#apparently not everyone feels like an emotionless robot?

[kostusha]

i wish i cared

[iznsfw]

Manic Robotic Dream Girl

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 4 - Choi Yena

IZ*ONE's Choi Yena x Male Reader Smut

8,311 words

Neon lights dance like flames around you. There’s no need to touch them when you’re already burning. Burning with something that’s not a fever but a kind of pain that never goes away. 

Sweat pricks the sides of your face and you’re aware of the blots of perspiration running down your jawline. Nights at the Rogue are often hot, but then they surprise you with a sudden burst of windiness, so you never bother to take your coat off. Whatever and wherever, you’ll always be here yet you’ve not once been able to predict the temperature.

That’s what happened when WAKE12 took over. 

Apparently, they decide if people are under the weather by controlling it by them-fucking-selves. Kwon feeling shitty? Looks like rain then. Maybe she’s feeling happy? Alright, let the clouds find balance. Angry? Take a fucking hailstorm. What a privilege, one bigger than the lives of the rich men in the North. But everyone forgets about that fact after she sends out minimal alms—canned goods, a Bible, something. Then it’s back to President Kwon is the best! President Kwon can never fail us! President—

“Vodka.”

“Same as yesterday?” asks Yuri, smiling a little bit. 

“Same as yesterday.” For a hologram, Yuri can be quite the social butterfly. 

Online wallets are all the rage nowadays. The AI voice in your head offers you said option to pay, and you can hear your balance privately spoken. Somehow your brow prevents from creasing as you hear it. You lack funds but somehow have a few extra bucks to drink. 

Choose that. You want to save your Wizes for other things. Lock eyes with Yuri and your balance goes down. You’ve paid. 

Online and digital wallets modified with embedded signals and readers were in use before you were even born. Of course, there were already such payment options in the twenty-first century, but how WAKE12 changed everything, not just ordering options with telepathic payment, can easily be read in a sixth grade history textbook. 

In October of the year 2918, Kwon Eunbi rose in the ranks as a scientist and soldier for Kang Hyewon, former president, and ended up working her way into dictatorship. The textbooks and classrooms teach that she proposed a law to the court and got herself a position for her wit and intelligence. But early first accounts challenge that, saying that she caught the eye of Kang and had a sexual relationship with her. WAKE12 branded this as propaganda that sullies the name of not only the dictator but the one of the late president, who died mysteriously before Kwon rose to power.

Massive backstory for cashless payment, but you know there’s more to it than the government would like to let on. What happened to Kang? What made Kwon so evil the moment she sat in her presidential throne?

“Thank you, sir.” Holograms all have different voices; Yuri’s sounds like she’s singing. At least the bartender slash boss hired her instead of those with monotone, emotionless ones. It’s cheaper to have hologram workers than humans anyway. Less money, less emotional labor, less of feeling like a normal person.

A beggar curled up below the counter holds his hand out. Not an uncommon sight in the Auster, but it’s a pity to see. The world has advanced with its telepathic wallets and 3D holograms yet there will always be individuals who haven’t caught up with time. While the North Rogue leads worldly lifetimes, the Auster is a home for the rejects. The poorest of the poor. The somewhere-in-the-middles. It can never be truly a perfect world if advancement doesn’t include everyone.

Give him a Wize. Back then, that would have been worth a hundred or so dollars, a currency long gone. Not that you’d know of it; WAKE12 claimed leadership way before you were born so the cheap value of the coin studded with the bust of Kwon Eunbi is all you’re accustomed to. 

Take your drink and thank Yuri. 

The cobblestone is rough beneath your feet. You take your seat at your usual table. Float your fingers around your shotglass. Pour the contents down your chapped mouth almost all in one go. Anything to feel something. Anything to feel anything. 

You’re not an alcoholic by any means, though that’s certainly up for debate. But there’s a need for the liquid that rages more than the need for oxygen (the fucking shortage of it) or food (the fucking expense of it). How else could you be less numb? You’re welcome to every feeling at this stage, just not this empty neutrality that slumbers your senses.

Pain? Your throat seizes up when you drink and brings tears to your eyes, so there's that. 

Happiness? Hm, none. You’re barely smiling. You’ve no family, little friends, and no partner for the last few years. There’s nothing to be happy about.

Anger? The displays of people fined harshly for their crimes on the big as life advertising screens stir some defiance in you. WAKE12 doesn’t take kindly to hacktivists and young coders dabbling in creating their own AIs. You have your own anti-government opinions, but what’s a human mind against an artificial one? Plus, and probably a less serious reason (tell that to the thousands who flock to the hospitals because of asthma), the air is almost always polluted here in the Rogue. It’s dirtied by car smoke and factory remains. You’d think that robots taking over the labs would improve it. Perhaps they weren’t programmed that way. 

Loneliness?

You look around. See the glitching phantoms of new world technology make the drinks breezily. Watch the light-studded train filled with commuters from the Auster. Kwon Eunbi managed to build an underside track for additional trains to run and still the commuters—young students, old grandparents, not young but not old workers whose jobs belong to WAKE12—wear the same tired look you saw yesterday. All you could hear are buzzes and uncanny valley voices from holograms.

The second chair paired with your table is empty. You’re suddenly lucid to the fact that it’ll always be like this. These nights of drinking and walking in the Auster Rogue will be endless, and just the same, you’ll be endlessly alone.

Sometimes mortality could be so depressing.

So depressing that it makes it all so meaningless.

A man stumbles over to the outside bar, breaking your thoughtless reverie. His clothes are as black as the night you spend but you can see blood on the fabric. The skyscrapers provide enough light for you to see his red face from anxious internal and worrying external blood. The pleading look grips his expression like a malfunctioning robot’s limb. 

He’s looking back as if afraid of what might be there. The rain-soaked road is tread on roughly by his shaking knees as he crawls his way to the bar. “Please, help me!”

“Warning,” comes the voice in your head, and you know the other visitors hear it, too, “a criminal of the state is in your proximity. Proceed with caution.”

WAKE12 always keeps an eye on those who threaten them. They have goons everywhere. The kindly grandfather down the street could be a veteran waiting for the chance of a medal. They have ears everywhere as well. Undercover cops stay in both crowded and clear spaces to identify possible threats. When it all comes down to it, you’re not safe in your own head at all. The implants can detect when you dream up something terrible. That’s how millions lose their reputation. Their jobs. Their families.

Their lives.

He staggers to the counter, crashing glass that shards his palms, and lets out this wail you’d hear from an abused pup. “Please,” he croaks. “Don’t listen to them. I just need somewhere to hide. I did nothing wrong, nothing!”

The implanted voice in your brain says otherwise. Everyone was given one when the Cyber Age came. That’s what makes a tiny difference in seeing who’s human and who’s not: the tiny, diamond scar below their hairline from the operation. Close inspection can’t always be done, however. Nowadays, too many of these robots and holograms pass the Turing test. You can never truly trust someone.

“Offenses include: playing the role of an accomplice in theft of government data, distribution of terrorist propaganda—”

“Get the fuck out!” says the bartender, having burst out from the back. As a longtime visitor, you haven’t seen him this angry, but you know it stems from fear. No one wants to associate with a criminal. No one wants the association to lead to arrest and the arrest lead to god knows what. Hundreds of people go missing after they’re taken under custody. What Kwon does to them, you don’t know. “Leave or I’ll call the cops!”

Like you said, they lurk everywhere. You’re surprised they haven’t caught up to him.

The bloodied man shakes his head, like please, please, someone believe me. “No, I’m not a criminal! Listen to me, please, I don’t have enough time! They just wanna—cut down” 

Rapid footsteps. Sigh and put your glass down. There they are.

The man reaches for him, but the bartender shoves the whole table into his face. He falls back on the ground and cries out for help that never comes. Men and women wearing tight black uniforms and vests pull him up. Their lit helmets that opposingly disallow a view of their faces make them look emotionless. Like robots.

Huh.

While resting your head against the metal chair, you listen to the struggling shuffles of the police and criminal, and see the glitching robots walking down the road. No real emotion, no real living.

He scratches and screams and sobs, but that doesn’t matter to them. They pull him along the rocky cement and recite his nonexistent rights to him. There’s the right to remain silent (he’s screaming), the right to an attorney (nobody in the Auster can afford a good lawyer much less an honest one), and the right to live freely if found innocent of the crime (someone getting convicted happens more often than being released).

Besides, it can’t be called living when it’s in a place so completely devoid of any humanity.

“In more ways than one,” you say. Fuck it, you’ll drink to that.

-

Like always, you take more than you should. You believe by now you’ve built some kind of immunity. That’s what they all think, you remind yourself, before an inevitable death that buries them in the ground one bricked shot at a time. You swear you’re not dizzy at all or feeling the acid build to your throat, so the sight gathering just a little away from you is real. 

Stare at your glass. Space out if not for what you see: behind it, a shapely form of a woman in purple. The blue and violet lights make it difficult for you to distinguish it from her clothes so she actually looks naked. That shocks you more than the arrest. You’re sure she’s got a little modesty in her because why else is she making her way to a table?

Your table?

It’s like she teleported when she’s suddenly seated before you, filling the chair that’s been empty for the last more or so years. You don’t even get the chance to look up at the right time, but the moment you do, you think keeping your eyes on your glass would’ve been better for the sake of your heart.

YENA.

Her name appears in your mind and she hasn’t even introduced herself. But it’s right there, emblazoned in lights in all capitalized four letters: YENA. This girl is Yena. And this girl—this fucking guilty pleasure of a girl—is gorgeous.

The ends of her hair are tinged with blonde, and it’s hard not to give attention to that with how her locks are gathered into twin tails. She smoothes them before looking at you quite seriously, like she’s about to propose a challenge you’d lose.

Blue shining eyes. There’s something odd about the way they twinkle below her bangs—almost like something not human. 

Yena dances her fingers around her jawline, elbow resting on the table, and tilts her pretty face. Lets her fingers play with her lips that are made for things the Auster’s known for providing (she can’t be from here though; those crocheted coordinates look costly). That’s how you notice that fine feature. Naturally thick and casually jutted out in a distinctive pout, your eyes are glued to them. Can’t take your prolonged stare away if someone helped you. 

“Are you waiting for me to start talking?” Yena asks. She’s not angry, just amused—her voice is smooth and clear, with a tiny pitch that makes her all the more cute. 

You shake your head. “Was just trying to figure something out.” 

“And that is?”

“A lot of things,” you state. Things you’d keep a secret forever, lest you spill them out to a girl all for the payment of being beautiful. “But I’m not sure pretty girls like you would want to know.”

You try to keep your curious peering at her normal, but it’s difficult when she just attracts attention. She’s a glowing lightbulb in a flutter of moths. Yena doesn’t flicker weakly; she shines, and it’s honestly why everyone else is “subtly” looking at her, this gorgeous stranger who came in and somehow chose the alcoholic who came from places more rock bottom than the Auster.

She laughs. It’s sobering—you think you’ll get drunk on her rather than the cheap alcohol. “Is that what you think of me? Too beautiful to think too much?” 

Look her up and down. Yeah, you want to say, that’s about it. It’s not out of offense but rather the instinct in you that wants to tell her you don’t want to put her in a worried state. She’s too… ah, she doesn’t know what you’d do for a girl like her—someone too unreal to be human but too genuine to be the “living” dolls lonely men purchase. Someone who can keep a conversation going without fearing a low blow. Someone who’s out of your league in the Rogue’s mixed pool but chooses you anyway.

“I’m just saying you might not want to hear a stranger boring you with his hard problems.”

“Oh please,” she says, waving it off with a flick of a pointed wrist. “You know my name. I know yours. We’re not strangers anymore.”

How did you—how did she—

Her eyes twinkle again. They’re… violet? You could have bet they were blue. But then you see the suspiciously smooth and clear skin, with the perfect lines of her eyelids, which curve as if manufactured in. She’s definitely not human. 

“Besides,” adds Yena sweetly, “you’re really underestimating how good I can take certain hard things.”

Swallow. You opened the door, now you’re locked in. 

Yena catches the bob of your Adam’s apple and smirks. Traces her fingers over yours. She can’t be human for sure yet you feel the softness of her hand, the only thing giving you doubt being how chilled her touch is. It's humid here, so where did that come from? Goosebumps pop up in masses across your skin—note how nothing shows up on hers.

Maybe she’s just a confident woman.

“Come on, I dare you.” 

“Only if you go first.” 

“Yes, sir,” she says. A cutesy saluted hand positions itself before her temple. Her hands are tiny, could be dainty, while her cheeks lift to support an adorable smile. 

Your knees tremble. You don’t know where that came from either. Yena just knows what to say to get to a guy. Almost like she was made for it. There’s that question again, resurfacing in your altered brain: is she human or not?

You lean back. Cross your arms. Here you go, on your way to find out. “What’s your story?” 

Yena shrugs, her shoulders bare and smooth. And you’re thinking of how you’d like to see the rest of them, the rest of her body naked by pulling down the crocheted strap of the purple coordinates. How you’d like to touch those puffed up cheeks and not care if they’re real or not when you pull her close to kiss her. How those lips—

“Don’t have one.”

“Sorry?”

She laughs. Even the way she giggles is attractive.  “No, seriously,” she replies, licking her lips. “There’s nothing interesting about me. I’m the most normal girl there is.”

There is nothing normal about her. Everything she says is too prepared. The largeness of her eyes gives everything away. Her hair is combed too finely that you’re not unconvinced that it isn't human hair at all, though you can see them connect at the roots. It’s like someone drew a cute animated girl on a notepad one lonely night, sent the idea to a rich bastard, and brought her to life.

So no, you’re not buying it.

“So you’re saying you’re just a blank canvas.”

“If you put it like that, I guess.” Yena rolls her eyes. You’re a bit obsessed. “Guys want that, right? A blank piece of a girl they could shoot more than a shot at? Maybe paint her white?”

You’re thankful you didn’t continue drinking. Otherwise, your surprise would be visible and audible with the lodge of your throat as you wineboard yourself.

The side of her mouth raises. A soft dimple exceeding cuteness—it’s deeper, brighter, shinier. You imagine her as a college student, charming boys into submission just with a wink and a smile that can melt hearts and bring guilt to lust-addled minds. 

That’s what she’s doing: Yena is melting you because of how adorable she is, but then you take a look at her body, note the fine curves it boasts, and feel the need to go to a confessional pastor. You’re not supposed to repeats in your mind, but you’re you—if you aren’t supposed to do it, then of course you’ll do it anyway.

“Woah,” you say with a nervous laugh. “Woah.”

“Look.” She rests her forearm on the table and talks so casually one would think she weren’t just talking about getting cumshots. “I‘m not taking that back, so do with that what you will.”

Under the table, behind the scenes, her leg is curled around one of yours. Her ankle glides along your skin teasingly. Not a speck of hair on all of those flawless legs, but you’re shivering anyway from the contact. Hence, make a show of closing your coat around yourself. You can’t fool her when it’s not even chilly.

Recover, piecing together the brokenness of your confidence she tore apart.

“My story is, uh, weird.”

“Tell me.”

“This might be too personal but—” You lift your shoulders awkwardly. “I used to date a girl who looks exactly like you.”

Kim Chaewon—short auburn hair, soft cheeks, and a tiny figure. She’s a memory you didn’t think of returning to today, but then Yena came here, and now you’re back to your youth.

“She was a cop. Cutest officer I’ve ever seen, but a real bitch, for the lack of a better word. Then she left me.”

“You broke her heart, didn’t you?” 

Sputter. “No!” you immediately deny, shaking your head. “I—I didn’t hurt her, she was—”

A filthy lie. You became nonchalant, undeserving of a sweet woman who’d do anything for you, even give up her well-paying job. Again and again, Chaewon expressed her concerns: why were you talking to Minju? Where have you been? Why are you so mean? You disregarded them all the same. She deserved the ignorance; she was too fucking controlling, too fucking jealous.

Yena knows you’re lying. It’s like you’re a wound she can peel back to see all the ugliness, all the damage underneath. Her smile tells you everything.

“Oh, come on. I don’t care. Except for this.” Yena intertwines her fingers. Rests her chin on top of the formed platform. “Was she a good fuck?”

Your laugh is forced, trying to make a good deal out of this situation. A girl is flirting with you right after you saw someone disappear. Now you’re wondering if she’s a robot. Now, through some way, she knows you’re lying about your ex. Coincidences meet yet you refuse to connect them—parallel lines they shall stay, forever. 

“Yena, what exactly is up with you?” you ask. “You just met me. And come on now, why me?”

It’s begun to be hotter in this space. Loosen your coat. Perspiration isn’t because of the atmosphere, so you find out (and what a surprise). It’s because of the woman across you, a midnight sun. If the painful sun was actually a symbol of good in the Rogue, Yena would play its role perfectly. She’d scorch through you and you’ll enjoy every second. Yeah, you’d get all sorts of tans and burns and cancers if you bask in her without protection, but my god, are you willing to take the risk.

“I just don’t like seeing pretty boys have problems,” she replies easily. “If they want, (and I know they do), I’ll take them all away. Soon, all you'll think of is me. Like I’m the sun peeking in your room and you just can’t get enough sleep because of it.”

You tense up. Millions of questions, a void empty of answers. Once again, how was she so spot on? You’re not breathing quite well, and your clothes are tighter tonight. “Yena, look, I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Don’t be, not because you aren't, but because she said so.

She pouts. “You’re not gonna buy me a drink?”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Nope. Remember what I said? I’m a blank canvas. So do whatever you want with me. Buy me a drink. Or not. Tell me to fuck off. Or not. Force me on my knees.”

Yena kneels.

There’s no mantle on the table to cover up what she’s about to do. You gasp, then try to mask it as a poor cough, but you’re distracted by how she pulls your pants down effortlessly. The button sealing your coat is busted open and gone.

So is your dignity.

Yena’s tongue sticks out at the side of her mouth as she looks up at you with excitement and mischief in her eyes. 

“Or let me do the job. I’m a big girl after all.”

She seals her teeth around your zipper and tugs down. It’s embarrassing how hard you are for her. But Yena doesn’t care. Adoration is clear on her face as she stares at your shaft, the worshipful energy in her eyes so overwhelming that she has to do something about it.

“Yena—” What a way to go out: screaming a stranger’s name.

You knew those lips were up to no good the moment you saw them. She’s provided evidence, too. Her soft lips embrace your boner and suckle fervently while dragging themselves upwards. It’s a caress that tenses you up rather than comforts you. It works you up, tying you down with the little weight Yena has. You could kick her away right now and tell her to go away. File a case against her. 

You don’t.

The joined duo of careful teeth and wild tongue gets you whimpering. Shivering. Begging. How is she so good at this?

Her mouth is perfectly wet. It’s not copiously soaked to have you cringing but the perfect balance of wet and ready, coating your rod again and again. She gives you too much and just right. It would be a cruel violation if you were asked to choose one and only one.

“Baby, what the fuck—” you stammer. 

Her throat’s an expert in taking you because one push of her lips to your base welcomes you in its tight hole. Your knees shake; Yena places her hands on it, not to stop their trembles but for leverage during the dip of her head. 

Close your eyes, look up, and stare at skies that provide no reprieving stars. Think of how she’s infinitely bett—

“Better than any pussy, huh?” Yena asks. The third time is no coincidence, so you’ve heard. “And it’s just my throat.”

At this stage, you don’t care if she’s a robot or not, because either way, that mouth is a fucking treasure.

You lift your hips and start slowly working yourself in Yena’s face. Her lips pucker and pout to allow you inside with pleasurable friction. Those eyes—there aren’t any planets in the sky because of the pollution but you think you can see their sparkle in them. 

The amazing part is that Yena doesn’t choke. She endlessly takes you in, receiving every inch like a blessed gift, but you don’t hear her wheeze. No sounds of complaints escape her. You have a feeling it’s not because of your cock sliding in and out of it. She only gags on occasion, and those already sound fake. It’s like she’s doing it just so you can get worked up hearing her moans.

While others might be impressed, you’re dumbfounded. She tightens and loosens and pushes and pulls just for your pleasure. 

“Yena, I– you’re doing so good,” you compliment her in gasped breaths.

Her cheeks hollow. The suction strengthens and it now feels like your soul’s being swallowed down her neck. She knows how to tease you with light pandering from her teeth, generous licking, and strengthened swallowing. Her mouth is warm but you are more so. She’s making you feel hot in all these layers, an additional one played by her perfect lips.

Perfect hair, too, you note.

Hungry impulses take over your body and now you’re pumping your core into the girl’s face with the help of her pigtails. Yena’s hair is thick and silky, and it’s another enjoyable factor: feeling how it slips between your fingers and how each pull directs her lips to press firmly to your crotch.

She doesn’t gag with that either. She must have had a lot of experience; she did say she can take hard things fine. That is, if she were human. If not, whoever built her had dirty ideas: the lack of gag reflex surely brings in the five star ratings.

Bright star-like eyes, cute ruinable face, mouth that can take the largest.

Yep, perfect.

“Good—fucking—girl.”

Your cock weeps white. Yena feels the first drop and immediately pulls away. She pumps your shaft with a strong, urgent fist. As she hinted, you blast all over her face. Your orgasm grips you and shakes you like never before, and of course, the little brat enjoys it. She’s nearly laughing.

“There,” says Yena after she drains you. Her duck-like lips are sticky with cum. “Canvas painted.”

What a pretty painting you’ve made. Here, shown to the public, is the manic pixie dream girl, semen on her chin to symbolize how each word she utters has you climaxing; hair disheveled to show your subtle but messy rule over her, because you own her although you weren’t there when her mechanical limbs were assembled and her face drawn; and a smile on her face to show that despite all this: she likes it.

You laugh, short blunt breaths wisping in the air. “There really is something wrong with you, Yena,” you say.

She’s a girl who’s extremely pretty, good at blowjobs, and likes public sex and oral. She can also read minds. Oh, and she might not be real. 

“You could say that again.” She wipes her mouth. “Though I do think I could use a little fixing from you.”

-

You take her home. Your mother would have been disappointed in you if she knew you violated the first law you were ever taught: don’t talk to strangers. Most of all, don’t ever let them in. But Yena is no stranger—like she said, she knows your name and for some reason, you know her own. You’re not strangers. And your mother isn’t around to command you not to kneel for a pretty girl.

This home of yours isn’t fancy, but if people from 2024 saw it, they’d be mesmerized. You’re not rich enough to afford the penthouses the North offers; this one is alright for you. The stories of the building aren’t aligned with each other, separating a few yards with floating floors that defy gravity. That’s right; WAKE12 somehow found a way to disobey the rules of physics. The ends are lit up with bright lights that blind you from miles away. Wide windows encircle the areas along with al frescos and convenient malls. Back then, this would have been classified as the house of the wealthy—you can’t say you agree with the sentiment when you’re not at all rich.

“Hi,” says Yena brightly at the front desk. She’s so smiley, always grinning like she’s just told a really clever joke. “Where’s the elevator?”

“I, uh…” 

The manager looks at her oddly. Your ears redden; she still hasn’t cleaned her face up. Evidence of your deed lies there on her nose and chin and cheeks, even in her perfect hair. 

“Well?”

The manager lifts the phone immediately. Before he could dial a number, Yena sighs loudly. 

“Look.” She silences the telephone with a slam of the device down on the keypad. The man’s hand cringes. “I’m about to fuck this guy’s brains out and I promise your little backup bosses can’t do anything about it.”

He stares at her. 

“I’m gonna use his dick until it’s limp as a balloon, then ride him in bed, then bend over on the kitchen table so he could breed me like a common whore.”

You lift an index finger to apologize, but put it back down. Did she just say you can breed her?

His jaw tenses. The teeth behind those unsmiling thin lips grit, not in annoyance but in fear. Yena’s bouncy and sweet, but apparently she’s excluding people who cockblock from her cute attitude.

“So,” finishes Yena, lowering her gaze, “where is the fucking elevator?”

The elevator has no pulley or doors. It sits at the side of the uneven floors and rises with nothing but a sizable pod. You’ve had to watch your weight to be able to enjoy the freedom from staircases. 

Yena steps on it with no worry. As you look at her, you realize how positively tiny she is. That’s why she isn’t doubtful about fitting in the claustrophobic space. Her violet clothes can slip off at any time at her pull of a waist and slim thighs. All the fullness goes to her cheeks, painted with fake tattooed stars and minimal doodles. 

She’s the kind of girl you could just pick up and do whatever to. You’re the kind of guy who really, really likes the idea.

Holding your hand is a thing of the past. Yena clutches your cock over your jeans as the elevator lifts the two of you up. 

The first thing she does the moment you enter your home is not kiss you, or slam you to the door, or whisper dirty nothings in the hollow of your ear. Yena looks around and says, simply, “Doable.”

You chuckle. You’re not offended. It’s a tidy, minimal apartment with glass that spans a viewing pleasure of the artificial forest and the hills. Glass lost its value but skyrocketed in purchases when Jo Yuri, first activist recorded in the history of WAKE12’s domination, was imprisoned. People compared her name to glass (yuri was 유리 and 유리 meant glass) and since then, it has been used everywhere. High demand, low price. Her symbol and namesake is used the way the public wants her to be used: cheap thing convenient only to the eye. They always said she was too pretty to talk too much.

“Here, doable is the best compliment,” you reply. You go to your bedroom to clean the place. If you want to fuck a rich girl, make sure the bedroom is at least up to her standards. “You have personal maids there in the North?”

Yena continues looking around. She’s mildly fascinated by everything, especially in the big window placed on the ceiling that lets stars peer down at you. For some reason, all the ejaculation on her face is gone. You don’t remember her bringing a washcloth.

“I’m not from the North, you know.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope. I don’t come from anywhere.”

You come out, having cleared your bed from clothes and the floors of trash. You fed the trash to the connected chute that all apartments have, which leads down to the Southern Auster. The word may be Latin and is already defined as south, but there’s places poorer than the part you live in. You’re lucky to be here. The Southern Auster’s where it’s much more dangerous. The people there scavenge for food and money, and their cries go unheard in the night. It’s the biggest criminal capital of the Rogue.

You come out and Yena’s sitting on the kitchen table with a knife.

Stop in your tracks. 

See the blood running down her arm. 

“Oh, don’t worry,” she says dismissively. “It doesn’t hurt.”

You still don’t know what to say. The wound on her skin’s dissolved to a scar that looks more like a scratch on metal. Why would she do that? Why would that do that?

“In fact, I think it’s kind of cool.” Yena slides the blade on the strap of her top. It falls apart, right down to her braless chest. A pink, perky nipple is clear in the moonlight shining from above. “When people see me, they usually want to hurt me, so I might as well do it myself, right? They want to slap me, pull my hair, choke me. They say that and figure I’m totally flattered.”

You want to say that you couldn’t blame them. Yena’s got this innocent but naughty aura about her that you want to completely ruin. There’s her hair, all dolled up and her quirky makeup that brings attention that eventually switches down to the body she doesn’t bother hiding. 

But it looks like she’s doing the ruining. Aren’t those the best stories? Boy corrupts girl when it’s the other way around in reality? 

To use the word “reality” when you’re with Yena is laughable. She can read your mind like a Rogue Times newspaper. You get that things you thought were impossible have a chance of happening in these days, but you don’t remember wounds healing that fast. The knife slices right through the fabric, revealing swoon-worthy curves of her waist and hips, making her bleed only not for too long. Who would want a scar-ridden skinny girl anyway?

“Well,” you say after a dutiful swallow, “are you?”

Yena examines the knife. Her crimson blood dripping from its edge is a worthwhile watch while she considers this. 

She finally puts down the knife, much to your relief. “I don’t know. What about you, handsome? Do you want to hurt me or fuck me?”

“I… I’m not like them. I don’t wanna hit you or make you cry or anything. I want to fuck you, that’s completely different.”

First confession of the night that didn’t need saying when it’s clear. You let her blow you in public. You took her home. The intention is staring you in the face: you want to have sex with a girl you just met. 

Yena smiles. “You’d be surprised how blurred the lines are.”

Yena‘s hands fall on your shoulders and make you  fall to the kitchen chair and make your pants fall on the floor. Falling, falling, falling for her—it’s all you’re able to do provided that she’s stunning. She’s tiny with her thin arms and legs but her breasts are surprisingly supple. The cleavage her top subtly shows off hinted to that and you’re still shocked.

She’s a hot desert, and the only source you can drink of is her core. Her pussy is slick, making her thighs glue together only for them to part as she sits on your lap. 

The first grind has you both breathless. The second renders a duet of moans. She’s so wet that it’s excessive enough for her to drip down your cock and completely cover it with her. Yena’s pussy lips splay and clasp your shaft with slippery friction.

She curses. “You’re so hard. Big, t-too.” She aims your cockhead at her clit and sighs at the toe-curling pleasure. “You think you can fit in me?”

“I guess we’ll have to see.”

Yena smirks. She continues soaking you with her wetness. Her juices pour from your head to your balls. Then, without warning, she sheathes your rod inside her. 

You gasp. It’s so easy to slip yourself in and all too difficult to cope with how tight she is. Her walls, perfectly textured and sloppy, trap you and let you out, giving you false hope of escaping, only to imprison you again. It’s the best punishment you ever had. 

Her throat was already better than the other cunts you’ve spent yourself in, so what does that make her pussy?

The best. Her overflowing waterfall lets her ride you easily. It seems like there’s a million spots inside her you can target for she quivers and cries with each bounce. Her hair flows photogenically while her chest does the same erotic motion. 

“So fucking good, fuck,” Yena groans. Her round butt lands on your lap and you think you’d like it to stay there forever. Curl your hands around her cheeks. Draw a healthy moan from the throat you used.

Yena’s pussy curves and opens in every best way. She makes it so easy to mold her into the shape of your cock, to rearrange her insides. Was she made for dick? She’s so wet that you’d think she’s a nymphomaniac who won’t let you go, the same way her vagina won’t let you go as its grip curls around you and threatens to milk you to your wits’ end.

You wouldn’t mind that.

Her riding accelerates to an unbearable point the moment you start to spank her. She’s right about hurting and having sex being almost the same—you want to leave red handprints all over her jiggling ass. You want to pull her hair until she screams. You want to fuck this perfect cunt of hers right up to when she’s creaming all over you, flooding your sexes with her naturla nectar.

And the crazy thing is: she’ll actually let you.

“Fucking brat,” you say, hitting her butt again. She yelps coquettishly. “Are you really this thirsty for cock?”

“God, yes…” Her head throws back. Yena’s eyes shut and although her vision is blocked she sees stars. “Wanted to know how your dick would split me open. Fuck, keep doing that!”

Her core tightens with each blow you expel on her bouncing ass. Her hole’s already so enclosed so when she squeezes more, it’s close to having your cock tortured. You’re suffocating inside her.  You’re waterboarded again and again with her waterfall of wetness. 

You guide Yena’s motions with your hands on her behind. She’s so light that you’re practically using her as a doll, fucking her on your erection and letting yourself enjoy how her tits recoil. Her moans turn on a part of your brain that you don’t know, but it transmits to you these thoughts: fuck her senseless.

You raise her as high as you can, her weight nothing even to your long-untrained muscles, then slam her down. She sinks deeper into your lap and takes longer inches. Yena’s screams bounce off the soundproof walls that ensure only you can hear them. Those walls were fucking expensive, so of course you gotta let them have purpose. Slap Yena’s thighs down on yours and let her pussy envelop you right up to the point of bruises appearing on your skin.

How does she not sweat? Your hands wander all over her tight body and still you don’t find a drop of sweat. Her pigtails are still secured. You guess she was just made to be eternally pretty. 

She is pretty, under any circumstance—her smooth skin possesses zero blemishes and her winged eyes remain lamp-bright. She’s pretty, even when she lets out the pitchiest sounds, even when Yena’s lips rise into a devilish smile before sealing on your neck. She nibbles on your skin and rakes up your sensitivity. 

“Holy shit, Yena…”

“Yeah, that’s right.” She licks behind your ear and you nearly lose it. Maybe you already did. “Say my name. Because I’m all yours. This pussy is yours to use and abuse, so do it.”

Rub her tiny pulsing clit. Yena’s cries deafen you. If that’s not enough, she drowns you with her cum. There’s no raft to save you. You’re all alone. You’ll drown here and never see the light of day again.

Electricity runs through her body as the pleasure ramps up. Her fingers weaken on your shoulders. Her gasps are split off by larger, more surprised evolutions. Yena’s close.

“Fuck, no, I can’t!” Yena’s riding is furious and borderline abusive. The noises between your two crotches are louder than before. 

“You can,” you insist. You throb inside her while her pussy becomes smaller despite the many thrusts you perform. “Take it like a good girl, Yena.”

“Fuck me, use me, I’m just your cute little helpless girl, fuck me!”

She couldn’t be more correct. She’s just a useless doll, thin and adorable and tight—so why not use her like one?

You’re surprised your limbs have any power in them, but they impress as you lift Yena up. During your walk to the counter, you don’t stop thrusting in her. She’s wet and ready, just waiting and begging for it to happen. Her pretty face is smudged with tears. There’s sick satisfaction in you from seeing how the confident girl at the bar is now just a fuckhole to use. 

“Oh, oh, ah!” Cute little whines come out from those lips. Her mouth used its power to pick you up, make you cum, make you scared. In this second, all that is gone: she’ll only ever use it to wail in pleasure.

Knock her against the kitchen counter. Her thighs press to the curve. You spread them open and continue spending yourself to death in her. Her sides that slant to make the physique you love are perfect handles to thrust. 

You’re completely soaked, but she’s completely defiled. The dream girl is not just any dream but a wet dream. She’s the fantasy you never had but will constantly think of now. And you don’t care if WAKE12 knows you’re fucking her. They can read all the thoughts you have about Yena as much as they like, and you wouldn’t care.

Instead of giving a fuck, you twist her around, her smooth back in front of you, and fuck her harder while you’re at it. Admire the way your hips slap her ass and give her the spanking she deserves. One spank, that’s for being so tempting. Another for the price of her promiscuity. Three one-after-the-other’s because she’s too wild, too free for a girl with that face.

“God, please, harder!” Yena cries. “Make me your little cocksleeve cumslut!”

She does not take pain to heart, physically and mentally. In spite of your rapid pumps and the slap of your stomach to her bent and ready ass, no bruises or scratches appear on her skin. You say all these degrading words and rather than mope about it, she gets more turned on. She forces you to give all your might in railing her in this apartment where the open windows give you away rather than the sounds. And you’re nodding along, saying:

“Of course.”

Of course you’ll grab her tits and pinch their nipples as hard as you can. Yena’s skin might not be humanly warm but these boobs are real. They’re soft in your palms and plentiful. Is she a masochist? You tweak and slap and squeeze; in response, she’s… smiling?

Of course you’ll slip your touch all over her body. Appreciate every perfect curve, every fine fullness. After fondling her tits, you slide your hands over her smooth pits, then to her arms that struggle to remain stable. She’s sensitive all over; it’s evident in the way she babbles each time you caress her. 

Of course you’ll take her hair and pull as hard as you can. She won’t get mad. Nothing ever gets to the cool girl.

“Oh my god!” Yena shouts. 

Those pigtails are there for a reason. Thrusts become easier to do with her hair curled in between your digits. Her ass meets your crotch easily and you find yourself excavating her cavern, hitting her in all the good places. Yena hums and screeches and sobs. 

“Bad girl.” Her hair plays the role of your reins. They’re convenient in spreading Yena apart with your shaft, tearing at her tightness. “You’re nothing but a filthy cocksucking slut.”

“M-mhm, yes, just for you, just for this perfect dick, ahh! I’m cumming!” 

Yena’s core flexes and contracts. It holds you like it never wants you to go but you let go anyway. You can do nothing besides that especially if it’s her, someone who’s so cute but so seductive, so challenging but submissive. Each part of her—those blowjob lips, her blooming face, her cockiness—makes you wish this could never end.

The first sign of the end of this pornographic one-reeler is your semen raining inside her, setting a storm in her guts. You pant, legs weak, while Yena’s seem to go on forever although she’s smaller than you.

The second sign is the mess she made. Those aforementioned desirable legs are painted by obscenity. She squirted all over your floor and herself. Your cum coats her vulva plus spills down freely.

Yena looking back at you with a tired smile is the last one, along with her asking, through shattered breaths, “Better than your whore ex?”

Because that’s the thing about girls like Yena. They’ll do everything to please you. Perhaps she’s a good dresser, but really, this is your style, not hers. This type of fashion is what you like on women: modestly revealing. Girls like Yena will give you everything, make you discover yourself, and when all this happens, she’ll remain the thoughtless, forgiving girl. She won’t complain about things that will set you off and say coy, clever things, the kind men like to hear.

All just to be better.

She is.

“Yeah.”

Yena chuckles. For a moment, she looks like the sweetest girl in the world. The happiness overtakes her face and makes her smile reach her ears. 

It disappears as fast as it arrived.

“Wrong fucking answer.”

Alarm sounds of every kind—natural disaster, fire, robbery, whistles—blare in your head. You can’t hear anything except the thin screeches of emergency. But for what?

Yena loses her brightness. Everything that made her shine shuts down. She smiles, that same one full of mischief, before she breaks, too. Her eyes turn pitch black, the ones you see in crows, the sign of bad luck. She disassembles part by part before you. The light girl is suddenly so heavy that she forces you down. Suddenly, her torso above yours feels colder than before. 

What the fuck? 

Escape is your first instinct. You push the remains of the girl away. Your feet kick the broken parts as if you’d break, too. You brush past the fringe of her bangs. Below it, no diamond scar rests on her forehead.

Stare down at her. Yena truly is not real. Your manic robotic dream girl is dead. She was never alive. 

“You have been found guilty,” says the implant. You used to hear it when WAKE12 arrested people and now it talks to arrest you. The alarms are loud but you understand every fragment. 

The implant’s emotionless voice now sounds a lot like—

“Chaewon?” 

Bad luck comes just like the consequences of the law, personified by stilettos clicking on your floor, a shadow in the moonlight, and the face of the woman you swear you never wanted to see again.

And yet here she is.

Chaewon looks so much like Yena. Yena looks so much like Chaewon. Their chins, their eyes, their bangs—who is who? Their faces mingle and mix in your vision. You think you’re going crazy.

She puts away a remote control and places her hands on her hips. Her black bodysuit is all you see as she approaches. Her smiling lips don’t utter a word. You hear her voice, all in your head.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything and everything you do shall be punished by WAKE12 accordingly. This is the price you pay for your crime.”

There’s a gun in front of you. It’s aimed at your chest, determined to crush what keeps it beating. Raise your hands, but not in surrender. You’ll die before you try to be Chaewon’s toy again.

“What crime? Being your ex-boyfriend?” you spit. This has got to be a joke. “Chaewon, I said, what crime?”

She can’t abuse her authority. She couldn’t have done all that just to get back at you. And for what? Being a bad boyfriend when you were younger and dumber?

You hear her speak. That striking smile looks more terrifying than beautiful. It dissolves into darkness to pronounce your wrongdoing. 

“For the crime of fucking existing,” she snarls.

You hate Chaewon. You swore you never did yet now you do wholeheartedly. You tried to love her and reciprocate her efforts. She’s a busy woman so she should have understood you had other commitments.

This is the last time you ever want to hear from her. 

A bullet you don’t see coming. It soars in the wind and finds its home sweet home in your skull.

She’s the last thing you ever heard.

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Yukichi Fukuzawa (self-aware)

Self-Aware! Yukichi Fukuzawa x GN! Reader

Warning: Yandere. OOC. Spoilers for "The Untold Origins of the Detective Agency". Fukuzawa doesn't like you at first. Overprotective Fukuzawa. English is my second language.

Becoming self-aware

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa Yukichi is a stoic man. Fukuzawa Yukichi is a swordsman. Fukuzawa Yukichi was an assassin. Fukuzawa Yukichi was a bodyguard. Fukuzawa Yukichi is a President of the Armed Detective Agency. And, apparently, he never has been real.

👘🗡️ It takes everything for Fukuzawa not to lose himself.

👘🗡️ Was his previous life a lie? Were the lives of his workers a lie too?

👘🗡️ What about other Yokohama citizens? Are ADA members the only ones who gained self-awareness? Are they the only ones who stayed in this cursed place?

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa wanted to scream. He wanted to do something, anything, to stop this real life nightmare.

👘🗡️ But there is no point in grieving. ADA need him to be strong.

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa ordered everyone to travel in pairs. After taking a quick look at other floors and finding them empty, Fukuzawa ordered to move living quarters into the ADA building.

👘🗡️ The first day was hard. The next ones wasn't easier.

👘🗡️ Atsushi was afraid of been alone. Kunikida was a husk of his former self. Yosano was ready to destroy anyone who crossed her path. Junchirou put all his efforts in looking after Naomi. Naomi was avoiding all of them. Kirako was behaving like a robot. Katai was working day and night. Kenji tried to stay positive, but he also was lost. Kyouka was ready to become a killer again, if it helps the agency. Ranpo was working as much as he can. And, while each time he couldn't find something useful, Ranpo pretended not to be bothered by it, Fukuzawa still could see, that Ranpo became sadder and sadder. Dazai was aloof and closed off.

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa saw his workers distress. He could see their pain. And he can't do anything to ease their pain.

👘🗡️ He talked to them. Offered a shoulder to cry on. But it wasn't enough.

👘🗡️ He tried to be strong for them. But, time to time, he almost broke.

👘🗡️ The news, that they weren't the only one, who is self-aware, were... good. At some extent. At least, there were other people.

👘🗡️ And then, one day, he feels an entity's gaze on him.

___________________

It was watching...

It was observing...

It was not something familiar...

Years of training have sharpened Fukuzawa's senses.

They were sharp enough to observe The Entity in return.

Fukuzawa is patient. He is observing The Entity. He is waiting for its first move.

Fukuzawa was an assassin. He still remembers, how to follow his target. But he can't follow this target.

He trusts his guts and years of training. He is sure, that he is not mistaken. Fukuzawa was sure, that this thing isn't there. The Entity is hiding in a different world.

When Atsushi asked if they have felt someone's gaze on them, Fukuzawa answered, that he has felt it.

Others have felt it too. Their conditions became worse. Most of his workers became angrier.

All because of This Entity.

Fukuzawa is trying harder to find a way to The Entity. To this strange emotionless thing.

When he will find it, he will make sure this creature will be destroyed.

He won't let this thing poison his workers lives anymore.

And then time resets.

And Fukuzawa, once again, was thirty-two-years-old bodyguard, whose last client were assassinated.

________________________

When they start feeling your presence

👘🗡️ At first, Fukuzawa was just standing there. At first glance, he looked calm. But in reality, he was enraged, he was scared, he was lost.

👘🗡️ He felt The Entity's gaze again. But in a second, the ominous presence disappeared.

👘🗡️ Instead, he felt, like something was floating above him.

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa looked up. A blob of light. A small, shapeless blob of light. He can tell, that it is The Entity. Of course, it wasn't its real form. And he heard a voice. Just a whisper, that came from the blob.

"young..." "cool..." "strong..."

👘🗡️ Then blob gently lowered itself and settled on Fukuzawa's head. The Blob seems happy.

👘🗡️ And Fukuzawa felt its happiness. Fukuzawa felt, like he just drank some good tea.

👘🗡️ Okay... He didn't expect this. Fukuzawa was puzzled. This Entity has emotions? And it decides to become a light blob.

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa tries to touch the blob. But his fingers passed through it. And Blob doesn't seem to notice Fukuzawa's actions.

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa decided to go to the company of his late client. He needs to meet Ranpo.

👘🗡️ And like this, with a light blob on his head, Fukuzawa was on his way.

👘🗡️ When Fukuzawa arrived, he, once again, had to preform an impossible movement, just to get to the room with the caught assassin.

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa heard, that Entity spoked again. This time, the voice was louder, but not really clear.

"Fukuzawa [||||||||||] awesome! [|||||||||||||] bodyguard ever!"

👘🗡️ The Blob on his head purred. It was... cute.

👘🗡️ During the next few minutes, Blob, once again, was floating above him, above young assassin, above secretary, above Ranpo.

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa noticed, that, he was the only one, who can see the Blob.

👘🗡️ During their talk in a café, Blob were floating above them.

👘🗡️ After secretary's crimes were exposed, and Fukuzawa agreed to treat Ranpo, he asked, if Ranpo heard The Entity. Ranpo confirmed that yes, he has heard them.

👘🗡️ For the first time, since Fukuzawa learned about The Entity's existence, he felt calm. They... don't seem bad. Simply curious. Not malicious.

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa and Ranpo finally went to the theater, where Fukuzawa's next job should be.

👘🗡️ When he met Ranpo for the first time, Fukuzawa was so irritated by the child's behavior, he thought about fifty-one ways of getting rid of him. Fukuzawa hoped, that this time, Ranpo would be less annoying. He was mistaken.

👘🗡️ Not only Ranpo was as annoying as before, The Blob was laughing. The Blob seems amused by Ranpo's behavior. Fukuzawa felt exhausted.

👘🗡️ At the end of their walk, Fukuzawa had thought about thirty ways of getting rid of the Blob. And he proclaimed it loudly, pointing at it. Ranpo looked confused, but didn't ask any questions.

👘🗡️ When Ranpo was kidnapped, and Fukuzawa was looking for him, he could feel The Entity's worry and fear.

👘🗡️ When Fukuzawa was lecturing Ranpo, The Entity was also lecturing him

👘🗡️ The Entity were never evil... Fukuzawa was grateful, that he learned it before he can seriously hurt The Blob... Little Light.

👘🗡️ The time 'resets again'. Fukuzawa 'woke up' in the ADA office. Atsushi's entrance exam just ended a moment ago.

👘🗡️ Days passed. Slowly, others became back to normal. As Fukuzawa learned from talks, The Entity was praising them. They were crying with them. They were treating them like humans.

👘🗡️ And one more thing were new there.

👘🗡️ The Light Blob, that were floating above them. And, again, others didn't notice it.

👘🗡️ Now it didn't stay with Fukuzawa for long. He wished, that Little Light will stay with him longer. He wished, he heard their voice again.

👘🗡️ Ranpo has discovered, that Little Light is normal human.

👘🗡️ The next day, Dazai started a meeting in Fukuzawa's office. Dazai confessed, that he also can see Little Light Blob. If one feels Guiding Light presence long enough, they start seeing the Little Light Blob. Dazai offered to start working on finding a way to Their Guiding Light. That's how Dazai called them.

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa and the rest of ADA agree.

👘🗡️ ADA has decided to find a way to their world. So they can be near them.

👘🗡️ And then, Atsushi and Kyouka were kidnapped by Port Mafia again.

___________________________

"A comrade is in danger. We need to rescue him. Is there some weightier logic in the world which trumps that?"

Fukuzawa Yukichi felt, how Light Blob flew closer to him. He heard the voice.

"kind" "true leader" "everyone is safe with him"

"Fukuzawa, you are a great leader. All ADA members are safe with you. You will never let them be hurt. I think, they are very lucky to have such a kind and loyal man as their leader."

Little Light flew closer to Fukuzawa and pet his shoulder.

[In reality, you carefully pet the manga panel with Fukuzawa on it.]

______________________

👘🗡️ When Dazai offers to arrange a meeting between Fukuzawa and Ougai Mori, Fukuzawa agrees. They need more people. More people to find a way to Their Guiding Light.

👘🗡️ The meeting was a success. After hearing about working together with finding a way to the real world, to Their Guiding Light, Mori immediately agrees.

👘🗡️ Some time passed. The Guild joined them. And Rats. And DOA. And Hunting Dogs. And The Government.

👘🗡️ All of them were together. Joined their forces in finding a way to you.

And then, one day, during one of their meetings, the purple moon shined above Yokohama.

_____________________

When you installed BSD Mayoi Inu Kaikitan

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa will be the first, who will try to raise the chance of getting his card from the scout.

👘🗡️ Soon, you will have all your Fukuzawa cards with max level skill.

"This SR Summer Festival Fukuzawa card looks good"

"Wow, Fukuzawa's skill deals so much damage"

"I like when I see Fukuzawa's sprite in The Office"

👘🗡️ When BSD gang will gain access to the rest of your phone, Fukuzawa will find information about dangers in your world. He can't allow anyone to hurt you. You are under his protection. He is your bodyguard. He will keep you safe.

👘🗡️ Likes to look at cat videos, cat pictures and cat memes with you.

👘🗡️ Last time, he touched the Little Light, hie couldn't do it. But he will get this chance, when they will go to your world. He wants to touch your face. To feel, that you are real.

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa Yukichi was a bodyguard. And for you, he will become him again. Fukuzawa Yukichi is a President of the Armed Detective Agency. And he will use his authority to help you. And Fukuzawa Yukichi soon will be real. Others soon will be real. Real, as you are. Their Guiding Light.

________________________

You finally get a new Fukuzawa card. When you finish level it up, you saw a notification from the "Gift Box".

It was a note from Fukuzawa. With Awakening materials attached to it.

"[Y/N], I hope that you are safe. Please, be careful. The world is a dangerous place. I wish I could protect you. Fukuzawa Yukichi"

You smile and open Fukuzawa'd card again. You carefully pet sprite's shoulder.

"Thank you, Fukuzawa. I am grateful, that you want to protect me. Perhaps, one day, you could do it."

You didn't notice, that Fukuzawa's eyes shine with dangerous light.

[starg0ld]

a kind of analysis on albedo

I feel like a lot of people mischaracterized albedo a lot since he's an artificial human being and he constantly gets compared to an emotionless robot when, well...he clearly is not.

as a homunculus albedo was created with the intent of following the sample of any other human being, as Wikipedia says:

" A homunculus (UK: /hɒˈmʌŋkjʊləs/ hom-UNK-yuul-əs, US: /hoʊˈ-/ hohm-, Latin: [hɔˈmʊŋkʊlʊs]; "little person") is a representation of a small human being, originally depicted as small statues made out of clay. Popularized in sixteenth-century alchemy and nineteenth-century fiction, it has historically referred to the creation of a miniature, fully formed human. "

this means that those children, except for their peculiarities, were not that different from any other human child.

" That the sperm of a man be putrefied by itself in a sealed cucurbit for forty days with the highest degree of putrefaction in a horse's womb, or at least so long that it comes to life and moves itself, and stirs, which is easily observed. After this time, it will look somewhat like a man, but transparent, without a body. If, after this, it be fed wisely with the Arcanum of human blood, and be nourished for up to forty weeks, and be kept in the even heat of the horse's womb, a living human child grows therefrom, with all its members like another child, which is born of a woman, but much smaller. "

just because albedo was artificially created does not affect his cognitive processing of feelings.

moreover, I think this misconception originated from the fact that albedo is apparently a calm and reserved person. but of course we know that someone relatively calmer isn't necessarily cold-hearted, they just have a subtle way of expressing themselves. an introvert isn't a cold person, do you agree, my introverted fellas?

genshin tries to additionally point out in its special events how albedo is warm at heart and is slowly learning (through the traveler and his personal life experiences) how to open up to others. that's called character development.

Albedo's Artwork - Friendship Lv. 4

" (...) When strolling through Mondstadt, he enjoys sketching and painting all manner of living things, but particularly people in moments of joy. Sometimes, he even gifts his artwork to his unsuspecting models, believing that when a work of art captures a transient moment of enjoyment, it is something worth treasuring. (...) "

I would like to ask you, would a numb and insensitive person gift their sketches to random strangers on the street just to make them smile? or...would such a person try to look after a child? listen up, if klee loves her older brother so much it's because she truly feels at ease with him. taking care of children isn't an easy task, so of course, albedo needs to be emotionally aware of their feelings in order to properly taking care of them.

besides, I think we also have to take into account how he grew up. "childhood" is fundamental when it comes to our adult personality, as phycology teaches us. albedo has likely spent centuries of his existence by his master's side, probably without getting in touch with anyone but her during that time. he was raised with strict rules to abide by, and rigid learning schemes to attend, otherwise he risked arguably to be abandoned by his mother, the only person he looked up to. so, OF COURSE, albedo is so reclusive, that's just how he was used to live after all this time. now that he's finally living a normal life in mondstadt he's slowly learning how to deal with other people too. it's a process, but he's getting there.

and yet, he still puts work first because that's what he has done for the equivalent of a lifetime, to the point he neglects even his own well-being. that's everything that was taught him. albedo is basically trying to accomplish his master's last mission, everyone else in this case is just a distraction. if he gets distracted he might fail, and failure means disappointing everyone and, consequently, being left alone. again. I like to think that, in the end, albedo doesn't approach people much because he's afraid od rejection. albedo is afraid of not meeting people expectations about him, he is aware that he's different from all the normal folks in town, or even in the world.

but, he's changing. he's slowly learning the importance of befriend other people. perhaps, maybe it's part of his mission, too?

albedo does care. a lot. he struggles with expressing his feelings, but the affection of his friends and family is there and he's getting the importance of it.

[oikasugayama]

me when i see a tiktok of some photographers at the met gala talking shit about stray kids because they “look emotionless like robots”🤠

i’m gonna kill someone it’s their first met gala and they look incredible SHUT UP

Oh my fucking god I was literally just coming onto Tumblr to talk about that, you and I are on the same wavelength.

Not only was it incredibly disrespectful, it was racist. Idk how many other ppl are clocking that, but imo!!! 😒

Now, I'm an American white woman. I can't say that I feel targeted or hurt by what the photographers said or anything because I'm not of the affected group, BUT I, as an American white woman, have heard a LOT of a racist people say a lot of racist shit, and this is not the first time I've heard ppl say disparaging things about Asians being emotionless and robotic. I recognize the racist rhetoric and I'm pissed about it.

It's obvious that he said that because of a racist misconception/stereotype perpetuated by American media, and I'm pissed that he not only said it to begin with, but seemed so giddy while doing it. That is a grown man. If he's photographing the Met Gala, he has to be experienced in his field. There's no way he hasn't seen models/celebrities/etc. do stoic poses before. Did he call other people emotionless robots? Did he say they ruined the shots because they were "emotionless"? I doubt it. He only said that because he has racist misconceptions about Asians being stoic, or being robots, because racist American films often show Asian=Technologically Advanced=Robot, and I don't have the room to explain why that is, but trust me. It's absolutely an American/Western racist notion.

So that photographer saw a group of Korean men walk in together and turn and walk out together, and instead of thinking "wow apparently this is a really popular group" "oh their outfits are cool and coordinated" he thought "heh they're robots" because that's a reflection of the racist rhetoric he was taught, and believes.

Fucking disgusting. That photographer has no business being invited back to a high profile event, or any event, period.

Also, it should go without saying, Stray Kids didn't deserve to be subjected to that shit. It's their first Met Gala. It's not their first time in the States, but I hope to God it's their first time having someone say nasty shit to them as if they couldn't hear it. There is such a brain-dead disconnect between racists and the groups they're being racist against. That photographer probably has no idea basically everyone in SKZ can speak English. Two of them aren't even native Korean speakers. That photographer somehow doesn't know that these 8 grown men were posing for the cameras, like every. Single. Other. Guest. Was.

SKZ have such beautiful, infectious, bright smiles and laughs. They have such full emotions and expressions. Everyone does, for fuck's sake.

Get that racist photographer out of the damn industry.

[taughtdefense]

YOU’VE BEEN SPIRALING AT AN ALARMING RATE SINCE THE REVEAL WENT EGREGIOUSLY WRONG. robby’s been pretty upset lately—not at you, thank void—but at the larusso’s & your other (former?) friends who’d called you a monster, or rejected you. tory’s been dead set on never trying to talk to amanda again, even if she did help her out in the past. miguel’d blocked mr. larusso’s number & has been avoiding a few others (namely, kenny) like the plague, even at dojo practices. a large part of you wants to curl up underneath your covers & shut the world out until everything blows over.

theo’s been doing frequent wellness checks on you, mostly on talia’s behalf, expertly disguised as visits from him & his children. but even though, you’d caught on immediately, you don’t have the heart to kick them out, or call theo out on it, even if you know what he’s doing… & he knows that you know. haley’s been trying to make you happier with cute drawings she’d made, ranging from colored pencils drawings to paintings, which tory hung up on the fridge. you might be a monster, but not that kind of monster, where you’d throw out stuff your essential niece made for you.

miguel’d mentioned to sam that maybe he’d would bring carmen over to look at the pictures, which would prove that you’re still the same ethan you’ve always been. the one who never gives up on his friends, who willingly approached him at the table on miguel’s first day of school & struck up a genuine conversation that made miguel feel like less of an outsider. shane threatened to bite mrs. larusso until she appolguyses for making you really sad (apologies; he had a fake set of werewolf teeth in his mouth when he’d told you, & he’s still pretty young) which you thought was pretty amusing given the alternate lifetimes where he’s a chimera. it was the first time you’d smiled in two days.

miguel is making you lunch because you’re still a little out of it, all things considered. it’s not that you don’t want to, but bobby, kevin, deanna, johnny, miguel & tory are all worried that if a typical kitchen accident happens—you drop a glass, you space out in the middle of chopping something & cut your finger, or burn your hand on a hot pan—it’d send you plummeting, that the spiral episode you’re deeply engaged in will get worse. shane & haley are looking at sam’s freshly done nail polish & trying to convince theo, liam & talia to let them paint angry faces on daniel’s forehead because he’s a meanie. it’s not working as well as they’d hoped, clearly, but both theo & liam look amused by the idea. liam is holding theo’s hand, occasionally glancing at you in concern. you’re pretending not to notice.

you’re curled up on the couch next to robby, never wanting to be apart from him again if you can help it, staring numbly at talia across from you with emotionless, exhausted eyes, having been dragged out of bed by her arrival. you’re wearing one of miguel’s hoodies. yesterday, you’d allowed haley to paint your nails a light purple color, & then half disassociated after you’d sat down at the kitchen table. you’d robotically responded to the six year old’s chatter, only giving short answers & half-enthused hums. you’d snapped out of your haze pretty much immediately when robby kissed you later in the evening, then felt extremely guilty. perhaps a little surprisingly, haley didn’t seem to mind your dissociative state, or your near-silence. she’s very smart.

❝ fine. so you're some monster. who gives a shit? ❞ @vipersunion asks. you blink at her once, not at all surprised by her bluntness. you’ve come to expect that from her. maybe it’s one of the reasons why her & nova are so compatible.

❝ apparently, practically everyone. ❞ you respond icily, not budging on the self-created idea that they’d—those that’d rejected/shunned you—ever want to see you as anything different. miguel winces like he was slapped, & tory grimaces, absentmindedly twisting her engagement ring two times. ❝ no offense, tals, but you weren’t there to see shit hit the fan y-yourself. you only got your information secondhand. ❞ hawk had been the one to tell her, grimacing the entire time.

[gaygamesstarringmary]

 An (Abridged and Paraphrased) Long-Winded One-Sided Conversation with My Best Friend

The Fallout series takes place in an alternate future- a nuclear wasteland vision of America. This America is futuristic and reminiscent of the 1960s- without all the racism and sexism and whatnot. Then America and its enemies exchange bombs, at least a hundred years pass, and the games begin.

Essentially, take someone from the Cold War. Ask them what they think the future in a few hundred years will be like. Boom. Fallout.

When I got a PS4 in college, I immediately purchased Fallout 4. Then I played Fallout 2. I have the first Fallout sitting in my Steam library, where it's been for a few years. After I replay 3 and 4, maybe I’ll get around to it, but let’s be honest. It’s not the same with the top-down thing.

Fallout: New Vegas takes place in the wasteland of Las Vegas. There are strippers, hookers, gamblers, centurions, radiation poisoning, and a gang of Elvis impersonators.

The Elvis impersonators are part of a gang in the crime-ridden and poverty-stricken heart of New Vegas. But they’re a good gang. You can rely on these guys to have your back against the criminals who plague their city.

Their leader is named King. I don’t particularly care for King. But I do care about his dog. Well, my dog now. He gave me his dog.

The dog’s name is Rex. Yes, as in king. King- the Elvis gang guy- named his dog after himself. Rex is also a robot dog. Well, he’s a cyborg dog, but everyone calls him a robot, so I will, too.

Rex is not doing too great. I find a doctor who sighs dramatically and says that that Rex’s brain is dying. You see, Rex’s brain is floating in this glass skull in a fluid that delays but not prevents the brain’s aging. The doctor, after grumbling about me interrupting his super-important research about whatever it was he was researching, says that if I bring Rex and a dog brain, he can fix Rex right up.

Of course, this task horrifies me. The Rex I know will die, right? He’ll basically be another dog with this new brain.

But whatever. I go back to King- a solid day’s journey I bypass by quick traveling- and tell him that I know how to make Rex better.

King looks me dead in the eye with that emotionless stare of his and says that I can have the dog. This comes out of nowhere, but I’m not complaining, so Rex is mine now.

I find a lady living on a ranch with a half dozen dogs. Her dogs ignore Rex. He struggles to get over a bump.

She says that one of her dogs is old as fuck and will die soon anyway, so I can have his brain for 700 dollars. I’m like yeah, sure, and she murders the dog in front of me. Viola, I have the brain I need.

I then hightail it to the mountains, where the doctor waits. Again, he is annoyed when I talk to him. But he gives Rex the new brain.

As bad as I feel for this robot dog, I am glad to still have him by my side. Before we leave, I talk to him. To make sure he’s okay, you know?

And this bitch growls at me.

Oh, right. His previous owner had said something about him hating people with hats. Apparently, he attacks hat-wearers on sight, but he just snarls at me.

I’m offended for a moment. I’m not wearing a hat, for one- it’s a helmet. To protect my head from stray bullets. 

Then, it hits me. Rex’s previous owner said that he hates hats. His old owner, when Rex had his old brain. 

Rex was still the same dog. He still hated hats.

I no longer felt guilty.

Rex and I made our way to the Roman centurions. At the heart of Fallout: New Vegas is a story of searching for the man who shot you in the head. You’re okay, brought back to life by someone, but now it's time to seek revenge. This guy wears a checkered suit. His name is Benny. When you come into his casino, he pretty much pisses himself- you’re supposed to be dead, after all- and runs for the hills.

Then the Romans get him. Caesar’s Legion. I fucking hate these guys. They’re not the cool parts of ancient Roman culture. They’re all the really stupid parts. They crucify people. They take slaves. And they’re sexist.

The first sexists I’d seen in the entire Fallout series.

So I promptly blew all of their heads off. I held back on killing their leader, though. Hopefully, I’d get a cool cutscene or something with him in the final battle.

After Rex and I killed all the Romans we could, I returned to a cage where three freshly caught slaves were being kept. A family. I picked the gate and they made a run for it. 

And exploded.

So I forgot about their explosive collars. If they wandered too far from the cage, the collars would go off and, well, they’d explode into a million little pieces.

Fuck, I felt horrible. So I loaded a previous save to a time before the family was exploded, disarmed their collars, and then let them go.

I’ve rescued a few people from the Romans. They never say thank you. Which I guess I get because in that situation all you’re going to be thinking about is getting the fuck away from the people who want to keep you as a slave or crucify you, but it’s still rude.

I watched them go.

At least I still had Rex. 

But Rex isn’t a very smart dog. That might be my fault, giving him the first dog’s brain I came across, or maybe his AI was just that dumb. Based on the enemy AI, it isn’t my fault. I will parkour my way up rocks and take out deathclaws from a distance. Deathclaws are these weird bipedal lizards with drag queen nails.

Even if they spotted me, I was on my rock. They couldn’t reach me from there. Their AI couldn’t comprehend jumping or climbing. So they would freak out and they’d run in circles until they forgot about me or were dead.

And Rex.

Fearless Rex would take the deathclaws head-on. These were monsters I dumped hundreds of bullets in before they fell. Grenades were the equivalent of a paper cut. 

He got in one or two bites before the deathclaws smacked him into oblivion. Rex would fall unconscious and be out of the count until nearby enemies were killed.

But when the enemies were dead, Rex stood up and was ready to adventure some more. 

So we’d go. Me and my dog and the nuclear wasteland of New Vegas, and we went straight for a strip club.

[thepenultimateword]

Hey! Hope you’re taking care of yourself <3

I’m interested in your favourite tropes vs your least favourite tropes? As well as favourite vs least favourite character dynamics? Thanks! :)

Favorite Tropes:

Fake Dating

Arranged Marriage (bonus if they’re royalty or at least one of them is)

Found Family

Enemies to Lovers/Rivals to lovers

Love-hate relationships

Slow Burn romance

Second Loves (if it’s done right)

Physically weak/average male characters with arcs that having nothing to do with getting strong

Rags to Riches

Pirates (is that a trope?)

Space westerns (that’s probably more a genre)

Least Favorite Tropes:

Love triangles (I despise almost nothing more)

That things romances do where the protagonist’s long time crush ends up being a horrible, terrible person because apparently that’s the only way to justify them choosing the main love interest. Like why does there have to be something wrong with them? Why can’t they just decide they don’t like the person anymore?

Strong female characters who aren’t actually strong female characters (either because they don’t actually do anything, or because they’re emotionless robots that think they’re better than everyone)

Affairs/cheating (especially when the person they’re having an affair with is endgame). I don’t feel like I can support the relationship when they’re hurting other people in the process.

Isekai. Well, more specifically, reincarnation isekai. I know it’s popular but I just hate it. Do you know how many times I start reading a fantasy story that could genuinely stand on its own as it is, and the main character suddenly goes “you know I’m not actually the princess, I’m actually a 28 year old woman from 2022 who was hit by a bus and reincarnated into the body of my favorite fantasy character” and then the fact they’re actually from 2022 has almost nothing to do with the plot? Aggggh! Sorry, I could go on forever.

Rich, hot man falls in love with girl whose only personality traits are being messy and clumsy.

Childhood sweethearts. I don’t know why, but as soon as I find out halfway through the story that they knew each other as children, I get mad. There are very few exceptions.

Favorite Character Dynamics:

Sorry I’m advance these are mostly romantic dynamics

Sunshine and grumpy (romantic or platonic)

Alien x human (like imagine a Star Trek setting where they are coworkers on a star ship and need to learn each others cultures or like awkward first contact, also acceptable )

Monster x human (this can range from vampires to werewolves to sirens to whatever)

Villain x villain

Bromances (just ultra platonically devoted to each other)

Strong female x weak(er) male

Popular girl x unpopular/nerdy boy (I don’t see this one a ton, its usually the reverse)

Tol x smol

Flirty x stoic

Least Favorite Character Dynamics:

Adult x minor (unless they’re two years apart, it’s very uncomfortable for me)

Teacher x student (unless that student is in college and their professor is close to them in age)

I feel like there has to be more, but for some reason I’m totally blanking.

[mage-ical-character-person]

*crawls out of the depths*

I’M BACK FROM THE WAAARRRR (I finished chapter 2 of that yandere fandroid fanfiction and I have a few things to say about it)

It was not well written, by any stretch of the imagination. I enjoyed it satirically, don’t get me wrong, but it was BEYOND bizarre and hard to read.

cringe culture is dead, do what you want.

With that being said, let me walk you through my favorite excerpts.

visceral reaction to this block of text. sudden fear and anger. also apparently we fell over from the sheer shock of melody the girlboss but i never saw “y/n fell down” so I assume we’ve been laying down on a skateboard the whole way here. also, adhoc is a highschool here?!!! interesting. call that faulty education system. I wonder if qualia is also a school and they occasionally have football tournaments with adhoc. (adhoc loses repeatedly) also THEY/THEM Y/N??!!!! no way!!! this is like the last fic I would expect to have a they/them reader. Awesome!! we love to see it. also this is like the first time of 2 times we see melody. she just kinda vanishes. that’s an L on the writer’s part ngl.

growled.

growled.

anyways I’m pretty sure “and maria” is a mistake. at the time of when this happens we are accompanied by fandroid and a bot named rose, who idk what she looks like but she’s like our right hand bestie just suddenly. she’s never introduced she just shows up. also maria is like the token mean girl. she has beef with y/n, keep her in mind

again, this confuses maria with rose?!!! fandroid says that rose will “get in the way” (yandere arc incoming) but. Doesn’t do anything about it. you’ll see you’ll see. also INFOCHAN ROBOT???!!! oh god it’s all coming back. I remember my yandere sim phase. also infochan robot has no name and goes by they/them. diversity win, i guess

nooo boy don’t be stressed. it will all be okay. also they have iphones. presumably all of them, but we only see rose and fandroid using them. good for them, i wonder if fandroid has twitter

HE DID IT HE DID IT HE DID IT HE DID IT H

HE KILLED MARIA!!! FUCK YEAH. he threw her off the building. she had it coming. but yeah this is. brutal. but he went from zero to a hundred WAY TOO QUICK. like infobot was like “kill the girl.” and fandroid was like “isn’t there better ways for me to be in a romantic relationship with y/n?!!!?” and then infobot said “I have beef with all of these students. every last one of them. kill the girl” and he was like “lmfao ok I can commit a little murder.” insane. unfathomable.

okay here’s where it gets weirdly heavy.

administration assumed it was a s*icide, and then everyone was called into the gym for the intercom to say “there’s a dead person on campus. go home.” And everyone is crying and panicking (including y/n) because maria didn’t seem out of the usual. and then we get THIS LINE.

fandroid, my partner in crime, you killed her.

like i know this is meant to come off as like cryptic wink wink nudge nudge but it’s just. Lost. It does come off as cold, but not really knowing. silly silly boy

All in all? Funny read. I recommend if you have 40 minutes to kill.

Is it good? No. Absolutely not. I wasn’t expecting it to be. It’s a 1600 word yandere sim fandroid fic. However it had me rolling in like that giddy “this is so silly” kinda way. Maybe it’s just the hyperfixation, but it was throughly enjoyable, I would absolutely force my besties to read this against their will. like I would even draw fanart for this, it was so silly!!

closing notes:

lovely tags. sus

GO HARDER WITH THE YANDERE!!! NOW!!! they just went for classic yandere sim yandere but you could’ve been so unique with it. focus on how y/n feels, watching as these random people & bots go missing. Hell, give us a look at fandroid slowly sprialing from bestie → crush → unhealthy obsession. tell us how he might put up a fight against the urge to kill, until he feels there is no other option. OG yandere chan was “emotionless,” but her crush gave her some sense of feeling, and that’s why she was so promective. However, this au’s fandroid isn’t like that—so… what’s with the murder? Er, well, I’m pretty sure it’s that he hated maria bc maria’s a dick, but after that… what’s the big deal? I’m pretty sure he just hated maria (understandable) but after her… who next? Her bestie? She is mentioned to have a bestie. But bestie didn’t do shit to Y/N. I mean, there’s other stalker behaviors out there, but it’s worth mentioning.

It just. Ends. It’s written like it’s supposed to continue. It doesn’t, and it was last updated September 2022 so I don’t think it ever will. sad,,,

loving the title embellishments. slay

Upon further investigation (me trying to re-find this fic through google) yandere fandroid fics are… strangely common? They’re centered majorly on Wattpad, no shock there. In context, though, it makes sense. (Cue the yandere song; we can’t talk about this fic without bringing it up at least once) Frankly, but I don’t know what I would think fandroid fics would be centered on otherwise. It makes perfect sense. It just shocked me first time I realized that. Every fandom has their keystone trope, and ours is yanderes. Good for us. Love this fandom for that.

Conclusion? Not sure. Maybe just that fandroid fanfiction silly.

This fic was a lot of fun to read, despite it’s many many flaws. Apologies if my ramblings about it made no sense, I have a lot to say.

Excuse me while I go dig my Wattpad out of it’s grave and browse this strange subgenre of fanfiction for what can be classified as purely research reasons. Thank you for your time.

Yes, there is a lot of not-so well written yandere Fandroid stuff. I’ve seen em but I haven’t really looked into any of em beyond a passing glance because I’m not a fan of the Yandere trope all that much and as catchy as Fandroid’s Yansim song is… him being a yandere and being one towards a reader insert just feels… weird? Like not quite right and maybe a little uncomfy.

(Though imagining him doing a murder to perceived romantic rivals only to be immediately called out by a y/n and never do it again more plausible to me. Like he’d be afraid of upsetting someone he cares about, I feel. Or maybe I’m just projecting because upsetting people I care about is my personal least favorite thing. Guilt hurts so much)

Luckily not all Fandroid Fics are “oh what if he was in love with you and totally twisted fucking cycle path about it” and stuff. There’s not a lot though…

There’s the Stargaze AU which was pretty interesting! Not really sure what’s going on with it right now, though. A rewrite I think.

There’s also uh…

SICKDROID - Fandroid AU - superpeeboy - Wattpad

Outside adventures, (A Fandroid based fan fiction) - Hextra - Wattpad

i don’t. I don’t know. Wish there was more or something.

[ebitenpura]

And here we are: the Battle of Odessen. This chapter was great: we finally get to kill Arcann, the singular goal Eight feels he was woken up for.

Eight: You sound scared, Arcann.

Uh oh. The Jadus effect is bleeding through heavily now that he's here and nothing's holding him back. This was probably the fastest I've ever beaten Arcann. Still had to use the shield gimmick, but I beat him so fast that I tanked the full force of his lightning while seconds away from death just to skip ahead to ending the battle in like, 2-4 shield smacks.

I headcanon that Eight purposely came that close to death sacrificing his life to the Dark Side so he could go for the kill.

Lana: I never doubted you.

This was supposed to be a heroic moment, but it felt so cold and empty and all their words of honor were meaningless because this was his entire purpose. The kill. The assassination. There's no feeling to it. He just did what they needed him to. And it coming from Lana only made it more bitter from my perspective, because she really did need a weapon.

It worked.

Then came the hardest part: choosing to spare or kill Arcann and Senya.

This broke my heart because I've always spared them in my other playthroughs, but Eight couldn't. If there is one singular goal he must carry out, he will do it. He was brought on board solely to kill Arcann. There was nothing else. Even if Senya was in the way....he will always kill who he was aimed at. They never told him to do anything but that; he is a weapon who will fulfill what they wished for most and in this case it was Arcann's death above all else.

Theron: Arcann wasn't alone on that shuttle, remember? Senya was with him. And you tried to shoot it down!

Theron: Guess I'm relieved you're showing some remorse.

Admin gets sadder every minute: the chapter. Theron already was onto how cold he was being from the beginning, but this was the nail in the coffin. And he yelled at him....sad noises

Eight smoothed it over by saying he didn't want to shoot Senya but had no choice, but....I think what Theron can't and won't understand and in essence, everyone else in this room besides Lana and Koth, the two people who he serves the most, is that he can only do what they pulled him on board for. He doesn't have anything else to offer besides killing.

Eight tried to make this apparent with repeated reminders as to exactly what he was and how he would not be able to make decisions as a person would, but it's nearly impossible to get that across to others who don't know what that life is like, being a Cipher who had no way out and had not changed.

He would've done it differently if they hadn't wanted an assassin; but there was no room to be anything else, and no one ever told him not to be. This was a time of war. There was still no time in which he could've been anything other than Eight.

This was why I really wish KOTFE had more moments like SoR where it felt like you were among friends, but it became so functional this time when all they could speak about were tactics and the world they wanted to return to. It also broke down the original dynamic the Rishi trio had where they could at least get over their differences and they felt as if they knew each other despite their factions.

This time, it just made apparent how vast the gap between their respective lives were with no foreseeable way to close it. To do that, you'd have to take Eight away from all this, but they need him too much for that. And so the cycle won't be broken.

I think Theron now sees the confident strength he once believed in during SoR is something far less benign when it's not following his wishes since he's not the one in charge, and now it's irrevocably stained his relationship with Eight. He sees it as remorseless now when it used to be unflappable. Undeniably Imperial. Like some sort of emotionless robot, where he used to compliment it. I don't really blame him since the Republic hardly teaches anything else, but it's just so sad to watch their friendship deteriorate.

Eight can only say yes, I am remorseless. This is who I am. Look with your eyes wide open.

This victory was so hollow. Lana became more of a master. Theron is no longer close to him because he knows no other way. And Eight...his purpose has been fulfilled. These are not friends. They will call on him when they need to use him.

I think he just wants to be alone now.

[neonlights92]

RUN: Chapter I

Jeon Jungkook hops from bed to bed, sleeping with as many beautiful, rich women as he can possibly find time for.  He’s young and attractive, with a silver tongue that gets him practically anything he wants.  So when his friend and boss, Kim Taehyung, tells him it’s time to settle down, Jungkook takes it pretty badly.  And when he finds out that the woman he’s destined to marry is, in fact, his little sister’s best friend, he is less than impressed.

You have spent your entire life trying to forget the way you feel about Jeon Jungkook.��  So when you find out that Jungkook is to be your husband - and that he is anything but pleased about it - your world is thrown into chaos.  How can you survive a loveless marriage with the man you are hopelessly in love with?

WARNINGS: Language, some violence and eventual smut.

A/N: I changed Jungkook’s story slightly from my original story.  Hope you guys like it!!! Enjoy :)

You were in love with Jeon Jungkook. 

You had been in love with him, since the moment you understood what it truly meant to love someone. 

The engagement party was in full swing - people chattered around you happily, congratulating the supposedly happy couple - but all your attention was on him.

You watched him from across the expanse of people wedged between you both.  He leaned against the stone wall, observing, as he always did.  Arms crossed, dark eyes narrowed.  

You knew you probably shouldn’t watch him for long - that if he felt your gaze on him he would add it to the long list of reasons why he’d probably noticed you were in love with him years ago.  But you couldn’t help yourself.  He looked so handsome - so inviting - and you swore at yourself for still holding a candle to someone who didn’t see you as much more than an accomplice to his little sister.

Your best friend Nayeon had been born only a year after Jungkook, but sometimes it felt like he would treat her - and by association you - as a child forever.

“Stop staring,” Nayeon had sidled up beside you, a flute of champagne clutched in her hands, “You’re making it so obvious.”

You rolled your eyes, “You mean twenty three years of following him around like a puppy hasn’t been proof enough?”

She sighed heavily and slipped an arm through your own.  Nayeon had known about your unfortunate feelings for her brother for a long time.  Unfortunate because, really, in what world would your love ever be reciprocated?

Not only had you been relegated to little sister status long ago - but Jungkook was so handsome he could have any woman he wanted. 

It was well known that Jungkook was Bangtan’s resident playboy.  He’d made no effort to settle down in the years since turning a ‘marriage-appropriate’ age, and had done just about the opposite.  Flitting from woman to woman  (and coincidentally bed to bed) with an easy smile and eyes that could warm the hardest of hearts.

Eventually, of course, he would be forced to settle down.  Not only was he an important member of Bangtan - he was in the capo’s inner circle.  Soon Taehyung would choose a wife for him whether he wanted it or not.  Because Jungkook needed to produce heirs - it was what had always been expected of a made man.

“I’ve told you to talk to your father,” Nayeon’s voice was sympathetic, “Our families are such good friends - maybe the two of you could get married.”

You felt your chest pinch at Nayeon’s suggestion.  She was right, she had been telling you this for years.  But you knew that speaking to your father wouldn’t change anything.  Had told her just as much.

“Taehyung will choose his wife Nae, you know this just as well as I do.”

Her eyes softened and you felt yourself grow tired again.  Your feelings for him were exhausting sometimes.

“Talk to Taehyung then.  Your family is well-respected, Y/N.  It wouldn’t be a downgrade.”  

You scoffed, “For Bangtan’s golden boy?  C’mon Nae.  Let’s not start this again.  I’m not in the mood for it.”

Your eyes moved towards Jungkook once more, but they widened slightly when you realised he wasn’t there anymore.  Probably off flirting with some beautiful woman… 

Your heart clenched in jealousy as it always did when you imagined Jungkook with someone else.  

“Looking for me?” 

There it was.  His voice.  

You turned sharply, eyes lifting to connect with his own.  Jungkook’s face was unreadable as he stared down at you - and you wondered for a moment, if he was angry with you.

“What?” The word escaped you, “Uh… No.  No.  Just enjoying the party.”

Nayeon’s arm had slipped out of yours at some point.

His expression was dark and you felt like perhaps he was glaring at you.  Glaring?  Why would he be glaring?  Your chest tightened.

“You couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

The words sounded venomous, almost.  You felt confused.

“What?”

Jungkook quirked a dark brow, “Playing dumb doesn’t suit you, Y/N.”

Nayeon cleared her throat noisily and stepped between the two of you.  You were grateful for her presence.  Jungkook had never spoken to you like that.  Almost as if… He hated you.

It was so much worse than the way he usually treated you - like a little sister he begrudgingly liked.  What had you done to deserve this treatment?

“What is going on, Jungkook?” Nayeon’s voice held a note of warning.

His gaze snapped up to meet hers and he scowled, “This hasn’t got anything to do with you.”

“Like hell it doesn’t,” Nayeon growled back, eyes narrowed harshly, “Y/N is my best friend and you, regrettably, are my brother.”

“Why don’t you ask your best friend, then?” He spat the words out almost viciously, “Ask her why I got called into a meeting with Taehyung, our father and her father, this morning.”

Your heart felt like it was going to fall out of your throat. 

“What?”  Your voice was quiet - little more than a whisper.

Jungkook’s eyes shifted for a moment and he softened - before his face became that impassive mask again.  It was the Jungkook of Bangtan that stood before you.  Not your Jungkook.

Not the Jungkook that used to pull on your hair when it got too long, or the Jungkook that taught you how to swim.  This Jungkook was scary, unpredictable even.

“I suppose I should welcome you to the family,” His voice had lost all of it’s anger - it was just cold now, “Mrs Jeon.”

Your heart stopped.

“I….”

“What are you talking about, Jungkook?” Nayeon interrupted and though you wanted to look at her, your eyes seemed incapable of moving away from Jungkook’s.

He wasn’t glaring at you anymore, thank god, but now his face was just blank - unmoving.  You recognised that look from your own father’s face.  Long ago you’d dubbed it the Bangtan face.  The way coldness seemed to freeze over any warmth.  It frightened you more than any anger could.

“I’m marrying her,” He said, emotionless.  Like a robot, “At the earliest opportunity, apparently.”  His eyes flickered for a moment, and you thought you saw something gentle, in them.  But it was soon replaced by that same, cold indifference.

“Me?” You squeaked, heart thundering in your ears.  

Nayeon was silent.  It was the first time in a long time that something had left her truly speechless, you reckoned.

When Jungkook nodded, once, sharply, your insides twisted.

“I’m sorry,” You felt the tears burning, but you refused to let them fall, “I didn’t… I never asked for this.  I swear, I had no idea.”

The conversation you’d had with Nayeon just moments ago flashed through your mind.  It was so ironic you almost wanted to laugh.

“Your feelings for me have become… Increasingly clear in the last few years.”  Jungkook’s tone wasn’t cruel, but you felt the chill in it, “I suppose your father realised, as did mine.  Taehyung has been wanting to marry me off for years, so he was only happy to accommodate.”

On the last word, you flinched.

Accommodate.  Like you were a burden being handed to him.

“I’m sorry,” You repeated, although you weren’t entirely sure what you were apologising for.  Was it your inability to keep your feelings under check?  Should you really feel sorry for something you couldn’t really control?

“It’s not your fault, Y/N.” Nayeon had seemed to regain some of her sense, “You know how this world works. She didn’t choose this, Jungkook.”

But you could see that he blamed you.

And in some ways you understood.  It was your clear feelings for him that had caused a matrimony that he didn’t want.  Jungkook valued his independence, his freedom.  He’d told Nayeon and yourself time and time again that he would try to delay his getting married as much as he could.  Another twenty years, at least. 

And now he was saddled with you. 

You had taken away that freedom he treasured so dearly, without even meaning to. 

“No I didn’t choose this but I am sorry,” You felt like you might crumble to dust under Jungkook’s stare, “I shouldn’t have made my feelings so clear.”

The words were difficult to say - was it really your fault that you loved him? - but they seemed to do the job.  Jungkook’s shoulders relaxed and his face softened.

“So you didn’t ask for this?”

You shook your head once, rigidly.  

“Then I’m sorry for getting angry,” He said gently, his eyes roving your face carefully.  He was doing that thing he always did - he was trying to read you - the same way he read everyone.

But you were like a book to him, weren’t you?  So open.  So obvious. So easy to read.  He barely needed to try.

Jungkook had never made it as clear as he had right now, that he knew you were in love with him.  You supposed you should be embarrassed - and you were, to a degree.  But some part of you, a much larger part, just felt sorry.

“And I’m sorry you had to find out like this.”  He added, hands moving towards the pockets of the trousers he was wearing, “But in a month’s time, you will be Mrs Jeon Jungkook.” A month? You felt sick - like you might throw up.

This was all you’d ever dreamed of… But you didn’t want it like this.  Forced and angry.  You wanted love and passion and affection.  Things you knew Jungkook didn’t feel for you.

Things you’d always worried he’d never feel for you.

You were content watching him from a distance but now?  Now he was up close and personal, and you could barely meet his eyes.

Without another word, Jungkook slipped away from you, probably off to find some kind of alcohol to drown himself in.  In one month you would be Mrs Jeon Jungkook…

“Oh Y/N.” Nayeon’s voice caught, and suddenly you realised you had started crying.

The man you loved probably hated you now and in a month you would become his wife.  Any hope of Jungkook reciprocating your feelings for him disappeared.

It was all one big, scary mess.

//

You hadn’t spoken to Jungkook since the night he had told you about your upcoming nuptials.  From the little information Nayeon had been able to gather, he wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of having to marry you.

“He’ll come around,” She told you time and time again.  But you could barely bring yourself to believe her.

It had been years of loving him.  Years of watching him from far away and never being able to call him yours.  Why would that change now?

How could it change when he probably despised you for this wedding?

You couldn’t bring yourself to hope for anything more than civility.  Anything else would break your heart.

Everything about the wedding had been decided for you.  Down to even the dress.  You had tried things on, a mannequin for the women of your family and the Jeon family.  Your mother had tried encouraging you to enjoy yourself, as had Nayeon, but nothing seemed to work.

“I’ll be married in a week,” Your stomach twisted, “And Jungkook hasn’t even looked at me since that night.”

“He’s just getting used to the idea Y/N.” Nayeon tried to convince you but it was as futile and pointless as ever.

“He hates me.”

“No he doesn’t. It’s Jungkook.”

You felt your heart pull uncomfortably. It was Jungkook. You wanted so badly for him to be yours - had spent years and months and hours thinking about it. And yet….

That would never happen.

Nayeon was helping you wrap up the wedding favours. Another thing you’d had no part in choosing. Jungkook’s mother had ordered bracelets for the women and cuffs for the men.

“Don’t you have someone else to do this?” Nayeon fiddled with the baby blue crepe paper, “I’m so bad at this.”

“I asked to do this.” You shrugged, “It was the only thing my mother trusted me with. I wanted to feel somewhat useful.”

“I’m sorry Y/N.”

Any hope of magic for your special day had been obliterated the moment Jungkook had confronted you. He would never accept this marriage as anything other than something he’d been forced into.

And he would probably always blame you for it.

“It’s alright,” You cleared your throat of the thick tears threatening to spill, “I never expected to choose anything for my own wedding anyway.”

“Still.  This is meant to be exciting.” You laughed and it caught in your chest, sounding suspiciously like a sob.

“I’m marrying the love of my life and yet… I’m miserable,” You shook your head, “Only Bangtan could be capable of causing something like this.” Nayeon opened her mouth - maybe to tell you that her brother would come around - when a knock at the door stopped her.

“Yes?” You answered quietly, half expecting it to be your mother with yet another ridiculous demand.

The portal opened and revealed your husband to be - Jeon Jungkook - looking decidedly sheepish as his eyes met your own.

Sheepish?  Jungkook?  It couldn’t be.

“Your maid… Jennie.  She let me in.”

You nodded and felt the questioning gaze of Nayeon flicker between both you and Jungkook.  What was he doing here? You were curious, too.

“Could I… Nayeon…Could I talk to Y/N for a minute?  Alone?”

Nayeon curled her top lip, “You’re not going to be an asshole to her again, are you?”

When Jungkook gave her a look that could freeze hell over Nayeon merely shrugged. Though they’d grown up in Bangtan - and though Jungkook was as dangerous as they come - Nayeon and him still shared a relatively normal sibling dynamic.

They were both stubborn of course, with tempers that could rival even the scariest Bangtan member…. But they loved each other.

And they were fiercely loyal. A Jeon trait, you’d come to learn.

“Just five minutes okay? Then you can continue to be a pain in the ass,” Jungkook glared at his sister as Nayeon stood, eyes narrowed.

“I’ll be just next door Y/N. Scream if he pisses you off.”

She patted your hand, face still scowling at her brother.  He flipped her off before she pulled a face, sliding out of the room with a quiet click of the door.  When you were alone with Jungkook, your heart felt like it was going to crawl out of your mouth.

His eyes were almost warm as he turned to you again.

“Y/N I wanted to… Apologise, for my behaviour at the party earlier this month,” He seemed genuinely sorry, “And for…” He trailed off before clearing his throat again, “And for ignoring you, the last few weeks.  This marriage has been difficult for me to process.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

“But I wanted to come here and tell you that… If we’re getting married to one another, then I suppose we should try to get along for the sake of our own sanity.”  He stepped towards you and almost looked like he wanted to touch you, but thought better of it, “But that doesn’t - I don’t…” He paused and you noticed his eyes seemed almost sad, “I know how you feel about me, Y/N.  But I can’t… Promise anything.  I’ll be kind to you like I’ve always been.  And we might grow closer because of this marriage but… That’s all I can offer.” 

You knew what he was saying.

He was happy to be your friend.  Maybe to even warm your bed at night.

But Jungkook would never love you as you loved him.

You nodded, mutely, feeling that if you said a word you might break down in tears.  And you refused to let him see you that way, no matter how much your heart ached.

“I don’t want you to resent me, Y/N.  But I’m not… I’m not a man of commitment.  You understand, don’t you?” You almost laughed in his face.

He wasn’t a man of commitment? Jeon Jungkook spent every day of his life committed to the cause of Bangtan.  He was willing to fight for it.  To die for it.

It wasn’t commitment he didn’t want - it was you.

He didn’t have to lie to try and placate you.  You were a big girl.  Stronger than he took you for.

“You will never love me as I love you.”  You said, voice hollow, “Is that what you’re trying to say Jungkook?”

He winced, “I’m sorry.”

The words hurt you more than if he’d slapped you across the face. He was sorry? 

“Please don’t apologise,” Your chest twinged, “There’s nothing to feel sorry for.” The way he was looking at you made everything a million times worse.  You felt like a glass vase, teetering off the edge, about ready to shatter into a thousand pieces.

After a moment you cleared your throat, “How long?”

He raised a dark brow, “What?” “How long have you known about my… Um… Feelings for you.”

Jungkook shifted, clearly uncomfortable, but you decided you didn’t really care.  If you were going to spend the rest of your life committed to a man that didn’t want you, the least he could do is give you this much.

“Since your sixteenth birthday party.”

The memory seared your heart and your stomach fluttered.  Even thinking of it now, almost ten years later, caused something indescribable to pass through you. 

It had been a summer’s evening - you were born in late August.

Your mother had planned this overly flamboyant affair (she had a flair for the dramatics, clearly) and though you hadn’t wanted to attend, you’d done so anyway, not wanting to upset her after all her hard work.

And of course, she’d invited all the girls from Bangtan’s most powerful families including your arch nemesis at the time - Jihyo. 

Jihyo was as beautiful as she was mean, and though she was a little older than you were she never passed up the opportunity to humiliate you.  Your birthday was no different.

When you’d turned up in that ridiculous excuse of a dress - a frilly, pink puff pastry of a thing - Jihyo had spent all evening making fun of you in corners, and whispering cruel things behind your back.

Nayeon had threatened to bite her nose off but the both of you knew she was untouchable.  Jihyo was the Taehyung’s father’s niece.  She moved around the room like she owned it (and in a way she did) and it wasn’t until she made a comment about the angle of your mouth that Jungkook had stepped towards you and taken your hand.

Of course, Jihyo seethed with anger and jealousy all night. 

All the Bangtan girls wanted just a little of Jungkook’s attention - but he spent all evening treating you like a princess.  He laughed at your jokes, and danced with you, and even tucked your curls behind your ears. 

And you knew it was only because Jihyo was a bully and Nayeon was his little sister so you were too, in a way, but it didn’t really matter.  Because that evening it was like he’d plucked the moon right out of the sky and placed it in your pocket.

That was how special you’d felt.

And that was the Jungkook you fell in love with.

You nodded,  once, sharply and then took a deep, calming breath.

“You don’t have to worry, okay?”  Your voice was shaking but you forced yourself to move past it, “I won’t let my feelings for you get in the way of things.  Ever.  I know what this marriage means to you.”

For a moment - just one moment - it seemed like something close to regret flashed past Jungkook’s eyes.  But it was gone before you were even sure you’d seen it.

“Thank you, Y/N.”  He bowed gently and you tried to smile.

It was only later on, when Nayeon came back with a cup of chamomile to calm your nerves, and a sympathetic smile to stroke your pain, that you finally gave way to the tears that had threatened to spill since Jungkook’s arrival.

This was all a fucking mess.

//

[imaginesandinserts]

Irreverent Pt. 24 - Fallout

Title: Irreverent Pt. 24 - Fallout Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: R Words: 1137

Irreverent Series Masterlist

You woke up the morning after with a headache. Was drinking to the brink of alcohol poisoning a good idea? No. But by God did it do wonders for the soul. If you were drinking you weren't thinking. That had seemed like a good enough reason last night.

When you'd gotten back after the mission, you had wasted no time in gathering your things and spending as little time as possible in the building. You'd driven home by sheer muscle memory, because you couldn't remember how you'd arrived in your driveway. You had turned off the car, making no move to go inside. The home felt intimidatingly large and empty from the outside. It was an odd feeling - wanting to be around no one and yet not wanting to be alone. So you sat in the car. Because sitting in the car is a sort of purgatory. You have departed and yet not arrived.

You kept playing the confrontation with Hotch afterwards over and over in your head. Your father's face right before you shot him would forever live with you. But it was not the face that haunted you. No, that was the face of Aaron Hotchner, as he stood too close, held you too hard, and accused you of breaking your solemn oath. You couldn't deny it.

You decided against going inside, but instead turned your car back on and drove back towards Quantico. Best to make this easy for everyone.

When you arrived back home - for real this time - you'd  gone straight to the kitchen and poured yourself a drink. And another. And one more for good measure. At some point you had made your way upstairs. You took off your clothes and got clean. You put on your indulgent pajamas - the silky smooth ones that gave even your short frame the illusion of having legs for days. You grabbed the clothes you'd shed and threw them into the trash bin in the kitchen as you poured yourself a few more drinks.

It would appear that at some point you'd stumbled back upstairs and gotten under the covers. That was encouraging. You couldn't have been too drunk if you'd managed that.

Before you could talk yourself into getting out of bed, you were compelled to by the incessant knocking at your door. You had half a mind to just ignore it but it kept going and going. Someone really wanted your attention.

Groaning, you dragged yourself out of bed and grabbed your robe, quickly slipping it on as you walked down the stairs to open the door.

"What hell is this?" You'd just opened the door and were greeted by Hotch fuming. He quickly pushed past you and stepped inside, not waiting for an invitation. This was the last thing you wanted to deal with. You'd thought he would just take it in stride, but apparently not.

You closed the door and turned to face him, suddenly very aware of the fact that your robe was untied, giving him full view of an outfit that you'd never have chosen to worn in front of your boss…ex-boss? It's still early.

"Well?" Hotch was pissed and pacing. His hair was slightly in disarray and It seemed like he'd loosened his tie on the drive over.

"You can read Hotch. You know what it is." In hindsight, perhaps not the best thing to say to the only person in the room that was armed, but you were beyond caring. It was later, and you no longer had to work with him. You could say what you wanted to say, unfiltered.

Your blasé response was infuriating to him. He looked around and took in the disarray of the house and spotted the multiple empty liquor bottles on the coffee table in the living room. He must've realized that there was a good chance you were still a little drunk, because he became too calm. "You don't get to just quit. I get you're upset still - which mind you, I don't get why you're the only one that's still -"

"Oh, you don't get WHY I'm upset? Maybe because you lied to me," your voice broke embarrassingly and it would seem the moratorium on tears was over because there were streaks running down your face, "you manipulated me! And then you left because what? You couldn't handle the pain you were causing?! You should've told me!" Your voice was loud throughout the house.  

"It was protocol, I couldn't tell anyone." His jaw clenched and you could tell he was trying very hard not to yell back. You couldn't care less.

"SCREW PROTOCOL - you should've told me," you cursed, wiping the tears flowing down your face.

He just stood there, shaking his head. Taking a deep breath, he walked towards you and handed you a piece of paper. Grabbing the page from him, you saw the words SENATE HEARING CONFIRMATION.

You looked up at him again and saw him withdrawing your badge and gun from his inner pocket. Your eyes followed him as he walked into the living room and took down the painting that hid the safe behind the wall. You'd only gotten the safe once Jack started coming around and you hadn't wanted a gun and a child in close proximity. He knew, as he'd helped you find someone to install it. You'd picked Jack's birthday as the passcode. You watched as Hotch placed both items in the safe and put everything back as it was.

"As you can see," he said, walking back towards you, "there is a hearing regarding last night's mission. You do not get to quit and call the entire team into question. You owe everyone that much. Only four people know what really happened last night and it will remain that way."

You swallowed. The guilt of having them all know and keep this secret for you, was finally emerging. You looked back at him for a hint of something that would tell you how he was reacting to everything, but he had retreated into being emotionless robot Hotch. You hated that. You hated him.

"Resignation not accepted. You will be at work tomorrow. You will not be drunk or hungover."

His calmness was infuriating. You wanted him to yell back. You'd expected him to come and scream some more about what you did last night. You were still pissed and you realized you were almost itching for a fight. It was disappointing that he'd chosen to give up so easily.

He walked to the door and opened it, stepping outside as you followed.

"You don't get to run away from this," he reminded you, turning around.

You saw red. "Right, I forgot, only you get to do that." The door was promptly slammed in his face.

[the-extra-joker-art]

What You Deserve

And I ope-

May or may not have written some indulgent shit involving Deacon angst and my Sole Survivor, Happy. Really I just used Happy cause using a nameless Sole felt awkward ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I don't usually post written fanfiction, so critiques welcome!

Deacon wasn’t quite sure how long he had been chained up. He was sure it had only been a couple of days, but it felt like weeks. The Gunners that had locked him up thankfully had no idea who he was, or who he worked for, but all that did was make their visits less frequent and the long hours of the day blurrier. He was fading in and out of consciousness, hunger gnawing at his stomach whenever he opened his eyes and the numbness in his arms chained above his head was getting progressively more noticeable. Every now and again, he’d wake up to the sound of the door opening, followed by laughter and conversation, but his wakefulness would be quickly ended by a swift kick to his gut or the butt of a gun slamming against his already bloody forehead. As of right now the pain coursing through his entire body was nothing compared to the mental beating he was giving himself. He had no idea how he had gotten caught. It wasn’t supposed to be anything beyond a scouting mission; they had gotten word that a courser was lurking around a spot near Goodneighbor, and his job was to test the claim with his own two eyes. To his surprise though, the spot was actually a recent nesting ground of the Gunners. Deacon still had no idea where the courser claim came from, but he didn’t have much time to scout out an answer, because as soon as he found the camp the Gunners greeted him with a concussion to the back of his head. When he woke up, he was already chained to the wall of a windowless room that smelled of blood, vomit, and booze. He was dizzy enough already, but when more than one Gunner came in to interrogate him by adding more cranial wounds, he lost all sense of his surroundings. Apparently, the Gunners didn’t find his witty remarks charming at all. He couldn’t stop berating himself for getting caught. He was careless, he hadn’t checked his surroundings nearly enough. He should have asked around before he scoped it out, gathered intel. But instead he had to pull a Happy and rush in head first. He winced at the thought of Happy and the others. Were they worried? He was sure they would expect him to be more careful, to be more thorough. He wasn’t even sure if rescue would come in time before the Gunners decided they were done asking meaningless questions and just killed him. Deacon had fucked up bad, and he knew it. He chuckled, and gasped at the painful tightening in his chest. He was hoping he’d die a significantly more meaningful death than being killed by his own carelessness; Maybe he’d die saving someone, or blowing up the institute. At least a martyr's death would be more fitting for his chosen job, but this one seemed more deserving. Dying in the basement of mercenary bastards, without knowing if rescue would come, without nearly enough repentance for his past was just the kind of death someone liked him deserved.

“You’re a good man, Deacon…”

Deacon winced. Happy’s face flashed in his mind, the day after he had told her about his past, she looked at him differently. Almost with a look of awe, like she admired him. He couldn’t believe that even if he tried, but unlike most days, he was far too weak to stop himself of thinking of what she had said,

“You’re a good man, and I’m glad that out of everyone, you chose to travel with me.”

He wriggled against his binds, gasping in pain as the nerves in his arms started to feel again with the movement.

“The Wastelands are a little more bearable with you by my side.”

Deacon hadn’t realized he had closed his eyes so tightly, and when he opened them, he was shocked at the moisture on his cheeks. Tears ran down his face, silently falling against his filthy shirt. He couldn’t help but feel somehow this failure was letting Happy down. He knew it wasn’t, but his heart ached at the idea of her wondering why he wasn’t back yet, if she was worried at all. Again, he had no idea how much time had passed. Maybe she hadn’t even thought of him. He could imagine her helping another settlement, MacCready at her side, completely concentrated on supplying the people inside with water and defenses. Deacon's mouth twitched into a wry smile. Helping a settlement was considerably more important than saving one man from his own mistakes. He tried desperately to concentrate on the image of Happy in his mind, her face scrunched up in a smile, but he could feel his conscious slipping already. His body was going numb again, and he knew sooner or later he would fall back into restless sleep again. Using the last of his strength, he tried to think of an apology for his mistake. What he would say or write down in a last note for Des and the others, how he would thank them for making something of his life, for fighting to save so many synths. How he would thank Happy for dealing with his bullshit, and for staying with him despite everything. He would thank everyone for what they’ve done for him, and apologize for his failure. His mistakes. Again, he’s letting everyone in his life down. He blinked back tears as everything faded to black around him.

Deacon's entire body jolted as a loud crash filled the room. The sudden awakening made pain surge through his entire body, numbed limbs trying in vain to pull against his binds. He couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or not and his attempts to look for the source of the noise was met by blurred shapes. A giant shadow loomed over him, blocking the light from the door that he didn’t even realize was now open, and he groaned as he turned his head up, his gut clenching in fear as he realized the outline of a suit of power armor standing over him.

“Heh... You really didn’t have to put on your good clothes to… Finish off little old me…” Deacon forced a chuckle, his head lolling to the side. Power armor seemed a little much for killing one man, but he supposed these Gunners were the dramatic type. He tried to keep his eyes open, but his strength was wavering, and his breath uneven.

“Oh my god, Deacon…” A familiar voice came from behind the mask, “What did they do to you?”

Deacon tried to lift his head, heart racing as he recognized the voice tainted by the suit's robotic lilt.

“H... Happy…” He tried to say more, to speak more and apologize. For what he wasn’t sure, but he just felt he needed to. “I’m… Sorry…”

“Shh, Deacon. You’re okay. It’s okay.”

He barely even registered the lock on the chains being broken by the power armor's superior strength, letting out a pained breath as Happy gently placed his arms at his side. Deacon felt her wrap a metal arm around him as he began to fall to the side, his tired mind wondering how she was able to treat him so carefully in her hulking suit. He groaned and jolted when he felt a stimpack being stabbed into his leg, hand coming up to weakly grab onto her arm. He was trying to stay conscious, desperately trying to find Happy's face behind the emotionless mask.

“I’m getting you out of here.”

Her voice sounded far away, and his attempt to form a response only offered a breathy groan. His mind swam nauseatingly as the stimpack did it’s work, reconstructing the wounds the Gunners gave him, most of which were to his head. Deacon barely noticed that Happy had picked him up till they were already walking out the shattered doorway, looking down at himself to see that he was being carried bridal style, his body carefully nestled against her armored chest. He let out a shaky sigh, letting his body go limp as he realized he was safe in her arms. For a moment he was safe from his mistakes, safe from the pain that was now just a numbed buzzing through his whole body. He could feel himself slipping back into unconsciousness, but his mind filled with panic as he remembered where they were. His eyes opened wide as he looked behind them down the long hallways of the house they had dragged him through when he was knocked out, and he grimaced at the sight behind them. Blood splattered the wall of the kitchen at the end, the front door blown completely off it hinges. The bodies of the Gunners were strewn across the hall like grim decorations, themselves decorated with their own blood and bullet holes. The head of one of the mercenaries was completely blown off, his relatively fresh blood hiding the rotting wood underneath as it poured out of his body. Happy did this. She did this for him. He knew she could kill, she was an amazing shot, but something about this was different. They were more brutal, more bloody - The place looked like a Deathclaw had come through with a vengeance. In his exhausted mind he couldn’t tell what he thought of that.

Deacon felt himself losing grip on reality again, his eyelids feeling like lead as they slowly closed. He tried to keep them open, to get one more look at Happy. He wanted to thank her, to ask her if she was alright, but nothing came out. His breathing was finally evened out, and the only thing his body wanted to do was rest in the safety of Happys arms. It wasn’t a safety he deserved after the mistake he made, but he didn’t have the strength to refuse it, and he doubted Happy would let him. His head rested against the hard metal, and finally he faded to sleep.

“You got him… You got what you wanted. Now let me go.” The Gunner bastard on his knees on the front porch stared up at Happy, entire body shaking. The blood from his broken nose flowed freely, and his hands trembled. Maybe it was the fear, maybe it was the fact that she broke them under her boot. She had abandoned using her charisma to get him to help, which he was eager to do after she broke his leg too. Happy looked at him, her heated glare hidden by the tinted glass of the helmet.

“Come on! I lead you to the camp! I told you what you wanted, and you got the fucking prisoner! There wasn’t a courser here, okay? Just a bunch of useless synths!” The Gunner doubled over in pain, the effort of staying up almost too much for the shattered bones in his leg.

“You piece of shit… You say that like it’s supposed to make it better. Do you know who this is? His name is Deacon, and he’s a member of the Railroad. This man saves synths. He risks his life every day just to save someone he doesn’t even know from the Institute.” Happy turned away from the Gunner, “But you wouldn’t understand that, would you? No. You’re just a greedy bastard, you’re no better than a radroach.”

Happy looked down at Deacon, bloody but peacefully asleep in her arms.

“No, you wouldn’t know the first thing about saving someone. About risking your life for another. You don’t even know about loving anyone, do you? You’ve never loved anything in your life, besides bottlecaps.”

The Gunner let out a pathetic sob, looking up at Happy with fear in his eyes.

“Please! Just let me go! I... I’ll never take another job again! I’ll never even pick up a gun again! Please!”

Happy went silent, just staring at the man in her arms. She was never going to let the Gunner go, not after what he helped do to Deacon. There was only one person here that deserved mercy, one person who deserved the chance to repent for their crimes, and he was nestled gently in her arms, completely unaware of the conversation going on right now. She thanked whatever gods existed that he was unaware of what she had done to find him. Without another word she pulled out her gun and shot the Gunner in the head, his lifeless body hitting the porch with a thud. The blood pooled from his wound, eyes open in a now eternal expression of shock. She holstered the gun again as guilt pinged at her heart strings, feeling a lump in her throat when she looked at the dead Gunner. He had complied to her demands and betrayed his entire gang to show her the way here, and he deserved better than a death by her hands. Who was she to judge that he deserved death? To claim that he had never loved anyone? Happy didn’t even know who he was, or his real name. He was just a filthy Gunner to her. The guilt faded as she looked at Deacon. Of course he deserved a bullet to his head - He had helped take something very precious from her. She already had so much taken by greedy fuckers like him who just wanted to line their pockets and hurt someone who didn’t deserve it, and gods know Deacon didn’t. Even if he thought he did.

Happy stepped off the porch, looking ahead at the path illuminated by the moon ahead of her. She’d do that a thousand times again if she had to. She’d put a thousand bullets in anyone's head if it meant keeping one more person she loved in her life. That Gunner was just another Kellogg, the only difference was he wasn’t nearly as important. Happy would do this a million times more if it meant keeping Deacon by her side for just another day.

End.

[quicksilversquared]

Pants on Fire

Ladybug AU/ After Lila decides that Adrien's implied threat has no teeth and decides not to walk back on her claims about Marinette, Marinette stays expelled. But she has absolutely no intention to let things stay that way.

Soon enough, Lila will wish that she had taken Adrien's easy way out.

links in the reblog

Across the street, the school bell rang, and the last of the Françoise Dupont students cleared off of the sidewalk and into the building. From her balcony, Marinette could see her old classmates in their homeroom, gradually making their way to their desks. Lila was still sitting in the back, but Marinette didn't doubt that before long, she would have taken over Marinette's old seat.

Day three of her expulsion from Dupont, and Marinette was (rightfully) no less bitter about it now than she had been three days ago.

Seriously, how was it fair that she got expelled without any sort of investigation? How was it legal? How had her teachers and principal even believed that Marinette would do anything like what Lila had claimed?

Did Lila have secret brain-draining superpowers that no one had found out about yet? That was the only thing that she could think of.

"At least Adrien tried to get Lila to come clean," Tikki offered as her Chosen clambered down from her balcony and headed for her desk. "I mean, I know it didn't work because Lila is too stubborn, but..."

"At least he tried," Marinette finished. She was really grateful for that, honestly. When Adrien had stopped over to check in on her the previous day, he had sounded super frustrated. Apparently Lila had somehow gotten herself invited to his photoshoots and he had confronted her then, trying to bargain the appearance of his friendship to get Lila to walk back her claims about Marinette. At the time, Lila had seemed to agree, but she hadn't followed through afterwards.

Count Marinette not surprised. If Lila walked back on any of her claims, well, that meant that all of her other claims would be questioned, and she would not want to open that door. Even if that meant irritating Adrien.

"And at least someone at Dupont knows that it was Lila's fault," Marinette added with a sigh. Not that it did anything, really, since no one would listen to Adrien, but it was still nice. "And at least he's planning on coming over again and talking to my parents today, so that they aren't just going on my word that I didn't actually do any of the stuff Lila accused me of. But that doesn't get me un-expelled."

"Well, if you can't do anything about it, maybe we should just brush it off and move on," Tikki suggested. "Mulling over it isn't going to help, and if an akuma comes again-"

Marinette hid her scowl and reached for her remote, flipping her monitor from computer screen to TV to drown out the rest of Tikki's words. She knew that it wasn't a good thing that an akuma had actually managed to get as far as corrupting her purse, even if Marinette had still had enough control at the time to start taking her earrings out so that Tikki could fly away with them. Tikki didn't have to keep reminding her that getting akumatized wouldn't be good. Marinette knew that.

(Marinette was this close to going to Master Fu without Tikki and talking to him about her kwami's constant scolding. Marinette knew that her duties as Ladybug were important, but what about the girl under Ladybug's mask? Didn't her feelings matter, too? What was she supposed to do, take a train out to the countryside so that she was out of Hawkmoth's range and only let her emotions out there? Be an emotionless robot until Hawkmoth was defeated? No thank you.)

"Don't be bemused, it's just the news!" Nadja Chamack was saying on-screen, beaming into the camera as Marinette pulled up her first lesson of the day on her tablet. "In today's news, we have extended coverage from the most recent akuma battle, updates from the mayor on proposed new recycling initiatives, and much, much more!"

Madam Chamack chatted on as Marinette started reading through her first class's lesson, determined to at least stay on top of her studies and not let herself fall behind. The online school she had gotten herself enrolled in for the time being was flexible enough that if she got a little behind schedule because of an akuma attack it wouldn't be too big of an issue, but there was no point starting off on the wrong foot.

Besides, if she could work ahead, then she could maybe have some more free time to try to make some progress on tracking down Hawkmoth. That would be making the most out of her situation, at least, and then she would be in a better position to focus on improving her designs and sewing techniques so that she could start developing a portfolio while she was in lycée.

Tikki finally settled down across the room, fiddling with some of Marinette's extra thread and beads while Marinette worked her way through the day's Literature lesson, then Math and Civics and Chemistry. The TV kept playing in the background, muted only when Marinette needed to listen to a video for her schoolwork on her tablet.

"Morning classes done ahead of schedule," Marinette said cheerfully as soon as she finished her last electron drawing. "And homework for them finished at the same time, not that there was much homework to do to start with. Time for a break, I think."

"It is almost time for lunch," Tikki agreed, flying over to join her. "You wouldn't be getting out for another half-hour at Dupont, but you've been working hard! And normally, you would have breaks between classes."

"Mm-hmm." Marinette glanced back up at her computer monitor to glance at the time, then did a double-take when she saw the screen. "Hey, I remember hearing something about this before! Tikki, can you turn up the volume?"

"-the continued fallout from the plagiarism scandal at Paris's famed university for the arts," Madam Chamack said onscreen as Tikki bumped the volume. "Another professor has been linked to the scam, which came to light after a student discovered the plagiarism. After the faculty member that she brought her concerns to didn't do anything about the issue, the student, who wishes to remain unidentified, did her own digging and found enough evidence to go straight to the police."

Marinette froze, eyes fixed on the screen as Madam Chamack kept talking, telling her viewers the timeline of what had been discovered so far. There was a lot, with faculty members at the university trying to sweep the problem under the rug all because of some rich donors who wanted to keep the flow of ideas coming to them. Three attempts from the student to let professors and administrators know that it was happening had all been swept aside with empty assurances and nothing had happened.

No one had expected the stubborn student, armed with facts and evidence to the point where she could directly get the police involved.

And Marinette's brain went aha.

There was plenty of evidence out there that Lila was lying, if only people bothered to look. The looking had been the issue at school, with everyone just taking Lila at her word instead of actually looking for themselves. Marinette didn't doubt that Lila had taken at least some steps to cover her steps- forging her mother's signature, probably, and giving incorrect email addresses that would divert to any emails to her mother to a mimic email that Lila could control- but that didn't mean that they just had to take that at face value!

But if Marinette compiled a whole pile of evidence, then- well, Marinette wasn't going to kid herself into saying that that would solve everything, either. Knowing the discipline that was given at her school, Lila would probably get a tap on the hand as punishment, and everything would get swept under the rug. But if Marinette got evidence, and then went to the proper authorities so that Ms. Buster and Mr. Damocles were forced to act, well...

That might be the exact thing she needed.

  Adrien wasn't sure what to expect when he headed over to the Dupain-Cheng bakery after school. He had waited until most of the other students had cleared off before leaving, so that Lila wouldn't see him going over and try to mess things up even more, then ducked into the bakery itself.

He had told the Gorilla that he was studying at the school for a couple hours, so hopefully he wouldn't be interrupted.

"Good afternoon, Adrien," Mrs. Cheng greeted him. She didn't sound as upbeat as she usually did, which wasn't much of a surprise considering that Marinette's expulsion was still fresh. "What can I get for you today?"

"I wanted to talk to you, actually," Adrien told her, glancing around the bakery. The collège student rush had passed, and now there was only a businessman perusing the shelves of baked goods. "About what happened earlier this week-"

Mrs. Cheng's shoulders stiffened, and her smile became a bit more wooden. "I appreciate the concern, Adrien, but-"

"Lila's a liar," Adrien blurted before she could wave him out of the bakery. "She's been making up stories left and right about knowing all these famous people ever since she arrived in Paris, and she's had it out for Marinette from the start because Marinette never fell for her lies."

Mrs. Cheng blinked at him, clearly perplexed. "Are you sure that Lila is making up her stories? Alya dropped by for a couple minutes yesterday and she seemed certain that Marinette was just jealous."

Adrien only just barely resisted the urge to snort. Marinette, jealous? Marinette was possibly the most connected person in their class, if he didn't count the connections that he and Chloe had just because of who their parents were. She designed things for Jagged Stone on at least a semi-regular basis, and Clara Nightingale knew her and liked her, and his father had complimented Marinette's designs. "I'm positive, Mrs. Cheng. Lila claimed to be Ladybug's best friend right after she first arrived in Paris, and I was there when Ladybug confronted Lila about lying. And Lila claimed that she once saved Jagged Stone's kitten on an airplane tarmac and so he's a huge fan of hers, and Marinette knows Jagged Stone. She knows that Jagged never had a kitten. And if Lila was making that up, the probability of everything else being a lie, too..."

Mrs. Cheng's expression turned pensive.

"Besides, the pendant that Lila claimed was her grandmother's is actually from my father's latest jewelry line," Adrien added. "It's a replica of the Fox Miraculous, and she bought it shortly after she arrived in Paris. And Lila claimed to have injured her ankle from falling down the stairs, but as soon as there isn't any attention on her, she's walking just fine. And the foot that she's 'favoring' keeps switching."

"And the teachers didn't notice that, or investigate?" Mrs. Cheng asked, the doubt in her voice finally starting to vanish. "It's what they're meant to do, surely."

Adrien could only shrug. He wasn't sure why Marinette's expulsion had been rushed, unless... "Lila told us that her mom's an Italian diplomat. They might have just not wanted to cause an incident."

Mrs. Cheng muttered something under her breath that Adrien didn't entirely catch, but it sounded rather like "I'll show them an incident."

...if Mrs. Cheng was going to storm over to the school to throw hands with Mr. Damocles, Adrien wanted to be there.

"Thank you for letting me know, Adrien," Mrs. Cheng finally said after a couple of seconds had passed. "I didn't want to doubt Marinette, because the accusations didn't sound like her, but I was putting too much faith in the teachers, it seems. That, and the fact that Alya seems to like Lila... well, that was a bit confusing."

Adrien nodded. He could understand that.

"You can go up to see Marinette, if you want," Mrs. Cheng added after another pause. "I mean, if she's working on her schoolwork then don't disturb her, but I'm sure she would enjoy seeing you otherwise."

"Thank you, Mrs. Cheng."

"And here, have a cookie on your way up, I know these are your favorite."

Adrien lit up as he accepted the treat. "Thank you, Mrs. Cheng!"

That mission accomplished, Adrien headed up the stairs with a bounce in his step. It seemed like Mrs. Cheng had believed him, which would hopefully help repair any strain that had appeared in the relationship between Marinette and her parents. He wasn't sure if Marinette's parents would be able to get through to Mr. Damocles any better than he had- Adrien had tried talking to their principal again today between classes, only to get immediately brushed off- but it was at least a step in the right direction.

Even with a fresh cookie to munch on, it didn't take Adrien long to reach the Dupain-Cheng living room. Marinette's trap door was propped partway open, so he headed, up, keeping his steps quiet in case she was still trying to study. Up above, he could hear Marinette's voice, a low murmur as though she were absentmindedly talking to herself.

"Okay, so either Lila was lying about her mom being an ambassador, or the pictures that she showed us of her with her mom were photoshopped," Marinette was musing aloud when Adrien popped his head in her room behind her, going completely unnoticed. She was sitting in front of the computer, intently focused on something onscreen. It didn't sound like schoolwork, though, so Adrien slipped through her open trapdoor and into her room. "Which would make sense, if she didn't want us recognizing her mom out on the street and saying anything about all of her lies, but how good would she have to be at Photoshop, really?"

"This doesn't sound like schoolwork," Adrien teased, making Marinette yelp and startle before spinning to face him. "Your mom said not to disturb you if you were still doing your lessons, but is it safe to say you've finished?"

"Finished and then some," Marinette agreed, waving him over. "Right now, I'm finding evidence."

Adrien bounced up, at her side in a moment, instantly curious. "Evidence? That Lila's lying, I'm guessing, just based on what I just overheard."

"Exactly." Marinette waved at her screen. "And right now, what I'm finding is that Mrs. Rossi isn't an ambassador. Not unless she has a different last name than Lila and isn't the same person that Lila showed us in her photos."

"I- what?" Adrien leaned over, scanning the computer screen. Marinette let him, scrolling down to let him see the rest of the page, which was apparently from the Italian Embassy's site and showed all of their top staff. Sure enough, there was no sign of the woman whose picture Lila had shown them of her mom. "That's just- wow. Uh, do any of them have, like, personal descriptions at all? You know, like get-to-know-me pages?"

Marinette shook her head. "I've already checked. They're all very professional, no personal information in sight. Which doesn't surprise me, really. I mean, if there are people out there who might have a bone to pick with the embassy for some reason, you don't want too much personal information online."

Adrien opened his mouth, then closed it. He hadn't thought of that. He also didn't understand why someone might have an issue with an ambassador to the point of wanting to target their family, but if Marinette thought that that might be an issue, then he would believe her.

"So that's a dead end for the time being," Marinette told him. "Which is fine, really, because I got a job description of what ambassadors do, which isn't what Lila has been telling people, and then this is evidence that either she's lied about her mom being an ambassador, or she's lying about what her mom looks like-"

"Or she's lying about which country her mom is ambassador for," Adrien finished. He shrugged when she gave him a dubious look. "I mean, it's possible! Then the teachers wouldn't know which embassy to contact."

"I guess. I hadn't thought of that."

"D'you think it's enough to make Mr. Damocles undo your suspension?" Adrien asked, stepping back to snag Marinette's extra chair and pulling it over to sit next to her. "Because I mean, it feels a little mean to say it, but... he sometimes doesn't seem the sharpest? And I just worry that he might try to say that Lila's other lies don't matter, just because of what they 'found' in your bag and locker."

Marinette ducked her head, clearly trying to hide a giggle. Adrien was glad that he could amuse her, at least. "I'm not planning on going over with just a little evidence. Lila could probably lie her way out of that. I want to find a ton of evidence and actually get other authorities involved. Like, Lila definitely was skipping class without permission, and there are such things as truancy officers."

...this was starting to sound serious. Like, really serious.

"That seems like a lot of work that you shouldn't have to do, Marinette," Adrien pointed out, suddenly worried for his friend. He knew that Marinette had a tendency to overwork herself, and with all of the additional stress of getting expelled, that didn't seem like a good idea. "Are you sure-"

"That I want to spend time on it? Definitely," Marinette finished. "I'm not sitting by and letting Lila get away with expelling me. It'll go on my permanent school record- getting expelled, and the cheating and the stairs and the stealing from another student. Once I get to lycée and go back to a traditional school, the teachers won't trust me at all." Her expression became determined. "So if the adults won't step up and help, then I'll make it so that they can't not help."

...Adrien hadn't thought of that before. Being expelled from the school that Marinette had gone to for years and from classmates that she had known for even longer was bad enough on its own. But the effects didn't just stop there, and that had to suck. Like, a lot.

(Adrien was going to ask Plagg to destroy Lila's homework, he really was. Maybe it was petty, but in comparison to what Lila had done? It was nothing.)

"Ooh, yeah, I didn't think about that." Adrien scooted closer, glancing at her for permission before snagging her notebook to look at her list of lies. There... well, there were a lot of them. He had kind of tuned Lila out after a point, so to be honest, he didn't remember all of them. One of the topmost bullet points caught his eye, though, and Adrien frowned in confusion. "You're trying to disprove her being abroad using her Skyping? How is that meant to work?"

Marinette grinned, perking up and snagging her tablet from next to the computer. "Yeah, I took pictures of her when she was Skyping us, and they're clear enough to make out the background behind her." She tapped a couple spots on her screen, then turned it to face Adrien. Sure enough, there was an entire folder of pictures of Lila Skyping them from a whole bunch of different places. "Aside from the fact that she definitely wouldn't get enough Internet to get be able to call us from the street- or good enough cell service to get that clear of a photo- there's no people or cars in the background. Of very main streets. Ever."

Adrien's jaw dropped, and he stared at her in admiration. He had suspected that Lila wasn't telling the full truth, of course, but he had mostly thought that she was lying about who she was meeting, not necessarily where she was. But Marinette was absolutely right. "Wow, Marinette. I didn't- I didn't even think of that! You're brilliant. So what was she in front of, then? Posters?"

Marinette nodded. "I think so. I did a little bit of searching at the time, and if she had used a greenscreen, then she would have risked a little distorted halo showing up around her. Either way, she had to get the picture from the backdrop somewhere, and I want to find it. How I'll do that I don't know, exactly, but I'll figure it out."

"Brilliant." Adrien gave her another admiring glance before turning his attention back to her list. Marinette was a lot like Ladybug, really. She noticed details that no one else did, and could pick out when things were even a little out of place. It was a talent for sure, and one that Adrien honestly wished he had.

But he didn't, so he would have to content himself with helping out the most fantastic girls in his life in whatever ways he could.

Which, at the moment, could very well be using his connections.

"I actually have Prince Ali's contact information," Adrien commented as he noticed one specific bullet point on the list. Lila had told several stories about being in contact with Prince Ali and organizing charities and events with him. Connections with an actual prince was a undeniable attention-getter, so her fascination with him was no real surprise. "We've not been in contact that often, but my father had him and his assistant over while they were in Paris. There was an idea that there might be some collaboration or publicity with Gabriel that fell through, but, well..." Adrien shrugged, bashful. "Neither of us had that many friends at that time, so we exchanged numbers. I can text him and ask about Lila's claims and if he has any suggestions for sites to look at to back up his claims." He flashed a smile at Marinette. "Because I bet we don't just want word-of-mouth, right? Since emails can be modified or faked."

Marinette looked thrilled. "Right! And I'm so glad you have a way to contact Prince Ali, because I figured- well, I figured that those lies would be the most difficult ones to disprove, since Achu seems to keep him fairly sheltered from the media and not that much information about his life gets out."

"They do, but I'm pretty sure that Prince Ali does have some official pages with information on his projects." Adrien pulled out his phone, shooting a quick text to Prince Ali before tucking it back in his pocket and turning his full attention back to Marinette. He had the better part of an hour left before the Gorilla would come looking for him, and he wanted to use that time to help Marinette as much as he could. "Okay. What else do you have on your list?"

  Things were coming together faster than Marinette had expected, she had to admit. Only days after she started collecting evidence, her parents' last lingering doubts about the validity of any of the claims against her had vanished, they had told Madam Chamack and she was preparing a story to break once Marinette said the word, and on top of that, they now had a lawyer who had listened to Marinette's detailing of everything that had happened at school. They were preparing a lawsuit against the school, because absolutely none of the required procedures for expulsion had been followed.

Like, literally none. The accusations had been flimsy and all coming from one other student, and they hadn't been investigated at all. There had been no consideration of how likely the accusations were given Marinette's stellar history, and no calling in Lila's mother to discuss the accusations. There was absolutely no sense of any procedure being followed, and considering how much behavior from Chloe the school had let slide before, well...

The favoritism there was astounding, and they couldn't let it stand.

Marinette smiled at the reminder of that meeting as she navigated her way though her online school's portal. It was really nice to have so much support from adults, after months and months and months at school where people hadn't listened to her about Lila, hadn't done anything about Chloe, had told her that really, it isn't as big of a problem as you're making it out to be.

It was a big problem, and people weren't addressing it correctly, and that was going to be fixed. It was unfortunate that it had gotten to the point where lawsuits had to get involved, but things couldn't just be allowed to continue as they were.

And this time, it wasn't entirely up to Marinette to end it. The adults would take care of all of the legal stuff, and if Marinette decided that she was tired of dealing with the situation entirely, then that didn't mean that Lila would get away with things.

Which was nice to know, even if Marinette had no intention of excusing herself from the whole thing. Lila had made life exceedingly difficult for Marinette; now, Marinette wanted to look Lila in the eye while grinding all of her lies into the ground.

...maybe she shouldn't be so focused on revenge when she was a superhero, but honestly, Lila had it coming.

Smiling to herself, Marinette clicked a couple few more times before reaching her target page. It loaded quickly, the title of her class and her current unit at the top of the page, with a little bar below it showing where she was compared to where she was meant to be.

Marinette had started slightly behind schedule- Dupont had apparently fallen behind the national standards schedule, probably because of akuma attacks interrupting their days- and now she had caught up in most subjects and already had started edging ahead in a couple classes, including this particular one.

Civics. Unit: Foreign Relations

Unit project: Create a product- a poster, a paper, or a film- on a country of your choice, documenting their relationship with France, current and historical. Exact requirements, due dates, and minimum lengths detailed below.

It wasn't a mistake that Marinette had pushed herself to get ahead in this particular class. She had looked ahead and seen this particular project coming up and, well, filming some interviews at the Italian Embassy sounded like it would fit the bill perfectly.

"Do you really think that that's necessary at this point, Marinette?" Tikki asked from where she was perched on Marinette's sewing machine. "I mean, you have enough evidence to prove that Lila has hardly been truthful and shouldn't be trusted, and even if she tries to wriggle her way out of it, it's not going to work. Not with a truancy officer alerted and on her trail. Once an accusation has been filed, they will investigate it until they're satisfied. It's going to take more than a couple fake tears and excuses for them to drop it."

"Honestly, this bit is mostly because I'm still curious." Marinette sat back in her chair, scanning over the project guidelines. "Like, I know that Lila needed a backstory that would make it plausible that she could have met a bunch of famous people and be traveling all of the time, but why the Italian Embassy? Was that picture really of her mom? I just- I want to nose around a little. Besides, more evidence is always a good thing, and it doubles as a school assignment, too!"

"A school assignment that isn't due for weeks," Tikki pointed out. "You know what your mom told you, about not burning yourself out by overworking!"

Marinette shrugged, even as she made a few notes about things that she would have to do before filming- looking up some basic history about France-Italian relations, reaching out to a couple ambassadors to see if she could interview them, and seeing if she could check out some decent video camera and microphone equipment from the library were on the top of her list, along with coming up with questions that would hit all of the needed points plus a couple extra. "I mean, I think I'll be fine, especially because, well, I don't think I'm going to get invited to any get-togethers with the girls this week. Alya seemed pretty ticked with me when she left yesterday. So I'll have a lot of free time, probably."

Tikki made a face at that. "I suppose. But you still have Adrien coming over every day! It's not like you aren't speaking to any of your old classmates."

Marinette ducked her head, unable to hide her smile. Adrien had been spending a lot of time with her, and every afternoon they spent together made it that much easier for her to speak to him and see the time as hanging out as friends, not as a potential lead-up to a date. She could enjoy their time together fully, instead of being strung out and on edge.

It didn't take long for Marinette to get fully back into her schoolwork, continuing her slow edging forward ahead of the schedule. Despite her kwami's (and her mother's) worries, she really wasn't overworking herself. Pushing herself, maybe, but really, all Marinette was doing was putting her best foot forward and going at her own pace. It was just that her own pace was fast.

It was just that in class, they always had to slow down when someone didn't understand what was going on, which- well, in some classes, it could be pretty often. Then there were disruptions from people asking questions (or making comments about the famous people they had "met" that were somehow meant to be relevant to whatever they were doing) or having arguments, and the time spent handing out and collecting papers. There were breaks between classes, and even some classes where they ended up with extra, wasted time at the end of their class when they finished something early and didn't have enough time to start something new. That added up to a lot of time, it turned out, and with someone who was properly motivated, getting ahead in classes was a piece of cake.

Marinette was properly motivated. So motivated, in fact, that she completely missed Adrien calling her name from downstairs before coming up into her room, hair in disarray with sweat after his fencing lesson and backpack slung haphazardly over his shoulder.

"That doesn't look familiar. You must have passed us, then."

Marinette yelped, startling and whipping around. Adrien just looked amused at her reaction, pulling up his usual chair next to her. "Am I right?"

"Yeah, I'm working ahead," Marinette admitted, glancing back at her screen. "It gives me something to do. And when the curriculum was made, I think they factored in some interruptions during class, and I don't really have that. I mean, we had a meeting with a lawyer today, but that was kind of over lunch anyway so I didn't fall behind."

Adrien blinked, puzzled. "A lawyer?"

"My mom was talking to Madam Chamack, because they're friends, and she said that it would be the best idea," Marinette told him. "It'll get my expulsion cleared for sure, and will address some of the ongoing problems at the school."

A flash of uncertainty crossed Adrien's face and he started worrying at his lip. "So Ms. Bustier and Mr. Damocles will be getting in trouble, too, not just Lila?"

She had suspected that Adrien might have trouble with that. Marinette had too, because she had known Ms. Bustier for years now and for the most part, had enjoyed her as a teacher. But, well, it was impossible to ignore all of the serious missteps that Ms. Bustier had made. "Yeah. But if it was just Lila getting in trouble, then what happens down the road if another liar shows up, or just another bully in general, and they just keep doing the same thing where there aren't any punishments? I could handle it, but I couldn't always, and, well..."

"And not everyone is as resilient and brave as you," Adrien finished, the uncertainly on his face starting to ebb away. "And not everyone is as willing as you to stand up and fight, or help classmates. I know if it was me that Lila had targeted, I- well, I might try protesting, but I don't think it would go very far. I would end up homeschooled again for sure, and never get to go back to public school again."

"I think the rest of us would protest, and I would definitely go after Lila just like I am now," Marinette assured him. "But for kids in the future who might not have that- well, I don't want injustice to go unchecked. I'm not going to be surprised if someone gets akumatized over this, but better one or two people now than a whole slew of people in the future."

Adrien nodded, letting out a slow breath. "Yeah. Yeah, I can understand that. It makes sense, I was just surprised." He worried his lip, then perked up. "Oh, I meant to tell you right away- I think that Madam Mendeleev has caught on that Lila isn't telling the truth, because she isn't being as lenient with Lila as she used to be. She's not giving any accommodations whenever Lila tries to claim that she needs them because of some condition or another, and she's told Lila off about story time in her classroom."

Marinette giggled. "Oh, I would love to see that. I bet Lila is pretty mad about that."

"She's whined plenty, but I don't think that it's going to do much. Not if she doesn't have a doctor's note to back all of her 'conditions' up, and not when Madam Mendeleev has actually had students with some of the conditions that Lila has claimed before." Adrien grinned. "The look on Lila's face at that- oh, you should have been there. Al- some of the other classmates were scandalized that she was questioning a medical condition, and there was a whole thing- actually, I can see how you're getting so far ahead of us," Adrien interrupted himself with a snort. "Ten minutes of class, gone, just because of, uh, people pulling up sources on accommodating disabilities and trying to talk over Madam Mendeleev until they got sent to the office."

"Why do I get the feeling that you were referring to Alya?" Marinette asked with a sigh and a roll of her eyes. "Now she decides to go for her sources. She won't even entertain the idea of looking up sources for Lila's claims or for some of the stuff she posts on the Ladyblog, but the moment that someone questions Lila..."

Adrien quirked an eyebrow at her. "Should- should I ask?"

"Alya came over yesterday to update me on her 'investigation' and I commented on the fact that she wasn't even looking at Lila as a possibility even though she was the one leveling all of the accusations, and she got really ticked at me," Marinette told him. "She said something about making accusations without any evidence and being obsessed with Lila and then stormed out."

Adrien spluttered. "She- you- she accused you of making accusations without evidence? But you have a literal pile of evidence right over there- it's not hidden or anything! Like, it's super-obvious! How did she miss that?"

Marinette could only shrug. "You know Alya. When she gets focused on one thing, she just turns oblivious to everything else."

"That's frustrating." Adrien reached over to squeeze her hand comfortingly, flashing her a small smile. "I'm sure she'll be kicking herself once everything comes out."

"Yeah, especially because of the latest interview I got." Marinette reached forward, picking up the flash drive sitting next to her computer and waving it at him. "I got a brief interview with Ladybug, and she confirmed that the first time she heard of Lila was when she saw the video on the Ladyblog, and that she saw Lila throw away your father's book, and that she was in Paris on Heroes' Day, and that she's maliciously interfered with akuma battles before."

"Ooh, nice," Adrien said appreciatively. "That must have been hard to get, but that'll be good. And also a good way to point out to Alya that she literally didn't check anything."

Marinette could only smile. Actually, once she had gotten things set up, it had been quite easy to get the video. All she had really needed to do was record herself asking the questions, pitching her voice a little higher than usual, and then play them back while Ladybug answered the questions, doing her best to make it sound like she hadn't practiced already and pitching her voice slightly downwards.

The Miraculous would protect her identity no matter what, but there was no point in risking someone noticing that her voice and Ladybug's were incredibly similar.

"Are you almost done with evidence-collecting, do you think?" Adrien asked Marinette, giving the flash drive one last look before turning his attention to Marinette. "I mean, the sooner you break the news, the sooner you can come back."

Marinette winced. This was the news that she hadn't been looking forward to breaking. "Actually, I, uh..."

Adrien practically wilted. "You're not coming back?"

"My parents are really furious at the school," Marinette admitted. "We've been talking a lot, and I maybe hadn't told them everything that had been happening at school over the past few years with bullying and discipline, and- well, they said that unless there were significant changes, they don't want me going back. I'll be rejoining everyone in lycée," she added quickly before Adrien slouched straight off of his chair. "Which isn't that far off, really, in the grand scheme of things. And I can hang out with the class whenever, and if you want to come over like you are now, or over lunch..."

"So it's not like we won't be seeing you at all," Adrien finished, scooting closer to her. "I was worried about that."

Marinette flashed a smile at him. She was going to miss hanging out with people between classes, but sacrifices had to be made if she wanted to fully capitalize on her temporary homeschooling and it wouldn't be forever. "Right. I'll be right across the street, available to hang out. It's not the end of the word."

"And it gives me a reason to look forward to lycée," Adrien added on. He glanced at her computer screen, which still had her online school portal up. "And I was right, wasn't I? About you being ahead of Dupont now?"

"It wasn't hard," Marinette admitted. "You guys are behind, and when I work at my own speed, I can cover more than a day's work. So that's another reason it wouldn't really make sense for me to go back, because I'll be so far ahead. And it's probably going to be another week at least, because all of the legal stuff takes some time to put together and file."

Adrien nodded, still looking a bit let down. Clearly he had been hoping that Marinette would be returning to school soon, and as much as that made Marinette's heart race, she couldn't change her plans. "Right."

"But enough depressing stuff," Marinette decided, shutting her notebook and closing the school website before grinning up at Adrien. "Wanna play Mecha Strike?"

"That sounds perfect."

  Marinette headed up the steps of the Italian Embassy, a spring in her steps. It hadn't taken long to set up an appointment to interview an ambassador and a couple other staff members at the embassy, and they were more than willing to spend a few minutes with her. She had promised not to take up too much of their time- after all, they had important work to do- and now she was arriving early, just to make sure that something like a delayed bus wouldn't make her late.

Not that she would have allowed a delayed bus to make her late. After all, Ladybug could cross Paris faster than any bus could, so if it had come to that, she would have just transformed and raced across the rooftops. It wouldn't be ideal- she didn't want Chat Noir to see her out and about and interrupt his school day because he thought that there was an akuma- but the option was still there.

"So I'm meeting with Ambassador Bianchi in ten minutes and Monsieur Moretti after that," Marinette told Tikki as she mounted the last few steps and headed for the door. "I tested all of the equipment last night, so that I know how it works and that it works. I checked to make sure that all of my previous footage was off, so I have plenty of space. Tikki, am I forgetting anything?"

"No, I don't think so!" Tikki chirped, sticking her head out of Marinette's purse briefly before vanishing back inside. "You're all set, Marinette!"

Giving a determined nod, Marinette pulled open the door, stepping inside the embassy. A cheerful lady at the welcome desk gave her directions to the ambassador's office, and Marinette strode as confidently as she could down the hallway and up the stairs to the second floor. There were more than a couple people wandering down the halls chatting in Italian, and Marinette caught flashes of conversations as she passed them.

It wasn't hard to find the ambassador's office- the embassy had good signage, she would give them that- and Marinette stepped in the open door, coming to a stop in front of Ambassador Bianchi's secretary's desk, where a oddly familiar woman sat.

Lila's mother. And it definitely was Lila's mother because behind her, pinned to a very full corkboard, was a picture of Lila and her mom together with an older couple.

Well. Maybe Lila had been lying about her mother being an ambassador or in any sort of top diplomatic position, but she was at least at the Italian Embassy.

"Ah, you must be Ambassador Bianchi's eleven o'clock appointment," Mrs. Rossi said, giving Marinette a friendly smile. "She said something about a student project?"

"Yes, I'm on my Foreign Relations unit right now and we're supposed to do a project on France's relationship with another country. My Nonna is Italian, so..." Marinette shrugged. It wasn't an entire lie. Even if Lila hadn't been in the picture, Marinette probably would have picked Italy to research. That, or China. "I decided to learn a bit more about the country that side of the family is from."

"How lovely!" Mrs. Rossi exclaimed. She smiled at Marinette. "Now, if you want to take a seat over there to wait, the ambassador will be about five minutes."

"Okay," Marinette said automatically, then paused. Maybe she already had all of the evidence she needed to get Lila in very deep trouble, but she couldn't deny that she was really curious about Lila's mom and what exactly was going on there. "Or, actually- if you're busy or don't want to, that's fine, but could I maybe interview you about what you do at the embassy as well?"

Mrs. Rossi perked up. "Oh, I think I can spare a few minutes for that! I never really get asked about what I do," she confided as Marinette quickly pulled out her camera and attached the microphone to it. "Which I can understand, because everybody always talks about the ambassadors and the ministers and they get the spotlight, but there's plenty of staff behind the scene who make the entire place run smoothly. There's a lot of work involved- I work overtime most days, but that's also because I'm still getting used to this job."

Marinette nodded as she checked both mic and camera to make sure that they were running. "When I was reading up on what an embassy does, it certainly sounded complicated! It's not a huge surprise that there are people behind the scenes making sure that everything gets done."

"It might surprise you how many people that information does surprise." Mrs. Rossi considered Marinette again, pausing. Marinette tried to not stiffen up. Had Mrs. Rossi realized who she was? "Forgive me for prying, but I'm curious- shouldn't you be at school right now? Did they give you a pass so that you could do the interviews?"

Marinette shook her head, feeling herself starting to relax. Maybe Lila had decided that her mom might be suspicious or decide to move her to another school if she reported any problems- real or imaginary- to her and so hadn't mentioned Marinette at all. "I'm being homeschooled at the moment- or, rather, I'm enrolled in an online school for the rest of collège."

"Oh, that's quite nice," Mrs. Rossi commented, perking up. "And smart, considering the akuma attacks here in Paris! My daughter's collège was closed for several months because of akuma attacks there- or maybe it was just one akuma who was taking forever to defeat, I don't remember- and I do worry about how that's going to impact her education. I'd have her switch schools, but I worry that other schools would have the same problem and the one she's at is quite highly rated." She sighed. "And Lila seems to have made quite a few friends there, and she's gotten a boyfriend, so I don't want to make her switch and I hadn't had the time to look into other options anyway."

...okay, this was interesting. It also answered the question of how Lila's mom hadn't noticed her skipping school for months on end, but Marinette was really wondering how busy Mrs. Rossi was if she hadn't even looked into Lila's claims. One simple Google search, and she would have found out that no such long-term akuma existed.

She also had questions about the boyfriend claim. Something told Marinette that Lila had probably claimed that she was dating Adrien, who was likely to be less than happy about that claim.

"Huh, I hadn't heard any news about any collèges being closed because of akuma," Marinette said instead of questioning anything, shrugging one shoulder. "Odd. But getting back on track..." She made a show of getting the camera properly lined up, then peered over the top. "Can you tell me what you do here at the embassy?"

  Marinette was prepared.

Over the past couple of weeks, with Adrien's help and a bit of an assist from her family's lawyer, she had debunked pretty much all of Lila's lies. She had printed out pages of evidence and compiled video clips from the interviews she had done on flash drives. The lawsuits- both against the school and against Lila specifically- had just been filed, and Madam Chamack would be breaking the story that morning, while Marinette went in to confront Ms. Bustier and Lila.

Everything was ready, all of her evidence packed into her bag the previous evening, and Marinette was doing breathing exercises while waiting to head into the school. Her family's lawyer, several members of the school board, a substitute teacher, and a truancy officer were all waiting downstairs in the bakery, and would be accompanying her over.

A ding from her phone caught Marinette's attention, and she pulled it out of her purse. On-screen, there was a message from Adrien.

Looking forward to seeing you! You'll do great :)

Smiling, Marinette tapped out a quick reply before sending it and heading downstairs. Nerves were really building in her stomach now, but she pushed them back down. She had faced akumas and supervillains before. This would be a piece of cake.

"The bell has rung," Madam Rochefort commented, glancing up from her tablet. "Let's head over in five, to give people time to settle down."

Ms. Boutin flashed a grin at Madam Rochefort. "It's so odd, seeing you deliberately planning to make a scene during classes. Normally you're all about pulling teachers aside before or after school."

"They decided to make the accusations and expulsion a public spectacle, so I'm not going to grant them the privilege of resolving their problems in private." Madam Rochefort smiled at Marinette. "And I certainly couldn't deny Miss Dupain-Cheng here the satisfaction of throwing all of her evidence in her class's face."

Marinette smiled at that. She had been a little worried with all of the officials that had gotten involved that she wouldn't be able to carry out her (admittedly somewhat petty) plan, but they had been willing to accommodate her.

Five minutes later, they were marching over to the school. Ms. Boutin knocked on the large doors sharply, then stepped back to wait for an answer. Seconds later, Mr. Haprèle opened the doors, annoyed look giving way to confusion.

"Good morning, we're from the school board," Madam Rochefort announced, ushering Marinette in ahead of her and flashing her ID at . "We've come to speak to a couple of the teachers and your principal."

Mr. Haprèle nodded, stepping to the side to let them in even as the confused look stayed on his face. Marinette led the way up to Ms. Bustier's classroom, excitement mounting in every step.

She could do this. Everything was labeled so there was no chance of her messing anything up. There was no need to go into detail for anything if she didn't want to. For once, other people could exert some actual effort and look at the evidence she had helpfully gathered for them instead of her having to explain each and every piece.

"Go get 'em," Ms. Boutin told Marinette, patting her arm. "And we're right here, waiting for our cue. They won't be able to ignore you this time."

Nodding, Marinette put on her Ladybug face, then turned towards the door. With one last deep breath, she shoved open the door, sending it flying open and drawing every student's eye to her as she strode into the classroom, confidence in every step.

"Marinette!" Ms. Bustier exclaimed, rising from her desk at the front. There was a frown on her face. "What are you doing here? You've been expelled, you're not allowed on school property, especially during school hours-"

Marinette's fierce expression cut her off. "Actually, I'm here to contest my expulsion. I think you'll find that none of the requirements for expulsion were even met. Additionally-" Marinette started digging in her bag, a frown flashing across her face as she realized that it might be a bit difficult to pull things out of her bag.

"I can hold your bag, Marinette!" Adrien offered at once, sliding out of his seat and coming up front to join her, taking her bag and flashing her an encouraging smile. You've got this.

"Thank you, Adrien." Marinette returned his smile, then returned to her earlier intensity. "As I was saying- no procedure was followed. The decision to expel me was entirely based on claims made by a lying, thieving, completely untrustworthy liar."

Lila gasped theatrically from her seat, which- surprise, surprise- was now next to Alya, in Marinette's old spot. "You're still trying to call me a liar? Just because you're jealous-"

Marinette cut her off, pulling the first stack of packets out of her bag while staring Lila down. "Evidence that Lila was lying about saving Jagged Stone's cat and knowing him at all. Almost all of which is public information, if anyone had bothered to look." She slammed the first packet down on Ms. Bustier's desk. "That she was lying about knowing Prince Ali." Another slam. "And that literally all of her supposed involvement in charity work and other organizations is a lie, as are all of the other connections that she claimed to have and that I'm not even going to dignify naming."

This slam was even louder. There were several flinches around the room. Lila was starting to look a little less confident, her eyes darting towards Ms. Bustier.

"And, most importantly." Marinette's eyes flashed back to Ms. Bustier, who was looking very taken aback. "Which the teachers here really should have looked into properly, instead of just blindly believing Lila. She was lying about being out of Paris at all and was using posters as her background when she called us, which should have been obvious to anyone with eyes, because there were exactly zero pedestrians or cars behind her. I found all of the posters she used with a very simple reverse photo search."

There were gasps at that, and Ms. Bustier pressed a hand to her chest, looking over at Lila.

"Additionally, as if the posters weren't enough, I have interviews with both Ladybug and Mrs. Rossi that confirm that Lila was in Paris for the entirety of the time that she claimed to be traveling." Marinette reached in the bag one more time, pulling out her flash drive. Lila had gone pale at that, and oh, it was so satisfying. "Those were both very interesting, actually. Ladybug told me that the first time she had ever heard of Lila was when she saw the Ladyblog video where Lila was claiming to be her best friend, and that Lila has hated her for calling her out of the lies. Additionally, Lila has deliberately gotten in the way of the superheroes during akuma battles in order to sabotage them, and she was in Paris on Heroes' Day as Volpina, who made the illusions of Ladybug and Chat Noir fighting."

There were gasps at that. Marinette was not done.

"And on top of that, Ladybug saw Lila throwing a book into the trash- a book that Lila stole from Adrien." Marinette's eyes narrowed at Lila, whose mouth was opening and closing wordlessly. "Because she had gotten what she wanted out of it, also known as the fake Fox Miraculous that she had just bought from a Gabriel shop."

"Which, I might add, she tried to pass off as the real Fox Miraculous right away," Adrien chimed in from next to her. "And that necklace was the same one that she said was from her grandmother and she claimed that Marinette stole."

"And, if that isn't enough, Mrs. Rossi thought that Lila was staying home because the school was closed due to an extended akuma attack," Marinette finished, a smirk flashing across her face at the look of pure panic that flashed across Lila's face. Clearly she had thought that Marinette was bluffing about meeting her mother."Because Lila told her that the principal was akumatized and therefore the school was closed." Against her better judgment, Marinette's eyes flashed towards Alya for a moment. "How's that for research and evidence, hmmm?"

"I- no-" Lila attempted, clearly scrambling to pull herself together. "That is- a misrepresentation of what- Marinette is just making things up, she's just jealous and bitter that I didn't let her bully me-"

"I have video evidence, Lila," Marinette told her, using her best cold, no-nonsense, I-am-a-superhero-and-you-WILL-listen-to-me voice. She could see several people shrink back, intimidated. "And an entire pile of evidence to disprove your other lies. And..." She reached into her bag for her final folder, opening it up and pulling out another packet before striding over to Lila and slapping it down on the desk in front of her. "A lawsuit against you, for slander with malicious intent."

"But Lila can't get in trouble with the law," Max protested from the back of the room. "She has diplomatic immunity because of her mother."

Marinette smirked at that. Lila was really wilting now. "Top diplomats might get diplomatic immunity for their families, sure. But the secretary for the ambassador certainly doesn't get immunity for her family."

There were gasps at that.

"Additionally, diplomatic immunity can be waived by the family member or the home country even if it did apply," Mr. Bernard announced, stepping into the classroom. "Which we have seen before, and if it had applied in this case, I'm sure we would see it again."

"Who are you?" Ms. Bustier asked, stepping forward. "This all seems like a lot of disruption, we are a school-"

"I am a truancy officer, and Ms. Rossi here is in quite a bit of trouble. Skipping multiple months of school is definitely grounds for punishment, particularly when I suspect that she forged her mother's signature on the school leave forms." Mr. Bernard flashed a doubtful look at Ms. Bustier. "If, of course, there was even an attempt at following procedure in that case."

Ms. Bustier flushed. "We- we were told it was a very last-minute trip, and that Mrs. Rossi was quite busy, and we wanted to be accommodating, so we waited until after the return to really push for ..."

"Procedure is not optional. It is there for a reason, to keep things like this from happening." Mr. Bernard did not look impressed, but he jerked his chin at Lila. "Ms. Rossi. Your mother has been contacted and is on her way. Collect your things at once."

Lila glanced around frantically, rather like a cornered rabbit, but all of her classmates were glaring at her. Slowly, she gathered up her things, picking up the lawsuit notice last, and then headed out after Mr. Bernard, dragging her feet the entire way.

There was a pause.

"It- well, it seems as though I owe you an apology, Marinette," Ms. Bustier finally said, sinking back into her seat. "I should have looked into things more thoroughly instead of letting them slide. I'll get your expulsion wiped off of your record at once, and you can return right away."

"Actually, I won't be returning to Francois-Dupont," Marinette informed her, ignoring the gasps from the class in favor of fishing out the last of her forms and setting it on Ms. Bustier's desk. "My parents don't think that the environment here is conducive to my learning experience, and they don't trust that there will be enough change in the remainder of the year to satisfy them."

Ms. Bustier reached across the desk for the form at once, her eyes going wide as she took in the top page. It was another lawsuit, this one against the school for not following proper procedure for expulsion and for failing to protect their students from a bully.

Marinette had been a little unsure about the last bit, but the school board had pointed out that, had any of the teachers looked into things, Mr. Bourgeois didn't actually have the power to punish the school for properly disciplining Chloe, and even if they couldn't be bothered to look that much up, they at the very least could have separated Chloe and Marinette into different homerooms instead of placing them together for so many years in a row. It wouldn't have been possible to place them in different classrooms every year- after all, Chloe bullied everyone- but getting a break every other year shouldn't have been too much to expect.

Having adults standing up to Chloe instead of leaving students to do that themselves shouldn't have been too much to expect, either.

"I'll be rejoining the class for lycée, but not before," Marinette added, because she could hear Rose starting to sniffle. "And I can hang out with you guys whenever, but my parents aren't at all happy with the administration here."

Rose managed a small smile when Marinette glanced her way, nodding in understanding.

"Speaking of people being unhappy with the administration, we need to speak to you, Ms. Bustier," Madam Rochefort announced, sticking her head through the door. She stepped aside to let the substitute teacher who they had brought in. "We'll go to Mr. Damocles' office, if you could."

Ms. Bustier nodded, even paler as she followed Madam Rochefort out. Marinette took that as her cue to leave as well, tucking her empty folder back into her bag and taking it back from Adrien. He was smiling at her, proud and a little sad at the same time.

"We'll miss seeing you during class," Adrien murmured in her ear as he slid Marinette's bag over her head, arranging it at her side before pressing a quick kiss to the side of her head. "But I know I'll visit as often as I can. For both the company and the food."

"Our door is always open for you," Marinette promised, trying not to flush and probably failing. Adrien was too cute for her blood pressure sometimes. "And you have my number, too. If you want to come over during lunch, too, you can."

Adrien perked up at that as he escorted her to the door. "I might end up never leaving if you keep inviting me over, just so you know."

Marinette giggled. As though she would actually ever complain about that. "We'll make up a bed for you."

"Very tempting." Adrien smiled at her, then glanced back into the classroom. The substitute teacher was looking back at him. "I have to go, but see you later?"

"Of course." With a final wave, Marinette stepped back, watching Adrien head back into the classroom before turning herself and heading back out of the school. She was by herself now, the school board members and lawyer and truancy officer all busy, but that didn't matter. She had done what she had come to school to do. The expulsion would be wiped from Marinette's record, and the faculty at Dupont would be given the help and training they needed to be far better teachers for the next set of students to come through and all of the students after them, too. On top of that, Lila had been taken down, her following gone and her reputation in shatters. With any luck, she would be removed from Paris entirely in order to keep her from getting akumatized again.

Hopefully her next set of teachers would be given a heads-up about Lila's tendency to make up stories so that no one else would have to go through the same thing that Marinette just had.

Humming to herself, Marinette paused at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. She had taken down one schoolyard bully and made life in Paris just that little bit better for everyone.

And now that that was over... well, now that she had more free time, she could turn her attention to a much bigger target. Hawkmoth had better beware, because before long, Ladybug was going to be on his case.

[bytheangell]

Ahead of Ourselves

(Read on AO3) Square Filled: Doctor AU for @shadowhunterbingo Pairing: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood Rating: Teen and Up  – Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Summary:   A lot of the hospital staff thinks that Dr. Lightwood is a little heartless... but Magnus discovers he might just be as good at acting a he is at medicine. -------------

Magnus doesn’t bother to hide his displeasure at being paired with Alec Lightwood for today’s surgery. As the son of the owners of the hospital, Alec gets whatever he wants whenever he wants it, and Magnus might hate him a little bit for it. After fighting so hard to get where he is, Magnus can’t help the sting of jealousy to see someone handed everything he ever wanted. Sure, Alec’s good at what he does, but in Magnus’ humble opinion he’s no better than the rest of them.

He’s also an asshole.

Mangus allows himself a moment of indulgent whining with Catarina on one of their lunch breaks over sad excuses for salad from the cafeteria. “Think about it - when was the last time you saw him eat, or sleep, or get upset? I’m telling you - a robot.”

Okay, maybe Magnus is getting ahead of himself since ‘asshole’ gives Alec the illusion of having enough feelings to even be rude - Magnus has a running joke with some of his friends at the hospital that Alec Lightwood is, in fact, an emotionless surgical robot that the Lightwoods created to pa their legacy down to. No matter how many patients he loses Magnus has never, not once, seen the man shed a single tear. He delivers bad news to families without batting a single, perfectly full eyelash.

He’s cold and uncaring and Magnus doesn’t particularly want to know what sort of person can be that way.

Alec’s sister, the resident forensic pathologist, insists that Magnus should try to get to know him better, that he really isn’t all that bad underneath it all. Magnus tries a few times, and he almost manages to get Alec to crack a smile at some shitty pun he made before Alec reminds him that they are working and it isn’t a time for jokes.

So when Magnus sees his name listed on the board under Alec’s, he knows he’s in for a long, boring, silent surgery later that night.

Unfortunately, all the quiet focus in the world isn’t enough to save their patient. Magnus curses, slamming his fist on the table next to him with tears stinging his eyes before the final, frantic beep fades into a flatline.

“Time of death,” Alec announces, voice so frustratingly neutral as he takes off his gloves that Magnus’ tears double in frustration at the sound of it. “11:08 pm.”

Magnus takes one look at the girl on the table and is already starting to run through a million split-second decisions, wondering if there was anything they could’ve done differently to ave her. They knew the odds on this one were bad, but they weren’t 0% - he just wasn’t good enough.

Alec takes one look at him and Magnus can practically feel the judgment despite Alec’s usual stone-faced demeanor. This isn’t the first patient Magnus lost, and it won’t be the last, but each one hits just as hard.

“I’ll talk to the family. You go pull yourself back together before rounds.”

And then he’s gone.

Magnus does, of course, pull himself back together in time for his rounds, with the help of Catarina’s reassurances that he can’t save everyone and nobody expects him to - not the Lightwoods, or the other staff, or even the patients.

When Magnus finally gets a chance to nap for a few minutes it seems as if everyone else has the same idea - after trying all the usual on-call rooms he normally crashes in during his long shifts, Magnus finds an empty cot in one of the farther corners of the hospital, in a wing so barely used he’s honestly surprised it isn’t blocked off by now.

He also finds someone else already sitting in the dark - Magnus might not have even noticed in his current state of exhaustion if they weren’t obviously crying.

“Don’t worry, I can sleep through some crying, pretend I’m not even here,” Magnus says, expecting his attempt at lighthearted comfort to be aimed at some intern who came out of the way to avoid anyone seeing them upset.

“Fuck,” he hears instead, followed by a sniffle and the sound of hands frantically wiping at a face.

He knows that voice, even in the dark.

“...Doctor Lightwood?”

“Just… shit. No one ever comes up here. Sorry,” Alec says, voice shaky with more emotion than Magnus thought him capable of.

Magnus hesitates.

He could follow his own suggestion and pretend Alec isn’t even there. He should. But he can’t, because he heard that tell-tale sign of crying and would feel too guilty just pretending he didn’t.

“Can I turn on the light?” Magnus asks.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Alec mutters.

“...do you, uh, want to talk about it?” Magnus tries.

“If I did would I be hiding out in here?” Alec counters. “I’m fine. I just need a minute then I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Mmhmm,” Magnus agrees. He picks an empty cot and tries to close his eyes, but he can’t bring himself to actually fall asleep now. He tosses over once, then twice, before giving up.

“Okay, but you don’t get upset. Or angry. Or happy. So this is weird, and I can’t just let it go,” Magnus says finally.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you I do this all the time, so really, it isn't a big deal?” Alec offers.

Magnus frowns. “...that doesn’t make me feel better at all,” he admits. “What do you mean ‘all the time’? You never do this.”

“Yes, I do. I just never let anyone see me do it. Do you think my parents are going to stand for their son walking around crying on a daily basis? Or, like, ever?” Alec huffs out a derisive laugh. “They have a reputation to uphold, which means I have a reputation to uphold. Heaven forbid a Lightwood has anything that can even vaguely be perceived as a flaw.”

Well shit. Magnus wasn’t ready for any of this, and honestly, he isn’t sure what to do with it now that it’s sitting heavy in the room. “You’re allowed to have emotions. You’re not - contrary to rumors I may or may not have started personally - an actual robot.” Magnus winces.

“Tell that to my parents,” he says. “I’m honestly not sure which they’ll be more upset over - losing the patient in the first place, or letting it get to me like this. I shouldn’t have let either happen tonight, let alone both.” Alec gives a rough sniff, and Magnus’ eyes are adjusted enough to the dim light that filters in through the window now that he can see Alec fidgeting with his hands and biting on his lower lip.

Magnus hates how casually Alec talks down on himself, despite the fact that Magnus himself was very sarcastically saying the same things about him not too long ago. Isabelle was right - he just needed to get to know Alec a little better. He hates her for that.

“No one’s perfect. NOt even you, apparently. I’m not going to lie, it’s refreshing to know. But I’m, uh, sorry you feel like you need to be. Guess no familial pressure is the one up-side to not having any family left.” Magnus wonders if maybe opening up a bit himself will encourage Alec to do the same. “If you ever want to talk-”

“Listen, I don’t need you to feel bad for me. Sorry for dumping all that shit on you just now, I don’t know what came over me. Just pretend this never happened, and you can go back to talking shit about me to my sister and everyone else in this hospital, and I can go back to keeping this room for myself.” There’s an edge to Alec’s tone like he just realized everything he’s been saying since he started what seems to be an entirely accidental venting he probably wishes he could take back. Magnus can practically feel him putting a wall up between them.

“Alexander-” Magnus starts, but Alec stands and crosses the room to the door before he can say anything more.

“I should go. Get some rest, Doctor Bane.” And just like Alec closes himself off again, leaving Magnus alone in the dark.

---

The problem is that Magnus can’t just pretend it never happened. He wants to. His life would be a lot easier if he did, probably. But instead, he finds himself watching Alec, really observing him, now that he knows what to look for.

Magnus can tell when Alec is intentionally pushing others away and closing himself off, and it’s almost always right before, and immediately after, surgeries. Magnus always thought that his kind bedside manner was the show he put on for patients but it doesn’t take long to realize that that is more the real Alec than anything else. It’s the cold, calculated version of himself he keeps on in the hallways and around his peers that’s the act.

And god, how tiring that must be for him, Magnus realizes.

Magnus also starts to notice the periods of time Alec’s nowhere to be found, and no one seems particularly inclined to go looking for him if it isn’t an emergency - except Magnus knows exactly where Alec goes now. The next time a surgery goes wrong Magnus slips a note underneath the door telling Alec that everyone is talking about how he did his best, better than anyone else would’ve done under the same circumstances.

The next time Alec loses a patient and needs to inform the family Magnus finds out his favorite hospital-accessible comfort food from Isabelle (which happens to be the greasiest burger Magnus has ever seen) and leaves it on the table in Alec’s usual hideout.

All the while nothing changes between the two of them. Magnus still makes terrible jokes that Alec only rolls his eyes at, before walking off without a single word and ignoring him just as much as - if not even more than - he did before. It’s a good thing Magnus is nothing if not persistent, and hardly deterred by a little silent treatment when he tries to say hi a bit more often in the hallways.

The more Magnus tries to get him to open up again, the more Alec closes off. He even yells at Magnus in the hallway over something so trivial Magnus forgets about it by the end of the day.

Through it all Magnus continues to leave little notes and pick-me-up gifts for Alec (Isabelle, upon realizing what he’s doing, is more than willing to provide him with all the inside information he needs for things like Alec’s favorite color or coffee order. She also tells him Alec’s favorite flower, and while he’s stunned that Alec even has a favorite flower Magnus also has to insist that isn’t what this is at all before poor Izzy gets ahead of herself).

Not that Magnus can really say what it is he’s doing, or why he’s doing it, which proves to be a problem a few weeks later when Alec loses another patient, and Magnus shows up to Alec’s ‘secret room’ only to find the door open and Alec waiting for him inside.

“What are you doing?” Alec demands, arms crossed.

“Bringing you a burger because I know you aren’t going to let yourself eat anything the rest of the night otherwise,” Magnus says simply.

“Why?”

“...because when we don’t eat, we starve. It’s like, human body 101.” Magnus deflects.

“You know what I mean,” Alec says, not letting him get out of it that easily.

“I don’t know… because no one should have to go through the stuff we go through alone the way you do. I know you didn’t want me around-around, so I just wanted to remind you that you weren’t alone.” Magnus shrugs, setting the plate down on the table near the door.

“But I was a dick to you,” Alec points out.

“Yup,” Magnus agrees. “That’s what happens when you bottle all your emotions up and push everyone away.”

Alec rolls his eyes. “I don’t know what Isabelle’s been saying, but-”

“She hasn’t,” Magnus reassures him. “It’s just kind of obvious once you start looking.”

“...and you’ve been looking?” Alec asks, curiously, with one scarred eyebrow arched.

“Not in, like, a creepy way or anything,” Magnus finds himself backtracking under Alec’s accusatory stare.

To his surprise, Alec laughs.

“Sorry. That was mean,” Alec says, and Magnus realizes with a strange mixture of horror and amazement that Alec’s teasing him. “I’m not going to lie, I saw you talking with Izzy a few times and thought she was putting you up to this.”

Magnus shakes his head. “Nope. Just me, all on my own, sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong,” Magnus confirms.

Alec looks down at the burger again, and then back up at Magnus. “Do you want to stay?”

Magnus, remembering why he came here in the first place, knows there isn’t a chance in hell he’s leaving Alec alone if he actually wants company right now.

“Sure,” Magnus agrees and watches as Alec makes impressive use of the plastic silverware the food comes with to cut the burger in half before offering it to Magnus.

They both sit down at the edge of the cot and eat, first in silence, and then with some semi-casual conversation, as far as two doctors on shift at a hospital can manage ‘casual’ without work-related topics cropping up here and there.

Alec is just starting to relax when his name is paged to one of his patient’s rooms over the intercom system.

Alec’s on his feet and to the door without a second thought, but pauses there to stop and look back at Magnus.

“Before I go,” he says, glancing anxiously at the speaker in the ceiling as if afraid it might cut him off before he finishes whatever he wants to say.

“Yes?” Magnus prompts, drawing Alec’s attention back to him.

“I was wondering if, maybe, I could repay you for the meal sometime?” Alec asks, and while it definitely sounds like he’s asking Magnus out there’s also, infuriatingly, not a single concrete part of that sentence that confirms Magnus’s suspicion.

“You can get me a burger from the cafeteria any time you want,” Magnus agrees.

“No, I- that is-” Alec starts again, and this time his name is repeated over the speakers and he curses again. “I’d like to take you out to dinner. If you want.”

“I’d like that,” Magnus agrees just as easily.

“Really?” Alec says, eyes widening just a little before he recovers quickly. “Right. I’ll see when we both have off and I’ll set something up, then.”

Just as quickly Alec’s gone, disappearing down the hallway.

When Magnus catches a few murmurings during his rounds of how strange everyone finds it that Doctor Lightwood is smiling a suspicious amount all of a sudden he keeps his own smile small and to himself.

And when he shows up to dinner two nights later he makes a mental note to thank Isabelle for getting ahead of herself as he watches the way Alexander’s entire face lights up at the sight of the single peony Magnus brought for him, beaming as he tucks it into his jacket pocket.

Alec has that effect, it seems, as Magnus sits across from him at dinner and does his best to not get too ahead of himself, either… but when Alec starts tossing out ideas for a second date before the first is even over, Magnus realizes he might not be the only one.

[randomvarious]

Yazoo - “Nobody’s Diary” Fetenhits: The Real 80′s Song released in 1983. Compilation released in 1999. Electropop / Synthpop / New Wave

OK, first of all, let's clear up some of the inevitable confusion. Yazoo is Yazoo in the UK, but in North America, they're Yaz. That's because there was a record label called Yazoo that wouldn't allow the pair to use their name. There was also a small American rock band whose name was Yazoo, too. So that's one thing. The other is that Yazoo/Yaz is not Yazz. Like Yazoo/Yaz though, Yazz is also British and made 80s pop music, but Yazz is just one person. (Also, as this is a blog that writes a lot about electronic music, I feel like I should mention that Yazz's partners in crime, The Plastic Population, are also the inimitable duo of Coldcut, the breaks and trip hop pioneers who gave us the Ninja Tune label.) Furthermore, Yaz is the nickname of Boston Red Sox slugger Carl Yastrzemski, a guy who had 3,419 hits and 452 homerus in 23 seasons! He's not Yazoo/Yaz either! And Yaz is also the brand name of a birth control pill that contains drospirenone that may also be used for other indications! That's not Yaz/Yazoo either! And don't even get me started on the Yaz culture from present-day Iran that existed in the Iron Age or the Yazoo Brewing Company in Tennessee or the Yazoo lawnmower company or the Native American Yazoo tribe from Mississippi or the milk-based flavored beverage from Belgium called Yazoo or the character Yazoo from Final Fantasy VII or the multiple US Navy ships called Yazoo or the YAZ programmer toolkit for development of Z39.50 clients and servers, because none of those are Yazoo/Yaz! Just three different letters, y, a, and z, and yet so many different meanings. And for the rest of this post, rather than refer to them as Yazoo/Yaz, I'm just gonna call them what they always intended themselves to be called, and that is Yazoo.

So who is Yazoo then? Well, they're an early 80s electropop / synthpop / new wave duo that consisted of Vince Clarke, who had just left Depeche Mode after posting their debut album and four fantastic singles at the time, and Alison Moyet, a soulful singer who would go on to achieve a whole lot more with a solo career. The two actually went to the same Saturday music school as kids but had never spoken to each other before teaming up as 21 year olds. However, they were certainly aware of each other's existence. Moyet's first guitarist in her first band just happened to be Clarke's best friend.

In 1981, Moyet, who was a punky pub rock type, placed an ad in Melody Maker looking for someone to collaborate with, and Clarke, who had just left Depeche Mode, was looking to take part in a new project that would allow him to stay on Depeche Mode's label, Mute. He had seen Moyet sing before and loved her work. And he was also the only person who responded to her ad. Moyet wasn't expecting someone all that famous to take her up on her offer and she didn't much care for Depeche Mode, but she decided to do it anyway. Clarke had proven successful and she decided that she wanted to make music with someone who had actually managed to do something with their career, unlike seemingly everyone else she knew.

Immediately, Clarke had a piece of music for Moyet to sing over, and then the demo was brought to Mute, and all of a sudden Yazoo had their first single on their hands, "Only You," which hit #2 in the UK. Together, Clarke and Moyet would spawn two albums, Upstairs at Eric's, followed by You and Me Both, in a matter of 18 months, with the four singles they released in the UK going to the top 20, and three of those hitting the top 3.

But that was it. Despite the fantastic electronic pop music that paired soulful, deep, bluesy vocals with cheery, Kraftwerk-inspired, layered melodies, Clarke and Moyet didn't get along. Clarke was shy and held all his anger in and Moyet was the opposite. Clarke wanted to break the relationship off after one album, but then thought better of it. He thought he'd look like a real pill jumping from project to project after being in a group and doing only one album and then leaving. So Yazoo  made their second album, but they knew it was over before they finished recording it. Clarke would build the beats and melodies in the morning and Moyet would swing by at night to record the vocals. There was no active collaboration.

But whatever, man. The shit still bopped. You and Me Both's only single, "Nobody's Diary," went to #3 in the UK and #1 on the US dance charts. It was a little more subdued than their previous output, sure, but the song still rules. Yazoo's formula was simply implacable at the time. Despite the fact that Clarke and Moyet didn't get along, they still managed to spin absolute gold. And here's a nice little quote from the biography section of Yazoo's website:

Yazoo were Kraftwerk through the looking glass - this was electronic pop made by humans, not machines.

And that's because while Kraftwerk and many electronic groups that came after them, from Daft Punk to thousands of techno acts, did everything they could to present themselves as robots or faceless machines, Alison Moyet was in Yazoo to provide that contrasting human element that machines still have yet to figure out how to accurately and convincingly replicate.

Clarke was the machine and Moyet was the soul. That was made even more apparent in the video for "Nobody's Diary" as Moyet sang like a human with natural emotion and Clarke stood as still and emotionless as possible as his fingers played his shoulder-strapped synthesizer as if he had been programmed that way by a microchip that was implanted into his skull before the video was shot.

Yazoo had a real, unique "ghost in the machine" kind of vibe with their music; the bionic woman; woman and machine. You get the idea. It was captivating fun.

And that shit was foundational, too. It was a long time coming of course, and a lot happened in between, but the late 2000s/early 2010s that gave birth to that female-led indietronica / electropop / dance-pop boom that had acts like Phantogram, Purity Ring and La Roux owes a debt of gratitude to Yazoo. Yazoo ended up laying the initial groundwork so those acts could thrive decades later. They were the first group to so transparently pair the emotional female vocal with that machine-like, Kraftwerkian, electronic pop sound. They definitely inspired groups like LCD Soundsystem, too.

Starting off minimally with its first verse, "Nobody's Diary" is a song that begins to realize itself when Clarke decides to bring in his drum machine and a bassline. With those pieces in place, he sandwiches Moyet's lightly peaked choruses with simple and catchy coasts of leading melodic twee. It's just as well, too. Who knows if Clarke and Moyet ever talked about how to go about doing this song, but his childlike, nostalgic melodies serve this song really well since Moyet wrote the lyrics when she was only 16, before even her first sexual experience.

The last thing I'll add is that Vince Clarke is an absolute master of pop songcraft as someone who just uses synthesizers and drum machines to make his music. He conjured up such a smooth, enjoyable, nuanced ride for this one. It's just so good. I won't call it timeless since it's definitively 80s, but goddamn, does it still go. After Yazoo, Clarke would extend his career indefinitely as half of the even more successful synthpop duo, Erasure.

But Yazoo cannot be ignored. Such a formidable, yet unfortunately fleeting electropop / synthpop / new wave force. So influential in so many ways and such a small catalogue. Wish they gave us more, but at least they gave us some.