#at odds on where to go next. like it’s not exactly subtle

[swordmaid]

What would be your ideal endgame for Hyle Hunt?

listen….. I’m a hyle enthusiast fire and foremost but I think he’s gonna die LOL. i mean his sigil is a hanged stag and where is he now … getting hanged … life imitates art etc. but on the off chance that he ends up surviving like a cockroach I think he’s just gonna be some guy that fought in the big war and survived. maybe he’ll land himself a nice job under a lord so he becomes a guard or somethn instead of a hedge knight. I like the idea that jaime employs him though just to fuck with him but that’s kinda sus 👀🤭 bc why are you as someone who hates him giving him a job so he stays with you? trying to find a way to keep him close? are you guys gonna explore each other’s bodies next??

[ponderingmoonlight]

Hello!! I hope you’re doing amazing!!! I really like your megumi works, so id like to request a fic where him and the reader have a very under cover secret relationship and yuji,nobara and gojo try to figure out why fushiguros been acting so weird. I’d love to see it! And more megumi works 🙏🏽. It’s just a request it’s totally okay if you don’t want to!! Hope you have an amazing week!! 💗💗

Okay, I probably never laughed this much while writing a fic lmao, this right here is ridiculous y'all

Keeping your relationship with Megumi a secret until you can't anymore

Pairing: Megumi x fem!reader; pure comedy friendship with Nobara and Yuji lol

Word Count: 3k

Synopsis: Megumi Fushiguro’s secret relationship with you has been going smoothly—until his friends start noticing his odd behavior. Yuji and Nobara grow suspicious, launching a hilariously relentless mission to uncover what he’s hiding, while Gojo sits back, amused by the chaos. Will the two of you finally confess?

Warnings: y'all, I almost died writing this hilarious piece of work lmao, I never praise my own work but that bonus has me rolling, if you're looking for a bandage for your broken heart there it is, fluff fluff fluff

Please let me know what you think! If this does well, I might write some more about the chaotic trio lol

You never thought keeping a secret would be this much fun.

Your relationship with Megumi started quietly, just like most things with him. There was no grand confession, no dramatic kiss in the rain. It was slow, understated, like the way shadows stretch out under the setting sun. You had been drawn into his orbit naturally, like you’d been waiting for it to happen all along.

Still, it wasn’t exactly planned. One moment you were sitting next to each other in silence, and the next you were sitting a little too close. Your fingers brushed. His eyes lingered. The air between you became charged with unspoken things, and soon enough, stolen moments were the only thing keeping you sane. The decision to keep it quiet came easily: neither of you had any desire to deal with the chaos that would break out if anyone found out. And besides, it was kind of thrilling.

But now it’s starting to get tricky.

It’s a normal Wednesday when the subtle shift in the atmosphere begins. Megumi is acting just a little too normal - stiffer, as if he’s hyper-aware of everything. He’s not good at this, at pretending everything is fine when there’s something simmering underneath. And unfortunately, it doesn’t take long for his odd behavior to catch some unwanted attention.

“Hey, Megumi,” Yuji calls from across the room, his eyes squinting suspiciously.

“You’re acting weird. Are you okay?”

Megumi doesn’t even flinch, though his eyes are literally glued to the ground.

“I’m fine.”

That’s it. Flat, simple, closed. He’s good at short answers. It should be enough. It’s not.

Yuji leans over the back of the couch, brow furrowed in confusion.

“No, you’re definitely acting off. You haven’t been sarcastic all morning. And usually by now, you’ve threatened to hit me at least twice.”

Megumi sighs, fingers twitching in his lap, the only outward sign of his discomfort.

“I’m fine, Yuji. Maybe you’re just imagining things.”

Yuji is definitely not convinced. He glances at Nobara, who’s lounging nearby with her arms crossed, already suspicious. She had been eyeing Megumi the second he walked in, catching onto his strange energy faster than Yuji had.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed it too,” she adds, voice sharp.

“Something’s up. You’ve been... I don’t know, distracted?”

“Seriously, I’m—” Megumi starts, but Nobara cuts him off, grinning.

“You’re not hiding anything from us, are you, Fushiguro?” Her eyes gleam with mischief, and you can tell she’s just playing around.

For now.

“Oh, I think I know it!”, Yuji suddenly announces with his arms stretched in the air.

“Do you really, idiot?”, Nobara remarks.

You almost lose your cool, cold sweat dripping down your neck while waiting for Yuji’s next words. He didn’t catch it, did he? Not when you’ve been carefully avoiding being too close to Megumi while they’re around since you first joined Jujutsu High. He simply can’t know it-

Megumi’s eyes flick to you, a barely noticeable glance paired with his reddened cheeks, but it’s enough. Too much. Your heart skips in your chest, and you quickly look away, hoping no one else caught it. But then-

“Oh.” Yuji’s eyes widen in realization, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Oh, I get it now.”

Megumi’s spine visibly stiffens.

“No, you don’t.”

But it’s too late. Yuji has already decided he’s figured it out.

“You’ve got a crush on someone, don’t you?” Yuji practically shouts, leaning forward in his seat with excitement.

“That’s why you’ve been all weird lately!”

Nobara sits up, clearly intrigued by this new development. “Wait, what? Megumi has a crush?”

“I do not,” Megumi says, but he’s starting to lose his calm now.

You can tell by the way his hand runs through his hair a little too harshly, as if he’s trying to ground himself.

You bite back a smile. Megumi can be as composed as he wants, but when it comes to things like this, he’s terrible at hiding it.

“You’re totally lying,” Nobara declares, standing up and crossing the room to get a better look at him.

“Who is it? Do we know them?”

Megumi groans, pressing his fingers to his temples as if he’s already getting a headache. You’re trying hard not to laugh because if you do, they’ll turn their attention to you. You’ve been careful this whole time to stay out of the line of fire, just a silent observer to this chaos.

But you know it’s only a matter of time.

“I’m not lying,” Megumi grumbles, clearly regretting every decision that led him to this point. “There’s no one.”

It’s almost convincing. Almost.

Yuji leans back, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Nah, you’re definitely lying. You’re terrible at it. You get all tense, like right now.”

“I’m always tense,” Megumi shoots back.

“True,” Nobara agrees,

“but this is different. You’re acting sketchy.”

Megumi shoots her a flat look, but Nobara only smirks back. She’s having way too much fun with this.

“Is it the one we’ve met at that pizza place yesterday, the one with a big ass and those nice hair?”, Yuji shouts into the conversation.

“The girl from yesterday?”, you repeat before you can stop yourself, arms crossing in front of your tightening chest.

“You guys are gross.”

Megumi’s gaze meets yours, panic shimmering underneath the surface while he fumbles with his own hands.

“What? No! It’s not that one!”

“Oh, not that one, huh? Who is it, then?”

“Fine,” Megumi says, standing abruptly.

“I’m going for a walk.”

Before they can say another word, he stalks out of the room, leaving you alone with Yuji and Nobara. You let out a quiet breath of relief, grateful they didn’t notice you.

Yuji turns to Nobara, eyes wide.

“This is huge. Megumi’s got a crush.”

Nobara hums thoughtfully, rubbing her chin.

“He’s never shown any interest in anyone before. It must be serious.”

“I wonder who it is,” Yuji muses, glancing around the room as if expecting the answer to jump out at him.

Your pulse quickens. If you stay here any longer, you’re going to blow your cover.

“I’m gonna grab some water,” you announce quickly, standing up.

You manage to make it halfway to the kitchen before Nobara’s voice calls after you, filled with sudden realization.

“Wait a minute. You were with him all morning, weren’t you?”

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Weren’t you two on a mission yesterday?” Yuji adds, piecing it together far too quickly for your liking.

“And last weekend, too?”

Panic rises in your throat, but you manage to keep your expression neutral when you turn back to face them.

“We’ve just been on a few missions together. That’s all” you say, voice steady.

Nobara narrows her eyes, scrutinizing you.

“Uh-huh. And you didn’t notice him acting weird?”

“Not really. Maybe he’s just worn-out” you lie, doing your best to stay calm.

Yuji tilts his head, still unconvinced but willing to drop it for now.

“Yeah, maybe.”

But Nobara isn’t so easily swayed.

“You sure? Because you’re looking a little-”

“Nobara,” you interrupt,

“you’re overthinking it.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then, with a final hum of suspicion, she shrugs and lets it go.

But just as you think you’re in the clear, a new voice cuts through the tension.

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

Gojo saunters in, sunglasses perched lazily on his nose, a knowing smirk already playing on his lips. He must have been eavesdropping because he’s grinning like he’s just hit the jackpot.

“Don’t tell me you’re trying to figure out what’s up with Megumi,” he notes, voice dripping with amusement.

“That kid’s an enigma even to himself.”

Yuji perks up at the sight of Gojo, excited to rope someone else into their investigation.

“We think he’s got a crush.”

Gojo pauses, grin widening.

 “Oh, is that so?”

You stand frozen in place as Gojo’s eyes slowly slide over to you, lingering for a beat too long. He knows. You don’t know how he knows, but he knows. He’s always been good at reading between the lines, picking up on things that most people miss. Megumi that traitor, did he really leave you all alone with these two and now even Gojo?

His smirk deepens.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls, leaning casually against the wall, clearly enjoying this far too much.

“I wonder who it could be.”

You’re going to kill Megumi. You’re both dead. This is it. The end of your secret.

But before Gojo can say anything else, Megumi walks back into the room, his expression darkening as he notices Gojo’s presence.

“What are you doing here?” Megumi asks, his voice flat.

“Oh, just catching up with the kids. They were telling me about your little crush” Gojo replies innocently.

Megumi’s eyes dart between you, Yuji, Nobara, and Gojo, clearly calculating his next move.

“There’s no crush,” he replies, exasperation creeping into his voice again.

“Yuji’s just being an idiot.”

“Hey!” Yuji protests, but Megumi ignores him.

Gojo chuckles, pushing off the wall with an exaggerated stretch.

“Well, I think I’ll let you all handle this. Good luck with the investigation.”

He winks in your direction before sauntering out of the room, leaving you tense and trying to avoid Megumi’s gaze.

Yuji and Nobara are still watching him, and you can tell they’re not going to let this go anytime soon.

“So,” Nobara says, crossing her arms. “Are you going to tell us who it is, or are we going to have to follow you around until we figure it out?”

Megumi pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly fed up. “There’s no one.”

“You’re such a bad liar,” Yuji mutters, shaking his head.

Megumi’s about to respond, but then his phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, glances at the screen, and his expression softens for just a split second before he tucks it away again.

You know who it is. He knows you know.

You’re barely holding back your laughter at this point, trying to keep a straight face. You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you have to look away before anyone else notices.

But Megumi, in his ever-stubborn way, is still trying to salvage this mess.

“I’m going for another walk,” he announces abruptly, clearly done with this interrogation.

“Uh-huh,” Nobara calls after him, grinning like a cat who just caught a mouse.

“Sure, go clear your head, lover boy.”

You can’t help but chuckle quietly as Megumi shoots you a helpless look before heading out the door.

As soon as he’s gone, Yuji leans over to Nobara, whispering loudly.

“Do you think he’s texting his crush?”

Nobara grins, leaning back in her chair.

“Definitely.”

You bite your lip, doing your best to keep your composure while peeking at your phone.

Sorry for the mess. Meet me later in my dorm?

This is going to get much harder to hide.

Later that night, when you and Megumi finally have a moment to yourselves at his dorm, he sighs heavily, dropping down onto the couch beside you. He looks exhausted, and not just from the missions. The day’s events have clearly taken their toll.

“This is getting ridiculous,” he mutters, rubbing his temples.

You smile softly, leaning into his side.

“It’s kind of your fault, you know.”

Megumi groans.

“I know.”

There’s a moment of silence as you both sit there, the weight of your secret relationship pressing down on you. But it’s not a bad weight. It’s more like a blanket, warm and comforting, something shared between the two of you. Something that’s just yours.

Still, you can’t help but tease him.

“You’re really bad at lying.”

Megumi turns his head to look at you, a small, exasperated smile pulling at his lips.

“Shut up.”

You laugh quietly, resting your head on his shoulder, feeling the tension melt away as his hand finds yours, fingers intertwining. For now, it’s just the two of you, and that’s all that matters.

“Maybe we should tell them,” you suggest softly, half-joking.

Megumi’s body stiffens for a second, but then he relaxes, a soft hum escaping his throat.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, voice low.

“But not yet.”

You smile, content with the secrecy for now. It’s your little world, and as chaotic as it is, it’s yours to navigate together.

And for now, that’s enough.

Bonus:

The decision to finally tell them wasn’t exactly well-planned. In fact, it wasn’t planned at all.

It happened after another long day of training. Yuji had been particularly insufferable, constantly pestering Megumi about his “mystery crush,” while Nobara was fuming over how Megumi wouldn’t let her in on the secret.

You and Megumi exchanged looks all day, the unspoken question hanging between you both: Should we just tell them?

By the time the sun set and everyone was lounging in the common area, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation. Nobara was pacing the room, practically radiating with frustration, while Yuji sat on the edge of the couch, watching Megumi like a hawk.

You were sitting next to Megumi, trying not to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. You hadn’t expected the pressure to mount like this. They’d been relentless for days now.

“Okay, I’m done!”

Nobara throws her hands in the air, eyes narrowing at Megumi.

“I can’t take it anymore! You have to tell us. Who is it?”

Yuji nods rapidly, his eyes wide and pleading.

“Please, man, just tell us! The suspense is killing me.”

Megumi lets out a long, exasperated sigh. He’s been handling this for a week now, and it’s clearly taken its toll. He shoots you a quick, sideways glance, silently asking for your input.

You shrug with a small smile, mouthing.

“Your call.”

With another sigh, Megumi straightens up and clears his throat.

“Fine,” he says, his voice firm.

“I’ll tell you.”

Both Nobara and Yuji freeze, their eyes going wide with excitement.

“Finally!” Nobara yells, nearly vibrating with impatience.

“Okay, okay. Who is it? Is it someone we know?” Yuji questions, leaning in closer.

Megumi looks at you again, and you give him a reassuring nod.

Then, with a small smirk tugging at his lips, Megumi casually slips his hand into yours, right there in front of them.

At first, there’s silence. Complete, deafening silence.

Yuji’s mouth falls open, eyes flicking between your joined hands and your faces, his brain clearly short-circuiting.

Nobara, on the other hand, just stares. Blinks. Then her hands slowly rise to cover her mouth, her eyes growing impossibly wide.

“Wait—” Yuji finally speaks, voice squeaking a little.

“YOU—YOU AND—”

Megumi sighs.

“Yeah. Me and (y/n). We’ve been dating for a while now.”

That’s when all hell breaks loose.

“WHAT?!” Yuji practically screams, jumping up from the couch and pointing at your intertwined hands like they’re some sort of mythical creature.

“NO WAY! This whole time? You guys were dating this whole time?!”

Nobara just starts shrieking incoherently. It’s a mix of disbelief and outrage, her voice a high-pitched wail as she dramatically collapses onto the couch like she’s been personally betrayed.

“YOU HID THIS FROM US?!” she yells, clutching a pillow like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

“HOW COULD YOU?! I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS!”

You burst out laughing, unable to keep it in any longer. Megumi pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly regretting every choice that led to this moment.

Yuji is pacing now, running his hands through his hair, still trying to process everything.

“How did I not see it? I mean, I thought you had a crush, but I didn’t think it was… this!” he gestures wildly between the two of you, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Oh my God!” Nobara yells again, standing up suddenly.

“This is insane! You’ve been sneaking around this whole time? That’s it. I demand details! Right now. How long has this been going on?”

“Yeah!” Yuji chimes in, pointing accusingly at Megumi.

“How did you manage to keep this a secret from me of all people?”

You laugh again, raising your hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay, calm down! It’s been a few months. We just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“A few months?” Nobara shrieks, grabbing Yuji’s arm like she needs to hold onto something before she passes out.

“That’s practically a year in relationship time! How did you keep this from us? I’m so offended right now.”

“I knew you were acting weird!” Yuji exclaims, throwing his hands in the air.

“All those times you disappeared, Megumi! I knew something was up!”

Megumi groans, running a hand through his hair.

“You guys are overreacting.”

“Overreacting? This is the most exciting thing that’s happened all year and you hid it from us! You’re for the streets, Fushiguro!” Nobara echoes, voice high-pitched with disbelief.

Yuji nods, agreeing way too quickly.

“Yeah, we need details. Dates, first kiss, how did it start, everything.”

Before you can answer, a familiar voice interrupts the chaos.

“Oh, you guys are just figuring this out now?”

You all turn to see Gojo leaning casually against the doorway, a smug grin plastered on his face, arms crossed like he’s been watching this unfold for a while.

“What?” Nobara screeches again.

“YOU KNEW?!”

Gojo shrugs like it’s no big deal.

“Obviously. It wasn’t exactly hard to figure out.”

Yuji’s jaw drops to the floor.

“You didn’t tell us?”

Gojo tilts his head, grinning.

“And ruin the fun of watching you two idiots freak out? Why would I do that?”

Nobara looks like she’s about to combust.

“So, you just let us suffer, while you were sitting there knowing the whole time?!”

Gojo shrugs again, completely unbothered.

“You’re welcome.”

Yuji groans, dramatically flopping onto the couch beside Nobara.

“I can’t believe this. I feel so betrayed.”

Nobara crosses her arms, huffing.

“Yeah, same. This is worse than the time Yuji ate my fries.”

“Hey, that was an accident!” Yuji protests.

Nobara glares at him.

“It was not an accident.”

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[seancekitsch]

Hazbin Hotel—Lucifer x Reader where he’s a love struck fool for reader? May or may not be inspired by that little imagine you posted not too long ago \(//∇//)\

uhhh this kinda got away from me. enjoy!!

You’d have to be a fool not to notice how the King of Hell acts around you, even Angel and Husk told you that. But you’re not blinded to situation, you know exactly what’s going on. You rest your elbow on the bar next to Angel as Charlie gathers the hotel residents and staff, a job not unlike herding cats. Everyone trickles in slowly, waiting for the next odd trust bond activity Charlie has come up with now. Last week was heartfelt letter writing, and the three of you at the bar had not taken it seriously. You handed Husk a comedic inner monologue about how much you needed to pee, Husk handed Angel a surprisingly detailed made up story about a talking whisky bottle, and Angel handed you a list of what roles he’d cast the entire hotel in a porno.

“What do you think they’ll have us do this time?” Husk mumbles to you, topping off your drink.

“Honestly, not a fan of the way Princess is smiling right now,” you answer.

Charlie waves everyone over, and Vaggie smiles uncomfortably, ready for everyone to start.

“Okay Good Afternoon,” Charlie starts, practically bouncing, “Today we’re going to try to form new bonds!”

Immediately, she’s met with groaning and mumbling, but thats never stopped her and it won’t today either.

“So what better way to do that then having a buddy for the next twenty four hours!” She shouts, and Vaggie’s face immediately makes sense.

“I’ve separated everyone from their regular group so they can build these bonds and be open!”

“…got something you could open…” you hear Angel mumble under his breath.

Charlie gives her dad a thumbs up.

“The first pairing is… my dad and Y/n!”

The Morningstar family sucks at being subtle or lying.

“So what did you have planned for the day?” Lucifer asks while sitting beside you, his voice short and clipped, his entire demeanor like he’s on high alert. It’s cute, really.

“Ah don’t worry about it,” you shrug, “What does the areat King of Hell do with his day?”

Lucifer rubs his neck, fidgeting under your question.

“It’s not… Its not actually all that interesting,” he admits, “You’ve probably got something cooler going on.”

There’s something he’s avoiding besides your gaze, but you don’t press the issue.

You look across the lobby to Angel, who pauses his conversation with Vaggie to mouth something that looked like the word “fart” to you, and then wink.

Your art gallery. Right.

“Have you ever been to Pentagram City’s biggest art gallery?” you ask him.

Lucifer is a gentleman. You understand how he stole the first man’s first two wives from him. Sure, he’s stumbling and stuttering and a nervous wreck, but he’s holding doors open for you and asking about your thoughts and feelings about the pieces on display, he’s accidentally on purpose almost held your hand three times now. Next time he does it, you’re just going to grab his damn hand.

You stare at the sculpture in front of you, noting that you should have someone move this to a different room. In fact, there’s a few things you’ve noticed while showing Lucifer the art that you should have moved around. Maybe you’ve been neglecting the gallery a bit more than you thought now that you live at the hotel.

“Hey, Can I ask you about these?” Lucifer’s voice booms from the next room over. Sighing, you type a quick note into your V-Phone and turn.

Oh shit.

Lucifer found THAT room.

You cross the threshold into the room you never go into, the room with your own work. Honestly, it’s not even curated the way the other rooms and floors are. This is where you put anything that you think can leave your studio. He’s in front of one of your biggest paintings, and one of your newest. It’s an abstract piece about your feelings about redemption, about your past sins, about adjusting to the hotel. Which it sounds stupid when you put it like that, but it made sense in the moment and you’re proud of it.

He turns and smiles before looking back at the painting.

“Is the uh, is the artist willing to sell this piece?” he asks, his cheeks and the tips of his ears turning red.

Now it’s your turn to get nervous. You’ve never actually sold any of your own pieces before.

“I uh- I’m not gonna sell it to you,” you tell him, “You can have it.”

It would be weird to take money from Lucifer, even if he is offering. You like him a decent amount and a transaction between the two of you would make it weird. It would feel like you owe him, even though your art would technically satisfy that. If he was one of the Vees or someone you dislike, you would have immediately taken money.

“But the artist-“

“Me,” you clarify, and you finally remember you don’t tag your own art. Lucifer’s jaw drops at your admission.

“I’d really like to support your work, it’s magnificent,” Lucifer insists, and you feel your cheeks burning. He turns to gesture to another piece, and his knuckles brush your own.

Fuck it. You told yourself you’d do it. You grab Lucifer’s hand in your own, a bold move.

“Just think about it as a gift,” you tell him, “A thank you for the lovely day we’ve had.”

You inwardly cringe, knowing that when you recount today at the lobby bar your drinking buddies are going to tear you a new one for that corny line. But it fits for Lucifer; he’s bringing out a side of you that you really haven’t seen in a while.

“Thank you uh, gorgeous,” he tacks on the pet name like even he isn’t sure about it, and with his hand still in yours, attempts to lean against a sculpture, stumbling as he misses it and bringing you along with him. He tugs you by the arm, jerking you closer to him. He’s majorly out of practice.

“I have a studio upstairs if you want to see more?” you offer, not really sure if you thought that through.

“More art? Absolutely!” He recovers quickly, enthusiasm dripping from his voice.

You smile as you pull him towards the hallway, butterflies in your stomach as it dawns on you that he’s going to be the only person besides you to see the studio.

You and Lucifer end up staying there until Charlie calls him the next morning.

You notice paint on his chin after you get back to the hotel.

[disneyprincemuke]

mastermind * op81

oscar did not expect that he had to share a bed with you during his trip to visit you over his break

pairings: oscar piastri x fem!reader

word count: 2k

notes: guys omg i've just been so squashed mentally so i've kinda been struggling to write but no worries,, here is a long overdue and that promised forced one bed trope with oscar <3

(f1 masterlist)

leaving you behind so he could travel the world was never part of the plan that oscar had mapped out in his head. and you packing up to move several hours away for grad school also was not the plan.

it just makes it all the harder during his short breaks to come and see you. his breaks are truly barely considered one, always asked to come down to headquarters for meetings and strategy talks.

but this time is different. he’s finally managed to shake off his duties this one time, taking a train to finally go and visit you.

there’s a festival nearby, or maybe a concert — he can’t remember which specifically — that didn’t allow him to book a hotel room for himself. besides, the solution is easy when you’ve been friends your whole life; he was just looking for a room out of courtesy and respect for your space.

but when you stepped forward and told him he’s being silly for looking at hotels, he knew that was your subtle way of telling him that he will be staying with you during his stay.

so here he is, a heavy and bulky backpack over his shoulders as his eyes bore on the door of your apartment. he hears some shuffling on the other side before the lock clicks, followed by squeaking as the door is pulled open.

it reveals you, hair up in a bun with your glasses sitting on your nose. you’re still in your pyjamas, he’s guessing you never left your apartment to prepare it for him.

“oscar!” you squeal, throwing your arms into the air. “you’re here!”

he beams and holds his arms out. “you knew i was coming!”

“i know, but i’m just so excited to have you here!” you finally take a step forward and bury yourself into his chest. “it’s been a while — you’ve just been so busy and unattainable.”

“unattainable is a bit much,” oscar chuckles as you open the door slightly wider and beckon to let him in, “just didn’t have the time to come down to you. but i still talked to you.”

you shrug, “i know.”

“well anyway,” he says, putting his bag down on the empty spots next to your couch, “thank you so much for letting me stay. if i didn’t know any better, i’d assume that you somehow hijacked the odds of all the hotels not having rooms available for my stay.”

you laugh, looking over your shoulder to give him a bewildered stare. “i’m not that powerful, oscar.”

it’s only then he realises that your couch was not prepped to be a bed, unlike what he had been expecting when he took up your generous offer to stay in your apartment. it’s not exactly his first time sleeping over at your place, but you almost always prepared your couch to be a bed when he pays a visit, which does not seem to be the case this time around.

“hey?” he calls out hesitantly, looking over his shoulder to get your attention as you trudge the kitchen by yourself. “the couch isn’t made up like a bed… did you forget or something?”

you tilt your head, convincingly confused at him. your eyes trail to the couch behind him before realisation hits you. “oh!” you break into a soft laugh as you approach him. “well, you see… it’s a new couch and it’s so fancy and pink — you can’t possibly sleep on it!”

oscar scans your couch. and to your defense, it does look very pristine and new, and very pink. he can understand where you’re coming from when you claim that he should not sleep on it.

“so, you know,” you say in a slightly softer voice, looking down to the ground to avoid his gaze, “we can share my bed — it’s more comfortable anyway. you wouldn’t get a good night’s rest on this tiny couch.”

oscar turns to look at you before he shrugs. “sure, i guess you know best.”

“i swear!” you squeal, guiding him towards your bedroom to let him settle his things inside. “the couch is too small for you.”

he can only keep laughing at the way you continue to defend your decision to let him share the bed with you.

this situation is less than ideal for him. not only has he spent years of your friendship silently pining for you, but now he is forced to share a bed with you for a week.

though, arguably, this is the best way to finally ease himself into asking you out. but he just can’t be too sure unless he hears it from your lips, telling him that you feel the same. but you’re not saying anything directly to his face.

oscar tries to push away the nerves from sharing a bed with you for the rest of the day. you go out and explore the town you’ve spent the past couple of months in, trying new dishes and taking him to your favourite spots. he enjoys the day with you, not having realised that he missed having you around this much in the time you spent apart.

he couldn’t make it out for your graduation, which sucked, but you claimed that it’s okay because he’s got a big boy job unlike you.

he completely forgot about the situation at hand. the one he spent almost half the afternoon thinking and stressing over, but went away the minute you were laughing at a joke he had made nonchalantly.

it wasn’t until he stepped out of the shower and saw you already passed out on the bed that he suddenly remembered that he was going to have to share the bed with you for the next few nights. you were comfortably nuzzled into one side of the bed with the blankets pulled up all the way to your chin.

oscar almost bails on sleeping on the bed with you, weighing how much more painful it could be if he just made up some stupid excuse and slept on the floor instead. ultimately, he deemed that it would be completely not worth the body pain if did that.

so he sucks it up and dragged his feet against the floor to join you in bed. he tries to carefully lie on the bed without waking you up, suddenly feeling slightly claustrophobic even though you had pushed yourself so far to the edge of the bed that he fears you might fall out at some point in the night.

alas, when the bed dips, he flinches at the way your eyes fluttered open and a lazy grin stretches your lips. “hey,” you croak out before turning to the other side of the bed to give him his space.

“sorry i woke you up,” oscar whispers, hesitantly climbing under the blankets. “goodnight.”

“goodnight, oscar.”

it takes him a while, but he does eventually fall asleep. all he could think of until he passed out was the fact that he is sharing a bed with you for the first time in your friendship. he truly doesn’t know how to act knowing that your back was pressed up against his as he drifted off to sleep.

however, he does have a very good rest. perhaps it was how soft your bed was that contributed to how well he slept. or maybe it’s the pair of arms strewn loosely over his stomach or the face nuzzled into his arm and– wait a second.

oscar opens his eyes, hyperaware of the way your body is now tangled in his with the blankets loosely covering both of your bodies. he wants to move your hand away or excuse himself before he lets his heart take over his mind and do something he might spend the rest of his life regretting.

you don’t seem to be bothered, because as if you had sensed it out of him, you pull your arm back to rub your eyes. “morning.”

“uh,” he hesitates to look at you, “hi?”

you hum, squeaking at the end. “something wrong?”

“you were um,” oscar clears his throat. he should just ask you out, shouldn’t he? he tries to reason out with him as fast as he can without worrying you. you’ve practically cuddled — for god knows how long through the night — and shared a bed; what could go wrong, right?

he will deal with the consequences if your answer is not as expected.

“what is it?” you pull back slightly and furrow your eyebrows. “what do you think we should have for breakfast?”

he blurts it out, which is not the way he envisioned himself ever asking you out. he considers himself calmer than the average person but there was something about your somehow forced proximity. “i like you a lot.”

“what?” you laugh, pulling back even more as your eyes widen.

oscar stares at you as he feels the whiplash of his decision hit him. he knew it. he should not have asked you out now; the rest of his trip would definitely be awkward the rest of his trip. he should have just asked you on his last day so he could spend the time apart getting past the embarrassment of getting rejected.

of thinking that asking his friend out is a good idea.

“oscar,” you laugh again, scrambling to sit up. his cheeks heat up, clenching his jaw as the embarrassment consumes his body whole. “of course, i like you too.”

he looks at you from the corners of his eyes, arms folded over his chest. he hears his heart in his ears, his entire body running from the sheer adrenaline of finally confessing to you about something he’s had to keep in his chest for years. “seriously?”

“you are so cute,” you put a hand on your chest and tilt your head. “how can i not?”

oscar lets out a heavy breath, his airways clearing at the positive ending the situation is seeing. “so can i take you out on a date today? if you don’t mind that we stray from your itinerary, of course… i know you spent a long time coming up with it.”

you shake your head, unable to contain the growing smile on your face. “i don’t care — we’re going on a date!”

— bonus

oscar stands up from his seat, starting to gather the used plates that littered your dining table. he’s found the time to be the one to visit you once more, after a long triple header of races, so he came down instead of having you travel out for him.

your first date went well, of course, and that eventually led to a second date. by the third date, oscar mustered up the courage once more to ask you to be his girlfriend.

you’d been friends for so long that it didn’t really matter when he asked you to make it official. at that point, it just felt long overdue when you also admitted that you’d had feelings for him for a while.

he catches a glimpse of your neat couch, pillows and a throw blanket stacked in the corner again like clockwork. he hears you walk out of the kitchen, handing him a glass of cold water. “you know… if you weren’t so weird about your new fancy couch, i probably never would have confessed my feelings to you.”

you put your glass down on the table and walk over to the couch without another word, pulling the cushions off and throwing it on the ground nonchalantly. oscar’s eyebrows shoot up as you unfold the bed, revealing the sofa bed that you had owned this entire time. “i know!” you beam, throwing your arms in the air.

he stares at you. “you… what?”

“yeah!” you squeak, now returning the cushions to show him the set-up of the sofa bed. “i orchestrated it all!”

“you’re sneaky!”

@33-81 @darleneslane @namgification @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico

[qvrcll]

fluff, mention of alcohol + ib @sourcherryandsprinkles (check out their fic 🫶🏽)

coriolanus snow feels the sweltering heat of the hob reach up to him. he’s barely made it in two steps past the entrance, when sejanus takes off to a darker part of the activities. snow swivels his head, taking a mental note of where sejanus perches himself against a bar, but chooses against joining him.

no, he would much rather lie back here, where the music could reach him just fine. like waves.

he picks up a glass that seems full enough to the eye: the liquid swishes violently when he shoots it down his mouth and he needs a minute to savour the taste. he’s not inclined to remembering much of the academy here, choosing to focus on only getting out, but something feels familiar. an act he is piecing together carefully, meticulously, as bodies rush past him to join onto the dance floor. he feels himself already getting light with the facade he’s wringing raw. bloody, even, between his fingers.

would they believe him? would they let him go home? let him see trigris and grand’maam one more time? would a class act ever profess to the same standards twice?

amongst his own, rotting worries, is when he sees you. not much quieter than the covey band on stage, not much louder than the crowd that followed - no, he could have lost you easily to the ruffles and the swills and the laughter. a mere stranger, much too adjusted with her tongue. but he’s curious as you approach his table.

“hi, boys. what can i get you for today?” you click your tongue, inserting a pen between your fingers and jotting down what the other men present as options of drinks. he tries to focus, clears his throat and nods along some common choice of beverage and ah, there’s polish on your nails. scarlet and running dark, a noteworthy shade amongst that of other district folk. were you like lucy gray, a performer? or were you much like what he ran from, a class act?

but he’s far too taken to knowing who exactly you are when he sees you cut a smirk in his direction. it’s subtle and over in quick succession, but it makes him oddly glad for the shift.

“what?” he asks with a charm rebuilt, barely concealed fortitude crumbling when you play with your notepad. the edges of the papers you taunt with your fingernail are frayed and tearing slightly, but you still work a quick smile that sets his alarms and worries for the brighter horizon that will surely come tomorrow. really, your pretty face has him forgetting all of the quells for a minute and, instead, scope out what exactly you want from him.

you shift your garments about, meeting his eye with some supposed challenge, “haven’t seen someone like you around these parts of the district. you new?”

he nods, “yeah, i’m… new to this peacekeeper business.”

“you been to the hob before?”

“no… not exactly, no.”

“not exactly?”

he plays with his fingers, itching the skin softly, “just heard a lot about this place. it’s nice.”

“more than nice, just you see,” your pen clips to the notepad and you hark a smile at him, working your way around the men and onto the next table. your eyes beat with a play he isn’t familiar with, one that makes him follow you with his eyes alone, “you have a good time now, mr. peacekeeper.”

“it’s snow. coriolanus snow.”

“coriolanus,” you seem to taste the name beneath your teeth, testing it tolerably and nicely, “has a nice ring to it.”

it’s the rest of the sickly sweet night that he’s thinking of you. you’ve got a sweet demeanour, a smart mouth - something worth thinking about over a drink. the hob is not quiet but not bustling either, with patrons filtering out one after another. some drunk, warm faces sit still at tables, some dance to a slow rhythm up front. sejanus leaves for a while, but snow leaves it as unnoticed. what he does notice is you in his peripheral.

you’re wiping tables, which strikes him suddenly as odd. odd that he still has the chance to catch you whilst you’re on hours. surely, you still remember him? he’d told you his name, but never breathed so much as yours. would you be freaked by his interference?

“you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” your voice is suddenly closer. you’d crossed across the bar whilst he was meandering between freakish and urbanity, and now stood smiling at him, a rag clutched at the hip. he swears his breath catches against a row in his throat, but snow catches himself quickly.

“me? must’ve overestimated my ability to drink,” he smiles, genuine since his days of relegation and spite, missing and borrowing, “are you still working?”

“hm, but i got a few minutes on the clock. then, i’m free as a bird” when he hears you say this, his ears redden with attention. you’d be off in a few minutes?

“why, you wanna take me on a date?” you ask. and he spirals. and you let out a bark as he goes red from head to feet, his fingers itching his temple as he smiles. all polite and bucking at the seams, “i’m only joking, coriolanus. coriolanus - did i say it right?”

he finds your chatter endearing, meaning in every bit of movement between the two of you, “you say it just perfect.”

he could’ve sworn he saw a flush work up those cheeks of yours, but then again, he could be losing more than just his mind. some level of sensibility, too, maybe. still, he rises to a level of action he has never been since the poor tributes, the days of reaping - maybe its initiative. maybe its the want. maybe its you between his fingers like gold.

he licks his lips, feels the wet of them against each other, “can you i have a drink? two, actually.”

“two? the other…?”

he smiles, tries to imitate your sweetness and only lets it come off half baked, “for you.”

but really, he couldn’t care less. the smile that tears across your face is warm, your laugh hearty.

“mr. snow, you’ve got your tricks,” the smile spills into your words, he can hear it, “well, i’ve got mine.”

and he needs to ask, what are they? can i see? am i allowed? when you kiss his cheek. nothing vehement or raunchy in the least, a thing recounted as a peck, but as you swivel towards the bar in a confident front-step, snow touches the warm part of his cheek like he’d been burnt. like he was burning still, under the pustule of the soft, flaxen light the hob had to offer. burning still, when he smiles under his hand, grinning under the gap of his fingers.

burning, still, in the grasp of wanting you beneath two drinks and a kiss.

(requests for snow / tbosas are open!)

© 2023 qvrcll. do not repost any of my works on any platform.

[noneorother]

The secret timeline inside of Good Omens season 2 revealed, *part2*

Part 1 l Part 2

The ineffable cut is explained in part 1. Please read that first. (I’ve burnt a timecode into this ineffable edit to help pick up the rhythm.)

So now that I've shown you XX:X6 is the number of the beast in the last installment, what else can we glean? Well, it turns out angel numbers (sequences of repeated numbers ex: 22:22 or 20:02) are quite important events in the S2 universe! I've cut together every "Angel Number" I could find in the timeline and put them in order. I first noticed this near the end of the ineffable cut, where Beelzebub and Gabriel hold hands, so I've started with that one just to give you an idea how bonkers this whole sequence is. Don't forget, sound on! Breakdown below the cut.

So we start off with this Beez and Gabriel sequence near the end of the cut. They start singing to each other a little out of time, but lo and behold, at 02:03:20 the music comes in right on time with the seconds ticking by to line them up. By the time they reach 03:33 they're gone.

Aziraphale is excited to get his "record"! He's doing something sneaky, and as a result opens the door to go off to said covert activity on 00:02:22.

Crowley asks "Do they know?" on 03:33. Who are they and why does he want to know? This whole scene is on a St-James park bench so spying and double speak is in progress, clearly.

Crowley then asks "Something big?" on 00:04:44. We get the hint for the main action of the entire second season here. Something's up with the up...

Now the real fun begins! I'll come back to the ones I just skipped in a later post because they're more subtle. Here's the first "real" angel number at 11:11. Aziraphale discovers THE box and touches it for the first time.

At 22:22 Nina and Maggie's signs are "mysteriously" ignored by a human passerby.

This is wild. Aziraphale is learning about the Everyday record and something funny happens. 33:31 Aziraphale says, " Do you have a copy?" 33:32 Maggie says, "Mm, too many of them" and at the same time a car horn beeps twice. 33:33 Aziraphale is startled by the fact that a double car horn happened on a XX:X2 and looks out the window in concern. So the question is: does Aziraphale feel or know the rhythm of the timestamps?? And are things that line up with numbers a signal he's paying attention to?

A funny one! At 44:44 Aziraphale seems to be wanting to check if Gabriel is really who he says he is, and is watching him like a hawk. Gabriel does all he can to do nothing at all and look innocent while the angel number passes by.

Another funny one. Nice. 55:55 reveals that the Bentley likes Aziraphale more than Crowley, and does whatever he wants, including not speeding when he puts his foot down.

This next one's a little peculiar. It seems like an exchange about Gabriel's whereabouts, but it's the halfway point of the edit (1:11:10-11:11:11) of the ineffable timeline and we seem to be having two conversations at once. Shax says on 11:11 "He hates you." Does she mean that she thinks Crowley hates Aziraphale, or... that Gabriel hates Aziraphale. Aziraphale looks noticeably shocked at her reply. After the eyebrow raise of "You don't seem like his type at all" I would bet we're not talking about Crowley anymore. How did she get this information?

01:22:22 Gabriel does a little laugh to himself while signalling with the lamp. What the fuck? Does someone know morse code?

01:33:33 Maggie extends her had to Nina at the ball, to invite her to dance. Nina looks pleased, but doesn't move until... a very odd miracle sound on a XX:X6 happens and she jumps up to take Maggie's hand. That miracle sound is not Aziraphale's, and besides, he would never miracle on a 6. Who's the demon making Nina dance...

Aziraphale's halo toss is the flip from ACT II to ACT III of season 2, and as such, get's a special time right before rolling over to the second hour. He decides to throw it down on exactly 01:54:45, and at 01:54:54 gets a giant tubular bell ring in the music to highlight the action. It lands on the ground at 01:55:01, and incinerates the demons at precisely 01:55:10.

01:59:59 Beez and Gabriel hold hands, and a magical chime sounds at 2:00:00. Maggie start her sentence "Aww, that's really sweet" at the same time, and manages to finish it on 2:00:02. (Dagon politely waits to pretend to barf on a XX:X3 after she's done.)

The last one is a big one : 02:02:02 gets "to face CELESTIAL punishment" by Michael. This is what we've been waiting for the entire season, the Checkov's gun of the book of life. But, where is it? We then get an odd cowboy showdown style stare-off between Michael and Shax. I'm predicting that missing chunk of time in the bookshop before we come back to Michael threatening Aziraphale with the book of life is going to be a pretty interesting reveal in season 3. -------------------------------------------

People, this is the short version of this post. There are SO MANY things to unpack. Next up is doubled numbers. If you want an ides of what it takes to break things down, here's my workflow timeline right now. The stuff after the first big space is numbers I haven't shown you yet... This show is insane.

[brodygold]

A Bit of a Stretch

Gary and Phil had been friends for as long as either of them could remember. Decades ago, they had met as young men full of energy, bonded over their shared interests, and formed a friendship that stood the test of time. But as the years passed, their lives changed. They both grew older, heavier, and less active, their youthful adventures gradually replaced by slower walks in the park and quiet conversations. Though they no longer ran 5Ks or played sports together, their friendship remained as strong as ever.

On this particular day, the two were ambling down their usual route through the park, their conversation meandering just as slowly. Gary, always the more assertive of the two, walked ahead, while Phil followed a few steps behind, his reserved nature keeping him quiet for most of their chat until the two stopped for a quick snack on a park bench.

“You know, Phil, we’re not getting any younger,” Gary said as he shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “I’ve been thinking… maybe we should try something new. Spice things up a bit.”

Phil chuckled softly. “At our age? Gary, we’re lucky to make it around the park without needing a nap after.”

Gary, with his usual determination, turned and shot Phil a look. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. We’ve been acting like we’re ancient. We’re not dead yet, Phil.”

Phil smiled, his quiet nature rarely yielding to bold ideas. “I know, I know. But I’m happy with our walks. What more do we need?”

Gary was about to reply when something off to the side caught his eye. It was a glint of gold under a large oak tree, shimmering in the afternoon light. His curiosity piqued, Gary immediately got up off the bench without a word, leaving Phil no choice but to follow.

“Gary, where are you going?” Phil called after him, picking up his pace to keep up with his friend’s sudden burst of energy.

Gary didn’t answer at first, his focus entirely on the golden object. As they neared the tree, the glint became clearer—a yoga mat, bright and shimmering, as if it had just been placed there moments before.

Gary bent down and examined it, running his hand over the surface. “Would you look at this? A yoga mat, and a fancy one at that.”

Phil, more cautious as always, approached slowly. “What’s it doing out here in the middle of the park?”

Gary shrugged, his assertiveness pushing aside any doubt. “Who cares? It’s here, and we’re here. Maybe it’s a sign, Phil. You know, to try something new.”

Phil shifted uncomfortably. “Yoga? I don’t know… We’re not exactly limber anymore...”

“Come on,” Gary said, already lowering himself onto the mat. “What’s the worst that could happen? A little stretching will do us good.”

Phil hesitated, watching as Gary settled himself down with surprising ease. His own instincts told him to be wary, to stick to their usual routine, but something about Gary’s energy made him pause. Gary always had a way of pushing Phil out of his comfort zone, and more often than not, it ended up being a good thing.

With a sigh, Phil slowly lowered himself down next to Gary, his larger frame awkward as he adjusted on the mat. “Alright, but if I pull something, it’s on you.”

Gary grinned. “You’ll thank me later.”

The moment they both sat on the mat, an odd sensation crept through their bodies. It wasn’t immediate, but subtle—like a warm, gentle pulse that spread from the mat into their limbs, relaxing their stiff joints and soothing their aches. Phil frowned slightly, feeling the strange warmth but not fully understanding what was happening.

Gary, ever bold, started with a basic pose. “Let’s try a few stretches. Nothing fancy, just loosen up.”

Phil followed suit, though less enthusiastically, his movements slow and careful. But as they stretched, the warmth intensified, and with it, something extraordinary began to happen. Gary’s posture straightened, his joints moving with a fluidity he hadn’t felt in decades. His muscles, once softened by age, tightened and firmed, his belly shrinking as his frame grew more athletic. His thinning gray hair darkened to a rich brown, and the lines on his face disappeared, leaving his skin smooth and youthful. Finally, his clothes transformed into a gold jersey and gold shorts, further adding to his new athletic image.

Phil, too, was undergoing the same transformation. His heavier, rounder frame slimmed down, his belly flattening as muscles emerged where there had once been softness. His once sagging skin tightened and turned much darker, making him a black man. His thinning hair got shaved into a buzz cut, regaining the fullness of his youth. But unlike Gary, who embraced the changes without hesitation, Phil’s reserved nature made him more uneasy. Though his body felt better, his mind remained cautious, uncertain of what was happening. His clothes underwent a similar transformation, making the two seem like brothers in a way.

“This feels… different,” Phil murmured, glancing down at his now firmer arms but unable to fully comprehend what was happening.

Gary, now looking like the athletic man he had been in his thirties, stood up and stretched. “Feels incredible, you mean. See? I told you we weren’t too old for this.”

Phil sat up, running a hand through his now fuller hair, a small frown creasing his brow. “It’s weird though… We’re not… Were we always wearing these gold jerseys?”

Gary, always decisive, waved him off. “You’re just overthinking it. We feel good, right? That’s what matters.”

Phil wasn’t convinced, but he nodded anyway, trusting Gary’s confidence. “Yeah, I guess.”

Gary looked around the park, his youthful energy practically buzzing now. “You know what we should do next? Meditation. Real yoga nuts always finish with meditation.”

Phil raised an eyebrow. “Meditation? I don’t know, Gary…”

“You said that about yoga too, and look how that turned out,” Gary shot back with a smirk. “Come on, sit with me. Let’s clear our minds.”

Phil sighed, but as usual, Gary’s determination was hard to resist. He sat back down on the mat beside his friend, settling into a comfortable cross-legged position. Gary closed his eyes, and after a moment of hesitation, Phil did the same.

The golden mat seemed to pulse beneath them again, syncing with their breath. Each inhale felt more cleansing than the last, each exhale more liberating. The world around them faded away, the sounds of the park—children laughing, birds chirping, the distant hum of traffic—disappearing as they sank deeper into meditation.

As they breathed in unison, the mat worked its final magic. The changes that had begun with their bodies now extended to their minds. Memories of their past lives, their old identities as older, heavier men, began to dissolve like mist in the morning sun.

For Gary, the shift was seamless. His assertive nature welcomed the change, his mind embracing the new reality without question. The memories of his aging body, his struggles with weight, his slowing down—all of it vanished. In their place, new memories took root: memories of an active, athletic life, filled with adventure and vigor. He believed he had always been young, fit, and in control.

Phil, however, resisted at first. His natural caution made him hold on to fragments of his old life—his wife, his children, the slow, comfortable routine he had settled into. But with each breath, the resistance weakened. The warmth from the mat seeped deeper into his mind, erasing the hesitations and doubts, replacing them with new, calmer memories. He had always been like this—youthful, healthy, and reserved, but content in his quiet strength.

When they finally opened their eyes, it was as if they had woken up from a dream. The sun was still warm on their skin, the park still peaceful around them, but everything felt different. Gary stretched his arms above his head, his movements effortless and fluid, while Phil stood up more slowly, though with far more ease than before.

“Man, that was incredible,” Gary said, his voice filled with excitement. “I feel like I could run a marathon, bro.”

Phil, more subdued but no longer uneasy, nodded. “Yeah… It was, bro. We should do that again.”

Gary clapped him on the back. "Same time tomorrow?”

Phil smiled softly. “Sure, bro.”

As the two friends walked away, the golden mat lay behind them, shimmering with its inviting golden glow, waiting for the next pair of friends to transform.

[lemon-russ]

A bit of an interlude segment, the girls are still fighting

Edit: woops, lost a paragraph somehow, ive edited it back in, just after the first break. Not super important but odd feeling without it.

Part 12/ ???

< previous || next >

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

CW: Mentions of sex, slight? sexism

Summary: Dinner date :) just me and you and you and me and and us, and your nemesis Titus <3

word count: 1,730(ish)

Guilliman sat at his desk, doing paperwork, as he often did. He smiled up at a serf who came in. “Ah, there you are. Did you summon Captain Sicarius for me?” He asked.

The serf frowned and looked nervous. “Ah, Captain Sicarius isn't… available right now, My Lord.” They say.

Roboute scrunches his brow. “What? How? Is he on a mission? I had no word of one…” he frowns, shuffling through paperwork searchingly.

The serf shakes their head. “That's the thing, sir. He took his ship and just… left. Last coordinates are in this sector…” they show Guilliman their datapad.

He blinks at it. “… That's where I sent the Lady Ambassador and Commander Titus.” His brow furrows in confusion. “Why on holy Terra would Sicarius be there? How long has he been away?”

The serf shrugs. “At least a day, sir. He left no word, and the men aboard his ship said he took a Thunderhawk and hasn't returned.”

Guilliman frowns. It wasn't unlike Sicarius to take off without notice, but he was usually proper enough to at least send word after. And it wasn't like there were threats in that star system, that area is renowned for its peaceful and relaxing planets. They had no word of any warp disturbances or the ilk either. This was all very strange.

“He took a Thunderhawk alone?” He asks, expression confused. “Could you ask his men exactly which planet they are over?”

The serf nodded and scurried away. Guilliman had a suspicion about where Cato had gone, but it didn't make sense. Why would he sneak away to a vacation planet, where he knew Titus and the Ambassador were? It was unlike him to shirk duties to go gallivanting on vacations, and Guilliman was under the impression he did not particularly get along with either the Ambassador or Titus.

He sighs and turns back to his work. This whole thing was very odd, and it left Roboute uncomfortable.

__________________________________________________

Cato, Titus, and the Ambassador sit at a table in the resort’s dining hall. Cato is staring daggers at Titus, who is sitting directly beside the Ambassador on the other side of the table, politely eating.

The Ambassador pouts as she tries to cut a particularly tough piece of meat; the animals on this planet have tougher flesh than what they normally eat. Titus flashes a subtle smirk at Cato and reaches over to her plate to cut the meat for her into bite-size pieces.

“Oh- um, thank you, Commander-” she says with a bit of confusion but shakes it off and goes back to eating.

Cato’s eye twitches. All night, Titus has been the perfect, chivalrous gentleman, holding doors for her, helping her with small things, purposely staying between them because, as he alluded to earlier, he knows they are sleeping together and apparently does not approve.

He is going to strangle him. This oh-so-perfect asshole that everyone loves is now trying to get between him and his little ambassador. And his hands are tied. Titus was ordered by Guilliman to guard her, and they both know he isn’t supposed to be there in the first place. If he pushes it, Titus runs and tells on him to Dad like a child. His jaw tenses as he grinds his teeth.

The ambassador looks up at him and smiles affectionately, and he lets out a sigh, expression softening. It’s ok. this is fine. They’ll get through the next two days of this- because no way was he leaving her alone here with Titus after all this- and they can figure out what to do from there.

Titus looks unamused by their sweet glances. “Lady Ambassador,” He says, smiling down at her. “They are having a dance this evening in the ballroom. Are you going to be attending?” He asks.

She smiles and thinks. “I did bring gowns for it…” she glances at Cato again.

He smiles warmly at her. “A dance? I don’t think I've ever properly been, not as a guest. Since I'm not on guard duty, I’ll be your partner.” He shoots a wry smile to Titus, who’s grimacing again.

She smiles happily “Oh, thank you Captain, that would make it much easier for me.” she says warmly, then smiles up at Titus, “Thank you for the suggestion, Commander” she adds, making Titus’ eye twitch a bit. Cato smiles to himself and eats his dinner. He can guess Titus was about to suggest he bring her dancing, but he’s in armor, so he’d just be standing by a wall on guard anyway.

After dinner, The Ambassador heads back to her room, once again leaving them in the lobby. Titus purposely avoids looking at Cato, lips pursed and brow furrowed. What a grumpy child he’s being.

“What’s wrong, Commander?” he smirks at him. Titus’ jaw twitches as he grits his teeth. Cato grins a bit wider. “You wouldn’t happen to be stressed with The Lady Ambassador dancing with me, would you?” He says mockingly.

___________________________________________________

Just ignore him, Titus. He’s trying to goad you on, Titus thinks to himself as he grinds his molars to dust in restraint. He meant to ask the Ambassador if he could escort her to the dance alone, but Cato hijacked his idea. Now he’d have to go and watch them, because like hell he was going to leave them to run off alone again.

Cato grinned at him. With his stupid face. What kind of legendary Astartes has so few facial scars? He doesn’t even wear service studs. Too good for the traditions of the lower caste, probably. Or he’s just too vain to mar his precious visage.

“Grox got your tongue, Commander?” He asks, quirking a stupid eyebrow.

“I will not fall for your petty bait, Captain.” he grumbles. “Unlike some people, I don’t revel in causing fights.”

Cato rolls his eyes. “Please, you can just admit you’re unarmed for a battle of wits.” he chuckles.

Titus groans internally, but keeps his expression tight, ignoring the insults. This makes Cato bored, thankfully, and he just turns to pacing around the lobby instead. ”Women take so long to put on their stupid impractical clothes.” he complains. “I don’t know why she needs to put on layers of flimsy fabric, she could save time and be less of a hazard if she wore a standard uniform.”

Titus glanced at him with a half frown. “Because it looks nice.” he huffs. “What, like you’re immune to dressing up? Your armor is downright gaudy.” he grumbles.

Cato looks absolutely offended. “My armor is befitting my rank and status, Commander.” he snaps in annoyance. “It is the Mantle of the Suzerain, which incorporates pre-heresy pieces from Captain Orar’s own armor, symbols of the second company-” he’s interrupted by Titus.

“By the Throne, I don’t care. It’s gaudy. You look like a peacock in battle. All the better for me, since you draw all the War Bosses directly to you.” He snaps exasperatedly.

Cato huffs, pouting and crossing his arms as he goes back to pacing, now stomping and fuming a bit. Emperor, the cocky bastard, was so quick to get riled up. Titus wonders how he made the rank of Captain in the first place. He’s a good strategist, but his interpersonal skills left much to be desired. His men had a strained relationship with him at best. And he didn’t even seem to like it beyond the prestige of the title.

He prefers jumping headlong into battles, dueling whatever enemy looks strongest. Not behavior a decent captain should exemplify, especially not one of the Ultramarines. That nonsense might fly if he were a Space Wolf, but Cato should have been reprimanded ten times over for his behavior. Titus assumes he isn’t because, unfortunately, he wins. As cocky and unbearable as he is, Cato Sicarius always wins. Titus balled his fists at his side.

Thankfully, The Ambassador came back to free him of Cato Sicarius hell. She wore a beautiful ultramarine blue gown with gold accents, perfectly befitting a diplomat of Guilliman. Titus smiled warmly at her as she smiled and joined them.

“Radiant as always, My lady.” he said courteously to her. She smiled sweetly.

“You look like a tripping hazard.” Cato tacks on dryly. Her smile dropped, and she gives the captain a deadpan, tired look. “Would you have I go dance in a tunic and sandals, Captain?” she replies.

Sicarius smiles at that. “Yes, actually. Much more practical. And no one leering at you.” he says, nodding his head in approval.

She smirks and rolls her eyes. “And that is what you’re escorting me in?” she asks, raising a brow and gesturing at his outfit of a t-shirt and baggy fatigue pants.

He nods again. “Yes. I did not bring anything else but my armor.” he says nonchalantly.

Titus frowns. “You brought one set of clothes to a wet, hot, tropical planet that you planned to stay out of armor in for the whole time?” He asks incredulously. He knows Cato isn’t the brightest outside of battle, but…

Cato scowls. “Well, excuse me for not understanding the minutiae of civilian life. I’m not usually out of armor and away from my quarters for extended periods.” He grumbles.

Titus rubs the bridge of his nose. “You’re going to offend the locals, smelling like wet Astartes for three days. I have some spare clothes I can lend you so we don’t get kicked out…” he sighs. Emperor, was the captain dense sometimes.

Cato smiled, “Ah, excellent, I’ll take those now then Commander.” he said pleasantly, marching himself into Titus’ quarters. He frowns and follows him, watching Cato ransack his belongings with growing irritation.

“You’re welcome.” He bites.

“I did not say thank you, Commander.” The Captain says with a smirk over his shoulder. He steals a couple sets of clean clothes and changes right there, leaving his sandy, wet clothes right on the floor.

Assaulting a commanding officer is a grave offense, Titus. Assaulting your captain will end badly for you, Titus, He has to chant to himself like a mantra as they leave the room.

Cato walks over to the Ambassador and offers her his arm with a dramatic flourish and a smirk. She rolls her eyes, but giggled and takes his arm, letting him lead her down the corridor toward the ballroom.

Titus growls in his chest, slamming the door behind him so hard he hears the wood splinter. Assaulting a commanding officer will get you demoted, Titus, Assaulting a commanding officer will get you kicked off of guard duty forever, Titus…

[higanbana-writer]

Wavering Gaze

Pairing: Kyōjurō x Gn!Upper Moon!Reader Prompt: [Soulmate AU where one of your eyes is the same color as your soulmate’s.] Kyōjurō has finally met his soulmate. But what was he supposed to do when you're an Upper Moon and he, a Hashira? C/N: Just Shinjurō being an ass during his brief screentime. A/N: Hoo boy. I was originally going to just make this a two part series, but I got a bit carried away and the 'second' part ended up being waaaay too long. So, three parts it is! Part: 1, 2, 3 (coming soon)

“Follow your heart, Kyōjurō.”

Those had been his mother’s last words to him and Kyōjurō knew that she’d been referring to his soulmate. How could he not? Though he had been but a mere child then, he could still notice all the grief his mismatched eyes caused his parents – namely his father. He saw how often Shinjurō would cast subtle glances at the eyepatch that hid his soulmate’s eye from the world. A conflicted expression would always rest upon his face whenever he did so, although Kyōjurō could never tell what exactly lay behind it. And he noticed it, how often his father would remind him more than he did with Senjurō, that demons were the enemy who preyed on the innocent and deserved no mercy. But he didn’t mind the extra reminders, always wholeheartedly agreeing with him.  

So, why had his mother left him with those final words? He’d always clearly expressed that he had every intention of following in his father’s footsteps to become the next Flame Hashira, and in doing so, rejected the very notion of his soulmate. Every time he picked up his practice sword to train, with the sole goal of being able to protect the weak, he was following his heart. Not once had he wavered over what he should be doing. So…why? He had puzzled over her words for the longest times.

He never harbored any grievances towards the fact that his soulmate was an Upper Moon. Sure, hiding his eye all the time was a bit tiring and troublesome, but it wasn’t your fault. After all, it hadn’t been as if you’d specifically picked him to be your soulmate. And it weren’t as if you had caused him or his family any harm. He had absolutely no reason to hold any personal grudges against you.

As a matter of fact, even though he’d see your eye reflected back at him on the occasions that he’d take off his eyepatch and gaze into the mirror, he always felt a strange sort of detachment. To him, you were simply a demon whom had taken many lives and needed to be killed for the future safety of many others. Perhaps your eternal life would be ended by a demon slayer before the two of you would ever meet, or perhaps Kyōjurō himself would be the one to end you. Soulmate or not, it was his duty to protect all the precious human lives out there from the likes of your kind.

At least, that’s what he’d told himself throughout his entire life. And yet, as you stood there before him, hesitant but captivating smile on your lips, all of that shattered into tiny pieces.

Kyōjurō had wondered from time to time about what you would look like, but never did he expect you to be so enchanting. Everything about you was perfect. Were you truly a demon? It seemed more fitting to call you a celestial being.

He stared at you with a wide eye, the right words to say completely eluding him. Then, all of a sudden, an intense heat flashed through his left eye. Though it was an extremely strange sensation, it was far from unpleasant. Still, he brought his hand up to his eyepatch out of reflex and you, almost simultaneously, did the same while lowering your head.

When you looked back up at him a few seconds later, hand dropping away from your face, he inhaled sharply at what he saw. Your eyes, which had appeared as those of a human mere moments ago, had now reverted back to their original demonic look, unnaturally vibrant with kanji etched across them. It felt so odd, seeing the eye that had been his since birth returned back to its rightful owner. However, the thing that shocked him most was the rank displayed on your right eye.

Three?!

Out of all the Upper Moons, his soulmate had to be rank three. That meant that as of the current moment, he had the fourth strongest demon in the entire country standing right in front of him.

“Is…Is something wrong…?” You hesitantly asked, not seeming to realize what had happened, but certainly noticing the way he was looking at you.

“Your eyes are, uh…” Still reeling from the shock, Kyōjurō wasn’t quite sure what to say. He tapped a finger against his eyepatch, “I can see your rank.”

Panic flitted over your face at his words and you immediately turned your face away. The next time you look at him, your eyes were back to their human appearance. The two of you stared at each other in silence, each trying to guess the other’s thoughts and waiting for them to speak first. Well, this was turning out to be one very awkward first meeting between soulmates.

“I, err… I apologize that you had to see that?” You ended up being the one to speak first, though you sounded completely uncertain about your own words.

Were you really Upper Moon Three? Were you really a demon that had killed numerous people? Your entire demeanor seemed so… So human-like. Looking at you, all he saw was someone elated at finally meeting their soulmate, someone who wanted to create a good impression and yet was nervous about making a blunder, someone who feared that their soulmate would reject them. All of those were emotions Kyōjurō would attribute to a human, not a demon. He couldn’t even sense a hint of malice from you.

But the memory of the kanji engraved across your eyes flashed through his mind, proving to be a harsh reminder that he couldn’t afford to let his guard down around you. Though he intended to question you about your motives behind acting so docile, he couldn’t quite bring himself to do so when he saw your hopeful expression. Quietly clearing his throat, Kyōjurō gave you the brightest smile he could muster. “Come on now, you shouldn’t be apologizing during our first meeting! Besides, you have absolutely no reason to do so in the first place, especially since it was effect of our soulmate bond.”

Your face lit up at his positive response and in that moment, his heart melted. He watched as your gaze then drifted past him, trained on a large, noisy group of people passing by. Your eyes narrowed ever so slightly in annoyance and though he found that simple action to be strangely alluring, he couldn’t help but feel alarmed for their safety. You were a demon after all. Who knew what you were capable of? His hand tensed, ready to draw his katana if needed.

Much to his relief, however, you eventually looked back at him and suggested, “Shall we go to some place quieter, er…?” Trailing off, you tilted your head with a questioning gaze.

It was then that he realized he had yet to give you his name, and you yours. “Ah, I am Kyōjurō Rengoku, the Flame Hashira.” He gave a slight bow as he introduced himself, not missing the way your eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Since he knew what rank you were as an Upper Moon, he thought it fair to let you be aware of his position in the Demon Slayer Corps. And if this piece of information changed the way you viewed him – such as being a threat that needed to be eradicated immediately, soulmate bond be damned – then it would be better to get it out in the open now, rather than later.

After a moment, you simply mirrored his bow and said, “It’s such a delight to finally meet you, Kyōjurō. You can call me [Name]. As you might have noticed earlier, I'm Upper Moon Three.”

No surname, he noted. Then again, none of the demons he had encountered before seemed to have one either.

“Well then, [Name]. Shall we?” Kyōjurō extended his hand towards you and upon seeing your puzzled expression, added, “Since it’s very crowded around here, we should try to avoid losing each other.” If neither of you intended to kill each other at that moment, then it would only be proper to behave as a gentleman towards his soulmate.

“Of course, if you’re not comfortable with that, then…”

As he began to withdraw his hand, you hurriedly grabbed it. “No no! It’s a good idea.” Your skin felt cool against his own and though you seemed slightly flustered by his sudden suggestion, you also appeared quite thrilled.

Thus, the two of you set off through the heart of the city, remaining hand-in-hand while scouring for a decent place to rest and talk at. Eventually coming upon a teashop with few costumers – which you had pointed out – it was settled between you both to go there.

So there he was, sitting across the table from you with a cup of tea in his hands. You had gotten one for yourself too – much to Kyōjurō’s surprise, as he thought demons were unable to consume human food or drinks. However, whenever you brought your cup up to your mouth, you simply wetted your lips instead of actually drinking the tea. Was this your way of trying to be considerate and make him feel more at ease? Well, he was probably getting ahead of himself, but it certainly made for an unexpected and rather heartwarming thought.

Neither of you spoke for a while, simply taking in each other’s appearance. And then, with your gaze lingering on his uniform, you asked, “Were you in the middle of working?”

Kyōjurō shook his head, taking a sip of tea before replying, “I had actually just finished a mission before we met.”

“Ah, I see…” You pursed your lips, not sure of how else to respond. It must have felt odd for you, hearing a demon slayer – and a Hashira, no less – talk about killing your brethren through a calm conversation over tea. Shifting uncomfortably, you then brought up your next question. “Do you intend to fight me?”

He raised an eyebrow, finding your choice of words interesting. Do you intend to fight me, instead of, do you intend to kill me. Were you implying that you believed yourself to be much stronger than him, therefore there was absolutely no chance that he would be able to kill you? Well, he may have been a mere human, but he was by no means weak.

Although his answer should have been an instant ‘Of course!’, he instead shook his head once more, gripping his cup tightly as he answered, “…Not for now, no.”

Guilt had begun to grip his heart before he’d even finished his sentence. Just saying those four words were like a betrayal to everyone he knew: his mother, father, brother, master, fellow Hashiras, the rest of the Demon Slayer Corps, as well as all of its fallen members. And more importantly, by not killing you the very instant he'd met you, he had turned his back on his position as a Hashira and condemned innocent people to die by your hands in the future. Kyōjurō knew all of this and yet, somehow, for some reason unknown to himself, he couldn’t quite bring himself to kill you.

Clenching his jaw, he didn’t realize just how much strength he’d been putting into holding his cup until it shattered, hot tea spilling over his hands. You gasped, immediately reaching over the table and using your sleeves to wipe the liquid off his skin.

“They’re red.” With a concerned tone and a knitted brow, you carefully took his hands into your own and examined them. “It looks like you didn’t cut yourself, so that’s good.”

When a server hurried over to see what the noise had been about, you requested for some cool water and a clean cloth so that he could soothe his hands. Kyōjurō had tried to protest, saying that it wasn’t a big deal and he felt fine, but you stubbornly insisted.

“Humans are such fragile creatures. You have to take care of yourself or you won’t know what will happen.” You huffed, almost sounding like a nagging spouse. As Kyōjurō let out a small chuckle, you wetted the cloth the server had brought and began gently dabbing it over his reddened skin.

“Please have some faith in me, [Name]. I’m sturdier than you think.”

With a light laugh, you playfully teased, “Right, tell me that after the next time we’re able to have tea without you burning yourself.”

Kyōjurō exchanged an amused smile with you, the mood now more relaxed and lighthearted than before. The two of you continued to chat and though touching on various topics, there seemed to be an unspoken agreement between the both of you to refrain from bringing up any subjects on the conflict between humans and demons. Time passed quickly and before either of you knew it, dawn was rapidly approaching.

Glancing out the shop’s window, the grin you wore from his joke mere seconds ago began to fade.  “…I should probably get going now.”

Kyōjurō looked out as well and when he saw the sky’s dark beginning to gradually lighten, doubts which he’d managed to distract himself from through his conversations with you started to flood back in. If he wanted to, he could easily try to keep you here until the sun’s first rays were able to reach you. That’s what he should be doing as the Flame Hashira. And yet, something in him held him back. Was it guilt? Sudden fear of losing the soulmate he’d just met? Perplexment at how different you were from how he’d imagined you? He couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact emotions that prevented him from drawing his blade and all he could do was sit there, watching as you procured a small bag from within your sleeve.

The clinking of coins sounded from within the bag as you plopped it onto the table. His eyes widened when he realized what your intentions and he immediately began reaching for his own money.

“No, please let me-“

You raised your hand to stop him. “I insist. Consider this as my thanks towards you for giving me your time tonight.” The corner of your lips tugged back up into a playful smile at his reluctant expression and you added, “But if it makes you feel better, then you can repay me by meeting up with me again some time. I know your schedule must be busy with the kind of work you do, so when you have the time, come find me at that abandoned shrine near the western outskirts of the city.”

Not waiting for his response, you rose from your seat and bowed in farewell. “Until we meet again, please stay safe, Kyōjurō.”

Though slightly taken aback by your sudden rushed demeanor and having not been able to properly agree to your suggested rendezvous, he quickly got to his feet and bowed in return. “I pray that our next meeting will be as harmonious as this one.”

“…Indeed.” Was all you simply responded with before you hurried out of the shop, now in a race against the rapidly approaching sunrise.

Kyōjurō sat back down as he watched you go and remained there long after you’d left, all the while mulling over the soulmate bond he shared with you and the consequences that would inevitably result from it.

———

“Useless!”

A sake cup smashed against the wall next to Kyōjurō’s head, splattering its contents onto him. He didn’t even so much as flinch, however, simply letting out a soft sigh as he gazed on at his raging father in a steadfast manner.

Shinjurō gritted his teeth, his foul mood further spurred by the irritation he felt towards his eldest son’s calmness. He jabbed a finger towards Kyōjurō’s left eye, which no longer remained hidden away behind an eyepatch. “You come home, flaunting the fact that you’ve met your soulmate, and you’re telling me that you didn’t even kill them? You had an Upper Moon in front of you and you let them go.” Banging his fist on the table in front of him, he raised his voice into a shout. “You let an Upper Moon go! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Then, he suddenly quieted down as quickly as he had began yelling. Letting out a resentful scoff, he sneered at his son. “You’re always sprouting crap about doing your duties as a Hashira and protecting the innocent, but look at you now, going soft over a demon. Well? What rank are they? I bet they’ve killed more people than all of the demons you’ve killed combined.”

Kyōjurō pressed his lips together, knowing that his father was right. Even now, as he sat in front of his father to be berated, he still felt conflicted over his choice of letting you go.

Taking no notice of his silence, Shinjurō took a large swig from his sake bottle before continuing on his rant. “You know, when you were born, I worried that other slayers might call you a traitor. Looks like I worried for nothing, since you really are one now. But who cares, right? Go ahead, continue being a Hashira! Whether you bed a demon or not won’t matter, since every other person in the Corps are fakes, just like you. All their breathing techniques are just cheap imitations.” He grumbled the last part, downing more sake at his rising anger. “And while you’re out there, parading around with your hypocrisy, why don’t you go dragging the Rengoku name through dirt? Help yourself in trampling on the family’s honor too! Go against everything that Ruka-“  

Shinjurō abruptly stopped at the thought of his late wife, a shadow of grief crossing over his face.

“Father-“ Kyōjurō began, only to be interrupted.

“Get out!” The older male snapped as he turned his back to him, emptying his sake bottle in an attempt to numb the old wound left on his heart by his wife’s passing.

Knowing that there was no use trying to carry on their conversation, Kyōjurō rose to his feet.

“Please take care of yourself and try not to overdrink.”

Leaving his father with those words, he exited the room. As he slide the door closed behind himself, a loud shattering noise could be heard coming from within. No doubt it was Shinjurō smashing the sake bottle out of anger towards Kyōjurō’s parting words.

Kyōjurō heaved a deep sigh as he briefly leaned against the wall near the door, tiredly closing his eyes. He’d expected this reaction when he decided to tell his father about his soulmate, but there had been the smallest spark of hope in him that Shinjurō would be more accepting of the news. He couldn’t help but wonder how his mother would have reacted, had she still been with them. Would she be as disapproving as her husband? Or would she have been more accepting and understanding?

“Brother?”

Senjurō’s timid voice suddenly broke his chain of thoughts. Opening his eyes, Kyōjurō pushed himself off against the wall as he smiled brightly at his younger brother. “Senjurō! What brings you here? If you’re looking for Father, I believe he’s just left to buy some more sake. I might have put him in a foul mood, though.”

He let out an awkward laugh and Senjurō shook his head. “I, um… I heard what Father said to you…”

Kyōjurō’s smile faltered for a moment. Well, their father had been loud. It’d be hard not to hear him, even from all the way down the hall. “Ah, pay him no mind. You know how he can get when he drinks.”

“I…I know. But…” The youngest Rengoku fidgeted, wanting to say something but seeming uncertain about it. However, at his brother’s encouraging gaze, he worked up his courage and came out with it. “I-I trust you, Brother! No matter what Father says, if you think what you’re doing is right, then you should keep going with it! Even if Father disapproves, I’m always here to support you!”

Caught off guard by the unexpected consolation, Kyōjurō blinked. His gaze then softened and he reached out, ruffling his brother’s hair. “Thank you, Senjurō. It makes me happy to know that I can rely on you.”

Senjurō’s cheeks reddened and a small, but happy smile appeared on his face. They stayed like that for a minute, enjoying the brief bonding time between brothers. That was, until Senjurō abruptly leaned in and sniffed him. His nose crinkled slightly as he drew back, “You smell very strongly of sake, Brother.”

“Do I?” Brows furrowed, Kyōjurō sniffed the parts of his hair and clothes where sake had gotten splashed onto earlier. “It doesn’t seem very obvious to me.”

With a small laugh, Senjurō shook his head and took hold of his hand, beginning to drag him off to the washroom. “Come on, I’ll help you wash your hair. And while I do that, you can tell me all about your soulmate!”

Kyōjurō obediently followed his younger brother, his lips stretched out into a grin. He gave his hand a gentle squeeze, feeling at ease now knowing that no matter what choice he made towards his future with you, Senjurō would always be there for him.  

———

The following week, he met up with you at the abandoned shrine as planned and you had greeted him so happily, as if you hadn’t actually expected him to show up. Though Kyōjurō had arrived feeling uncharacteristically tense, not quite knowing what to anticipate from the rendezvous, the endearing grin you gave him put him a little more at ease.

That night ended up being rather similar to your previous meeting, with the two of you just chatting and getting to know each other further while enjoying a beautiful view of the stars twinkling above. It would have made for a rather romantic date, had Kyōjurō not remained on guard the entire time. He kept his wariness well hidden behind an easy-going smile, ready to defend himself the instant you decided to launch a surprise attack on him. It was true that at that moment, you lacked any animosity towards him. However, demons were fickle creatures who would kill at the simplest flick of a switch and he didn’t know when or if your attitude towards him would change.

But lo and behold, not once did there come a time where Kyōjurō needed to draw his blade and the two of you ended up parting with the promise of another meeting. And thus began the frequent trysts between you and he. With each night he got to spend with you, his guard began to gradually lower and his relaxed façade soon became genuine.

At some point, he stopped wearing his eyepatch whenever he met up with you. While he still wore it around others, like his fellow Hashiras to prevent them from asking questions, he figured there wouldn’t be any harm in going without it around you. It was much more comfortable, plus he could see better, and you seemed to enjoy seeing him without his eyepatch. There were times when he’d find you just randomly gazing into them and when he asked you about it, you told him how you loved his eyes and how comforting they seemed – like warm, gentle flames in which one could easily lose themselves in. He’d be lying if he said that he hadn’t been flattered by your words.

Being only a city away, the shrine was located at a convenient spot to get together. It was far away enough from the Rengoku estate that someone would have a difficult time following him and finding out about you, and it was close enough to get to – well, it'd be hard for an average person, but Kyōjurō was far from average. Not to mention, it had long been abandoned so people almost never came by. That being said, the two of you began going on dates in the city and the neighboring areas. Night festivals quickly became a favorite date spot for you guys and you'd often go whenever there was one. At some point, it became a mini competition between you to see whom could win the most prizes.

As an avid sumo fan, Kyōjurō would often invite you to watch matches with him. He took no offense when you declined, as everybody had their own preferences. But he’d always be delighted when you went to watch with him. After all, who doesn’t love sharing the things they enjoy with those close to them?

When he told you that he enjoyed eating sweet potatoes and salt grilled bream, he underestimated the effects it would end up having. Not too long after he'd shared that small bit of information with you, you had presented him with a bento you cooked yourself. Kyōjurō eagerly accepted it, touched that you had gone out of your way to make it for him. However, he neglected the fact that you were a demon whom had lived for centuries and hadn’t eaten a single morsel of human food during that time. So when he took a big and unsuspecting bite of your glazed sweet potatoes, he almost died.

Kyōjurō appreciated the fact that you had cooked for him, he really did. But your cooking was, to put it bluntly, absolutely horrible. Glazed potatoes were supposed to be both savory and sweet, not overwhelmingly bitter. Was that also a hint of sourness he tasted?? And the texture. Oh god, the texture. It was a mixture of mushy, hard, and even just pure goop at some parts. He had always thought he’d be able to love every sweet potato dish he came across, no matter how bad they may have tasted. This however… Could it even be classified as edible?

Well, no matter! You had been so proud when you presented it to him and he refused to let anything you gave him go to waste. Once he’d gotten over his initial shock, he finished his bite, gave you a big smile, and shouted his usual ‘Umai!’. Then, he turned his attention onto the included salt grilled bream. It looked good, just like the sweet potatoes had. Question was, would it taste as bad? Though hesitant, he took another bite, albeit much smaller than the previous one. Thank goodness he did, because it was somehow worse than the potatoes. Had you mixed up the salt with sugar? Because eating that one bite of fish was like eating a bowlful of sugar. The flesh was also crunchy and he was certain it wasn’t because of the bones. He was also quite sure you had forgotten to descale the skin before cooking. But just like with the sweet potatoes, he forced himself to gulp it down and attempted to finish the entire bento. It went relatively well, until it didn’t.

“Oh my god, Kyōjurō! You’re turning green!”

With a horrified gasp, you snatched the box away from him. Though he’d tried to take it back, insisting on finishing it, you refused to let go of it. Instead, you had declared that you would keep trying until you were able to create a dish that he would find delicious. And while Kyōjurō was moved that you were determined to put in so much effort for his sake, at the same time, he couldn’t help but dread the impending assault on his tastebuds.

For the next three months, every time he was able to meet up with you, you had a fresh batch of potatoes and fish waiting for him. Sometimes you’d change things up and cook other dishes, but they were always as bad. Kyōjurō still ate them all though. As much as you’d allow him to eat, that was. You didn’t allow yourself to be fooled by his shouts of ‘Umai!’ and would always stare intently at him as he ate. If his eyebrow so much as twitched, he would find his meal gone from his hands in an instant. And finally, the day came when the contents of his bento actually tasted like real food. It was, at best, just enough to be considered as decent, but to Kyōjurō, it was the best thing he’d eaten. He may or may not have shed a happy tear or two, which may not have been a very good idea, as upon seeing that, you were once more filled with determination and had declared that you'd make it your goal to master cooking all of his favorite foods.

———

One night, out of curiosity, Kyōjurō had asked you what your Blood Demon Art was. He hadn’t actually expected you to tell him though. After all, even if the two of you had grown close, you probably wouldn’t want to reveal what your fighting techniques to someone who was technically your enemy. But to his surprise, you’d happily answered and even went as far as to actually show him, withdrawing a pair of mai-ougi* from inside your sleeves. You explained that while the fans themselves were weapons – with the edges being as sharp as a blade – its true power lay in what was painted on them. Each fan had a different painting on them and whenever someone looked at them, they would be hit with different effects depending on which they looked at. To demonstrate, you opened up one and allowed him to take a look.

At first, all Kyōjurō saw was a painting of a woman dancing with a mai-ougi in hand, the background a sky of gold with faint cloud patterns. It was a beautiful painting, but nothing special particularly stood out to him. That’s when it happened; the moment he locked eyes with the woman, his surroundings instantly changed and he found himself on a stage with a golden backdrop, four women with appearances identical to that of the woman in the painting lunging at him from every side. The edge of their fans glinted dangerously and just as he drew his weapon to fend them off, he suddenly found himself back in reality with you, the previously open mai-ougi now closed. You grinned at him as he tried to calm his pounding heart, clearly proud of your Blood Demon Art.

“They’re clearly much better than those metal slabs that Dōma lugs around.” You had proudly proclaimed, although it was more to yourself than to Kyōjurō.

He had no idea who you were talking about but decided not to probe into it when he noticed the extremely fierce look in your eyes. Instead, he asked about the effects of the other fan. Happy to show him your powers once more, you spread open the second fan and revealed a painting of a daimyō* sat atop a pitch-black horse against a blood red background, tessen* in one hand. When Kyōjurō’s gaze met with the one in the painting, rather than finding himself in a different environment, he was suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of fear so great that it immobilized him. Now, Kyōjurō was not a man who would typically freeze from fear. And yet, it took a great deal of willpower to even just move his eyes enough to tear them off the painting and free himself of its effects.

If there was one thing he had to say about your Blood Demon Art, it was that it was as every bit dangerous and powerful as he’d imagined, if not more. Though the painting had influenced him for no more than a few seconds, to him it’d felt like much, much longer. Had he been in a real battle with you, he most likely would have died the moment he froze up. Or who knows? Maybe his survival instincts would have kicked in and override the mai-ougi’s powers. Well, battle or not, it was good to know what exactly you were capable of.

Once Kyōjurō had regained his composure, you suggested that the two of you have a sparring match –with you fighting with your fans closed, of course. He immediately accepted, not wanting to waste the opportunity of being able to fight against an Upper Moon without it being a life-or-death situation. In the end, he lost the spar as expected. However, he found his loss to be an extremely fruitful one, as he’d been able to notice the weak points in his own fighting style much quicker than he normally would have by sparring with his fellow Hashiras.

Needless to say, it quickly became a common thing for the two of you to have random sparring sessions. Sometimes you’d be on the offensive with him on the defensive, and vice versa. Either way, Kyōjurō would always be able to learn a thing or two from each spar and you would also give him advice from time to time. Although you hardly gained anything from doing this – maybe except for familiarizing yourself with the Flame Breathing style – you were always more than happy to spar with him, glad that you could help him get even stronger.

———

Kyōjurō truly enjoyed spending time with you, cherishing every moment he could. Yet, no matter how many happy nights he shared with you, he couldn’t ignore the guilt that had rooted itself so deeply into his heart. Guilt that he felt towards neglecting part of his duties and at the thoughts of how many people fell prey to you the longer he left you alive. It became someone of a frequent occurrence for him to remain awake for hours during the times he was supposed to sleep, plagued with all sorts of gut-wrenching emotions. But no matter how much the guilt continued to pile up, he couldn’t bring himself to kill you. He finally understood now, what it truly meant to have a soulmate.

A soulmate wasn’t someone whom the universe had randomly picked out for him and whom he was obligated to love. A soulmate was someone who complemented him better than anyone else out there, who understood him and accepted him for everything he was, who stood by and supported him, and so much more. His better half, if you will. The universe was only there to help make identifying his soulmate easier; it was up to him whether he chose to love you or not. And Kyōjurō did. He loved you.

He didn’t know exactly when he had begun to fall in love, but by the time he realized it, he was in too deep to turn back.

He could still remember how clear the sky had been, each star twinkling like jewels and the full moon’s light bathing everything in a soft silvery glow. The two of you were on the shrine’s engawa to admire the view, his head resting in your lap and your fingers running through his hair. A comfortable silence filled the air between both of you with the occasional chirping of crickets being heard from off in the distance.

Basking in the peacefulness of everything, he closed his eyes in bliss. You continued to run your fingers through his hair for a short while, stopping when you quietly spoke, “…Kyōjurō?”

He hummed softly in response.

“I love you.”

Kyojruo’s eyes snapped open and when he looked up at you, he found you gazing down at him with a tender expression. Well, that was certainly one very sudden confession. Though the two of you had been intimate with each other for a while now – such as being physically affectionate, going on dates, and even buying gifts for each other that only couples would normally exchange – neither of you had ever vocalized your feelings towards each other. Even then, while he’d acknowledged to himself that he liked you, he never quite dwelled on the thought of whether he loved you. After all, it would unacceptable if he, a slayer of demons, were to fall in love with a demon, wouldn’t it?

And yet, after hearing your words, he knew without needing to think about it or question himself.

Sitting up, he brought a hand up to your cheek and gently caressed it, leaning in until your lips were almost touching. He paused, wanting to give you time to push him away in case you didn’t want this. All you did, however, was lean in into his touch as your eyes fluttered closed with anticipation. That’s when Kyōjurō closed the remaining space between the two of you, softly pressing his lips against yours. Your lips were cold against his, just like the rest of your body. But as you kissed him back, all he felt was a gentle, yet passionate warmth. In that moment, he let all his doubts and concerns melt away, instead allowing himself to be overtaken by his feelings for you and conveying those emotions through the kiss.

Eventually pulling away, he rested his forehead against yours and gazed into your eyes with adoration as he softly murmured, “And I love you, [Name].”

———

*Mai-ougi are folding fans used in traditional Japanese dances *Daimyō were feudal lords who used to serve under the shogun *Tessen are also known as Japanese war fans and have varying looks and purposes

[destiny-in-the-universe]

Intern! Randy: RC9GN AU

So, I've decided to retouch on the fic and figure why not talk about it a little!

For those who are aware of the older posts, intern! Randy is a canon divergent storyline (set sometime in between the two seasons-) where it follows Viceroy's - I mean McFist, duh, latest plan to capture the Ninja. While I like to think they know the Ninja's a student, they're still under the impression it's an 800-year-old immortal and not literally a teenager for ahems reasons. Viceroy suggests the best way to uncover the Ninja's identity is by hosting an internship program for Norrisville High students.

Somehow, through silly cartoonish ways, Randy lands the interview though I like to think he still has skills Viceroy would be interested in (such as math). Things are going well at first surprisingly, and of course no one is suspecting a thing but then McFist - who isn't entirely as dumb as a bag of rocks - starts putting two and two together, realizing Randy sounds and acts somewhat like the Ninja. Though given how Viceroy has seen Randy's clumsiness, he easily dismisses it- thinking it's one of McFist's insane assumptions.

At some point because McFist is hardly subtle, Randy discovers the true purpose of the internship program - only he can't exactly quit without arising suspicion and decides he might as well use being an intern to his advantage. Deciding to keep each other on their toes, between McFist still convinced Randy could be the Ninja and Randy trying to stop their plans, things are only a mess waiting to happen.

Now on to my favorite part!

Due to the nature of this AU, I like to think that the Sorcerer isn't so involved just to further push the adoptive father-son narrative I want between Viceroy and Randy. This is going to be a fairly lighthearted and comedic storyline, but I felt like covering other stuff that might be included too!

Thoughts for Intern! Randy

One thing I thought of was the idea that Randy lives at the McFist manor-? Now, I will say Viceroy lives there too since that seems vaguely implied in canon- (and because I said so, duh). Instead of Randy having to commute so much, at least it saves him time in getting to McFist Industries.

Randy happens to be good at coding since it makes sense to me- like, the hyperfixation of video games aside, I just thought it would be neat but guess what: I, in fact, do not know coding so bear with me here. On the account of I wanted to, I also felt it would be a great way for Viceroy and him to bond- also that if Viceroy is somehow involved in the production of video games (sort of, if you count "Weinerman Up" as an example of this!), then Randy's going to flock to him more than McFist.

I do think there's the potential that Bash and Randy get a little closer, but they're not fully friends - they just learn to tolerate each other a little better.

Due to some potentially wacky shenanigans, I do like to think Viceroy eventually catches on there's something strange going on with Randy- if the odd timing's between his disappearances and the Ninja's sudden arrival isn't already a strange coincidence. (coughs except every adult in the show is stupid coughs)

But moving on!

I am honestly just looking forward to the other general shenanigans that may happen in this because- there's a lot that has to be considered if, well, everyone's convinced the Ninja is literally 800 years old. Like are they just blind?? (or is it some ancient magic coming into play whenever the mantle is handed down to the next freshman because Finja was absolutely not a freshman- when did the switch happen to freshmen being the ones to take on the title? I'll talk about this later, as per usual)

Anyway-

There's probably going to be some angst coming into play, but nothing too major because the purpose of this AU is honestly pretty light in comparison to say, The Kitsune and the Ninja or ITNV. Though I want to keep things interesting- hence why other stuff will be coming into play eventually.

Now unfortunately, I am considered scrapping the original WIP and making it slightly more interesting because my latest introductions to the fanfics have felt somewhat boring in comparison to what I could write. Though without much further ado, I hope you come to enjoy this!

I don't have the slightest clue when the fanfic will be complete, but hopefully this will be soon!

[cannibalisticskittles]

He’d had her pegged as an easy mark from the beginning, so quick to forgive a knife at the neck as she was. Quick to offer that neck for a bite, too, and to defend his continued presence to the rest of the group. 

True to form, it had only taken the suggestion of an evening to themselves and she was hooked – all wide eyes and hitched breaths, reduced to stumbling over her words as her face slowly but steadily flushed from its usual purple to a deep plum. Even through today, she’s had trouble looking him in the eye, flushing faintly each time he’s entered her line of sight.

But it still comes as a surprise when, the very moment that the first of the tent stakes breaks ground in camp, Amity stands up and declares, “I’ll scout the perimeter. And Astarion will go too.”

Eager.

He’s almost impressed – he didn’t think she had it in her to be quite so bold. A little annoyed, too, if he's honest. He isn’t as prepared as he'd like to be; so much for setting a scene. But he'll manage. Let it not be said that he isn't resourceful.

And she's already started scurrying to the treeline around camp, heedless of the eyes on her back, so – why not?

Astarion – far more aware of the presence of prying eyes, but uncaring – follows.

It takes some effort to catch up with her, though it isn’t exactly difficult; as far as she’s gotten, she is anything but subtle, and the sound of her movement is a beacon leading him straight to her. There won’t be a twig left unsnapped by the time she's done here.

She’s out of breath when he finally matches stride with her. Amity doesn’t even fully turn to look at him, just glances askance and returns to forging boldly – and loudly – ahead.

Where exactly does she intend to go? There’s nothing but dense trees in this direction for – miles, most likely. He hadn’t had the opportunity to find a nice, secluded spot like he had intended, but as far as he’s aware, she never had the opportunity to slip away from the group to find one, either. Unless she’s been sneaking away in the middle of the night, only to return before dawn and make a show of sleeping in later than any of them – but no, those snores of her always seem genuine. And consistent. 

They’re unlikely to just stumble upon a clearing, blundering through the underbrush as they are. All this accomplishes is taking them further and further from the relative safety of the camp. With this in mind, when she next reaches up to push aside a low-hanging tree branch, Astarion catches her wrist gently before she can duck underneath.

She looks back. Her eyes flick to his, briefly, and then away again. 

“Now, Amity, dear, don’t you think that’s far enough?”

“Is it?” She peers around, as though there’s anything to see but identical trees in every direction, then lets go of the branch. “You’re probably right. It’s been a while since I've done this. And I suppose distance is sort of arbitrary at a certain point anyway; covering enough ground is at odds with covering a manageable amount of ground, and it can be difficult to know how far is too far as opposed to not far enough, and–”

He can feel another outpouring of words beginning. She’ll go on at length like this for far too long, he knows. If he lets her. 

So he won’t. Luckily for him, he has recently discovered a way to still her speech. Still holding her wrist, he strokes a thumb over the delicate skin there, feeling the way her pulse flutters in response.

Whatever words she meant to say die unsaid. “...well. Um. As long as we stay alert, I’m sure it’s fine. Even a small perimeter is useful, once it’s been secured.”

“Hmm.” It’s almost a hum; a tuneless little noise. Is that really what’s on her mind now? Or – is she just putting on a polite front? Difficult to tell when she refuses to pull her eyes away from the greenery surrounding them. “I can’t make any promises about that, darling.” She angles her head, and he answers her unspoken question with a soft chuckle. “We’re finally alone, after all, and I would much rather focus on you.”

Immediately, a deep flush creeps up her cheeks. How easy it is to elicit a reaction from her. 

“Oh,” she says, “I–” Though she struggles for a moment to put voice to that particular thought, she seems unable to. “Oh,” she simply says again. “Well. I… see.”

There’s a slight pull against his hold as she leans back, and he releases his grasp on her wrist obligingly. She immediately sweeps that hand through her dark hair, pushing it away from her eyes – though she still does not meet his gaze directly. In fact, she locks her eyes somewhere off to the side. The motion reveals the remains of her gift from the other night – puncture marks, faded from that initial raw red to a fainter pink around the edges, though they do look just a touch raw even now.

Astarion takes a half-step closer. Amity tenses, her breath stuttering, but she does not move away – and, for the first time tonight, she looks at him and nowhere else. Her eyes are golden and wide – at first. Then her lids flutter as if in anticipation of his touch as he moves closer again, a mere hairsbreadth separating them.

“I think,” he murmurs, raising a hand to trace the column of her throat, feather-light, as she shivers, “you would prefer that, too. Wouldn’t you?”

“I…”

His fingers come to rest over the marks. He could freshen those up for her. Astarion knows she’s aching for that, if the way she squirmed beneath him that night is any indication – and of course it is. 

“I think,” he says softly, “you would. I think you want to be the center of attention tonight. You deserve it, after all. I think you want to be seen. To be known. To be tasted.”

She swallows hard. “I… want…” He angles his head ever so slightly closer, and for a moment, her eyes slide shut. “I want–” 

And then she shakes her head and seems to find the will to open those heavy eyelids again, though the act appears to take a great deal of effort on her part.

“–to… talk to you, actually. About that. I want – to clear things up.”  Amity straightens and ever-so-gingerly pushes his hand away, then quickly clutches her hand close to her chest. She draws in a deep, bracing breath. “Astarion, you don’t have to do this. You don’t owe me.”

…what? “Is that what you’re worried about?” He tilts his head as he regards her carefully. 

She frowns, then nods. “Before, you said… you said you wanted to repay me.”

“Darling, that was more of an excuse than anything. Think nothing of it.”

“I – I have to think of it,” she protests. “I don’t want you to feel like you owe me. And I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do out of a sense of… obligation towards me.”

Astarion tsks his tongue. “Obligation? Perish the thought. No, darling, I’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this for far too long. If it makes you feel better, then fine, don’t think of this as repayment, think of it as… an indulgence.”

“An indulgence?” She repeats, looking fully befuddled. 

“In you, my dear. In each other.” Gods above, she cannot truly be this naive. 

“No, I – I gather that, yes,” she says. She pinches the bridge of her nose briefly before continuing. “What I mean to say is – why?”

“Why does anyone do this sort of thing?” he asks breezily. “For fun. Isn’t that what you want?”

He hadn’t thought it was possible for her to flush any darker, but she does now. “That’s – besides the point, and also, not what I meant. Why do you want… me?”

Now, what kind of a question is that? “Can’t you imagine why?”

She shakes her head firmly. “I cannot.”

Of course she can’t. He huffs, but is quick to paste a charming smile on his face once more.

“Well,” he says, “where to begin? After all, you're a vision. You really are something to behold.”

His mind kicks into overdrive. Now, what is she most likely to be receptive to? Bearing, general demeanor; something about finding that irritatingly persistent streak of charitability irresistible? Or… perhaps it’s better to single out something present from the very beginning. People do like feeling special after all, and to be seen immediately taps into that sense quite nicely. So, then, what? Complexion, eyes, hair – well, hair might be a difficult one; it looks like someone has haphazardly taken a knife to those curls. Assuming she recognizes that fact, she’s likely to see through that one. But the rest should be easy enough to inspire some honeyed words. 

Eyes are always a safe bet. The window to the soul, and all that. 

“…your lovely eyes, for one,” he says. “Such beauty could not be overlooked.” 

“My… eyes,” she repeats flatly.

He pivots smoothly to the next point. “And how could I ignore the temptation of that finely-crafted body of yours?”

“Hmm,” is all she says. 

It’s difficult to parse the expression on her face; her brow is slightly knit, as it was before, and her eyes, pupilless as they are, reveal nothing. But… it’s a far cry from the enraptured, doe-eyed look she’d given him the other night, so perhaps a change of tactics is required; a move away from specificity.

“But really, there’s just something about you – it’s difficult to put into words, but I knew from that first moment that you would ruin me.” The flush returns; her brow unknits. Good. He’s on the right track at last. “It should come as no surprise; I’m sure I’m not the first to be drawn in by your particular charms.” Though perhaps they, too, were driven off by the intensity of her questions, if she demands this level of reassurance from all her would-be lovers.

“The first–” And she frowns deeply. “…Astarion, what are you playing at here?”

He blinks. “What?” That’s… far from a warm reception. 

“Where is this coming from? The – want? And the, the flowery words?”

His pulse cools. “Coming from? Whatever do you mean? All I intend is to share a night of depraved carnal lust with you, is that so hard to believe?”

But the hard line of her brow does not soften. “Yes.”

A flicker of frustration. Why must she be so – obstinate? It’s not as though she’s been particularly discerning about the nonsense she accepts from anyone else throughout their travels. Why does she have to choose now to grow a sense of doubt?

“If words alone aren’t enough to prove my desire,” he says, as slowly and patiently as he can manage, “why don’t you allow me to show you?” 

“I – n-no. No, I don’t want that. And I – I – I don’t think you really want that either.” In an instance, all that hesitation turns to fury, as she turns now-accusatory eyes on him. “So what do you want? And don’t say it’s me.”

“What am I meant to say, then?” he snaps. And where on earth is this hostility coming from? “I don’t know what more I can say to convince you–”

“Oh, so you didn’t have more pretty words prepared?” Amity snorts. “What, weren’t you going to compliment my horns next? My fangs?” Her voice takes on a singsong, mocking tone he’s never heard her use before. She reaches for her tail, and lets the length of it slip through her fingers. “My tail? Come off it, Astarion, what do you really want?”

“You–” The word comes out in a hiss he hadn’t intended, but it’s too late to pull that back now – particularly when he sees how her lip curls into a smirk at the sound. “–are infuriating.”

She lets out a short, sharp laugh. “That feels honest, at least. Go on, then; tell me how you truly feel.”

“I think I’ve been quite clear about that already,” he snaps. “And yet here you are, demanding still more from me. What will it take to satisfy you? How much praise do you demand?”

“To satisfy–” She chokes on the words.

“Yes, dear, something I gather you have trouble with, hmm?”

“You–” She gapes at him. “You’ve done nothing but spout trite lines! What am I meant to think of that?”

“And you were hoping for something else then, is that it?” Irritation flares hotly in the pit of his stomach. 

“That’s not what I meant.”

“And what did you mean, exactly? What more would you ask of me?”

“I don’t know, something other than – than–” She throws out her hands. “–than whatever in the hells this flattery is. Astarion, you can’t really expect me to believe that you knew from that first moment I would ruin you? That you really were lost in my eyes when you were sizing up the angle you needed to press your knife to my throat? That’s absurd. So – some honesty would be nice!”

He laughs, a sharp, bitter sound. “You want to talk about honesty? How about this for a start: what exactly were you expecting to happen, hmm?” Astarion waves a hand, gesturing broadly around them. “That we would come out here and… talk?” The word comes out sickly, stickily sweet. “Really?”

Her mouth opens, but no sound emerges. She blinks once, twice, a third time. When she finally speaks, her voice is reproachful. “…yes?”

This time, his laugh is drawn out – and markedly harsher. “And that merited coming all this way? Leaving the camp behind? Wandering into the woods to be alone with me, all so you could – divest me of the idea that I owed you?” He adopts a slight lilt for this last phrase, a tribute to her own way of speaking. She does not seem to appreciate the gesture, if the way her eyes narrow is any indication. “And then everything would be right as rain, and we’d… walk happily back to camp together? 

This time, her answer is a touch less reproachful and much more hesitant. “…yes.”

“No, no, no.” He points an accusatory finger at her. Amity’s gaze flickers to his hand as her mouth twists into a scowl. “You shook and shivered like a leaf in my arms and now here you are, acting as though you’re so above it all.” There’s a slight twinge of satisfaction in the way his words make her lips twist. “So unmoved by my trite lines. And yet…”

Astarion begins to lean closer. As before, she tenses but does not move away – but he can see her breath quicken, and can almost hear how her pulse stutters in response. 

The more he prods at this, the more she shrinks back. She has a certain naivité about her that suggests inexperience, so he… ventures a guess. 

“...and yet you’re here. Seems to me you weren’t just hoping to talk, were you? No, you wanted something more – you’re practically aching for it. But you're frightened.”

The baring of teeth this remark earns feels like it’s hit its mark, and spurs him on to continue. 

“You were looking for a reason to back out all this time, weren’t you? And now you blame me because it isn’t whatever grand romance you’d built up in your head and you can’t bear to admit that. How’s that for honesty?”

“I – you can't be serious,” she blanches. 

“Oh, but I very much am.”

“Astarion, that’s–” She frowns, but something softens in her expression as she shakes her head. “That is not what’s happening here.” Her words are gently delivered – unbearably, patronizingly comforting.

It's awful.

“Isn’t it?” Astarion tilts his head, watching her closely. “Maybe you’re right.” Something like relief crosses her face at his words. “Perhaps… you don’t even know what you’re after. Is that it, then?” The relief in her expression disappears. Good. “Has anyone ever measured up to your lofty expectations? Or have you been too uptight to let them get close? Too… needy for your would-be lovers?”

Her first attempt at a response only elicits a strangled, reedy squawk. “You really think that I – that I–”

The fact that she can’t even bring herself to finish that thought convinces him that yes, he’s got her figured out.

“Oh, yes, I very much do think ‘that.’” He pulls back and pretends to examine his nails. Though – ugh, there is some dried viscera there. “If you’d told me earlier, dear, I wouldn’t have bothered. I don’t often make a habit of defrosting frigid little ice queens; I do have better things to do with my time, you know.”

“You are such a–” She bites back whatever she was going to say next in lieu of a scowl, but he can’t help but to goad her on.

“Such a…?” he prompts, a hand cupped around one ear to better hear her answer.

“Bastard!” She bites out.

“Why must you be so – so–” She hisses out a breath through her teeth, drawing herself up to her full height – though this still isn’t nearly enough to raise her past his eye level. “Vexing!” And then she huffs, turns on her heel, and abruptly stomps off deeper into the woods.

He doesn’t bother to quiet his laugh at this rather uncharacteristic display of vulgarity from her.

“I was just trying to help, and you – you –” She hisses out a breath through her teeth, drawing herself up to her full height – though this still isn’t nearly enough to raise her past his eye level – and then she huffs, turns on her heel, and abruptly stomps off deeper into the woods.

He calls out after her as she goes, falsely cheery. “Ta-ta, darling; maybe you’ll find someone more to your liking out there!” He doesn't let his smile drop until he is sure she is well out of sight.

So much for that plan.

[br-uwu-cewayne]

A Moment’s Peace

Ficlet for this art:

"Don't turn around."

 It's not the first time he's heard it said this way, the low murmur rapsy and guttural even without the distortion of the cowl's modulator. Jim barely jumps any more, having grown accustomed to that familiar warm presence slipping up behind him seemingly out of nowhere, any time, any place. After all, crime hardly rests in this town just because the sun's come up, and the suit isn’t exactly inconspicuous outside of Batman's usual "business hours."

So, they've got a system.

On a bench in a dim courthouse hall during a midday trial's recess, in line for the corner coffee shop with the morning sun filtering past the cloud cover, at events like this particular evening's gala - lit up shining and bright against the dark city skyline with the who's who of Gotham (and all the reporters that ensue) milling just a few feet away - whenever or wherever his partner can't approach him openly... he’ll feel the air shift just so slightly behind him, a touch of warmth suddenly present at his back, and he’ll know.

Batman will offer a quiet “don't look” in lieu of a greeting, mask off and voice - his real voice - pitched low and dark. Jim hardly needs to be told, but he nods nearly imperceptibly anyway in acknowledgement. And both of them politely pretend they don't notice just how naked and vulnerable the whole situation feels right out there in the sharp light of day - Batman's face bare, Jim just a sidelong glance away from the man's most dangerous secret...

Tonight's no different. Or, should be no different.

But where Gordon was expecting the usual subtle press of a folder into his hand - a surreptitious pass along of "borrowed" files or evidence or whatever new info Batman uncovered that couldn't wait until the next shift - he instead feel the press of a body, lined up warm long his back, hands snaking around his hips and halting as though the arms attached were unsure if they were allowed to wrap the rest of the way around.

He stutters on the drag of his cigarette.

"Just..." Batman's natural voice wavers from somewhere between his shoulder blades. Less raspy, more... tired. "Just give me a moment?"

Jim can feel an odd lump in his throat as he tries to answer, straining to pushout a single consonant as the ashes fall from between his fingers. There's a strange beat of silence between them, tense and uncomfortable in a way it hasn't been for years. He's taking too long to answer. He knows he is. He's taking too long and he's holding his body too tight and his back is too stiff and Batman is going to notice all of those things and look he's already starting to let go and back up just say something, damnit- he feels warm fingers loosening their grip and sliding back, catching awkwardly for a moment at his belt loops as Batman fumbles.

Batman. Fumbles. He never thought he'd see the day.

"Shit, I... I'm sorry, J-... Commissioner, I didn't-"

Another second. One final tense stretch of silence. Then that warmth is slowly, haltingly. molding itself against his back again. Hands hovering hesitantly at his sides. Fingertips barely resting against the leather of his belt. Hot breath huffing out against the back of his dress shirt, a little... lower, than he expected, honestly. Not for the first time, he wonders just how much of Batman’s looming height is just... boot.

 "What, they got you working security for this shit-show?" Oh thank fuck. Words. Words are happening again. From his throat. Words are making their way out.  A little hoarse, a little forced maybe, still choking up a bit at the back of his tongue, but they're happening. He drops his weight back, bumping into the quickly receding prescence in what he hopes comes off as a casual, playful way. Unaffected. Inviting. Even if a little late. "Thought that was a little below our pay grade."

"Something like that," the dark chuckle that follows is more familiar ground, and Jim finds himself mirroring the familiar wry grin that must be twitching across Batman's lips now. "I have... a suspicion or two about a few attendees. Best way to confirm-"

"-is to work the room," Jim's grin grows dour as he finishes the sentence with a sigh. "God I hate that part of the job." An amused huff into the collar of his dress shirt has Jim barely restraining a childish urge to squirm away, the hot air ticking the back of neck.

"You seem to be doing alright," returns the usual rasp, Batman clearly returning to his own sure footing just as Jim is. "Mayor Garcia seems pleased enough with the impression you're making."

"Yeah yeah, his own personal horse and pony show," Jim grumbles, his near forgotten cigarette finding his lips again for another pull. He's a little surprised to find his hand steady. To feel so casual about this. About letting Batman take his weight as they lean against the balcony. Complaining about his job while the man hums against his shoulder. The scene is practically domestic, only the clinking of crystal glasses amidst muffled voices behind them and the cold wind cutting in from in front keeps Jim anchored to reality.

He thinks that should bother him more than it actually does.

Right now, though, all that's bothering him is the fact he foolishly left his dress jacket inside. He leans further into Batman as the next sharp breeze cuts through. Observant as always, the other man lifts his hands from Jim's hips to slide properly around his midsection, warm arms now bracketing him and chasing away most of the chill. The color of the jacket sleeves is lost to the night but the fabric is finely woven, smooth and soft to the touch. Jim's free hand finds its way up one forearm, grasping and grounding their odd little embrace.

"You can always head home early, Jim." Batman's voice is amused now more than anything else, chiding. "You've already managed to put in more of an appearance than you usually do. I’m sure you’ve fulfilled your ‘civic obligation to the public’ by now."

 "Yeah, well..." Gordon snorts dryly, squeezing Batman's arm. The sensation of thin fabric and pliant, warm muscle feels uniquely strange and vulnerable compared to the usual cold, textured armor he'd feel under his fingers whenever they'd have to scrabble along scaffolding or warehouse crates or wherever else cases took them that Jim wasn't... quite as graceful on his feet as his partner, needing a hand up every so often. It dawns on him that they don’t really touch each other much, otherwise. Only when one of them is hurt, or struggling. Suddenly, Jim feels like thats... quite a shame. "S'not really so bad, at the moment. Just. Needed a break from all the... you know." He gestures vaguely over their shoulders with the cigarette, careful of the glowing cherry.

"Yes, quite." It tickles a sensitive spot between his shoulders as Batman hums it out. Jim recalls the strange tone of his partner's voice a few minutes ago, when the man first stepped up behind him. 'Working the room,' he'd said. Yeah, a Wayne Gala is a tough room to handle on the best of days, let alone fresh off a nasty case with more than it's fair share of scuffles. Jim wonders if Batman had managed to even get any sleep since they wrapped it up this morning. The chattering of voices and glad-handing and well-wishing and toasts and even the high soaring strings of the orchestra...

Jim saw the blows Batman took last night. When the man says he's fine, Jim knows to leave him be, but surely the pary can't be helping the hell of a headache he's gotta be nursing. And that's just the noise. This kind of crowd, a man has to constantly be on guard around.

Gordon can speak from experience, dealing with Gotham's elite is like dealing with sharks circling a lonely boat out on the ocean... and the media presence that follows just stirs up all the chum in the water. Even though most have learned that the city's new commissioner can't be charmed or bought into their pockets, all the smiling and small talk and constant care to watch his words and not leave any fumbled openings for eager, bloodthirsty socialites - or worse, journalists - to get their claws into and rip apart in favor of the new juicy new story, maybe knock him down far enough they get a new, more pliable commissioner... it's exhausting.

He wonders, briefly, how Batman's attending the party. Snuck in as one of journalists perhaps, where prying questions and digging for info wouldn't seem so out of place? Or perhaps, serving drinks, where loose lips forget about keeping secrets in favor of impressing bartenders with dark grins and broad chests and thick arms... the night seems to be growing warmer, a palpable heat rising to Jim's cheeks. He takes another drag off his quickly shrinking cigarette. Still, though...

"Could be worse." He muses, syllables muffled and slurring around the filter between his lips.

"Mnn..." It comes out as less of a sigh against his shoulder, and more of a yawn muffled by it. Jim has to bite back a laugh at the thought of ever using the term sleepy to describe The Batman, but... if the shoe fits. "Alright, then. Short of another hostage situation-" he does have to let out a chuckle at that one. It's become an all too common occurrence at these events, after all. Best not to tempt fate. "-what exactly do you have in mind that could be worse."

 "Well," Jim muses, stubbing his cigarette out on the marble banister and greedily shoving his empty, chilly hand up his partner's other warm sleeve, ignoring the hiss of protest as his cold fingers encircle Batman's wrist. The pad of his middle finger comes to rest against what must be a rather nice watch, feeling a cool crystal face and the reassuring tik-tik-tik of a strong second hand. "-as a guest, you've got a little leeway. Take a smoke break here, grab a drink refill there, just... drag out the little moments in between."

He thinks about their host for the evening - surrounded by people all night, pulled out on the floor for dances, pulled back off it for handshakes and claps on the back, out onto it again for announcements and awards, all while checkbooks flutter at him begging for signatures the whole way in between... "At least you're not Bruce Wayne. Poor bastard probably can't even get away to take a piss."

He's expecting another customary dark, low chuckle to rumble down his spine.

The sudden sharp bark of high, clear laughter startles him so thoroughly he'd have tumbled right over that balcony if it weren't for Batman holding him tight. The man practically curls in on himself, shaking against Jim's back as he struggles to regain some self control, the occasional cut-off chortle or strained snort still slipping past the thin fabric of Jim’s dress shirt doing absolutely nothing to muffle the sound.

"W-... was it something I said?"

[possiblylando]

Chainsaw Man 142 'Early' Analysis

This chapter is actually really interesting. There's a lot of minor choices in dialog that have been making me re-evaluate denji's character.

As much as I'm waiting on Mifune's horrible gruesome death. She continues to be an interesting character. She seems to share a similar level of awareness to Yoshida. Which I guess makes sense given how close they are work wise. It's really odd to have a character in CSM who's so vocal about everything. I've become used to getting jack shit outside of anything work related.

I'm going to skip over most of the Mifune pedophilia moments for the time being.

This whole conversation has begun to make me reconsider what I was previously thinking about Denji. What if the true reason he only saves women and animals is because that way he can justify not being able to save everyone. Denji cares, Alot. He couldn't save Aki. Up until the timeskip between Part 1 and 2, Denji was never really put in a situation where he had to save a lot of people. Off the top of my head the only chances he's really had were the Bat Devil, In which he chose to throw the guy and his car at the devil. Then pretty much everything else is just mass carnage or very personal stakes. So idk, Could be true, Could be false. We'll see.

Barem shows up at exactly the right time to stop Denji from vocalizing, something. It could've been an epiphany about his own identity, Or just being nice to Mifune. Hard to tell.

We all know what's about to happen, The choice for this to take place at an amusement park with a lot of panel focus going to the people and children who are around. This is going to be the point of no return for these guys. If they really go through with this, There won't be a way for them to redeem themselves. This is more than likely going to be the point in which Miri breaks off from the church. You can tell exactly how each of them feels about this situation based on their stance. It's really good silent characterization. Whip seems to be the only one who really WANTS to do this. Her stance is wide and confident. Crossed arms to try and seem tougher. Note the fact she's wearing goggles. Miri is stiff and tense, He looks visibly uncomfortable. We know he's only going along with this because of peer pressure. He's staring straight forward, Seemingly trying to ignore everything else in front of himself. It's subtle but its further evidence that he's not going to go along with this. Spear is very relaxed. He's holding something. I'm not 100% sure what it is, But based on his open mouth and the shape of it, It could be a cigarette. We don't get a very good look at his legs but he seems to be standing regularly. His expression is hard to read. It could be discontent and questioning, As he appears to be looking at the children in front of himself. It could also be a look of pure apathy and neutrality. He could either be questioning what they're about to do, Or he could not give less of a shit about it and is just doing it because. I feel like what we're going to be seeing in the next chapter is the slaughter. Whip and Spear will probably that going ham. Miro will either kill a few people or none at all before questioning what's going on and switching sides. Barem is a wild card in this situation, He could either stay by the wayside and just watch, Or he could transform and attack aswell. We'll probably see more of public safety doing their jobs. It'll also mean Mifune will have to fight. Either she'll be super competent, or she'll die. Given the fact she was assigned as Denji's personal guard she has to be rather skilled. I doubt it was solely because she's a stalker sex offender.

[apphiarothowrites]

Nothing but the truth

Nobody notices anything is wrong with Marco for a full two days after the fact. He doesn't blame them-it's not a habit or instinct of his to lie. Hell, he hadn't known anything was wrong with himself until dinner when Thatch shoved a plate of pie into his hands and despite his attempt to be polite about it, he somehow said "Oh, I'm not going to be able to eat this" instead of "Thanks."

Thatch barely batted an eye at the time, waving him off with a "Then give it to Ace!", already engrossed in passing dessert out to some puppy-eyed deckhands from the Second Division. Still, the fact that he couldn't pass off his dislike of this particular pie-chocolate mousse-like normal is what tipped him off.

He tests it throughout the next day. First with his first officer, Mala, during paperwork after breakfast. He opens a conversation about paint colors for a theoretical redecoration of his quarters, Mala asks his opinion about the color orange, and he tries his absolute damnedest to say he hates it with every fiber of his being. Instead what comes out is, "I love orange. Reminds me of Ace-yoi."

And while his attraction to Ace hasn't exactly been a secret in his own Division, Mala's eyebrows rise above the rims of their glasses regardless. He's usually much more subtle about it, quieter. He's never said much about it out loud, let alone so directly.

Later in the day, in deference to how close he got to just blurting something out that he isn't exactly keen on being known, he changes tactics. After a near disaster during lunch--Namur lamenting his shore leave will be cut short to supervise a supply pick-up for his Division that Marco nearly volunteers himself for--he switches to nonverbal answers.

Nods, shakes of the head, shrugging of the shoulders, a hand wavering in the air "so-so". He keeps his opinions honest, but practical and gentle. "You should tell your First Officer this." "That's the responsibility of your Quartermaster, ask him." "This isn't something my Division covers, take this to the Fifth."

He also delegates. On deck, he keeps himself reserved and quieter than normal. He relies on the deck bosses to be vigilant, allows senior members of the crew to throw their weight around to keep the younger or less experienced sailors in line, and generally stays close to the helmsman in the topmost deck. Ace is on the same deck shift as he is and he lets the younger man do most of the work. It isn't strictly out of character for him-he runs "tests" like these often enough that most aren't surprised by his shift in attitude. The only mild oddness is that he didn't warn anyone he was doing so-his usual routine is to give a heads up a week or so beforehand to the deck bosses and Division Commanders about such a thing. Thankfully, everyone takes it in stride-especially Ace who practically shines with how well he takes over the flow of the ship while he's in charge.

He even tells Ace so when the deck shift changes, patting the younger man on the back and praising him on the way indoors. Ace flushes, still unused to compliments, but gives him an odd look when they enter the mess for dinner. It's a close call, but Marco thinks he's in the clear once Ace starts wolfing down his multiple plates like normal.

In the end, though, it's Pops who figures him out. Pops appears in the mess halfway through dinner and things almost immediately go off the rails. The cheery atmosphere boils right over into riotous joy-songs, drinking contests, money changing hands, and food everywhere. Marco, already slightly on edge from the strangeness affecting him, finds his nerves wearing thin after the first hour. But moments like these have been getting rarer, where Pops' health is on the upswing and he's got enough energy at the end of the day to sit around and shoot the shit with the crew.

Pops notices, because of course he does. There's a lull, about two hours in, around him and he leans over on one elbow to nudge Marco's back gently where he sits on the arm of Pops' chair. "You're frowning there, son."

"Sorry-yoi." He says automatically. And he is, he hates when his worries and mood deprive Pops-or anyone-a chance at a good time.

"What's on your mind?" His father asks quietly-which, for a man his size, is still a dull roar but in the din of the cafeteria Marco knows barely anyone heard him.

"That guy from the fight two days ago did something to me." He says, not a single thought going to the preservation of his dignity. There had been a minor scuffle during a supply run, and a man had shoved Marco into a wall while accusing him of lying about his loyalty to the crew. "I can't lie and I'm having trouble holding back impulsive honesty or gestures-yoi."

Pops eyes him, one eyebrow raised, and takes a sip out of his massive tankard. "What's to be done about it?"

Marco shrugs. "Fuck if I know-yoi."

Then he blinks, the abruptness of his own honesty surprising himself. "I...I don't know. I'm going to piss somebody off though, or tell someone something I shouldn't-yoi."

Pops rests a massive hand against his back, warm and steady. Marco leans back into it, feeling strangely comforted and mildly embarrassed (like he's 18 again, freaked out by a nightmare and too prideful to say so). "Come see me in the morning, we'll discuss what we should do next. Until then, try to enjoy yourself son!"

He shoves Marco off the arm of the chair, directly into Ace's passing side, and laughs loud enough to make his ears ring.

[mandalhoerian]

NO TIME TO DIE | leon kennedy x oc | 11

pairing: leon s. kennedy x oc word count: 1OK warnings: the girls are fightingggggg summary: Tensions arise. Leon thinks it's between him and Vera, but he doesn't expect to find himself out of the picture when Ada comes back into frame. author's note: i thought i was never going to finish this omg... but we're officially done with the sewers! nearly at the end of this work i cant believe it tbh

READ ON AO3 ! ☆ NO TIME TO DIE MASTERPOST

“Holy shit…”

“Ada!”

“How the fuck did she get in there—”

“We need to get her out.”

He was lucky Vera didn’t respond with, Yeah dumbass, and instead began circling the monitoring room they were in; bloodshot, yet sharp, intelligent eyes gliding through for anything that could help them out while he paced back and forth in front of the giant, rectangular window overlooking the pit of garbage — thinking, thinking.

Leon’s teeth ached from gritting them, the unconscious attention orbiting around his shoulder making itself scarce and bouncing around in his skull instead when he needed it to focus. Ada was a small blotch of red fabric on a bed of scrap down there, curled on her side with her back to them, a hand outstretched and the other tucked beneath her body. Identifying exactly where she was injured was difficult from the position her body was in. He could only assume she was unconscious from the rise and fall of her ribcage since they couldn’t get her attention from banging on the glass.

This was basically them observing her like she was an animal put on display in one of those glass cages in a zoo.

He rested a fist on the stainless surface, and pressed his forehead to the back of his hand, shutting his eyes. The pulsing, subtle pain wasn’t helping the thinking process, nor the panic chewing away at the back of his mind refusing to let him come down and focus. Chewing the inside of his bottom lip, he turned his head to rest his cheek against his curled knuckles and opened his eyes to glance back at Vera, who had her back to him, standing in front of some kind of control panel fixed to the wall behind him.

The cold chill in the air was sapping his strength as he reached out to her. “Anything?”

The demanding, impatient undertones weren’t supposed to be there, Leon wasn’t even aware some part of him was doing that to hide the frazzled pity party raging inside — at odds with the comfort of her always having some sort of solution no matter the situation, with the expectation she would somehow make the problem of retrieving Ada disappear.

“Map.” Not turning away to face him, she pointed to the wall right next to the window Leon was agonizing on, and then stopped whatever she was examining to walk over there, and ran her fingers across the board, tracing the blueprints. Not dwelling on his lack of environmental awareness, he perked up, lifting himself off to peer at it.

At first glance, it was confusing, but she made it easy to read. Somehow. “Right outside this place is the first floor of the treatment room. We were just on the upper level of it. See?” She jabbed her finger on the title at the top of the poster, and made a line downward. “Ada must have fallen from… there. They’re connected. Looks like they have a system to contain the trash gathered above and treat it before dumping ‘em in the incinerator, or whatever.”

“I don’t get it,” Leon sighed.

“Yeah, well. This isn’t a class. You’re good. Ada on the other hand… She got lucky landing right there so we can see her.” Her fingers dragged over the diagram, the chipped black nail polish contrasting with the white background of the chart. “According to this, we need to pass through that door over there. The U-Area is where the waste disposal opens to. And…”

Leon was already grimacing at the red lights surrounding the very obvious blockade in their path, looking more and more like a bank vault in his eyes. “Fantastic. Code again? Bracelet?”

Vera ripped the map off, hastily folding it while she crossed the path to the terminal, the crimson washing over her silhouette and making it glow around the edges. Leon also followed, with no idea what the neighboring sockets next to it were, trying to make sense of the three vertically paralleling panels side by side with slots in the middle of each one. Some had… chess piece-shaped plugs inserted in them. This designing choice. In a sewer.

He’d blame the hallucinations, except this was reality.

“I had a hunch.”

“A hunch,” he echoed, the insides of his eyebrows pulling together.

“Just, gimme a sec,” she dismissed with a playful clicking sound resonating from the back of her mouth, and pulled out a switchblade from her utility belt, shoving the end of the blade in between the front cover and the case of the biggest of the panels on the very left, just beside the vault door, breaking it open after wiggling the weapon in a circular motion. The metal came away with a soft clatter as it bounced on the concrete floor, other buttons and screws following suit in her careful prying to reach the circuitry.

He watched over her shoulder with great interest, the swiftness of her fingers fumbling around in the electronic guts and maneuvering around the wires. A true professional knowing exactly what to do. “So…?”

“Yep,” was all she said, finding something where he only could see plastic threads of different colors in a metal skeleton. “This is our guy.”

“Okay…?”

Vera did a double take on him, eyes appearing eerily red from the light as she pulled him away and got him to stand in the middle of the area for whatever reason, and he was dumbly obliged. “See those snake-wide wires from one station to another? Don’t they look like they’re connecting everything together?”

“Yeah,” Leon said, following the path she was following with her index finger.

“So like. Think of this as a very complex electric circuit. Maybe you don’t remember, it gets taught early I think? I don’t know which grade. Late elementary?”

Leon was one more outrageous misinformation from sputtering. “Physics. High school.”

“Ah,” she said, in the most monotonous, disinterested way possible, and shook it off, leaving him there to work on the big case again, burying her hands inside the mechanism of the contraption, and a loud pop was heard as a spark came off. Leon flinched at the sudden occurrence, and it didn't go unnoticed, judging by Vera's smug expression as she looked over her shoulder at him. “Anyway. Electric circuit. You know what to do with those. Wire it correct to turn the light on.”

“You make it sound so easy.” Leon would have laughed if it weren't for the current circumstances. “Isn’t that risky? If you fry the entire thing, we’re not getting through that door.”

“Good thing I’m not that much of a mess, right?” Vera replied, and suddenly jerked her hand away, the movement quick as she hissed in pain and stuck her finger in her mouth. "Ow."

"Careful!"

“Just a tiny pinch,” she muttered, sucking on her fingertip to ease the burning sensation, and Leon stood there, not knowing what to do and awkwardly struggling with himself over it. “Easy as I’m making it sound, this is gonna take a while.” She went down on one knee and shrugged off her backpack, searching the contents for something, not sparing a glance at him when saying, “You should do a thorough sweep of this place. We need anything we can get.”

He didn’t know what had him spaced out so much, the painkillers or finally being in a safe space where no need to look out for what lurked just around the corner, so, he only soaked the words in when Vera stopped whatever she was doing and looked as if she was awaiting something.

“You want me to go?”

"Are you sure you're not secretly a child and the sun didn't rise today for you to be able to do such a thing?"

“I—” At a loss for words, all he could do was open his mouth and close it for a comeback that wasn’t there, standing there like a huge idiot. “I mean, yeah, I could do that, it’s just—”

“Ada will be fine,” she interrupted, a tiny smile there as she took out some supplies from the bag: pliers, tape— “I’m on it. One thing at a time, you know? Or rather, many things at once. We gotta pick the speed up. Maybe you could try contacting Claire in the meanwhile? Marş, marş!”

He had a feeling that last part meant ‘Chop, chop,’ or something and not a type of wetlands, nearly offended at being kicked out. This was coming out of nowhere. Nevermind splitting up always causing more trouble than it was worth, leaving Vera with Ada in her condition was out of the question. The uneasy doubt made for an immediate objection and the offer of a better suggestion, but Vera beat him to it once more, “It’ll be fine. I know you don’t have a lot of faith in me at the moment, but—”

“Wait, what? No,” he burst out, the shock of it getting his body to move and stand right next to her, disbelief outweighing the constant, persistently annoying presence in his shoulder, having to look down at the kneeling girl. “That’s not true, this isn’t about that.”

He trusted her with his life, what was she talking about?

“Are you sure? Umbrella and all?”

Leon froze mid-inhale with the accusation, his hackles rising at the momentary pause that made it irrefutable on his tongue like a sweet turning acrid with the mention, and he bit the tip of it to swallow the bile, the saliva leaving a dry trail in its wake. She lightly scoffed as if this was all the confirmation she needed, and he hadn’t even said anything. The gray gaze veiled over with transparent red was steady and patient as she looked up at him under her lashes, the shine of it uncanny against the relaxed stance. The shadows of the room shrouded her, hiding her from the fluorescent glare of the artificial lighting, but Leon could still make out the details of her features, her jaw, the bridge of her nose, the curves and the sharp angles, the gleam in her eyes, all bathed in red, overtaking the pink.

He had to look away to sigh for a second, eyelids fluttering shut, and he scratched above his eyebrows to cover for the fact he was trying to rub the tension away.

The information she revealed had been shelved moving forward. For way too many reasons. One of them being too much to process, all things considered, with everything they’d been through; the near death experiences, the encounters with unholy monsters and zombies alike, and whatever else there was hiding in the dark. It wasn’t a conversation to be had lightly. Choosing to ignore it in the meanwhile was inspired by Marvin’s wisdom — don’t think, thinking slows you down, slow gets you killed. He’d embraced that willingly, because he could at least trust that she wasn’t out to get anyone other than Umbrella, and so far, she hadn’t proved him wrong.

So, it wasn’t about faith. It wasn’t about that at all.

It was about the tangled barn of yarn tied in knots with no hope of unraveling his insides that only a punch to his face would snap him out of. He didn’t know what to feel, but at the same time, things were coming at him with no name attached to them — all of which lacked any form like they’d stopped in the developmental stages.

Resentment was there, for being told half-truth, followed by guilt as an allergic reaction for harboring bitterness towards a friend, elevating sympathy for what she’d been through, a child used as a puppet in a scheme involving human experimentations. Something that cut deep at the knowledge she’d been aware all along. Admiration for her inhuman dedication to keep going. Incomprehensible. Unimaginable. Simply something out of fiction. Vera already had something around her from the start that emanated she was too brilliant to be real like some neon sign, and this had completely broken Leon’s reaction scale.

(Fear of having her run off with the evidence to save her own ass and abandon him. Prove his trust wrong like his superior did.)

And yet, “You saved my life. You’re still here. End of story,” came out of him unblinking, confident as a proven scientist. Three simple sentences sliced that tangled ball of yard in one go. “Page me if anything happens.”

Vera turned her gaze down, just nodding and offering a silent, “Okay,” and Leon started walking away, hand coming up to cradle his shoulder, feeling at the bandages and rotating his arm in small circles. The heat emitting from it was distracting, but he endured and pushed open the door, welcoming the cool draft despite the stink.

“Take the map,” she called out after him.

Leon caught the flying paper thrown at him with the force of a boomerang right in the nick of time, the sound echoing all around him. “Thanks.”

“A cable car?”

Only when his voice bounced back to him from the vast, empty space of the facility that Leon noticed he’d said that out loud, laser-focused on the Umbrella logo staring right back at him on the large vehicle. “Interesting.”

The single vagoned train-like structure was anchored to the platform, suspended in the air by steel cables, the rails above leading to the unknown depths of the underground area obscured by pitch black, intermittently illuminated by a spark of electricity running through damaged circuits where the lights ahead should be hanging from.

Now that he thought about it, metal and steel had replaced cement of the sewers infused with stool and piss the closer they got to this part of the complex, the stench fading and giving way to a more neutral, less offensive copper smell.

He had a feeling about the destination, but it was impossible to determine how long it would take to traverse the entire length, and the last thing he wanted to do was get on it and find out that it was a one-way ride or a trap waiting to spring.

Still, couldn’t hurt to take a peek, right?

“ID wristband required for cable car entry,” a robotic, female voice announced when he got closer to the door with a glowing green screen on it turning red upon his arrival.

Leon stared at his bare wrist, recalling Vera having snatched one from that uninvited zombie only able to have access to the corridor because he had it on him prior to turning. If they had any business with the lab, his instincts were telling him one of those bracelets would grant them the pass needed.

He was hoping it wouldn't come to that.

Digging deeper when you were already in a hole and needed a ladder to climb out was not a good decision.

"Vera, come in," He drummed his fingers on the device as he waited for an answer, walking the short length of the platform, staring at the orange and yellow signs warning about the danger of high voltage in the railways. "Found something interesting.”

“Yeah?”

“Cable car.”

“Uh-huh.”

Something made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and he whipped his head around to see nothing, but the feeling of being watched, being followed persisted. He moved further away from the entrance of the car and went to lean against the railing instead, observing the gloomy scenery. “Know what this is?”

“Is that rhetorical or you want me to answer?”

“Vera.”

She was strained from the signal cutting in and out. “It’s a ride to NEST.”

He gave a concentrated puff of air from his nose at the way she said it so casually. At one hand, the no-bullshit attitude was appreciated, at the other, he was caught off guard by the honesty — the normalcy of it.

“Is NEST the secret underground lab Ben Bertolucci was talking about?”

“Yeah.”

He expected more snark and less directness along the lines of, ‘What do you think the word nest implies, dum-dum.’ A headache was coming in.

“Ada’s heading there, then?”

The static on the other side was growing louder, her voice inaudible for a few moments as she fought to get the device to work. “Has to be. Cable car’s the only way to reach it. That I know of… Either that, or she’s looking for another route to get there.”

That’s the most she’d said about the topic. He dragged a palm down his face, fingertips picking up dampness along his brow line. “Got it. Anything else I should know?”

“About?”

He deliberately made what he said next sound dumb. “Well, whatever’s over there. More of those things?”

And he waited for the response as Vera mulled over it for a little. Option one was themed Leon not really needing to know. Option two was a jab about him not needing to since they wouldn’t be going there. Option three varied: duh, obviously, technically yes, or, probably.

Instead, she said, “Worse than that, I imagine.”

No joking around. Yeah. She was simultaneously saying nothing and everything he needed to know. This wasn’t doing any favors to Leon’s already anxious mind. “You could have lied, you know.”

Her chuckle crackled, broken by the bad connection. “Bit busy at the moment.”

The line fell silent afterwards, and Leon decided to not to push it further, leaving Vera to finish her job, closing his eyes as he went to hop on the table adjacent to the cable car with an assortment of papers, a computer monitor, and fliers scattered on the surface. Sitting down and flexing his shoulder helped to ease the tension, but the occasional flickering of the fluorescent lights above that washed over him and stuck a beam of ache right between his eyes definitely didn’t.

He absentmindedly picked one of the notes, expecting it to be about construction or technicalities, and was instead met with: Sally, Dad loves you so much. I’m coming babygirl. Wait for me a little longer.

The words were shaky and the ink had smudged in places, leaving spots, some of the lines so thick that the pen tore into the paper from the pressure. Leon peered at the date in the corner, only a week ago, and the ache in his shoulder and the heaviness in his limbs doubled. He wondered where the father had ended up, imagining him mindlessly wandering this underground maze, chunks of flesh dented in with teeth marks among countless companions who shared the same fate with a loved one's picture tucked in their breast pocket.

"Leon?!"

He whipped his head toward the originator of the shocked call, jumping down from the table and lowering the note gingerly, heartbeat accelerating. "Claire?"

"Oh my god!"

The relief that had him going weak in the knees was short lived, though. Claire was jogging up to him with Sherry cradled like a rag doll in her arms, a bundle of limbs trying to curl up on herself as attempts at soothing her were interrupted, and even from the distance it was uncanny how off her color was. Leon sprinted to meet them halfway there before he was even aware of it, grabbing the girl’s shoulders, checking her over for any bites or scratches.

He was afraid to ask, but did anyway. “What happened?”

The exhaustion weighing Claire down got to Leon’s radar then. “She’s infected with G.”

The tremors he felt underneath his palms transferred over to him as Sherry kept shuddering, breaths coming out in short gasps from cracked lips with barely a splash of color. He could hear her lungs clicking with each exhale.The warmth of her skin was searing to the touch.

He was so lost in the brief memory of little Emma that the click of heels closing in didn’t get through to him until it was too late.

“Step back. Now.”

Not commanding. Definitely not intimidating.

Armored misery was what Annette Birkin had spiraled into, pointing her gun at him with the hammer pulled back to reveal a shell in the chamber, knuckles white from the force of her grip and shoulders taut, a dark burgundy bruise on the left side of her face blooming on her cheekbone, the white of her eyes pinked from having shed tears beforehand.

Claire let out a heated yell, as frantic as Annette looked, half-shielding Leon with her body, Sherry still in her arms. “Stop! He’s with me!”

“He’s with that bitch,” Annette said in a correcting way, low and spiteful. He could only assume she meant Ada. “I’m not letting him anywhere near my daughter.”

“You already shot me once, and here I am.”

The advantage he took in hopes of smoothing down the tension had the opposite effect as the barrel of the gun pointed at him shook with Claire’s outraged, “What?! She shot you?”

Annette shook her head, lips thinning before they parted. “It was a warning shot. Wasn’t meant for him.”

He put his hands up, slowly, practically seeing the bristles raising on Annette’s back like a dog. “Aimed at an FBI agent. Good for you I got in the way.”

He didn’t know if her huffing laugh was genuine surprise or a sarcastic scoff, but it didn’t matter when her hands didn’t move an inch to indicate letting up, the steel of the barrel catching the intermittent spark of light from above like a taunting. “FBI? FBI.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, the bead of sweat trailing down from the back of his neck to his spine was the drag of the tip of a knife to his senses. “You might want to reconsider your choice of enemies,” he tried, voice coming raspier than he intended. “I understand your reaction. I’m sure in these circumstances, she’s willing to forget about it until we get out of here. We all want the same thing.”

Annette shifted on her feet, briefly glancing at the suffering little girl when he nodded his chin in that direction. The veins in her neck bulged as her jaw clenched, breathing slowing. Unshed tears that would have escaped if she blinked filled her eyes, and she turned her head away, refusing to look any more. She gestured with a cock of her gun for Leon to step away. “Before I change my mind.”

Claire started to protest. “Don’t do this Annette—”

“Please, I’m not the enemy. Listen. Put it down, let me help, and then I’ll do anything I can to put you in the best possible position to—”

“You listen to me, boy. Stop wasting my time. You have no idea what you’re doing, who you’re protecting, or what you’re risking by getting in my way. I’m putting the next shot between your eyes the moment you open your dumb mouth again. I have a child and a city to save. Make your choice now.”

With a deep exhale, he carefully stepped aside with his hands up, clearing the path to the cable car's closed doors, and Annette slid on the floor towards them, not daring to take her eyes off him. The lock glowed green as she came closer, and she didn't need to lower her weapon as she took advantage of it to slip inside the safety of the capsule.

"Get in," she called to Claire.

Claire sent a pleading look to Leon standing a few feet away, and he couldn't do anything but remain there helplessly as she scurried in after bracing Sherry to hold her better, peeking at him over her shoulder in the last second to mutter, "Sorry."

“Not your fault.”

Her eyes shone with sincerity. “She said she can cure Sherry.”

Leon’s lungs were a balloon deflating at that. “She can?—”

“Yeah. So, take Vera and get out of here. Don’t follow us. We’ll be okay.”

And to his sinking horror, Claire wholeheartedly believed what she was saying.

Annette cut in, not caring to elaborate any further on what little context Claire provided. "I'd take her advice if I were you."

The door shut with a muffled hiss, leaving him on his own trapped in a state of shock and confusion, the telltale beeping of the lock mechanism signaling his defeat. Leon was rooted where he stood, in a daze locked on the car disappearing from sight with the speed of a snail, continuing to observe the eerie darkness that slowly swallowed it in pitiful curiosity.

Eventually, he turned around and trudged through the platform, barely aware of his movements, each step that carried him away from the now empty station stretching the fragile string holding him together thinner.

Taking the map in one hand and the radio in the other, he numbly thumbed at the buttons as the map crinkled, the creases fresh and symmetrical. “Vera, come in.”

It was faint, but he heard the radio buzz. “Everything okay?”

Better to rip the bandaid off in one go.

He drew in a ragged breath, his mouth tasting like cotton, his pulse pounding in his ears and he could feel it in his fingertips, could feel the sweat gather on his hairline and his clothes clinging to his hot body. "I..." He croaked and cleared his throat, wincing at the sudden noise and how the sounds clashed in his skull. "Bad news, Sherry got infected. Good news, Annette can apparently fix it. Claire's with them on the way to the NEST right now."

The lack of reply was normal in his opinion, he waited until he heard the crackling of what he assumed was sputtering breaths. “Jesus fuck. What the fuck.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I know.”

“How’s Claire—I mean—”

“Just. Tired.”

“Are you going with them? Did Annette—”

Leon wiped at the dampness on his forehead with the back of his hand. "No, no, I... I wouldn't be able to go along even if I wanted to. Annette didn't want me there."

He was going to add, ‘I wouldn’t leave you two behind like that,’ — but Vera’s immediate, “Because of Ada?” derailed his train of thought.

“Because of Ada.”

“How nice of her to give a fuck about you like that.”

“She didn’t shoot me this time.”

“What a character development,” she said, he could picture the roll of eyes that came with it, but didn’t feel like laughing or bantering at the moment at all.

“Listen, um,” he started, unable to hold back the words anymore, and they came out as a bundle of words that didn’t quite know their turn, spilling from him in an anxious mess. “I… This— cure. It could be cured. G. Do you think… Did you know…”

What he meant was: Did you know we could have saved Marvin if we were faster? Has it been weighing on you all this time? Can Raccoon City be saved after all? Did this many people need to suffer if they had a cure all along? I can’t stop thinking. I can’t stop thinking.

Her, “Fuck off,” made his spine so straight he thought a rod had gone through his esophagus. So sharp and cold it was a slap to the face, heat shot up from his neck all the way to the tip of his ears, the sudden rise in temperature scorching his shoulder. “My dad would still be here if I did.”

Good thing nobody was there to see a grown man go beet red from shame.

He bit down on the inside of his cheek, a metallic tang flooding his mouth as his teeth pierced the flesh. He stared at the tip of his shoes, itching to somehow be able to walk away from the conversation. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he apologized softly. “I’m sorry. I was just. Sharing? I guess…”

Could have worded it better.

“Ah.” The sigh through the receiver was long and spent, the long stretch of silence having him wonder if she cut the line off or not. “My nerves are on fucking pins and needles, I—”

“It’s okay,” The tension in his shoulders and back dissipated, and he took a deep breath to wash out the remains of mortification that settled on his palate. "We’re good—we’re good, right?”

“Yeah,” she sniffled. “Yeah. Of course.”

Eager to change the subject, he rubbed his fingers together, the material of the fingerless glove wrinkling with the motion. “I can’t believe they had a cure for G-virus lying around, everything could have been—”

“They don’t.”

Leon stared ahead, focusing on a random safe sitting on top of a table at the end of a catwalk, and a dead body propped up against the railing beside it. “What do you mean they don’t?”

The bitterness of her laugh cracked into the void of the transmission. "G isn't the strain raising people from the dead, or making those dogs rabid. It's what made William into that thing. You still remember what Claire read to us, right?"

“Yeah..?”

“The… zombie virus is a different thing. Fuck if I remember which letter of the alphabet they named it. But G, it's something else. Something new. It's no wonder people who made it have an antiviral agent lying around. Can't exactly test shit without a control group."

He didn’t get the difference at all. It was all the same in his eyes, the maker of abominations.

"Zombie virus is a different thing," he repeated, ignoring her remark about testing viruses on living subjects, "I thought it was all the same? But Ada said—"

"I know what she said," Vera interrupted him, and Leon had to stop himself from getting on the defensive over the hostility that wasn't even directed at him. "Either the FBI are misinformed or she was just saying things to satiate our curiosity. Classified information, yeah?"

"We should tell her if she doesn't know."

"If," She emphasized. "No point in trying to get more involved otherwise. Not our business."

“You’re still saying that?” It very much was their business. Claire, Annette, and even Ada before told them to walk away, but he wasn’t going to. He couldn’t. Who would after coming this far? “We’re past that point already. We might even be close to ending all of this, and— Jesus, don’t you want definitive, undeniable proof? That’s where we’re going to get it. A lab, Vera. Fingerprints of Umbrella straight from the source. Come on.”

He was tired of playing it logical and safe when it was already obvious they were headed down this rabbit hole. Time to dive in with their eyes open.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there," was all Vera commented before she dropped the subject, her voice taking on a lighter sheen. "I'm almost done, by the way. Don't go too far."

"Sure," he agreed, easily, the knots in his stomach unwinding. "See you in a bit."

Leon felt like he was caught in a never-ending loop of the same repetitive steps. Discover a new area, open the gate, get swarmed by zombies, lose a bullet, stack up on supplies, get swarmed by zombies, get up, walk forward, find a safe zone, rest a while, find new stuff, set out again, open a door, get swarmed by zombies, press his back to a wall, reload, open a door, walk, get swarmed.

At this point, he wouldn't be surprised to see the exact same room he saw a mile ago with a path leading to another hallway in the same shape. There was no telling where he was going, just blindly trusting the instinct to go and go and go, and when it didn't feel like it was right, his gut screamed at him to turn back and take a different road. The map Vera threw at him for this very reason remained crumpled and useless in the back pocket of his pants, the scribbles and the drawn routes all crossed over each other, the network of routes resembling a child-designed maze as they all somehow led to the waterways waist-deep with sludge and trash and decomposing corpses, and he wasn't about to take a dip with his open gunshot wound anytime soon.

On the brighter side of things, he was now more or less familiar with the layout of the facility thanks to his adventures and Vera's colorful additions, getting better at evading, conserving bullets and the damage to his uniform and equipment. It was the downside of using guns - the ammo consumption being the biggest factor to keep in mind as they kept becoming scarcer and scarcer to find. He needed to be careful with his shots from now on, and only use them on the creatures that were a little more threatening and dangerous than the standard fare, but that didn't mean it was any less frustrating when he still came out of situations with a handful of shallow wounds, especially ones he was supposed to be more skilled at avoiding.

"Status update, Vera, how is it going?" he asked for the second time in the last twenty minutes, the impatience dissipating after he opened a locker to reveal a body that didn't belong in the small space, crouched in all the wrong angles and stuffed in there by someone by the looks of it, the missing flesh of his face rotting with green blotches on the purple skin. He averted his eyes and instead focused on the pallor of the undamaged portions of the cheek and the vacant blue pupils, the corpse's features revealing it belonged to a young man, no older than him.

In one of the earlier conversations, she’d given him the best news he received so far in this shithole: Ada was awake in there, and Vera had gestured to her they were working on a way to get her out.

The last few times, though, with the weight of Ada’s mortality off of their shoulders, she’d gone on technical tangents with all the eloquence of an electrician he was too unfamiliar with engineering to understand that at this point he thought finding the right plugs for the sockets to open the door would be easier instead of trying to rewire the whole thing, resulting in conversations such as: "what's this wire to do?" "pump energy to the relay" "what does it do?" "relays the power to the circuit breaker." "so what's the purpose of that?" "the circuit breaker?" "yeah." "it breaks the circuit so it doesn't blow up and fry the cables when it reaches its max wattage." "great. what is the circuit we're supposed to break then?" "are you being serious?" "...yes."

Which resulted in him receiving a, "Fuck off," in the end.

Not that he minded.

This time around, he expected a barb to deflect his insistent jabs, mock annoyance or a promise of bouncing back faster than lightning, but what he received was the uncomfortable crunch of static followed by silence, the monotonous drone of the open line indicating she was listening.

"Hello?"

He pressed the button of the device in hopes of making the sound clearer, his other hand splaying open in front of him in a confused gesture.

More crackling, a soft hiss, a mumbled curse. "Shhhhit," she hissed, followed by a clatter of metal like she tossed a screwdriver. "You piece of shit, where did you go?"

He checked around the corner he'd previously cleaned up just in case, his shoes squeaking as he rounded the sharp turn and peered into the darkness with his flashlight shining the path ahead, and hurried across the corridor. "Need help?"

"What are you gonna do, hit it with a rock?" The slight amusement in her tone was drowned in more rustling and groaning as she struggled to do something. "It's fine, just—it slipped, gimme a sec. Sorry, I—" Her voice broke off mid-sentence. "Stop distracting me, go away, you're making it worse!"

Was that directed at him or at something else? He stopped at the next turn, a door blocked by a trash container next to a rack of lockers, and was met with nothing but the unappealing, wet squelch of the sole of his boots in the puddle of blood next to an old fire extinguisher. His skin prickled as he leaned closer to check around it, only to be met with an empty hallway, a blackboard fixed on the wall with the letters H E L P emblazoned across it in chipped red paint.

"AAAAAAAA!!!" Vera's screech echoed in his ear. He'd gained the ability to distinguish between serious screams and irritated ones, so it didn't make him jump but he winced from the sheer volume, rubbing his free palm against his aching shoulder as he tuned back into her rambling. "You fucker! No, not the other one, the one— I got it, I got it! Ha, suck it up!"

A puff of air left Leon's nostrils. "Aren't you a ray of sunshine?"

Vera took offense in that, her offended gasp as she scoffed made it more comedic than dramatic. "Says the guy who keeps calling me every ten goddamn seconds like a needy little puppy."

"Oh, sorry for being worried, I guess. It's not like you're wide open for anything that comes through the door or anything."

"Do I look like I'm asking for a rescue party?" she drawled.

A chuckle left him in the form of an amused huff, the tension in his joints easing up. "Like you came across cockroaches."

"I hope you slip on one, asshole."

"Wouldn't be the worst thing to happen to me today."

Her next words came out nasal and muffled from what he assumed was her cupping her nose and mouth with the back of her palm. "Eh. That honor is probably mine." The mood changed like a switch that was flicked on and off again, she coughed a few times, and he heard her pat the front of her shirt and take a deep inhale and a shaky exhale, and then the radio went quiet. The shuffling of clothing rustling through the speaker was the next thing to indicate she was still there. "And on that note, I got the door open. Heading downstairs to get Ada out."

"Huh?" Leon looked at the pink walkie-talkie as if it personally insulted him. "No— wait for me, you can't go on your own. Who knows what's down there?"

"I do. It's fine."

"We've been through this, you know..."

She laughed, a nervous titter. "It's just a door."

And what she didn't say out loud, he heard as an echo. What could go wrong?

The unannounced, jinx-sent Birkin fight left them both traumatized from getting trapped in a burning control room with no other choice than to play whack-a-mole with the giant monster's claw as the hammer, followed by having to strategize like it was a turn-based RPG not to get thrown off the side of the platform while one played the bait and the other handled the crane controls to send container after container hurtling back to knock the mutated William into the abyss — because there was nothing else left to do other than getting him off their back. No fighting this thing.

And get rid of him they did, one crate at a time until the man was completely out of sight, the only remaining evidence of his presence being the last of his shrieks fading to black.

"Just a door, huh," Leon breathed out, panting and staggering forward on wobbly legs to wrap a steadying arm around Vera's middle before she fell over on the side in front of the crane controls.

She pushed him aside and full-on laid down on the ground, belly-down, starfishing under his open-mouthed amusement. "Just a fucking door," she wheezed, the backpack that somehow had survived the whole ordeal made her look like a turtle. "If that son of a bitch pulls a Terminator I'm nuking him. I swear to god. Sorry to Sherry but I can't do this anymore."

He rested his hands on his knees, crouching in the shadows of the massive construction machine, and gazed at the infinite expanse of nothing but a pitch black sky, the stench of sulfur around them filling his lungs. The wooden flooring of the platform creaked beneath him as he shifted his weight to settle on his backside, dropping next to her, a relieved hissing out from his lips.

There was no way for him to even begin to comprehend how Vera was feeling, her hands visibly shaking next to her, her hair an untamed, frizzy mess, the rips on her fishnets tearing apart more with the friction and she was absolutely covered in all sorts of stains from the dark patches of soot to the splatters of blood, her sweat seeping through the fabric.

He rolled over to mess with the outer pockets of the bag, looking for some kind of snack to bring her blood sugar back up, and found a chocolate bar that he guessed was a lucky find. Vera's mane of hair grunted when he handed it over, a deep frown on her face that scrunched her nose, her eyes cracking open enough to show the whites of them as she snatched it from him and wolfed it down.

After swallowing the last bite, she said, "Thanks."

It was funny to see her muching on it with a grimace of pain as she moved her jaw and chewed, and he watched her as she got back on her feet with the grace of a baby deer and extended a helping hand. She ignored it and stood on her own, slapping her palms together to dust the grime off, and he took her example to wipe at his dirty cheeks.

"We're not going back the way we came," Leon pointed out, stepping towards the edge of the platform to look up at the large crane that hung over the gap, Birkin's previous assault knocking down the scaffolding along with the metal walkway and leaving them with nothing to cover the bottomless pit.

"We got that door." Vera sounded drained, the lack of energy in her voice enough of an indicator. He understood her sentiment.

Leon couldn't stop the jab from coming out, taking out the map from the back pocket of his trousers. "Let's hope this door has something better in store than the last one."

"What a thing to say about Ada!"

He had a long way to go before winning a verbal sparring match against her.

"Huh," he hummed, the sizable paper in his hands bending backward and folded in half as he studied it more closely, the creases etched into the lines and contour of the tiny rooms and hallways. He found the right spot and began pointing out the structure with his finger. "This opens straight to the U-Area."

"No way, let me look," Vera squinted as he held it up for her, and he saw her gray irises flicker from the right to the left in a rapid back and forth, a fleeting brush of her shoulder as she got up close to peer at it. "Huh."

"Told you," he said. "Let's go."

"The fair damsel awaits," she sighed, no doubt talking about the agent, and wiped at the sweat dripping into her eyes from her fringe, combing it in place with her fingers. The ends of her hair were burnt and curled inward from the fire they'd narrowly avoided, smelling of smoke, the blackish curls reminding him of the stray cats he often spotted walking down the street next to the cafe where he used to grab a morning coffee from before classes, the thin furry bodies wandering around the alleyways and looking for scraps of food to eat.

A bit too eager, she began marching towards the opposite direction of where they came from, her steps not quite as surefooted as he was used to seeing her stride with such confidence, the exhaustion showing as she hunched over in an attempt to catch her breath. Leon fell into a slower pace next to her, keeping an eye out for anything that could possibly jump out of nowhere as he switched the gun's safety off, ready for combat, and scanned the surroundings with his flashlight to guide them through the narrow stairway going up.

"I can't believe power's still holding up," she observed after seeing the green light blinking above the garbage disposal door while Leon pulled down the lever, the mechanism whirring to life as the shutter lifted upward, revealing piles, no, hoards of trash, cans, broken glass and boxes scattered around with pipes and the walls colored in an assortment of mucky brown. The stench that permeated the air, a combination of rot and dirt and something so pungent his nostrils burned with the smell, made him gag, but he managed to hold it back to spare himself the embarrassment of coughing his lungs out, covering his nose and mouth with his sleeve instead — Ada had been stuck here for god knows how long.

Ada.

Forgetting about the odor, Leon rushed in as he pictured the image of her, surrounded by filth, and he was caught up in the whirlwind of relief and panic and urgency of going to get her, the exhaustion forgotten. "Ada? Ada, where are you!"

"Over here!"

He pivoted at the sound of her voice coming from somewhere near, spotting splatters of blood on the floor that was once white and gray and now the color of rust, finding Ada hiding herself between two mountains of garbage leaning to the wall, and didn't recognize her at first glance. Her trenchcoat was gone, leaving her in a short, flimsy cocktail dress, supporting her body weight by her hands on the floor, the leg a metal piece was sticking out of facing up. The put-together, clean appearance of hers was no more, she was covered in grime just like they were, and in the dim lighting her exposed limbs were shimmering with sweat.

He ran to her as fast as he could, squatting to check the extent of the injury. "Ada... I was getting worried there for a sec..."

"Oof," Vera grimaced behind him, hands going to her knees as she bent down by her waist, her hair swinging over her head and pooling in front of her face. "That looks nasty."

"How do you think it feels?" Ada quipped, a bit dry, and gave Vera a tight lipped smile, though Leon wasn't sure if she meant it in an insulting manner or as a joke. "I can't get it out."

Leon looked at her thigh, and back at Ada. "I don't know if we should..."

"Just do it. I can't walk like this."

Vera knelt on one knee next to her and tilted her chin to the side to inspect it from a different angle. Ada didn't seem to appreciate the attention but tolerated it with a quiet acceptance, watching Vera as she continued to look, but Leon was the one who blurted out, "Don't touch it!" when she reached for the metal piece, stopping in her tracks, fingers hovering over it.

"The hell," Vera exclaimed, backing her hand away as if she'd burned it and looking up at Leon standing over them, her eyebrows arching.

"Antiseptic," he explained, positioning himself behind her for better access to her backpack, pulling out the bottle of isopropyl alcohol and the roll of bandages from the bag. Vera stared at him for a couple more seconds before she seemed to finally catch up, then nodded in understanding and took the materials from his open palm as he handed them to her, "I take it out, you disinfect and bandage right after."

"Sure thing, boss."

His cheeks flared up in response to the nickname, his heart jumping up to his throat at the acknowledgment, but it all washed away when Vera nodded at him to go on, the teasing forgotten for a more pressing matter, and he went on to take care of it as gently as possible, all the while being hyper aware of eyes on him as he worked to take the metal out in one go. Ada kept her expression impassive, her back ramrod straight with a fist resting on the knee of the healthy leg, only a hiss of discomfort escaping through her teeth as the shrapnel slid out of her flesh.

Vera's touch was surprisingly gentle despite her usually brash demeanor, cleaning the area with a soaked piece of cotton to get rid of the dried blood and disinfect it, humming under her breath at Ada's reaction letting her pain show more than before. She tied the gauze with a deft knot, sealing it in place, and began packing the things back into her bag.

"Can you walk?" Vera asked, holding up a hand for Ada to take it and pull her up, getting a firm nod in return. Ada brushed herself off, her legs not entirely steady as she took a few experimental steps, the heels of her pumps clicking against the concrete floor.

Leon noticed a few drops of blood sliding down from the piece of metal and dropped it on the floor. "So... what do we do now?"

"We?" Vera paused for a moment, like she hadn't expected him to phrase it like that, and looked back at the other woman.

Ada shook her head. "Get yourself out of here. While you still can."

"I'm — we're not just gonna leave you. Not like this," he protested, gesturing at the bloody rag on her thigh, out of worry and confusion and maybe some lingering sense of responsibility that made him feel like he'd be betraying Ada if he simply up and left, especially after everything that she's done for them. She was a capable person, true, it just didn't feel right.

"You don’t understand. The situation’s worse than I thought."

Vera scoffed, crossing her arms. "Right. How're you going to get out of this shitpit exactly? After we leave?"

"I can take care of myself."

The other girl didn't have to say anything, making a point just by openly staring with eyebrows up all the way to her hairline, making a face that expressed what she thought about that statement.

"I don't know what your objective is, but you need to listen to your own advice," Vera continued, as if Ada had never said anything. "That leg isn't gonna get you far in this condition."

The look she received was one that said they were at an impasse and Ada was considering it, the tilt of her head and the way her mouth parted to say something made Leon think they were actually going to cooperate with each other and make it work, only for her to break her gaze from Vera and fix him with a stare that sent shivers down his spine. "Good thing I have you two, then, huh?"

Leon brightened up, a bit proud and happy to have some sort of resolution, even though he could feel the daggers Vera was trying to drill into the side of his skull without saying anything. He chose to ignore it, thinking that this was a win-win, because really, Ada finally letting them help when they were obviously going in the same direction? Why would that be bad?

Vera was as stiff as a board, but turned to lead the way, taking a step to walk past Ada as she did so, giving her a polite nod and nothing else.

Leon began to follow her, but not before he noticed Ada's eyes following her, a contemplative look in them that disappeared as soon as Ada's focus landed on him, making Leon wonder if he saw it correctly at all. "You still want to help?"

He nodded fervently, spirits soaring. "Of course!"

"We have to get to the NEST. It's—"

"Umbrella's lab, we know." He shared a look with Vera, somewhat content with himself to let it be known they were on the same frequency with Ada. "That's where the G-virus is, right?"

Ada's eyes narrowed, a missed beat in the way she answered. "That was easy to deduce, I suppose."

"Yeah." There was no need for distrust to come between them, so it was an easy confession. "And Vera's a private investigator, she already knew about Umbrella before this started."

He caught the girl in question mouthing his name in anger, teeth clenched shut, looking like she wanted to cave his head in, not understanding where the anger was coming from.

Ada turned her attention to her. "Is that so? What kind of a PI?"

"The kind that gets snitched on, apparently," Vera glared daggers at him, her nose wrinkled, nostrils flaring as she let out a scoff that was aimed at him.

"Come on, she's FBI. No harm in her knowing," he dismissed, hoping she wouldn't press it further and chew his ears off for this. Vera made a noncommittal noise that he didn't know how to interpret, but she didn't voice out any objections, so he thought they were good, at least for now. "We're together in this. So... NEST?"

The agent ignored him, however, "How much do you know?"

"Enough," Vera answered, clearly wanting the subject to be dropped.

"About?"

"Am I being interrogated, Agent?"

"Depends. Is there something you're hiding?"

Vera stepped closer, her demeanor shifting. "There's a lot I'm avoiding, let's leave it at that. It's been like that for a long while, and will continue to be so until I get what I came for. For the greater good."

There was no answer coming. Instead, the silence that followed was so thick with something that it made his hairs stand on end, goosebumps rising on his forearms. Something was happening between them he didn't understand. Ada was scrutinizing her with an intense glare, something fierce and calculating flashing in her eyes, a bit intimidating, but Vera returned the gaze with such a ferocity in her own, challenging Ada to call her bluff and say something else.

And she did. "Okay," Ada agreed, with the hint of a smile in the corner of her lips. "Then, for the greater good, shall we?"

Leon didn't know what he was supposed to be expecting. Maybe a proper introduction, a clear outline of the plan, a friendly chat. Anything, really, but this sudden shift in atmosphere, it was suddenly very hot in the room. Like something else was going on other than getting to NEST, like they had history.

"O...kay," he muttered.

"This tram is bound for NEST. Do not exit until the final destination."

Leon stared at the speaker attached to the ceiling of the vehicle as he pulled down the lever to get it moving, Ada and Vera already inside, the latter of which had her arms crossed and was glaring at the ceiling as if she wished to smite it, not noticing Ada's observing gaze that followed the way she fiddled with the digital camera she'd just used to record the outside of the cable car to catch the Umbrella logo on it, or the way she swayed and pressed herself to the wall as the tram began to move. They were sitting next to each other on the bench, Ada's injured leg stretched out, and she had to be feeling uncomfortable, but didn't let it show.

"You know what I was thinking?" He started, heated as he tried to start a conversation, anything really to get rid of the tension hanging over their heads. "I can’t wait for the FBI to raid Umbrella headquarters and take those bastards to justice."

Vera leaned back after setting down the still recording camera to face the window of the cable car, her hair hitting the metal of the wall with a soft thud, the muscles of her throat straining as she gulped down and closed her eyes.

" I agree… but to be clear, you’re not working in official capacity. This is a federal case." Ada stressed, the sharp tone of her voice making Vera snap her eyes open to look at her from under her eyelashes. "Once we get the G-Virus—"

"We?" asked Vera, for the second time tonight, turning her head to meet Ada's gaze that was unreadable, filled with some emotion that made the space between her eyebrows pinch.

Ada's eyes darted away to stare at the floor, and she sat upright to avoid further eye contact. "Yes," she admitted, a bit strained, but it was genuine. "I thought I might need your help… and I was right. If you can secure the G-Virus, I can make sure what happened in Raccoon City never happens again."

Vera was surprised at the offer, and she gave it some thought before she replied. "I'm not risking any of our lives for that stupid virus. We're not some disposable assets. Finding Claire and Sherry comes first. You can deal with the rest as you wanted from the start. On your own, that is."

"No, wait a minute," Leon objected, shaking his head as he turned to look at Vera. "I want to do something. Umbrella has to pay for what they've done. You heard her, she's with the government, she can take this to the media, the whole country — the world. With what we have, all of this, this is not something they can sweep under the rug. Please, let's help her get the virus. It's important."

She shot up from her seat and grabbed her backpack, going for the camera next to stop the recording. "God, no," she huffed, the calmness breaking to reveal how frustrated she was with everything that happened. "Claire and Sherry are more important than the virus. And you're not putting their lives on the line for something that's not guaranteed—"

"I'm not putting their lives in danger."

"And yours doesn't matter?"

"It does, but," he gestured with his hands in a hopeless motion. "I mean, I signed up for this when I applied to the RPD. If it's for the people, then—"

She scowled at him, and he hated the disappointment on her face, her eyes darting back and forth over his face, as if she was searching for something that wasn't there. "It's not worth it, Leon."

Ada watched their exchange like a tennis match, staying quiet, and he thought she would interject, but she didn't, choosing to see how things played out instead.

"How can you say that?"

Vera clicked her tongue, and his stomach sank, his chest growing cold. "The fucking G-Virus isn't the reason why RC went to shit, I told you already," she said, and something in the way she spoke sent a chill down his spine.

He wondered why she was being so defensive. Was there something she knew that he didn't? Again?

It wasn't the first time.

He shook his head and pursed his lips. "Even if it's not the direct cause, it's definitely a part of it. All that experimenting on people, all that bloodshed. The police, the entire city, my fellow officers died trying to keep everyone safe. The civilians. Us. You saw that little girl," he pleaded, his heart sinking lower when she averted her gaze from him and focused on the screen of the camera, fidgeting with the buttons. "I'm doing this for them. Even if I have to die for it, then so be it."

Vera sucked in a sharp breath and didn't look at him. She didn't agree to anything, or argued, just stayed silent, a hand reaching out to take her headphones out of her bag and slip them around her neck, turning away from him and bringing her legs up to sit on the bench, faint rock music filled the air. He knew there was no use in pushing, and she wouldn't change her mind no matter what, but the cold indifference, the blatant refusal of wanting to do anything that she disagreed with made him mad. He understood where she was coming from, that she was concerned with getting the younger girl to safety and probably wanted to forget about all of this and get as far away from it as possible, but he wanted to fight it. To do something. Make a difference, however small. It was naive and probably short-sighted, but he needed to do it.

With a heavy heart, Leon looked back at Ada and saw the corner of her lip quirk up in the faintest of smiles, her chin in the palm of her hand.

[tsugarubecker]

Preview of a fic I’m working on! This is gonna be a long one. Just spat this out in a bit of a writing sprint, it will undoubtedly be edited later on. But for now, check it out if you’d like. TLDR it will eventually be the story of how Mike and Will wind up talking about The Painting. Chapter one is from El’s POV. Enjoy

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None of them have been doing much of anything useful since they got back to Hawkins.

There isn’t much to do at the moment, frankly. The Upside Down is spilling into Hawkins through massive, sickly, gas-retching gashes in the earth. Red and pulsating like lava. The spores get thicker every day. They stay in the house. All of them. The Wheelers’ house is big enough to house the whole party and all their family members, partners, and tag-alongs, thankfully.  

It’s been three weeks. Max hasn’t woken up.

Vecna also hasn’t made a move. El is grateful for that, at least. She’s recovering – physically, mentally, emotionally. She’s gained Hopper back. She’s lost her first big fight, causing her to wonder if Papa was right about her abilities.

She’s lost Max. Maybe for forever.

When she’s not putting on a mask and braving the spores outside to go out and see Max at the hospital, she’s at home. Mostly sleeping. Her body and mind are tired. She’s recovering, and she thinks – she hopes – Vecna must be doing the same. She’s grateful, at least, for the reprieve. She knows it can’t last long. Before long something is bound to shift – she just hopes she’s ready for it when it does.

When she’s not with Max or sleeping, she’s with Hopper or her brothers or Joyce. Sipping coffee, eating toast or eggos, talking quietly. Sometimes she’s with Dustin. Or Lucas, at the hospital. And every so often with Mike, although things have been awkward between them.

They haven’t exactly… Talked About It, yet.

And she knows they have to. She just can’t even begin to decipher what words to use to say what she needs to say. She can barely even tell, most days, what it is she needs to say. Let alone what she actually wants to say.

It’s easier to pretend she can’t see his eyes trying to catch hers across the hallway as she moves past, headed to the bedroom she’s sharing with Holly and Nancy for another long nap.  

But today is different. She couldn’t scoot by. He caught her off guard while she sipped coffee at noon with Hopper. She was peering over Hopper’s shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of the funnies when something moved in front of her eyes, blocking her view. Her eyes refocused. Comic books.

“Want to come read with me instead of trying to read over yer Dad’s shoulder?”

She looks up at Hopper. Catches his eye. She swears six different conversations fly between them as he raises his eyebrow at her. “...Yeah, go on, kid. I’m not gonna be done with this paper for a while.”

Trapped. She makes a subtle face at Hopper that Mike can’t see and resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Okay.” She gets up. Mike is standing there bouncing a little on his toes, looking nervous. “...Where are we going,” she asks.

“Oh! Uhh. To my bedroom, I guess. Lucas is at the hospital and Dustin is watching TV in the living room with his mom.”

Was the house cramped? Yeah. Did the people who didn’t live there sometimes venture back to their own homes? Yes. But none of them knew what would happen next. It was safer to stay together in case something happened very suddenly. It was safest to be close to El. She had a lot of complicated feelings about that, but she knew it was true. She had heard the adults discuss it, too. She knew they were right.

Her thoughts had wandered – she found herself following Mike to the bedroom he now shared with the other boys. Other than Will. Will had asked for the basement, with Jonathan.

Once upon a time she would have thought that was odd. Nowadays, she thought that Will not wanting to share Mike’s bedroom was one more mental check mark on a list she was silently keeping in her mind. What she knew of romantic feelings, she had learned from TV. When it clicked for her that she might have missed something big, a whole lot of things started to make a whole lot more sense. She had not shared these thoughts with anyone yet. But they were a big part of her avoidance of Mike and her avoidance, specifically, of any one-on-one time with him – let alone any real, honest conversations.

She came back to the present again. (She found this was happening a lot lately. But she figured she could give herself a break – a lot had happened recently. So no wonder her thoughts were all over the place.) Mike had climbed up onto his bed and propped himself up on an elbow to read. He held out a comic to her. “Come read with me?”

In spite of herself, El smiled. The idea of lying comfortably on a bed with someone, reading comic books, gave her a warm feeling of nostalgia that she couldn’t immediately place. Then she glanced down at the comic Mike was thrusting toward her.

Wonder Woman.

Oh, she realized. Oh, okay. That’s why.

Ignoring multiple signals from her body, including desires to cry, run out of the room, or smash something through a window, she forced herself to reach out and take the comic book. She climbed up onto the bed, lied down on her stomach, and started to read.