#because i don’t care if it was stupidity or malice or whatever

[ballsbalb]

will u watch pulsic doc

yes i am very excited for the january 6th 2020 episode

[voidcat]

— to tug and pull (at the strings; and of my heart)

characters: Endo Yamato, you

notes & wc: 3.1k. Endo as his own warning kinda. Themes of loneliness in a crowd, shitty friend group and Endo taking advantage of it. Toxic relationship all over. Implied past sexual encounters if you squint. Suggestive content a little by the end. GN! Reader but mentions of wearing heeled shoes (Endo is into it). Reader isn’t as good of a person as theyre making themselves out to be btw lol

“Well well… look who’s there…”

A voice comes from behind you, so clear amidst the crowd of various sounds. The place is loud and crowded- yet the chaos of rising sounds are all muffled down by your ears.

The night, as young as it may be, has already fallen for you and with everyone else to their own world; the same old superficial, banal and tedious things, you’re left alone with your own thoughts— or so you thought until the all too familiar, annoying voice creeps up from behind you.

Great- Because the last thing you needed on this damned night was Endo fucking Yamato ruining your already bothersome day.

“Now what’s with the face?” Endo coos, arms resting against his head “a smile would’ve suited that pretty face of yours better.”

You let out a grunt at his words and roll your eyes, averting your gaze to your phone. It’s not like you have any urgent business but you don’t have any better of a quick excuse you can make up and act right there.

Endo doesn’t seem fazed by your clear dismissal of him, he is quite amused on the contrary. So he stands there and waits, patiently.

Rhythmic shake of your foot to the music evolves into tapping it against the floor and by the second Endo can tell you’re growing impatient.

“What a merry group of friends, wouldn’t you agree?” He begins and jumps over the couch’s backseat to seat himself beside you, legs dangling off the armrest at a weird angle.

“You’re sitting all by yourself by the side, no one to care nor even notice your lack of presence in their conversations.” He clicks his tongue with a shake of his head, disapproving of the state you’re currently in.

“I mean… really now,” honey laced words come out, one hand slowly working up its way to your shoulder. ���What a bunch of losers, and they’re supposed to be what— your friends?” He says the words with disgust, “they don’t even see you, let alone notice your boyfriend dropping by~”

“You are not my boyfriend.” You snap at him, saying each word with malice. 

So that gets your attention huh. Endo enjoys the poison in your words, relishes in the taste. It’s only the appetizer after all.

“I’m a boy and your friend, no?” He says innocently, bringing a finger to his lips. 

“No!” You retort, a tad louder than you intended, “you’re not my friend, you are not my anything!” 

Yet your words reach his ears as something melodic, nothing coherent. 

He makes himself comfortable on the couch, fixing up his posture a little but still maintaining skin contact with you no matter how many times you shrug his hand off.

You deserve a drink, you muse. But the logical part of your brain protests. You’ve digested all you’ve eaten for dinner already. Drinking on an empty stomach is not a nice experience to have. And it’s certainly not a wise choice to make when someone such as Endo is within your parameters.

So you opt for the next best thing and gulp down cold water like it is electrolytes.

Even if he notices, he makes no move. He has probably raised an eyebrow at your sudden actions and examining the situation before his eyes to decide what course to take next.

“I’m a closer candidate to being your friend than they are though.”

Ah, there it is. The silence breaker he saved to hit at the right moment, in the hopes of you- what- suddenly break in front of him? Your eyes filling up with tears so uncontrollable whatever touch up you’ve applied to your face will wash off? What does he think of you?

And more importantly- does he really think so lowly of you? Stupid enough to fall for his measly tricks?

There is no situation to assess but certainly enough of an excuse to just call it a night and bail out.

These are not the crowd of people you’d choose to hang out with no matter the time and place but the circumstances call for mutual interests. Every lamb by their leg or however the saying goes. You’d much rather be somewhere else, preferably kilometers away from this loud place and away from him.

You do not want to give him what he wants but the story writes itself before him already. The script plays itself out. There is a stranger by the table sitting all too comfortably next to their supposed friend and none of them seems to notice nor care. It’s not like their noticing would’ve changed things were he to show up a few hours before. They would've chalked it up as someone you just act around with a little Coquetry. Starting off as cold and distant but indulging his teasings under the table, disgusting.

You can feel Endo’s eyes going up and down, giving you a one-over and inspecting everything you have on, down to the buttons. He may be keeping that mouth of his shut for now, but that’s the case with him, his silence is loud, always at the times you least need him to be. Fine, he can ogle all he wants- that's the most he is getting in this damned place. And it's not like you didn't dress up… can't blame the man for once actually,

The air may not be chilling or hanging off your skin but times like these make you wish you were smoking. Just a way to pass the time, to keep your hands busy. the cloud of smoke would occasionally cover las stupid face, granting you the illusion of a night headache free. Blowing the smoke right into his face would be risky though. He could take it up as you being playful with him.

With a cigarette dangling off your lips or hanging between your fingers and gaze focused on something far behind where no one can see, you could’ve been the quiet and mysterious figure.

But instead you’re just you, a sad lonely pathetic person who doesn’t even allow themselves the courtesy of being drunk.

To hell with it, you push yourself off your seat swiftly and let the night air crash into your lungs. They can handle a little multiplication on their own, put two and two together, extract one.

And with it, you get out of the place without looking back, letting the music drown and be replaced with the street chatter.

Despite the hour and the day, it is quite lively out there, though a bit scattered.

When sudden rain comes pouring down, some groups of people ran and hid away to whatever crook they could find, staying there until the sun comes up.

It is late, but not for someone your age. Everyone outside is having fun, laughing around, walking to their next destination to do god knows what and here you are, heels clicking against the tiles, searching for a market with your eyes. 

You’re certain someone would make a joke about your state now, “they should’ve been at the club, not spiraling down a waterfall of isolating thoughts” but you are you and as for all to see, this is the situation you’re stuck with for the foreseeable future.

The night is young, younger than you’ll ever feel.

And the fact pisses you off deeply. Add to the equation the nasty hit of hunger and all you’ll have left in the pot is a very grumpy, lonely person.

At some point during your hurried walk, you're acquired a bottle of water. Opening the cap, you down the liquid in two quick gulps. The cold water meeting the surface of your stomach, you're reminded rather cruelly that water holds no nutritious value and your poor body is resenting the fact.

You have water at the very least. And hey it is Important to focus on the good, rather than dwelling on the what - could-have- been's. You're out of the tedious place and still young. Not dying of thirst nor a broken heel and best of all not pinned to the wall of that place's bathroom under Endo's hungry eyes, body trapped between the mirror and his.

As you take a step grander than the previous ones, you miscalculate– as you’ve been doing all night long, and step into the little puddle of water instead. Your face scrunches up in disgust, not checking to see how clear the water was.

Why did you think it was a good idea to wear something with heels today? Miscalculations and foolish decisions… you go for comfort above all for a reason, after all.

As you walk, you try not to press onward with the overgrowing nasty thoughts, regarding yourself and regarding life.

So what if you’re not living life as expected of you? You do not owe anything to anyone. You know this, deep down in your chest you believe in the fact, but with each step you take and each face you pass by in a blur in all your sole glory; it loses its credibility by the minute.

The night is young yet you’ve used up all your time, already far too late, already so behind everyone else– and worse of all, all by yourself.

You clutch the water bottle in your hands until it makes a loud noise and the sharp edges of the plastic begin to cut into your skin and only then you find it in you to breathe again.

But you are not alone, are you? At least not in the physical sense.

Because as your brain runs a mile per second, your feet hurting and bones begging for a rest, Endo Yamato trails right behind you, hands in his pockets and his steps on the same spots as you’ve stepped.

You are not alone, no, not when Yamato follows after you like a lost little puppy, careful enough to maintain his distance so as to not get yelled at, close enough to keep you at bay.

An uneasy feeling begins to grow inside you, saying you know how this story will end, again.

That’s the thing with Yamato, you muse, as you take the escalator and wait. Despite his claims, he knows how to get under one’s skin, knowing exactly what to tell and how to say it. He sweetens his voice, lolls the words and bats his lashes at you– or the occasional ‘hit ‘em where they’re weak’; once he gets inside someone’s head, it's hard getting him out.

And You find yourself despising Yamato for all the wrong reasons.

Perhaps that’s where the true irony of it lies, just two hypocrites, the two of you are.

You blink and watch the swarm of people making their way to the door, the short train ride coming to a finale for you. Compared to the rest of your day, it was perhaps the most peaceful moment you’ve had to yourself. 

The bright lights show when the next train will be arriving as well as the time– 23:12, still moments away from calling the night to an end.

5 minutes by train makes a stark difference, as you are met with the familiar darkness and silence. Here, the people are much calmer, there is no rush, nor guilt for not living your life like they do. Here, you can just exist and carry out the life of an elderly and no one would bat an eye at it.

Yet, the silence is predatory, and the darkness goes beyond being just a comfort. You know better than to trust something just because you have fond memories of it.

Maybe that’s the thing with you, a part of the same darkness, cut from the same clothing. Knowing you’re walking right into your impending doom and still going along with it.

Yamato has been uncharacteristically silent behind you the whole time, you acknowledge after a while. Because for the two of you, it is a game he plays, and the thrill he enjoys. The back and forth bickering; he will sing you praises he wouldn't say to anyone else and you'll answer back with insults crafted and designed just for him— it always gets him giddy with glee, saying there is care and attention to your words despite acting the opposite. He is odd, and that's just it. No matter what you do or dont, there is always something greater to your actions, he seems to think.

Yamato’s attention burns like fire, you’ve learned through simple observations and have steered clear ever since.

As much as it is flattering, that’s the thing with him. Give in and he will lose interest, refuse and he will be infatuated.

He likes the types he cannot crack, the ones he cannot mold into the shape he aches, the one’s he cannot predict– though for this, he claims it hasn’t been much of an issue when he’s ‘this bad of a read at people’, or so he says.

There are lies within your course of thinking, but a light pink has never dirtied anything.

You know to keep your measure and keep him at an arm's length, maybe not physically but always metaphorically. It’s the things people cannot reach oh-so-easily that draws him in and it’s those that don’t buy his advances that attract him.

You really should’ve just pretended to care back then, you’d have done yourself a favor if your stupid ass wasn't so adamant on honesty. But you cannot blame your younger self, not really. Not when it’s been this long already.

When Yamato picks you up with your feet off the ground, you feel as if a weight has been lifted off your soul.

You knew how the story was going to end yet you stalled either way, allowing yourself so– your train of thoughts come to a halt when you feel Yamato’s lips on your neck, sucking on the flesh in a manner you can only label ‘trying to do gently’. With arms at both sides, holding you firm for support, Yamato takes small breaks inbetween his nibbling to take a deep breath of your skin. You can hear him scoof when his nose tickles more front areas, probably disappointed by the use of perfume for masking your natural scent.

Even such a small thing makes you feel odd– would make you feel hot were it anyone else. You just cannot give Yamato the satisfaction of knowing he is good at it.

At least the scenery of the final scene changes. This is levels better than making out at the restaurant bathroom, on your toes for any potential users, not to mention more hygienic–

Fingers pinch at your skin by your left, and you're back on earth, he must’ve guessed you getting lost in your thoughts again.

What a greedy man, you think, offering to give you his all and still demanding your attention in return.

Yamato presses his entire body weight onto you and waits for the slightest of moan leaving your lips, all ears just to hear you react to him.

And you do, just not in the way he can see or would be happy with. And you would, but you’d rather die than give him the satisfaction of it.

Pushing you further, he secures you with one hand and allows the other to linger on your body. Tracing your legs, dragging his nails and losing himself at your hitched breath.

When you are eye to eye, you can see the absolute bliss in his expression. It is a flattering feeling to know this is all your doing, just by solely existing.

Things have been progressing like this between the two of you for a while now. And as much as you’d love to complain, you cannot deny it benefits you both; Yamato can devote and give all his love and affection to someone open to receiving, and you take it all in like the greedy thing you are, allowing him the courtesy of loving you but not returning it. His love only fuels the fire further, and you burn it all up at a rapid speed.

In the end it all works out. And that's the thing, isn't it ? A beneficial affair for both parties and a nice outlet on the days you feel so worked up over even the smallest thing.

“Stop it” you say and push his face off. e looks at you with surprise.

Oh, Yamato wasn't expecting your patience to burn up this quickly.

Save for the face now hovering few centimeters away, he disturbs not a single thing to his position, enjoying your body against his and your legs dangling at both sides of his waist.

Like this, he almost resembles a child. Blue eyes looking up at you with a childish gIee and glint to them. You're the untouchable cookie jar, far high up in the cabinets. The years old liquor only ever savored on the most sacred of days. 

Yamato looks at you like no human would to anyone else.

Letting out a sigh, you lightly flick his nose off. “You're doing it all wrong. Too sloppy and on the same location.“ because he is awaiting instructions, your input, all the words you're willing to give him. 

 “Such a deep drop in performance doesn't suit you.” you half heartedly joke, and his face lights up in an instant as if you've just made the sun rise.

“Then allow me to atone for my sins.” He whispers to your lips and kisses your lips.

Yamato always kisses you like a man starving and you respond to him barely. 

With slow, deep kisses, he nips at the parts of your lips you've bitten before, tasting your blood on your lips. His hands begin to roam your figure and one finds the nape of your neck, drawing circles into your skin as a way to soothe and pull you closer to him.

When he feels you kissing him back, he doesn't let the moment take him by surprise, cannot afford to stall even for a second and deny you of the pleasure you're deserving.

So close yet so distant, and in the end you're both getting what you needed. There is nothing wise about indulging in him but you've started to reach a point with no care for anything.

The coldness of the night disperses as your bodies begin to warm up, all your aches forgotten in the back of your mind.

Between the shadows and the quiet of the town, Endo Yamato seeks heaven in you once more, and you allow him to give as much as he is willing.

[cinnamonest]

May I present to you... innocent playgirl reader x modern au incel scara??

Like reader is just a sweet gal that thinks this boy who she's in a project with is pretty and despite his weird and creepy behaviour, it's a good thing she's trying to make a move, because y'know! it's actually women's fault that men get so frustrated and depressed since they never give the short guys a chance! Only go for the top 1% and all that.

Unfortunately after scara naps her, noncons the absolute, living daylights out of her, and continues to terrorize her ass does she realize that being nice and sweet to the degenerate, sexist incel in hopes of fixing him wasn't the brightest idea 😔

(If you can't tell I love the idea of kind n sweet MC who doesn't know any better getting her shit wrecked for no good reason because incel scara is just that much of an asshole)

Ohhhh my God bless you for this

Precisely, it’s so unfair. It’s just extra inches of leg bone, it means nothing. And yet day in, day out, the oppressed class (sub-6-foot males) have to deal with unjust discrimination. All because you have the most superficial desires and can’t compromise on such a silly thing. No, you’d rather whore around with some guy that will just use you and cheat on you because your dumb girl brain seeks that out like every other. And in spite of being smarter and better than the neanderthals you choose to date, which should entitle him to pussy, he’s left with nothing but porn and his hand. The world is an unjust place.

He’s pessimistic as all hell, so he can’t take any kindness or attempts at getting closer from you at face value, there has to be an ulterior motive.

You’re only pleasant to him when you talk to him because you want something. You probably expect him to do work for you, or help you cheat on tests for you or fork over money. You think he’s the sort of loser that will salivate over any girl that gives him a shred of attention, don’t you. That he’ll run himself ragged doing whatever for you just to get your approval. Well. You’re not going to get that.

It goes along with this greater idea of you he’s crafted in his head, one that fits a similarly pessimistic image. It doesn’t matter how “innocent” you are, literally anything you say or do, he’s projecting this stereotype of a secretly not-so-innocent, ultra-promiscuous college girl onto you and using it as both justification for his disdain and as a means of rationalize not leaping at this rare chance for female interaction — it’s not that he’s too afraid of rejection, it’s just that he knows that talking to you is a waste of time anyway, you undoubtedly have guys lined up you're fucking on a regular basis.

Besides, even if he tried, you’re far too dull-brained, so any conversations you’re capable of aren’t going to be stimulating anyway. You’re in college, of course you’ve spent all this time racking up a body count because God knows girls only use college as a means to get dicked all the time, they don’t actually care for academics in any way.

And poor you, you're completely oblivious to his bitter seething. You just think he's just quiet. And surely he doesn’t come off as rude and cold on purpose, no, you tell yourself that he probably just is one of those guys that is naturally like that, it’s not malicious.

But then you have to start going out of your way to be actively nice. Trying to make conversation and say nice things — you must think he’s stupid, that he doesn’t know that it’s actually just fake niceness so you can lure him in and get him to say something you can then mock him for in that faux-sweet tone of yours. In the exact opposite of your assumptions on him, he assumes malice in everything you do and say. He won’t give you the satisfaction of giving you leverage, so, he stays quiet, gives you one-word answers and shrugs.

What plans do you have for the weekend?, you say, in your attempts to make conversation. Ugh.

Not only are you trying to jab at him by reminding him that he has no plans other than staying inside and wallowing, but clearly you do have plans, undoubtedly ones that end with you stumbling home in a walk-of-shame on a Sunday morning.

And the nicer you get, the more you irritate him. What makes you think you can just be like that? All smiley and sunshine-like, and for what? To mock him? Acting innocent and sweet as if you don't know what kind of power you inherently hold just by having a hole between your legs, as if you're not actively abusing that power when you're clearly trying to get him to be attracted to you.

Each and every class period, he ends up so infuriated by the few words you exchange that the only way he can even stay sane is by immediately going back to his apartment after class and releasing all the pent up frustrations via exceptionally violent porn. He's got a few specifics pages bookmarked now, girls that look just like you getting slapped around and choked and manhandled and skull-fucked and gaped… but it's just not satisfying enough, there's still this lingering irritation, a skin-crawling malice that won't go away.

It's not good enough to imagine. If anything, the post-orgasmic clarity just makes the whole thing feel pathetic — it's not really you, you get to be all happy and safe and sound when it should be you, you should be the one being brutalized and put in your place, you deserve it for being so damn nice. So pleasant and upbeat and kind and what gives you the right?

In the end, once the burning fury becomes too much and no one else is going to do it, the only option is to take matters into his own hands…

[kimsohn]

it takes 2 to mango

pairing . beomgyu x gn! reader (ft. yunjin of le sserafim) about . 12.2k words, fluff + angst warnings . cursing, a lot of food mentions, kissing, mentions of murder/dying (it's all jokes), y/n is in denial half the time (about beomgyu and mangoes), it took me like 2 months to write this so it may be all over the place i'm sorry in advance

synopsis . after your parents drop you off at your aunt's, leaving you with your whole life packed in bags, all you can do is wonder when you'll finally be able to get back to your old life. except, of course, when a brown-haired boy makes you wonder if staying here isn't so bad after all. note . literally after 2 years of delay and many plot changes it's finally here!! happy (late) birthday @urmelo, i told you i would write it and it's here (albeit two months late but wtv). also i literally wrote this whole thing based on this image but halfway through i realized he's sitting in a classroom so my whole broadcast idea was stupid 😞 and this is slightly inspired by all of us are dead and f4thailand! i stole the mango pun from google tagging . @invuwrld @tocupid @mmmsvnts @seung-scrittore

You have never loathed mangoes more than this moment.

It’s only been a couple of hours since your parents dropped you off at your aunt’s house, your whole life packed into suitcases and a Hello Kitty backpack you’ve owned since fifth grade, and you’re already sick of this situation. You don’t even understand your parents’ thought process, because who would even leave their whole life behind to start a mango supply business in Thailand, and you’re even angrier at your aunt for encouraging it. Now, you’re forced to leave behind the comfort of your old life and start anew in the four walls of your new house, miles away from your parents and old friends.

You even hate the stupid smile on your mom’s face when you agreed to their plan. At least you’ll be somewhat rich when your parents decide to come home, however long that might take (hopefully it’s within the next five minutes or so).

“Y/N, let me know if you want to paint your walls, okay? Your uncle loves interior design, so he’ll be happy to organize your room.”

In your old house, your walls were a bright, cheery yellow. Now they’re a boring beige, reminiscent of the hospital walls you’ve always hated. It’s okay though, because now yellow will remind you of mangoes, and you’re just about ready to hurl something at the mere thought of the fruit.

“It’s okay Auntie,” you respond, tracing your finger across the indents of the walls, “I kind of like the beige.”

Your cousin Yeonjun snickers from behind your aunt, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. Yeonjun is definitely the type to hate beige because even his personality shines a bright red flag. Even now, he’s on his phone, probably flirting with (code word for annoying) some poor soul.

“Okay, honey. Yeonjun can help you finish unpacking, and then he can take you to school so you can find your classes. Tomorrow is your first day, after all, I don’t want you to get lost.”

With that, she closes the door behind you, leaving the two of you in your drab room with no personality. Instead of helping you unpack, Yeonjun sits on the chair in the corner, typing away with no care in his mind.

“I thought you were supposed to help?” you huff, though it’s not angrily.

Even though you and your cousin were friends, at first forcibly due to your family relations and later willingly because he’s actually quite interesting, you know that he won’t hesitate to note whatever he can to have leverage over you. Already, he’s taken a picture of your backpack, and if he helps you unpack, he’ll definitely find the shark plushie you brought for the sentiment. It’s not out of malice; it’s just the way your relationship is, however annoying it may be.

“Like you need my help,” he scoffs, crossing one leg over the other as a means to get comfortable, “just let me know when you’re done.”

You survey the mess of your belongings scattered across the bed. It’ll probably take hours, if not days, to sort out properly, and even you are itching to leave this stuffy room and get some fresh air. You’ve sorted out what you need for the next few days, so you might as well revisit this mess later.

“Actually, we can go now. I kind of need a break anyway.”

“Goody-two-shoes Y/N needs a break? Are you in your rebel era?” he jokes, but he opens the door and sticks a leg out, leaving it open for you to walk through.

You smack him on the shoulder as you walk to his car, sitting shotgun and itching to put your feet on the dash. You’re an average kid and you do average things, but you’re not in the mood to argue and correct your cousin.

“Just shut up and drive.”

You kind of wish you stayed at home because even mangoes wouldn’t survive in this environment.

Actually, there’s nothing wrong with your new school. It seems even more modern and spacious than your old one, and it has way more amenities than you could even imagine. You can see yourself fitting in here quite well, and since Yeonjun is popular, it’ll be easy to make friends.

The only problem is that the air conditioner isn’t working today, which means it’s extremely hot in the building. The hot sun outside paired with the lack of cool air means the whole building could resemble the Sahara Desert, and you wish you’d worn something more fitting for the weather, like the tank top Yeonjun has on right now (although, he seems to have other motives for wearing it). The sweat beads trickle down your forehead, and the only thing saving you right now is the popsicle your cousin was kind enough to buy for you. Unluckily, the gas station only had the mango flavor left.

“Yeonjun, are we done yet?” you ask, although it sounds more like a plea as you trudge along the hallways.

“Actually, no. We still have the science hallway, and the math hallway, and—”

A shrill noise fills the air, and you cover your ears shut and watch Yeonjun’s popsicle fall from his hands. Startled, the two of you find stability against the wall as the sound disappears and is replaced with crackling noises.

“Fuck, my popsicle!” Yeonjun exclaims, looking extremely disappointed as he grabs a tissue and cleans the mess up.

“Forget the popsicle, what was that? It’s a Sunday, who’s playing with the speakers?”

“It’s probably the media team preparing for the week’s announcements. Come, I’ll show you the broadcast studio.”

Yeonjun’s flip-flops squeak across the floor as you two walk, and in a matter of minutes, you reach a bright blue door next to the auditorium. Big block letters indicating which room it is are engraved on top, and Yeonjun knocks on the door repeatedly until it opens.

“I knew it was you,” a blue-haired boy answers, “you’re the only one annoying enough to knock that many times.”

“Hey! You should’ve answered faster.” Yeonjun protests as you giggle, glad you’re not the only one who finds your cousin annoying.

The boy pouts as he lets you two inside, and immediately you feel like you were cast into a recording studio. Shelves of CDs and books fill the sides, and behind the glass panel, a room full of microphones and levers peeks through. You feel like Radio Rebel in her bedroom, only intensified, and as you check out the large computer screens that line the walls, you find yourself imagining sitting in the center and being a part of whatever goes on behind the scenes here.

Your eyes cross over a brown-haired boy sitting at the table, headphones covering his plush hair and a teal highlighter in his hand. He’s looking down at a piece of paper, probably a script, and unknowingly you’re leaning forward to get a better look at his face before Yeonjun taps your shoulder and you straighten yourself.

“Y/N, this is Soobin,” Yeonjun gestures to the blue-haired boy, “and that over there is Beomgyu,” he continues, pointing to the boy at the desk.

Soobin smiles warmly, shaking your hand awkwardly as if this was a courthouse and not a classroom, but your eyes are more focused on Beomgyu. They’re focused on the way he taps the highlighter on his lips when he’s deep in thought, or when he adjusts his headphones when he’s satisfied with something. Yeonjun moves to interrupt him, probably to introduce you, but you hold him back so he can continue his work.

 “Are you interested in joining?” Soobin asks, handing you a flyer, “we could always use more people.”

“I’m not that much of a speaker,” you respond, taking the handout anyway.

“You don’t need to be. We do more here than just talk, you know?”

As Soobin waves you goodbye, you take one last glance at the room, particularly Beomgyu, before you step out. You don’t know for sure whether you’ll join the club or not, but you have a feeling that you’ll be seeing him around pretty soon.

You might hate your alarm clock more than you hate mangoes, but at least it’s useful.

It’s the first day at your new school, but you’re not really jumping for joy. School is school wherever you go, and you don’t really feel the excitement or jitters someone would usually feel after transferring. You’re just about ready to pass through the rest of the year as smoothly as possible and hopefully not gain unwanted attention as the resident new kid. You’re already suffering enough by joining after a whole semester; you don’t need to bring any more trouble to yourself.

“Y/N, are you ready?” Yeonjun yells from outside the house, revving the accelerator so you can hear his annoyance.

“Coming!” you yell back, grabbing your bag and rushing out the door, holding a half-eaten piece of toast and a glass of orange juice.

Yeonjun likes to go to school a little early so he can talk to his friends, but this was a fact you didn’t know until five minutes ago. In an ideal situation, you wouldn’t have been rushing on your first day, but your cousin never makes things easy for you. At least he didn’t drive off without you.

Yeonjun attempts to lecture you about your lateness in the car, but you tell him to pay attention to the road and stuff the toast in your mouth. One thing you won’t let your cousin disturb you about is food, so you’re glad he calms down and lets you enjoy a peaceful ride to school.

You’re finishing your orange juice as he pulls into the student parking lot. He has a spot reserved for him, apparently, and the fact seems to be true as he parks in the space with “YEONJUN” decorated in bright red spray-paint letters. He puts on sunglasses as he exits the car, and you’re extremely glad he doesn’t have fans swooning over him in front of his car because you don’t know how much more you can take. Who does he think he is?

Thankfully, the air conditioner seems to be working this time around because as soon as you enter through the front doors, a blast of cool air hits you in the face. It’s only January, but the sun outside doesn’t seem to be taking a break this week, so you’re grateful for the human wonder that is A/C. Yesterday’s empty halls are now filled with students, and already Yeonjun is dragging you off to introduce you to some new people. You’re just glad he has pink hair because otherwise, you would’ve lost him.

By the time you reach your first class, your mind is riddled with names of people you’ll probably never talk to again. You’ve met at least three Jaehyuns, a Yunjin and a Yujin and another Han Yujin, two Jisungs, and many more students you definitely won’t remember. If you were on your own, it would’ve taken you a whole year to talk to this many people, but with a semi-superstar by your side, it only took ten minutes. You’re just glad your presence seems to be well-received.

Your first class is math, and already you find yourself falling asleep. A stack of books finds its way onto your desk, a textbook for everything you could need, and you can foresee yourself sleeping in to skip this terrible class. The only good sight about this class is Mr. Kim, who’s nice and tries to be entertaining, but there are only so many ways you can make numbers and formulas fun. At least the girl sitting in front of you, Yunjin from earlier, helps you pass the time by doodling her number on the margins of your notebook.

Bored and half asleep, you trudge your way to your second class, history. You’re grateful your cousin helped you find your way across the school yesterday, because your class is across the school in a corner you wouldn’t have even known existed. Unlucky for you, Mrs. Jung isn’t as nice or entertaining as Mr. Kim, but just before you can succumb to slumber, the intercom buzzes.

The morning announcements play, but instead of Soobin’s voice, you hear someone unfamiliar.

“Hey everyone, happy Monday! It’s the beginning of the week, which means we have a long road ahead, but I believe in each and every one of you to get through it. We’re only a couple of weeks from break, which is an exciting thought to look forward to…”

You realize halfway through that the voice is Beomgyu’s, and you don’t know what it is about his voice, but it seems to be perfect for starting off the announcements. He seems to be tasked with maybe a desperate attempt to cheer up the student body on a dreary Monday, but they seem to be doing the job because you feel much lighter than before the announcements. Others seem to feel the same way too, because the atmosphere in the once stale, cornered history classroom is now bright and jolly. You honestly wish you had listened to the full script he had prepared, but either because of your previous fascination or his soft, honeylike voice, you find it hard not to be lulled to dreamland.

After, he's followed by Soobin, who talks about the daily updates and the weather, and you wonder how he manages to sound so upbeat and cheery this early in the morning. He then passes the mic to a boy named Taehyun, who voices important announcements and leads the school pledge before the mic crackles off.

You can’t stop thinking about Beomgyu for the rest of the class period, so when he slides into the empty seat next to you halfway through the lesson, you think you must be imagining things. It’s like he’s glowing, as if a dreamy filter spans across his face. You stare at him until he stares back and raises an eyebrow, a quirk to show his feelings of confusion. He throws a rolled-up piece of paper at you, and when you catch it, you realize he’s very much real.

Bit by bit, you unfold the paper, and in scratchy handwriting, he’s written ‘Am I that interesting?’ in all caps. Your face feels like it’s on fire, and you tuck the paper in between the crease of your notebook, filled with doodles of Beomgyu’s name. You quickly shut it, hoping he didn’t see it, and avoid his gaze for the rest of the period.

Unluckily for you, fate doesn’t seem to be on your side because as soon as the bell rings, Beomgyu is reaching out to grab your elbow. You think you’re utterly and absolutely fucked, and you’re even more mortified when he links elbows with you and leads you out of the classroom.

“What’s your next class?” he prods, and you only answer after he asks a second time because you’re too embarrassed to register anything.

“English, with Mr. Yoon. Look, I’m sorry about before, I thought I was dreaming—”

“Dreaming? Are you in love with me or something?” he asks, and even though the question is accusatory, his smooth voice makes it sound like music to your ears.

“No!” you exclaim, a little too loudly that you have to apologize to the teachers standing in the hallway before continuing, “Look, I was falling asleep in Mrs. Jung’s class, okay? Since the seat next to me was empty beforehand, I thought you were a random daydream that I was making up to distract myself. I genuinely didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable with my staring or anything, I just didn’t know you were real until you threw that ball at me.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” he responds, his features softening at your explanation, “her class is pretty boring anyway. You’re new here, right? Yeonjun’s cousin? I’m Beomgyu.”

“I’m Y/N, nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too. You’re a little weird, you know that?” he remarks, laughing as he walks you to class.

You look down at your linked elbows and his goofy skipping. His observance is contradictory, but somehow, his weirdness is a little endearing to refute.

“Yeah, but you’re a little weird too. We cancel each other out, I guess.”

As soon as you step into the production room, you’re cast with the smell of mangoes. Seriously, those damned fruits seem to be following you, and you can never seem to escape them.

“Y/N! Hi! Welcome!” Soobin greets, ushering you into the room and grabbing you a seat, “We’re so happy to have you.”

It’s the next Thursday, a week after the dreaded daydream incident, and you’ve decided to show up to the broadcast meetings. You’ve been toying with the idea of joining ever since you walked into the room on Sunday, but it was Beomgyu’s insistence yesterday that really pushed you over the cliff of uncertainty.

“We have a lot of fun there. You don’t even have to speak on the morning announcements to be a part of it! We do much more than that, like run the newspaper and manage the yearbook. There’s a place for everyone, Y/N, you won’t regret joining.”

Even now, he waves warmly from the seat next to you. You’ve been talking frequently these days, partially because he’s in quite a few of your classes and partially because he’s part of a group chat Yeonjun added you to. He’s interesting to talk to and he always makes you laugh, and being around him makes you feel warm and fuzzy. Like your initial observance, he’s a little weird and goofy too, but it makes him all the more delightful.

You’re not crushing on him, of course. He’s a nice person to pass the time with during and after school. Besides, your friends at home are much better; he’s just a placeholder.

“Have some cake, Y/N!” Soobin insists, pushing a plate toward you, “It’s mango flavored!”

You smile hesitantly as you pick up the spoon and take a bite. It tastes good and you hate admitting it because mango is a good flavor; you just don’t like being reminded of the sentiment that comes along with it. You gaslight yourself into thinking it’s strawberry and finish the plate quickly, downing your water bottle straight after.

“Was it good?” Beomgyu asks, his voice a little hard to hear due to the conversations of next week’s script being tossed around behind him, “I got it from a bakery near my house. We actually have a snack at every club meeting, and this week was my turn to bring it.”

“Yeah, it was good. I’m just not really fond of mango,” you respond, already cringing at the words coming out of your mouth.

“You don’t like mango? Who doesn’t like mango?” Beomgyu voices, responding exactly how you expected him to.

“Me. I just don’t.”

Beomgyu drops the topic at your insistence and talks about the club instead, introducing you to some of the members. Taehyun, the boy from the announcements, is president, and Soobin is vice president. You learn that Beomgyu does a little bit of everything, and you try not to smile as he blushes when his friends list out his talents.

“Is Yeonjun not part of the club?” you ask after he’s introduced you to one of the many Jaehyuns part of the management team, “you guys seem to be good friends.”

“He was initially, but he has modeling lessons on Thursday so he can’t make it. He’s more like an honorary member, to be honest, but he helps us out a lot.”

You hum in agreement, meeting another Jaehyun (why are they all so attractive?) and rounding the corner to talk to Taehyun.

“I’ll leave you with Tae. He’ll help you figure out which team you’re best suited for.”

Taehyun pulls out a chair for you as Beomgyu walks away, and you can immediately see why he’s president. He’s a little reserved but he’s domineering, and he seems perfect for managing things behind and in front of the scenes.

“So, Y/N, did you have anything in mind when you were joining?”

“No, not really. I’m not very talkative though, and I don’t know how to handle a camera.”

“Yeah, Beomgyu also mentioned those things. I think you’ll be a good fit for the newspaper, based on first impression. Editors mostly work on the scripts and I think you’ll find it interesting. Come, I’ll introduce you to the head.”

He introduces you to Yunjin, the girl from your math class, and she helps you get the editing software and drive set up. Yunjin tells you that she’s the type of person who has a lot to say, and writing is a powerful outlet for her because it allows her to explore topics she’s passionate about. You don’t exactly know if you relate to her thought process, but it does make you feel a little excited.

“Is Beomgyu also part of the editing team?” you ask, mainly out of curiosity because you saw him revising the script on Sunday.

“Ah, kind of. He floats around between everything so I guess I could say that he is. Would you like to read some of his work?” she asks, pulling out a newspaper article from a stack in the corner, “Last issue, he wrote the front page spread dissing the school lunch menu. It might seem silly, but it was actually a huge hit, and honestly, the food has even gotten better since.”

You skim through the newspaper, and the interactive, colorful parts draw your gaze in. Elements like the pie chart, bolded words, and quotes make the article worth reading, and you can already tell from skimming the text that Beomgyu is a good writer. You flip through the rest, reading the story headlines and noting that some are serious, some are current, and some are merely just for entertainment. Even throughout the rest of the spreads, you can tell the writers put effort into making sure the newspaper is actually catered to the student population, and you can already imagine yourself publishing an issue of your own in the near future.

“Since you’re new, you can help Beomgyu out with his new piece. Let’s take things slow, okay?”

You nod, turning to face Beomgyu. You don’t know what’s going on in that fascinating mind of his, but you’re excited to find out.

It’s been a busy few weeks since you’ve moved here. Unfortunately, school doesn’t slow down time for you, so you’ve had to handle piles of schoolwork on top of adjusting to your new environment, at school, and at home. Your aunt, for one, is double the amount of hyper your parents were, and it’s taken you a while to get adjusted to her presence. At least you’ve had Yeonjun to help you out.

The one thing that you’ve actually looked forward to at school is the broadcast club. Taehyun was right about you fitting the editor role, and you’ve grown to fit in quite well with the other members. Mainly, however, you spend most of your time with Beomgyu, often looking over his shoulder and bouncing off ideas he has and grammatical errors he needs to fix. The issue is a little satirical, making it fun to read, and you’ve enjoyed helping him out because he actually values your input and your experiences.

It's the reason why he invited you to come to school on Sunday. He thought working in a quieter environment would help you two brainstorm better, and you agreed. You’ve been busy all week working on collecting student opinions for him, and today, he hopes you two can get a significant portion of the article complete.

Unlike the first Sunday you were here, the air conditioning is actually on now, but you still feel a little sweat prickling at the top of your forehead. You’re nervous because this is the first time you’ve actually been alone with Beomgyu, without anyone else nearby to mitigate your nerves. You’re scared about screwing up in front of him, or even worse, floating off into dreamland, but hopefully, you’ll be able to concentrate on your work and keep your thoughts at bay. If anything goes wrong, you can just blame it on his sweet voice.

You’re at least thankful Yeonjun hasn’t caught wind of how you two met, because he would never stop holding it over your head.

You knock three times on the blue door and Beomgyu pulls it open, wearing a bright grin on his face. He’s in a hoodie and sweats, a little bit more casual than his school attire, but somehow it just makes him more attractive. Combined with his dimples, he resembles a teddy bear, and you’re honestly surprised he hasn’t joined the modeling industry like your cousin. He’d make so much money as a loungewear model, you just know it.

“Hey, come in! I just got here, so I’ve been working on some scripts for the next week. You can get your stuff sorted while I finish.”

You nod, pulling the papers out of your bag and opening your laptop. Your mission for the week was to interview students regarding the article. You don’t know if he’ll like them, but hopefully, you’ve got some good anecdotes for Beomgyu to include in his writing.

Or, apparently not.

“Beomgyu.”

“Hmm?” he asks, looking up from his paper.

“I accidentally grabbed Yeonjun’s bag. I left the data at home, I’m so, so sorry. I can’t believe how stupid I am; how could I even forget something this important?”

“Hey, Y/N,”

“I just knew something was going to go wrong today, and I was so scared I was going to fuck things up and I did, and—”

“Y/N!”

You stop in your tracks, eyes wide and close to tears. You’re usually not this sensitive at all, but this means a lot to you, working with Beomgyu means a lot to you, and you don’t want to lose all of this over your stupidity and inattentiveness. However, Beomgyu looks far from angry, and he has his hands on your shoulders, rubbing them to calm you down.

“It’s okay. You’re all good. We have so much more time until the deadline, so don’t beat yourself up, okay? We can just hang out and have fun. Look, I even brought you some mochi from the corner store!”

He shows you the packet, and the bright yellow color is enough to have you burst into tears.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks, looking at the packet, “it’s mango flavored. Oh! You don’t like mango. I’m so sorry, it slipped my mind. Forgive me?”

You sniffle, bringing him into a hug. The mochi wrapper crinkles between you as you put your head on his shoulder, clutching onto him as a means to calm you down. Beomgyu stills for a moment, probably out of shock before patting your back, albeit awkwardly yet reassuring.

“Sorry,” you mumble, “I didn’t mean to have a breakdown like that. I just didn’t want you to hate me. And I’ll eat the mango mochi, don’t worry.”

“I could never hate you, Y/N.”

“You’ve only known me for a couple of weeks; how could you say that?”

“Because even in the short time I’ve known you, I can tell how much of an amazing person you are. You’re bright and talented, and I love spending time with you, so stop apologizing, okay? It was just an accident.”

“Okay, I will,” you whisper, stepping back, “So, what now?”

“We could finish the mochi, for starters.”

You nod as you open the wrapper and take a bite. It’s tasty, so much so that you hate it, and you’re honestly five seconds away from letting go of your stupid grudge just to enjoy some fresh mango. However, your parents have plagued you enough with the fruit on their phone calls, which seems to hold your desires back well enough.

You stand to your feet as Beomgyu beckons you to follow him, wanting to show you something. He lets you in through the small door leading to the glass panel room, and you’re immediately illuminated by the huge screens around you. So much technology surrounds you, from microphones to switches to headphones, but you’re more intrigued by the feedback noise that emits once Beomgyu twists a knob, similar to the one you heard when you first got here.

“Does it usually make that noise when you turn it on?” you ask, walking around the room.

“Yeah, it’s a little bit annoying. That’s why we have to keep it turned on before school starts.”

“I figured. I heard it when I came here with Yeonjun before my first day.”

Beomgyu turns to you with an expression of mild surprise.

“I think Soobin and I were here that day. You should’ve visited us.”

“We did. We talked to Soobin, but you were working on something so we didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Is that why you thought I was in your daydream the day after?”

You feel like you’re on fire, and you look away from him. You didn’t expect Beomgyu to be this perceptive, but it was probably your fault for walking straight into this.

“Umm. Yeah, kind of. It’s embarrassing,” you say, covering your face with your palms.

“It’s not,” he responds, tapping your shoulder, “it’s actually kind of cute. Now that you’re in this room with me again, will I be in another one of your daydreams? I loved feeling like a celebrity.”

You mentally shrivel in humiliation, cringing when he lets out a laugh. If Yeonjun is a tease, then Beomgyu is most definitely a menace.

You are extremely close to falling asleep.

Currently, you’re sunbathing on one of Yunjin’s many beach chairs. They’re colorful and the sun shines ever so gently on your face, so the setting is perfect for you to take a nap. Too bad you’re at a pool party and not in your backyard, and Yunjin just might murder you if you drift off to dreamland after all the hard work you’d put into setting things up.

It’s spring break, which means one whole week of warm sun rays and well-needed rest. The newest issue of the magazine was published yesterday, and particularly this time around, it seemed to be quite popular amongst the student population. The group decided to throw a party to celebrate all the hard work that’s gone into publishing, and what other location would it be at than Yunjin’s gigantic mansion?

You’re particularly proud of Beomgyu’s hard work because his spread was absolutely stunning, but he merely brushed it off and thanked you for helping him when you thanked him earlier. He can be calm and graceful like that at times, like a soft breeze. Now, however, you turn to your side to see him sipping a mocktail on the chair next to you, donned in sunglasses and shark-decorated swim shorts, the farthest thing from serene.

“What flavor is that?” you ask, your voice tinged with sleep, “Actually, never mind. It’s probably mango.”

He laughs, and it’s so, so pretty. If you had to pick one sound to hear for the rest of your life, you’d take your chances on that.

“It is, but it’s kind of watery. I’m gonna save it for later though,” he starts, turning to face the pool and pointing at Taehyun.

“What about him?” you ask, craning your head to see him lounging in the pool with a duck floatie.

“If I cannonball into the pool, just how drenched do you think he’ll be?”

Your cries are practically unheard as you watch Beomgyu jump into the pool, absolutely obliterating not only Taehyun but also poor, unsuspecting Soobin next to him. Ten minutes later, after receiving a well-deserved scolding from Taehyun and issuing apologies, Beomgyu slogs his way back to the chair on your left with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“That was definitely worth it.”

“It definitely was not,” you counter, sitting up and leaning against the back, “you’re literally such a nuisance. If I had known you were this terrible, I would not have become friends with you.”

“I mean, you technically didn’t choose. You can’t really help who you daydream about, right?”

You’re glaring daggers into him, but he’s cruel enough to still find the situation funny. You can’t believe he’s trying to hold back laughter even in this situation, but you probably shouldn’t have expected any better. Seriously, how did he go from the sweet-talker broadcast boy to the literal devil?

“Watch your words, or I will slice you up as I did to all the mangoes in Fruit Ninja last week.”

“Woah, chill,” he starts, putting his sunglasses back on and taking a sip of his watery mocktail, “why do you even hate mangoes? You talk about them as if they were your exes.”

“My parents left me here to start a mango business in Thailand,” you say, picking at the skin next to your thumbnail and wincing when it hurts.

Beomgyu spits out his drink in alarm, but you kind of saw it coming. You’ve noticed that he tends to exaggerate things a lot, but you guess it’s just part of his personality.

“Wow, that genuinely sucks. I’m really sorry; I shouldn’t have prodded.”

“It’s okay. I don’t tell people because it’s only temporary. I might not even be here next year.”

Two months ago, you would’ve been happy at the thought. Now, however, even mentioning it brings a pang of sadness to your chest. You’ve known your time here was momentary all along, so why do you feel guilty?

“Are you happy?” he says, his voice a lot quieter now, “I mean, would you want to stay here or go back?”

You want to tell him what you think is logical, and logically, your old home was much better than here. You practically grew up there, and the place suits you so well that you’re meant to be there. However, the words that rush out of your heart speak differently.

“I honestly don’t know. I like it here, but I like it there too. I’ll just enjoy my time here before I leave. I still have a while anyway.”

Beomgyu flips to the other side, away from your gaze before he speaks. If you weren’t listening carefully, you might’ve not been able to hear his words.

“I don’t want you to leave. I like it when you’re here.”

He sounds so soft and clingy that it almost makes you cry. Instantly, you know that no one has ever cared enough to share the same sentiment back at your old house.

Home. You should’ve called it home, but it doesn’t feel right anymore. You used to think that home was a physical feeling, a place where you were raised and nurtured. Home before was the walls of the building you spend the most time in, but now, it feels a little different.

No, home isn’t your old house. It isn’t your new house either, even if the beige has grown quite well to your liking. Home is sitting here on this beach chair, surrounded by your closest friends, and the feelings of warmth that surround you all. Home is an emotion, something you’ve never felt in the past years of your life until you moved here. Home is being surrounded by people who want you, just because you’re you and not because it would be convenient.

“I like being here too,” you whisper back, and although he has his back turned to you, you can still feel his smile.

“Then just tell your parents you want to stay here.”

You can’t tell him that your mindset has made you feel that this is all temporary. Ever since you moved here, you’ve felt like a ticking bomb, waiting for a single phone call to determine your fate. Once, you would’ve been able to answer that it’s where you belong. Now, you seem to question if it’s merely just an obligation.

“It’s not that simple, Beomgyu.”

He sighs, and as he turns back around to face you, you drape an arm over your eyes. You don’t want to feel the intensity of his glare, but even without your vision, you feel his eyes shooting daggers into your abdomen. If only life were as easy as being able to sense Beomgyu’s responses, for you would’ve been sipping margaritas on some island with your talents.

“Isn’t it? Or maybe, just maybe, you’re overcomplicating it.”

You sigh, unwilling to answer, and the conversation falls to a standstill. You hate thinking, especially about this, but eventually, Beomgyu’s words are going to catch up to you. Whatever the implications of this conversation are, you’re sure you won’t enjoy them.

Not one bit.

You’re walking home with Beomgyu a couple of days after break has ended, an unfamiliar scene for you. Usually, Yeonjun drives you home in his shiny car, but he had to stay back for some tutoring today and you were left ride-less. Thankfully, Beomgyu swooped in to save the day, saying he’d keep you company since he knew the route. You’d accepted quite freely, definitely because you didn’t want to rely on Google Maps and not because you liked spending time with him.

Spring is in full season, which means the walk home is filled with greenery and a lush breeze. You feel like something out of a Studio Ghibli movie, but as you turn to look at Beomgyu, you realize he’s more aptly fitted for the scenario.

His hair is fluttering slightly through the wind, and his side profile is so perfect that only an animation artist could’ve crafted it. Beautiful is the only word to describe him, and each glance you take becomes increasingly hard to look away from.

You like him. It’s not a realization that’s come from this moment, but rather a million moments beforehand. Whenever you try to pinpoint an exact moment, your mind runs blank, as if you were pre-programmed to have him in your heart since the beginning of your existence. You’d just been so immersed in convincing yourself that you didn’t that you never really accepted you did.

“Y/N,” you hear from his lips, “are you going to the spring dance?”

The spring dance is next week, and it’s all everyone has been talking about lately, especially Yunjin. Honestly, if the Jung Jaehyun asked you out (yes, you can finally differentiate between the multiple Jaehyuns), you wouldn’t shut up about it either, but you don’t have any interest in it otherwise. The only updates you hear are when you don’t tone out Yunjin in math (there’s only so much you can hear about his features), and you’re growing quite sick of the talk.

Mainly though, you’re just annoyed you have to go without a date. A certain someone always pops up in your mind when you think about the event, but you’re too shy to ask and he seems to be preoccupied with other things. Even if it’s going just as friends, you’d take the chance, but it doesn’t seem in your cards for the near future.

“Yeonjun is forcing me to. I’d much rather spend my Friday nights with a show, but it is what it is.”

“Oh, come on!” he protests, shaking his head, “it’s always super fun. You won’t regret coming.”

“I guess, but I don’t really know who to go with. Yeonjun has a date, and I don’t want to be a third wheel.”

Beomgyu fishes something out of his pockets and holds it out to you. Upon closer inspection, you realize it’s a rectangular mango drink, and you raise an eyebrow.

“I know, I know, but it’s still driving me crazy that you hate mango. I want to be the person that changes your opinion on it, okay? Whenever you think of mango, don’t think of your parents, think of me!”

You roll your eyes as you grab the drink and punch the straw in. You don’t want to admit it, but the gesture is sweet, and already your negative thinking is rewriting itself to include positive memories with Beomgyu.

“Whatever,” you say, attempting to take a sip out of the straw only to find it stuck, “is there something wrong with your straw? Mine isn’t working.”

“No, there isn’t,” he replies, confusion settling across his face, “is it blocked? There might be something inside.”

Sure enough, you peek through the hole to see something white stuck in the straw, and you try your hardest to pull it out with your fingers. The texture is a little rough and thin, almost paper-like, but sadly you fail to get it out.

“Can you actually not get it out?” he asks, looking worried.

“Yeah, but it’s not that big of a deal. I’ll just get another straw after I get home.”

“This cannot be happening right now.” he mutters, grabbing it from you and trying his hardest to squeeze out the object, “Of course I fucked this up.”

“Beomgyu, it’s okay. Relax. It’s not that big of a deal,” you respond, trying to calm him down after seeing him get this worked up, “it’s just a drink.”

“But it’s not! Ugh,” he says, frustrated as he pulls out his phone, “you were supposed to be able to pull out the paper.”

“What are you talking about?”

He passes over his phone to you, and there’s a picture of a small piece of paper on it. When you zoom in to get a better look at the writing on it, you gasp.

“It takes two to mango, so will you be my partner?” you read out loud, looking at Beomgyu.

He smiles awkwardly, shrugging his shoulders.

“You’re asking me to be your date for the dance? Oh my god, yes!”

You hug him tightly, pressing your head into the crook of his shoulder. You don’t know if his intentions behind this are friendly or romantic, but the mere thought of being together, even just for a night, has you reeling. You feel so, so giddy as if you’re already on the dance floor and swaying in his arms.

You feel him sigh in relief, hugging you back.

“I’m so sorry I fucked up everything. It was supposed to be super cute—”

“Don’t worry about it. Even if you just asked me the question, I would’ve been happy. It was so creative though; how’d you come up with it?”

“I, um. I searched it up,” he replies, and you hear the bashfulness in his voice, “I just wanted it to be meaningful enough to us. I know that it’s unoriginal, sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Even just you researching to find something this creative is meaningful to me.” you answer honestly, “I’m saving that straw forever, I swear.”

He laughs, and you feel his chest vibrate against you. It’s a comforting feeling, one you’ll hopefully experience at the dance next week.

“I’m so excited. I can’t wait,” he whispers, pulling you in a little tighter.

“Yeah,” you whisper back, holding onto him, “Me too.”

The dance is a little lame, but being here with Beomgyu makes it worthwhile.

Seriously, if you’d come alone, you probably would’ve ended up sitting in the corner and munching on the brownies (they’re actually tasty, you can’t even deny it). However, Beomgyu has made it his personal mission for you to have fun, which is why he pulls you onto the dance floor to vibe with the beat of the song.

“This is so high school,” you mutter, feigning annoyance, “what song even is this?”

“I think it’s ‘Good Boy Gone Bad’ by TXT.”

“I’ve never heard of them.”

“Who cares? Stop being a downer and let loose a little.”

Contrary to your dislike, you do end up dancing. The song has a peppy beat and the two of you lose yourself in it, but even as you forget all of what occupies your brain, Beomgyu still remains in your head.

You’ll never forget the sparkling expression on his face when he saw your outfit as he picked you up from your house or the way he turned up your favorite song as you sped along to the venue. You would pay a million dollars just to relive that moment again, laughing at each other’s singing and enjoying each other’s company, but you realize that you don’t need to experience past moments with Beomgyu when he constantly makes better memories with you. With Beomgyu, you like living in the present, and he makes you forget about special days in the past you had coined as ‘the best day ever’ because nothing could compare to the feeling of being by his side like this.

The song ends, leaving you all woozy and excited, but the feelings quickly shift away when a much slower beat starts playing. You don’t even have to ask for the song name, because Beomgyu is already whispering it into your ear.

“’Fairy of Shampoo’ by the same artist. They’re pretty good, right?”

You move to nod, but the action is long forgotten as Beomgyu wraps his arms around your waist. He’s staring you in the eyes, a silent request for permission, and your response is wrapping your arms around his neck in a similar manner. You sway, and Beomgyu follows your lead, but this time around, the only thing you’re losing yourself in is his eyes.

The soft, angelic singing and chatter around you are muffled as if everyone in the room has disappeared except you and Beomgyu. You’re in a trance, with the perfect feeling of his arms around you as if they were always meant to be there. It’s so easy to will yourself away from everything to focus his gaze that you should be concerned, but one look at his eyes can confirm he’s in the same boat.

Maybe friends can ask each other out to dances. Maybe friends can slow-dance together. However, you find it hard to believe friends can look each other like this in the eyes and pretend they don’t feel anything.

Before you know it, the air grows hazy, and the only thing that makes your vision clearer is leaning in closer to Beomgyu. Or maybe that’s what’s making you crazy in the first place, but you don’t care because you’re trapped in the magnetic pull he emits that drives you closer, and closer, and closer. You’re close enough to notice the small moles on his cheek and the faint cologne he wears that smells like jasmine. You can’t even tell if you’re moving anymore because the only action you’re focused on is the fluttering of his eyelashes and the pursing of his lips.

It takes your brain a while to register what he says next because his voice is husky enough to be covered by the music, but the mere fact that his voice dropped three octaves has your mind spinning.

“Do you want this as badly as I do?”

Your throat is so parched you can’t even speak, but you don’t need words to imply what you want. You nod, the tiniest nod that if he wasn’t so focused, he wouldn’t have seen it, but his eyes are solely on you and that’s enough confirmation for him. The last thing you see is him leaning dangerously close before your eyes flutter shut, but the moment is ruined as your phone rings from your pocket and startles you both.

You fumble with the device as he clears his throat, leaning back, and with wide eyes, you see that it’s your mother calling. You’re cursing her mentally for calling at the worst possible time, but one look at Beomgyu has him motioning you off the dance floor.

“Take it; it’s probably important. I’ll be right here.”

You smile tightly before rushing off the dance floor, finding a place near the entrance that’s much quieter than the center. From this position, you have a straight view of Beomgyu in the middle, but you’re blocked by a sea of people surrounding him. It reminds you just how many obstacles you have between each other, and you mentally berate yourself for being so careless and almost kissing him before answering the phone.

“Hello? Mom?”

“Oh honey, hi! Your Auntie told me you were at some school dance, are you having fun?”

“I am,” you whisper back, just now realizing how much you miss your parents sending you off to these dances, “but I miss you a lot.”

“Actually, I called you about that!”

“What do you mean?”

“Our business here is doing so well that another company wants to buy us and give us a huge amount of shares. This means we can move back home and still make a profit!”

Your mom goes on about the logistics, but all you hear is white noise ringing through your ears. You knew this moment would creep up on you, but you just didn’t expect it so suddenly, especially after sharing such an intimate moment with Beomgyu. God, Beomgyu. How can you even begin to tell him?

“Mom, I have to go.”

“Of course, you must be busy! I’ll call you later, okay?”

Your fingers shake as you cut the call, tears brimming at the corner of your eyes. The room feels hazy once again, but this time, it feels suffocating. Your cheeks feel hot and you have no idea what to do, and all you can feel is Beomgyu’s gaze staring at you from across the room, boring into your eyes. All you can think is that he knows, and he hates you, and he’s going to feel so betrayed—

“Y/N? Are you okay?” you hear, and Yeonjun steps in front of you, blocking the connection between you and your crush.

“I- I need to go home. Please.”

You’re glad Yeonjun knows when to not be a nuisance, because all he does is nod wordlessly and clasp your palm, leading you to the car. You’re thankful that your cousin is actually a nice person deep down because he’s ditching his date and dropping his many it-boy moments just to take you home and let you cry on his shoulder. You try so, so hard not to look back because you know you’ll break down, but you can’t help what your heart wants. As you turn and make eye contact with Beomgyu, you see his confused and betrayed expression as he pushes past the people on the dance floor, but the crowd is too large, and he’s stuck between the masses. It’s bitter how these people once reminded you of obstacles, and now they’re exactly that, but you’re thankful because you’re sure you won’t be able to stop the tears if he talks to you right now.

As Yeonjun whisks you away in the dreary night, all you can hope is that Beomgyu remembers only the good moments between you, and not the worst. Maybe one day, just one, you hope he’ll forgive you, even though you know that you’ll never forgive yourself.

You have no heart to even attempt the history homework sitting on your desk.

It’s only been a week, but you feel like you went through five years of trauma from it alone. If it weren’t for Yeonjun, you would’ve locked yourself in your room the whole week and finished a bucket of ice cream. Instead, you showed up to class every day, draped in an oversized hoodie and making no means of eye contact with anyone. Any time you encountered Beomgyu, you tried your hardest to avoid it, even going as far as bargaining with your teacher to switch seats in history.

The only person you even talked to this week was your cousin. He was the only person you could confide in, probably because he was the only one who truly understood your current predicament. It’s silly, depending so much on the person who could use this as blackmail at any moment, but you have to say you’re a little grateful for him dragging you to school in the morning instead of leaving you to allow in the four walls of your bedroom.

However, even the motivation from Yeonjun can’t stop your bleeding heart. You feel like you’re going through hell and back, and with exams coming up your mind just isn’t in the right place. How long are you going to keep your homework sheets sitting on your table void of pencil markings? Even the mere act of reading the instructions has you tired, and all you can do is rest your head against the table and try not to let your thoughts drift off.

Even this homework reminds you of him. It reminds you of how you would goof off during your lectures, texting each other through the crevices of your desk, or how you would sit for long hours in the library and attempt to study, kicking each other’s feet beneath the table. Even now, you can hear him knocking on the door, asking you to open up and talk.

“Y/N, it’s Beomgyu!”

Okay, maybe that part isn’t your imagination.

Why is he even here? What business would he even want with you after you’ve wronged him so much? Your mind has no idea, but the only thing you’re listening to is your heart as you pull open the door and take in his presence.

He looks beautiful, like always. His existence is something that you want to cuddle into a ball and put in your pocket, yours to keep and cherish forever because he is simply the word soft personified. Today, however, he sports dark circles under his eyes and a paler shade of skin. What has made your teddy bear so sad? Is it your doing?

“Hi,” you whisper, and your hands itch to reach out and wrap him in a tight hug.

“Yeonjun told me what happened. I wanted to give you some space, but it’s torture without you.”

Now you’re confused. Why is he showing up at your door and giving you comfort? Isn’t he the one who has been wronged this whole time?

“You mean, you’re not mad at me?”

“Why would I be? It’s not your fault you need to move back. Sure, I’m sad about it, but this isn’t something you can control, right?”

Now, nothing stops you or your conscience as you wrap your arms around him, furrowing into his familiar scent as tears escape your eyes. You’ve done a lot of hugging recently, but this time, it feels like an eternity has gone by. You never want to let go of him or this moment, and you can even feel your mind memorizing every aspect of this moment.

You guess Beomgyu makes you feel that way. Mind and heart combined, with no conflict.

“You always know what to say,” you point out, sniffling.

“I’d hope so; I have to do it every Monday.”

You laugh, although it’s choked and dry from your crying, but as your head moves, you hear a crinkle from his back pocket.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, um,” he starts, grabbing the object out of his pocket, “they’re mango popsicles. I was going to try and bargain with you if this didn’t work out.”

“Hmm, well, I’m not really convinced yet,” you joke, motioning him to follow you and sit on your bed as he rolls his eyes.

Silence ensues for the next couple of seconds as you both open the wrappers and enjoy the delicacy. The flavor doesn’t even bother you anymore, because now when you think of mango, you think of Beomgyu. You think of his sweetness, his humor, and his bright sunshine personality that matches the color of the delightful fruit.

“Oh, Y/N, you have some juice dripping down your chin,” Beomgyu notices, pointing to the area.

“Where, here?” you ask, patting the left side and feeling its dryness, “or a little higher?”

“No, I- here,” he says, leaning closer with his thumb and brushing off the liquid.

You want to thank him, but as you look up into his eyes, you realize how imperceptibly close you two are. Suddenly, you’re thrust back to a week ago when you were in his arms, leaning into each other until you could feel his breath upon yours, but this time, there’s nothing stopping you. No phone, no crowd, and most importantly, no insecurities come between you two now, and your mind is clear as you lean in and latch your lips upon his.

If you were unsure of what mango meant to you before, you’re definitely sure it will remind you of Beomgyu now, because all you can taste is the mango on his lips. It’s like your mind has gone into overdrive as you move closer, and you can vaguely register him using his free hand to palm the back of your head and tilt it up. The atmosphere doesn’t feel hazy anymore; instead, it feels shy and awkward, as if you were two lovers learning the world together. Like everything with Beomgyu, it feels right, just so right, and you never want to leave because you are his wholeheartedly, and he is yours.

Until you register what’s happening, of course.

You pull away quickly, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Beomgyu’s lips are puffy, and you’re sure yours must mimic a similar appearance, but that’s the least of your worries.

“Beomgyu, I—”

“I love you,” he breathes out, and his voice is light and airy as if he can’t hold in the words anymore, “I love you so much that it kills me you’re leaving. I don’t know how to fix this pain, but what I can say is that I’ll try my hardest to be by your side. Every day I’ve spent with you has been the happiest I’ve ever been in my life, and being without you this past week has made me realize how much light will disappear from my life if you leave. I’ll take you in any way you’ll let me, even if it’s through late-night calls or sparse texts. Please be mine, please.”

He's begging you now, holding your hands within his and clutching tightly, but even the words you want to say are trapped in your throat. You can’t do it to him. You can’t force him to love you thousands of miles away and look forward to you when he has a whole future ahead of him. You may be burdened by the ghosts of your past, but he isn’t, and you can’t deprive him of the one thing that makes himself him: his sunshine.

“I’m so sorry Beomgyu. I can’t put you in that position.”

Even the tears that once hesitated to fall now escape freely as he nods, cradling your cheek. After all that’s happened, he’s still so understanding, and even though he has a tight smile on his face, he keeps on a brave front for you.

“I knew you would say that. It’s okay, we can just enjoy the last of our days together.”

“Don’t hold yourself back for me, alright?” you whisper, wiping the stray tears that you don’t want him to see.

He notices the tear stains on your cheeks anyway, wiping the wetness with the pads of his thumbs. You notice he doesn’t respond, but at this point, he doesn’t need to. Even though you’ve warned him against it, you know without a doubt that he’ll always be waiting for you, even with all your uncertainty.

The last bell of the year rings, but as your classmates bustle around you with joy and laughter, you don’t know what to feel.

Moving is a funny concept. You leave behind everything you know just to start anew, but unlike most people, you’ve finally gotten the chance to go back to the past. Your old friends, your old family, your old life. Months ago, you would’ve jumped for this opportunity, as many others would in your situation, but now you’re experiencing a bittersweet emotion. You can’t even deny it: this place has had a tremendous impact on you through the experiences it put you through, the people it made you meet, and the emotions it caused you to feel. Even just thinking about going away leaves a pang in your heart, but you suppose life is about these occurrences, whether they’re sad or happy, and you’ll just have to persevere through it like you always do.

You’re walking out to the parking lot when Beomgyu joins you. You’ve still been talking even after the dreaded incident weeks ago, especially since you studied together for exams, but your relationship since you rejected him hasn’t been the same. It’s like you’re tiptoeing around with each other, waiting for one another to break, but you’ve already broken before so you don’t know why it feels so fragile. Maybe it’s the tension in the air around your departure or the lack of definition within your relationship, but either way, it feels suffocating.

At least you’re grateful he hasn’t shut you out yet.

“So, how was your last day of school?” you hear, but this time you focus your eyes on the ground instead.

It feels too weird to look at him. It’s like you don’t have permission to admire his beauty anymore, so you rarely ever make eye contact with him. Instead, you focus on the gum he’s chewing, the one you know is mango-flavored but always so bitter. Maybe it was a sign you two were never meant to be.

“It was good. You know, tiring as always, but I’m glad it’s over.”

“Yeah, I get it. Are you going back home soon?”

Honestly, your parents haven’t been super transparent with you, but from their calls, you assume that you still have well into the summer before you move out. They sound busy wrapping up things, and they haven’t given you an exact date, but they have promised you they’ll be here soon. Like all things in your life, even your parting is uncertain, and that’s what you tell him.

“So, what I hear is that I can still terrorize you over the summer.”

You laugh, but it’s forced and uneasy. The tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife, but honestly, you’ve gotten a little too used to it by now.

“I guess you could, Gyu.”

He stops you in your tracks by stepping in front of you.

“Look, I know we’re a little awkward right now, but I feel like I have to say this, or I’ll never get the chance. I’m so honored to have been your friend, and I’m going to miss you a lot. Like, a lot a lot. I’m sorry for putting you in so many awkward situations, but I hope you can remember the good parts when you think of me.”

You sigh, patting his head. If you were on good terms with him, you would’ve gifted him a hug, but you hope the small gesture can do your feelings enough justice.

“I’m gonna miss you too. A lot a lot,” you mimic, watching him smile, “so text me often, okay? I’m sorry for making things awkward too.”

He shakes his head, willing to argue in your favor, but before he can even start a car horn sounds from the parking lot. You crane your head to see a familiar vehicle, one that’s accompanied you throughout your lifetime, except this time, it’s adorned with a painted mango on the side.

“Mom? Dad?”

Your parents step out of the car, and your legs are moving you towards them before you can even register it. Video calls don’t do their beautiful faces any justice, and it feels so surreal as you stop in front of them, waiting for them to just be a figment of your imagination.

“Hey, sweetie,” your dad says, and that’s all it takes before you’re leaning into his touch, burrowing yourself into him as you would often do when you were a little kid.

You forgot how much pain you felt when they left you here. All this time, you’ve suppressed it, and only at night when you were in your room, half-asleep and overthinking, did you let your tears come to bay. You wanted to be strong for them because everything they did was for you, but it was hard not to lose sight of their eventual return and get lost in the lifeless emotions associated with their disappearance every waking day that passed. It took every ounce of strength in you to pick yourself up every day and pretend like you were fine, but although there were many factors that helped you mitigate those feelings, none of them could truly ever make the ache ebb away.

“Why are you here? I thought it would be a while,” you ask after you’ve calmed down and properly reunited with them, “are we moving back soon?”

“Actually, about that… we’ve changed our minds a little bit.”

Your mom holds your face in her palms, pinching at the skin on your cheek ever so slightly.

“Your aunt told us how happy you are here, and how you’ve grown so much from moving here. I know that losing your parents so suddenly must’ve had a huge impact on you, but if this place helped you with those struggles even just a little bit, then it must be worth staying here. We thought that you might like it if we stayed here permanently. What do you think?”

You can’t believe it. It’s as if the world has deafened and all you can hear is the ringing echoing through your ears because what they’re saying sounds too good to be true. Moving here? Permanently? Is life playing some sort of cruel joke on you?

“You aren’t joking, right?” you whisper, and all your parents can do is laugh as they shake their heads.

They say that your life flashes before your eyes as you die, but right now, all that flashes through your eyes are the memories you’ve made in your seemingly short time here. You remember sitting shotgun in Yeonjun’s car as he annoyed you on the way to school, texting Yunjin during math while you two try not to fall asleep, and teaming up with Taehyun while wreaking havoc on poor Soobin.

However, most importantly, you remember Beomgyu. From the curve of his lips to the rings on his fingers, from the walks home you’ve shared to your first and last kiss in your very bedroom, he’s always been with you wholeheartedly. You haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since that very first day when the boy with dark curls caught your watercolor eyes, and for the foreseeable future, you don’t think you’ll be able to stop.

When you turn to look back at him, he’s there. He’s always there, waiting for you no matter how far you go. Even if he is just a speckle in the distance, just the size of an atom, you are his nucleus and he revolves around you, chasing you until he breaks down into a black hole of nothing. Even now, as you stare at him from the parking lot, one look at you tells him everything he needs to know. He’s here, here before your eyes in a matter of seconds, and as your parents ask him who he is, you know that only the most perfect boy would respond with such a beautiful answer as he directly addresses you.

“I’m whoever you want me to be.”

You shake your head, unable to hide the smile that flits across your face. After a long, long time of shying away from Beomgyu, you’re finally ready to embrace the feelings he brings you, whether tears or smile lines.

“This is Beomgyu, my lover.”

Your bedroom is still bare with your whole life packed into boxes once again, but at least this time around, your walls are painted yellow again. However, instead of a sunny yellow, they’re more of a mango color, your mom going even as far as to say it’s the exact same hue as the mangoes they grew in Thailand, fresh and ripe. Honestly, you’re just glad you’re not sitting within the depressing beige color again, because why did you even convince yourself it made you happy?

What’s not fresh is the old carpet you and your boyfriend are sitting on, but sometimes you can appreciate the old things too. In fact, it’s somewhat comfortable as you lie in his arms, sprawled across the carpet with no looming future dangling over your head. It’s just you, your other half, and nothing more, enjoying your well-deserved summer break weeks after school has ended.

“I’m not ready for school,” you complain, liking the feeling of being illuminated by the bright sun peeking through your blinds, “I like sitting around doing nothing. Imagine how hectic it would’ve been if I actually moved back.”

Your statement is only half-true though, because there are many things awaiting you once school starts that you’re actually very excited for. For starters, you get to have your own article published in the newspaper, and you have a slight inkling as to what it’s going to be about. Also, you have many wonderful friends who will make your life a lot easier, so even though school is school, at least you’ll have amazing people by your side. Really, you’re just complaining for no reason.

“I’m just glad we won’t have to throw you a farewell party. I don’t think Taehyun or Soobin would’ve let me near Yunjin’s pool again.”

You smack his chest lightly, and he laughs, curling in closer to lay your head against his chest. You really should be unpacking your things, at least, that’s what you told your parents you’d be doing, but you can’t pass up the chance to cuddle with Beomgyu every time you get it. You both have been pining for each other for far too long anyway, so why waste any more time?

“Y/N!” you hear from outside the door, “I brought you food!”

You get up to let your mom in, but Beomgyu is already five steps ahead of you. Your mom gives him a warm smile because seemingly, your parents seem more smitten with him than you are. You can’t really blame them though; who doesn’t like Choi Beomgyu?

“Thank you for the mango, auntie!” he responds, and of course, the endearment has her reeling.

“I thought you two would be hungry after working hard,” she says, leaning over to peek through the gap between him and the door, “but it seems you two have done nothing at all. Oh well, you can eat it anyway. You have all the time in the world.”

You two really do, because as you make yourselves cozy on the carpet once more, bowls of mango in hand, it feels like time has taken a pause after all the misery it has put you through. You eat the slices wholeheartedly as you think, with Beomgyu brushing off the juice that escapes your mouth occasionally when the piece is too big. You’re glad that time is moving slowly because you want to savor every moment you have with him. He deserves it, and so do you.

“We should really start setting things up,” Beomgyu starts, “How long are you going to sleep with just four yellow walls and no decoration? That would be so depressing.”

“Hey, at least it’s less depressing than beige walls,” you grumble, “but even just being here makes me content enough to fall asleep. I have nothing to worry about this time around, especially when you’re just five minutes or a phone call away.”

Mere seconds pass before he’s leaning in to place a kiss on your lips, and of course, everything about him tastes extremely mango. Your malice for the fruit is far gone now, far, far gone because not only are your parents back, but also because Beomgyu is the only thing you think about when reminded of the flavor. However, your rollercoaster feelings for the fruit are the last thing on your mind as you lean in closer, placing the mango bowl beside you.

“You still hate mango, baby?” he whispers between kisses, and it takes everything in you to pull him back, reminding him that you two are supposed to be unpacking and not making out.

“Answer the question,” he whines, a cute little pout on his face that makes you five seconds away from forgetting your very own warning and kissing him breathless again.

“No, I don’t,” you finally answer, grabbing his hand and interlacing it with yours, “I love it now.”

He grins, and you decide to succumb to your desires, forgetting all sense of rationality when it comes to him as you press a kiss to his lips again.

“I love mango just as much as I love you.”

[wisteria-cherry]

forty days and forty nights (day twenty!)

(it’s britney bitch)

“oh my god.” you whispered. you stared, transfixed, at the bells bouncing and the door opening and the minute hand on the clock going from 4:55 to 4:56.

it was him.

it was really him.

you slowly moved out from behind the counter, afraid that if you moved to fast he’d disappear. he didn’t move. he stood right in front of the door that shut behind him, causing the bells to clink quietly. his eyes never left your face, analyzing your expression. his arms hung awkwardly at his sides, and his fingers twitched, as though he couldn’t decide whether to clench his fists or not.

“bakugo?”

“what’s that shitty look for?” bakugo asked scornfully, his upper lip pulling up into an almost disgusted expression. you walked closer, slowly speeding up until you reached him and you collided with him and wrapped your arms around him so tightly you hoped he’d burst.

“oi!” bakugo barked. “the hell’re you doing?! loosen up, dammit!”

“explain where you were or i’ll squeeze tighter.” you said into his chest, feeling tears prickle at your eyes. “you had me worried, damn you.”

“alright, alright, i’ll explain!” bakugo snapped and you pulled away, rubbing your eyes furiously to wipe away the tears.

“fuckin’ crybaby, geez.” bakugo grumbled with no real malice in his voice. “c’mon, let’s get you some stupid tissues before you flood the damn place.”

“ok.” you agree, sniffling pathetically. the two of you make your way to the break room, where you’d patched him up when he came in hurt.

“swear to god you’re tryna kill me.” bakugo complained as he tossed you a box of tissues which you nearly missed due to puffy, tear-filled eyes. “i’ve got fractured ribs, dumbass. couldn’t stand to not suffocate me, huh?”

“you fractured your ribs?” you feel guilt and regret instantly wash over you. “bakugo, why didn’t you tell me sooner? i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have done that…”

“haah?” bakugo scoffed. “like hell i care. s’fine, anyway.”

“but you’re hurt. what happened?” you asked worriedly as you sit down and bakugo follows suit.

“i was on a mission ‘s’all.” bakugo huffed. “that guy i came in to tell you about— fucker was part of an organization. had to go up north to beat ‘em all up.”

“but fractured ribs?” you frowned.

“yeah, well, i wouldn’t have gotten hurt if it was so damn cold out!” bakugo scowled. “fuckin’ weather. i hate the cold.”

“did the villain have a cold-based quirk?” you asked curiously.

“yeah. and mine is shit when it’s cold ‘cuz i can’t sweat enough.” he groused. “accommodations can only do so much.”

“i see.” you exhale. “well… i’m really glad you’re okay, bakugo.”

“yeah, yeah, whatever, dumbass.” bakugo rolled his eyes, but there was no mistaking the way the corners of his lips tugged up in a badly concealed smirk.

“what’s that smirk for?” you demanded.

“you were worried. that’s fuckin’ hilarious.” bakugo snickered.

“it— it was not!” you exclaimed in shock.

“was too!” bakugo smirked maliciously. “heard you were wandering around my agency, huh?”

“wh—“ you sputtered. “what’s that got to do with anything?!”

“the damn receptionist told me. you looked like a lost puppy.” bakugo laughed. he actually laughed. “god, you’re clueless.”

“well i’m sorry it’s huge in there!” you protest. “it’s not hard to get lost! besides, that’s not fair, you’re there every day!” bakugo didn’t reply. he only laughed at you more as your cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“will you quit that?!” you snapped.

“hell naw.” bakugo cackled. “just keep worrying about me, sweetheart.”

“you were missing for five days!” you protested.

“you love me.” bakugo smirked.

“shut up.”

the two of you fell quiet again after that. it was the sort of quiet that acknowledged what had happened, the kind that made you shiver because in that silence you thought about what could’ve happened.

“…hey, dumbass.” bakugo spoke finally. you look up to him.

“yeah?”

“don’t…” bakugo began. “don’t worry about me.”

“i can’t help but worry, bakugo.” you say gently.

“‘s’not just you or anything.” bakugo grumbled. “when people worry, it’s like they’re doubting me. they’ve got no faith in me. they think i’m gonna lose. like hell i’d do that.”

“i know.” you sigh. “but it’s also that we don’t want you to get hurt.” bakugo doesn’t reply, because he can’t deny that even he gets hurt.

“yeah, whatever.” is what he mumbles finally.

“so you don’t come into my shop bleeding out.” bakugo instantly reverted back to his old self.

“i wasn’t bleeding out, goddammit!” he barked.

“you nearly dripped on the floor.” you stated.

“nearly.” bakugo emphasized. “i didn’t. god, you’re dramatic.”

“i’m the dramatic one?” you narrowed your eyes playfully. “i’m not the one who mysteriously disappears for five days.”

“i was on a mission, dammit!” bakugo groaned. “the missions wasn’t a secret. i just kept the damn hospital a secret because i didn’t want any shitty extras trying to find me.”

“you mean like your friends?” you countered.

“i was fine.” bakugo grumbled. “i’m out now anyway, so who gives a fuck?”

“me.” you mumble, then stand up. “want some coffee?”

“yeah, sure.” bakugo narrowed his eyes at your sudden change of the subject. he stood up with a grunt, bracing his hands on his knees to help him. you pause.

“are you sure you’re alright?”

“yeah. just sore. first patrol after getting out of the hospital today.” he replied. “now are you gonna get me some damn coffee or not?”

it was good to have him back.

“what’s that got to do with anything?!”

(don’t forget to comment + give ur thoughts :)

(CHERRY BLOSSOMS I AM SO SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING YESTERDAY I MESSED UP THE DAYS😭😭)

@k0z3me @cherryblossomclarity @jazzafaye5294 @stevenknightmarc @failingstudents-blog

[jacquesthepigeon]

Anyway to provide some context my dad is an asshole but I always thought he was a Moronic Asshole, not a Selfish Asshole. Basically I always attributed his personality to Stupid Disease™️ and never assumed any malice or significant issues with his moral compass and that’s what’s basically kept me from giving up on fixing our relationship entirely.

I’m gonna go ahead and skip to the part where I tell my mom she should just go ahead and tell me The Big Secret 2 while I’m on leave from work and my being distracted by the Processing of whatever it is won’t be a problem. So she starts talking about the reason she and my dad got divorced. I knew it was related to him being a shithead about a brain tumor that massively fucked up my mom and altered both her personality and appearance but now she’s telling me that was only half of it.

She and my dad had been going to couple’s therapy and it was basically just my dad at every session trying to convince her to divorce because she’s Different now and is not making him happy and it’s All Her Fault so obviously my mom is bummed about it. She goes to her regular spa (we were upper middle class at the time) and vents to the esthetician and the esthetician responds in a disgusted tone with something along the lines of “he’s a sleazy womanizer” which completely catches my mom off guard cuz she’s never thought of him that way. She asks why the esthetician thinks that and she says “well, everyone knows, he’s not subtle about it at work”

I need to provide some additional context here: it was a small town where pretty much half the population worked at the same company as my dad.

So the owner of the spa my mom attended and the esthetician worked at was also an employee of that company and only owned the spa for extra cash

And also she had been fucking my dad for three years by that point

I’m not gonna go into further details of my mom’s investigation but basically my dad had multiple lovers and was talking shit about her the entire time

The first time she confronted him he gaslit the hell outta her

It took over a year after that for him to finally admit to it

And the worst part is

I wasn’t all that surprised

I briefly suspected my dad was cheating on his current wife when I saw him receiving a call from an “Estrella Bella ⭐️” which translates to “beautiful star” and is notably not a real legal name someone would have (unless their parents were weird) and also not the nickname he has his wife saved under but I didn’t give it much thought after the initial suspicion

And then my mom mentions that he actually introduced us to some of his mistresses and it makes me want to rip my hair out because I clearly remember him introducing us to quite a number of female “friends” and taking us over to their house WHILE STILL MARRIED TO MY MOM

I want to scream because I can’t stop thinking of all the random strangers that would send us gifts or the “fans” my dad would run into in public sometimes and it’s like

How could he be so fucking shameless?

And the gall on him to try to justify how he treated my mother by blaming her and playing the victim because he was “scared of losing custody”

If he cared that much he shoulda just kept it in his pants

I don’t think I can respect him as a person anymore

There is no playing dumb with this situation

He is sincerely selfish and uncaring for who he hurts to fulfill his wants

I’m disgusted

[myfriendsrweird]

Small Spider-Cat drabble.

Cats have always had a soft spot in Miles’ heart. Maybe it’s because he grew up around them for pretty much his entire life, there’s always a neighborhood cat walking down the streets or sitting on the brick wall without a care in the world. Would it be stupid to say that sometimes he envies them?

A little.

But he envies Spider-Man (the cat obviously) the most. He doesn’t even need to know all of the hard work! He can sit in his bag and lick his paws as if Miles’ and him didn’t totally kick the asses of a few criminals with ease a few seconds ago.

“Alright…here, drink some water.” Miles slings the bag carefully off of his shoulders to put him down, taking out a small collapsable water bowl from the pocket of the bag. Filling it up with whatever water he had left.

Spider-man didn’t even acknowledge him. Choosing to attack his hand instead, trying to bite through the fabric.

“Hey! No! That’s dirty!” Miles scolds, trying to use his other hand to pry his mouth open.

It didn’t really hurt, he fights criminals and super-villains for a “job” so the bites don’t do much damage but his claws can rip through the suit if he kept on going.

“Stooop,” He laughs, trying to shake Spider-Man off to no avail, practically lifting his arm and carrying him at the same time to see if he can grab him by the scruff to pry him off.

Spider-man didn’t like that. Choosing to jump from his current position from atop of Miles’ forearm to his shoulders where he continued his barrage of attacks on his face as best he could with the mask.

“Spider-man! No!” Miles laughs louder, desperately turning his head to avoid his claws and teeth.

A familiar tingle hits his head and spine and he barely got the time to turn around.

“What am I doing?” A familiar voice fades in and the real, original, Spider-Man stood there with the lens of his mask squinted slightly.

Miles was glad that their suits were able to express their emotions somehow.

“Uh…Spider-Man meet…Spider-Man.” He awkwardly introduces the feline and the man as best he could still trying to turn away from his attacks.

“Hi…Spider-Man?” Peter awkwardly greets with a wave but the other Spider-Man couldn’t really care less about the real one and ignored him. He took one look at him, then to his hand, before making the leap of faith and jumped off of Miles’ shoulders to attack the new-comer.

“Spider-man! No!” Miles shouts as Peter yelps out in surprise.

“Miles!” Peter shouts out, but not in malice or fear, there was laughter in his voice as he wrangles the unruly cat.

“Sorry about that!” Miles quickly tries to pry Spider-man off without hurting him but his claws dug deep into the suit.

Peter and Miles continued going on their small goose chase, trying to get Spider-man to calm down before he had to he returned to Tao’s shop.


There was a lot of laughter on that roof top that night.

The bugle’s headline the next day read: Spider-Menaces defeated by Cat?!

[weirdcelebi]

Pinned Post

HI I’M CELEBI AND THIS IS MY BLOG! PAY ATTENTION TO ME! AND PELIPPER MAIL ME SNACKS PLEASE

-⏳

um, hi. my name is lotus harmonia. but you can just call me lottie. i’m celebi’s… chosen, or whatever. i mostly made this account to keep this stupid fairy thing from getting bored but i guess i’ll document my journey here. or my brother will because he enjoys that kind of thing more than me.

-🪷

Hi everyone! I’m Royce Harmonia, aspiring photographer and huge Bug-Type enthusiast! Me and my sister are from a small region called Laeros. Oh, and our Celebi buddy is a Laerosan Celebi, so if you’re wondering why it looks different, that’s why!

I’m fifteen, and Lottie is thirteen. If you’re wondering what a couple of kids are doing running around by themselves then, uh- well, long story short, we’re time travelers! We jump from timeline to timeline with Celebi’s powers, where we explore and document each new version of our world we discover. Don’t worry- we’re super careful not to mess anything up! We can even visit your timeline and hang out, if you’d like!

We each sign off with our own respective emotes. Lotus’ is, well, a lotus, mine is a crown, and Celebi’s is an hourglass. But we all kinda have our distinct typing styles so it’s pretty easy to distinguish who’s who! But just in case we’ll add in the tags whoever’s speaking.

Anyways, that’s all you really gotta know about us! Can’t wait to start sharing our adventures here!!

-👑

(( OOC UNDER CUT ))

(( some of you might recognize these two, and if you don’t basically they’re N and Blake’s future kids! you can view their parents’ blogs here: @pinkhairandpokemon @thunderblessedhero

I like and follow from @flightmare-kid!

Rules:

-ABSOLUTELY NO NSFW. Both characters are minors.

-Pelipper Mail is on!

-Pelliper MALICE is on!

-Any other variant of Pelipper Mail is on too! Like “Musharna Mail” and stuff like that.

-IN CHARACTER hate anons are permitted.

-Magic anons are on, but if it’s something I don’t feel like doing I’ll postpone answering it or just ignore/delete it.

For some reason I can’t link the picrew I used to make the kids’ photos so I’ll try again later hhh ;-; ))

[ask-steven-stevenson]

You’re… not an idiot for wanting love. You’re not wrong for that. It’s human nature. But… you’re not a great person, dude. Not a horrible one, but not a very good one either. Hell, none of us are. You think a normal person ends up here? Hell no. Steven… I’m no professional, and you’re not stupid for any of that. Things that caused you to become… this, it wasn’t your fault… but… some stuff here is. But, we care about you. Me and 💧 do, at least. And I know Jake definitely still loves you. Even if he’s a bit frustrated at you for… you know. But… I do want you to try and be better. It’s not out of pity, it’s not out of malice… I just, want to see you better.

-🔑

(fun fact, i am the one who mentioned the cult leader audio. Also im so sorry for my paragraph long asks. This stuff I can just feel in my BONES.)

(NONO YOURE FINE!! Its so silly..because hes SLOWLY opening up.)

“I don’t. Know why I’m afraid..? It’s truly stupid. What person or.. whatever I am. Is scared of love. It’s not normal to be afraid of your husband. Is it? I don’t like it when he cares. Why. Does he care so much. Why doPEOPLECAREABOUTME.””

[inkribbon796]

Egotober 2023 Day 10: Territorial

Summary: Anti finds out about Marvin moving oversees, and is not too thrilled he’s losing a toy.

A/N: Happy Birthday to Anti, he gets separation anxiety and feels for his birthday.

Prompt: Glitch

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31

A lot of people thought Anti was an idiot.

Sometimes the glitch demon liked it that way. If someone thought he was stupid or weak they didn’t react fast enough before he cut their throat out. He’d made Dark bleed a lot of his rotten gunk blood before he treated Anti like the threat he was.

But he knew when the Septics were planning something. And they were planning something big. Not the fun kind either where it would be a fight and maybe they’d trap Anti into a bricked up phone, or a necklace, or that one time they forced him to be in a music box. This wasn’t the fun type of planning.

In fact, Anti suspected it had less to do with Anti, and everything to do with Dark.

Which always boiled Anti’s blood.

So Anti did what he always did best. He waited for Marvin to take one of his many walks around town. And set a car on fire right next to him.

“Hey!” Marvin called out, after getting spooked by it as a couple people screamed. His magic spun around him. “What the hell?”

Anti didn’t say a word, he just turned into a glitchy mess of aura and anger.

Magic began humming along Marvin’s skin. “Fine, asshat, let’s go.”

Anti’s latent aura got staticky as Marvin could only see malice and fury in his eyes as they clashed. Glitchy green aura mixing with the vibrant purples and silvers of Marvin’s magic.

Marvin was used to the quips and the threats, but whatever had set Anti off had him absolutely furious. “Did Dark come to town and no one told us? Did Rumble set your dick on fire?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Anti said as he kept trying to go for Marvin’s throat.

It took Marvin a while to tire Anti out and he started slowing down after destroying someone’s car.

“So, you gonna actually tell me what happened?” Marvin asked.

“You and the others are up to something and I don’t like it,” Anti said.

“Oh, because I’m probably moving to the States, at least for a little bit,” Marvin said, not thinking why that would be a problem.

Anti stiffened, so furious and angry that he looked calm. “To Egoton?”

“Yeah, well, no one in Egoton can see aura and they—”

Marvin didn’t get to finish, Anti lunged at him with renewed anger. Thankfully Jackie ran in to help him and being outnumbered and tired made Anti run off to sulk before they discorporated him.

The glitch demon would be back to fight with them another day, today he stewed in his anger. In his indignant fury.

Dark was not getting Marvin to play with. All the Septics belonged to Anti. They belonged to him. If Anti had to drill that into Dark and the Septics heads he would do that.  If the magician wanted to fuck off to a different country, Marvin would make him leave an arm when he did it.

Marvin sent out a random text to Anti. “It’s not personal, they’re just all blind as shit when it comes to aura.”

Anti sent a response of a phone virus over to Marvin’s phone just out of spite. Then he went to Egoton to get into a fight with Dark. The glitch demon used his aura to phase through every warehouse wall until he found the demonic mob boss in his office minding his own business.

The glitch demon got a couple scratches in and ripped Dark’s suit up but wound up getting discorporated in the end. He’d been fighting for a while and Dark discorporated him, unsure what exactly had set Anti off and not caring enough to ask.

The glitch demon was unpredictable and Dark changed into a new outfit and was left to deal with Anti after he’d reformed in a couple weeks.

[aeoki]

Seven Bridges - Hate Control: Chapter 2

Location: Yumenosaki Garden Space Characters: Kouga

TL Note:

If this seems somewhat confusing, Kouga’s referring to the little gag thing where he’ll act like a dog, Anzu comments how his behaviour is similar to a dog’s and Kouga ends it by saying, “I’m not a dog!”.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ< At that time. Yumenosaki garden space, Kouga Oogami’s field. >

Kouga: So in other words…

You gave in to peer pressure, Anzu?

That strange “Peace Party” pressured you into thinkin��� “that was correct” and made you submit their “Tanabata Fest” proposal.

It’s ‘cause it actually hasn’t been that long since you’ve become a “producer”?

It’s like you’re only slightly better than an amateur? Sena-senpai also kept callin’ you an amateur a lot last year?

Where’s your self-esteem!? You’re the skilled “producer” who led the incompetent “Trickstar” to victory in “SS”, right!?

Huh? That’s ‘cause the members of “Trickstar” are amazin’?

And there’s no doubt the proposal the proper “producers” of the “Peace Party” came up with is excellent and “correct” in comparison to your own inexperienced and hopeless proposal?

So that’s what you thought, signed the proposal like they asked and submitted it to the Student Council?

That’s what happened, Anzu?

Gaaaaaaahhh!

UGAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!

What? Don’t howl like a dog who’s lost an important family member? I ain’t no dog!

I haven’t had the chance to say that line much, but I’m actually happy that we get to do our “usual thing”[∗]!

Anyway! What’re ya thinkin’!? Didn’t you think about this at all!? You just blindly accepted what other people thought was “correct”!

That’s so pathetic I could cry! You seriously cool with that, rockstar!?

Huh? You’re a “producer”, not a rockstar? I know – Actually, you don’t have the right to call yourself one right now!

You stamped and signed that proposal without even properly readin’ through it! They just forced you through all those steps!

Even stupid kids can do that sorta stuff!

Have you lost your mind!? No, don’t you regret doing that, Anzu!?

“Tanabata Fest” is the event that brought you so much recognition. It’s somethin’ important to ya, right!?

How could you have let this obscure “Peace Party” group modify whatever they wanted!?

On top of that, you’re the one who signed it so if any sorta trouble or problems crop up, you’re gonna be the one responsible, ya know!

That’s not worth it! There’s no way you would’ve done somethin’ so stupid!

This can’t be real, Anzu!

……Wait? Anzu, what’s wrong?

You’ve got your head down… Uhh, are you cryin’?

I-I’m sorry! I was yellin’ and that scared you, right!?

You’re always strong and cool so I tend to forget you can be weak sometimes!

Ugh, dammit, I’m turnin’ back to how I was when you first transferred to the school…!

Huh? No? You’re not cryin’? A water droplet fell into your eye?

Yeah~ It’s been rainin’ a lot recently. I’ve noticed there’s dew on the crops.

It’s a blessed bout of rain but a lot of weeds have sprung outta nowhere, so takin’ care of the field’s a lotta work. Thanks for helpin’ out, Anzu.

And yet, I let my anger out on you and even started yellin’…

I made you cry too. I’m the worst, huh.

Huh? Like you said, you’re not cryin’? And even if you were cryin’, it’d be because of your back pain from all the weedin’?

…Yeah? I’ll leave it at that then.

I’m seriously sorry. By the sounds of it, you didn’t do anythin’ wrong, Anzu.

You were just deceived and used by that “Peace Party”.

You’re a victim.

I’ve done somethin’ awful by gettin’ angry at the victim instead of the perpetrators.

Hm? That’s not right, either? You’re also an accomplice, Anzu? You were the one who signed the “Tanabata Fest” proposal and you’re the one responsible, so by that logic, any damages caused is your fault?

If anyone was hurt because of “Tanabata Fest”, then that would be your fault?

Logically speakin’, yeah but… lookin’ at you now reminds me of Sakuma-senpai durin’ the war and that worries me.

You’re tryin’ direct all the malice towards yourself.

…Hmm. You looked like you had somethin’ on your mind, but you’re worried about Ari~, huh.

I don’t really know what’s goin’ on, but Ari~ blames you for somethin’, right?

I dunno the reason but it looked like Ari~ was pretty angry at the fact that you were the one who came up with the details for the “Tanabata Fest” this year, huh.

Hmm. You’re in low spirits ‘cause it was a shock that the “Arashi Onee-chan” you love so much got angry at you, Anzu?

Sure makes one envious seeing how loved Ari~ is.

Hmm. Out of respect for Ari’s wishes, “Knights” won’t be participatin’ in the “Tanabata Fest” at school, huh.

Looks like there’s been actual damage done… They’re called one of the Big 3 and people can’t stop talkin’ ‘bout them, so their influence isn’t somethin’ easy to ignore.

They’ve gathered a lot of new students in school and are growin’ into a big force.

If “Knights” has their eyes on you, then they’re gonna be quite a hindrance, ya know? It’s gonna pour when it rains. Whaddya gonna do?

There’s nothin’ you can do, you say…? Since the proposal for this year’s “Tanabata Fest” was harshly criticised, the reputation of the rest of the students in the “producer course”, aside from the “Peace Party”, has plummeted…?

And now you’ve been ostracised because of that, huh. The only one who doesn’t have any issues approachin’ you is that weirdo Kurone?

How worse can you end up? I don’t wanna say anythin’ that could make it sound like I’m praisin’ them, but it looks like the “Peace Party” people made a real calculated move to crush you completely, Anzu.

Why do they hate you so much? I guess I’m not exactly adored or loved by lots of people, so I can’t seem to think of any good advice to give ya.

The “Peace Party’s” hostility towards you is a bit odd.

I’d like to do somethin’ to cheer you up at the very least… Do you wanna head to the live house after?

Your mood is just gonna keep gettin’ worse if we’ve got our heads down and gardenin’, right?

Oh right, I forgot but there’s somethin’ I want your help on.

Yeah. It’s someplace that feels even more homely to me than Yumenosaki. Somethin’ happened at the live house downtown.

It’s just one thing after the other, huh… Everyone let their guard down thinkin’ the places surroundin’ Yumenosaki are peaceful now in comparison to ES.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ← Previous Chapter ᠂ ⚘ ˚⊹˚ ⚘ ᠂  Next Chapter →

[neroversal]

Relationship dynamics that don’t get talked about enough IMO

Absolute girl boss x Some Dad. Bonus: the dad turns out to be some super powerful ex-lord or some similar shit (Romantic or Sexual)

~~~

Looks like a cinnamon roll, is batshit insane x looks like an absolute nightmare, is actually a cinnamon roll. Bonus: They’re both actually insane but they both hide it well (Romantic or Platonic)

~~~

Stupid idiot that you wonder if they actually have something up there x no No NO GOD PLEASE NOT THEM! Bonus: They’ve been married X amount of years and bozo over there is just realizing they have a whole-ass partner with two kids and a pet. (Romantic)

~~~

“Whatever you do, please! Find me in the next life!” x “No matter where or when we are, I’ll always be by your side. Not even fate can tear us apart” (Romantic)

~~~

Royal/Nobel x Personal Knight/Servant (Romantic, Sexual, or Platonic)

~~~

Tall sexy bottom x short chaotic top (Romantic or Sexual)

~~~

Tall sexy Asexual x short goober that has no idea what sex even is nor do they even care about it (Romantic)

~~~

Looks like they can flirt, unintentionally does, and are never aware x looks completely innocent but is absolutely thirsty (Romantic, Sexual, or Platonic)

~~~

“I’m the absolute worst human being. I should’ve never been allowed to walk the planet” x “No sweetheart. It’s okay. It was just a bug” (Romantic or Platonic)

~~~

“I fucken suck” x “same bro. Wanna suck together?”(Romantic, Sexual, or Platonic)

~~~

Ex-assassin that turned over a new leaf x The target that helped them do so and fell in love along the way (Romantic or Platonic)

~~~

“PLEASE! Let me go or you’ll die!” x “I’ll never let go so long as it means you’ll be in my arms”(Romantic or Platonic)

~~~

“LET ME HEAL YOU!!” x “meeting you was the only good thing I’ve ever done”(Romantic or Platonic)

~~~

Evil cat parent x Happy dog parent. Bonus: both their pets bicker like siblings (Romantic or Platonic)

~~~

Evil demon that literally hates everyone but one person x “They’re not so bad once you get past the hatred and malice” (Romantic, Sexual, or Platonic)

Same thing but an Evil demon that literally hates everyone but one person x “I thought they were a dog” (Romantic, Sexual, or Platonic)

Again! Evil demon that literally hates everyone but one person x “I didn’t get a choice in the matter” Bonus: The demon is a bottom (Romantic, Sexual, or Platonic)

~~~

Person who goes around on one-night stands because sex is all they’re good for x teaches them they are worth so much more (Romantic, Sexual, or Platonic)

~~~

“I'LL NEVER GIVE UP ON MY DREAM AS LONG AS I'M ALIVE! I WILL COME UP ON TOP” x “you tell ‘em babe!” (Romantic, Sexual, or Platonic)

Same thing but “I'll NEVER GIVE UP ON MY DREAMS AS LONG AS I'M ALIVE! I WILL COME UP ON TOP” x “NOT IF I GET THERE FIRST!” Bonus: They are childhood friends. (Romantic or Platonic)

~~~

Overpowered girl boss x Equally as strong partner but they like getting their ass kicked because strength = sexy. (Romantic or Sexual)

~~~

Raging Aro/Ace x got married for the tax benefits (Platonic)

~~~

Tall, dark, and stupid x Genius lil goober (Platonic or romantic)

~~~

“I have feelings for you” x “I have feelings…for you” The feeling was friendship (Platonic)

~~~

“You’re my rival but I get really upset when others dare say that they’re your rival as well” x “Don’t worry, you’re the only rival perfect for me” (Romantic or Platonic)

~~~

Rugged, homeless-looking man that has no manners, no sense of personal hygiene, and no sense of class X absolute goddess of a woman that's definitely way too good for him but they're fucken cute together anyways (Romantic or Sexual)

~~~

“I never wanted to be but I guess I’m a parent now” x some lost child that coincidentally is the key to saving the world (Platonic)

~~~

“Why won’t they notice me?” x “life is like a hurricane. Here in. Duckburg” (Romantic)

[skunts-own-truth]

God, I’m so tired of living in central-ass backwoods Florida, y’all. I’m rotting here, not because of the sun or the humidity, but the hostility and hate I see around me at all times. The boldness of it, the absolute boldness of people’s racism, sexism, and anti-queer horseshit here is only growing louder and nastier with Desantis in office. It’s withering my soul to see the people I was raised around becoming so hostile, so foul, voting in honest to god book burning Nazis and supporting shitty Christian ideology in local government on a level that’s becoming completely unavoidable. It ain’t just that, I don’t have anyone outside my home that wants to even acknowledge what’s happening. All my friends are straight, and all they care about is their jobs and whatever fucking video games they’re playing. I can’t take that shit anymore, I can’t take people turning a blind eye to absolute malice, but at the same time I feel like if I leave then they win, right? Like, me being here, me talking about these things with people, that does normalize things on some level for a small bunch of people. If I don’t, then it feels like there’s nothing left but the hate.

Shit’s hard. With Pride month rolling in, my emotions are roiling. I feel stupid and alone, and damn it that’s not what I want to feel during Pride. I want to feel proud, but all I feel is anger.

[peninkwrites]

A Patchwork Powder Keg - Ch 11 of 14

The gang puts the 'fun' in funeral.

[CW: referenced past abuse, gun violence, violence in general, and canon-typical desecration of a corpse <3]

Crossposted to ao3

Ch 1

Ch 10

Ch 12

Mafia AU masterpost

~ A Collective ~

Quackity looks out of place.  He stands alone, the morgue dark and empty, save for a single light hanging overhead.  He’s not supposed to be here, but he’d paid off the attendee, whose only critique had been: “Don’t do anything too weird.”

To which Quackity had replied with a dry laugh, the man’s concerns almost ironic, “won’t be a problem.  I got enough of that shit while he was alive.”

The technician hadn’t made any more comments, quick to leave him.  Not that Quackity had been bothered.  This business is between him and Schlatt alone.  Tubbo didn’t know he’d gone here.  Nor did Karl.  This is for him.

It cost him fifty bucks, but he has one hour for a more personal goodbye to his partner of seven years before he is properly prepped for the funeral.  He won’t need the hour in its entirety, but it’s nice not to have to rush.

The silence is heavy, the buzz of the electrical lighting covering the sound of his own breathing, the only living being in the room.  Quackity stares down at the table, some feeling, maybe rage, maybe pain, some vicious pull of yearning eating away at the inside of his chest.  He pulls back the blue sheet over the body, staring, unflinching at the dead face of his partner and the hole ripped through his skull just above his nose.

“Hey, handsome,” Quackity sneers.  He stares at the body, eyes gleaming with more than just malice.  “I think I like you better this way.  You’re quieter.”

Schlatt does not reply.

“What, nothing to say?!” Quackity is desperately antagonizing a corpse.  He takes a shaky breath, formaldehyde almost stinging his throat, hands balled into fists at his sides.  “If I could I’d fucking break you right now, but you can’t feel it anymore, it’s not gonna fucking hurt you, so– so what’s the point, right?!” A bitter, hysterical laugh.

The silence presses in again.

Quackity tuts him softly under his breath.  “Should’ve had this little chat sooner, eh?  Wouldn’t have been too hard.  On a night Ponk drugged you– because that’s what it was, okay?  Actually,”  Quackity gets distracted from his original tangent, irritation and scathing replacing that longing for a moment, “you never fucking realized that?  I mean, sure, you drank yourself into unconsciousness half the time anyway, but you never fucking noticed those drinks they gave you to– to help with your cough or some shit, whatever, they always knocked you out, huh?  You never fucking realized it.  Never!  You aren’t smart, okay?  You like to talk like you’re fucking clever, but you’re not.  You’re a self obsessed fucking idiot who couldn’t believe that someone might not be too scared of you to do something like that.  You– You’re defeatable, Schlatt!  You’re so fucking defeatable!  Ponk could have killed you any fucking night.  I–” Quackity points a furious finger back at his own chest, almost staggering, leaning closer to shout in a corpse’s face, “I could’ve killed you!  Any fucking night, I could’ve done it!”  He laughs, a cackle.  “Alright?!  You acted like I couldn’t!”  He’s almost screaming now, “you acted like I couldn’t!  Any time I woke you up, y-you had your stupid fucking knife and you held me down with your stupid shaky hands acting like you were in control, like you cut me just ‘cause you didn’t care, I know it was because your stupid fucking hands shook because you were a pathetic drunk, and you still acted like if I really wanted to, if I really wanted you dead, you’d still be able t-to hold me down like that, a-and with the knife, do whatever you wanted and–” Quackity is out of breath.  A pause, the electrical lights’ hum almost feels accusing.

Quackity keeps talking so he can no longer hear them.  “S-So… so don’t even get me started on a night where Ponk knocked you out.  Don’t even–” Another pause, another shaky breath, another defense, “I could’ve chained your wrist to the bedpost, taken your knife, waited for you to wake up, and then…”  He shifts from foot to foot, hands in his pockets, staring at that sunken face, waxy and already somehow less human.  That stubble is never going to scratch his cheeks again, those lips will never again touch him, those teeth will never again push too far.  Quackity is sort of relieved that the sheet still just covers Schlatt’s hands.  He doesn’t want to spiral into what that part of Schlatt left him with either, whether a closed fist or a hand holding onto his jaw, pinning him down, holding his hand, around his throat, running through his hair– all of it, too much rawness lingers there.

Quackity does have Schlatt’s knife.  He’s fidgeting with it in his pocket.  It’s already covered in Schlatt’s blood, Tubbo’s gunshot close enough there’s a tear through the leather around the handle.  Quackity doesn’t take the knife out yet.  His thumb brushes restlessly over the torn leather.

“Hm,” he exhales a laugh, hysteria traded for calm in an instant.  “Wonder how that chat might’ve gone, y’know?  If you’d been able to talk back, that is.  I mean, if I had any sense in this hypothetical scenario I would’ve fucking gagged you too, right?  Wouldn’t get a word in edgewise…”

Quackity still pauses like he’s waiting for a reply.  It unnerves him a bit.

“Since it’s just us, since you’re never gonna be able to use this against me, maybe I should try being honest,” he says softly.  “Would you have been scared of me, d’you think?  I dunno if you were even conscious enough to be scared of Tubbo before he pulled the trigger, so, I won’t even bother with that shit.  So– So.  If I had you, Schlatt.  If I had you tied down, and if I had your fucking knife against your throat, same way you did to me–” Quackity stops as his voice tremors, scanning a face stiff as stone frantically.  “You wouldn’t have been.  Would you?  You’d tell me I wouldn’t have the fucking balls to do anything, you’d tell me I was weak and pathetic a-and I wouldn’t actually go through with it.  Right?  That’s what you’d tell me.”

Quackity wants him to reply.  He wants Schlatt to contradict him.  To tell him he’s strong, that he’s worth being afraid of.  He hates that.

“Maybe you’d be right, huh?” Quackity has no reason to speak so softly.  He doesn’t want to speak softly, like somehow he’s still afraid.  “I never did it,” he huffs, stepping back, hands out of his pockets, without a knife in hand, instead swinging agitatedly at his sides.  “I had every right to, though.  And I could’ve.  I think,” he stares up at the lights, their harshness making his eyes water.  Just the lights, nothing more.  “I guess that’s worse, though, huh?”  He looks back at his lover’s dead face.  “Huh?  ‘Cause it means I chose not to, right?  You’re a– You’re a fucking monster,” Quackity almost jabs an accusing finger against a corpse’s chest before pulling back quickly, still shifting restlessly, almost twitchy.  “A monster,” he sniffs, clearing his throat.  “I wasn’t– I wasn’t ready.  I wasn’t ready to–” A shaky sigh, he tries to convince himself it’s more frustration than pain.  “I guess I wasn’t ready to lose you, huh?”

Silence.

Quackity glances around the morgue, wiping his nose on his sleeve.  “Disgusting…”

He doesn’t think of Tubbo, or Karl, or even of everything this man made him learn to hate.

“I’m not… I’m not ready.  Because I fucking love you, don’t I?” A cold laugh.  “Loved you.  Love you… whatever, it doesn’t fucking matter,” he mutters.  “I wasn’t ready to lose you, and I know that’s your fault, but it’s still true.  You– Fuck, I don’t even–”  He wants to get out the knife.  Not yet.  “That’s– That’s bullshit.  That’s fucking bullshit!  Y-You controlled my whole fucking life for the past seven fucking years!  Seven years!  I was a fucking teenager you sick fucking bastard!  I was– I was nineteen!” Quackity’s rage is broken down by a sob in the back of his throat.  “I was– I was nineteen.  And you– You made me think I was gonna be worthless without you.  You acted like you were… you were doing me a favor.  Seven fucking years, and you spent every minute making sure I know I was better off dead than without you,” Quackity feels sick.  “But I– I don’t think like that anymore.  I don’t.  I fucking refuse.”

Some of that grief is briefly exchanged for a giddiness that is just as unnerving.  “I– I have Karl now!  Karl!  His fucking name is Karl!  I get to say that now!  I get to say his fucking name!  And you can’t do shit!  You’re never gonna lay a fucking hand on him!  I love him!  I’ve had him and loved him for six fucking years right under your stupid nose!  I don’t know if you recall, Schlatt,” he tilts his head mockingly, “you said you were gonna kill me if I saw anyone else, if I left you, all that shit, and it didn’t fucking stop me, alright?!  He matters more to me than you ever fucking scared me, you got that?!  You couldn’t fucking stop me!  Ha!” He screams it.

Quackity breathes heavily, burying tears almost on impulse now.  “And I’m gonna stop giving a shit about you, eventually I fucking will, alright?!  You died first.  You didn’t get to kill me.  I lived!  I survived it!  And you’re fucking dead, you sick motherfucker!  Fuck it–” Quackity digs the knife out of his pocket and triumphantly stabs it into Schlatt’s unbreathing chest, eagerness bordering on insanity.  “This time–” He begins to saw with a blade truly not made for such butchering, hands trembling with effort as well as mania.  “This time you’re mine, not the other way around–”  There’s a vile crack as he hits bone and keeps going.  He pauses, flinching, when blood spurts out of the corpse from whatever he hit, fortunate enough to avoid getting it on him.  He lets go, leaving the knife still embedded in his stiff chest.  “Y-You don’t–” He turns around toward the cart of supplies the actual mortician had intended on using, muttering with fervor, “you don’t get to make me disgusting– to make me feel disgusting, ever again, not now–” he takes a pair of plastic gloves, hands shaking as he struggles to get them on, “you don’t fucking touch me again–“ pulling them up over his already rolled up sleeves before returning to his knife, tugging viciously, and once the tiny blade begins to fail him, he doesn’t bother with the tools laid out, even if a bonesaw might have been useful, instead he rips out the knife and digs in with his hands, unable to snap open his ribcage but determined to burrow around it, through tough, hardened muscle, the body, the blood, all of it so cold until finally–

He stops.  Quackity tries to search inside himself for something simple, for straightforward grief or clean-cut hatred, or even something natural, something human like horror, and instead he finds only a hunger.  That’s as uncomplicated as it can get.  Schlatt’s unbeating heart is held in his fist.

Quackity stares at it, almost entranced, before something, some unnerved nagging feeling that he’s going somewhere he shouldn’t, snaps him out of it.  He fumbles for a plastic bag, placing the organ inside, hastily covering the now open chest cavity with the sheet, leaving Schlatt’s unmoving face uncovered, peeling off the gloves, carefully avoiding the touch of the gore covering them.  Quackity knows he should make a fast exit now, but he lingers for just a moment longer, staring at the heart through the shining plastic.  He glances back at that man’s face one more time, the bag held tightly in his hand.

“Only fair, right?”  Quackity puts the bag in a large pocket on the inside of his coat.  “Maybe this makes us even, you stupid son of a bitch.”

It doesn’t.

~

Tubbo has never been to a funeral before.  He doesn’t think fear is the usual feeling before attending one.  Although, he also knows funerals aren’t typically destined to end in bloodshed.

Tubbo is as always in an ill-fitting suit, ensuring room for a holster to remain hidden underneath his jacket.  He looks at his reflection and hates that the sight still looks like a scared little boy.  He knows he has to learn how to change that.  There is blood on his hands now, and people he still needs to protect.  Tubbo lets his expression fall blank, but it’s still an imperfect facade.  His hands shake as he goes to tie his tie.  The sharp irritation that rises up at his own shakiness he hates as well.  That impulsive anger reminds him of Schlatt, just as the shaking hands do.  His frustration does nothing to help him steady.  There’s a knock at his door.

“Come in.”

Quackity pokes his head in, already in his own black suit.  He looks restless, eager to get moving.  “Hey.  You ready to go?”

“Almost,” Tubbo frowns, hands fumbling and agitated as he tries to tie it.

“Here, let me,” Quackity steps in, reaching toward him, waiting for Tubbo to step back from the mirror and lower his hands.

Tubbo glances at him, irritated, giving up his efforts and turning to face his friend.  “I know how to tie a tie…”

Quackity smirks, “I know you do.  You’ve got more important shit on your mind today, so, let me do it this time,” he reaches out and ties it for him, pushing it up to his collar, not too tight.  It’s not for Tubbo’s comfort.  Quackity always wears his ties a little loose.  He doesn’t like the pressure around his neck.

Tubbo frowns.  “You smell like… like formaldehyde.  Why do you smell like formaldehyde?”

“How the fuck do you know what-?” Quackity pauses with a frown, still holding onto Tubbo’s tie.  “Uh, had to swing by the funeral home, shit to get him… get him transferred to the church.  There was… there was paperwork.  The room reeked of the stuff.”

“Oh,” Tubbo seems to accept this.  “I dissected some… stuff.  When I was younger.  The smell is awful.  It’s hard to forget.”  A pause.  “Did you know formaldehyde makes you hungry?  I don’t think anyone’s figured out why, but it’s weird, isn’t it?”

Quackity isn’t sure what to make of that.  “Yeah.  Uh.  Weird.”  He refocuses on the tie.  “There,” he straightens Tubbo’s collar.  “Looking good, Tubbo.  You look strong.”

“You know I don’t.”

Quackity puts his hands on Tubbo’s shoulders, looking at him intently.  “Okay, then we’ll prove it to them.  You are strong.  That’s what all this is about, right?”

Tubbo nods.  He wants to believe him.  He doesn’t want to be weak.  He cannot be weak.  He’s already sacrificed pieces of himself to get this far, he doesn’t want to lose any more, but maybe this will be the last of it.  He hadn’t wanted anyone else to die, but as Quackity had reminded him, surviving this required sacrifices.  So he pushes on.  “Is Jack here?”

“Downstairs.”

The two of them leave, only to find Jack coming up to meet them.  “Tubbo– Boss– There’s– Your mate Ranboo, he’s on the phone for you, sounds serious–”

“What?” Tubbo runs downstairs, grabbing the receiver from the phone in the entryway.  “Ranboo?  Are you okay?”

Ranboo’s voice is quieter, uneasy.  “I’m– I’m okay, sort of, but there are these guys here, and they said they worked for Schlatt, they threatened Niki, a-and Niki told me to go upstairs, I’m still in the back, but right now she’s trying to talk to them they’re not listening, and– and I don’t know if they’re going to try something, I mean, I– I know it’s Niki,” his voice tremors, “but there’s three of them and–”

“Fuck– Okay, I will be there as soon as I can, Ranboo.  Keep stalling, keep yourself safe,” Tubbo hangs up.  “Jack, Big Q– Come on, someone is trying to hold up Niki’s place,” Tubbo heads out, Quackity and Jack following, Quackity getting out the keys to his car, Tubbo getting in the passenger side and Jack in the back seat.  “Big Q?”

“Yeah?”

“Drive fast.”

Quackity nods, eyes gleaming.  “Glad to.”

~

One of the men who has invaded Niki’s bakery leans against the counter, drumming his fingers on its surface, staring around the quaint shop with mild interest.  Niki is doing her best to keep her eye on him and his two cohorts, who circle the shop, poking their noses where they don’t belong.  The bastard keeps talking, having ignored Niki’s icy tone.  “Yeah, no.  You’re right, Schlatt isn’t in charge anymore.  He’s not protecting this place, so, why do you think you have the right to tell us to fuck off?”

“Well, that depends, are you here to buy some bread, or not?” Niki says dryly.  Her hands stay behind the counter.

The man laughs.  “No, no sweetheart, we’re not.  I think we’re a bit more curious about that goldmine you have in the basement.  Schlatt’s dead, apparently, you’re gonna need someone to look out for you, right?  A little lady like yourself, you’re gonna need protection.  For a fair price, of course.”

Niki could rip this man’s head off.  She could.  She’d rather not get blood all over the shop.  She keeps talking instead.  “I think you’ll find I can take care of myself.”  One of the men begins to push through the gate behind the counter.  “You’re not allowed back here,” she snaps at him.  “Get back unless you want to get covered in pink frosting.”

The man stops, but still looks toward the back room.  “Is there anyone else here with you?”

Niki prays her brother followed her instructions and went upstairs to the apartment.  “There shouldn’t be.  And that includes the three of you.”

“Aw, but we’re paying customers,” one of them sneers.  He slaps a dollar on the counter.  “I want to buy something.  So open the register.”

“If you’re seriously trying to hold me up right now, I suggest you reconsider if you would like to leave here with all of your fingers,” she sets aside the frosting bag and instead grabs a serrated bread knife from behind the glass.  She holds it with one hand.  The other stays behind the counter.

The man laughs.  “That’s sweet.  Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to bring a knife to a gun fight?  Now open the fucking register.  Or maybe we’ll see if whoever you’re hiding back there is more helpful,” he nods toward the back room.

Niki buries the spark of panic that raises.  They won’t get near Ranboo, and if that means she has to kill them all, so be it.  She’s about to act, when instead the little bell over the door rings.  She looks over to see Tubbo, Jack, and Quackity entering the bakery.  She’s torn between annoyance and relief.  She’d told Ranboo she could handle it, that he should just hide, but he’d gone and called in reinforcements instead.

“Can I help you, gentleman?” Tubbo says coldly.

“You?” The chattier asshole gives him a once over.  “No, no I don’t think so, kiddo.  Where’re your parents, eh?  You’d think someone would’ve taught you to pick your battles a little more carefully.”

Tubbo is immovable, something almost wild behind his eyes that Niki has never seen from him before, it reminds her of a cornered bull, a prey animal who is not made to run away or hide, leaving one other option.

“You know very well who I am and who my parents are,” he scoffs.  “This building is under my protection.  That has not stopped, and I’m not sure where you got the idea you were allowed to be here without my say so.  I believe you remember what I said if any of you were to undermine my authority.”

Jack and Quackity stay close beside him, daring the others circling to come closer.  It’s four against three now, but these three seem set on underestimating them.

“Oh?” The man laughs, hand over his heart, as if endeared.  “How cute.  Under your protection.  I mean, really, your protection?” He bends down so he’s at Tubbo’s eye level, patronizing and in his face.  “What’re you gonna do about it, huh?  We’re not bullies on the playground, little boy.  You’re in so far over your head.  And your old man isn’t around to protect you anymore.”

Tubbo steps closer, unintimidated, gaze piercing as he says viciously, almost amused, “and why do you think that is?  Where the fuck do you think he went, little boy?  Don’t tell me you’re surprised that I had the fucking balls to do what none of you idiots could.  All of you too busy running around kissing his ass and acting like you being his mangy little guard dogs meant anything.  Don’t try and threaten me, it won’t end well for you.  I’m being merciful, don’t make me regret it.  All of you leave now.”

The man has flushed red, standing up straight, no longer amused.  “I thought your old man smacked you around enough that you knew to keep your mouth shut?  You couldn’t talk half the time, right?  I liked you better dumb and mute, you know that?  You’d live longer.”  He towers over Tubbo, but Tubbo still doesn’t move.  He doesn’t get out his gun yet either.  The man smirks, gaze wandering to Tubbo’s entourage, “and if you want to talk about your father’s pets, it’s rich of you to say that shit when you’re walking around with his favorite fucking chewtoy.”  He turns his malice on Quackity.  “You’ve been his bitch for years, what is it you do now that you can’t lick his boots?” The man has already doomed himself, but he makes one last mistake, he has the audacity to shove Quackity back alongside his insults.

Quackity doesn’t have the chance for his own anger to rise at the slight, it’s like he blinks and Tubbo has grabbed the bread knife from Niki and has it embedded in the man’s stomach a moment more.  The man isn’t dead.  His eyes widen in shock as he stumbles, but Tubbo doesn’t let him keel over, he holds him up with one hand on his shoulder, his other twisting the blade.

“You shouldn’t have said that shit about Big Q,” Tubbo says, voice trembling with thinly veiled rage.  He twists the knife and the man emits a horrible choking sound that makes Jack flinch.  “You certainly shouldn’t have laid…” he twists the knife deeper, blood reaching him, warm and heavy, “a fucking hand on him, okay?  I hope you understand that is why you are dying, alright?  Hm?  Is that clear to you?”  Another twist and he rips out the blade, allowing the half-dead fool to collapse.  “I didn’t learn that from my old man.  I figured that shit out on my own,” Tubbo spits at him for good measure, more fury still clawing to get out of him.  He remains staring down at the man bleeding at his feet, but he speaks to his stunned cohorts.  “He’s not dead yet.  Maybe you two can get him to a hospital in time.  Take him and run.  Before I gut the rest of you.”

One obliges, grabbing his friend off the ground, dragging him toward the door.  The other goes for a gun.

Niki pumps her shotgun, already having it ready and waiting behind the counter.  “I will blast you to pieces if you do anything but walk out that door.”

The last flees as well without another moment’s hesitation, and they’re alone.  Tubbo is still holding that bloody knife, staring at the blood on the floor.  He’s shaking again.  He almost seems to come out of a daze, shaking himself and looking back up at her.  “Niki– Niki, are you okay?  Ranboo?”

She looks at him carefully, shotgun still in hand, like she’s trying to read something from him.  “We’re alright, Tubbo.  I had it handled,” she says slowly.  Her cautious worry is exchanged for mild exasperation.  “I just didn’t want it to get messy during business hours!” she sighs, gesturing to the blood on the ground.

“Ah,” Tubbo turns from a mob boss to a sheepish teenager in an instant.  “Sorry!  My bad, I didn’t… I didn’t think that through.” 

“It’s okay,” Niki huffs.  “Although, Ranboo, I told you to go hide upstairs!” She turns into the back room, scolding and on a mission.

“Uh, can you put down the shotgun before you tell me off?!” Ranboo scurries into the front to dodge her wrath.  “You didn’t think I was gonna leave you alone with those creeps, did you?”

Niki has a hard time being annoyed with him.  “You worry me half to death, do you know that?”

“Well, ditto!” Ranboo pouts.

“Tubbo?  Doing alright, man?” Jack asks.  “After…”

“Fine, I’m good,” Tubbo says.  Tubbo had told those men to get their friend to a hospital, but some things aren’t survivable.  Just because the man hadn’t died in front of him doesn’t mean Tubbo doesn’t know what he’s done.

“Tubbo, you…” Ranboo is also at a loss, maybe even more shocked than the others at Tubbo’s ability to go just a bit further.

“Yeah.  I did,” Tubbo says mildly.  “I mean, Big Q even told me, I’ll probably have to kill the most people in the beginning, and once they know not to fuck with me, it’ll get easier, right?” Tubbo looks up from the blood on the floor, almost cheerful.

Niki and Jack turn to Quackity, almost judgemental.

“It’s true.  It sucks, but it’s still true,” Quackity shrugs.  That gruesome truth had been what convinced Tubbo to go just a bit further for the funeral today.  Quackity almost wants to explain further.  To explain that it’s better that Tubbo is cut throat with these kinds of people, because the alternative is hurting innocent people.  Tubbo had already given up hostages for fucking pennies, so he needs to put his ruthlessness somewhere.  Quackity doesn’t know what to do with Tubbo’s impulse being to protect him.  Not even to protect him physically, but to kill a man on principle over his dignity.  He also can’t help but think of how fucking tired he is of all these people running around only knowing him as Schlatt’s pet.  Largely only those contained to Schlatt’s circle, but that’s still too many people, and the worst kind as well.

“Sorry again, about the mess, Niki.  I’ll help clean up–” Tubbo starts to offer.

“No, don’t worry about it, Tubbo, you’ve got a funeral to get to.  We’ll see you later, okay?”

“Are you… are you going?  To the… to the funeral?” Tubbo asks, almost panicked.

Niki gives him a worried look.  “Well, not because I feel like mourning the man, but for you?  Of course we’ll be there.”

“No,” Tubbo says too sharply.  “I mean–” He stops with a shaky sigh.  “Okay, so.  The funeral isn’t– It’s not to mourn Schlatt, yeah?”

“Well, no, I’d expect not,” Niki is almost teasing now.  “I more thought you were having the whole thing to spit on his grave, right?”

Tubbo laughs nervously.  “Yeah, yeah something like that.  Look, uh.”  Tubbo gives Quackity a pleading look.

Quackity decides to step in.  “The reason we’re doing this isn’t just for a good time.  Our plan is to…” Quackity thinks over his words carefully.  “Weed out the last of Schlatt’s loyalists and… make sure they’re not gonna be able to cause any more harm.  Funeral is just the easiest way to get them all in one place, y’know?”

Niki gives him a more calculating look, sobered now.  “Weed them out how?”

Quackity bounces back on his heels, hands in his pockets, grinning like a somewhat sympathetic shark.  “As in an incredibly good sniper in the loft of the church how.”

“A sniper?” Niki says sharply.

Quackity nods, tilting his head goodnaturedly.  “And maybe locking the doors to make sure none of them get away, but we know half the crowd at least will just be nosy civilians, so probably not.”

“This is what you want to do, Tubbo?” Niki turns to Tubbo, not quite accusing, mostly cautious.

Tubbo stammers wordlessly for a moment.  “I– er, yeah, I– I want it done.  Alright?  I want it handled.  And I want to make sure no one else tried to pull the stunt these three just did,” he nods to the blood on the floor.

“And this is your decision?” Niki still sounds wary.

“Yes,” Tubbo says more resolutely.

“Tubbo is the boss now.  He decides how we do this, alright?  We don’t do anything with out his say-so.  I promise, Niki,” Quackity knows she probably worries he’s pulling the strings, but that’s not what Quackity wants from this either.  This is Tubbo’s affair.  He had told Tubbo what he believed to be the truth.  The kind of men they would have shot are the ones who are more inclined to brutalize hostages than let them go.  That had swayed him easily enough.  Quackity isn’t exactly worried about civilian casualties either.  Purpled is a fantastic shot.

“I don’t think any of us like it, Niki.  It’s… necessary evil and all that, right?” Jack sounds almost apologetic.

“Fine.  I can’t judge you all, as long as Tubbo is okay with it, I am okay with it too,” Niki shrugs.

“So would it–” Tubbo wavers.  “Would it be alright, if you and Ranboo don’t come, then?  And I’ll just see you both later?”

Niki puts a gentle hand on his shoulder, sincere enough that Tubbo feels weaker.  “As long as you’re okay.”

“I will be, Niki.”  Tubbo doesn’t know if he’s lying or not.

~

Tommy is gloomy, even as he knows he shouldn’t be.  Why would he want to go to a stupid funeral for that shitty old man anyway?  He’s got way better things to do.  Important things.

Like bother that dickhead in a trenchcoat.  What does he think he’s doing, wandering along the river, smoking cigarettes, looking all brooding?  Dickhead.

“Oi!  What’re you doing?” Tommy shouts down at him with as deep a voice as he can manage.

Wilbur jumps, fumbling to catch his lighter, looking around bewilderedly.  “What am I–  What’re you doing?!”

Tommy hops down over the low stone wall to the brick river bank.  “Bothering you.  Obviously.  Is that not obvious to your thick brain?”  He grins.  “I scared you.  Did you think I was a copper?”

“No, you startled me because you were shouting, that is a reasonable human response,” Wilbur huffs.  “And I’m taking a fucking walk.  It’s good for your health, you should try it,” Wilbur snaps.

“I have to walk literally everywhere all the time.  You cannot smoke at Niki’s unless you want to get your ass beat, so you wandered over here.  You gonna tell me I’m wrong, bitch?” Tommy sneers.

Wilbur mulls it over.  “I guess not.  You seem more pissy than usual.”

“I’m not pissy, I don’t get pissy, I get pissed off, as big men should,” Tommy says aloofly, strolling along the edge of the water, hands in his pockets against the cold.  He’s more than ready for this winter to break, it’s overcast enough he has his tattered sweater on over his red and white shirt.

“Okay, then why are you pissed off, big man?” Wilbur asks mockingly.

Tommy huffs, “none of your fuckin’ business.”  He knows it’s a stupid thing to be annoyed about, and he knows this dickhead will make fun of him about it.

“Fine, then.  Forgive me for trying to make conversation,” Wilbur continues to walk alongside the river with him.

“It’s just– Most of the people I actually give a shit about have ditched me to go to some… fuckin’ stupid funeral for an asshole who doesn’t even deserve a fuckin’ funeral,” Tommy kicks a beer can into the river.  “And I’m stuck with you instead.”

“Well, you’re not stuck with me.  You chose to be here.  I mean, I certainly didn’t ask for your company,” Wilbur points out.

“What, you want me to leave you alone to miserably chainsmoke?”

Wilbur stammers wordlessly for a moment.  “...well, no, but…”  He has no retort.

“Yeah.  Right.”

“Who died anyway?”

“None other than the fucker himself, JSchlatt,” Tommy says dryly.

“What?” Wilbur's shock, even hurt, seems genuine.

Tommy turns and gives him a wary look.  “The fuck are you so put out about?  It’s Schlatt.  Don’t tell me you had a crush on ‘im or something.”

“N-No, I– Obviously fucking not, it’s just–” Wilbur fumbles for an answer that won’t raise eyebrows.  “Ruined some of my plans.  To… to fuck with him.  Can’t do that if he’s dead.”

“Those plans were actually that fucking serious?  Your life purpose was gonna be mildly inconveniencing someone vaguely connected to fucking JSchlatt?  I mean, you had to realize that bastard wouldn’t ever give a shit about you,” Tommy points out.  “We can… or, you can, or us, I dunno…” He kicks another bit of trash into the river.  He looks almost shy now, just for a moment.  “We could still fuck around, graffiti shit, y’know.  It wasn’t… uh, it wasn’t totally boring.  No need to stop.”

Wilbur’s spiral of brooding is momentarily paused.  “Aw, Tommy, I didn’t know you cared,” he croons.

“Fuck off.  I can take pity on you and that doesn’t mean I care,” Tommy snaps back.

“Oh, you totally care,” Wilbur says smugly.

“I’ll shove you in the river, dickhead.  Drown you,” Tommy growls.

“Yeah, save me the trouble, I suppose,” Wilbur mutters, staring down at the muggy water.  

“Nah, nah you don’t wanna drown now.  Might run into JSchlatt on your way down to hell.”

Wilbur looks at him, almost offended.  “What makes you so sure me and JSchlatt are going to the same level of the afterlife?”

Tommy shrugs.  “I dunno, just assumed it’s a one size fits all for dickheads, even mini-dickheads like yourself.  Cooler ways to die, too.”

“Oh?  What do you suggest?” Wilbur asks, amused.

“Trains.  Trains are cool as fuck.”

“Trains?” Wilbur does his best not to sound alarmed.  “What’d’you…” He takes another drag from his cigarette.  “What makes you say that?”  He asks carefully.

Tommy shrugs.  “Y’know the trainyard up on the Northside?  Me and Tubbo and Ranboo, we were fucking around over there, and whew!” He shakes his head.  “Shit gets dangerous.  Those fuckers don’t make as much noise as you’d think.”

Wilbur relaxes.  “Oh, trains.  The… the big freight trains that bring shit into the city.  That makes sense.”

“What the fuck were you thinking about?  Toy trains in your grandpa’s basement?” Tommy scoffs.

“No, no I was thinking of…” Wilbur hesitates.  He doesn’t know why.  This random kid doesn’t know a thing about him.  “The subway.”

“The subway?” Tommy looks puzzled.  “Subway has been out of operation for ages.  All that shit got shut down years ago.  I’ve tried finding my way down there, but most of the entrances are bricked up.  One time I found an old grate that led to a station, but it’s pitch fucking black down there and I don’t got a torch or nothing, so,” Tommy shudders.  “Big old dark tunnels like that, they’re freaky.  Trainyard is dangerous, sure, but at least it’s above the ground.  I’m too claustrophobic for that shit.”

“Right,” Wilbur is only half listening now.  “Wait, why were you all at the trainyard anyway?”

Tommy shrugs.  “Gets boring around here.  We were just checking shit out, maybe I was thinking about getting a ride out of this shithole town, who knows.  We’re… we’re not allowed back,” he says gloomily.

“I’d imagine you weren’t allowed in the first place.”

“Not from– I don’t give a shit what the train guys say or the coppers or whatever, Niki said we’re not allowed over there anymore, and…” Tommy exhales through his lips heavily, shaking his head.  “Yeah, no fucking way I’m doing that again.  I get smushed by a train, she’ll wring me out just to kill me again.”

Wilbur smiles.  “Of course she did.  Not that I blame you, what Niki says goes, that’s best for everyone.”

“Yeah.  You don’t fuck around with her.  No way in hell,” Tommy shakes his head.  “Niki was like, mostly telling Ranboo he couldn’t, but not like I’ve got anyone else to tell me off.  She yelled at Tubbo too, all three of us.  Big Q was loads more chill about it.  He laughed about it.  I mean, no one got hurt.  Ranboo just had to abandon a shoe!  The man can get himself another shoe, lucky prick.  Anyway, Big Q didn’t tell Tubbo off for it, and I doubt Schlatt gave a shit if he even heard about it.”

“Right,” Wilbur is beginning to piece together just how much trouble these three kids found together, and it makes him almost nostalgic.  “Who’s Big Q, then?”

Tommy shrugs.  “Some guy who works for Schlatt.  He’s pretty cool, though.  He’s a good lad.  Helps Tubbo with shit, comes to the Secret City sometimes with…” Tommy stops with a frown.  He knows no one is supposed to talk about Karl, not outside the Secret City, just like how Quackity doesn’t want it getting around the personal relationship he has with Schlatt.  Tommy keeps his mouth shut when it’s important.  “With friends.”

Wilbur nods, Tommy’s description drawing to mind some big tough mobster who worked security, but it sounds like the guy was good to these kids, he looked after Schlatt’s kid, and if Niki thinks he’s alright he must be.  Somehow someone like Technoblade comes to mind.

“Well, at least Niki made you three shape up,” Wilbur says.  “She’s right.  I don’t think getting hit by a train is as fun a way to die as you might think,” another drag from his cigarette.

“Eh?  Oh, yeah, I mean.  Dying is a problem for other men,” Tommy leans back against the stone wall, feigning confidence.  “I don’t die easy.”

“Is that so?”

“I mean, haven’t died yet, have I?  Plenty of other people can’t say that,” Tommy points out.  “Case and point– JSchlatt.”

“Touché.”

Tommy hops back up, clambering up the stone wall.  “Anyway.  I still wanna fuck around with Schlatt’s lot.  And I know exactly where to do it,” he gestures grandly.  “There’s a little gathering happening downtown that many of them will be in attendance.  So, Wilbur…” He pauses.  “You got a last name?”

“Do I-?” Wilbur scoffs.  “Do I have a last name?  Obviously.  Wilbur Soot.”

“Oh, right, I think Ranboo said it the other night.  And it was on your I.D.  I knew that.  Well, then, Wilbur Soot, d’you wanna go fuck around in the carpark outside that bastard’s funeral?” Tommy extends a hand with a flourish.

Wilbur stares up at him, doubtful.  “I don’t think you’ll be able to pull me up.”

“Obviously not.  I was gonna make you fall if you tried.”

“Of course,” Wilbur sighs, navigating instead to the narrow steps out of the riverside.  “What’s your last name, then?”

Tommy gives him a look.  “Don’t need one, do I?  Name’s Tommy, innit?”

“Fine, then, Tommy Innit.   Let’s go fuck with some cars,” Wilbur makes his way down the street, Tommy quick to catch up.

“You should let me take the lead on this, Wilbur.  But you can keep watch, I guess.”

“How kind.”

~

“Foolish!  Are you ready?” Puffy shouts upstairs to where her son has been meticulously straightening his hair.

“Gimme just a minute!” Foolish shouts back.  “I’ll be down soon!”

“Do you need help with your tie?” She calls.

“Dad!  No!  I know how to do my own tie!” Foolish whines, thundering down the stairs, his tie twisted around and the tail of the tie hanging out too far.

“Okay, okay, fine, can I just straighten it for you?” Puffy asks.  “Come on, let me parent you a little.”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Foolish pauses, leaning down so his father can reach.  She quickly fixes the damage.

“Aw, you look so handsome!”  She resists the urge to mess with his hair.  Foolish is dressed up, but not exactly in funeral attire.  He wears a navy blue button up decorated with little white anchors and beige chinos, looking more prepared for a fancy brunch by the beach than mourning.  Puffy’s outfit is along the same vein, a plum-colored suit and matching tie.

Foolish grins under the flattery.  “Aw, jeez, you’re lookin’ pretty snazzy too!  Ready?”

“I’ve been ready,” she teases, grabbing her keys.  “Come on, this is gonna be fun!”

“And you’re sure it’s not like, invite only or something?”

“Even if it was, I’d like to see anyone stop us from going,” Puffy says haughtily.

They drive toward the church, Foolish flipping on the radio.

“–the hot topic of the day remains, of course, the funeral of the infamous JSchlatt.  A man whose impact on this city is, put gently, er, felt, is sure to gather a crowd, wouldn’t you say?”

“You couldn’t pay me enough to go into that church today, the kind of trouble that man attracted while alive was bad enough, I’m sure he’s going to draw in as much harm dead as alive.”

"Well said!  He's certainly made enemies over the years.  I'd say he's most famous for an older sensation in the news, do you know what I'm referencing?"

"I'd wager a guess you're referring to that nasty business, what, almost a decade ago now?  Well before she retired, the abduction of a local hero's–"

Foolish changes the station until much more cheerful disco comes through the speakers.

~

Ponk doesn’t know why they’re doing this; attending the funeral of a man whose life they tried to prolong feels almost in poor taste.  Foolish had reached out and asked if they would be going, which Ponk considered to be rather generous, again considering their opposing histories with the man.  They haven’t gone out much since what happened that night, and it feels wrong, it feels fearful, for them to continue staying shuttered away in Eret’s house.

“D’you want me to get your tie?” HBomb offers.

“Yeah, sure,” Ponk had halfheartedly been messing with it with their one good hand, but it’s a lost cause.  They turn, allowing HBomb to tie it for them, adjusting their jacket as well, pulling it over their shoulder, their sling remaining tucked underneath it, that arm still frustratingly useless.

“Are we all ready?” Eret asks.

“Yeah, I think so,” Ponk shifts restlessly.  They’re still sore, each breath just enough to irritate unhealed ribs.

“Do you have that champagne, H?” Eret asks.

“Uhh, yep!  Got it,” HBomb hands her the bottle.

“Shall we?”

Ponk, Eret, and HBomb arrive to see other familiar faces chatting outside of the church, Puffy, Foolish, Bad, and Ant having beaten them there.

“Hi, Eret! Hi, Ponk! Hi, H!” Foolish spots them first.  “Glad you made it!” He grins.

“Well, not every day such a… special individual keels over,” Eret smirks.

“So true, so true,” Foolish nods.

“As this is such a day to celebrate for you both, I thought I’d bring a gift,” Eret offers the champagne.

“Aw, Eret, you shouldn’t have!” Puffy simpers dramatically as she accepts.

“Glad you guys dressed for the occasion,” HBomb teases.

“Same to you,” Puffy smiles back, none of the three obeying the formality of all black either, Eret in a dark emerald gown, HBomb’s suit brown instead of black, and Ponk’s red vest standing out as well.  Bad and Ant have also chosen to stay on-brand, red accents pushing against the traditional black.  The group seems ready for a far more eccentric party than a funeral.

“Is that–” HBomb cranes his neck, looking over other attendees filtering in, those in black either civilians looking for some intrigue or maybe even a few genuinely grieving goodfellas joining the crowd, but HBomb has eyes for a particular mourner.  “That’s… Uh, anyone know what Connor Hedge is doing here?”

All present whip around to get a look, save Eret, who faces HBomb curiously.

“As in Mayor Hedge?”

“Yeah!  He’s… he actually looks kinda put out,” HBomb is torn between pity and amusement.

“I think he knew Schlatt,” Ponk offers helpfully.  Ponk also notes a few more half-familiar faces, people who had actually been in Schlatt’s circle, also entering the church.  Ponk tries not to let it make them nervous, focusing instead on the teary-eyed mayor.  “Huh.  Poor guy.”

“Poor guy,” Ant says more sarcastically.

“That sure makes for an interesting addition to this crowd, huh?  I think we’ll all want to get a good seat,” Bad says cheerfully, holding open the door.

“Oh, hey I think I see Fundy already in there!” HBomb heads in first, calling out to the nervous looking accountant, appropriately dressed in all black.

~

Tubbo is beginning to feel very sick.  He sits against the wall in the antechamber off the sanctuary, hearing the soft hum of voices of people filtering inside.

“Alright, Purpled is set up in the loft– Tubbo?” Quackity returns, hesitating.  “You good, man?”

“Purpled has… he’s got names, and photos, right?  A-And he’s only doing it if he’s absolutely sure, right?” Tubbo stares, fixated at the worn carpet.

“Yeah.  He doesn’t miss, alright?” Quackity says carefully.  “You doing okay, Tubbo?”

“No.”

Quackity sighs, glancing at his watch.  He sits beside him.  “What’s up?”

“I know you said– You said these men, these people, they’re… this is the right thing, and once they’re taken care of, we won’t have to–” Tubbo stops as his voice trembles.  He steadies.  “It won’t be like this.”

“Right.  I mean that, Tubbo.  These people are the biggest threat to us we have.  And once you prove that you aren’t gonna go down without a fight, once these guys, the ones who take it personally, are taken off the board, you’re in the clear, alright?” Quackity doesn’t know how many more times he’ll need to reassure this kid.  Tubbo chose this life, and he understands why he’s hesitating, he admires it even, but it’s something they cannot afford.

Tubbo is quiet for a time, seconds extending into a minute, and extending further still.

“Look, Tubbo, you… you know I made that list myself.  The names on it, they’re the type of people who wouldn’t fucking hesitate to kill you or me,” Quackity keeps pushing, a gentle hand on Tubbo’s shoulder.

“I don’t think I can do it, Big Q,” Tubbo says softly.

“What?  What’re you talking about, Tubbo?  You’re not– You won’t have to do anything, once everyone’s gathered, Purpled handles the rest.  I mean, he probably won’t be able to get them all, but hopefully the survivors will know better than to stop running, right?  Or, if you want this to be clean, Jack and I, we can pick targets, take two more off the board so Purpled can handle the rest.”

“No, no, that’s not–” Tubbo sounds young again, weak and tired and even a little weepy.  He takes a shaky breath.  He refuses to allow this to sound like weakness.  “I can’t, Quackity.”

“Can’t what?  Tubbo, man, it’s not–”

“No, I’m sorry, Quackity, I know you worked hard to plan this, but–” Tubbo stops, wringing his hands in his lap, refusing to look Quackity in the eye.  “It was easier.”

“What’re you talking about?” Quackity frowns.

Tubbo reaches out a hand, fist clenched like he’s still holding a knife, twisting it.  “At Niki’s.  It got easier. I don’t want it to be easier.”

“Oh.”

“He– He said those things, and I got angry, and I–” Tubbo feels a lump form in his throat.  “I didn’t even have to think about it.”

Quackity isn’t sure what to say.

“I don’t regret defending you, Big Q.  But what I did, how I did it, it didn’t- It didn’t have to be like that–”  His voice breaks and he vehemently brushes his eyes before tears can fall.  “You know that’s something he would’ve done.  You know it is.”

Quackity cannot argue, because it’s true.  Tubbo’s noble intentions don’t change that Quackity can think of too many times where Schlatt had killed someone for daring to look at him the wrong way.  Maybe Quackity had convinced himself that someone killing for him out of loyalty instead of some twisted form of ownership made it better, but he nonetheless cannot tell Tubbo he’s wrong.

“Okay, Tubbo,” Quackity sighs.  This makes things harder.  “It’s okay.  I’ll tell Purpled it’s off.”

“What?” Tubbo doesn’t know why he expected more fight, looking over at him in surprise.

Quackity gives him an exasperated, irritable look, but they both know there’s fondness underneath.  “This is gonna be fucking annoying as shit, but… okay, you go tell Purpled it’s off, I– You’re gonna give me a minute to think.  Even if we can’t kill them, we’re gonna scare these bastards, alright?” Quackity stands, pacing, the soft carpet muffling the tap of his oxfords.

“Oh– Okay,” Tubbo scrambles to his feet, somehow feeling like he’s gotten very lucky.  He rushes up the narrow, rickety wooden stairs.  “Purpled– whoa whoa, hey!” He raises his hands.

Purpled, bandana pulled over his face and hood pulled up, had turned around his sniper rifle remarkably fast.  “Oh my god, announce yourself, will you?  Do you want me to shoot you?” He snaps.

“N-No, ideally not, um,” Tubbo pauses just long enough stave off a heart attack before he can speak again.  “Okay, uh, it’s off, Purpled.  You’re no longer needed.”

Purpled’s scowl is visible just from his eyebrows.  “Are you serious right now?”

“Um, yes.  I-I mean, we’ll still give you half your fee, for, you know, wasting your time, but, yeah,” Tubbo steps out of the way as Purpled sulks past him, rifle over his shoulder, hit list abandoned.

Tubbo grabs it, having a feeling it’s something best not left lying around.

“You owe me one for this bullshit, HQ,” Purpled huffs, packing his rifle in the hollowed out trumpet case he carries it in.

“Yeah, yeah, fair enough,” Quackity waves him off, still thinking fast.

“Hey, uh, Boss!” Jack pokes his head in, surprised to see Purpled has joined them, but he has other priorities at present.  He refocuses on Tubbo.  “Thought I’d let you know that, well, the Mayor is here?”

“What?” Quackity turns on him sharply.  He sighs heavily.  “Y’know what, might’ve been a good call, Tubbo, last thing we need is getting accused of an assassination attempt.”

“I wouldn’t have missed,” Purpled huffs, snapping the case shut.

“Yeah, we know that, but when the guy two rows over eats a bullet, d’you think the media won’t jump on it?” Quackity snaps back.

Purpled doesn’t retort, making his exit through a side door.

Quackity continues pacing.

“Uh.  What’s going on?” Jack looks between them, baffled.

“I don’t want to just fucking shoot a bunch of people, and Big Q is trying to think of a work-around,” Tubbo says wearily.

Jack steps in, shutting the door behind him.  “Well said,” he nods smartly.  “If I can do something, I mean,” he shrugs.  “You know.”

Quackity is doing some careful consideration.  He will admit, no killing puts a wrench in his usual repertoire.  Tubbo hasn’t sworn off all bodily harm, but it’s a bit hard to break peoples’ kneecaps enmasse.  Fear, however, Quackity thinks he can manage.  At present the debate is no longer what to do, but if he should do it.  He’ll allow himself some selfishness at present, considering the position he’s been put in, as right now the debate is the ramifications on his career.

To be fair, most of his clients are, well, not scared off by criminal activity, especially in matters of disrespecting JSchlatt.  No one will drop him as a lawyer for this, and his long-term plans… well.  Owning a casino doesn’t exactly require respectability.  As for legality, there is probably some ambiguous law against this, even beyond the typical desecration of a corpse.  Quackity probably would advise against this behavior to any client, to any other rational human being, but it’s the best idea he’s got.

“Jack, there aren’t any kids in attendance, right?”

Jack stares at him, curiosity with a hint of dread.  “...No?”

“Great, good to know,” Quackity says dryly.  He stops his pacing, hands clapped together.  “Alright, you two, stay here, or stall or whatever, I…” He hesitates.  He doesn’t know where to begin explaining to them what his plans are, and if either of them were to protest, that’s all the ideas he has and without it, this whole bullshit affair will have been for nothing.  “I gotta get something out of my car.”  And with that, he takes the same exit as Purpled, leaving Tubbo and Jack to their own worried confusion.

“Er, you’re the Boss, what do we do?” Jack asks.

Tubbo tries to focus up.  He and Quackity had planned for this part.  This is, not only an event meant to take care of their enemies, it is also Tubbo’s first instance in the public eye.  He was going to speak anyway.

“Um, you wait here for… For Quackity, and I’ll… I’ll get this thing going, then,” Tubbo straightens his tie and tries to pat down his hair.

“Can do, Boss.  You’ve got this,” Jack gives him a casual salute, half-teasing.

Tubbo smiles weakly, “thanks, Jack.  I guess… I guess we’ll see.”

Tubbo enters the main hall, walks quickly past the closed cherrywood casket, and up to the pulpit.

Oh, fuck there are too many people here.  Quackity was supposed to start, then Tubbo was meant to speak, and then Quackity finishes things off, followed by Purpled.  Tubbo doesn’t want to do this.

“Um, h-hi–” Tubbo begins, faltering, feedback whining through the church’s harsh speakers.  The soft chatter dulls slightly, and now there are eyes on him.  Tubbo had done his best to ensure as many of his loved ones as he could manage weren’t in attendance, back when the plan had been for a firefight, but now he really wishes they were there.  He leans away from the mic, clearing his throat.  “Thank you all for coming to this… interesting occasion,” he smiles stiffly.  He does make out a few familiar faces in the crowd, largely because they stand out as a row of color in a sea of black.  Niki, Ranboo, and Tommy are not here, but Tubbo sees familiar faces from the Secret City, from his exploits the other night, and that’s almost a comfort.  The Badlands, Captain Puffy, as well as Ponk, and Niki’s buddy Eret, even Fundy is nearby.  Tubbo pushes on.

“I mean, I don’t know how well you all knew Schlatt– oh, I’m…” Tubbo doesn’t want to announce himself as Schlatt’s son.  That’s the opposite of what he wants.  “I am what you could call his successor, by the way.  My name is Tubbo Underscore.  And to be clear, successor only in, well, I suppose title.  Not in methodology or… or ideology.  To be clear.”  You’re repeating yourself like a fucking parrot, when you’re not stammering, that is.  Maybe you are better off mute.  Tubbo hates that for a brief moment, Schlatt’s stupid snide voice worms its way into the back of his head.

Tubbo takes a deep breath, for once holding onto that bitter anger and resentment that has been festering inside of him longer than he can remember.

“I don’t know how well some of you might have known Schlatt, I’d say I knew him better than most.  He was part of my life for… for quite a long time.  So, I feel like I got to know him.  I’m sure he’s pretty… pretty divisive in this crowd as well.  Although, I do have a feeling a lot of you don’t know anything about him other than his name being a big deal in the paper,” Tubbo scans doubtfully over many unfamiliar faces, as if daring them to show a sign of embarrassment or guilt.  He continues, ”I’ll say he was an interesting man, with a lot of… a lot of strange ideals.  He did have what I consider a semi-compassionate side, but I say this, mostly because I somehow lived this long.  Maybe that was some compassion on his side, but then again, maybe not,” Tubbo almost wants to announce it, to tell everyone here about Schlatt’s hit list.  Ponk is here, Fundy too, and others of Schlatt’s inner circle that made the list, even the mayor, Connor Hedge. Actually, Connor is in the front row and has had the most emotional reaction Tubbo has seen thus far, dressed in all black, and crying softly into a tissue.

What if you told them?  What if you told them all that if Schlatt had his way, this whole affair would call for a lot more caskets?

Tubbo thinks that might be dangerous.  Whether it implicates him in the murder, makes him seem weak, or something else, he has a feeling Quackity would advise him to keep those kinds of cards close to his chest.  He’s running out of words, though.  He hopes Quackity gets out here soon.

Quackity is hurrying.  He’s skittish as he returns from his car, having gotten his chosen prop out of the glove box, keeping the bag tucked inside of his jacket as he reenters through the side door, where Jack is listening intently through a thin crack in the door out onto the stage.

“How’s he doing, huh?” Quackity asks breathlessly, debating between shoving the whole bag up his sleeve or keeping it in his pocket or what.

“Pretty good, I’d say,” Jack says offhandedly before finally looking back at Quackity’s efforts.  “What the fuck is that?!” His voice goes up an octave.

“Sh! Don’t– Don’t yell, alright?!” Quackity says furiously.  “It’s Schlatt’s heart.”

“You wanna run that by me again?”

“It’s Schlatt’s fucking heart, okay?!  Don’t worry about it,” Quackity snaps.

“But– But Schlatt’s out there, you didn’t just, you didn’t get it there, so–” Jack stammers, staring at the bloody organ in vague horror.

“So it means I already had it, well done, detective,” Quackity says snidely.  “Get it together, Manifold.  Don’t worry your bald little head about it.  The casket, it’s facing the audience, right?”

“Y-Yeah, it’s– It’s up on the platform, so I doubt anyone’s gonna be able to see in it proper, if you’re… if you’re planning on putting it back?!” Jack tries bewilderedly.  “Does– Does Tubbo know about this?!”

“No, but he will soon,” Quackity grins.  “Come on, follow me out.  If shit hits the fan, you’ve gotta grab Tubbo, I’ll keep eyes on me, got it?”

Out on the stage, Tubbo continues, hoping somehow his speech will do its job.  “...Looking to the future, which, I mean, that’s got to be more important than looking at the past, right?  So, looking at the future, then, I think we should make sure his legacy dies with him.”  Tubbo’s gaze focuses in on scattered faces throughout the crowd, the same ones he had mugshots of buried in the inside pocket of his jacket.  “And anyone who plans to uphold his legacy, well.  Schlatt didn’t exactly die of natural causes, now, did he?  It’s a closed casket for a reason,” he says with an icy threat that surprises himself.

Tubbo tries to pull himself back, hands curling into fists, and then uncurling, in the pause between words he almost thinks he can hear Connor’s weeping.  “I… I won’t say this is a celebration, but it certainly isn’t about a loss to our society.  It’s… it’s more an acknowledgement.”  Tubbo feels almost weak with relief when Quackity enters his peripheral, fumbling for a hasty exit.  “Schlatt will not be forgotten any time soon, but we’ll try our best, yeah?” Tubbo gives an unsure nod before stepping back quickly.  He looks at Quackity almost pleadingly, hoping for some sign he’s figured something out.  Quackity gives him a nod, shifting his jacket somewhat suspiciously.

Tubbo backs up to stand beside Jack, who's taken up post to the right of the lectern, adjacent to the casket.

“Hey there, folks,” Quackity begins, lighthearted and charming as ever.  “I really do appreciate everyone coming out, this is going to be an important event for us all, I think.  A… a turning point, even,” he smiles.  “See, Tubbo over here is a lot more patient than I am, I think.  He’s polite, he’s… good at talking,” Quackity gives him a nod.  “I am also polite and good at talking, when I need to be, but right now, I think I should be a bit more… a bit more to the point, if you will,” Quackity looks over his shoulder at the casket, mulling it over.  Not yet.  “Schlatt is dead because he went too far, he crossed the wrong people, he did too much damage, y’know?” He turns back to the crowd, still smiling, almost shark-like.  “His death was deliberate.  It was a consequence for his actions, he fucked with the wrong people,” Quackity gestures with his hands as he speaks, hyper-aware of the weight in his inside pocket.  “I think we all can agree Schlatt was, for a long time, one of the most… influential men in this city, right?” A laugh sharp as daggers.  

“Hey, it’s a good time for self reflection, right?  The truth of it is, we are all mortal.  All his power, all his… ruthlessness, it wasn’t enough.  He never knew when to keep his head down, to stay out of the way, so he got mowed over,” Quackity doesn’t plan on confessing to aiding and abetting in a murder, but he has to do something close.  “He... let's say he underestimated people he thought were weaker than him, right?  It’s a… a dog-eat-dog world out there.  I think that serves as a good lesson for all of us; well, most of us, right?  I hope I'm being clear to you all, I really do.  If you–” Quackity takes a deep breath, an almost manic energy rising inside of him, “if you want to live, you don’t fuck with us!”  Quackity hears his own voice echo from the back of the church, the silence that follows immense and daunting.

Quackity is almost itching to get a move on, he feels like maybe he should be a bit more hesitant.  He laughs, cutting through the silence, his voice alone, “even this, I’m maybe… maybe not being candid enough, so, let me fill in the blanks for you all.  A little… a little guidance, on how to take this warning of ours,” Quackity turns on his heels toward the casket, his own heart pounding against his chest.

His back is to the crowd now.  They won’t need to know the details, it’s like a magic trick, a bit of slight of hand, and they’ll all be too taken by the spectacle to wonder how he reached inside a dead man’s chest so fast and unaided.  Quackity opens the casket, irritated to have to look at this pathetic man’s face again, but not for much longer.  Quackity unbuttons Schlatt’s shirt in the middle of his chest with well-practiced ease, that same knife in his right hand as he cuts through the careful stitches of a mortician.  He doesn’t need to, it’s mostly for effect at this point.  Schlatt’s face barely registers to him now, too overcome by the blood roaring in his ears.

Across the stage, Tubbo is growing more and more nervous.  “Jack,” Tubbo whispers.  “Jack, what’s he doing?”

Jack is staring with fixated, almost knowing dread, but he shakes his head and doesn’t say a word.

Tubbo stares, as from the side of him, he sees Quackity, having sliced open his dead father’s chest, pull something out of his pocket, something a red so dark it’s almost black, something about the size of a tyrant’s iron fist…

Quackity turns around with all the flourish of a performer, Schlatt’s heart held aloft in his barely bloodied fist.  This is where the screaming begins, Connor Hedge keels over and faints in the front row, but Quackity does not stop.

“One fucking step too close, and we will rip you apart–!”

There is a spray of blood around Quackity, glistening in the church lights, extending from the exit wound through his back like beaded wings unfurled, as a gunshot echoes through the hall; and Quackity’s speech is cut short.

[cappurrccino]

on the definition of 'haunted'

kayne decides to harass hastur with semantics

[ read it on ao3 ]

[ the drawfee argument that inspired this whole thing ]

~

“Get the fuck out of my domain.”

The fabric of the dream around Hastur flinched away from his vitriolic snarl, not unlike how it had flinched away from the arrival of this particular interloper. Overlapping and intersecting ripples of madness were the only movement as silence spread and a battle of wills took hold.

Worlds might have died in the time it took to resolve.

“No,” the entity currently going by Kayne drawled, words and smile laced with honey and malice. Something popped loudly from within his mouth and Hastur wanted nothing more than to kill him.

Fine.

Hastur was patient. Or, rather, Hastur was busy. And Kayne could be ignored. He could play this game; just don’t make eye contact, and he’ll get bored and leave eventually.

It was a decent plan.

Might have even worked.

If he had actually been either patient or busy, and not brimming with a seething frustration and hatred that had no current target. Though, as Kayne kept chewing, kept making those sharp popping sounds, that roiling mass of hatred was slowly gaining a new target.

“What do you want,” he snapped.

“Geez, someone’s pissy today.”

Another damnable pop.

A growl rumbled out of Hastur, promising violence. Somewhere in the desert, a new sandstorm started.

“I’m bored.”

Oh, of course.

“Go be bored somewhere else.”

Kayne hummed. “See, but no one else is having such a funny problem.”

Oh, of course.

Before Hastur could respond, Kayne kept talking. “Have you ever thought about human languages?”

What.

“No,” Hastur said. Why the fuck would you, he didn’t say.

“Oh, come on,” Kayne wheedled. “You spend all that time whispering to people, whispering to all those little Americans and you don’t spend any time considering their language at all?”

“Some of us have things to do.”

Kayne snorted. “It truly is a fascinating language, you know. English.” The word rolled out of him like the echoes of a dying star roll through the depths of the cosmos.

“What do you want?” Hastur was not pleading. He was not desperate for Kayne to get to the point of whatever inane conversation he was trying to have.

“Do you think all abandoned places are haunted, or does a haunting require the presence of an entity?”

That…

What?

He slowly turned to fully face Kayne. Yes, sure, it meant he would think he won whatever fucking game he was playing, but where the fuck did that question come from?

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You heard me. Is an old building haunted because it’s abandoned, or is it only haunted if something lives in it?”

This was stupid. This entire conversation was stupid and useless and beneath them both. It was almost certainly bait, but damn it all if Hastur couldn’t help himself from biting at it. “If something is living in it, it’s not abandoned.”

“Eeeeehhhh. Sure,” Kayne conceded. “But let’s say it’s been abandoned by humans. They’ve gone and built a thing and then said “Bleh! Ptthb! No good! Leave it behind, build another!” and then… I dunno, a wraith moves in. Or doesn’t. What makes it haunted?”

Caught like a fish, hook, line, and sinker. “The wraith. If it’s empty, it doesn’t deserve an adjective.”

“Abandoned is an adjective.”

Oh, he hated him. When he caught that wretched little human and got his errant fragment back he was going to pull him apart nerve by nerve. How fucking dare that little insect not have the decency to die and give his body to that fragment, so he could be at full power now and actually capable of kicking Kayne directly out of his space.

“Fuck off.”

Kayne rolled his eyes. “Yeesh, fine, we’ll play with your answer.”

Hastur did not sigh heavily at the thought of spending more time trapped in this banter. “Why do you care?”

“Oh, I don’t!” Kayne shrugged, grinned, clapped his hands together. “New question. Sort of a… semantics question, I suppose. We’ve got our wraith be-haunted house, yeah? Now… is it still haunted if the wraith does nothing and is never seen, or does she have to, I dunno, do some wailing and steal an infant for the house to be haunted?”

Fine. Fine. He’d play this stupid game. Maybe it would make Kayne leave faster.

“It has to be doing something.”

“Fascinating.”

Hastur barely resisted the urge to dissolve. For one, it wouldn’t solve anything, and for two, it would just make it harder to find that damnable human once Kayne left him alone.

“Because earlier you definitely said it just had to be not empty to be haunted.”

“Kayne.”

“I mean we do have an expert on the language running around here, don’t we?”

Before Hastur even consider what that meant, there was the staticky snap of reality pulling apart and the one and only Arthur fucking Lester dropped onto the ground in front of them.

Kayne’s infuriating cackle split the air again, though it was impossible to tell if he was more amused by the human’s panic attack or Hastur’s stunned silence.

“How the fuck did you—”

“John?” Arthur’s voice was whisper quiet compared to the thundering of the two gods around him.

Kayne’s grinning words cut through Hastur’s own snarling like a knife. “Oh, he’s not here right now. We just had a little bit of a disagreement we thought you might be able to solve.”

Oh, Hastur was going to kill them both. Maybe also himself. Probably all four of them if he could figure out where his fucking fragment was.

“You… I— I don’t…”

At least the human was properly terrified.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Kayne said, all false hope and endless amusement. “We just need to know what the definition of haunted is.”

“I…” Arthur stammered. Stock still, blind, terrified. He would be so easy to flay right now, except the only thing Hastur hated more than the thought of a piece of himself being lodged in a human was a piece of himself Kayne had hidden somewhere else.

“Answer the fucking question,” he snapped.

“That’s the spirit!” Kayne cheered. “Come on, Arthur. You’re a PI! You’re smart! Just tell us what you funny little humans think ‘haunted’ means and I’ll put you right back where I found you! You and your precious John can go on your merry way, with no memory of this whatsoever!”

“You… you won’t hurt us?”

Yet, Hastur thought with a low echoing snarl like a distant storm.

“Cross my heart, hope to die!” Kayne cheerfully proclaimed. “Go on now, no wrong answers!”

“I… well… I suppose a place that’s haunted is one that’s… inhabited or frequented by ghosts?”

…

“Interesting!”

If Hastur couldn’t kill either of the two infuriating creatures haunting his fucking domain, he was at least going to kill something after this.

“So it wouldn’t even need to be there full time, just show up sometimes.”

“I… suppose?” The human’s confusion was palpable.

“Fun!” Kayne said, in a tone of voice that was anything but to Hastur’s ears. “Looks like I was right again.”

“Oh, fuck off. How does that make you right? You didn’t even have a fucking opinion!”

Why was he even arguing? Why did he care?? He didn’t!

“Becaaause, if a ghost isn’t there but sometimes is, then a place can be both empty and haunted, which makes you wrong, which makes me right!”

No. Alright. Fuck this. Kayne could keep his fragment hidden, but Hastur was going to kill both of them right here and now.

Kayne barked a loud laugh and snapped his fingers, both sounds echoing like a gunshot. He and that damnable mortal vanishing in a haze of electricity before Hastur could properly lash out at either of them.

Hastur seethed. Oh, he had never felt such hatred. But it was fine. It was fine. Because Kayne was fucking gone, and he would not stoop so low beneath his own dignity as to shout after him. The bastard was gone and Hastur was the King, and he would not—

“YOU FUCKING COWARD!”

[causmonaut]

aaaand we’re back…

with another long ass post !!

documenting my stupidity immaturity:::::

she tweets: i love my bf!

he tweets: i love my gf!

she tweets: i miss my hubby i cant eat or sleep i cant breath i cant live like this

and hoooowwww do i see it? by logging into the acc i follow her on (to softblock everyone and keep the account as an archive since i had been using it for years)…

i !!! was confused? at first. then icked out… then hurt.

how do you shit on me for not even directly questioning your sexuality once because you loved to talk about dating men and dated and LOVED a man for 3 years, and say you’re a pure lesbian and i’m projecting by suggesting that you might have curiosity or the capacity to be attracted to men .. and then go date a man?

that part got me for a bit but her sexuality is really none of my business nor do i really care about it past the fact that she got super aggressive with me when i would question her comments. if she’s figuring out her sexuality then, good on her. i don’t believe in holding anyone to labels they’ve given themselves, it takes a long while before someone might settle (or decide not to settle) on whatever label(s) they feel comfortable with.

but it confirms that she’s with someone, it confirms that she likely lined him up soon after or before she dumped me which also stings because i think she’s shown me my worth to her so many times and it’s really not much. i think i was worth more than a few weeks of recovery? but it’s fine. i think she’s emotionally constipated and avoidant as fuck so i lowkey hope it all builds up and blows up in her face eventually (this is hateful, i’m rarely ever hateful…)

i decided to reach out before yesterday ended because it gave me an excuse to go and a: make it known that i know she’s a “lesbian” with a boyfriend and b: make it clear that i think it’s best i don’t have her on any of my social media accounts.. so i removed her on my defunct instagram… removed her from the server we used to share stuff and vc during games… took her out of groupchats with my friends.

her responses vv

“my tweets? do we still follow eo anywhere? but yeah, sure. please delete my personal info on there.”

“ooh i see”

“alright alright, thanks”

^^ putting these here.. for a few reasons

i think it’s important for me to reflect on how little energy she was giving me despite my long-winded over-explanations for my actions.. i wanted to make it clear i wasn’t removing her out of malice and stuff.. but really i don’t think i owed her the clarification.

i don’t think she thinks that deeply about things, and probably didn’t care much since they’re logical steps.

i wish i could’ve been more reserved during a lot of our conversations together but my overthinking makes it so hard not to assume she’d need the same reassurance as i might need in that situation.

i think for the first time she’s actually given me pretty mature responses. curt, dry, detached. probably in part because i’ve been pathetic as fuck in a lot of my messages to her, i’m sure she’s tired (i know she’s tired).

i would like to adopt her way of being firm in her decisions and knowing when to step away.

i could’ve honestly just quietly removed her from things, didn’t need to open up that can of worms or do that to myself or her.

i’ve now been dealing with the consequences of feeling a little hurt by her short responses, by removing her from things i wasn’t ready to remove her from.. by her moving on so quickly. her using the L word .. didn’t necessarily want her to while she was with me but she couldn’t say it even after a year, but with anyone else she’s said it within months? my self worth has taken a major hit. i think it’s half her and half me. two mentally ill people cannot function together for sure.

on the topic of mental illness, she subtweeted .. with “mental illness” .. friend saw and sent over a screenshot

yes, i’m mentally ill. i deal with chronic depression, anxiety disorder, a whole separate cocktail of other stuff, and ADHD… not to mention addiction (sober, btw).. and if we are being honest i am probably bordering on a personality disorder and all of that in combination with my anxious attachment style turn me into a monster when i’m with someone who can’t meet my needs or be consistent.

i recognize that and my needs, and what i need to work on.. i’ve known for a very long time but i still end up being attracted to manic types who are wishy washy and leave me questioning their intentions 24/7… this last girl was also a love bomber so that was not fun.

not excluding my own mistakes and toxic tendencies btw. i could lean into manipulative territory when i was upset, probably overloaded her with information in attempt to be transparent and it likely came off as being over critical and uncaring, because she could be petty i also allowed myself to be petty, too. we would get snappy at each other, she’d fuck up and i’d hold it against her for a while because she’d never genuinely apologize.. i’d fuck up and she’d never let it go, never communicate, only bring it up when it was too late for me to make up for it. it just wasn’t a good match.

but at the end of the day, once again, i can blame others as much as i want for things. i can hate her, i can ruminate on how little i must’ve meant to her in comparison to how much she meant and still means to me, i can torture myself with old screenshots or what ifs and would’ve should’ve could’ves but it doesn’t serve me.

^ easy to recognize that it doesn’t serve me but hard to not think or do these things anyway. i’m not good at combatting negative thoughts. i either don’t have them or they dominate all other thoughts. no in-between.

i think my anxiety and tendency to overthink are the biggest roadblocks i face.

kind of feeling like i am damaged goods. kind of feeling like i’d rather not date again so i don’t turn into an insecurity monster over someone that ain’t shit for the hundredth time.

life is tough as is. i have a lot on my plate, and sometimes i fear i’ll never feel peace. i don’t need a relationship to come and muddy everything up on top of all of the shit i go through on a regular basis.

buut as much as i don’t need it, that fear of loneliness sure does know how to creep in at just the right moments.

i’m talking about general loneliness. dying alone.. being distant from family… but also romantic loneliness, yea. everyone grows and branches out, my friends will find people they’ll go live in their own little bubble with, my cousins will do the same.. my parents are split and it wont be long before they both find people, too.. and here i am, their adult daughter who Should be more independent but i have honestly been so stunted by the amount of trauma we’ve all been through and it’s hard to feel my age, hard to cope with the fact that my life is my own. i don’t have the support structure of someone with parents that love them unconditionally or healthily.. it’s hard to grow when i spend so much time in their shadow trying to patch things up with them and help out without ever being nurtured in return.

in a lot of my relationships, i’m the one who lifts and supports others while i’m expected to get through things on my own. i fear it won’t ever change.

this all sounds very woe is me but i think i deserve to sit in that energy for a bit.