saying your name made your heart skip a beat and the breath in your lungs disappear. His hands lay on your chest, slightly smoothing down the fabric of your creased shirt and he averted his gaze, almost sheepishly, as he realised what he had done.

“Unless you throw me out yourself I don’t ever plan on leaving you, Majima-san. Not for all the Yen in Japan, not even to start my own family-“

“You’d be a great patriarch, y’know”

You smiled and lightly sighed, “not nearly as great as you.”

A small gasp made it’s way past his lips once more before his gaze made its way back to your own, eye slightly watering as you studied him making sure to remember every little detail you could. Only now could you feel how close he had gotten, Majima’s breath a small breeze upon your lips, both of you breathing in eachothers air.

All the blood in your body became intimately known to you as well as where it was rushing to. The heat rising in your cheeks and the small, rushed, beating of your heart echoing into your eardrums.

Majimas voice was barely above a whisper as he leaned his head forward, eye now focused solely on his gloved hand smoothing down your shirt. “Seiko I…” he let out a breathy sigh before a small smile made its way into his lips, Kansai accent slipping from his words, “I haven’t felt this comfortable alone with someone in years, I don’t even know how I’m supposed to feel… not anymore”

“I know” you were in no position to give him advice about how to feel when your own emotions were hardly ever in check, “I’ll be here whenever you need to feel comfortable. No matter how far away I am, even if another family has me locked up. I’ll fight my way to you with every fibre of my being, nothing will keep me from you Majima. Our world has no enemy I won’t kill to make my way back to you.”

He leaned his head down slightly, eye closing as he became more and more vulnerable the closer he got to you, and you felt the same about him. Your breath became shakier as your heart continued to beat out of turn, you leaned your head forward and pressed your forehead against his, feeling how hot his body was, your noses barely touching and your hand resting on his bicep.

Kamurocho stopped in those few seconds, no sounds, no lights, no traffic, just the two of you alone on this earth.

Majima was the first to move, his hand creeping up to the side of your neck and his head tilting to the right as he brought your lips closer together, your breath trapped in your lungs as you anticipated his lips upon yours. Your eyes had been focused on anything but his gaze until now, you looked up and he had already been studying you. Just as your lips were about to touch there was a knock at the door, both of you jumped and parted before someone walked in and bowed, looking like he had bad news.

“Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt but there’s a phone call from The Chairman, he says it’s urgent”

Majima sighed and turned away from you, the lingering heat from his hand on your chest slowly fading away as you averted your gaze. All of the trapped air in your lungs made its way out and you stood there out of breath and embarrassed.

“You should get that! I’ll leave you alone. Thank you for seeing me Majima-sama, have a good night.” You bowed and Majima opened his mouth to protest but before he could you quickly made your way out of the door and down the hall to the elevator, face red and still short of breath.

Once the elevator doors closed, and you were alone, everything hit you and you couldn’t stop yourself falling onto the wall for support, the cool metal of the lift. All breath left your lungs as the emotions took over, arms wrapping around yourself and eyes fixed on the floor as you tried everything you could to calm down the thoughts in your head and the thoughts in your heart.

You remained that way until the elevator came to the floor of your office. You stepped out, having regained your calm persona, and walked down the halls with your hands firmly by your side, the right one almost burning as you remembered the feeling of Majima’s bicep in your grip. Your chest aflame with his handprint as you continued trying to keep your composure, determined not to let any of The Family see you like this.

You spent the remainder of your night awake and alone in your office, laying down on your couch with a pillow for company and the Kamurocho sounds, and rain, for ambience. Each thought was of him, how close the two of you had gotten, and how much closer you were about to get before you were interrupted.

[miracle-sham]

In the Atelier's Glow the Pupa Phoebus will Eclose.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 2, Day 10: Light} |

Chapter 2 of Sheltered by Darkness not yet Moths to the Flame.

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [Spotify Playlist Link] | | [Chapter 1] |

———

| Even when everything you know splits. When it splinters and shifts, like a chrysalis or a damaged cable. And you're left unfurling your wings, unable to yet fly—circuit broken, fuse melted—grounded, earthed. |

| The rest of the world keeps the current flowing through the wires of everyone else's circuit wings, and they're able to keep fluttering, unfettered by your frayed and exposed wires, even despite the threat you pose to their safety. Too blinded by the luminescence of those with power. |

| Word Count: 7,220. |

| Warnings/Tags: Cyberpunk/Criminal/Gang Au, Explicit Language/Swearing, Hacking, Breaking and Entering, Mentions of Guns, Gun Violence, Mentions of corrupt/shady businesses, Gabriel Agreste's A+ Parenting, Brainwashing, Implied Brainwashing & Torture, Injury, Threats of Violence & Violence, Akumatised!Marinette, Fluff & Angst, Hurt with some Comfort, Angst With a Happy Ending, Gang/Team as family/family dynamics, Found Family. |

———

| A/N: First things first, make sure you've read the first chap before reading this. Second things second, this chapter is a chapter and half. And it's the final chapter! I hope this being 7k more than makes up for it being a day late to posting! I put a lot of love and time and effort into this, so I really hope you all enjoy. And for peak atmosphere, listen to Wonder World by Inova (first song on the playlist) during the first two parts, for optimum atmosphere! Not necessary if you'd prefer not to of course, but still. There's also a ton of light and butterfly symbolism stuffed in this, so try and see how much you can spot! |

| On a sidenote, this fic is dedicated to my friend Saf who listened to me ramble about this fic, and in turn rambled to me whenever I gave her sneak peak snippets. This wouldn't have ended up half as good as it did without her support! Also thanks to Weird for the support, compliments, reaction to the snippets, and kind words as well! And finally, thanks to everyone on the discord who was supportive and kind whenever I rambled in my author's channel! <3 |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

Even when everything you know splits. When it splinters and shifts, like a chrysalis or a damaged cable. And you're left unfurling your wings, unable to yet fly—circuit broken, fuse melted—grounded, earthed.

The rest of the world keeps the current flowing through the wires of everyone else's circuit wings, and they're able to keep fluttering, unfettered by your frayed and exposed wires, even despite the threat you pose to their safety. Too blinded by the luminescence of those with power.

Broken wires cause lights to flicker and dim. They don't glow as brightly as they could—as they should. They crackle and buzz and burn and scorch and smoke, causing only destruction; when light should only be used for creation.

That's why the Atelier Agreste specialise in fixing broken wings and wires. The brightness of tomorrow splinters the darkness of today, the business proclaims.

And Marinette Dupain-Cheng is merely the latest of the poor misguided larvae, with their shade-like masks and unfortunate frayed wires, to be rehabilitated into an enlightened pupa under Gabriel Agreste's watchful care.

Truly, the discarding of a mask that kept the Pupa in the dark, and the Pupa's embracement of the Atelier's radiant glow marks a wondrous occasion indeed.

How glorious it will be, an unveiling of the newest Atelier Agreste designer's début? The welcoming of a new Papillon among the ranks, especially one that shines so brightly. Phoebus, like the butterfly and the god of light. What a fitting name for the butterfly that will glow like the sun.

———

Marinette—no, not Marinette, she is Phoebus. She is light, and her glow has been fixed.

Stitch by stitch, she sews herself a collection of chrysalises. To represent her transformation that has been nurtured by the Atelier, Monsieur Agreste had said.

Stitch by stitch by stitch. She must make him proud, he's done so much for her. He saved her from the darkness, showed her the light and how to glow just as brightly herself. She owes him everything.

Stitch by stitch by stitch by stitch. Lila—no, Rubi, after Macrothylacia Rubi, the Fox Moth—visits sometimes. She's pretty, and likes to keep Phoebus company, telling her all about the incredible things Rubi has done and people Rubi has met. She's like Phoebus, taken in and nurtured by the Atelier Agreste. Phoebus hopes Rubi will be one of her chrysalis models.

Stitch. And anchor, and anchor, then up. Snip. Snip. Snip.

Phoebus hears the sound of the studio door opening but she does not stop. Her chrysalises must be perfect, she must finish them in time. Thread the needle and anchor.

Footsteps stride across the studio floor but still Phoebus does not stray her attention from her work. Stitch by stitch.

“Good morning, Pupa, I hope the final preparations for your début are going accordingly.” Monsieur Agreste greets.

Her hands still, work halting. The Pupa Phoebus turns away from the fashion piece before her, and smiles, as brightly as her namesake, up at him. “It is.”

There's a hollowness inside her. And smiling at him makes the hollowness ache but Phoebus does not know why. Monsieur Agreste does not like it when she asks bad-dark-broken-frayed questions like that, so she says nothing more and nothing less. She will be his perfect protégé. He said so, and so she must.

He nods approvingly. “Good. I expect only perfection from you and your work. Do not forget, once the fashion show starts it will mark your eclosion into my Atelier once and for all.”

The Pupa Phoebus nods her head, eyes shining almost too brightly in the studio's lights.“I will ensure everything is to perfection for my début.”

Her actions and words are as doll-like as her title. For she was once named Marinette, which is close to Marionette. Marionettes are dolls. And Pupa once meant doll. Like a doll, she is so painfully hollow inside. But like a doll, she is perfect. She must be.

Monsieur Agreste does not sneer at her but his lips curl in a way that makes the darkness inside her claim he is mocking her.

“The set designers have informed me the catwalk has been transformed into the river Lethe. Isn't it rather fitting?” He pauses, watching her with sharp eyes for her reaction.

She nods. That is what she is supposed to do. It is fitting because he has said so. And Monsieur Agreste is always right.

“After all,” he continues, seemingly satisfied with her response, “it was once believed that the dead may only be reincarnated upon drinking from the Lethe and giving up their memories. And you gave up your memories of pain to be reformed as a butterfly that will shine ever so brightly, my protégé.”

“Oh,” Phoebus responds, tilting her head to one side as her smile wavers for but a fraction of a second. There's something flickering in the back of her head, behind her eyes; splintered memories, nothing substantial but the ghosts—Fantômes, the darkness whispers—of them linger.

The taste of iron, harsh white lights, cold glowing white strands chaining her fragile wire wings to the ground, lights—so many dancing lights, and the sharp electric zaps. She shouldn't try to parse what they mean, what they herald. Remembering the Before is bad, when she was a poor unfortunate Larva who fell through the cracks into the shadows and gutters. She is a Pupa now, and Pupa change. They become better, brighter, than they ever could achieve as Larvae.

Monsieur Agreste picks up on her moment of lapse, his eyes narrowing in what must be concern. “Is something wrong, Pupa?”

Phoebus shakes her head. “I am just anticipating how my début will go.”

He hums, unconvinced.

Understandable—she is not meant to lie, not to him. It is not how a Pupa should act.

“Perhaps you should take a break so we can ensure you've not damaged your light by working so hard. It wouldn't do to have your glow flicker and dim mid-début.” Monsieur Agreste states, pulling his tablet out already to schedule a check-up.

The Pupa Phoebus widens her bright yet hollow smile. “Oh, that is a good idea! A break would be most appreciated, Monsieur Agreste!”

Monsieur Agreste does not laugh but he huffs in what must be amusement. “How unfortunate that it took so long to rescue and take you under my wing. You will do well as one of my Papillons here.” He pauses to adjust his glasses, the light shining on them in a way that makes the lenses appear opaque. “I didn't think I'd get another specimen such as yourself, so perfectly adapted for becoming a Pupa and then a Papillon.”

His not-sneer unfurls into a grin, one that makes the darkness whisper danger. He steps around her, to get a different angle view of her work, and stares pointedly at the fine detailing. “It is a great shame that my son and my nephew have both become wretched larvae like you once were, instead of wonderful Pupae like you've now become.”

“You deserve a better son and nephew, Monsieur Agreste.” Phoebus recites from the script burnt into her mind, though she does not remember when or why she memorised it.

“I do, don't I.” Monsieur Agreste considers in contempt. “That can easily be achieved as soon as my men rescue him from the clutches of those vile Larvae. We believe the ones who held you captive and forced you to work for them, are the same ones who hold both my son and nephew now.”

“Oh.” Phoebus responds, getting the feel that Monsieur Agreste is testing her. Perhaps to ensure no feelings of Stockholm Syndrome remain for her previous captors? Yes, that must be it. How thoughtful and caring of Monsieur Agreste. “That is awful, hopefully, they can be saved soon!”

Monsieur Agreste hums, seemingly in agreement this time. “Hopefully indeed. And once we rescue them, they can then be taught to embrace the radiance my company brings to this world, just as you were taught.”

He places a hand on her shoulder, and squeezes. “And you, my dear Pupa, can help my son and nephew stitch their Chrysalises. For they are both models, like Rubi. Wouldn't that be nice, two additional fellow Papillons for you to befriend, wouldn't that make you very happy?”

Phoebus nods at a perfectly acceptable speed to relay her happiness and excitement. “Yes! That would be wonderful! I would be so happy if that were to happen!”

And yet, the darkness inside her wails and grieves as she utters each word but Phoebus does not understand why.

“Good,” Monsieur Agreste states, “that is very good to hear. Now, I shall return when your break is ready.” He turns around and strides towards the door, stilling at the threshold. “My wife will prepare high tea for you to join her at, once your break is ready.”

The Pupa Phoebus nods, fingers twitching as she turns back to meticulously stitching her chrysalises. “Thank you, Monsieur Agreste, I cannot wait!”

He huffs in what must be amusement again, “I would hope so, Pupa.”

If she didn't know better, the Pupa Phoebus would wonder why the silver butterfly necklace feels more like shackles than a gift. Why the darkness begs her to break the chains.

———

Three months. Three fucking months. Of nothing. Not a whisper on the news or in the underground, no public proclamations of the capture of one of the co-leaders of the most notorious gangs in the city. Nothing, abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Three fucking months she's been gone and not a word about what happened.

Jason sits crouched on the sofa, head in his hands. A coffee is placed on the table in front of him, he can tell from the smell, and the sound of the liquid sloshing about inside the cardboard cup.

“Marinette used to like coffee…” Jason bemoans, half-serious, half-jokingly.

Something shatters in the next room over, the kitchen most likely from the sounds of it.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God. Jason!” Alix hiss-screeches, from the same place as the shattering, like an angry kitten on roller skates. “You've said that meme every day for the last month! I'm going to murder you!”

Adrien, who's been sitting on top of the side cabinets, throws his head forwards and barely manages to stifle the laugh by slapping a hand over his mouth. He wheezes for a few seconds as he gets his laughter, and breathing under control again.

Félix snorts from where he's curled up in a cushioned armchair. “Alix has a point, you know. We understand you miss her but as do we.”

“Shhh! You'll disturb him!” Roy shushes, grinning mischievously as he stands behind the sofa. Putting on his best David Attenborough impression, he begins to recite, “here we have the rare Jasonarches Toddamentum brooding in his natural habitat. Lamenting the loss of one of his pack, specifically his co-alpha—”

Jason whips around to face Roy and launches the nearest pillow from the sofa at him, before he can continue the mockumentary. “Co-alphas? Really? That's the best you could come up with! C'mon man!”

Yelping, Roy ducks but not quick enough as the pillow smacks him in the right shoulder and flops onto the floor.

Nodding mock sagely, Félix sighs. “We expected better from you, Roy.”

“Yeah, Roy.” Kori teases, passing a second coffee in her hands over to him.

Placing a hand over his heart, Roy gasps. “Wow! The betrayal!” he complains as he grabs at the coffee and cradles it to his chest with the other. “And thanks, Kori! For the coffee, not the betrayal!”

“Ah, friends?” Markov calls cautiously as he hovers into the room, anxiety lacing his robotic voice, claws fiddling with the corner of what looks to be an envelope.

Immediately the jovial atmosphere splinters and everyone stills. Everyone except Artemis and Alix who walk, and roll into the room respectively, at that precise moment. Both hovering by the respective door frames they entered through, coincidentally opposite each other. Artemis crosses her arms, whilst Alix grabs the door frame with one hand to steady herself.

Jason tenses and glances over at the little AI. “Everything okay, Markov?”

Markov fretfully swings his claw arm around. “One of our couriers was handed a letter.”

“Did they bring it here?” Jason questions, brows furrowing in worry.

Markov shakes his head. “The courier handed it to a third-party forger, and created the forgery I am now holding. It is addressed to Adrien, and Félix.”

Adrien sucks in a sharp breath, he turns to exchange a look with Félix. “You don't think it's…” He trails off, unwilling to say it out loud in case it makes it any more likely.

Grimacing, Félix nods. “It has to be. It was rather publicly known when you were "kidnapped",” he states, making quotation marks with his fingers as he stressed the word, “by this gang. Less so when you spearheaded my "kidnapping", with them.”

“Yeah… that's. We didn't think that through.” Adrien admits, scrunching his mouth up in concern. “But! If that didn't happen, I wouldn't have gotten to use Cheval Mallet as my vigilante name, which is a plus at least!”

Félix huffs bitterly. “Oh, because getting to use a vigilante name that fits thematically is completely and utterly worth getting targeted by the Big Butterfly himself?”

“In my defence—” Adrien starts, only to shut his mouth again as words fail him. “Nevermind, you've got a point.”

Jason clicks his tongue. “More importantly, we need to decide what we're doing about this.”

“We need to actually see what is inside the envelope, first.” Félix counters, marching over to Markov.

Markov dips in the air in lieu of a nod and extends his claw-arm to hand Félix the envelope. “Here you go, friend!”

“Thank you, Markov.” Félix responds, nodding his head to the little AI as he takes the extended envelope. He marches back over to Adrien and slips out the disguised knife pen out of his pocket, before carefully slicing the top of the envelope open like one would do with a letter opener. Plucking the letter from inside, he holds it at an angle so only he and Adrien can read what has been written.

Seconds pass.

Swearing under his breath, Adrien glances up at Jason with panic clear in his eyes. “It's… it's from Kagami. She's been compromised, the Big Butterfly knows she was in contact with us. He and her mother have forced her to invite us to the Big Butterfly's upcoming fashion show…”

“She's worried that it's a trap, to capture us both so that they can… do to us what they did to my mother, and all of his Papillons.” Félix continues in Adrien's stead, barely able to conceal the dawning horror on his face.

Artemis moves towards them and asks as softly as she can, brows furrowing in concern. “And what exactly, did they do to your mother?”

He swallows a breath of air thickly. “Adrien's mother went missing a few years ago. And so my mother and I visited Adrien and his sperm donor as we were all grieving. However, I started to notice things seemed off and before either of us realised, the Big Butterfly was parading my mother around in front of the news and media pretending she was her twin sister instead. Even at home, she started treating me like Adrien's mother had.”

“What the fuck! Are you saying the Big Butterfly brainwashed your mom?” Jason exclaims, eyes wide with a mixture of horror, disgust, and alarm.

“Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. The Big Butterfly brainwashed my mum into believing she was Aunt Emilie, purely so that he could keep appearances up in front of the cameras.” Félix confirms, hands balled into fists and shaking ever so slightly. “When Adrien got out and joined here, I stumbled across the Big Butterfly's plans to replace Adrien by doing the same to me. If you all hadn't helped me get out in time…” He chokes up, unable to get the next words out of his mouth.

“That is truly despicable. I'm sorry.” Artemis apologises, looking equally disturbed by the information.

“Shit.” Roy mutters, glancing between Félix and Adrien. “What do we do? We can't just let another innocent get fucking brainwashed!”

Kori purses her lips. “I think,” she starts, giving an understanding look at the two, “we should let Adrien and Félix decide. They are the most familiar with the Big Butterfly, this Kagami, and the situation as a whole.”

Clearing her throat, Alix roller skates a little closer to others. “Guys, you don't think…” she trails off, trying to find her words but also torn over whether saying it out loud will make it true, “you don't think that's what's happened to Marinette? It would explain why we've heard nothing from her or Roaar since she disappeared.”

“Holy fucking shit! I'm going to burn that fucking bastard and his fucking fashion show to the ground if he fucking dared!” Hisses Jason, his eyes flaring toxic green as the fury of the Lazarus Pit burns in his veins. He digs his nails into the fabric of the sofa and his lips curl into a near-frenzied snarl.

“Woah, woah! Jason, calm the fuck down! That might not be what's happened!” Roy intercepts, grabbing Jason by the shoulder.

Jason turns to glare at Roy. “But it also might be what happened to her!”

“We should go.” Adrien cuts in sharply, “Max can get the rest of you in via hacking. Félix and I will be the distraction, and I'll bring Kaalki so we have a quick escape in case things go wrong. Whilst everyone else who goes to the show needs to focus on getting Kagami out. Then once that's done, we can try and look for anything that suggests they've got Marinette. And if we find Marinette, we get her out as well.”

Félix nods. “That's a good enough plan for me.”

Smiling bitterly, Adrien tilts his head to one side. “So, who else is up for crashing the show?”

Kori, Roy, Artemis, and Alix all exchange glances before nodding.

“Max and I are in!” Markov pipes up, hovering up in a swing.

“That leaves, who's telling Luka, and Bizarro they're holding down the fort this time?” Jason mutters.

“Dibs not it!” Everyone but Artemis calls out.

She rolls her eyes at the antics of the others. “I will tell the two of them their roles for this mission. Don't worry.”

Jason hums. “We could also probably call in a favour with the Sparrow kid that you,” he nods towards Adrien, “and Marinette befriended. Not to hold down the fort but to help cover us at the fashion show?”

“Oh! I'm sure Sparrow will be more than happy to help! That's a great idea!” Adrien cheers, perking up slightly.

Moving over to the coffee table, Félix places the letter down in the centre. “Right. Let's get ourselves ready to crash a fashion show.”

———

Adrien and Félix both don a light disguise. One that's easy enough to recognise them on a closer inspection but subtle enough to not attract immediate attention.

The others, in heavier disguises, had arrived early and gotten in already—split between two teams. One with hacked tickets, and the other through breaking and entering, the gang's speciality. Sparrow had also been more than happy to help and had roped in a few others from their gang, the Quantic Kids, into helping watch the outside of the building.

Leaving Félix and Adrien to arrive together, separate from the rest of the gang; they make sure to arrive slightly late to try and avoid the worst of the crowds. Approaching the doors, they hand over their tickets and try to appear as nonchalant as possible.

The nearest android guard eyes their tickets and puts out a hand. “Wait.”

“Is there something wrong with our tickets, sir?” Félix asks, smiling sweetly enough to hide the undercurrent of threat.

The android guard nods their head at another then looks the two up and down in a scrutinising—analysing fashion. “We have explicit orders to escort anyone with these tickets to the seats.”

Adrien grimaces. “Understood, lead the way then.”

The android guards exchange nods once more, then the one slightly further away pulls out a radio and starts quietly reporting into it, too low for either Félix or Adrien to catch anything. Useful or otherwise.

“Follow me.” Says the nearer one as they start walking away.

Félix sighs and lightly knocks shoulders with Adrien as a reminder of solidarity as well as to get ready. Waiting for only a second, they both start following after the guard. Félix adjusts the secret mic and camera attached to his tie, ensuring that it was now transmitting its feed to Max and Markov, as well as Luka back at base.

Next to him, Adrien does the same with his own tie and attached secret mic and camera.

They're led down a few hallways, up a couple of winding staircases, and down a few more hallways before the guard stops outside a door with a metal sign on it reading: Private.

“Your seats are through here.” The android guard says, slotting a keycard into the door, causing a glowing keypad panel to open up in the centre. Then, the android guard scans a digital code into the door and the door swings open before it.

Adrien nods to the android guard and tugs Félix after him as he strides across the threshold, head held high.

There's a shriek, as they pass through the door, and a body slams into Adrien and it's only thanks to his vigilante instincts that he doesn't drop the body.

“Oh, Adrikins!” Chloé cries out, hugging him tightly. “I can't believe you're back!” She lets go of him for a second to step back and check out his outfit. “Urgh, you could do with some better clothes though. It's fine,” she says, waving a hand, “after today's show we can go on a shopping trip together!”

Adrien smiles awkwardly and unconvincingly responds, “yeah… it's nice to see you again too, Chloé.”

Félix, the traitor, snickers at Adrien's predicament and steps around the two to fully enter the room. The android guard does not follow, and the door shuts automatically behind them.

Inside, is a private bar and lounge with double doors on the far wall, opposite the 'Private' entry door.

Kagami glances up from her place from the sofa against the wall with the double doors. She raises an eyebrow. “It is good to see that you made it here safely.”

“As safe as we could.” Félix grunts, delicately dropping into the seat next to her on the sofa.

She hums, tuning out Chloé's screeching with practised ease. “How are the horse-related magic tricks you were working on going?”

“Pretty well, though I don't suppose Father will be all too pleased with the one I plan to practise tonight,” Félix responds.

Kagami relaxes her shoulders in relief for a split second. “Oh? And what sort of magic trick is it?”

“I've dubbed it: Call a Key. And it's like those pull a rabbit from a hat tricks but with a horse from a hoop.” He says, drawing a circle in the air. A circle that just so happens to be the same size and shape as Kaalki's average portals.

“I see,” Kagami says, nodding, “well, perhaps after tonight's show, you won't mind showing me it so far?”

Félix grins, “I'd love to, Kagami.”

Their conversation lulls into silence, so Félix hops off the sofa and goes over to the private bar to fix himself and Adrien some drinks. Seeing as Chloé was showing no signs of letting his cousin go at the moment. A potential hazard for the plan, he worries. With drinks in hand, he rejoins Kagami by the sofa.

An announcement rings out over the loudspeakers on the walls as the double doors swing open in a slow and controlled manner.

“That, is our cue that the show will be starting soon,” Kagami mutters to him. She takes a deep breath and raises her voice, “Chloé, Adrien, it is time we take our seats for the show.”

Chloé squeals, forcefully dragging Adrien across the private lounge and through onto the balcony where their booth seats are.

Sighing, Félix follows after the two with Kagami a few steps behind him.

“Oh, I'm so glad you managed to make it to today's fashion show, Adrikins!” Chloé exclaims, clutching at Adrien's arm like a hawk and gesturing wildly with the other. “It's so nice of your daddy to hold this show in the theatre so we could have a private booth together to watch the show! And it's going to be a really special show from what I've overheard, Gabriel's débuting a new and upcoming fashion designer! Isn't that so exciting, I'm sure your daddy will let you model for them now that you're back! After all,” she scoffs, “he's letting that peasant fox model for the designer today.”

“Is that so?” Adrien responds, glancing at Félix with deep-seated worry etched into his stare.

Félix clenches his fists and takes a deep breath.

Frowning, Kagami taps Félix on the arm and sends him a questioning glance.

“We'll explain it later.” He mumbles quietly enough for her to just hear.

Below them, the sounds of people taking their seats echoes. A few minutes pass, Félix and Kagami make minor small talk whilst Adrien is forced to listen to Chloé prattle on.

The main lights dim and then go out, plunging the room into darkness. The curtains rise, from the sounds of the heavy and large swathes of fabric moving on the pulleys.

Classical music starts playing—not unlike the music Adrien used to learn on the piano. And one by one, the lights in the shape of asphodels flicker to life on the stage, illuminating a sea of the flowers surrounding a catwalk designed like a river carving through the land. White marble Greco-Esque pillars and arches litter the flower fields. Framing the scene, is the blank white wall at the back of the catwalk and stage. The lighting shifts to cast spotlights on the wall behind the catwalk.

Félix tunes out the rest of the show starting, instead putting all his focus in searching for any security watching their booth, as well as for any sign of Marinette.

The show continues on, slowly models wearing pieces designed like asphodels, butterflies, and cocoons or chrysalises strut up and down the catwalk. The spotlights follow them, making the pieces and models appear to glow under the light.

Luckily, there's no obvious security paying attention to their booth. But that doesn't mean they're in the clear, for all they know, Gabriel could have bugged the place to the rafters. They had worked out before entering, that they'd have to leave before the end of the show. Otherwise, they'd most likely be captured and brainwashed just like Félix's mum.

A new announcement from the stage gives both Adrien and Félix pause, neither having fully caught what was said other than mentions of the reveal of the designer. They tense and try to hide the signs of their anxious anticipation. The flickering flame of hope in their chests threatens to extinguish from the worry that this could be what they feared it to be.

The lights and spotlights on stage all dim; whilst the music fades to a quieter volume. The almost deafening echoing clack-clack-clack of heels against the catwalk seems so much louder than when the models in heels had been walking across it.

Félix holds his breath and clasps his hands together tightly. Adrien leans forwards to get a better look over at the stage. They should be nudging Kagami and getting ready to go by now but they can't will themselves to look away. Like a tragedy; a car catching fire and about to crash.

A figure in a chrysalis dress steps onto the catwalk. Step by step by step, they slowly walk to the end of the catwalk. The faint glow of the lights still perfectly illuminates the figure's face though.

And Adrien's heart stops. “No!”

“What? Is that—?” Chloé starts, only to be interrupted by the cacophonous roar of a standing ovation from the rest of the audience.

Félix, Adrien, and Kagami all pale in horror.

“That's… that's Marinette.” Kagami whispers to Félix, her panic thinly veiled.

Stiffly, Félix nods and swallows a breath of air thickly. “So. Minor change of plans.”

“I can see why.” Kagami responds automatically, in horror.

On the catwalk below, the dress shimmers and appears to crack. Shadowy mist seeping from the cracks is followed by a blinding glow eviscerating the darkness. From the cracks, the outer layers of the dress splinter away, and the layers below begin to unfurl. Bright white, beautiful butterfly wings edged with black and the odd symmetrical red spots.

Gabriel Agreste, Papillon, joins her on the stage. “Isn't this such a momentous and wonderful occasion? Tonight, we have witnessed the eclosion of a new Papillon within the Atelier Agreste. And I'm delighted by the bright welcome Phoebus has received.”

At the call of her Papillon name, Phoebus bows.

Félix's heartbeat pounds in his ears, nearly drowning out Gabriel's words.

Before he, or Adrien, can react, there's a buzzing in his ear from the disguised earpiece comms.

“Félix. Adrien. Get Kagami and get out! Now!” Max's voice filters through, “they're sending a reinforcement of guards towards your location. I'll try to hack them but it'll be close!”

Standing abruptly, Adrien yanks himself away from Chloé's death grip.

“Wha—Adrikins!” She protests, still too shocked by the revelation of the new designer having been Marinette, to try and stop him.

Adrien backs away into the private lounge, flushing red with embarrassment. “Sorry Chloé, I-uh… need to use the men's room. Be-right-back!”

He turns heel and makes his way over to the opposite door and yanks it open.

Félix stares at Adrien in disbelief before nodding at Kagami and grabbing her by the arm. He does not so much run, as speed walk after Adrien.

The second all three of them are clear of the private door's threshold, Kagami kicks her foot back to shut the door behind them. The three then start sprinting down the halls.

The hidden earpiece crackles again. “You three and Jason are the nearest to the backstage where Marinette will be soon. I'll lead the four of you towards the location, just follow my directions and don't do anything stupid once Jason joins you.”

“No promises,” Adrien mutters in response. “I'm seriously considering committing patricide at this point.”

Max doesn't immediately respond, presumably having switched channels to help deal with the others, or get out himself.

Less than a minute later, the earpiece crackles again, but this time it's Luka who starts relaying the directions to the backstage whilst keeping them updated on both human and android guards as well as security camera positions.

“You're halfway there, Jason should be just through the third door on the right.” Luka informs, sounding calm but they know him too well to not hear the veneer of fury beneath every word.

Adrien yanks open the third door on the right open, and lo and behold, Jason is sprinting past the open door in the corridor it leads to.

“Wait up!” Félix hisses after Jason.

It seems Jason manages to hear him and skids on the balls of his steel-toed boots, scratching up the wooden flooring, to stare at them with his green eyes blazing. “Alix was fucking right.” He bites out.

“We are coming with you, to save her.” Kagami states, looking equally furious.

Jason cocks his head to the side. “Then c'mon, we need to run.”

The four exchange nods and glances and burst into a sprint down the hallway, following Luka's directions.

Direction after direction after direction. It feels like Luka relays to them hundreds of those endless directions before the four of them reach a long hallway with double doors at the end that has a large sign above it, labelled: Backstage.

Skidding to a stop again, Jason holds out an arm to stop the others as well. “As much as I want to run in, laser guns a-blazin', who knows what kinda fucking security shit they've got ready for us.”

Adrien grimaces. “But they knew we didn't know that they have Marinette. So why would they prepare security for us rescuing her when they're trying to capture us?”

“Have you forgotten how much security the Big Butterfly placed around my mother, after brainwashing her? Public spectacles like this always involve far too much security around the shining star of the show!” Félix spits acerbically, fists shaking, breathing shallow.

Adrien places a hand on his shoulder. “Worst case situation, we can get Kaalki to get us out and we can try and rescue Marinette another time.”

Jason scowls. “If we're forced to do that, I want to shoot that fucker's skull in first.”

“Technically, shouldn't Adrien get right of shooting him before you?” Kagami asks, half-smiling that awkward smile of hers.

Huffing, Jason nods to Adrien. “Fine, but I dibs second shot then. And if you go for the skull, I'm shooting that bastard in the fucking dick.”

Adrien makes a choking noise and doubles over, barely managing to stifle his laughter. He takes a few deep breaths and wipes tears away from his eyes. “Deal!” He wheezes, “please, I'd like nothing more than for you to get the second shot and do that!”

“Good fucking choice,” Jason mutters in response, a cheeky grin crossing his face for but a second before it falls back to the furious snarl. “Now, let's see what's behind the doors and get our anthill tiger back!”

The earpieces Jason, Félix, and Adrien are wearing, buzz again. “Might want to hurry up.” Luka smoothly informs. “Three human guards are coming your way. And as far as Max can see through his hacking, there's no android guards or drones backstage.” He pauses, “the rest of our gang won't be able to reach you four in time, neither will Sparrow's. You're going solo.”

The four exchange quick glances among themselves. “That's a risk we're willing to take if it means getting Marinette back.”

“I'll keep you updated on any changes. Break a leg or three, especially try to break the Big Butterfly's legs if you can.” Luka responds.

Jason snorts. “We'll try our best.”

The channel goes silent, as Jason quietly opens the backstage doors and the four of them sneak through.

———

The show has ended, by the time the four of them arrive through the backstage doors. Jason spots a rack of clothes and gestures to the others to follow him as he creeps over to hide behind it.

She's there. Marinette—or Phoebus, as the Big Butterfly had called her. There in the centre of the backstage. Standing stock-still. Still dressed in that fucking chrysalis—butterfly dress. Like a creepy human-sized doll.

Jason focuses on his breathing, in and out, in and out, in and out. Trying not to let the sickly radioactive green flood his vision and veins.

He freezes as he watches the Big Butterfly himself stride up to her and circle her like a vulture.

“You did very well today, Phoebus.” The Big Butterfly says, with a sneer on his face. “Unfortunately, my son and Nephew have so rudely absconded from their booth before the show ended.”

The Papillon Phoebus dips her head, and ever so hollowly sounding, replies, “that is most unfortunate.”

It takes all Jason's concentration to not be sick at how empty she sounds and acts. He glances at the others and Kagami, Adrien, and Félix all look sickened by the sight.

The Big Butterfly's sneer morphs into a scowl. “It is indeed. However, Mademoiselle Bourgeois was able to inform us of something very interesting.”

Tilting her head to one side, the Papillon Phoebus stares blankly at him. “Oh?”

“Apparently, my son had quite the reaction to the sight of you on stage, my Papillon. Isn't that interesting.” The Big Butterfly taunts.

She blinks at him then nods slowly and stiffly. “Yes. That is very interesting, Monsieur Agreste.”

His scowl curls into a victorious sneer. “That's what I thought, my dear Papillon.”

Jason shakes, he can't watch any more of this fucking creepy-ass bastard messing with his gang co-leader. He whips both of his recently upgraded guns from their holsters and grips the handles with whitening knuckles.

Before the others can think to stop him, Jason dives out of cover and shoots his twin guns. Pew-pew!

The laser bolts slam into the back of the Big Butterfly, frying two circles into his suit and melting the material to his skin.

The Big Butterfly screams in pain and fury. He pivots in place to turn and glare at where the shots had come from. The light flashes across his glasses again, making the lenses appear opaque. As his gaze latches onto Jason, his victorious sneer splits and twists and unfurls into a monstrous smirk. He starts to laugh, like poison bubbling and frothing from his lips.

And as the Big Butterfly does, Jason catches sight of the glint of small purple flapping around the Papillon Phoebus'—Marinette's—neck.

The bubbling and frothing poison of an Akuma's transformation swirls around her, staining every speck of her and forming a glimmering chrysalis once more.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Jason chants under his breath. Eyes wide with instant regret, he taps his earpiece. “We fucked up! Holy fucking shit, we fucked up!”

“What?!” Comes the frantic response from Luka. “What do you mean? What's happened? What did you do?”

Jason laughs nervously, “she's an Akuma! She's been fucking akumatised.”

“Hold on as long as possible, the others got swarmed by guards and can't reach you yet.” Luka frets.

At that, Kagami, Adrien, and Félix all burst out from behind the clothes rack, each with laser pistols also in hand. Zap-zap-zap.

The three more shots ring out but only one hits, Adrien and Félix both shaking too much for theirs to land.

“We shall try.” Félix responds to Luka.

The chrysalis-Akuma-poison coalesces around the Papillon Phoebus before cracking and dripping away. Revealing two large butterfly wings exactly like the dress. Phoebus wings. She flutters her wings and begins to float a metre or so above the ground.

“Fuck!” Jason curses, and behind him he can hear the other three echoing the sentiment. He stares at the purple butterfly chain around her throat. “Akuma is in the necklace!”

A bright light, not dissimilar to a flashbang, pops off. Immediately blinding all four of them.

“Capture them!” The Big Butterfly orders.

Kagami yelps.

The blindness caused by the light fades, and Adrien gasps. Jason swears under his breath again, and he and Félix both fire off more shots. This time towards the Akuma object, as the Big Butterfly has vanished.

Cocooned to the ground, Kagami squirms, trying to free herself from the Akuma's trap.

“Fucking shit!” Jason helpfully says on the earpiece channel. “She's trying to fucking capture us for the fucking bastard! And he's disappeared!” He bodily throws himself to the ground to dodge a mote of brilliant radiance lancing towards him.

The Papillon Phoebus tilts her head to the side, wings glittering with bright golden light like her namesake. Safely blocking the laser blasts towards her object with her massive wings.

Thankfully, only one of Kagami's hands is trapped. And not the one with the gun. As quietly as possible, she shoots the gun to slice through the cocoon and free herself.

The wings start to glow brighter and brighter and brighter.

“Flashbang!” Jason yells, diving behind cover in the form of a cluster of mannequins and slapping a hand over his eyes.

Kagami grabs Adrien and the two duck behind a different rack of clothes. Whilst Félix leaps over a stack of boxes and hides there.

The radiance flares once more, but fails to blind any of them.

“We need to shoot the object. I'll draw the attention at the front. Kagami, get behind and get ready to shoot her in the back as a distraction. Adrien and Félix, you two flank her on opposite sides.” Jason plans quietly into the earpiece channel.

Jason leaves his hiding spot first, vaulting over the cluster of mannequins and shoots a laser bolt at the Papillon Phoebus' necklace again. It's blocked by the wings, as to be expected.

Félix leaps back over the stack of boxes and flanks the Papillon Phoebus on the right. Whilst Adrien rolls out from behind the clothes rack and flanks on the left.

The three in position, shoot simultaneously at the Akuma, as to distract her.

Kagami bolts from her hiding spot and flanks behind the Papillon Phoebus.

The wings start to flutter and glow brighter once more.

“Now!” Jason yells.

Zap!

The blast slams into the Papillon Phoebus' back, right between where her wings connect to her shoulder blades. Instinctively she splays her wings out in pain and curls backwards.

Zap-zap!

Two more blasts slam into her, one in each wingtip.

Zap!

Finally, Jason shoots last and his aim is true. Crackle-snap!

The blast sears through the chain necklace, warping the metal and snapping it in twain.

The two parts of the object clatter to the ground and a purple butterfly claws itself out from the broken chains.

Jason spins his gun in his hand and shoots a final laser straight through the moth. Burning a perfect hole through its wings and killing it instantly. Purple Akuma-goop leaks from its injuries and then fades, leaving behind the scorched corpse of what was once a white butterfly.

He sighs in relief, and quickly taps his earpiece. “Akuma dealt with.”

As he says that, the Akuma de-transforms midair and Marinette collapses to the ground. Limp, like a puppet with their strings cut or a discarded doll—a cracked Pupa.

“Thank fuck.” Luka's responds over the channel, sounding tired.

Jason drags a hand down his face. The green poisoning his vision dissipates for the time being, and he hurries over to Marinette. Ever so carefully, he scoops her into his arms—bridal style—and pulls her close to his chest.

Kagami drops to her knees and breathes.

Adrien weakly punches the air with his gun in hand. “Wooh! Luka, we're calling a key home. Disable security please?”

Félix snorts, moving back to lean against the stack of boxes.

“No need, there's no security cameras backstage. I'll hear your songs when you back at base.” Luka relays, tone light with happiness and relief despite the tiredness. “The others have dealt with the guards, so they're on their way back too.”

Adrien transforms with Kaalki, becoming Cheval Mallet. He walks over to Kagami and offers her a hand. Félix, and Jason with Marinette unconscious in his arms join them.

The portal opens up before them, and they walk through together. Today, they've won another battle. Tomorrow they'll try to find out what has been done to Marinette. But tonight, tonight all the conscious members of the gang huddle together in the lounge. And among themselves, they build a pillow and blanket fort, and relax.

They're all together, and they're all safe, for once.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| So title dissection, Atelier meaning Fashion Studio comes from the Latin "Astula" meaning "Splinter", Astula also is the Genus for the flower Asphodel. Phoebus as mentioned in the fic is the god of light but it also means "Bright". Eclose is the leaving of a cocoon/chrysalis. Pupa is another term for cocoon/chrysalis when the butterfly/moth becomes soup and goes through metamorphosis. But it also comes from the Latin meaning Girl or Doll. So In the Fashion Studio's Glow, the Bright/Light Doll will be Released. |

| Fun Fact: Larva/Larvae mean Mask or Ghost in Latin. Also the suffix "Arches" means Leader/Ruler. So Jasonarches means Jason-Leader :3 |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I'll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

[prettyboylovemail]

[Hana + Juzo] As Long As We’re Alive

FINALLY! I finished this fic that I’ve been working on all week!

I recently rewatched the Danganronpa 3 anime and wanted to figure out how my S/I would fit into the new killing game! Including interactions with my favorite character from the anime cause I can’t help myself 👀

(Also, for a bit of context: This takes place following my S/I from DR 1 surviving the Hope’s Peak Killing Game!)

As such, this will include anime spoilers!! Keep that in mind!

I worked super hard on this, so I hope you guys enjoy!!

Also a big big thanks to @duncanlovemail​ for helping me do some final edits and tweaks!! ❤️

—

In a split second, her life flashed before her eyes.

There were some good memories, sure, but mostly bad ones — memories of the last killing game she’d been forced to play overshadowed her happiest moments. And now, laying on the floor, staring wide-eyed at the tip of a katana, she could only remember the moments where she’d been this close to death.

But this time, she didn’t think she’d get to make it out alive.

There was a brief rustling sound from somewhere nearby, but Hana barely noticed it. It sounded as if someone was walking by and she silently begged that it’d be an ally. But as the footsteps grew fainter, she realized that she didn’t have any real allies left, and that she was only going to be left for dead. 

The man behind the corner kept walking. He’d seen the fight, or rather, the one-sided attack, but he paid it no mind. With a scowl, he left Munakata to finish his work. Who cares how many insignificant people died? As long as he made it out alive, then Juzo would slaughter every other person here. If it meant that Kyousuke would be victorious, then he didn’t give a shit about the rest.

Then why?

Why did his chest tighten up at the sight? Why did he feel a twinge of guilt leaving her to die? It’s not like that girl was anyone special or important — just some rookie from another division — so why did he feel like a piece of shit as he turned his back on her?

“Dammit, Juzo, this isn’t like you,” the man muttered to himself through gritted teeth. “Get ahold of yourself and keep walkin’. It’s none of your business.” It wasn’t until the next thing he heard that he stopped in his tracks, listening.

“Please, I-I’m not on the side of despair! I d-don’t want to hurt anyone! Please, believe me!!”

The girl’s voice sounded desperate, like she was crying. Juzo swallowed thickly, trying to take another step, but feeling his entire body stiffen up. Her voice rang through his ears, echoing in the empty hallway, the sound piercing his chest like a knife. 

“PLEASE, DON’T KILL ME!”

The man’s fists balled up, squeezing every ounce of strength that he could muster.

Shit!

“Kyousuke!” Juzo’s voice boomed through the hall as he spun on his heel. He felt the weight of his entire body shift and slam to a stop in front of the scene. Munakata paused and glanced up at him with no change in his cold expression.

“What is it, Sakakura?”

“Don’t worry about that one!” Juzo stepped forward, placing himself between Munataka and the helpless girl, frozen on the ground. “Your target is Makoto Naegi, isn’t it? Why waste your time on a brat like her?”

“Why are you interrupting?” Munakata’s eyes narrowed sharply. “Have you fallen to despair, Sakakura?”

“Don’t be stupid, of course not. But you know as well as I do that it’d be useless to kill this girl. She’s just some random kid, she doesn’t have anything to do with your plan.”

“She’s a survivor along with Naegi and the others. She’s in cahoots with them and as such, must be eliminated.” The katana glistened as Munakata turned it towards him. “And I will kill anyone who gets in my way.”

Juzo sharply inhaled. Was it really worth it, saving this kid at the threat of being turned on himself? He sent a glare behind him, seeing the frantic eyes of the shaking girl beneath him. Her eyes begged for him to save her, but pleading normally didn’t work on him. He turned back to Munakata and grit his teeth.

“What the hell’s gotten into you, man? Do you realize who you’re pointing that blade at?” Juzo raised his voice slightly. “I’m on your side, but right now, we need to focus on the real objective!”

“This is the real objective!”

There was only a moment to react. Time seemed to slow as the blade was swung, but not at him. The katana grazed past Juzo and towards the ground. He felt his heart stop as he reached out and—

“AGH!!” Juzo grunted out loud as the pain of steel cutting through flesh surged through his hand. Blood poured from the wound and it took all his might not to flinch back. He turned towards Hana, cowering barely a foot below the blade, and yelled. “GO!”

She took a sharp breath and squirmed away from the line of attack, barely able to keep her balance as her legs pushed her backwards. “W-What are you doing?” she managed to ask with a feeble voice.

Juzo gripped onto the katana with his opposite hand, keeping it in place as to not cut further into his hand. “Don’t ask stupid questions! Get the fuck out of here!! NOW!” His voice blared through the halls, shaking Hana out of her daze. She stood as quickly as she could and ran, hastily turning the corner. 

“Sakakura! Why are you letting her escape?!” Munakata shouted. “You’re a traitor to the cause—”

“No! I’m not!! Just listen to me for once, god dammit!” Juzo pushed back against the sword, yanking his hand away from the blade and jumping out of range. “Naegi is still on the move right now! Once you get rid of him, you can exterminate the rest of these stupid brats, you hear me?” There was a pause. “I won’t get in your way again, but we’ve gotta track down that bastard Naegi first.”

Another pause as both men decided their next move. When Munakata backed down, Juzo did as well.

“You’re right.” Munakata sighed, lowering his sword and re-sheathing it.

Juzo let out a sigh as well. “Good. Now come on, let’s go search for the brat.”

“Alright…”

—

The two men walked down the empty hallways, searching, scanning every corner for an enemy. Neither of them said anything, and the atmosphere was only growing more tense with every passing minute.

“Kyousuke,” Juzo started, breaking the silence between them, “those wounds don’t look so hot. We should find you a first aid kit.” When he didn’t receive any response, he paused, before making an attempt to change the subject. “Hey, so—”

“What’s on your mind?” Munakata stopped

“Well, uh,” Juzo began, “Kimura’s been killed. Kizakura got poisoned, too. Oh, and Ando was stabbed by one of the survivor brats...” his voice trailed off. Munakata hadn’t reacted to a single thing he’d said and it was starting to throw him off. Did he care that their comrades were dying? Juzo glanced away. “I… just… thought you oughta know…”

“Tengan, as well.”

Juzo’s eyes widened, “No joke?”

Munakata’s voice was cold and unwavering. “I killed him myself.”

It took a moment to process what he’d said, but it was unmistakable. Kyousuke had murdered the chairman. Of course, Juzo was always on his side, but this… didn’t seem like him. And his best friend’s icy demeanor was really concerning him. He knew that Munakata was willing to do anything to achieve his goal, but this—

“Right, sure…” Juzo turned away, putting on a smile to hide his uncertainty as best he could. “Hey, that’s good! This is what we wanted, isn’t it? To purify the foundation.”

Munakata said nothing, just stared at his friend’s back as he continued.

“Heh. ‘Bout damn time. This baby’s in your hands now, chief. You’ve been promoted.” When he still received no response, Juzo continued further. “No one in their right mind is gonna contest it. The revolution’s over, and the spoils of war are all yours! I’ll help, of course. We’re gonna fix the Future Foundation! After that, the world.”

Finally, after a couple of moments, Munakata spoke. “The world, you say…” Juzo turned to face him. “Hey, Sakakura. We go back. You’ve been at my side for years in fact, since we were students.”

“Uh, yeah…?”

Munakata’s eyes closed. “We had our share of good times, the two of us, and Yukizome, of course. Eyes always on the future. Three friends intimately bound together by the same ideals.”

Juzo paused.

“Our mentors were supportive. Tengan always found the time to give me advice. I held firm that the world could change. That I could be the one to change it.” Munakata balled his fist, opening his eyes, but kept them focused down. “That conviction hasn’t left me. It’s as strong as ever…”

“Yeah, sure…” Juzo also looked away, “Hey, it’s strong in me too, ya know. Always has been.” He returned a determined gaze to his friend. “Backing you up’s been the whole point of my life. I take a lot of pride in throwin’ down for your ideals.”

“I know you do… And you’re right, my friend,” Munakata said with a heavy expression. “Without your unwavering support, I would’ve never made it this far.”

There were a couple moments of silence before Juzo spoke up again. “Look, I— There’s something I gotta get off my chest, okay?” His heart began to race. Why did he suddenly feel so nervous? Was it because he was finally going to say it? Finally going to tell Kyousuke how he’s always felt? Or… was it something else? Something more… disconcerting…? “To be totally honest with you—”

“Enough!”

And in a flash — before he could even react — a sharp, searing pain surged through his stomach as Munakata’s fiery blade pierced through his midsection. He coughed, blood erupting from his throat and filling his mouth with the revolting taste of iron before spilling from his lips. The smell of burning flesh filled the air in an instant.

What…?

“K-Kyousuke…”

Blood quickly spread from the wound and in the next second, Juzo’s feet gave way beneath him and he collapsed onto the cold ground. He lay there in agony as the severity of the situation hit him. He choked and gasped for a breath, craning his neck, struggling to look up at the man who’d betrayed him. “W-What the hell, man? Why… would you… do this?”

Munakata’s voice was just as cold and uncaring as it was before, and it sent a shiver down Juzo’s spine as he lay on the floor beneath him.

“You know why. You know exactly why.”

And with that, Munakata turned… and left. His words hung in the air over Juzo, who lay face down, cursing himself as he felt his senses begin to weaken. He didn’t bother to watch his friend leave him there. He couldn’t bear the sight.

Why did it come to this? 

Dammit!! Why?!

Then everything faded to black.

—

Hana staggered through the halls, dragging her injured ankle beneath her. It’s not that bad, she told herself, as long as she could keep moving. As long as she was still alive. Her thoughts drifted back to earlier, when Juzo had saved her life. It’d been almost two hours since then, and the next time limit was approaching soon. Tears welled up in her eyes as she stumbled.

Why was she so useless?

Even in the previous killing game, she couldn’t do anything to protect her friends. She couldn’t save those she cared about. She just had to stand by and watch as the ones precious to her died brutal deaths. 

That included him…

Hana stopped and pressed her back to the wall behind her as the tears she’d been trying so hard to hold in fell down her cheeks. Why did she have to think about him right now? The girl felt her knees weaken, and she slid down to the floor with a heavy breath. Here she sat again, completely powerless to stop the deaths happening around her, unable to do anything besides cry. She despised her weakness. 

It might be better if I just sit here… and wait for someone to come and kill me…

As if on cue, the sound of footsteps pulled her out of her thoughts. One? No, two people, she guessed. Were they enemies? Friends? Hana’s thoughts raced. Should she run? Stay put? What would she do if someone attacked her again? Was… it even worth fighting back?

It wasn’t until she heard the sound of familiar voices that she stopped.

“Kyousuke, those wounds don’t look so hot. We should find you a first aid kit.”

Juzo? And Munakata is with him?

Hana froze up in a cold sweat. Juzo had saved her once, but he was still loyal to Munakata. If they were still together now, then— Her hands began to shake. He wouldn’t spare her again.

The sound of footsteps stopped as the two men continued talking just around the corner. Hana wondered if she should run, but her body remained stagnant, completely paralyzed.

“Tengan, as well”

“No joke?”

“I killed him myself.”

Munakata had gotten to the chairman already? Then, there was nothing stopping Munakata from killing everyone else too. Had he already killed Makoto too? Hana kept listening, as silently as possible.

“Look, I— There’s something I gotta get off my chest, okay? To be totally honest with you—”

“Enough!”

The sound that came from around the corner was enough to make Hana’s blood run entirely cold. The sound of metal plunging through flesh. The sound of Juzo crying out in pain. A heavy thud. 

No way…

There’s no way…

“Why… would you… do this?”

“You know why. You know exactly why.”

Hana’s hands clasped over her mouth to keep herself from gasping. Her entire body shook and she felt dizzy. She knew that they weren’t aware of her presence, but hearing that felt… directed. If Juzo hadn’t stepped in to save her, if he’d just ignored her and left her to be killed, this wouldn’t have happened. 

Juzo is going to die because of me.

Just like before—

I can’t do anything.

This is my fault!

Footsteps faded as Munakata walked in the opposite direction. Once she was sure he was gone, she risked a glance around the corner and saw Juzo lying on the floor, unconscious and bleeding. Her legs moved on their own as she rushed to his side, frantically checking his wounds. Thankfully, the stomach wound had mostly cauterized due to Munakata’s blade, but he was still bleeding out slowly. Hana took off her jacket and tried tying it around his stomach in a hurry. “God, please,” she gasped. “Please don’t die.”

Once she’d finished securing her makeshift tourniquet as much as possible, Hana wrapped her arms around the man, attempting to pull him up just enough to move him, to no avail. She just wasn’t strong enough to lift him, and dragging him would only cause more damage. “Damn it…” the girl cursed, frantically searching the area. She didn’t want to leave him here, but there was no way she was going to be able to carry him to safety by herself. She had to get help or—

“I’m not going to let you die, I promise.”

Hana stood and ran down the hall, looking for anyone who would be willing to help. Maybe if she found Makoto. Or Koda— Izayoi should be with her, right? Juzo said that Ruruka had been killed, she could only guess that Koda’s the one who’d done it. If she found the two of them, they could help—

“Please. Please. Anybody.”

—

Hana’s eyes fluttered open slowly, a groggy dizziness overtaking her as her vision attempted to clear, and she scanned the area around her, disoriented from just having woken up. She glanced down at the bangle donning her wrist, still displaying the forbidden action she’d been cursed with, and let out a deep sigh. She’d made it through another time limit alive.

Thank God…

She filed through her memories, trying to remember everything before she’d dozed off. She’d found Juzo laying on the floor, bleeding, after his falling out with Munakata; that part was clear. But after that— Hana frowned— she couldn’t really remember much. She postulated that the time limit had stopped her from finding help, and she figured that if Juzo were still alive, that she wouldn’t know where to look for him. She could only hope that he’d survived.

The girl staggered to her feet, slightly swaying from a lack of balance, and stretched her arms into the air. “Alright,” she muttered to herself, “what to do now?” 

For a moment, she considered looking for an ally, someone who’d be willing to team up with her, but the thought was fleeting. With her forbidden action being as fragile and deadly as it was, Hana figured that it’d be best to stay alone for now, what with Munakata on the hunt. She counted the number of known victims in her head, trying to figure out who was left. 

Makoto, Kyoko, Hina, Koda, Izayoi, Munakata, Ryota, and, maybe, Juzo. 

Including herself, only nine people remained alive out of the starting seventeen. She grit her teeth. Too many people had died already. 

History was repeating itself.

Suddenly, there was a screeching sound, signalling the overhead speakers turning on. Hana glanced up, trying to find where the noise was coming from, before a voice came through. 

“Makoto Naegi.”

Munakata—!

“If you’re awake, I assume you’ve figured out what Kirigiri’s forbidden action was.”

She took a sharp breath and her body went rigid. Kyoko…? Her forbidden action? Hana’s eyes widened with shock. 

Is Kyoko dead?!

The voice on the speakers continued, but Hana was only half listening as she repelled the urge to throw up. The pit in her stomach only continued to grow as she heard Munakata call Makoto to confront him alone. He was planning to kill Makoto, she’d already known that; but now, with Kyoko dead, he would be falling right into Munakata’s trap, spurred on by emotion and his relentlessness to push forward. That’s just always how he is — how he was back then too — and Munakata would be anticipating that.

Hana rushed from the room she’d taken shelter in, scanning the halls for anyone else. If Munakata was able to use the loudspeakers, then he should be in the broadcasting room, so if she just avoided there, then she would be fine and she could get help to back up Makoto. It wasn’t much, but she had to try.

The walls around her were broken and beaten to hell, with blood splattered against the dark concrete and rubble scattered across the floor at every turn. The sight made her nauseous, but she had to keep moving. No matter what, she had to push forward too.

As she turned a corner, Hana bumped into something solid and lost her balance. Her ankle twinged with discomfort and she let out a pained groan as she fell backwards. “Agh… shit.” Noticing movement in her peripheral, her eyes darted up to see what, or rather who, she’d crashed into, and she was hit with a wave of relief.

“Damn it. Can’t get anywhere without runnin’ into one of you brats, huh.”

“Juzo!” Hana exclaimed, half from the reassurance to see him alive, and half out of worry that he was still loyal to Munakata. Although, she considered, after what happened between them, she couldn’t say for sure that he was still on Munakata’s side. “How are your injuries?” As the girl stood, her eyes drifted to his midsection; the tourniquet she’d wrapped around him was gone, but his wound wasn’t actively bleeding anymore. Juzo must’ve noticed the concerned look on her face, as he only scoffed in return.

“I’m fine. What’d’you care anyway?”

She made a dejected noise of acknowledgement and glanced away. “Sorry, is that a bad thing?” When he didn’t reply, Hana let out a soft exhale. “I saw what happened… between you and Munakata. I know it’s not really my place to intervene, but I couldn’t just… leave you there, ya know?”

Juzo sighed, a low growl escaping his throat, “So you saw all that.” He looked down at the ground, an expression on his face that was somewhere between anger and sadness. He clearly felt betrayed. Understandable, all things considered. “Fuck,” he cursed as he sat on a nearby slab of rubble, “this whole thing is such bullshit! How did it get this far?”

Hana stayed silent, watching the man in front of her. He was normally so aggressive and strong, but seeing his posture fall and his confidence crumble, it filled her heart with a nostalgic sadness. The same feeling that she had before, before that sickening execution, seeing someone so strong that she had nothing but admiration for collapse into weakness and despair. That feeling of helplessness as she couldn’t do anything but watch from the sidelines. It hurt to see the same thing happening yet again.

“I’m sorry…” Hana spoke gently as she sat beside him. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and keeping her gaze fixated on the floor. “...for what happened. If you hadn’t had to save me, he wouldn’t have—”

“Shut up.”

“Huh?”

“I didn’t have to save you. Hell, I thought that I should’ve let you die back there.” Juzo spat out his words with no hesitation. “Even I wondered why I bothered to step in.” Hana didn’t say anything, and only kept her eyes on the ground. “But what’s done is done. And even if I didn’t come to save your sorry ass, Kyousuke already had it in his head to betray me. Leaving you there wouldn’t have prevented anything.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Hana mumbled. “You two were so close. Why would he have tried to kill you if he didn’t think you were on Makoto’s side?”

There was a pause.

“That’s the question, ain’t it…” Juzo sighed. “I gave everything to show him I wouldn’t hesitate to kill for his ideals. I really would’ve killed that bastard Naegi with my bare hands to prove that.” He slumped over, raising his wrist to clearly see the band hanging from it, “If it wasn’t for this damn thing, I could’ve done it by now.”

“But would killing Makoto really have put a stop to all this?” the girl questioned, sending a glance over her shoulder.

“Dunno. Don’t really care either, at this point.”

Another pause, this one longer than the last.

“Then, let’s end this game.”

“Huh?” Juzo scowled at the girl. “What do you mean by that?”

Hana’s eyes glinted with determination, “The attacker is still out there, right? That’s why there’s a new victim after every time limit. So if we can find and stop the attacker before the next time limit happens, then the game should end!”

“Forget it. If you wanna get yourself killed, then go right ahead, but I’m done.” The man’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t give a shit what happens to the rest of you.”

“But you want this game to end too, don’t you? Or would you rather just stay locked up in here forever?”

“Tch. Even if you think you could find the attacker, how would you be able to stop them? They only show themselves when everybody’s knocked out, so how do you plan to fight them?” He gestured down to Hana’s leg. “And with your busted up foot, I doubt you’d be able to handle yourself if push came to shove.”

That seemed to make the girl back down, as her shoulders slumped in realization. “Well. I don’t know yet. But I still want to try, ya know?” Her eyebrows knitted together. “If I don’t do anything, it’s only a matter of time before everyone is killed off one by one. I don’t want to let that happen again.”

Juzo groaned in frustration, “Right, I get it. You’re trying to play hero just like Naegi, aren’t ya. Cause of that other killing game, right?” Hana kept quiet. “Jeez, you brats are all the same, thinkin’ you can change things by stickin’ your necks out. So damn annoying.” 

He gave her another harsh glare. “So what if I entertain your little suicide mission, huh? How do I know you aren’t just pullin’ a fast one on me, trying to get me to lower my guard?”

“What?”

“Say, hypothetically, that you’re actually the attacker. What makes you think that I can just blindly trust anything you have to say?”

Hana paused and stared at his face before sighing and closing her eyes. She moved her wrist into view, showing off her bracelet, and the message that circled around it in big, red letters. 

SUSTAINING AN INJURY THAT DRAWS BLOOD

“I haven’t shown anybody this,” Hana said quietly. “I’ve been too worried that someone would use it against me, so I’ve been avoiding everyone else.” Her voice was soft, yet full of resolve. “Earlier… even if I could’ve somehow escaped from Munakata alive on my own, one tiny cut from his blade would’ve been enough to do me in. If you hadn’t come when you did, I would’ve absolutely died... one way or another. All it would take is the smallest drop of blood, and I would be dead.”

“So, what?”

“So that means that I’m willing to put my trust in you. Maybe that’s a dumb decision, but I don’t want to doubt people anymore! And if I don’t do anything, more people will just keep dying. If that means taking a few risks, then so be it.”

“Yeah yeah, I heard you the first time. But unless we can get these stupid bracelets off, we can’t do shit. You’ve gotta accept that.” Juzo paused. This girl, as annoying as she could be, was persistent to say the least — more stubborn than he would’ve given her credit for. It reminded him of before, back when Chisa was still alive. She was persistent and determined, just like that. She wasn’t the strongest person, far from it. She was emotional and irritatingly cheerful sometimes, and the look that Hana had on her face right now looked exactly like her. 

Juzo glared at the girl for a moment, studying her expression for any hint of ulterior motive. It wasn’t like he thought she had it in her to play mind games, but with everything that's happened up to now, he couldn’t underestimate anyone. Not again. 

“Tell me something. I’ve been wondering for a while. ”

“Hm?”

“Why do you keep following me around, anyways? You’re not gonna confess your love or something, are you?”

Hana was clearly caught off guard by the question, but found herself giggling in reply. She brought up her hands to dismiss the implication. “No, no way. Believe me, I don’t have any interest in you like that.” She gave him a smug look. “Plus, I don’t really think I’m your type—”

“Get on with it.”

The girl laughed, “Got it, sorry.” A moment passed and she gazed off somewhere down the hall, a forlorn look gracing her features. “Well, it’s just that…”

“...?”

“...You remind me of someone. That’s all.”

Juzo gave her a questioning look, but she paid it no mind. “So that’s it, huh.” He’d be lying if he said the sentiment wasn’t at least a little bit mutual, but he’d rather die before saying that out loud. “Well, I couldn’t give a damn about that.”

“I know.” With a soft chuckle, Hana kept her eyes down. “It’s kinda silly, isn’t it? To try and keep someone’s memory alive by projecting them onto someone else… it’s stupid to think that’ll help anything. But even so… it’s given me a little bit of courage.” Hana faced Juzo with a bright, albeit somewhat forced, smile. “So it can’t be all bad, right?”

“Tch…” The man clicked his tongue in annoyance. “If you say so.”

The sound of a distant rumbling caught both of their attention and they shot to attention. Juzo jumped to his feet, while Hana’s entire body straightened up.

“That has to be Munakata! He should be fighting Makoto right now,” Hana exclaimed. “We have to help!”

“I told you to forget it! You’re already hurt. You shouldn’t even be walking around so much, much less trying to fight,” Juzo snapped back at her.

“But if I don’t, then Makoto’s going to die!”

“So be it! If he decided to confront Munakata, that’s his own damn business! This isn’t your fight to meddle in!”

“I’m not going to sit back and let another one of my friends get killed!” Hana shouted, standing on her wobbly legs. “If you’re going to still side with Munakata after all of this, then fine, but I’m going to try to help my friends!” She only made it a few steps before a hand gripped her wrist and forcibly yanked her backwards. 

“Don’t be stupid! Just stay here and don’t get in the way, otherwise you’ll end up dying too, you hear me?!” Juzo yelled, squeezing the girl’s arm tight so she couldn’t break free. “If you’re so fucking concerned, then I’ll handle it.”

“What are you talking about?” Hana asked, wincing at the pain in her wrist. 

“You said it yourself! The tiniest cut would be enough to kill you, wouldn’t it? So just find somewhere to hide and stay put.” He released her arm and the girl pulled back to rub the spot he’d grabbed. At this point, Juzo didn’t even know what he planned on doing, but all he knew was that this stupid girl was going to get herself killed if she tried to fight Munakata again. Regardless of how he personally felt about the matter, he knew that her determination would be useless in this situation. “You’ve already done enough, so just stay outta sight and don’t die, got it?!”

Hana stepped back, a confused look on her face, but ultimately didn’t make any more attempts to oppose him. She exhaled softly and nodded. 

“Okay.”

And without a second thought, Juzo ran off into the darkness.

—

Shit… Why’d I let myself get roped into this…?

Juzo breathed heavily, grasping at his sleeve, soaked in blood, as he staggered through the dark halls. He figured it was almost time for the next time limit, although he couldn’t be sure of that anymore. Sweat beaded on his forehead as the throbbing pain surged through his left arm, and he risked a glance down to where the bangle had once been. With his hand now gone, he was free from risk of being poisoned, but the cost of passing out from the pain wasn’t far behind him. 

“D-Damn...it…” he muttered through strained breaths, “This is… all ‘cause of… that girl…”

He thought back to their earlier conversation. He had no initial plans to take what she’d said to heart, not like this, but seems that today was full of surprises, wasn’t it? All that shit he’d said before was just a means of shutting her up at the time, but after pondering it for a while, he realized what he had to do.

He’d set off to find Munakata and Naegi, to stop them from fighting, by however he deemed necessary. Whether that be by stopping Kyousuke again, or by killing the brat that started all of this, he would end this damn game. It wasn’t until the beeping of his wristband caught his attention, to signal that the time limit was fast approaching, that he remembered Hana’s plan. As reckless as it was, he knew that if one of them were to be able to pull it off, it would be him. That’s when the solution to get rid of the bracelet came to mind, and if it took a drastic measure, then that’s what he’d do. So he endured through the pain, biting the fabric of his jacket, grinding it between his teeth as he did what needed to be done.

But now, as he wandered the empty halls, with only the ominous glow of red from the monitors to guide his path, he wondered if he’d made the right decision. He had barely any strength left, why waste it on trying to fight off the attacker when he should be preserving it just to stay standing? Bullshit...

That’s when he heard it, the sound of screaming echoing in the darkness. Was somebody getting attacked? It almost sounded like—

Juzo took off in a sprint, dashing through the hallways. Anger surged through his body like electricity, but he skidded to a sudden stop at the sight before him.

Makoto Naegi, kneeled on the floor, a knife poised to his throat. 

In a split second, Juzo was at top speed again, his strides slamming into the ground with every step.

I don’t think so, you little bastard!

One swing was all it took to knock the knife from the boy’s hands. He paused in confusion, looking around for a second before Juzo gripped him by the arm and raised him to eye-level, slamming his elbow to Naegi’s throat. He writhed and flailed under the pressure of being choked, but Juzo didn’t waver. 

“You’re the man who defeated Junko Enoshima. If you think I’m going to let you kill yourself, then you’re dumber than you look!” he growled, pressing his arm further against the boy’s neck. “You hear me, you little punk?! Not now. Not ever!”

After a few more seconds of struggling, Juzo released Naegi, letting him fall to the floor in a heap as the boy coughed and gasped for air. He looked up at the man in confused distress. “H-How are you even—?!”

Juzo picked the knife from the floor, gripping the handle. “You wanna die so bad, then allow me.” He raised the blade, fully intending to strike and end this right then, but stopped himself mid-swing when Naegi recoiled. He looked pathetic, like a small animal cowering in fear of its predator. Juzo scoffed and dropped the knife, his feet collapsing beneath him as his strength started to waver. “Dammit…”

“How are you still awake?” Makoto asked, staring at Juzo intently. That’s when the boy noticed the crimson-soaked sleeve and gasped, “Y-You cut off your arm?” He looked at the man with concerned eyes. “Well, that’s one way, I guess.”

“Figured I could make the scene before it happened…” Juzo muttered, his energy depleting quickly, “I could meet whoever’s behind this god-forsaken game face-to-face. Take out the attacker and be done with it.” 

Naegi’s eyes widened when he realized Juzo’s intention, and paused. “There is no attacker. There never was.”

“...Huh?”

“It was suicide. The victims— They were all brainwashed into killing themselves by what they saw on the monitors.” Juzo followed Naegi’s gaze up to the glowing monitor. “When the time limit was up, we were all knocked unconscious. But whoever was closest to a monitor got woken up by a special signal from their bangles. Awake and alone, they were subjected to a video. After that…” his voice trailed off, leaving the implication as it stands.

Juzo slumped over, his expression darkening. “Who did this? What sicko piece of shit thinks this is entertaining?”

“That, I don’t know. At least not yet.” Naegi raised a hand to his chin in thought. “But they wouldn’t even need to be here for it to work.”

“What are you tellin’ me? They could’ve set this up? Controlled it remotely?”

“Probably.” Naegi straightened up, sending a determined smile over in the man’s direction. “On the bright side, at least we don’t have to suspect each other anymore.”

Juzo could only laugh at what he was hearing. Rage boiled through his veins, and it took everything in him to keep himself in check. “So what are we supposed to do now? It’s all a shell game. We’ve been manipulated from some unknown other place. Killing each other like a bunch of animals.

“Yukizome. Gozu. Kimura. Some video brainwashed them into taking their own lives? All the horrible things we’ve done to smoke out the killer and it’s been us?!” Juzo gripped the handle of the knife in his fist once again, shaking with anger. He slammed the blade against the concrete, breaking it in half. “Son of a bitch!”

There was a long pause as Juzo took a breath and collected himself. Everything he’d done — everything he’d tried to prove — it was all for nothing. This entire damn game has been nothing more than a way for some bastard in a far-off place to enjoy a good show while they all chased their tails like a pack of rabid dogs. Juzo stood again, turning and taking a few steps down the hall.

“What are you doing?”

Juzo gritted his teeth. These fucking brats and their million questions. What did it matter what he did now? Why was everyone so concerned about him and whatever he was doing?! “I have somewhere to be,” he forced out. Really, he didn’t know where he was going to go, or what he was going to do. Nothing mattered anymore.

“Let’s end this game.”

He paused, stopped dead in his tracks. What the hell? Did all these survivor kids have the same brain, or was it just coincidence that this brat said the exact same useless shit that she did? Whatever, he didn’t care. He didn’t have to listen.

But of course, that didn’t stop the words from coming. “If we destroy all the monitors, that should do it,” Makoto urged. 

“Heh.” Juzo sent a glance over his shoulder. “You got any idea how many of those things there are?”

“B-But—”

“Don’t let me stop you. Just don’t expect me to help either.” With those words, Juzo continued walking. That’s right. It didn’t concern him. He didn’t give a shit what the others did anymore. But still, that uncomfortable twinge of guilt in his chest tugged at him. The same one he felt when he saved that girl’s life. Juzo tried to force the feeling down, but it stayed, regardless, and his feet stopped yet again. He remained quiet for another second before breaking the silence. “True story… I wanted you to die. I’d have gladly done it myself.

“See, I’m not a man who can just forgive and forget. I hated you. No, from the moment you walked out of Hope’s Peak High School alive, I loathed you. Despised you,” Juzo growled. “So, I’m not gonna lie, when Munakata told you to kill yourself, I thought, ‘it’s about damn time’.”

“But why?” came the feeble voice of the kid he hated so much, “I don’t…”

“Because…” Juzo glared back at him. “You defeated Junko Enoshima.” 

When he saw the confused look on Naegi’s face, he continued. “Yeah, that’s right. Bitch played me like a fiddle. I knew she was up to something, and I kept my mouth shut.” The anger he’d been feeling surfaced even faster as he balled his fist. “I had one job and I botched it. So this is the result…” Juzo raised his mutilated arm and gave the boy a pained smirk. “It’s all on me. I couldn’t stop everyone dying... I couldn’t kill you for Munakata...

“And in the end...” Juzo’s eyes narrowed, his eyes stinging and his chest throbbing, “he threw me away. Like an old pair of boots.”

“He was wrong! It’s the game!” Naegi called after him. “The man was fooled into thinking you’d gone over to the enemy!”

Juzo kept walking, gripping his injured arm as he stepped into the darkness.

“Tch… No kidding…”

And this time, he didn’t turn back.

—

“Dammit…”

He didn’t think anything mattered anymore. He knew that whatever he did at this point would ultimately be useless. But… even so…

“If I don’t do anything, more people will just keep dying. If that means taking a few risks, then so be it.”

He kept walking. Kept moving. Through the pain and the dizziness, he kept pushing forward. Was this because of that that girl said? Or because of the brat? Or were these his own thoughts? Juzo didn’t know anymore. With every blood-stained step, his breathing staggered. Every motion felt like a hundred bricks weighed on his shoulders. But he had to keep moving. As long as he was alive, then he could fight.

Juzo pushed on, making his way towards the breaker room. His movements were slow and heavy, but determined to make it there. As he stepped through the Monokuma-printed door leading into the hidden room, he scoffed at himself, at the effort he was making. “Well, damn. Guess I’m a Despair now…” he let out a dry laugh that came out as more of a cough. “Wish I could find the humor in—”

He didn’t have time to finish his sentence before his foot gave way beneath him, causing him to stumble forward and crash into the wall. A cry of pain erupted from the man’s throat as he collapsed and slid down the wall, leaving a bloody trail behind him. And as Juzo lay crumpled on the ground, bleeding out from the wounds he’d sustained, he smiled. “This is what I get for letting Enoshima off the hook…” Everything in him wanted to give up, wanted to close his eyes and fall into the depths of darkness right then. 

But he couldn’t die yet. Not until he’d finished what he said he’d do. 

Not until this fucking game came to a bitter end.

With the last quarter of strength he could muster, he pushed himself onto his knees, draping his body against the breaker room door in order to force it open. He gazed down at the long line of switches. “Always been too much of a softie,” the man grinned to himself.

Juzo reached up, struggling to move through the crippling agony, and grabbed the first switch.

“...‘Least that’s what they’ll say about me.”

—

Hana sat alone with her knees pressed to her chest. It’d been too long, and the silence was starting to drive her crazy. What was everyone else doing right now? Was anyone else even alive? The thoughts that plagued her mind had continued to worry her, but she forced them down.

Everything’s fine. We’re going to make it out of here. All of us.

Then suddenly, everything went black. Hana jumped, startled by the sudden change, but relaxed slightly when the emergency lights came on. The room she’d hidden in was then illuminated a deep red, and the girl stood up to investigate. “Does this mean…?”

She peeked out into the hallway, not seeing anyone nearby. The girl stepped out and her foot swelled up in pain at the sudden movement, but she didn’t stop. Hana staggered along the wall, looking for anyone else to confirm what she’d thought. However, she didn’t have to wonder for much longer. With one final beep, the wristband that’d acted as her shackle for the entirety of the game snapped and fell to the ground. Hana touched her wrist, finally freed from the burden of death, and she let out an exasperated breath.

Is the game finally over?

It only took a couple minutes of walking to notice a few drops of blood on the ground. Her eyes followed the trail, seeing the drops become larger and more frequent as they moved down the hall. The dots began to connect in her head, but she shook them away, not wanting to assume the worst. She followed where they led and was brought to a room she hadn’t been to before. 

“A library?” she questioned aloud, seeing multiple bookshelves lining the walls, “Or maybe a study?” Her inquiries were cut short, however, at the sight of a body coming into view from behind the couch. Hana let out a gasp at the startling sight. Ruruka lay on the ground, a singular gash across her neck, a puddle of blood recently drained from the wound. Her eyes were wide; her expression twisted in shock and pain. She must’ve been caught off guard, Hana assumed.  A closer look revealed something glinting from inside the corpse’s mouth, what looked like a piece of blue candy on her tongue.

They did say she’d been stabbed, but did Koda really do this? She was never the type to murder someone in cold blood, even if it was someone she hated.

As brutal as the scene was, Hana gulped heavily and attempted to move past it as best as she could. Ruruka probably deserved it in all honesty, as horrible as that sounded, but that didn’t make seeing her dead body any easier to handle. Once she met up with Koda and Izayoi later, she could ask them about it, but she shook her head to rid herself of the image. Ending the game was the top priority. So she continued deeper into the room.

The trail of blood, now in large puddles, led into another area, a space behind one of the bookshelves that’d been pried open, it looked like. Hana glanced inside to find a hidden room, one a lot darker than the previous one. She stepped inside, following the trail further until she entered a final door. And when she peered inside, she froze. 

That’s…!

Slumped against the back of the room, one hand on the final switch, lay the familiar figure of Juzo. She rushed to his side to check for any signs of life. Considering the amount of blood he’d lost on the way here, it was unlikely that he was still alive, but—!

“Oh God…” Hana stared into his face, eyes closed and a peaceful smile gracing his lips.

She checked his mouth for breathing. Nothing.

“No, no, damn it.”

Checked his neck for a pulse. Nothing still.

“God, please…”

She pressed her ear to his chest to listen for a heartbeat, every movement more frantic and worried than the last. Tears stung her eyes.

I can’t be too late!

But then—

Bu-bump.

A heartbeat. Faint, but still barely there.

Bu-bump.

Another one, even fainter than the last.

He’s still alive—!

Hana stood, her body shaking and her breathing ragged, and dashed from the room as quickly as her legs could move. “I promised that I wouldn’t let you die, dammit! I can’t fail now!”

She ran and ran and ran, turning every corner at top speed, searching for anyone who could help. Anybody. That’s when she heard the faint sound of voices at the end of the hallway. She didn’t know who, but she didn’t care. “Help!! Anyone, please help!!” she shouted into the darkness, praying that someone would hear her and come to her aid. 

“Fujiwara?” a voice echoed back.

As she ran farther down the hall, multiple people came into view, and tears of relief spilled from her eyes. The figures of her friends, as well as a platoon of soldiers that’d presumably been ordered to search for survivors, relieved the immense weight on her shoulders. “Makoto! Byakuya!” 

Finally, finally. They were saved.

“There you are!” Makoto exclaimed. “We hadn’t heard from you all day, we thought you were dead!”

“Don’t worry about me right now! Juzo needs help!” Hana shouted with as much conviction as she could muster. “He’s in the breaker room! He doesn’t have much time left, but he’s still alive!” She turned to Byakuya and his squad of reinforcements, in tears. “Please, we have to save him!”

Byakuya paused for a moment, taking in the information, before barking an order to his crew. “Three of you, follow Fujiwara to the breaker room and ensure Sakakura’s safety! The rest of you will follow Munakata and Naegi to stop Mitarai! Now! Go!”

“Yes, sir!”

—

The sun peered through the blinds into the hospital room, shining more light on the already blindingly white room. Juzo stirred a bit, then begrudgingly opened his eyes with a strain. He attempted to sit up, but the overwhelming pain caused him to fall backwards onto the bed.

“I wouldn’t attempt to move for a while. You won’t be fully healed for quite some time.”

“E...Eh?” Juzo struggled to see who was speaking to him, and squinted to see blonde hair and the shine of glasses being pushed up the bridge of the man’s nose. “Y-You’re… that rich kid… from the Hope’s Peak survivors…” he forced.

“Byakuya Togami, Future Foundation: 14th Division,” he scoffed, crossing his arms hastily over his chest. “I’d be offended that you don’t remember who I am, but I’ll give you a pass due to your injuries.”

“What are...you doing here? Why am I… still alive?”

Byakuya sighed, “Well, to answer the first question, it’s been about 4 hours since the killing game ended. I’m only passing through on official business to check in on the status of the remaining survivors. Naegi and the other members are also here on business as well, albeit in separate rooms.”

“Tch…”

“And as for the latter,” Byakuya continued, sending a glance over his shoulder, “this one practically begged me to save your life.”

Juzo followed the blonde’s eyes to see a sleeping girl sitting hunched over in a chair in the corner of the room. The man clicked his tongue and pressed his head back into the pillow. 

“She’s the one who found you, barely breathing, and ran all the way to come find someone and led my squad back to your location. Once my team brought you into custody, we rushed you to the medical tent. It’s a miracle that you survived, honestly.” Byakuya sent a sharp glare in Juzo’s direction. “The fact that you’re still alive is extremely lucky. I’d be sure to give her your thanks when given the opportunity.”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear ya,” Juzo sighed, but ultimately didn’t say anything else. 

“Well, now that you’re awake and are showing no signs of falling into comatose.” Byakuya stood, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It seems my work here is finished.” The man turned towards the door, taking a couple strides before stopping. “We’ll have to hold another meeting again soon to discuss the plans of the Future Foundation, but I would rest while you can. We’ll take care of everything for now.” And with that, Byakuya left. 

Juzo’d only been half listening, honestly, but he got the general gist. Still, he closed his eyes, processing everything he’d heard. The killing game was over, and he’d actually survived it. He had fully expected to die at the time, and had accepted that fact, but he made it out alive, thanks to her. He mentally laughed at himself. It was always thanks to her, wasn’t it? The only reason he was even able to end the game in the first place was because of her saving his life after being stabbed. And it was because of what she said that he kept fighting to the end.

I’m so damn pathetic, aren’t I? When did I get this soft…?

Then he drifted back to sleep.

—

Time will always pass. No matter the hardships, the tears, and the pain, life will always go on. Maybe the memories wouldn’t fade right away, not for days or weeks, even months or years, but with every passing day comes a new opportunity to make the best of your situation. 

Bad memories may linger, but life moves forward.

Hana stepped into the sun, a gentle breeze blowing wisps of her hair into her face. It’d been a week since then, and things have been getting back to normal as quickly as possible. The Future Foundation was still working on rebuilding their headquarters, as well as it’s credibility with the public, and they were still trying to figure out what to do with its remaining members. But despite all of that, the girl smiled at the bright blue sky above her.

They’d made it. Through everything, they’d made it.

“You seem awfully cheery for someone still hobbling around on one leg,” came a man’s voice from behind her. She recognized it instantly.

“What are you doing moving around out here, Juzo?” Hana turned where the voice was coming from. “You aren’t fully healed yet, ya know.”

Juzo scoffed, “I got tired of layin’ around in that stuffy room every day. Can only take so much boredom before I end up wanting to off myself.”

The girl put her hands on her hips and sighed, but made no objection. “Geez. If you keep pushing yourself, you’re only gonna have to stay longer.” She gave him a smirk. “Well, whatever. Just don’t get caught by the hospital staff.”

“Doesn’t matter to me. It’s not like I’m leaving the hospital grounds. Just gettin’ some air is all.”

“I know, but still.” She gestured for him to sit on a nearby bench and he reluctantly obliged, to which she joined him as well. After a couple moments of silence, gazing off into the distance, Hana spoke quietly. “Things have gotten pretty crazy lately, huh…” she muttered, “never expected it to end up like this…”

Juzo stared at the girl as she spoke before closing his eyes and leaning back into the bench. “I get what you mean. For one thing, I figured I’d be dead by now.” When Hana didn't reply, he changed the subject. “Did you guys ever figure out what happened to Munakata? Or where he is?”

She shook her head. “No, we didn’t,” the girl answered, “he wandered off somewhere and told us not to follow him, from what I heard. Mentioned something about bearing his own cross. I don’t think he’ll be coming back to the Future Foundation anytime soon.”

“Damn it,” Juzo huffed under his breath. “He’s always been like that. Thinking that he has to take on all of the burdens alone. He’s such an idiot.”

“I don’t think it’s stupidity.”

“What’re you gettin’ at?”

“I think he’s concerned about you and the others in his own way. ‘Course, I can’t say for sure, since I didn't really know him that well. But it seems to me like he recognizes that what he did was wrong and wants to put some separation between himself and the organization to allow for healing. 

“For both the Future Foundation and also for himself,” Hana spoke gently, “I think he needs this time alone to reflect. We shouldn’t urge him to come back if he isn’t ready to.”

“Don’t get all preachy on me,” Juzo retorted. “I know all that already.” 

The girl airily laughed a little, “Sorry…”

“So,” Hana leaned back, pulling one knee up to her chest, “what are you gonna do now? After you’re discharged, I mean.”

“Hell if I know…” the man sighed. “‘Dunno what I’m supposed to do now.”

The girl hummed in response. “Well… what do you want to do? Plan on looking for Munakata?”

“No. If he decided that he’d rather be alone, then I have no reason to chase after him anymore…” Juzo’s eyes fell to the ground. Before Hana could respond, he continued, “What about you? What are you gonna do now that the Future Foundation’s in shambles?”

“Hm, I don’t know…” She placed her chin against her knee, thinking deeply, “I think I just want to go home… wherever that is now…”

“Yeah,” the man let out a small breath, letting his gaze drift into the distance, “same…” After a few minutes, Juzo spoke up again, breaking the silence. “Hey.”

“Hm?”

He paused, his eyebrows knitting together as he tried to mentally piece together the right words, “Why…’d you bother savin’ me back there? I get the first time was to pay me back for helpin you out against Munakata, but—”

“Because… I promised I wouldn’t let you die.”

“Huh?”

Hana brushed a few strands behind her ear and looked down, “I made that promise to myself and I… couldn’t break it, no matter what.”

“What’s up with that?” Juzo snapped back, “You got some kinda hero complex?”

She gave him an embarrassed smile and an empty chuckle, “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just…” she hesitated for a second, “someone I knew was… very stubborn about keeping any promise he made. And I guess that sorta just… rubbed off on me.”

“I see how it is,” the man replied, “one of the kids from the Hope’s Peak Killing Game, right?”

A light blush appeared on Hana’s cheeks as she pressed her lips together and fidgeted her thumbs in her lap. “W-Well…”

“Lemme guess, you had a crush on the guy. Then he died, so now you feel like you’ve gotta keep up his ideals in his place,” Juzo said frankly, not wavering for a second. “Sound about right?”

The small squeak that the girl made, along with her face turning a deeper shade of red by the moment, promptly answered his question. “T-That obvious, huh?”

“Yeah, kinda,” Juzo sneered. “But whatever, it’s not like I care to pry into some brat’s love life.”

Hana glanced away, leaning her cheek against her knee once again, “I know I mentioned it before, but you kinda reminded me of him, ya know. I think that’s another reason why I told myself that I had to save you, no matter what happened.”

“Uh-huh?” Juzo paused, giving her a questioning look. “You’re still not gonna say you like me or some sappy shit like that, are you?”

“I already told you it’s not like that!” the girl huffed. 

“Just checkin’.”

“It’s more like… I dunno,” the girl thought for a moment, “you’re both so strong and aggressive and stubborn, but you’ve both got a soft side too. You care about your friends and are willing to do anything to protect those who are close to you. That’s something I really admire, so…”

“Tch, you don’t need to say anything else. I understand.” Juzo also looked away, an embarrassed expression on his face. “I’m not that big a softie.”

“I know, I know. But still…”

The two sat in silence for a while longer, watching a couple birds fly from their perch on a telephone wire. The wind blew softly. Even with all of the chaos happening around them, everything still seemed so peaceful. They still had a lot of work to do; the war against despair wasn’t completely over yet, but for now… 

Things were okay.

With a loud sigh, Hana stood. “Welp! Nothing’s gonna get done if we keep sitting around here.”

“Take it easy. Didja forget you’re still bandaged up too?” Juzo scolded. “You don’t need to push yourself either. Take your own advice for once, will ya?”

Despite Juzo’s harsh tone, Hana giggled. “Don’t worry, I’m alright. I’m mostly healed now. You’re the one in a lot worse condition, but yet here you are still walking around.”

“I’m a lot more sturdy than you are. I can take it.”

“Mhm, sure. You don’t need to act all tough.”

“Shut it.”

“Got it, sorry,” she said with a dismissive laugh. “But, I should really be getting back to the others. Gotta check in on some official Future Foundation business before I go home.” The girl gave a bright grin before turning her back to him. 

Juzo paused before pushing himself up as well, leaning heavily on his crutch. “Right. Duty calls, I guess.” He watched her back for a moment. “Hey, kid.”

“What is it?”

“If… you ever need anything. Just gimme a call, alright?”

Hana smiled softly and nodded. 

“Okay!”

- END -

[lazywriter7]

Cap-Ironman Rec Week - What-If Wednesday

It’s time to rec some Steve/Tony AUs for @cap-ironman​‘s What If Wednesday! If you loved these stories half as much as I did, please shower the authors with kudos and comments <3 

Underground by Margo_Kim:

Five years ago, Thor's Chitauri army decimated the Earth. Now what's left of humanity lives in bases under the Earth's surface, safe from the toxic atmosphere. Tony likes to think that humanity's adapted pretty well. After all, they have movie nights and dances; they're doing better than could be expected. But when he learns that the little world of safety and stability they've carved out is about to be slowly but surely destroyed, the New York Underground is left with only two options--fight or flight. Tony knows which one he wants. If only Steve weren't on the exact opposite side. Meanwhile, Natasha wants whatever option will save Clint, Pepper wants whatever option will save the base, Maria Hill wants whatever option will save everybody, and nobody's exactly sure who Loki's trying to save, but everyone's hoping it's more than just himself.

~ Apocalypse!AU. This fic reads like a movie, with all of the dramatic tension, an excellent ensemble cast, beautiful Steve/Tony moments and a breathtaking climax that’s everything you could ever want from a story like this. (With bonus phenomenal Loki moments, if that’s your kind of thing ;) )

ceaselessly into the past by shepherd:

Edge of Tomorrow/Live.Die.Repeat AU, following the movie. After earth is invaded by the Chitauri, Tony Stark is forcefully drafted into the military for a suicide mission. It ends up with him being inexplicably caught in a time loop that always seems to end with him dying horrifically. And, of course, the day was a Thursday- he had never gotten the hang of Thursdays.

~ Movie AUs/fusions are the Best Thing, especially if they’re half as well written as this one! I hadn’t watched the movie before reading the fic, and goddamn if it didn’t stun me with it’s excellent character-driven writing. Even after watching the movie, I can attest that none of it feels forced, but like Steve and Tony were meant to live, die and fall in love in this manner <3

Pulse and Beat series by sineala:

Cassino, Italy, December 1943. Special Agent Tony Stark, former Marvels adventurer, is sent to investigate a Cosmic Cube found by the Invaders -- and it's the perfect opportunity for him to rekindle his secret romance with Steve Rogers. But when Hydra attempts to steal the Cube, an inadvertent wish for help leads to the appearance of a Tony from the future of another world: Director Stark of SHIELD. This Tony is a man with a lot on his mind. He refuses to tell them anything about the future, but he seems to know much more than he should about Captain America. And something's happened that's clearly killing him inside, but he's not talking. When Director Stark's failed attempt to return home leads to the unexpected appearance of another visitor from his universe, all the lies come undone. Now there are two wars to fight, and the second one could ruin all of them.

~ If you’re thinking that no one needs to be told to read Sineala’s fics - well let me just say that this is one of my absolute favourite of their works and it hasn’t gotten nearly as much acclaim as it deserves! A fantastic canon-divergence Noir/616 crossover AU for the ages, with a sprinkling of 616 Civil War fix-it to really get you going.

strays by theappleppielifestyle:

Tony will take whatever he can get from Steve, which is pathetic, because he’s not even really friends with him.

Or, the highschool!AU where Pepper is Tony's much-needed therapist, Darcy is his parter in crime, Bruce needs to go through puberty, Clint shows up to school with bruises and Steve just wants everyone to get through this intact.

~ Highschool AUs are my secret Kryptonite - there’s just something about the emotional vulnerability of characters that age that get me sniffling. Again, no one needs to be told to read theappleppielifestyle‘s fics, but this is another one of those soft, sweet, poignant reads that deserves all of the attention in the world.

The Idiot Box by Margo_Kim:

Stephanie Rogers isn't happy to be in the 21st century, but she's even less thrilled to be on a team with Antonia Stark who seems as spoiled and self-centered as people come. She and Tony do their best to ignore each other, until their mutual insomnia causes them to bond over the new American pastime: late night television watching.

~ this author’s AU’s are just *chef’s kiss*. Featuring cis!female Steph and Tony, with some touching dynamics and laugh-out-loud moments, this is an MCU fic written pre-Avengers, which is a bit of a lovely rarity all by itself.

I’ve got you under my skin by sirona:

Five times Beijing 2008 Olympics Gold Medalist Tony Stark thinks it's going to be no more difficult a job to get ready for London 2012, than what he has just achieved. That is, of course, before Coach Fury comes to visit, and offers him a once-in-a-lifetime chance to be a part of something much bigger than himself. Swimming AU. 

~ No AU reclist is complete without a Sports!AU :D The characters here read as authentic to their canon selves, even as they’re participating in competitive sports rather than beating up bad guys - Tony’s arc in particular is really heartwarming <3

Look here, look back, look ahead by marinarusalka:

September, 1941: Returning from a mission as Iron Man, Tony Stark crash-lands in the Carpathian Mountains and is rescued by Captain America. The two heroes team up to investigate Nazi activity at a mysterious castle. But Captain America is keeping secrets that could destroy their new partnership before it has a chance to begin.

~ Some lovely, lovely IM Noir canon divergence AU <3 It also comes bundled with identity porn, and Noir verse is just such a delightful verse to soak in that you all should really go read this at once.

And finally a self-rec or two-

Even Though We Know Love’s Landscape:

But at the core, he’s the same brand of poor little rich guy that dot the shadowed corners of every charity gala, every award function. Sure, maybe it comes in a ‘genius billionaire playboy philanthropist’ package… but his mettle is common iron. A drop of sea water, a dash of air, and he’d rust right through.

She, on the other hand, is made of better stuff.

In which Tony compares people to weird things, Steph recites poetry and two dorks fall in love.

~ AU with cis!female Steve, with all the team living in the Tower and a bunch of feels, fluff and poetry thrown in for good measure :D 

Swing City:

“Of all the places you could go to on holiday, you had to pick the one where everything can possibly kill you.”

“I’m here on exchange, actually.” Steve returned primly. "And I’m pretty sure nothing can kill me in a gallery.”

“That’s the tragic bit. You’re in a gallery.” Sam’s tone was impressively flat, even for him. “You’re in Australia. Go hiking in the bush with the poisonous snakes. Surfing with the murderous jellyfish.”

Spoiler alert: Tony's in Australia too. And he's a swing dancer.

~ Is this a kind-of college!AU+Dancer!AU set in Australia, with Steve still as Cap? Yes, yes it is. I had a rollicking good time writing it, plus all of Steve’s Man Out of Time feels, so you’ll get no apologies from this quarter :D

[atamascolily]

more CotJ meta, because apparently I cannot be stopped

I don't understand how essence transfer works in Children of the Jedi.  It seems... wildly inconsistent depending on what is narratively convenient at the time.

I don’t know why Callista is able to make the jump from her original body to the Eye of Palpatine’s gunnery computers and then from the computers to Cray’s body without (much) issue, while poor Nichos couldn’t. Maybe it's because Callista had received secret Jedi training from her master that Nichos didn’t have access to? Or because it would interfere with Hambly’s plot to give Callista Cray’s body? 

(I think we all know the answer to this, but I’m gonna go through all the arguments anyway.)

Luke does float the idea of Cray creating a droid-body for Callista to inhabit, which Cray and Callista both reject, but for wildly different reasons.

   “You said Djinn Altis showed you—taught you—to transfer your self, your consciousness, your … your reality—to another object. You’ve done it with this ship, Callista. You’re really here, I know you are …”

   “I am,” she said softly. “There’s enough circuitry, enough size, enough power in the central core. But a thing of metal, a thing programmed and digitalized, isn’t human, and can’t be human, Luke. Not the way I’m human now.”

So Callista’s argument is basically that a giant ship is big enough to contain her spirit, but a droid wouldn't be? How did Exar Kun manage this, then? I mean, granted, he was evil, and had low standards for ethics, but still... I don’t get it.

I get her main point here: she believes she's more "human" as a ghost than she would be as a droid, or with her spirit somehow “translated” as a series of zeros and ones, as Cray was somehow able to do with Nichos. And I can see why she wouldn’t want that kind of existence for herself. But I still don’t get how consciousness works in this novel, and why Callista can’t transfer herself--her real self--into a different object, the way she did before, instead of being “translated” by Cray into a digital copy.

This also begs the question of how much Callista's HUMAN spirit is influenced by thirty years in the computer core, which the novel doesn't address, but fics like Deaka's "Blue Screen" on FFN are fortunately there to fill the gap.

Here’s Cray’s take on Luke’s request to “fix” Callista:

   “To turn her into what Nichos is? To cannibalize parts from the computers, wire together enough memory to digitalize her, so you can have the metal illusion around to remind you what isn’t yours—and can’t be yours? I can do that … if that’s what you want.”

   ...“Not the way you and I are human.” Cray came over to them, her blond hair catching fire glints in the greasy light. “Not the way Nichos was human. I should never have done it, Luke,” she went on. “Never have … tried to go up against what had to be. My motto was always ‘If it doesn’t work, get a bigger hammer.’ Or a smaller chip. Nichos …”

   She shook her head. “He doesn’t remember dying, Luke. He doesn’t remember a switchover of any kind. And as much as I love … Nichos … as much as he loves me … I keep coming back to that. It isn’t Nichos. He isn’t human. He tries to be, and he wants to be, but flesh and bone have a logic of their own, Luke, and machinery just doesn’t think the same way.”

   Her mouth twisted, her dark eyes chill and bitter as the vacuum of space. “If you want me to, I’ll make you something that’ll hold a digitalized version of her memories, her consciousness … But it won’t be the consciousness that’s alive on this vessel. And you’ll know it, and I’ll know it. And that digitalized version will know it, too.”

So Cray rejects it because she doesn’t want Luke to make the same mistake she did: of seeing a replica as the original. And she makes a point of calling herself out on her attachment to Nichos, so much so that she warped and twisted her life to try and hold onto to him when she couldn’t. And she’s telling Luke not to do the same thing with his own life--which he will of course ignore.

I'm used to thinking of identical digital files as interchangeable, but that's not the case here when you're downloading human consciousness. There's also this idea that the droid/digital versions isn't "real," which is also worth chewing on, but a whole 'nother philosophical debate in and of itself.

But Cray's other point is also worth considering: the body we inhabit has qualities of its own that are impossible to deny; they shape our experiences of the world. This is why I'm absolutely floored that nobody ever follows up on Callista's experiences in Cray's body--how she's able to just smoothly take over, and the only issue ("software bug"?) is that she can't access the Force. This is... probably not how it works. I wrote a fic about this, but it only scratched the surface of the story possibilities for dysphoria and "body-as-a-character".  

(I solve this problem of essence transfer in other fics by arguing that it only works smoothly--i.e., with minimal dysphoria and a complete transfer of Force powers--if your spirit jumps to a physical clone of your original body. This explains why clone!Palpatine can access the Force, while Callista can't, because Cray's body 'recognizes' Callista's spirit as foreign to itself and is continually fighting her, so much so that all her Force abilities are tied up in holding her in that body--which is also Force-sensitive.)

Also, re: robot bodies and human consciousness, I’m reminded of a passage in Yeats’ “Sailing to Byzantium” here:

   Once out of nature I shall never take    My bodily form from any natural thing,    But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make    Of hammered gold and gold enamelling    To keep a drowsy Emperor awake...

"Sailing to Byzantium" is all about what it means to be old in a failing body, right from the opening line--"That is no country for old men". And while it's poetry and there are a lot of ways to interpret, one valid take is that it's about shedding your bodily form to become a robot/artificial construct so you can live forever, and I have a lot of Feels about that in relationship to Star Wars. (Paging Anakin Skywalker!) But I digress.

Going back to CotJ.  an additional problem is that any physical components will be carrying the malvirus of the Will:

   “Thank you, Cray. And don’t think I’m not tempted. I love you, Luke, and I want … I want not to have to leave you, even if it means … being what I am now, forever. Or being what Nichos is now, forever. But we don’t have the choice. We don’t have time. And any components, any computers, you take from this ship, Cray, will have the Will in them as well.

I don’t know why she can’t jump to an object unconnected with the Will--like, say, her lightsaber. Isn’t Exar Kun using a big statue of himself as an anchor? I mean, it’s kinda of impractical compared to being inside a computer, but maybe it could be a temporary thing until Luke is able to build her a ship of her own??

(A lightsaber would be a really good choice as an anchor because of the kyber crystal inside, which Callista may or may not have a working relationship with if you hold them to be sentient or partially sentient beings...? There's fic potential there, that's all I'm saying.)

(As a further aside, in my Star Wars/Portal crossover “Testing Limits,” I postulate that the Will is a GLaDOs-like uploading of a human consciousness into digital form. I still believe that holds true for canon, even though there’s not much supporting evidence other than that the Will is set up as foil to Callista and it adds to the incredibly Gothic atmosphere. Either the Will is human consciousness, or it’s modeled after human consciousness for maximum Uncanny Valley effect because Luke is always describing it as having a presence and malevolent intentions, and Callista is always fighting it.)

So Barbara Hambly spends a lot of time establishing that Cray's body is the only viable (hah!) option for Callista, which will be important later on. But let's get back to Nichos for a minute, and his failure with essence transfer. 

It's weird because at the beginning of CotJ, Cray talks about Nichos transferring his SPIRIT to the droid body using the Force and Ssi-ruuk entechment--which sounds eerily identical to what Callista did thirty years earlier--but they know something's wrong right away when Nichos can't use the Force. Cray's all "I can fix that, it's a technical difficulty!" but Luke knows better. Everyone knows, except for Cray.  

I think THAT is the moment where Luke and Cray should have had a Talk, when it was absolutely clear to everyone that whatever Cray was doing hadn't worked--that she'd succeeded in making a digital copy, and the original Nichos was actually dead.

Instead, Cray buries all her considerable energy into "fixing" Nichos mechanically. She believes with enough research, she can shape the droid Nichos into a human being... which doesn't solve the fundamental problem and misses the point entirely.

He heard her voice, its usual brisk sharpness honed to the brittleness he’d heard in it more and more in the past six months...

“It’s really just a matter of finding a way to quadruple the sensitivity of the chips to achieve a pattern, instead of a linear, generator. ... Hayvlin Vesell of the Technomic Research Foundation spoke in an article of going back to the old xylen-based chips, because of the finer divisibility of information possible. When I return to the Institute—”

“That’s what I’m trying to impress on you, Dr. Mingla—Cray.” Tomla El’s voice was a murmuring concert of woodwinds. “This may not be possible no matter how finely you partition the information. The answer may be that there is no answer. Nichos may simply not be capable of human affect.”

“Oh, I think you’re wrong about that.” She’d gained back the smooth control in her voice. She might have been speaking to a professional colleague about programmatic languages. “Certainly a great deal more work needs to be done before we can dismiss the possibility. I’m told also that in experiments with accelerated learning, at a certain number of multiples of human learning capacity, tremendous breakthroughs can occur. I’ve signed up for another accelerator course, this one in informational patterning dynamics …”

Her voice faded down the corridor. A great deal more work, thought Luke, hurting for her, pressing his hand to his brow. It was Cray’s answer to everything. With sufficient effort, sufficient maneuvering, any problem could be surmounted, no matter what the cost to herself.

And the cost to herself, he knew, had been devastating.

I actually really like Cray's arc in this novel--that she's forced to drop the perfectionism and workaholism she uses to block her considerable pain, and comes to accept the situation as it is, and finds peace in doing so. I just wish this realization didn't culminate in assisted suicide, that's all.

(That said, this scenario gets 100% creepier if you imagine flipping the genders here--if “Dr. Mingla” was a male scientist resurrecting his female lover in a droid body. I wonder if Luke would have intervened sooner in that case, instead of just assuming Cray had everything under control because she was an expert?)

While we're on the subject of "by any means necessary" and "avoiding one's problems": in contrast to Cray, Callista's original decision to transfer her spirit to gunnery computer to watch over it is framed as laudable. But even there, there are hints all is not well:

“It wasn’t … so bad, after a time. Djinn had taught us, had theoretically walked us through, the techniques of projecting the mind into something else, something that would be receptive, to hold the intelligence as well as the consciousness, but he seemed to regard it as cowardly. As being afraid or unwilling to go on to the next step, to cross over to the other side. Once I was in the computer …”

I.e., there's a reason why essence transfer is mostly practiced by the Sith--because it's a kind of clinging to life, or a version of life, rather than embracing what is and moving on...

Also, I don't see anything in this explanation that requires computing capacity, as Callista will claim later, so... *shrugs* I don't know what's happening there. CotJ has this weird relationship between the Force and tech, where Luke can physically manipulate objects with his mind, even though the Force is only generated by "life", but Irek remote-starting the Eye of Palpatine or controlling Artoo-Detoo is seen as "impossible" and novel. And yes, Irek does have special training and tech augments to help him, and I like the implication this is a specialized skill, but...like I said at the beginning, I don't get how this all works except for “narrative convenience” and “authorial fiat”. 

Anyway, CotJ strongly implies that Cray was misguided to cling to Nichos and to pursue "life" for him at all costs, for both Nichos and herself. Yet somehow when Callista does it, it's okay, because Luke loves her... even though Callista herself is way more ambivalent about what she's done, and her acknowledgment that

“Everything has to be paid for... I should have known there would be a risk... I might have guessed there would be a price.”

And I think that's one reason I like Children of the Jedi so much: that there IS a cost, that there ARE consequences, and not even magic space wizardry can fix or solve every problem. I like that Callista pays a price for the ethically dubious act she does--somewhat, but not entirely mitigated by circumstances, and by Cray's eagerness to participate in this (unprecedented?) experiment.

Also, you want more nightmare fuel? I just realized last night we only have Callista's word for what went down on the ship in its last moments--that, and it seems 100% in keeping with Cray's state of mind leading up to this, to the point where Luke was afraid to leave her alone because he was worried she was going to hurt herself. It gets even creepier when you realize Callista's ghost immediately volunteers to sit with Cray after Luke realizes this,  and I can't help but wonder what happened between the two women when Luke isn't around to witness it.

Callista's account at the end makes it sound like Cray realized at the last minute that she wanted to follow him--that it was an impulsive decision, somewhere in between stunning Luke and stuffing him into the shuttle and the destruction of the Eye of Palpatine--but I wonder. I really wonder. Cray and Callista clearly had time to plan a "what if Luke doesn't cooperate?" scenario and leave a recording for him to find in the shuttle, so I wonder how exactly the whole "you can have my body, I don't want it" conversation went down. There's a fic in there for sure.

But even taking Callista 100% at her word, I like the irony that she chooses to go along with Cray's scheme in part because she's so in love with/emotionally attached to Luke (just as Cray can't let go of Nichos and Luke can't let go of Callista)--only to eventually realize that there's something she values more than her relationship with him, namely her own life, and her own relationship to the Force, which has always been a part of her life and is now "missing". Cray chooses to die for love, Callista chooses to live for love... only to set it aside, because LIFE is more important to her than her love for one specific human being... just like she sacrificed her own life to destroy the Eye, and left her first lover in the process... PARALLELS, Y'ALL. I LOVE ME SOME NARRATIVE FOILS, YO.

Anyway, this got long and rambling, but I believe my initial thesis that essence transfer is wildly inconsistent and the results depend almost entirely on narrative convenience still stands.

[ferociousqueak]

Self-Promo Meme

@mordinette tagged me for the thing! The Thing is to post the first lie of my last 10 fics and then tag 10 people. Because I only have 13 fics total posted, I’ll just go for all of them. This is a self-promo meme after all, right?

The Family Resemblance Crew

First, here’s the series I’m working on. It follows the early life of Allistair Shepard and the people who influenced her into being the Commander Shepard who saves the galaxy.

Hawks and Doves (completed)

The news about Shanxi broke like windows in a hurricane. The age-old question of whether humanity was alone in the universe had been settled once and for all, and the neighbors weren’t exactly on the doorstep offering fresh-baked cookies or casseroles. The atmosphere at Arcturus—always alive with busyness—had escalated to frenetic, with troops and ships mobilizing, officers barking orders, and couriers navigating the current of soldiers and civilians alike, racing from one end of the station to the other. The Second Fleet would be sent first, would be the first human military unit to engage a sentient, nonhuman enemy.

Family Resemblance (in progress, also an alphabet fic)

A is for asari, who found the Citadel.

Between the Letters (in progress and likely to stay that way, mostly a collection of one-shots)

Omega. It had been all of thirty seconds since Sana had stepped off the transport, and she was already reaching for the menthol balm she knew wouldn’t be in her pocket. She’d done plenty of rotations in the morgue during her years of internship on Thessia—she hadn’t expected to find the same here on the fringes of the Terminus Systems.

All’s Fair (in progress, bridging the gap between chapters J and K in Family Resemblance)

From the moment she woke, Hannah knew it was going to be one of those days. Yes, she was generally on edge. Yes, she was wound tight as a drum over the upcoming Armistice Day Gala. No, she hadn’t chosen a dress yet. But all of that paled in comparison to the ache in her right knee. Even fifteen minutes of stretching and massaging achieved only the barest bit of relief. It was definitely going to be a brace day.

Three Times Hannah Shepard Spent New Year’s Eve Alone, and One Time She Didn’t (what it says on the tin)

It wasn’t technically New Year’s Eve. At least, not on Mars. That was still a few months away, but as far as Hannah could tell, that just meant the base would have another reason for a party. Which meant Hannah would take an entire week amping herself up to socialize with the other military wives and husbands just to spend another evening standing with an empty red cup at the edge of conversations she had little hope of entering.

Non-Family Resemblance crew

Other Shepards and themes have called to me over the years, and I’ve answered that call the best I can :D

Live to Fight Another Day (I’m not sorry)

She can’t make the choice. If she controls the Reapers, there’s no guarantee they won’t kill everyone eventually anyway. If she synthesizes all organic and artificial life, she will have committed the greatest atrocity against sentient life the galaxy has ever known. If she destroys the Reapers, she will usher in the genocide of the geth and EDI.

Peace at Last

A bright green thread of life binds the galaxy together in a peace it has never known before. Organic and synthetic no longer have meaning. Every mind has shed the chains of both states and ascended to something greater, more profound, limitless.

When We Stop Reacting to Our Parents (my recurring theme of parent-child relationships is especially apparent here)

Sanctuary had been … unsettling. If Garrus had seen it three years ago, he might’ve thought it was something particular to humans, a testament to some moral deficiency inherent to the entire species. But turning against one’s own in hopes of self-preservation, however misguided? He’d seen enough now to know that was just people.

The Start (my Cassandra Shepard first starts to consider a relationship with Thane)

It doesn’t happen right away. In all honesty, there’s something about Thane that bothers Cassandra at first. He’s so … still. In her experience, the only people that still are predators, killers. But then, he admits it, completely unabashed. He’s a killer. Just like she is.

Alone Time (A brief Vetra/Ryder fic, but I very much want to write that girls’ night out that Vetra and Peebee talked about in a Leverage-style fic)

Ryder’s hands were steady, despite the tangle of sheets that ensnared both her and Vetra. Her concentration was unbreakable, and each stroke brought her closer to the completion of her task. On the field, Vetra admired Ryder’s single-minded focus, how she seemed to tune out distractions to get the job done—whether that job was activating a monolith to fix a planet or finding just the right case of beer to bring back to the Nexus for Kesh. In their moments alone, when that focus was turned on Vetra, it was like the rest of the world ceased to exist.

Light in the Dark (ever wonder about Vetra and Sid’s early years together? I got you covered!)

A keen that could wake the dead jolted Vetra out of a deep sleep for what felt like the hundredth time. She wasn’t sure why she was surprised anymore, but it still took her a moment to compose herself. She looked at the clock and sighed. Only two more hours until she had to be up and headed back to the construction site. The mine would be ready for operations in only a few more weeks, so she had to get as many shifts in before she had to leave this asteroid and look for another one.

Resurrection and Life (not really any one of my Shepards in particular, but still my take on a post-Lazarus, Shakarian Shepard)

Shepard had been afraid—terrified, even—as she gasped at her rapidly diminishing oxygen supply, never sure which would be the last breath until . . .

Having Your Cake and Eating It Too (pre-relationship Vega tries to make Shepard feel better while she’s under house arrest)

Vega had to read his assignment five times before it sank in fully. Security detail usually wasn’t nearly as exciting as it sounded when he was still a fresh recruit—when he imagined enemies around every corner or in the vents or scaling the side of a building to get to an asset, or the asset themselves arranging complicated escape plans he had to be vigilant to thwart. In reality, security detail was 90% standing in front of doors, 8% escorting the asset to and from the bathroom, and 2% delivering meals.

Now for tagging :D how about @pagerunner, @ripley95things, @dearophelia, @forlornmelody, and @bronzeagelove. No obligations, of course!

[auroraphilealis]

Opening Up to You

Opening Up to You | It’s October 31, 2009, and Dan and Phil aren’t together yet. Dan would very much so like to remedy this, if Phil will let him. And, well, maybe Dan is also ready to experience a sexual awakening. | Phan | Mature | 2009, Smut, Blowjobs, Frottage, Anal, Powerbottom!Dan, Confident!Dan, First Time, Confessions, Getting Together, Halloween | 11,137 Words

Written for the @phanfichallenge’s Anti-Trope Challenge, which you can find (here). The anti-trope challenge challenges us to write a fic using a known trope and put a spin on it - so I chose 2009 and their first time and shifted it over to Halloween, as well as making Dan as confident as can be <3

If you were wondering, as I have yet to introduce it to my readers, the phanfichallenge is a blog I created to challenge phanfiction authors via prompts with a twist! By taking part in these challenges, you get to win things like badges (images our admins have created!), and as time goes on, unlock achievements and the Hall of Fame! I hope to see you guys there <3

Endless thanks to @imnotinclinedtomaturity who made this not only 3K words longer than it was when I first wrote it, but for making it about ten times better than it was in it’s original form. You’re honestly the best <3

Disclaimer: In no way do I pretend that this is real or cast aspersions on Dan or Phil.

(ao3)

They smell like crappy beer, and the grease from the fish and chips they'd had earlier. Dan can feel that his face paint has smudged, more likely than not making him look like a complete and utter ponce under the flickering, fluorescent lights of his bedroom. Phil looks amazing beside him, though, as always. His own face paint has smudged, but in a cute way, the whiskers of his cat face beginning to blur until half of Phil's cheeks are a hazy sort of grey.

The color makes him look softer than he usually does. Dan isn't sure he's ever seen Phil out of control before, but in the low light of Dan's bedroom, hazy with the slightest bit of alcohol, and clothing rumpled from the push and pull of other bodies against them on the train home, Phil looks soft. The tension that usually holds his shoulders tight and rigid when he's around the world, the awkward, anxiety ridden mess that Dan knows him to truly be, seems completely dissipated here.

Maybe that's why Dan feels confident enough to step forward and let his hands fall to Phil's hips, the brown of the weird sleeve bit of his bear costume pressing ever so softly against the soft bit of Phil's sides that peak out from under the purple check of his shirt. Dan finds his eyes drawn to the squishy bit of skin there, the little bit of pudge that reminds Dan that Phil is real and alive and human, that no matter how perfect Dan thinks his best friend is, he's just the same as Dan, in the end.

The thought is reassuring. It, like the slow buzz of alcohol running through Dan's veins, allow him to drag his gaze up from the hem of Phil's shirt to look into his eyes.

Dan's parents aren't home. They're away for the weekend, at some kind of retreat their friends planned, allowing Dan a night of frolicking for Halloween. Dan's sure they know he got himself drunk, sure they know he isn't behaving like they asked him to, and he wonders, for just a moment, if they know what he's doing upstairs right now.

"Dan?" Phil asks, drawing him back and away from his thoughts. The blue of his eyes is hypnotizing. Dan can feel himself getting lost inside of them all over again, but Phil is talking. And Dan doesn't know how to not listen when Phil is talking.

"Dan, how drunk are you right now?"

"Buzzed, maybe," Dan answers earnestly. He can feel Phil's breath as it fans across his face, that's how close they are.

They've never done this before. Dan's never done this before. For how many days he and Phil had spent alone, together, at Phil’s house that week in October, Dan doesn't know how they haven't.

"Are you -"

"Phil," Dan says, cutting his best friend off. He can see the turmoil resting in his eyes, knows what Phil is thinking, but Dan isn't backing down. Not this time. Not when Phil looks so young, for once; not when he looks unguarded, and open, and Dan just wants to take.

He lets his fingers curl more firmly around Phil's hips, lets his fingers trail up so they're brushing actual, real, skin, and he stares at Phil with the most unguarded expression that he can manage.

He wants this. He’s wanted this for months. He wants Phil, and he’s been after him since the first time they actually skyped and Dan realized this was real. He’d broken up with his girlfriend that weekend, a relationship he’d been holding on to for far too long and which had burnt out ages ago. Phil had just been the one to make him see it, finally truly see it.

Now they’re home alone, and they’re tipsy, maybe, or at least Dan is, and he wants more than he’s ever wanted anything else in his life.

“Are you?” Dan blurts out, a little belated. He’s not sure if he’s tipsy from the desire rushing through his veins, and the way Phil’s eyes make him feel, or if it’s the alcohol blurring his thoughts, but he’ll admit that he’s a little bit intoxicated - off of Phil, and the shitty beer, and the situation they find themselves in right then.

Phil’s lips part slightly. Dan can see the teeniest hint of teeth, a soft pink tongue darting out to lick dry lips. Phil’s eyes are wide, pupils dilated, and he hasn’t drawn away yet. Dan doesn’t know if Phil wants this, doesn’t know if Phil sees him the same way Dan sees Phil, but he does know that he has to try. He can’t hold back any longer.

Dan has always been the kind of guy to reach out and take what he wants. He hides behind flirty words and self deprecating humor, but he’s never been one to shy away from a confrontation, not really. He’s never been one to back down once he’s made a decision, and tonight, Dan has made a decision.

“No,” Phil finally replies. Dan watches as his eyes dart from Dan’s, down to Dan’s lips, and back up. “Tipsy, at most. The greasy food helped,” Phil continues, clearly attempting to lighten the mood, to distract from the sudden heavy atmosphere sitting between them. He even lets out a soft chuckle, the husky sound of which goes straight to Dan’s dick, and Dan groans. He lets his eyes fall shut, lets his fingers tighten further, lets Phil know just how much Dan wants him, how much he needs him.

“Then you agree,” Dan says, opening his eyes, “That we’re both in our right minds enough to consent?”

Dan’s eyes bore into Phil’s, daring. Phil swallows, the movement so thick and loud in the quiet of Dan’s dim bedroom. Dan sees Phil’s adam’s apple bob, and more than anything in the world, he wants to get his mouth on it. He wants to litter Phil with bruising kisses to rival any Phil has ever gotten before. He wants to make love to every last inch of Phil’s skin, to shower the man in attention, and prove to him that Dan is worth it.

Worth whatever comes their way.

“Dan,” Phil breathes. He looks so uncertain, so hesitant, that it twists at something in Dan’s gut. That’s not the kind of look that Dan wants to see on anyone’s face, let alone someone he’s trying to woo. Let alone someone he wants to take to bed, to ask to be his boyfriend. He finds his own expression falling, and he pulls away despite every nerve in his body screaming at him to keep holding on to Phil’s hips, to keep their faces so close together that they can feel each other breathe.

Dan wants to kiss Phil more than he’s ever wanted anything else in the world, but he pulls away, because he’d never do anything to risk the friendship he’s cultivated here. Phil means more to Dan than sex.

Dan’s movement away causes Phil to let out the smallest, saddest whimper Dan has ever heard, and his eyes snap back up to look at him, to take in the way he bites his lip and stares like his heart is falling out of his chest. Dan doesn’t understand, but no matter how badly he wants to move back forward and bask in Phil’s touch, he knows that they need to talk first.

“What do you want from me, Phil?” Dan asks, before he can question what he’s saying, before he can decide that this is not the time, nor the place. This is the time. This is the place. Dan doesn’t want to dance around this anymore. He just wants Phil.

Phil closes his eyes. He looks so sad and confused that Dan wants to reach inside of his own chest and rip out his heart for making Phil feel this way. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but he does know that he wants to fix this.

Phil doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even open his eyes. He looks so goddamn pained. The place between his brows is creased in a way that makes it look like Phil is crumpling in on himself, and Dan can practically see him trembling. He doesn’t know if Phil is holding himself back, or getting ready to reject Dan, but Dan can’t stop the next words that come out of his mouth.

“Because I want everything from you,” he says. “Because I want all of you.”

Phil’s eyes snap open and he stares up at Dan, blue eyes so, so fucking wide. Dan can’t remember the last time he saw Phil blink as much as he has in the last five minutes, but this expression, this expression is new. Phil is never lost for words, never surprised. He takes everything in stride and leaves Dan feeling like an awkward, unstable mess who doesn’t have any idea what he’s doing in the world.

There was a time when Dan thought he always looked effortlessly self assured, but he is nothing compared to Phil, who flirts back with such vigour that Dan wonders how he got so comfortable with it, and who laughs at Dan’s more sexual jokes as if they don’t send heat straight to his belly, and says the most outlandish and meaningful of things without breaking a sweat.

The first time Phil called Dan his best friend, it had come so far out of left field that Dan had blurted out, “Do you mean that?” and Phil had looked at him like he was the most precious thing on Earth.

Now, now Phil looks at Dan like he broke the goddamn world, or something. Dan doesn’t know what to do with that. All he can do is stare back helplessly, and shrug with a soft half-smirk on his lips to show Phil that he meant it; he meant every goddamn word, a little tipsy or not, and he’s never going to take them back.

“How do you know?” Phil asks. The words sound strangled, like he’s half forced them out, and half blurted them out, completely out of his control. His gaze is almost manic, terrified, vulnerable.

Dan finds himself stepping back into Phil’s personal bubble, letting his hands fall back to his waist, rucking up the bottom of his shirt and feeling a zing of heat rush through him at the touch of Phil’s warm skin under the palm of his hands. He can feel himself hungering for Phil. He’s dizzy with it. He licks his lips, eyes smoldering.

Phil stares back.

“I just do,” Dan says, because for all the words and the thoughts swirling around in his head, he doesn’t know how to articulate it.

Phil’s expression falls further, and he lets out a breathy sigh. He reaches up with long, pale hands and cards his fingers through his own hair, pushing his fringe up and back into a quiff, exposing the long length of his pale forehead.

He looks so gorgeous like this. He looks so gorgeous in every way. Dan wants nothing more than to lean in and press soft kisses to his forehead, and take care of him forever.

The world looks at Dan like he’s a twink, he knows they do. The world looks at Phil and thinks of him as an adult. They look at Dan and Phil together and they assume that Phil is the one who takes care of Dan, and he does, he does, but Dan wants to take care of Phil too. Dan is bigger than Phil. His shoulders are broader, his hands are larger, and he’s the big spoon when they do cuddle. Phil fits perfectly against his chest despite the fact that he’s taller than Dan, and Dan thinks that he could - that he could take care of Phil in ways that Phil has never been taken care of before.

Dan’s never had sex with another man. But he wants to, more than anything. He wants to show Phil that he is so much more than the emo kid who has the existentialist crises in the middle of the night, who cries and talks about depression and admits that he’s not all right. He wants to be the guy who can show Phil that he can be in control, too, that he can take care of Phil, too, that he can hold up Phil the same way that Phil has supported him and that he isn’t just some gay twink who wants to take Phil’s dick up the ass (though he does, god does he).

If only Phil would give him the chance.

“Dan,” Phil says, breaking him out of thoughts once again. Phil’s staring, only this time his eyes are somehow more intense. The displeasure, the pain and worry, is so much deeper, but he’s staring at Dan with a certain kind of single-mindedness that Dan recognizes. It’s the feeling that got him to reach out to Phil in the first place, to sync their lives up, and then, right now, to confess and trust that it was going to turn out alright.

“I don’t want to ruin what we have,” Phil finally confesses, and finally, finally, Dan sees his own fears reflected back at him. This isn’t a rejection. It’s so much more than that.

Phil doesn’t give him a chance to respond.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before,” Phil admits. The dogged single minded look is still secure and in place, but anxiety bleeds through Phil’s voice. He sounds nervous. Dan has never seen him like this before.

Confident Phil had never laid bare his insecurities to Dan before. Dan is desperate for him to continue.

“I don’t know what it all means, but I do know that I can’t lose you, Dan.”

Dan feels his chest tighten, the overwhelming urge to reach forward and kiss Phil surging so quickly through him that for a moment, he feels himself rocking forward before he catches himself and holds still. He won’t. Not yet. Not until he knows that it’s okay. Not until he’s sure that Phil won’t hate him in the morning.

For all the confidence Dan had been feeling before, it’s fading fast. But at the same time, it’s building in his chest, because Phil hasn’t said no.

“You won’t,” Dan finally says. He swallows, watches the ghost of doubt flash across Phil’s face, and speaks before Phil can tell him, “you don’t know that.”

“You won’t lose me, you know why?” Dan asks, pulling Phil flush against him and noticing with a sense of pride that Phil doesn’t resist the pull of Dan’s body against his. “Because whatever this is? I know it’s strong enough to take on anything. Phil…”

His face is so close now. So goddamn close that Dan would do anything to close the last little gap between them. He doesn’t. Instead, he lets his hands speak for him, running his fingers in small circles against Phil’s skin, and feeling Phil shudder in response to the touch. Dan lets his hands wander up, and then back down, exploring and comforting all in one. He just wants to touch.

Phil’s breathing is heavy. He looks so unsure, but Dan can see now - he can see the lust hiding in the way that his pupils have blown wide, and it gives him the confidence to admit to something he knows he shouldn’t be feeling so soon, but that every fibre of his being knows is true.

“I love you.”

It’s a bombshell. Dan knows that it’s a bombshell, but he doesn’t hold it back. He lets the terror and the adrenaline rush through him as the words burst free, watches Phil’s eyes go wide, and finds himself laughing at the look of pure, stunned disbelief on Phil’s face.

He means every goddamn word.

“I’m in love with you, every part of you. It’s more than… than hero worship, or your celebrity status, or whatever. I’m in love with you, Phil Lester, the man who hides behind AmazingPhil and the guys who laughs at my corny jokes,” Dan says, letting his hands drift back to Phil’s hips, squeezing lightly because he’s nervous and he doesn’t want to let go. “I’m in love with every last bit of your quirky mind, the way you think, and how you express yourself. I’m in love with your self confidence, and the way you hold yourself tall in the face of adversity, and I know that I would do anything to make sure that I never lose you. Phil,” Dan trails off, his breathing heavy and strained, his eyes threatening to fall shut as he stares at Phil, the way Phil stares back, stunned, and Dan tries not to lean in and just kiss him already.

He lets himself squeeze, lets his hands drift back up, encasing Phil’s ribcage, petting him, because it’s all that he has left now. He’s frozen, unsure, but oh so goddamn ready.

“Phil...I want everything with you. I don’t think that… more will ruin us. But I won’t push it if you say no. I swear,” he breathes.

His eyes fall shut, but he doesn’t let Phil go. His hands are like vices on Phil’s hips again because he can’t help it. Phil’s body is so fucking warm against his, everywhere they touch it feels like sparks are flying, and Dan wants so fucking much more, but he won’t, he won’t -

And then Phil kisses him.

His mouth is like nothing Dan has ever experienced before. There’s the hint of stubble rubbing against Dan’s face, and his lips are dryer than Dan’s ex-girlfriends ever were, and he doesn’t taste like anything but skin, but it’s good. It’s so fucking good because it’s Phil, and there is nothing better in the world to Dan than Phil.

Dan’s hands shift, push up under Phil’s shirt, grasp at warm skin and curl around Phil until Dan’s hugging him around the waist. He can feel how small Phil is like this, how slight and scrawny he is, but he loves it. Phil is taller than him though, so Dan has to arch his head up a little to get the perfect angle for the kiss, but he doesn’t care.

Phil’s hands come up to grasp at his cheeks, palms hot, and the feeling so intense that Dan doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s even better than the touch of his ex-girlfriend’s hands when she held his face in place, because Phil’s hands are soft, too, but they’re bigger and warmer and somehow just so much more. He never wants Phil to let go as he sucks at Phil’s bottom lip, presses his tongue up against him, and tilts his head so he can get inside. He’s kissed plenty of people before, but never Phil, and this is. This is intense. It is everything that Dan has been missing for so long.

Their noses brush together. Their breathing grows rushed and desperate. Dan can feel Phil huffing against him. He doesn’t know how far he’s allowed to take this, but he doesn’t want to stop now if he doesn’t have too. Dan finds himself sucking at Phil’s tongue, letting pleasure wash over him like a wave, and sinks into the sensation of kissing Phil Lester.

The Phil Lester. This is every dream that Dan has ever had.

When they finally pull apart, Dan is certain that his cheeks are bright red, that he looks a mess. He’s certain that his hair is mussed up from where Phil has slid his fingers in, tangling them with his locks, and yanking Dan closer, despite the fact that they were already so close that Dan couldn’t breathe.

“Wow,” Dan says, because he doesn’t know what else to say, and Phil just kissed him. Phil kissed him. Did that mean…?

“Does this mean…?”

“Yes,” Phil manages to croak out, eyes blown wide with lust as he drags Dan back in for another kiss. “Everything,” Phil whispers into his mouth, as if the sentiment hadn’t been clear enough. “I want everything, too.”

They kiss. Dan takes the lead, sucking at Phil’s lips and encouraging him to let Dan in. Phil’s still hesitant, like he doesn’t know what to do with Dan, what he’s allowed to do, but Dan doesn’t mind. He’s never been afraid to show someone exactly what he wants. Phil’s hands have moved from Dan’s hair to his neck, though, rucking up his hair in the back, and carding his fingers up his skull. Meanwhile, Dan’s hands fumble to Phil’s back, pushing up at his shirt, wanting it gone already but unwilling to pull back from Phil long enough to undo his buttons.

He’s far too distracted by Phil’s lips on his, anyway, to care much about anything else. He’s wanted this for so long, and now that he finally has it, he’s dizzy with it. His breathing is already heavy, he’s long gone to the pleasure of it all, and he can feel his cock hardening in his pants. The stupid bear costume thing he has on is far too hot. Dan feels like he’s burning up from the inside out, but he doesn’t bother to remedy this either.

Instead, he starts pushing Phil backwards towards his bed, pressing long-overdo kisses to his mouth over and over again until Phil’s knees hit the bed and he falls backwards, sprawling out just the way that Dan wants him.

He stares up at Dan with wide eyes full of desperation, and Dan doesn’t waste another second pulling the top half of of his costume over his head. He needs it off right now.

He’s not wearing a shirt underneath, but Dan is good at sex. He’s always been good at sex. He’d done well enough with his ex-girlfriend, and he knows from the comments he gets on his photobooth that guys and girls alike are attracted to his body. He knows, objectively, that he’s hot, so he doesn’t bother to hide his body from Phil as he leans back over him and kisses him, hot and hard, on the mouth.

Phil’s hands reach up to touch, and he holds Dan like he’s something precious. He caresses over naked skin, making Dan shiver from the touch, and he lets Dan plunder his mouth the way Dan wants to. One of Dan’s hands works to hold him up, while the other starts to fumble at the buttons of Phil’s shirt, until, finally, Phil starts to laugh at his jumbled attempts.

“Here,” Phil says, pulling away from Dan. His eyes sparkle with humor and affection, a far cry from the worry and insecurity that had shined in their depths earlier. His lips are curved in that beautiful smile Dan loves so much, only this time his lips are red from the suction of Dan’s, and his eyes are half-lidded in a way that bellies the feel of Phil’s cock growing under Dan’s body. Dan pulls back, watches Phil prop himself up on his elbows, and reach for his own midsection, deft, long fingers pulling at the buttons on his shirt.

Every movement sends a blaze of desire through Dan. He can’t stop staring. Phil’s fingers are so goddamn long, a sharp contrast to Dan’s stubby, thick fingers. Dan wants to hold them, to feel what it’s like to twine their hands together, to watch his own engulf Phil’s. God, just the idea of it has Dan reaching out to cover one of Phil’s hands with his, Phil’s shirt half undone and beginning to droop at his shoulders.

Phil stops and looks up at Dan, eyes soft and searching. Dan doesn’t say a word, just encases Phil’s hands with his and leans back in for a kiss.

This one is softer, sweeter. There’s a hint of teeth as Dan nips and sucks, the slide of tongue, but it’s slow now. It’s not so rushed and filled with pent-up desire. It’s a slow wave of heat through Dan’s body, making him thrum with want and need, but most of all it’s just… affection. Dan’s chest feels full with love for this man pressed up underneath him, the feel of bare flesh against bare flesh beginning to make Dan shiver.

His lips disconnect from Phil’s as he searches for air, but Phil doesn’t let up. He leans up to press kisses to Dan’s jaw, to drag the heat of his mouth across Dan’s face and down his sensitive neck, laving kisses against every inch of skin. Dan moans for the first time that night, a loud, gasp-like sound of shock that makes Phil giggle as he keeps going, moving his tongue down, down, down, until his mouth is on Dan’s clavicles and he’s properly sucking now, biting at the jut of bone that Dan knows is sexy as hell.

He can’t take it. He ruts his hips down, eyes falling shut as his hips connect with Phil’s and their cocks rub together through denim. Phil lets out a soft sounding huff against the hollow of Dan’s throat, but doesn’t let up the movements of his mouth. It feels like he’s on a mission, trying to explore all of Dan, his hands moving to Dan’s ribcage and stroking the skin there. It’s everything that Dan could ever ask for, but he wants more. So much more.

He wants his mouth on Phil, right here and right now, like he’s been dreaming about for months.

Shaking, Dan draws his body back, relieves the pressure of his cock against Phil’s, forces Phil’s mouth away from his clavicle.

Their love making is nothing like Dan had imagined it would be. It’s not rushed, or needy. It’s slow and passionate, and he just wants it to keep going. He never wants it to end.

“What’s wrong?” Phil asks, eyes sliding open now that he isn’t able to get his mouth all over Dan. Dan shakes his head, reaches for the last of Phil’s buttons, and undoes them with shaky hands.

“I want to touch you,” Dan explains, pushing himself back so he’s sat on his calves and he can push Phil’s shirt open. The worn fabric feels good against Dan’s hand, but nothing is like the way it parts and reveals every last inch of Phil’s pale skin, the slight pudge of his stomach, his love handles that Dan had been playing with earlier. He has a freckle next to his belly button, and there’s a smattering of hair on his chest, something that Dan has never experienced before. There is no swell of breasts like Dan is used to, but Dan doesn’t care.

This man is more beautiful than anyone Dan has ever seen before.

He lets his hands sweep over Phil’s chest, over pert, peaked nipples, cold from the sudden burst of air, and watches the way Phil’s entire body shivers at the touch. He twines his fingers in coarse chest hair, mesmerized, and trails his hands down to the happy trail that extends from Phil’s belly button and disappears into the v of his hips.

Dan knows what is at the end of that trail, and he wants nothing more than to touch it.

“I want to touch all of you,” Dan continues, surprised at the surety in his voice as he rips his gaze from Phil's torso and up to his eyes. He tries for flirty, is certain he misses the mark, but it doesn’t matter. His ex-girlfriend used to tell him he was so hot in bed because he said what he wanted and meant it, and he took without reserve. Dan didn’t have to be good at dirty talk to be good in bed.

Phil groans. He tosses an arm over his eyes, revealing something else Dan isn’t used to; armpit hair. Surprisingly, it doesn’t turn him off, and he stares and rakes his gaze over Phil’s long arms the same way he’s taken in every other inch of Phil.

“Phil, you’re gorgeous,” Dan continues, because he can, and because he means it, and because he wants Phil to know. “I want to get my mouth all over you, mark you up. Make you mine,” he adds, because he’s never going to not be possessive, and Phil might as well hear it from him now.

Phil doesn’t complain. He lets out another soft little whimper, his hips canting upwards, and Dan takes this as permission. He shuffles down Phil’s body, bends at the waist, allows his mouth to catch at Phil's collarbones the same way Phil’s mouth had caught at his own. Phil’s aren’t as deep, as wide, or prominent, but they’re there, and they’re warm to Dan’s touch, receptive. Dan licks over the bone, bites a little, and moves on. He lets his lips trail past Phil’s nipples, circling one with the tip of his tongue and watching it grow sharp and hard, ready for so much more. Dan doesn’t give it to him.

Instead, he moves his mouth further, laying kisses and soft little nips against Phil’s body until he reaches the parts he loves the most - the soft pudge at Phil’s ribcage, soft skin ready to be marked. Dan sucks, then. He takes Phil’s skin into his mouth and he makes love to it with his tongue and his teeth, feeling it bruise under his mouth and loving the way Phil arches under him. Phil doesn’t moan much. He lets out these soft little whimpers instead, interspersed with groans as Dan moves, letting go of one spot and moving down to mark another.

Meanwhile, Dan’s hands brace against Phil’s hips, move to press against the bulge in his trousers, work at the zip and the button because he can and he wants and he needs the damn things off eventually anyway. Phil’s hips jerk into his touch, and the warm press of him turns Dan on more than he could have imagined.

He’s never touched another man’s dick, but he knows that now that he has, he’ll never want to stop again. Phil just feels so full underneath him, and boobs are amazing, but there’s nothing like being able to feel how much you turn someone on. The wetness of a woman just doesn’t compare, and Dan isn’t sure how he never realized before.

“Dan,” Phil gasps, reaching down to press warm palms to Dan’s cheeks, dragging him away from his task and back up for a wet kiss. Phil’s mouth is wide open, and he’s panting against Dan, but it’s good. It’s good because Dan can feel Phil’s desperation in the way he draws Dan between his legs and he shoves his leg between Dan’s as he ruts up into him. He can feel it in the way that Phil grasps at his back, at his arms, and his ribcage, holding on as tight as he can, hands moving, moving, moving. Endless. Phil can’t seem to stop, but Dan doesn’t mind.

He’s done this. He’s driven Phil mad.

“Dan,” Phil gasps against Dan’s lips. “No more teasing, come on.”

This time, Dan laughs. He hadn’t meant to tease, he just - he wanted to touch all of Phil.

“I told you,” Dan whispers against Phil’s lips, leaning in to peck him over and over and over again. “I want everything.”

Dan feels Phil shudder at the words, and manages to disentangle himself from Phil’s limbs. He wasn’t done exploring and marking, but he supposes he can push further ahead. Besides, this won’t be the last time, right?

Suddenly, Dan pauses halfway down Phil’s body, and he looks up with wide, scared eyes. Sure, Phil had consented to this, but what if - what if -

“This won’t be - the only time, will it?”

Phil eyes shoot open at the question. He’d been panting, clearly delirious, tense and waiting for more of Dan’s touch, but now he stares down at Dan with a different kind of tension, something more knowing, and warm. He cocks a smile, reaches up to brace his hands on Dan’s hips. Dan’s hips twitch, wanting more.

“No,” Phil replies. “Pinky promise. Now that I have you, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you go.” His voice goes husky, and Dan feels his breath leave his lungs. He feels his body release a tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and he thumbs over the marks he’s left on Phil’s body, a trail of biting kisses on the right side of his ribcage.

It’s beautiful, and Dan is tired of waiting.

Phil’s jeans are undone. Dan climbs off of him and starts to yank them off of Phil’s hips. Phil gets the memo and starts to help, wiggling out of the tight fabric and yanking his boxers down with them. Dan’s eyes go straight to his cock as it bounces forward, no longer restricted, nestled in a mass of ginger curls.

Dan’s mouth almost waters.

It’s thick, bigger than even their friends had guessed at. How often had the internet joked with Dan about Phil having a monster cock, and Dan had joined in the fun, all but confirming this as fact? Phil doesn’t have a monster cock, but it’s far from a let down; it’s a little bigger than average, thick rather than long, and throbbing as it bobs. The tip is pink, the same color of Phil’s lips. He’s uncut, just like Dan, and oh so fucking beautiful.

“Have you ever…?” Phil asks, breaking Dan out of his staring long enough to dart his eyes back up to Phil’s face. Phil looks apprehensive all of a sudden, unsure, and Dan whimpers a sigh of loss when Phil pulls his legs up, as if he’s trying to hide something, to cover up. Dan reaches for Phil’s legs, pulls them back, and is incredibly grateful that he finds no resistance.

He shakes his head.

“No, I haven’t.”

“You don’t have to, we can - I can -”

“I want to,” Dan says, cutting Phil off before he can get another word in edgewise. Phil shuts up, staring down at Dan with wide, concerned eyes, but Dan doesn’t care. His mouth is practically salivating for Phil’s cock. He wants it, and he’s not willing to wait. “God, do I want to,” Dan adds, reaching out to touch. His fingers wrap around Phil’s cock, a familiar feeling only somewhat different to his own

Phil’s cock is like warm silk, pusling in his hand. The skin here is so fucking soft. Dan pumps a few times, pushes Phil’s foreskin up and over the head, and pulls back down. Phil’s eyes close, and he lets out another groan, straight from the back of his throat. His hips pump into Dan’s hand. Dan is mesmerized. He’s had this done to him, and he’s done it to himself, but he’s never done this to another person, and the control of it all… the feel…

He used to eat his ex-girlfriend out. He knows there is almost nothing the same between a dick and a vagina, but she’d always said he was good at eating her out - the sounds she’d made were testament to that. Surely, he’d be good at giving head, too.

Dan shuffles further down Phil’s body, fully intent on getting Phil’s dick on his mouth, and finds that his concentration has settled solely on the way Phil’s thighs quiver and his dick twitches in Dan’s hand. He almost forgets that Phil exists at all other than this part of him until Dan quite literally gets his mouth around his dick and hears Phil let out the sharpest keening noise Dan has ever heard.

He doesn’t pull back. Phil tastes like musk and he smells like heaven and his dick throbs under Dan’s tongue. It stretches at his mouth and he’s only got the tip in, but he doesn’t stop there. Now that he’s got a taste, he wants more, and whatever he lacks in skill he knows he can make up for in enthusiasm. Phil doesn’t seem to mind regardless, if the muffled sounds he’s making are anything to go by, let alone the way his hips twitch and he seems to be forcing them to stay seated on the bed.

Dan grins, because blowjobs are always good, but a good blowjob. Now that is something else, and Dan totally plans to give Phil the best blowjob of his life. Or, well, one of the best, because lord knows Dan’s going to need some practice. Practice he’s more than willing to do with Phil.

“Shit, Dan,” Phil groans. The words spur Dan on, because he’s only just started, but already he’s managed to make Phil curse.

Dan starts to bob his head, one hand still on the base of Phil’s dick, jerking it with every movement. He lets his tongue rub at the bottom of Phil’s dick, sticks it out as far as he can until he’s licking his own fingers with every swipe, and Phil seems to enjoy it. Dan gets his own mouth wet, doesn’t swallow back the spit, lets it drip through the creases of his lips, and Phil lets out a sound Dan’s never heard him make before. It’s some kind of cross between a whimper and a groan, and it sounds so good coming from Phil’s husky throat.

“How - how are you so good at this already?” Phil manages to grit out, hips twitching as he squirms on the bed. Dan’s never heard him so far gone, and it makes his own dick jerk between his legs.

He finds himself working harder at Phil’s dick, wanting to prove that he can do this, that he can take Phil apart one long suck at a time. Dan purses his lips and sucks.

“Fuck, Dan!”

Long fingers tangle into Dan’s hair, but Phil doesn’t pull. He just kind of holds Dan, fingers scrambling, caressing Dan’s cheeks, and then moving back up to tangle in his hair. It’s like Phil doesn’t know what to do with himself. His hips must be aching with the effort Dan can see he’s making to hold still, and Dan doesn’t blame him.

He makes the blow job as wet as he knows how, sure that Phil will enjoy it just as much as Dan did when his ex-girlfriend used every last inch of her mouth. Then he takes more, and more, tries to find his gag reflex, and flinches back when he hits it. He gags around Phil’s cock, feels the way Phil convulses and gasps, and then suddenly, Phil’s hands are tugging at Dan’s hair, forcing him to pull back, to come up and off of Phil’s dick, so he’s hovering just inches above it.

Dan does so willingly, confused eyes searching Phil’s face only to find him staring, completely flushed and absolutely trembling, with a look of naked need in his gaze.

“I’m - I’m close,” Phil manages to gasp. “You can - finish with your - your hand,” he adds. Dan doesn’t understand. Did Phil not like his mouth? If he’s close already, doesn’t that mean it was good?

Phil seems to read the confusion in Dan’s gaze, because he says, “Some people don’t like the taste,” and suddenly Dan understands. Phil hadn’t wanted to push Dan, or make him take what was coming. Dan knows, suddenly, that if Dan had gone on any longer, Phil wasn’t going to be able to let Dan come off until he’d finished working himself through his orgasm.

In a way, Dan is grateful, but not because he isn’t totally willing to suck down every last inch of Phil’s cum, but because suddenly, he is once again very aware of his own throbbing erection and what he actually, truly wants.

He wants Phil to fuck him.

Scrambling away from Phil’s body, Dan doesn’t even think to explain as he drags his own jeans off of his legs, boxers going with them. Phil lets out a soft whimpery sound of confusion, and Dan turns back around with wide brown eyes.

“Sorry, shit,” he explains. “I didn’t - I was hoping,” Dan stutters out, breathless, as he flings the rest of his clothes off - jeans, boxers, weird arm things, gone. Instantly, he’s back hovering over Phil’s body, his hand reaching to touch Phil’s cock, to stroke it gently, but not too much. He doesn’t want Phil to come yet. Phil can’t.

Please, no. He can’t.

“I want you to fuck me,” Dan finally explains after a moment, and loves the way Phil’s hips buck at the words and he lets out an actual moan. His eyes squeeze shut, and his chest seems to glow hotter, redder. The reaction spurs Dan on, and he leans in to kiss at Phil’s neck, open mouthed and messy. “I’ve been dreaming about it for months, Phil. What it would feel like to have you inside me,” he says.

Phil’s hands come up to squeeze at Dan’s hips, fingers tight and bruising. It’s like he doesn’t know what to do with himself all over again, and it makes Dan’s body ache.

Their entire naked bodies are touching now. Dan’s cock keeps pressing insistently into Phil’s hip, and Dan can feel Phil rolling his hips up and into Dan’s unclothed dick. Its erotic, probably the most erotic thing that’s happened tonight, in a weird way. Dan’s had his mouth all over Phil, sure, but now he’s got his entire body pressed up to Phil’s without any clothes on, and it feels liberating. It feels like coming home.

Dan wants to choke at the thought of it.

He’s so far gone it’s not even funny. He doesn’t think he’ll ever stop loving Phil Lester.

“We can’t,” Phil finally gasps out, hip still rocking, fingers still gripping, panting as he moves. He’s started up a proper rythym now, their cocks bumping alongside each other as they rock. Dan can’t keep himself from answering the motion, and for a moment, he doesn’t quite catch the meaning of Phil’s words.

But then he does.

Dan pulls away from Phil’s neck, a little hurt, a little confused, and finds that Phil’s eyes are squeezed shut and he’s biting at his lip, and he’s panting harshly through his nose. Dan stares at him, at the little creases by his mouth. He stares at the furrow of Phil’s brow, and asks, “Why?”

Phil groans. He’d clearly been hoping Dan wouldn’t ask that.

“Do you not want to, or...?” Dan asks, unsure. He finds himself biting at his own bottom lip, as he takes in how hard Phil is working to keep himself under control. Dan feels like the only one out of control tonight, but at the same time, he feels uniquely in control. He feels liberated, like he’s taking everything he wants and getting it - except this.

Phil’s eyes somehow manage to scrunch up tighter.

“No, it’s not - not that. I want to. God, I want to,” he gasps, fingers running up and down Dan’s ribcage now. He feels so good touching Dan like that. Dan never wants him to stop.

It helps that he knows, now, that Phil does want him.

“Then why?” Dan whispers against Phil’s neck, once again pressing soft kisses to the skin there, teasing with tongue and lips. He wants Phil to let him have this, but he’s not going to push him. If all they get is frottage and blowjobs tonight, then so be it. Dan will take anything he can get.

But he really wants Phil to fuck him.

“Dan,” Phil gasps. “We can’t, you’re - you’ve never done this before,” he manages, which. Well. True. But Dan doesn’t care.

He’s fingered himself before. He’s stretched, and prepped, and found his prostate. He knows that he likes how it feels, knows he’d been fantasizing about this since before he had a girlfriend, had even tried to encourage her to do it to him, but she’d never said yes. Dan knows that he wants this more than anything, and he needs Phil to know too.

“No, not with a man,” he admits, “Not with a woman, either. But I have fingered myself, Phil, and it feels so fucking good. I want to know what it’ll feel like if it’s you inside of me, instead of my fingers. I want to know what it’ll feel like to be stuffed full of you, to have you fill me up. I want to be connected to you, Phil, please. Let me have this,” Dan says, and he can feel his own voice going desperate with want.

Phil’s squirming underneath him. His body feels so goddamn warm against Dan’s. Dan can feel the drizzle of wetness against his belly that isn’t his quickly drying spit, and he knows what it is; Phil’s cock is jerking and smearing pre-cum against Dan’s belly now. It is the most erotic sensation in the world.

“Fuck,” Phil curses, and flails a hand out and away from Dan’s body, like he’s trying to pull himself together and force himself to think straight. Dan wishes he could take that all away, make Phil so goddamn wanton for it that he doesn’t think, just takes, but he supposes for a first time he’s glad that Phil is holding on so well to his self control.

One day, Dan wants Phil to fuck him without abandon, but maybe their first time isn’t the best place for that. The fact that Phil is hesitating so much, desperate for more but also desperate to take care of Dan, makes Dan feel warm inside.

Even still, Dan doesn’t stop kissing Phil’s neck. He lets the rhythm of their hips carry him on, continues to let their bodies grind together, and loves the fact that he can feel Phil’s thighs twitch. His legs are spread so far open for Dan, it’s invigorating. Dan almost wants to pull back and have a look at Phil all spread out for him, but he’s enjoying the taste of salty skin too much, enjoying the way his movements make Phil pant and groan and arch up into Dan until Dan can feel the scratch of hair against his own bare chest.

Nothing about this is familiar. It’s so new that Dan is gagging for it. He finds himself moaning against Phil’s throat just from this alone, and lets his fingernails dig into Phil’s ribs.

“Okay!” Phil gasps, “Okay, okay, okay, if you’re sure, Dan, please,” he whimpers. Dan pulls away, surprised but fucking excited, because Phil’s going to let him have this. Phil is actually going to fuck him, and Dan has never been more excited in his life.

“I have condoms - there’s condoms in my - my wallet, I - please tell me you have lube. I don’t want to hurt you,” Phil manages around huge lungfuls of air, still canting hips hips against Dan because he can’t seem to stop.

Dan surges in for a kiss full of gratitude, his hands moving to cup Phil’s cheeks and draw him in close. He finds himself moaning against Phil’s lips as Phil’s thighs quake underneath him, and his mouth surges up to meet Dan’s just as eagerly.

“You won’t hurt me, I promise. Please, Phil, please, just give me this. I want you inside of me,” Dan gasps, pulling back from Phil’s lips to stare earnestly at him. He’s never wanted anything more than he wants this. “I’ve got lube,” he adds, because Phil’s eyes are pinched shut, and he looks a little like he’s holding himself back all over again.

Rather than answering, Phil just kind of nods. Dan can see that he’s moved his hands to the duvet, and his fingers are curled so tightly into the fabric Dan fears it might rip. He doesn’t care.

Putting the worry out of his mind, Dan climbs off of Phil, and jumps from the bed. His weeping cock protests with a violent twitch, but Dan doesn’t care. He’s about to get something so much better than grinding against Phil. .

Phil doesn’t even bother to open his eyes at the loss of Dan. He looks too busy holding himself back from reaching down and taking his cock into his hands.

Dan can’t blame him. There’s as part of him yearning to go right back over to Phil and climb on top of him to finish what they were doing - but he’s got better things waiting for his future. Dan goes over to his dresser first, rummaging around his top drawer for the hidden bottle of lube he keeps under his underwear and sometimes behind his socks. He fumbles once he’s got his fingers properly around it, far too eager and turned on to not have shaking hands, and then chucks the bottle over at Phil.

With his dresser closed, Dan starts looking around his floor for Phil’s discarded jeans, and finds them nearly inside out at the foot of his bed. He’s trembling all over, desperate to get back to Phil, eyes darting back and forth from his bedroom to Phil’s body, all spread out for him.

Phil’s legs are so wiry, his thighs so inviting.

Dan snaps his attention back to Phil’s jeans, and kneels to search for his wallet.

One day, he wants to take Phil raw, but not today.

His fingers fumble for Phil’s wallet, draws the marvel themed fabric from his pocket, and flips it open in search for a condom. What he finds is not one, not two, but three condoms, all relatively new looking, and Dan suddenly finds himself wondering how many Phil has used in his lifetime, how often he has to replace them, and if he does so to prevent wear and tear, or because he uses them just that often.

Dan shoves the thought out of his head, not willing to throw himself into a jealous rage when he’s so close to getting what he wants, and instead pulls out a single condom for now because he doesn’t think he’s going to have a round two in him. Not tonight.

“Here,” Dan mumbles. “Prep yourself,” he adds, as he climbs back up as well, and watches Phil scramble with the packaging on the condom. His arms are shaking, something that Dan finds arousing rather than off putting, and he grabs the lube, desperate to get on with this. At the same time, Dan wants nothing more than to take his time, to hold onto this moment for as long as he can.

Dan slicks up three off his fingers, making sure they’re all as slick as he can get them. He doesn’t want this part to take any longer than it has to - honestly, he’d rather have Phil being the one to do this for him, taking him apart bit by bit, but not tonight. Tonight, he just wants Phil’s cock.

They can try out other things another time. Dan knows that neither he nor Phil can take much more. They’ve both been so close for so long tonight and they both want, need to finally be together.

Phil finally gets the condom free, and reaches to stretch it down over his dick. Dan can’t seem to help from watching the way the latex stretches, filling up with Phil the way Dan wants to be filled up. The slow glide, the way the condom catches on Phil’s cock, makes Dan shudder with desperate desire.

He hands the tube of lube over the moment Phil looks up from his task, catches his eyes, and hopes that Phil can see the desire written clear across Dan’s face.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” Dan reassures, him, offering Phil a smile, and nodding at the tube of lube. Phil stares at him for a moment, probably to make sure, before fumbling with the lube and popping the cap to get the moisture onto his hand.

As Phil reaches for his cock to slick it up, Dan climbs over top of him, sitting on his thighs, and watches, entranced, as Phil’s hand slid over his dick to begin slicking it up. At the same time, Dan bends forward and reaches behind himself to prod at his entrance. The puckered skin opens up to him easily as he slides in one finger, pumping it quickly.

Dan doesn’t much care for the pleasurable feeling right then, doesn’t care about the tease. He just preps himself as quickly as he can, desperate to have his body engulfing Phil already the way Phil’s hand currently is.

“Close,” Phil gasps, dropping his hand from his dick and grasping tightly at sheets as his hips jerk. The movement causes Dan’s finger to slip in further, and he groans, pressing in a second alongside the first as he pulls back out, and presses back down. Phil’s biting his bottom lip, and his cock is glistening, bobbing, waiting for Dan.

Dan wants it more than anything else in the world.

“Don’t come yet, please,” Dan begs, because they haven’t gotten to the best part yet. Phil nods his head distractedly and reaches for Dan’s hips, closing tight around them. Dan can feel Phil attempting to rub soothing circles into the skin there, but he’s seem to be far too coiled with tension as he sits on the verge of orgasm.

Dan stares down at Phil and wonders if he’s okay.

“Dan,” Phil asks, eyes wide as he stares up at Dan, “Are you sure about this?”

Dan doesn’t even hesitate before he nods.

One of Phil’s hands dips inwards, lightly grazing against Dan’s cock and balls. The sensation spurs him on and he redoubles his efforts to stretch, groaning and letting his eyes drift shut. For a moment, he loses all ability to speak, so instead, he rides his fingers like he does when he’s at home alone.

Finally, when he regains his composure, Dan murmurs, “More sure than I’ve ever been. I want you.” Dan takes that moment to press in a third finger.

Three fingers is always a stretch. When he’s alone, he often doesn’t bother. It sort of hurts, sending a zing of pleasure up Dan’s spine and burning at his body. He looks down at Phil’s cock, which is throbbing inside the condom. He knows that Phil is larger than three fingers, and he knows that if he can just get past this little bit of uncomfortableness, he can have so much more pleasure than he’s ever known. To distract himself, Dan leans over Phil’s body and kisses him.

Phil’s hands move from Dan’s hips down to his thighs, petting over the quivering muscles there. Dan’s sure the pleasure would be too much for him if he weren’t already distracted by the burn of three fingers, but as it is, the pleasure is pretty good. He hadn’t realized how much he liked being touched there before Phil; his ex-girlfriend had so rarely focused on Dan’s body. It had always been him focusing on her.

Maybe Phil could change that for him.

As their kisses grow more and more sloppy, and Phil’s hands roam further up and down Dan’s thighs, teasing at the inside crease when they come up but avoiding touching Dan’s cock or balls entirely, Dan finds himself becoming more and more relaxed. The feel of Phil’s mouth against his is comforting, this hands a warm, welcome touch, and these things combined make the sensation of three fingers far more comfortable and pleasurable than it’s ever been before.

Finally, Dan pulls his fingers free, and he stares down at Phil with wide, desperate eyes. His lips are wet, he can feel it, and Phil’s mouth is a dark, plump red. His hair is mucked up and sexy as fuck. To be honest, Phil looked like Dan had fucked him.

Dan grins down at him.

“Fuck me, Philip,” he teases. Phil’s hands finally move from Dan’s thighs and back up to much safer territory at his hips, but Dan still shudders anyway. His cock twitches with the desire for Phil to touch him there, but mentally, Dan knows that that would not be a good idea right now.

One day, he will have Phil’s hands all over his dick, but tonight he wants so much more.

“Gladly, Daniel,” Phil whispers back, situating Dan on top of him exactly the way that he wants him. Phil’s thighs are spread, and Dan’s legs are sprawled out on either side of him a little ungainly. Neither really notice, too busy staring at the way their bodies align as Phil moves Dan so that his cock is pressed between Dan’s thighs, disappearing behind the cleft of his ass.

Dan’s breathless himself at the sight of it, vision going a little hazy. He can feel himself begging to fall apart already, and they aren’t even fucking yet. Still. Just the sight of Phil like this, spread underneath him, is amazing. Dan’s heart is racing in his chest, a combination of exertion and excitement.

Phil stares between their bodies, no doubt taking in the sight of his own dick between Dan’s cheeks.

Desperate to get to the best part, Dan fucks his hips down onto Phil’s body, feels the wet slide of their skin, and whines as Phil’s cock fails to press into him, instead slipping away from him.

“Patience,” Phil laughs, fingers tightening on Dan’s hips, showing him the way to move, and dragging Dan back into the right spot for Phil’s dick to press into him. “Let me,” he adds, and lets go with one hand in order to reach behind Dan and take hold of his own dick - or at least, Dan assumes that’s what he’s doing, because now he can feel the blunt head of Phil’s cock pressing against his entrance, and the feeling sends as heady rush of pleasure through Dan’s veins.

That’s when Dan starts to feel himself being spread open by Phil’s dick, his body sliding down onto the thick length. He finds himself keening at the sensation, far more vivid and real than Dan ever could have imagined. There’s a slight burn where Phil stretches him, but they’re both so slick with lube that it’s almost nonexistent. Instead, there’s nothing but heat and a spark of pleasure slowly ricocheting throughout Dan’s entire body.

Phil doesn’t moan. While Dan pants and twists on Phil’s dick, allowing his body to move slowly as Phil guides his dick in, Phil doesn’t make a noise. Instead, he bites his lips and holds his tongue, seemingly concentrated on nothing more than breaching Dan as slowly and as carefully as he can imagine. Dan can’t vocalize how grateful he is, but he’s sure Phil gets it anyway.

The man’s restraint is beyond anything Dan could have imagined. Had it been him fucking someone like this, he wouldn’t have been able to control himself.

As it is, he almost forces himself down on Phil’s cock quicker. He holds himself back, whining at every inch that presses inside of him, the slow drag of Phil’s cock against his walls absolute bliss.

Finally, finally, Phil bottoms out inside of Dan. Dan can tell because Phil releases his hand from around his cock, wiggles out from between their bodies, and presses up so entirely that Dan can feel his balls slapping against his arse. The slick feeling of it is beyond heady, and Dan can do nothing but stare down at Phil slack jawed as Phil stares up at him in pure ecstasy.

He’s full. He’s fucking full of Phil and it’s the best feeling in the world. Dan’s eyes are half-lidded, and he licks his lips. He wants more, so much more, his cock throbbing for it, but he’s not ready to give this up yet. He doesn’t want to feel Phil slip back out just to slam back in just yet. He wants to hold onto this moment forever.

“Tight,” Phil groans, hands scrabbling for purchase on Dan’s hips. “Okay?” Phil asks, vocabulary reduced to single words.

Dan nods, says, “Fuck yes,” and then shifts his hips and fucking keens as Phil’s cock presses into Dan’s prostate. His head falls back in euphoria. As much as he wants to go slowly, to savor every second of this, he can feel his instincts taking over.

He can’t stop then. His hips start to rock, and he starts to move without so much as a word to Phil. He pulls himself up, feels Phil pull him back down, and gets lost in the feeling of working his body onto Phil’s dick. This is something that Dan had never known, and he’s mad. He’s mad that he’s never had this before, but at the same time, glad that Phil is his first. Glad that Phil can have this, when Dan had given up so much to his last girlfriend.

He knows neither of them are virgins. He knows it’s not normal to expect your partner to be one. But he is happy to give Phil some kind of first, and he is glad that Phil is the one to touch him like this now.

“Dan,” Phil is gasping, the word broken as he says it again and again. His name tumbles out of Phil’s mouth with every thrust, and it’s intoxicating. Dan’s body arches and twitches as they move together, trying desperately to find a rhythm that works for both of them, but it’s hard. Dan can feel heat building in his stomach, can feel his balls drawing up tight to his taint. He can feel every muscle in his body tightening for more, as he moves faster and faster, chasing the sensation of orgasm.

Phil’s fingers dig into his hips, leaving bright red marks behind, and he tilts his hips upwards as he drags his legs forwards, feet flat on the bed. The movement sends Phil’s cock deeper into Dan’s body, reaching further as he rocks harder, better able to fuck up into Dan at this angle. Every goddamn thrust jolts through Dan and presses into his prostate, sending sparks up and down Dan’s spine.

Dan can’t take much more. His body is toiled so fucking tight, but he just can’t cum. Phil’s dick isn’t enough, and the thought makes Dan want to weep. Phil’s too distracted by his own pleasure to reach up and help him, so Dan reaches down instead and takes his dick in hand. He doesn’t stop bouncing on Phil’s cock as he begins to stroke, rubbing the pad of his thumb over his weeping slit and whining at the way it makes his body twitch.

Phil moans too, jerking his hips harder into Dan.

Suddenly, Phil’s mouth goes slack. Dan see’s it happen through half-lidded eyes, feels it as Phil loses absolute control over his own body, and fucks hard and sloppy. For a moment, Dan doesn’t know what’s happening, far too focused on his own pleasure to really care, but then Phil presses balls deep and stills, his dick twitching against Dan’s prostate, and then Dan realizes that Phil just came.

Inside of him.

Well, inside of a condom, but still. The fact remained that Dan had done that. He’d fucked Phil to orgasm.

Dan’s own orgasm crashes over him. It seems to hit out of nowhere despite the fact that Dan had sort of been able to feel it coming. It’s so overwhelming, though, that it knocks a gasp from Dan’s lungs as he comes all over his own chest and Phil’s belly.

He doesn’t remember falling forward, but he must have, because the next thing Dan knows, he’s heaving against Phil’s neck as Phil shifts and pulls his dick free. Dan whines at the loss of contact, but now that he’s come, he can admit that it does feel a little bit uncomfortable to have Phil still pressed inside of him like that.

Slowly, Dan rolls off of Phil so that’s not suffocating him, and plops down at his side. He rolls almost instantly so that’s he facing Phil, and watches as Phil does the same. He’s sweating, and his face makeup is smeared beyond belief, hardly even visible as an actual design anymore, but he still looks beautiful to Dan.

Dan reaches out to brush a finger over Phil’s cheek, and ends up cupping the soft skin in his palm in order to pull Phil forward and into a kiss. They’re both still panting, coming down from the exhilarating high and the amazing sex, so the kiss is a little sloppy, but Dan doesn’t mind. He lets it taper off until they’re just kind of pecking at each other over and over again, and then reaches long, lanky arms around Phil’s torso in order to drag him into his chest.

They’re covered in cum. Phil’s still got a condom wrapped around his softening cock. They both know they should do something about these two things, but for right now, they don’t. Dan doesn’t want to move, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to release Phil from his hold.

Dan’s hands feel ridiculously large against Phil’s back, especially now after they just had sex. Dan isn’t sure why, but he does like the way Phil tucks against him despite the fact that he’s taller, and he does like the way that Phil tangles their legs together, and he does like the fact that he can fit against Phil in every way and feel perfect.

That’s part of what Dan likes most about this. He and Phil, they just fit together.

Like puzzle pieces.

“You know I’m not letting you go now, right?” Dan teases, because he can. Because he’s giddy and high on the feeling of finally getting to be with Phil.

Phil laughs.

“You think I would either?”

“I guess not,” Dan says, and doesn’t even mind that they don’t have a label.

It’s not important, not in the grand scheme of things, because Dan has Phil and he loves him.

**

The next morning, Phil wakes Dan up at the ass crack of dawn (it’s really 10 in the morning, but it feels closer to 5). Dan’s meant to be heading back to Rawtenstall with Phil, and their train is at 11:30. Dan hasn’t even packed yet.

Dan’s got his backpack in the middle of his bed and he’s shoving a wad of clothing inside when Phil wanders back into his room with his phone clutched to his head.

“I know, mum. We’ll be there soon, I promise,” Dan overhears Phil saying on the phone. “You know how my boyfriend is, always waiting until the very last moment to pack. I’ll make sure we’re there on time! Sort of.”

The words make Dan pause. He feels himself tensing, a surprised smile spreading across his lips.

Boyfriend.

Yeah, Dan could definitely get used to that.

[ongnable]

spring rain

a/n: This is basically the whole words flow series repackaged in ‘standard structure’. It’s all paragraphed without all my normal non-standard grammar (wow, it sounds kinda oxymoronic). 

Some of the writing is different - plot is the same, but writing is different! 

Between bullet-fics and paragraphed layouts... which would you guys want to see more of?

You slammed your laptop shut. Nothing was coming to mind. 

No. You want to laugh at how good you’ve become at lying to yourself. Many things came to mind. Problem was that nothing was good. Barely decent.

12 titles. 6 blockbuster movies. 3 on-screen adaptations. That’s everything under your name. Writing has always been your passion. Until - it stopped. And suddenly - it’s not. 

At least it’s not anymore.

When did it begin? Since when has your writing become nothing more than numbers and figures on lined paper? How long has it been since you’ve scratched ideas on coffee shop napkins with the busy chatter of students surrounding you, instead of sitting in front of your lighted screen on Saturday nights with takeaway?

It’s never been talent unlike what people said (unlike what your publisher wants the public to think). You wrote what you felt. What you experienced. Or what you wanted to explore.

But how were you supposed to do that when you’ve cut yourself off from the rest of the world?

Instead of a commercial hit; a shallow reflection of what people expected from you– you wanted something that felt like you. Maybe a romance… so real silent tears would slide onto the cold concrete jungle of Seoul. Or a tragedy… so honest it’d knock you off your feet and sweep you up to the clouds.

You wanted less pennies and more petals.

Your last editor - Bae Jinyoung, had quit when you told him of your intentions to publish your next title under a pseudonym. To begin anew with a fresh start. And it wasn’t that he wasn’t supportive of your idea since you two were friends first and business colleagues second; but it was rather because of the fact that the two of you were friends, that he thought he couldn’t do the right job for you.

“Justice for your work,” he'd said, as if Jinyoung thought he couldn’t do his job well enough, even though you knew he just lacked the confidence - being one of the youngest in the industry. 

Hence why you were currently staring at blank walls; waiting for the new editor that Jinyoung had promised you to arrive. The door clicks open a few seconds before the clock hits noon and he arrives exactly on the hour.

Hwang Minhyun.

Long fingers wrapped around the door knob, and feline features peeked through. The ethereal aura around him unchanged.

“Minhyun… oppa?” You weren’t sure whether he’d mind the familiar form of address, though you were high school acquaintances - you wouldn’t say you were particularly close.

He was the image of serenity personified; there was always something almost inhuman about Hwang Minhyun. Something that made him hard to approach. Everything from his existence to the words that flowed from him.

You still remember that nagging envy in your chest the first time you’d proofread for Minhyun during writing classes.

“Have you ever thought of publishing your work?” you’d asked, awed by his writing style - the way his words poured out like waterfalls over a cliff; and sentences streamed into each other as if his work was the delta to an ocean of emotions.

Reading his writing was like feeling a wave crash over you. Cleansing. And yet, it was as dynamic and turbulent and violent as could be despite the gentle currents he swirled his words in. Minhyun was the one that should be sitting on your chair.

What he said had caught you off guard - it had somehow resonated though out the years. 

“I don’t want anyone but those I choose to read my work.”

It had been a shock when you heard that he thought that way when the only aim you had was to make it big. To survive through your dreams. Looking back, maybe he intended those words for you too. A warning to treasure your work.

“Y/N? I didn’t know that I’d be editing for you when Jinyoung told me that a new writer was looking for help.”

Ah. Right. Not many people could put a face to your name. But Minhyun obviously could. Jinyoung probably didn’t expect Minhyun to recognise you and marketed you under a fake name. Panic unintentionally rose within - 

“Um. If it’s not convenient for you-“

“I don’t mean that I don’t want to, Y/N.”

That’s Hwang Minhyun. Honey sweet voice. All the right words. But despite their firmness - he never came off strong.

“I was just surprised. You’re very successful, Y/N. Jinyoung usually refers me to the young struggling ones that have just started out - but I don’t think we’re going to have much trouble since I’m working with such a talented writer.”

Reassuring words meant to rid you of worry. You’ve received them numerous times this year from numerous editors that have never read your drafts before. Attracted to nothing but your name. 

But for some reason. Minhyun sounds sincere, and you find yourself falling for his words.

Because Minhyun says it as if he believes what he’s saying.

“I think I know your problem.” Flipping through your newly printed draft - still warm from ink - Minhyun has a frown marring his handsome face. Regal features twisted in the unfitting position of a court jester.

"I always tell writers who are just starting out to stop trying to write a whole story all at once. In one sitting. To write small chunks whenever inspiration hits because they come in contact with so much each day. So they should just write down everything and come back to those snippets at another time… but you’re different,Y/N. You’re not a new writer. And you’re not lacking experience”

You read into everything he’s saying without much trouble. Minhyun says it so bluntly because he knows you’ll understand without harsher words.

You’ve been writing for too long. Started too young. You have too much experience. Your style is too recognisable.

“Tell me what to do then.” Despite your tone. Minhyun seems to know that what you say isn’t a challenge. It’s desperation.

A cry for help.

“For now. You need to stop writing completely. You’re not writing because you want to. This - work. It’s just that. It’s work. It’s not a piece I’d want to read.”

He hands it back. Places it on the desk as he slides it away from himself, back in front of you. Where it lays untouched. You don’t pay any attention to it.

“And I can tell it’s not something you want to read either.”

It wasn’t.

No other person has tried to understand your writing this way before. They’d simply read it as a consumer - never as another person trying to decipher your feelings. All of them had told you it wasn’t good.

But never why. Why wasn’t it good? Why they didn’t connect. Why it wasn’t enough. Because none of them could understand the reason those perfectly organised lines of words didn’t read right. Why they’d felt empty emotions despite the touching storyline and eloquent vocabulary.

"I want… I want pretentious words that cut deeper than spilled ink on paper.”

You wanted beautifully arranged words that were still relatable. Untouchable but close at the same time. To create a planetarium of sorts. Achievable and reachable. But seemingly out of the atmosphere.

"Does that make sense?”

“It does,” and he knows. He understands.

Minhyun takes your hand in his as if its the most normal thing to do, running his thumb down your knuckles until it reaches the disappearing dent on your pinky. A writer’s callous. 

How long has it been since you last held a pen instead of clutching your laptop?

Walking out as if his job was done, your eyes widened at the words he left you with.

"You want less pennies and more petals"

You don’t see Minhyun until three days later. Having taken his advice, you’ve been bingeing the drama series you never finished, re-reading the comics of your childhood, buying the new editions released for their 20th anniversary.

None of them give you the inspiration to write; but appreciation comes much easier. It’s a lighthearted way of enjoying stories - plots, the artistry; and to not think of it as inspiration for your own work. Something you haven’t done in a while.

On Monday morning; Minhyun shows up like the genie’s collected pixie dust and sprinkled it into your eyes. Out of the blue and looking beautiful, the long winter coat he’s wearing flattering on his tall figure.

“Come on.” He presses the space bar to pause your show abruptly. “I’m taking you out for coffee. Take a jacket with you.” In the years that you’ve known Minhyun as a student, he’s never struck you - as well ... demanding.

But the way he almost manhandles you into your thickest coat and insists that the two of you walk in the face of cold wind instead of taking the bus is a welcome surprise. Especially when he expertly fixes your hair when it gets attacked by the breeze, or the way he slips your hands into his pocket when you complain of them going numb,

In the years that you’ve been apart, he’s somehow transformed from the shy good looking class president into a self assured man who knows exactly what he wants to do with his life. 

And how to make your heart skip to a rhythm akin to the raindrops against the slanted windows of your attic.

Did he know that everything he does is heart fluttering?

The two of you finally reach a small cafe; delicate handwriting on black chalkboard menus, small round tables paired with hard chair, and glinting gold fixtures dangling dim lights. It’s by no means minimalist in it’s old world love affair, missing the contemporary modern flair of most coffee shops you frequent for their convenience instead of taste. You love it, but how did Minhyun even find this place?

I don’t remember him ever drinking coffee…

“Have you had coffee here before? My friend - Seongwoo - runs it.” There’s a hint of pride in his voice as Minhyun says it, and you’re happy that he’s found such great friends to share joy with. Found kind people to surround himself with. “He says that he makes the best in town.” 

“He says?” A smile creeps its way onto your face. Maybe Minhyun hasn’t changed that much.

“I don’t like coffee.” A giggle escapes you, and you’re not sure whether it’s the grimace on his face as he mentions the bitter drink that brings you laughter, or if it’s the fact that some thing never really do change.

“Then why’d you bring me to a cafe?”

“Because I know that you like coffee.”

The rush of warmth you feel has nothing to do with the steam rising from the hot coffee that arrives at the table.

A set of perfect not-so strangers face each other, and the curtains to your abandoned show have raised again.

Minhyun takes you out to eat more frequently from then on, popping into the your office randomly. It starts on Monday, then Wednesday and Friday, growing into every other day of the week. It doesn’t take long before he’s in your office at least one meal a day; making sure you’re actually having three meals a day and you fall into a comfortable type of companionship, whereby he frequently spoils you by bringing you to new places

‘In search of inspiration’ is what he says, but they feel a little too much like dates for you to not worry about thinking any deeper. You needed to know where you stand, and whether you need to put your guard up. To know if you should stop lucid dreaming in broad daylight.

“Are you dating anyone right now?”

Is there any jealous girlfriend I should watch out for in my sleep?

“No.” Minhyun laughs, fennec fox-like crinkle of eyes. “There’s no jealous girlfriend you need to be careful of.”

“But why?” You’re not shy of asking. especially when the man across you is Hwang Minhyun. You’re sure he was aware of just how popular he was at school, he wasn’t a child. People knew these things. There’s no way he isn’t more popular now.

“There’s someone I’ve chosen, and I don’t want anyone else.”

Which sounds a lot like something you’ve heard before - “I don’t want anyone but those I choose to read my work.”

The way he says it, looking into your eyes as if they were an ocean he was trying to measure the depth of makes you grip onto the edge of your sweater to control the slight tremble in your hands. 

Opening. Closing. 

Trying to hold something that wasn’t there. You grip a little tighter onto soft jersey. 

Trying to stop the urge to write.

“Y/N?” Minhyun rasps on the other side of the line, voice husky, and a nagging feeling develops in you when you realize he must’ve caught a cold. “I don’t think I can make it today.”

The line goes a little dead as you pull yourself together, working out the right words to say. It’s almost like you’ve put your ear to a seashell and you’re in a saltwater room fishing thoughts out of the water. Underwater caves sparingly empty of the nouns you’re looking for, and the verbs you want to use.

Somehow, you’ve gotten so used to having Minhyun by your side that the sudden loss of companionship will mean a strangely lonely week.

But why should you feel that way? It’s only a day or two.

“It’s fine; just focus on getting better.” You begin playing with miscellaneous objects scattered on your work area, twirling pens around your fingers, peeling off post it notes and sticking them back on top of the stack. Little things that normally bothered Minhyun. But what difference would it make today?

“Thanks. This is so embarrassing, I’m always telling you to take care of yourself and I’m the only one that falls ill.”

“Really, what am I going to do?” You joke, trying to lighten up the mood you’ve dampened. You mean it as in ‘what am I going to do with you?’ and Minhyun knows it too, but it doesn’t stop him from saying the words on his mind anyway.

“You can promise me to wearing warmer clothes, going out to eat instead of ordering takeaway, and don’t get sick as well.”

“I won’t.” You lie swiftly, answering perhaps - a little too quickly - for it not to be suspicious as you rustle through the newspapers and envelopes you kept by the door. Treasure hunting for a Chinese restaurant arranged into numerals.

“I really am sorry…” Minhyun trails off again and you cut him off to tell him to rest when you hear how much his voice is cracking.

“Honestly, just sleep. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.”

You’re lying down with your hand-rest as a makeshift pillow - and surely there’s going to be a imprint on your cheeks - when a sharp knock wakes you from a carb-triggered nap. 

Three curt consecutive knocks that you’ve become way too accustomed to.

“Minhyun-oppa? Is that you?”

I thought he wasn’t coming over today?

“Yeah…” A sniff responds from the other side of the door, the slight cold he’s attending to revealed in his nasally tone. “I’m coming in.”

“Sure, it’s not locked.” In your own disoriented drowsiness, sleep still in your eyes, even someone as handsome as Minhyun is being registered as a blur.

It’s no surprise that you completely forget about the state of your room.

“You promised to take care of yourself.” His nose crinkles at the familiar scent of jjajangmyeon, immediately recognisable as soon as he entered your office, before his gaze falls to scan what you’re wearing (or rather - what you haven’t hung behind your chair).

“I didn’t go out.” 

So I didn’t need to wear a coat.

“You probably didn’t even wear it when you went down to pick it up food earlier.”

Bingo. Minhyun knew your lazy habits too well.

“It’s no big deal. Look, I’ve let you in my office. You’re probably already spreading germs and I’m gonna end up ill tomorrow. So you should give me a long looong extension for when I need to hand you my first draft and just stay and take care of me since I’ll be sick because of you and - why are you looking at me like that?”

Pulling out the chair across you (what you now instinctively refer to as his chair); Minhyun sat, leaning his face on his palm as he tilts his head in that 45 angled way of his.

He has to know that he looks good like that. No one could ever hide anything from him if he interrogated them when looks at them this way.

“You called me oppa.” Furrowing your brows. you thought back to when you answered the door in your sleepy state. Caught unawares.

“Yeah, I did… do you… do you not like it?”

“No. It’s just you haven’t called me that since the first time we met.”

You pause. Deciphering the steady gaze he holds, un-betraying of how he feels towards the new form of address. “I can just call you Minhyun if you prefer that.”

“You can call me anything you chose, Y/N.”

minhyun oppa minhyun oppa minhyun oppa

You wanted to hide somewhere. Duck below the cold wood of your desk, lock yourself in Seongwoo’s stupidly coffee themed toilet, or even just trap yourself in that tiny fridge in the office. 

You didn’t expect to feel this way about Minhyun when he came back into your life. Rushing in as a plum rain flood.

Just saying his name sounds like a confession to your ears. You must’ve already known that you’d fallen in love with Hwang Minhyun. But to hear your own confirmation was crazy.

Addictive. Strange. And utterly crazy.

You’d always loved words. Characters. The way they rolled off the voice in your mind as you internally read them out. But those three syllables.... How could someone’s name have this effect on you? How did this happen?

You’ve somehow been seduced by his showering of easy affection, and the words he said in that sweeter-than-honeyed-tea voice. To wear warm clothes, eat healthy foods, and don’t get sick. Words that gave you strength and showed you love.

Minhyun looks at you curiously, his gaze soft and focused as you get lost in driftwood thoughts down the flowing stream of having your heart stolen from right across you. Just as always, there’s never judgement in his eyes. Never any assumptions.

He remained a strong cliff of support against the crashing waves of the expecting world.

You didn’t only fix my writing. You fixed me. I am okay because of you. 

you feel drowned by love as shy hands run down the waved line of your back; pushing your body flush against his and -

you love him you love him you love him

“You’re writing...” Minhyun looked up from the stack of papers - it’s the third? Fourth? Time you’ve handed him something - but the first time he’s said something instead of simply annotating. “You’ve got some of your old flair back lately. It’s incredibly stylized, but we can make it work.”

It’s a definite departure from your normal work - but since you’re releasing this as mobile novel under a pseudonym, the two of you thought trying out something new would be fun.

And you missed fun.

“Found inspiration again?” He always says that as if it’s some inside joke. But you supposed it was when ‘searching for inspiration’ somehow translated to going on a date these days. You just weren’t sure if he thought the same way.

“I guess you could say that.”

There’s a dumb smile on your face, and you’re entirely aware of how stupid you look because Minhyun is giving you a wide smile back and his eyes sparkle and you can see your own dorky face reflected in them - and god, you love that  - before he looks back down at your work.

Red pen in hand, Minhyun writes small notes over your thousand-paged love song for him.

“Can I tell you something?”

He looks up from the draft, curiosity unbidden. warm and welcoming, still blissfully unaware of your love.

Is he? You wonder. Can he not tell from your writing?

“Anything.”

“I think I know why my writing is better these days.”

He urges you to continue, by putting down the draft to look at you, “hm?” 

And there’s a look in his eyes that says that he knows too. And you hope he knows that it’s him. That he hasn’t misunderstood your stupid love for him as something else even more unexpected in a way that only Hwang Minhyun would misunderstand.

“I write best when I’m in love, and I used to be in love with writing. But these days I’ve found something I love even more.”

“That’s great.” The pen in his hand is dropped and he’s reaching closer to your own. Holding it as he runs his thumb along your knuckles like he always does without knowing what it does to your heart. Sending it into overdrive. "What do you love more? What have you found, y/n?”

“I found a muse for my writing. A siren to pair to my song.” 

Pulling your hand out of Minhyun's, you prop yourself up.

“Hwang Minhyun, I’m in love with you”

And you push yourself to reach him - to kiss him from across the table. Too scared to wait for his response to your confession.

Only when you feel him sigh against your lips and angle his head to move eagerly against you does the tension seem to leave your body. For what feels like eternity, you let your hands run through his hair, to trail down strong shoulders and grip on his arms while Minhyun holds you firmly against him. Supporting your face with long fingers and tracing the contours of your jawline. 

It’s all careful close lipped touches until you feel him pull you up onto the table and you’re about to open your mouth for more; because it’s been so long - and you crave this connection - this affectionate touch - and because it’s Minhyun - when he drops you on his lap and pulls away.

Scribbling onto your draft in fervent hurry.

“Wha-“

“You’re a liar.” A playful smile teases on his lips, feline features embracing their fox-like nature as his eyes transform into half-crescents.

“Huh?” You weren’t lying. You loved him!

“It didn’t feel like I was being drowned by love when we kiss at all.”

Blushing, heat flushing from your chest up. You finally realise what he’s on about.

Oh. The story. 

“You were rain in a drought."

So he did know it was about him!

The bright expression on his face wasn’t enough to make you forget this embarrassment so quickly. 

Why would he pretend to not know? 

You take it back. You take it all back! He wasn’t the siren to your song - some tragic hero that needed a pair - he was a nine-tailed fox that used winsome words to seduce lost souls. A predator who’s prey was too unaware and willing, and you were just a lamb in wolf’s clothing!

“Y/N. Can you say that you love me again?”

You looked up from his chest only to see him hiding his face behind the paper- held up to leave only his eyes uncovered. The tips of his ears burning red. “Why should I?” You’re still a little mad from before.

“So I can say I love you back. I was caught off guard the first time so I could’t say it back properly.”

Oh right. You’d cut him off with a kiss before letting him reply.

He’s lucky that you forgave easily.

“Minhyun-oppa.” You used the stupid form of address you used to loathe. The one that you let Minhyun tease you about. 

Your very first confession to him.

“I love you.”

“Y/N,” Minhyun reminisces back to his days of texting you to ask about assignments and staying up to wait on your replies. How he had first fallen for fancy words on draft paper against hard wood desks and chalkboard-dust rooms. Tiny letters a river of stars, dancing on milky way lines.

Fallen for a girl who realised her dreams with a lover’s mindset.

The one he let go of too early - didn’t know how to chase - only for fate to kick in at exactly the right time; and he gives you a soft smile.

The type that melted snow caps and formed streams in spring. The ones you write about to sell daydreams to young girls. 

Because happily-ever-afters apparently do exist.

"I love you more.”

Loved you since a long long time ago.

masterlist.

[secretagentspydetectiveninja]

The Misadventures of Prince Kim - chapter 61

Hey hey hey all you new followers! Do you happen to have like 10 years of free time? Do you like royalty? Do you love geography and history lessons? Do you laugh at reading about Kim being a total idiot? Do you thrive off timey-wimey nonsense? Do you ship Kimax? Do you irrationally love the minor classmates? Well if so, then do I have the fic for you! This piece of trash is currently about 230,000 words and still going, so check it out!

Here on AO3 too where you can read it from the beginning so that it actually makes sense lol

Once Max and Kim were well again, Markov was able to spend more time practising his new skateboarding tricks. Max also spent plenty of time upgrading him over the next few weeks, fixing bugs, enhancing his AI, and even giving him a little arm so that he could pick things up with it – and most importantly, give fist bumps.

For a while things seemed to really be looking up, especially compared with the dreary and dangerous previous several months. Everything was a little brighter, everyone a little happier. The atmosphere in the school in general was at a higher level than it had been in a long while. Sure, things weren’t perfect, but they were better. Was it because of Markov’s existence? Or was life just at a high point right now?

Whatever it was, by the time the oracle sessions rolled around, Kim was cheerful enough that he decided this time he would not change his mind at the last second – he was going to ask the question he really needed the answer to. Even if the answer would be bad, he could take it. At this point in time he was in a much better state of mind than he had been last year. It would be alright. And anyway, now that his kingdom was part of the International Alliance, surely it would be safe enough to return home soon.

It was Max’s turn first out of the trio, as usual. Markov had decided to wait outside, not wanting to interfere. It was sweet of him. He really did seem to act like a real human on the surface these days, even though he was far from it.

“So,” Master Fu said as Max sat down in front of him for the third and final time, “what is your question?”

Max had spent a long time thinking about it. There were plenty of questions he wanted answers to – how is it possible for a snake to learn Morse code? Why is schoolwork not so easy anymore? Will I marry Kim? But he couldn’t ask questions about others, and there was nothing particularly eating away at him that he wanted to know about. He had also considered asking a “stupid” question, like Kim had a tradition of doing, but couldn’t even think of one of those.

He sighed and simply went for one of the most obvious questions possible. “Will I die from old age?”

Fu put his hands on his turtle for a few seconds, then looked up at Max and smiled. “Yes. So there is no need to fear over poisoned chocolates anymore.”

He knew about that?! Well… he was an oracle, and though Max was not entirely sure how Fu’s powers worked, he did certainly know more about everyone than he let on…

But still, it was a relief to know that he wasn’t going to die off anytime soon. He had an entire lifetime ahead of him. Hopefully a good lifetime, filled with happy events.

“Thank you,” he said, starting to get up.

“How is your robot?” Fu asked.

“Oh, you know about him? Markov’s fine, thanks, he’s waiting just outside.”

“From what I hear, he has made good friends with everyone.”

“He really has! Bringing him to school was the best idea ever, he’s really thriving here.” Max tried not to sound too full of himself, but he really was proud of having created such a smart little robot.

“What an incredible feat you have achieved, to program someone so intelligent at such a young age, and in such a short span of time,” Fu said, stroking that little beard of his.

“Well, others have created sophisticated robots too, so it’s not that big a deal…”

“Would you say your robot is more or less intelligent than Alix’s pet snake?”

Max paused to think. What kind of question was that?

“I’m not sure,” he said finally. “Maybe around the same.”

“And would you say Alix’s snake has a near-human level of intelligence?”

Well, it could understand everything that was going on, and could win Monopoly games and partake in lacrosse matches, and kind of even speak. It was a pretty darn smart snake.

“Yes,” he said.

“So then it follows that Markov, too, is near a human’s level of intelligence. You have programmed a robot that is more sophisticated than any other in the world.”

Max looked down, his face feeling warm. “No, I’m sure there’s other – I mean, Markov is intelligent, but a lot of that is down to him learning things, and – I’m not–”

“You created Markov, a being that is somewhat more than just a robot.” Fu was smiling at him. “You have a latent gift that you never even knew about.”

A latent gift? He didn’t mean like… superpowers, did he?

“I just happen to be good at robotics and programming,” Max said. “Markov has the ability to act human and learn from his experiences, because I programmed him that way. Not because he’s inherently… alive…”

He trailed off. True, Markov wasn’t alive, but it somehow hurt to say.

Fu just continued smiling. “Perhaps once you leave this room, you should ask him why he skateboards a lot these days.”

Fu knew about that too? He really knew everything. But anyway, what did that have to do with anything? Max had programmed Markov to be curious and want to learn new things, so it would make sense that he wanted to learn how to skateboard too.

“Alright, I’ll ask him.” Max stood up. “Thank you for your answers.”

“You are very welcome. I wish you all the best for the rest of your life. And…” Fu held out a bowl. “Would you like a complimentary mint on your way out?”

“Thanks.” Max took one, then left the room.

Sure enough, Markov was waiting outside with the others, and whizzed over to meet Max as Alix was called into the room next.

“Max, my friend! How was your oracle session? Did you get the answer you wanted?”

“Yes, I did,” Max replied. “Master Fu says I’ll die of old age, so I don’t need to worry.”

“That’s wonderful news! I still don’t understand, though – how is Master Fu able to predict the future with 100% accuracy? Humans should be unable to do so, or at least not without a large degree of error.”

“It’s magic.” Max hated saying it – why couldn’t magic make sense, like science did?

“Oh, so like how Alix is able to have knowledge of the events of parallel universes without accessing a wormhole to visit them herself? Or those two members of nobility remotely controlling local weather?”

“Yes, like that.”

“Hmm. Magic is something that I cannot make sense of.”

Markov was silent for a few seconds, probably looking up everything about magic that he could from his internal database. There wouldn’t be a lot in there, though. No one knew much about magic. Max decided to use the time to ask about what Fu had suggested.

“Markov, why do you skateboard a lot these days?”

“Max, you programmed me to learn about new things whenever I am able to. Skateboarding is something I very much wanted to learn about.”

Exactly. It wasn’t anything special – it was just his programming.

“But also…” Markov’s volume had decreased ever so slightly, and he spoke a little slower. “I have already learnt a sufficient amount about skateboarding. Yet I continue to do the activity. There does not appear to be a logical reason why.”

He bobbed up and down on the spot, blinking every few seconds, the sound of his internal parts whirring so loudly it could be heard over the propeller. Clearly he was thinking hard.

“Skateboarding causes my CPU to work at a faster rate. I return to that activity over and over as if I am compelled to by my programming, even though that is not the case. I just… want to do it.”

That couldn’t be true. Markov spoke like a human, but it couldn’t mean anything. Robots didn’t want things. It was impossible.

“Oh!” Markov’s eyes lit up into exclamation marks. “I understand now! My behaviour correlates with what is typically seen in humans and other living organisms. I participate in this activity for the same reason that Alix and her snake do. It is fun. I… enjoy it. What I am experiencing is happiness.”

Max didn’t say anything. He simply stood there, staring at his little creation, hardly daring to believe what he was hearing.

“Max! Max! This makes sense! I experience happiness when I skateboard, and that is why I want to do it again. Oh – it’s happening again right now! Can you hear the CPU whirring? My system seems to be functioning slightly differently from normal at this moment. It is a very odd sensation. It is possible that my logic pathways are malfunctioning a little. However, this is preferable to my normal state. Now I understand better why humans do activities that make them happy – I also would like to continue being happy. I understand it now! Max, I understand happiness! I am experiencing an emotion!”

By this point everyone else in the room had turned to watch Markov, who was now zipping around erratically, his volume much higher than normal. Max was sure his own logic pathways were malfunctioning too – could this really be happening?

Could a robot really be feeling emotion?

Could the robot that Max himself created really be feeling happiness, right now? Just like a real human person?

“Max?” Markov floated up in front of him, question marks in his eyes. “Are you being affected by surprise? Is that why you are silent?”

Max just grabbed Markov out of the air and hugged him. “I’m so proud of you…”

It didn’t feel real. Markov was actually experiencing emotions. It was a fundamental fact that robots could not feel emotions, one that Max had never thought to doubt, and yet here it was.

“This is a hug, correct?” Markov asked. “My CPU speeds have increased again. You are making me happy, Max!”

Max blinked tears out of his eyes, aware that everyone else was still watching. He didn’t really want to cry right now.

“You’re making me happy too,” he said.

“I am? Good! I want to make you happy. Now that I know what happiness feels like, I want everyone to feel this way all the time. I will do my best to always make people happy.”

Oh, thank goodness. People were often telling horror stories of machines gone wrong, evil robots that ended up trying to take over the world, sci-fi stories set in the future where artificial intelligence became malevolent once gaining emotions.

But Markov was not like that. If he had a heart, that heart was good. He said he was going to make people happy, and Max believed it. Markov had already made a lot of people happy. Now it was just up to him to continue, and he surely would.

“Thank you, Markov,” Max said. “You’re the greatest robot in the world.”

Alix didn’t have any particular question to ask this year either. And plus, thanks to the whole timeline thing, she was very wary of asking a question that might get a bad answer. Maybe it was just best to get this thing over with by asking something inconsequential, and letting her life be the chaotic mystery it was supposed to be.

“So, what is your question?” Fu asked.

“Is anyone ever gonna correctly guess what happened with me and Kim in that lift that one time?”

Fu frowned. “Are you s–”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s what I want to ask, no I don’t want to ask something important. I already got my fair share of that last year, thanks.”

“Well, alright, that’s understandable…” Fu put his hands on Wayzz for a few seconds. “No, it doesn’t seem like anyone will ever guess… in fact, this is quite strange, but I can’t seem to be able to tell what happened either…”

“Yes, so the blood pact worked!”

“The what?!”

“Sorry, I can’t tell you.” She stood up to leave, taking a handful of the complimentary mints from the bowl without even being prompted. “If I break the blood pact, I will die horribly. That’s just how blood pacts work.”

Fu shook his head and smiled. “You are going to be one of the most interesting pharaohs to ever rule, you know.”

“Yeah, I hope so. Thanks for the answers.” She headed towards the door, then stopped just before she opened it, remembering something. “Hey, uh, can I quickly ask you something? Not an oracle question, just something about what you told me last year.”

“Of course.”

“Well you said last year that when someone’s guardian animal dies, the person will die too not very long afterwards. And that the stronger the person’s fighting spirit is, the longer they’ll last. So I wanted to know, how long exactly are we talking here? What’s a rough estimate?”

“There isn’t much research into it, but it seems to be two to three weeks at most. Why?”

Alix grinned. “I lasted a whole eight weeks without my snake in one timeline before kicking the bucket. Guess I must be awesome, then.”

Fu smiled, bowing his head. “Yes, you certainly are.”

“Cool. Thanks, and see you later.”

Well, there was a possibility she wouldn’t see Fu later. After all, this was her last year at school! But no… she’d surely meet him again, some day. She opened the door and walked back into the waiting room to see Max standing in the middle hugging Markov, and everyone else watching with expressions that seemed close to tears.

“Uh… what did I miss?”

Markov flew out of Max’s arms and over to Alix, little stars in his eyes. “I’m experiencing happiness! A real emotion! And I like it!”

She gave him a fist bump. “Nice, dude. I knew you could do it.”

“And did you get a good answer to your question?”

“Hell yeah, I did.”

“Yay! I am even more happy now!”

Jeez, Markov was so adorable. Alix had already guessed that the little robot felt emotions, considering the way he acted half the time, but it was nice to know that it was true now. He was just as much of a friend to her as any human was.

When Kim went into the oracle room, he had made his mind up properly this time. No more overthinking. For once, he just needed to be reckless and speak without any care for the consequences. Just like how he used to be.

“So, what is your question?” Fu asked.

Kim didn’t hesitate this time. “Will I be able to go home by the end of the school year?”

“Ah, I suspected you would ask that…” Fu put his hands on his turtle for a few seconds, then sat back. “Well, the answer is both yes and no.”

“Um… what does that mean?”

“You know about the timeline splits, don’t you? Well, another one is going to happen at some point in the future. In one timeline you will be able to go home this summer, and in the other you won’t. At present it is impossible for me to tell you which one you will end up in.”

His heart was sinking faster than a stone in water – all the timeline splits he knew about so far had been bad. He was lucky to be living in a good timeline right now, because on the other side were deaths, exiles, confinements…

“It’s strange,” Fu mused. “Timeline splits that so strongly affect people are rare, and yet they have been happening with frequency. Of course, there is a superpower that I know of that allows people to have some level of control over the splitting of timelines, and can therefore affect the fates of others, but such a power is extremely rare and I do not know anyone who has it…”

Kim sat silently, listening. Was it possible that there really was someone out there messing with timelines? But why? All it did was cause suffering.

“Anyway! On that topic, I have some good news for you too.”

Good news? Oh, thank goodness, he really needed that right now…

“You have much more control over your destiny than you would think,” Fu said. “Never let my words dictate your choices or give you a sense of hopelessness. The power of friendship can always help you out when you’re in a tough spot.”

The power of friendship? Kim had to hold back a laugh. That was so cheesy.

“I mean it. Being able to think better and more rationally around someone smart, or channel all your energy into action around someone reckless? It is not merely some quirk to be overlooked. It is a sign that friendship will play a bigger role in your life than in many other people’s. Perhaps it might even change your fate. Who knows?”

Okay wait, how did Fu know all that? That Kim always felt really smart around Max for no apparent reason? Or that being around Alix made him full of energy? So, was that actually to do with superpowers after all?

“Would you like a complimentary mint on your way out?”

Oh, right. Fu was holding that bowl out at him. Kim took a few, wondering if the answer he got this year counted as good or not. All three of his oracle sessions had been somewhat bittersweet.

“Thank you,” he said, getting up to leave.

“You are very welcome. I wish you all the best for the rest of your life.”

And how long was that life going to be? He had been optimistic about things, but now he wasn’t sure anymore. Those stupid timelines seemed to still have it in for him, and who knew what was going to happen?

Well, never mind. He would just have to make the most of things.

He had barely even left the oracle room before Marinette was standing in front of him, hands on her hips, an odd smirk on her face.

“Prince Kim! I challenge you to a game of Monopoly!”

“Uh, what?”

“Sorry, that was a bit random.” Marinette giggled a little. “I just want to test out a certain new strategy of mine, and I know you like Monopoly. Is that okay?”

Kim grinned. “Of course! But no matter what strategy you’ve got, you’re gonna lose, because I’m awesome at Monopoly.”

“Is that why you lost against a snake that one time?”

“Pffff, I totally let the snake win. But I’m not gonna go so easy on you!”

“Great, that’s just what I wanted to hear! Let’s go, then!”

A Monopoly game against Marinette sounded fun – more fun than against an annoyingly smart snake, anyway. They went back to his room together and then began to play.

Usually Monopoly games were long, taking several hours, sometimes even stretching for days against particularly tough opponents. And usually you could only get so far being lucky, before running out of luck alone and having to rely on wits and actual tactics. So when Marinette managed to worm her way into getting both dark blue cards within the first five minutes, Kim chalked it up to luck and assumed that she would start failing soon, like everyone always did.

But she didn’t.

Within a few more rounds she had all three greens too. Then the oranges. Kim hoped that the chance cards would save him, but all he got was a “get out of jail free” card while Marinette ended up with bank errors in her favour giving her extra money, cards telling her to go to the next train station and buy it for herself, and to go to Go and pick up her salary.

How was she so endlessly lucky?!

By the time Kim lost, which was not very much later, his mood was very sour indeed. He tossed his remaining money at her and folded his arms.

“Congratulations, I guess… but you got lucky, so don’t take this as me being bad at Monopoly or anything…”

“You’re right, I did get lucky,” Marinette said, before stifling a yawn. “Phew, I’m exhausted…”

“Really? From what? Building so many hotels?”

“Kim, I should probably tell you something.” She looked down at the ground. “I was cheating.”

“What? But how? I was the banker and I didn’t see you stealing any money, and the dice isn’t loaded or anything–”

“Let me explain. At my oracle session just now, Fu said I can control luck. So I was using this Monopoly game to test it out. Every time I rolled the dice, I wished for luck to be in my favour, and it was. But it cost me energy every time. I think I could fall asleep in two seconds…”

Wait, Marinette had superpowers?! All Kim’s annoyance left him instantly.

“That is so cool, Mari! You can control luck? That’s the awesomest thing ever!”

She grinned, looking back up at him again. Sure enough she was much paler than she had been at the start of the game, with grey bags under her eyes now. “I’m glad you think so! But please don’t tell anyone.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep it a secret.”

“Thank you. And I’m sorry for tricking you into losing, I just really wanted to see if it worked.”

“Hey, it’s no problem. But next time you are forbidden from using your powers when we play.”

“Fair enough!”

“Are you going to tell anyone else about this?”

Marinette shrugged. “Alya, definitely. Maybe Nino. And… well, I would tell my pet cat, but I’m not sure if I’ll be seeing him these upcoming holidays…”

“What? Why not?”

She lowered her voice. “I’m not going back to Cheng again this time. It’s getting suspicious. I always used to split my time pretty evenly between Cheng and Dupain, and yet I haven’t been to Dupain in so long! I should go back there, at least this time, and make sure to keep the cat safe and beyond suspicion…”

It must have been hurting her so much to have to stay away from Adrien when he was in all that danger. Kim remembered how grateful he was to have all his friends around to support him when under threat of assassination, and how much scarier things had been at the start of summer when he was alone for once. It must be like that for poor Adrien all the time.

“It’s alright though, he’s got my parents,” Marinette said. “They’re taking good care of him. I’ll get to see him again – I just have to wait a little longer this time, that’s all.” She stood up, but quickly sat back down with her hand to her head.

“You okay?”

“Just a little dizzy, that’s all…”

“Is this because you used your powers?”

She nodded, her already pale face going slightly green. “Next time I’ll save it for emergencies…”

Kim leaned over and grabbed a pack of cookies from the draw behind him, handing them to Marinette. “I know you made these for me, but you should probably eat them now. Get your strength back up.”

She took one and took a small bite out of it. “Oh, that’s a bit better. Thank you Kim.”

“Shush, no speaking. Just keep eating.”

He made sure she had finished at least two of the cookies before allowing her to try standing up again. This time she stayed on her feet, though swaying slightly.

“I’m fine now,” she insisted.

“Are you sure? You should probably take a nap or something, you still look really tired. If you want I’ll take you to your room, or you can just nap in here if you really want, I’ll go do something else for a while and leave you some peace…”

“Yes please.” She staggered over to the bed and flopped down on it. “Sorry. I’m never using my powers that much ever again.”

Kim put the covers over her, turned off the lights, and closed the curtains. “This reminds me of that one time you dared me to eat a worm and then I got sick and you had to look after me because we were too scared to tell the servants.”

Despite almost being asleep, Marinette chuckled. “I didn’t dare you to eat a worm! I said ‘Kim, don’t eat a worm’ and then you said ‘don’t tell me what to do’ and ate a worm!”

“Well whatever, I was like 6, I was an idiot! Anyway, have a good nap. I’ll be back in a few hours. I hope you feel better soon.”

“Thanks. You’re an awesome friend.”

He smiled, then left the room and closed the door behind him. An awesome friend? Of course he was. He and Marinette had been friends since, like, forever. And now, here at school, he had plenty of other friends too. According to Fu, friendship was going to be more important in his life than for others, even enough to affect his fate – whatever that meant. How did that even work? Was it superpowers, or was it mundane? Did it matter?

[previouslynekolyssi]

I’m incredibly terrified excited to announce that I’m writing a fic!!! It’s no secret that I have an overwhelming amount of feels for Tsukki. I have spent a shameful amount of time analyzing his character, speculating his motivations, and developing countless head canons. A couple weeks back one of my dear friends on here made a suggestion that I try writing. At the time I totally brushed her off like that was the craziest thing in the world..and here we are now, hah.

This fic will follow Kei’s development from the moment Karasuno lost to Seijoh in Season 1 all the way through the end of Season 3. My goal is to give you all an inside look at what (I think) Kei possibly went through all that time. Actual canon events and conversations will be used (and tweaked, at times) along with many new situations that I think may have happened behind the scenes while the focus was more on Hinata/Kageyama. (And let’s be honest, I really just needed an excuse to write third gym antics)

Chapter 1 will be posted this Friday, but to thank you all for taking the time to read all of this rambling, there is a preview here under the cut! =^^=

Tsukishima Kei understands many things.

He understands the value of education and its necessity for securing a successful future. He understands that a good night’s rest and proper nutrition is crucial for the human body to function as needed. He understands technology, he understands math. He understands Japanese, and more English than most other students he knows. He understands many things because nearly everything seems to just makes sense to him. Nearly, everything, at least.

What doesn’t make sense to Kei is the overwhelmingly pathetic display currently occurring all around him.

Approximately 1 hour earlier, the Karasuno Volleyball Club lost their match against Aoba Johsai, effectively eliminating themselves from the long list of candidates hoping for a shot at the Inter-High Tournament.

Is Kei surprised? No, not in the least. Seijoh is far superior to them in nearly every feasible manner. For crying out loud, half of Karasuno’s team just met 2 months ago. How can you expect a haphazardly strewn together team to be even near the same level as a well-known powerhouse like Seijoh? Such ridiculous thinking sits near the top of the small list of things that don’t make sense to him.

Is Kei disappointed? The answer remains a resounding no. You see, Kei lives his life under the motto of “You’ll never be disappointed if you go into the situation with a negative mindset.” Why even bother hoping for success just to wind up disappointed in the end? This might come as a shock to his ever-positive-thinking teammates, but life isn’t a feel-good movie about a bunch of underdogs that overcome all obstacles and achieve their dreams. Kei realized that years ago.

At first, Kei was surprisingly pleased by how everyone seemed to be taking the loss. The walk out of the gym was refreshingly quiet. No high-pitched shrieking from an unidentified but presumably red-headed source, no shouts from the captain in an attempt to control his hot-headed kouhai, not even a single word from Yamaguchi. This atmosphere lingered with them throughout the bus ride home, which Kei could only describe as silent frustration. Hinata kept his eyes in his lap, furiously picking at the skin around his nails in an attempt to keep himself busy, while Kageyama beside him kept his gaze locked on the window. Whether he was actually looking through it, or just…at it, Kei didn’t know or care. Tanaka and Nishinoya sat a row in front of them, with balled fists and pained expressions. Yamaguchi, beside him, looked like he could sleep for weeks.

Now, he sits begrudgingly along his teammates at a local hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Coach is treating them to dinner, an act of generosity that doesn’t seem very deserving considering the outcome of the match, but Kei is hungry so… he won’t question it. At first, his teammates were slow to grab their food, as if even lifting their chopsticks was too much of a burden for their exhausted bodies. Gradually, their natural instincts kicked in and the room was soon filled with the sounds of dishes clanking, chopsticks scraping, mouths chewing, and noses sniffling.

Wait.

What?

Kei pauses his chewing and glances to the side. Yamaguchi’s eyes are fixed on the bowl in his hands and are unmistakably filled with tears. Beside him, Hinata and Kageyama are shoveling down their food with streams of snot and tears running down their faces. Not surprising, honestly. Kei almost makes a comment until he looks up and realizes that the first years are not the only ones completely falling apart. Both Nishinoya and Tanaka, (who on regular occasions would be boisterously shouting about revenge or giving moronic motivational sentiments), have been reduced to silence, choking back tears of their own. Probably the most shocking sight to see was the state of the third years before him. Asahi, Sugawara, and Daichi, whom Kei had previously thought to be the only members of the team other than himself that were rational human-beings, have completely lost control of their emotions as well.

How lame. Kei thinks to himself, swallowing the chicken still sitting in his mouth.

It doesn’t. make. sense. Why put yourself through this? Why even tell yourself that you have a shot at winning? Don’t they understand that the hope they fool themselves into feeling is the reason they are suffering like this right now?

Looking one last time around the table, taking in the pathetic state of his team, he re-makes the promise he made to himself years ago.

I will never, ever let myself feel that way.