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scary-grace · 8 months ago

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what I don't remember now - a shigaraki x f!reader fic

Tomura's life doesn't end when his death sentence is handed down, and he knows damn well that he's innocent. It won't be long before one of his appeals proves it, and he can come home -- back to his friends, and back to you, the girlfriend who stood by him through the trial. But death row is a nightmare Tomura can't wake up from, and as the years behind bars begin to pile up, Tomura starts to question if it really matters whether he did it. If he'll ever be free. And if you and the other people who love him have forgotten him for good. (cross-posted to Ao3)

This is the prequel fic to 'if my heart was a house', and covers what's happened to Tomura since the last time he and the reader saw each other. I did a not-insignificant amount of research into the criminal justice system in Japan, specifically on prison conditions, prisoner treatment, and the administration of the death penalty. There is some dark and potentially triggering content, especially in later chapters, so please be wary! dividers/banners by @cafekitsune

part i part ii part iii

one

It’s cold. Tomura lies still in the half-darkness of his cell, willing himself not to shiver. If he shivers, that’s it. That’s an admission that he can’t hack it, that being here is getting to him, that he can’t swallow the fistful of bitter pills that have been shoved down his throat. Tomura made a decision, somewhere between his sentencing and when he was shoved out of an armored transport in the yard of an unnamed prison, that he’s not going to give a nanometer. He’s not going to blink, or flinch, or whatever the fuck. Do that, and it’ll look like acceptance. And Tomura’s not going to accept being sentenced to death for something he didn’t fucking do.

Tomura’s not a good person. On his best day he’s lazy and on his worst he’s an unapologetic asshole. The most redeeming feature he has is the fact that better people than him want to be around him for some reason, and it’s not because he’s good-looking or ambitious or rich. Since birth Tomura’s been a disappointment. That’s not the same thing as being a murderer, and as many good reasons as Tomura has to hate the house he grew up in and the family who lived there with him, none of them are enough to make him kill them all.

He doesn’t remember what he was doing the night of the murders, except that he spent part of it in the hospital. He doesn’t remember confessing, which he apparently did, and when he tries to think about any of it, he gets a splitting headache and the kind of nausea that means he’s gotten hosed down in his cell eight times since he arrived three weeks ago. Tomura’s trial is a blur, too. The only thing that’s clear in his head is the memory of you – you, and your hands clasped tight around his, holding on so hard that Tomura thought his fingers would break. Your hands are smaller than his. Your hands were strong. Your hands are warm.

Thinking of you is one way to warm up, but it comes at a cost. A shiver runs through Tomura from his fingers up, and he lurches upright on his cot to hide the motion. A split second later, the lights in his cell go on, so bright that he’s blinded for a second. He raises his hand to shield his eyes, and a guard barks at him over the intercom. “Inmate 230385, return to the rest position immediately.”

“I just sat up,” Tomura says. “Is that illegal or something?”

“Return to the rest position.”

“Why?”

“Return to the rest position or corrective action will be taken.”

Corrective action? Tomura’s already on death row. What the hell do they think they can do to him that will make a difference? Take him out of his cell, probably. And put him somewhere colder. Tomura’s blanket slid down when he sat up. He hitches it back up and lies down again.

He doesn’t need to cause trouble. He’s not going to be here long. He’s got appeals pending, and there’s no way the judge who hears the next one will be as stupid as the one at his trial. Tomura’s not going to die here. Sooner or later, he’s going to get out, and when he does, nothing anyone said at the trial will matter. His friends will still be there, and so will you. Tomura just has to hold out until then.

He stares up at the ceiling and tries not to shiver. It gets easier when he remembers the warmth of your hands around his, the last time he saw you. Tomura thinks about that, about you, and it helps. But even your memory can’t quite keep out the cold.

two

Someone’s coughing. Tomura can’t tell which cell they’re in, but they’re making a hell of a lot of noise, and it’s ripping at Tomura’s nerves. He didn’t use to have such a problem with noise, but the death row is so silent most of the time that Tomura can hear the other inmates breathing in their tiny cells. No one gets to talk unless spoken to by the guards, and the guards never speak to anyone unless it’s to correct someone. Tomura’s been on the receiving end of corrective action more than a few times by now. It’s usually not worth it.

Tomura knows it’s not worth it, and still, the urge is there. He wants to say things. He wants to ask questions – like why he’s not allowed to make phone calls or write letters, what’s happening to all the phone calls and letters that he knows are coming for him. He doesn’t want anything to do with the other prisoners, but if he needed to talk to them, he’d want to know the option was available without risking the loss of his exercise period or getting his meals reduced from three to two per day. Tomura’s heard there are worse punishments. If he’s going to get one of those, it’s not going to be for trying to talk to someone.

Still, the coughing sounds like it’s killing whoever’s doing it – but before it kills them, it’s going to kill Tomura, because he can’t take this fucking noise. He can’t say a word without permission, but this asshole gets to hack out a lung with no consequences at all? Fuck that. Tomura clenches his jaw, trying to hold in the howl of frustration. He clamps his hands over his ears so he won’t have to hear it any longer. They need to stop. No one cares, and it’s driving Tomura insane – more insane than the silence, more insane than the cold. Shut up, he thinks at them, whoever the fuck they are. Shut up, shut up –

“Shut the fuck up!” someone else explodes from somewhere further down death row. “Just die already!”

“Inmate 113019, this is a verbal reprimand for speaking out of turn. If you continue –”

“Yeah. Go for it! Put me in the protection cells! At least then I’ll be away from this fucking noise –”

The coughing takes on a weird, wet note that it hasn’t had before, something that makes Tomura’s skin crawl. It’s drowned out almost instantly by the sound of the guards’ footsteps down the hall on their way to lower the hammer on 113019, whoever he is. Whoever he is, he puts up a fight. Tomura hears heavy thuds, curses, a burst of sound that might be sobs or laughter, and somewhere in the middle of it, the coughing comes to a complete stop. It doesn’t start up again, and once the guards drag 113019 away, the cell block is dead silent once more.

Two minutes ago, all Tomura wanted was for it to be quiet again. Right now, he can’t help wondering why the coughing stopped so suddenly. Right now, he misses the noise.

three

There’s frost on the ground, and Tomura can see his breath. His teeth are chattering, and he’s shivering too hard to walk. He shouldn’t be outside. But he gets one exercise period per day, and it’s the only time he gets to spend outside his cell. The only time he gets to see the sky and breathe air that hasn’t been recycled thousands of times until it tastes old and stale. It doesn’t matter if it’s below freezing. If Tomura has a chance to be outside, he should use it.

He forces himself to take even steps on his way around the tiny exercise yard, and at the same time, he lets his mind wander – back to you, because it’s easier to think about you out here than it is in his cell. He doesn’t want to imagine you in there with him. Out here, it’s easier. He can pretend the two of you are meeting up to go for a walk, like you did on your first date. He can pretend you’re just around the next turn.

After the first time you ran into each other, Tomura didn’t think he’d see you again. Which was stupid. You worked at the library on campus, and he needed to use the library, so of course he was going to see you. And every time you saw him, you talked to him until you had to go do something else – like renew someone’s checked-out book, reserve them a study room, schedule a session with a tutor, find a source they really should have been able to find on their own. At first Tomura took those interruptions as his cue to leave. Then he started waiting through them. Then he started coming by even if you were busy, waiting however long it took for you to have time for him.

Tomura hadn’t meant to ask you out, exactly. He just told you that he wanted to talk more sometime when you weren’t busy, and you suggested taking a walk together. Worked for him. Except for the part where it was really cold, even though the sun was out and the air was still, and the part where Tomura handles the cold the same way cats handle being sprayed with a hose. He was shivering before the two of you made it halfway around campus.

You noticed. Are you okay?

Fine, Tomura muttered, and you gave him a skeptical look – but you didn’t argue. You always knew how to call him on his bullshit, right from the beginning. Aren’t you cold?

I run kind of warm, you said, and you held out your hands. Here.

Tomura knew it didn’t mean anything, but his stomach still twisted, and his hands were shaking from more than the cold when he settled them in yours. Your hands were warm, just like you said they’d be. Warm, but not sweaty, and before Tomura could say anything, you folded his hands together, with yours on either side. You’re freezing, you said. I can keep you warm, but we should probably go inside.

Yeah. Tomura was glad you were holding his hands that way. Any other way, and he’d have latched on tight, refusing to let go. Sorry. This was a dumb idea.

Not really. A walk is a decent first date.

A first date. You wanted it to be a date, and you thought it was a good one. Tomura’s face somehow managed to heat up without making the rest of him any warmer. If I ask you to get coffee with me right now, can that be our second date?

You smiled. That made Tomura feel warmer, almost as warm as your hands felt around his. That works for me.

You always kept Tomura warm, and not for the first time, Tomura wonders what’s happening to you out there. Where you are, what you’re doing. If you found somewhere to live, because you can’t pay the rent in yours and Tomura’s apartment alone. If you’ve got your job still, because Tomura was pretty sure you were going to lose it for calling out so many days to sit with him during the trial. If you’re okay without him.

Tomura’s not okay without you. That’s why he has to be careful where he thinks about you. Not inside, when he can’t escape the fact that he’s been in prison for three years already. Only out here, in the cold, when he can think about what it’ll be like when all this is over. A guard shouts at Tomura that it’s time to come inside, and Tomura picks up the pace. One more circuit around the tiny yard. A few more seconds walking with you.

four

Tomura closes his eyes and listens to the quiet tapping against the bars of the cell beside his. It’s taken him four years in here to learn Morse code, and now that he knows it, he can talk to the other inmates on death row – the ones he feels like talking to, which is basically no one. The person next to him is all right. He calls himself Kurogiri. Tomura doesn’t know why he’s here.

Nobody knows why Tomura’s here, either. On the rare occasions anyone gets to talk to anyone else, they have better things to do than go over what bullshit twist of fate led to their death sentences. Convictions don’t matter when they’re all waiting on the same punishment. All that matters is time – how much time they’ve spent in here, and how much more time it’ll take for this to end. It says something about this place that four years after he was sentenced, Tomura’s still the newest one on the block.

Not for long, though. That’s what Kurogiri’s saying. Tomura taps out a response. H-o-w k-n-o-w?

G-u-a-r-d-s. Kurogiri has some kind of in with the guards. He’s never said what it is, and Tomura’s never asked. K-u-n-i-e-d-a o-l-d c-e-l-l.

So far in Tomura’s time here, only one inmate’s died, and it wasn’t in an execution. The inmate who was sick during Tomura’s second winter here died of whatever he had, and the guards didn’t find him in the cell until the next morning. By that point the smell of death was everywhere, and instead of letting the inmates move somewhere else until it was gone, the guards left all the vents open to flush it out. They let in the cold, too. It took Tomura two weeks to get warm.

He wonders if anyone’s going to tell the new guy what happened to the last person who lived there. Then again, nobody’s told Tomura what happened to the last occupant of his cell. He doesn’t want to know. Kurogiri is tapping out another message, and Tomura listens idly. Y-o-u o-k?

Tomura double-taps – shorthand for yes. W-h-y?

There’s a long pause. A really long pause. Tomura’s in the process of repeating himself when another prisoner responds from down the hall. C-h-i-c-k-e-n-s-h-i-t. T-e-l-l h-i-m o-r I w-i-l-l.

W-h-a-t? Tomura asks. His stomach is clenching, nausea welling up like he hasn’t felt in months. It’s hard to get scared in here. Nothing ever happens. T-e-l-l –

F-i-r-s-t a-p-p-e-a-l d-e-n-i-e-d. Kurogiri answers so fast that Tomura can barely decipher it. O-n-l-y f-i-r-s-t o-n-e. O-t-h-e-r-s –

Tomura’s not listening anymore. He manages to roll sideways off his bed before he throws up, but that’s it. The nausea that overtakes him is too powerful for him to do anything but vomit on the floor, then dry-heave once his stomach empties itself completely. The other inmates are laughing at him, calling out even though the guards are already on their way. The same inmate who always gets dragged out for talking is the loudest. “You’re getting off easy, kid! You killed seven people, but you only have to die once.”

“There are more appeals,” Kurogiri says. His voice is soft, almost comforting, completely at odds with the sound of Tomura’s cell door scraping open, drowned out almost entirely by the rush of cold water spraying from the fire hose, dousing Tomura and the mess and everything in his cell all at once. “You don’t need to worry. The process has already begun –”

“I didn’t know.” Tomura’s voice is hoarse, and his mouth tastes so awful that the sensation of air rushing over his tongue makes him retch again. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

The other inmates jeer at him, pointing out that they did tell him, but they must know that’s not what Tomura meant. Tomura should have heard that news from a lawyer, from an administrator, from a doctor – from somebody important. Not from a bunch of murderers. What if that hadn’t been his first appeal? What if it was his last one? If all his appeals fail, how is Tomura going to find out? Is anyone going to tell him, or is he just going to wake up one morning and find out it’s his last day on earth?

Tomura tries not to think of you in here, when things get bad. But he lets himself this time, just this once. Just to imagine that someone’s here who loves him, someone who cares that he’s sick and lonely and terrified. Someone who could tell him that it’ll be all right. Someone he’d believe. But when his skin is crawling with cold and disgust and terror so strongly that he can’t help but try to scratch it away, it’s hard to imagine that even you could make him feel better.

five

Tomura’s never gotten a letter from the outside. Never gotten a letter from you or any of his friends or whichever lawyer is handling his appeals – or even from Sensei, who spent the entire trial testifying against him so he could “learn his lesson”. Tomura thinks Sensei owes him an explanation, given that Sensei’s testimony put him away. The person he described as committing the murders sounds nothing like Tomura, because Tomura didn’t do it. He wants to hear what Sensei has to say about that. If Sensei thinks he’s learned his lesson yet.

It’s the lack of contact from you and the others that worries him more. He thought for sure he’d hear from you, from Spinner, from Toga, from Twice. Dabi’s not the letter-writing type, and Magne and Compress were newer additions to the group, but Tomura thought they’d maybe write at least once in five years. He’d call and ask, but he’s only got some of the phone numbers memorized, and what if you’ve changed them? It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t get visits or phone calls anyway.

It feels like a punishment, but Tomura can’t figure out what he did. He acts up the standard amount for a death row prisoner, enough to lose his exercise period or get his food restricted or have his cell tossed and lose anything he’s managed to keep in there. Nothing that deserves no phone calls for five years. Five fucking years. It’s not until the newest inmate starts acting up that Tomura gets a real answer.

He knows the name of the guy in Kunieda’s old cell only because the guy keeps insisting on being called by it, no matter how many times the guards correct him for speaking out of turn. When he’s not picking stupid fights with the guards, Chisaki is bitching about how this prison compares to his last prison, and everybody got tired of it within six weeks of his arrival. Tomura doesn’t have anything to compare this prison to. Before this, he’d never spent even a night in jail.

As summer turns to fall turns to winter and the temperature inside the cell block drops to just above freezing, Chisaki calms down. For a week, then another week, then an entire month. Did he get religion or something? Tomura’s seen that happen to at least one prisoner by now, but from what he can tell, it usually takes longer. To go from fucking around constantly to not fucking around at all is a big shift. It’s weird.

One day, while he’s huddled up in his cell under his stupidly thin blanket, Tomura hears voices filtering in from the exercise yard. His cell has vents that let in the cold, and apparently also give him the chance to eavesdrop. He’s never had a chance to eavesdrop before, but that’s because no one ever talks.

Of course it’s Chisaki talking. He’s somehow gotten permission from one of the guards to speak up, and he’s getting straight to the point. “My behavior for the last month has been exemplary. In my previous prison such a record has resulted in the renewal of privileges which were previously removed – such as the opportunity for visitors. When will that be restored?”

Whichever guard he’s talking to laughs awkwardly. “Nobody told you?”

“Told me what?”

Tomura’s interested, too. He listens closer. “You were in maximum security before, but it’s – different here,” the guard says awkwardly. “Once a sentence is finalized, no contact is allowed with the outside world.”

“What?” Chisaki demands. “Why not?”

“It’s policy. Contact with the outside world causes distress for condemned prisoners and their families and has no practical benefit. I – no, stop –”

Shouting erupts in the yard, and Tomura cringes away from the vents, his eyes burning. It’s not a punishment. It’s not a punishment, which means it can’t be lifted, which means that even if you and the others have been calling and writing letters, you can’t get through. Tomura will never get those letters. Tomura can’t write back. When Tomura saw you in the courtroom after his sentencing wasn’t just the last time he ever saw you, it’s the last time he’ll ever get to talk to you. And he didn’t know it. If he’d known it he would have said –

The noise from the exercise yard is so intense that the rest of the cell block can hear it, too. They’re doing what they usually do, any time someone shows weakness, and because they’re shouting at Chisaki, who’s bought himself a one-way ticket to the protection cell for the next month, no one notices as Tomura sinks down in the corner of his cell and scratches his neck until it bleeds.

six

Somebody’s death sentence gets reduced to life, and the cell next to Tomura’s opens up. Rather than leaving it open, leaving Tomura alone, the guards move fucking Chisaki into it. It’s not bad enough that Tomura has to rot in here until one of his appeals is successful and gets him out of here – he has to listen to Chisaki’s bitching and whining, too. And eventually Chisaki breaks the cardinal rule, the one rule that keeps everybody on death row even sort of sane. He picked up Morse code faster than Tomura did, and one day he taps out a question aimed at Tomura. W-h-a-t d-i-d y-o-u d-o?

He signs off with the last two numbers of his prisoner number, like Tomura’s confused about who’s sending this dumb message. Tomura doesn’t bother with identifying himself by tacking the last two digits of his ID on the front of his response. f-u-c-k o-f-f.

D-i-d y-o-u d-o i-t?

f-u-c-k o-f-f. Not for the first time, Tomura wishes he could all-caps a message without banging on the bars loudly enough to attract the guards’ attention. Morse code really needs a shift key. W-h-a-t d-i-d y-o-u d-o? Y-o-u f-i-r-s-t.

Silence. Of course. Chisaki can dish it out, but he can’t take it for shit. Tomura settles into the quiet, not hoping to enjoy the break so much as get through it without making himself feel worse. Downtime is bad for Tomura these days. He spends too much time thinking. Too much time getting angry. Too much time figuring out how he got here.

He knows Sensei set him up. It had to have been Sensei, because Sensei was in charge of Tomura when Tomura was fifteen, and Sensei kept hinting that Tomura should try to reconcile with his family. Tomura only agreed so Sensei would leave him alone about it. He’d meet them, deal with whatever happened, see if he could talk Hana at least into staying in touch and sending him pictures of Mon, and get out of there. It was going to be a bad night no matter what. At least Sensei agreed to go with him.

But something went wrong. They never made it there, at least not in Tomura’s memory, because Tomura woke up in the hospital. He’d blacked out or passed out or something, and as soon as he was borderline lucid, Sensei gave him the news. Tomura still remembers the weird way he delivered it, like he was telling Tomura they were having something gross for dinner instead of telling him that his entire family had been murdered. Tomura didn’t react the right way, either. He was supposed to meet his family. Now he wasn’t going to. He laid back down and went under again.

They used that, at the trial, seven years later. The fucking prosecutor asked Sensei a bunch of questions about how Tomura responded to the news, and Sensei told them how unsettling it was that Tomura didn’t care at all about his family dying. Tomura’s lawyer wouldn’t let him get on the stand to explain his side. They’ve already decided you’re guilty. Don’t make it worse.

They were going to kill him. Tomura knew that by then. There was no way to make it worse than it was already going to be, and if he was already guilty, he might as well have told the truth. What little of it he remembers.

Chisaki is tapping on the bars again at a pace Tomura couldn’t keep up with if he wanted to. His fingers are too fucking cold. W-e a-r-e-n-t d-i-s-c-u-s-s-i-n-g m-e.

No, they’re not discussing anybody. Tomura’s done with this. Screw the guards – he taps with emphasis. F-U-C-K O-F-F.

“You want to know what he did? I’ll tell you.” Prisoner 113019 laughs from across the hallway – the same one who always laughs when something bad happens to someone else. For the first time since he got here, Tomura prays for the guards to get here fast. “The little rat bastard’s a mass murderer. Greased his entire family.”

Tomura doesn’t know how 19 got ahold of that information, and right now, he doesn’t care. He just wants the guards to get here and shut him up. “His body count is higher than mine, and he won’t even own up to it like a man,” 19 continues, gleeful. “You’ve heard him talking in his sleep. He says he’s innocent.”

“Shut up,” Tomura says. His voice sounds awful, and he realizes all at once that he can’t remember the last time he spoke. It doesn’t matter if he talks now. They’ve only got one protection cell, and 019 is going in it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about –”

“And not only is his count the second-highest on death row,” 019 continues, ignoring Tomura, “he’s a sadist, too. Maybe his family deserved it – they’d have to for raising something like him – but there’s no way his dog had it coming.”

“Shut up!” Tomura explodes. His voice cracks, and he can feel his face contorting, eyes squeezing shut and jaw clenching tight. He’s not going to cry. He can’t cry here. “You stupid fuck. I didn’t do it!”

Death row erupts in laughter, just in time for the guards to arrive. Sure enough, they head to 019’s cell first, but two guards break off to drag Tomura out of his for a talking-to, also known as getting beaten up in places that won’t show. Tomura’s been in here long enough, knows how it works here well enough, to be almost thankful for a reason to feel pain. If anyone sees him, they’ll think his eyes are watering because he just took a baton to the ribs. Not because he misses his dog.

Tomura didn’t mention his family’s deaths to you for a while. He didn’t want to see you react, because he knows how people react to stuff like that – like Tomura’s just a tragic backstory with an ugly face, like everything he is can be described by the worst things that ever happened to him. He didn’t bring up his family, but he mentioned Mon, and you asked. Tomura told himself to answer like a normal person. He ended up crying instead, and you didn’t laugh or look at him differently. You just reached for his hand and –

A blow to the hip knocks Tomura off-balance, just in time for another hit in the stomach to double him over, and Tomura crashes sideways to the floor. He sprawls out, pinned with a guard’s knee on his back, as 019 marches past, flanked by four guards, and still leering down at him. Something snaps in Tomura’s head. He reaches through the guards’ legs, seizes 019’s ankle, and yanks his leg out from underneath him.

The knee grinds harder into his back, knocking the air out of his lungs, but Tomura can barely feel it. He’s trying to pull his hand back, and he’s too slow. Slow enough for a guard to see what he’s doing. Slow enough for the guard to raise one boot and stomp down on Tomura’s hand with all his strength, and for the first time since he set foot on death row, Tomura screams.

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x you #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #prison fic #needle compass north #x reader #reader insert #man door hand hook car door #a bisquared production

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soundlessdreamss · 1 year ago

Note

Hey!! i saw your fanfics and i loved it! How about something like, Alastor x Furina/Focalors Reader? It can be either Platonic or Romantic!

hi hi!! Of course I can do this, I’ll also be doing vox x furina reader in this post as I got a request to do that aswell. ^_^ This will include platonic and romantic headcannons for them.

Alastor x furina!reader & Vox x furina!reader

Platonic Alastor:

To say he wasn’t intrigued by you was a lie. You caught his attention during a overlord meeting where you had not a single care in the world about what was going to happen in hell, since you saw it as your “stage” to perform.

He didn’t really get how and why you acted the way you did. You always overreacted and had dramatic reactions to small things happening but only if it was something that affected your people in hell. Yet you always kept a playful attitude and be very cocky.

During the meeting where you really caught his attention is when you stood up against Camilla and managed to start a whole fight which made the meeting end early.

He followed after you once you left the meeting and wanted to introduce himself to you. (As if you didn’t already know him)

You liked how he acted similarly to you in a way, you both mainly cared about your own good or at least your peoples own good. So it wasn’t that hard for you guys to bond and become good friends.

If someone caused you trouble during a trial let’s just say Alastor has your back.

You guys grew an inseparable bond but you also seemed to cling onto Alastor because you didn’t really have anyone else to hang out with because your responsibilities and trials.

He didn’t seem to mind this this though and slowly you guys grew feelings for each other.

You were the only one who Alastor seemed to like and hang out with the most but it took you guys quite a while to confess.

Romantic Alastor:

Once (he or you) confessed first the other accepted and to think you were clingy before. Well now your like 100x more clingy and needy because even though you know Alastor loves you, your still worried that he’ll leave you or stop giving you his time with this new hotel project he’s working on.

He reassures you daily that he could never just abandon you and that he adores you. But sometimes you still feel worry that you’ll be abandoned. Just like how focalors left you to put an act on for 500 years.

He also sees how you hide your pain underneath the smile of your act, he worries for you as your mental health is definitely not in the best shape right now.

He tries to encourage you to take breaks and spend time for yourself but, you can’t help but worry that if you do the plan will fail.

Once your act is over after 500 years you immediately run over to him and break down because your finally free from all the stress that you had to carry on your shoulders.

Platonic Vox:

One day as he was monitoring the whole city, he couldn’t help but look closer into one of the screens to see you. You had caught his attention just by how you acted and dressed.

In order to get closer to become your friend he visited one of your trials and after it was done he followed you and started up a conversation with you.

Ever since then you guys spent a ton of time together. It was an unbreakable bond between you too and you both grew attached to each other.

He cared for your safety and you cared for his. But sometimes you were a bit too busy with all the trials you have to do and judging. And he started to notice how burnout you became, but he didn’t know how long you actually put on that act.

One day when you finally had free time he scheduled a “meeting” (actually a date to confess to u lol) and it went well if you accepted. If you didn’t accept his confession he understood because you were always so busy with court cases.

Romantic Vox:

After you two became official he put a lot of secret technology of his in your court place to keep an eye on you. He didn’t want you to get hurt by a filthy sinner now would he?

He cares for you deeply and worries for your mental health because your always busy judging people and deciding whether or not they are guilty.

He felt his heart drop when he heard you almost died that day you were sentenced guilty.

He rushed over to your city and when he saw you outside checking the city after it was all over he ran over to you and gave you a big hug.

You cried in his arms as all of the stress you had on your shoulders was finally gone and you could live freely as a overlord now without having to worry 24/7 if the plan would work.

Tag list: @villxinmiixx

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #vox x reader #vox x you #alastor x you

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bluenerdtastemaker · 7 months ago

Text

Maybe There Is Hope

Yuki Tsunoda x Liam Lawson | Rated T | 11.3K

I hated him. I hated everything about it. - Anonymous

Liam Lawson wasn’t sure why he clicked on the video. Maybe it was boredom, maybe it was the algorithm pushing it onto his feed, or maybe it was the title—"Anonymous Letters: Confessions of Broken Friendships"—that tugged at something buried deep in his chest.

It was a Jubilee segment. He’d seen a few of them before, strangers sitting in dimly lit chairs, reading letters from people they would never meet. Honest, raw stories. This one was no different.

A young girl with a soft voice started reading.

"I worked in a field where you had to be a predator. If you weren’t, you’d be eaten alive. And for a long time, I thought I was okay with that. It’s just how things are."

Liam’s chest tightened, but he brushed it off. It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard metaphors like that before. Competitive sports were cutthroat. Everyone knew it.

"I had a best friend in that world. We started as teammates in a junior program, and we were inseparable. We laughed, supported each other—even when the results were bad, even when the rumors started. We promised we’d have each other’s backs."

His hand paused mid-reach for the remote.

"But then, in 2024, things changed. One of us was going to get promoted to a bigger role. It was down to me and him. I thought it was going to be me."

Liam sat up straighter.

"I had better stats, more experience. I was ready for it. But they chose him."

The girl’s voice cracked, and Liam’s stomach dropped.

"He got it with less than six trials. I smiled when it happened. I told him I was happy for him, but inside, I hated him. I hated everything about it. Was it because of the way I talked? The way I acted? Did I come off too strong? I don’t know."

His heart was pounding now.

"I told myself it was just one bad decision. That I’d find something better. But then time passed, and the opportunities stopped coming. Eventually, I was forced to leave that world. And my best friend—he didn’t call."

Liam’s vision blurred for a moment. He didn’t need the girl to keep reading. He already knew how this story ended.

Yuki.

"I left everything behind. I hated him. Hated myself for hating him. I wished I could say it to his face, but I didn’t. We never talked again."

The girl paused, her voice softer now.

"Sometimes, occupations or life destroy what you thought was your light. And sometimes, you can’t stop it."

Liam barely heard the rest of the video.

Yuki had vanished after 2025. No interviews, no social media posts—nothing. At first, Liam thought he just needed space, time to process everything. But days turned into months, and then years. And Liam hadn’t reached out. He didn’t know why. Maybe he thought Yuki would come back. Maybe he thought he’d be mad.

But he never imagined this.

Liam turned off the video and grabbed his phone.

There was no hesitation. He pulled up Yuki’s old number, fully expecting it to be disconnected. But the message box was still active.

Liam: I’m sorry.

He stared at the screen. The three dots popped up almost immediately.

Yuki: Why now?

Liam swallowed.

Liam: Because I just saw you.

There was a long pause, then;

Yuki: I didn’t think you’d care.

Liam: I do. I always did.

The dots hovered for a long time before disappearing. Liam stared at the empty screen, his heart sinking, but then—

Yuki: We need to talk.

And Liam finally exhaled.

–

Liam leaned back in the plush leather seat of his private jet, eyes fixed on the endless stretch of clouds outside the window. The hum of the engines filled the silence, but it did nothing to drown out the thoughts racing in his head.

Yeah, this job had done wonders for his bank account. Private jets, penthouse apartments, tailored suits—he had it all. But the weight on his chest didn’t care about any of that. Success had a way of amplifying the emptiness instead of filling it.

He wasn’t the one to blame. He knew that. He’d just played the game the way it was designed to be played. He’d worked hard—harder than most—and he deserved that position next to Max. He’d earned it.

Yet, no matter how many times he told himself that, Yuki’s face always surfaced.

Even now, three years later, it lingered. That half-smile Yuki always wore like armor, the sharpness in his eyes that made you forget he was barely over five foot three. Liam had thought that smile would always be there, but when it disappeared, it left behind a void that no amount of podiums or championships could fill.

The plane touched down in Okinawa under a hazy sky. Liam stepped out, sunglasses shielding his eyes from the glare, and turned the small slip of paper in his hand. An address.

He’d double-checked it more times than he cared to admit. A quiet island where the majority of the population was elderly. It didn’t match the image he’d held of Yuki for so long—the fiery, unstoppable force that tore through the junior circuits like he was born to do it.

But here he was, standing in front of a modest home that smelled faintly of saltwater and earth, clutching a wrinkled piece of paper like it was a lifeline.

Yuki lived here now. Not just lived—thrived, if the stories Liam had managed to dig up were true. He ran a restaurant and art business, which honestly didn’t surprise Liam in the slightest. Yuki had always had a talent for turning chaos into beauty.

Still, knowing Yuki was doing well didn’t stop the nerves twisting in Liam’s stomach as he stood at the front door.

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and rang the bell.

The door opened, and there he was.

Yuki Tsunoda.

But not the Yuki Liam remembered.

This Yuki was broader, stronger. The kind of build that came from heavy lifting and labor instead of gym sessions and simulators. He wore a loose short-sleeve shirt that showed off his tan skin, his toned arms, and—Liam’s eyes caught—an intricate sleeve tattoo of sakura blossoms winding from his shoulder to his wrist.

His ears glinted under the sunlight, three earrings in one and two in the other. Liam almost didn’t recognize him. Almost.

But the sharpness in his gaze—that fire—was still there.

Yuki’s eyes narrowed.

“…Liam?”

Liam swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “Hey.”

Yuki didn’t move, didn’t speak for a long moment.

Then he stepped back, leaving the door open just enough to let Liam through.

“Come in,” Yuki said, his voice low, unreadable.

And just like that, Liam stepped into a world he thought he’d lost forever.

–

The house was quiet. Too quiet for Liam’s liking.

He followed Yuki inside, the faint scent of paint and cooked rice lingering in the air. The place wasn’t big, but it felt lived-in—warm, but guarded. Yuki led him to a small living room where the walls were lined with framed artwork.

They sat across from each other.

Yuki didn’t speak at first, his eyes locked on the table between them. Liam tried to take in everything—the way Yuki’s fingers curled tightly around his glass, the way his shoulders rose and fell just a little too quickly.

Then, Yuki exhaled, sharp and heavy. “So. You saw the video.”

Liam flinched. The words were heavier than he expected.

“It was you,” he said quietly, more a statement than a question.

Yuki scoffed, shaking his head. “Not exactly.” He looked up then, his gaze sharp and unrelenting. “It was my sister’s idea. She thought if I didn’t have the guts to talk to you, maybe a stranger reading my words would make you listen. I was waiting for your message, hence why I still keep that number.”

Liam swallowed. “Yuki—”

“Don’t,” Yuki cut him off, voice firm but trembling. “Let me say this first.”

Liam shut his mouth, his chest tightening.

Yuki leaned back, his arms crossed, exposing more of the sakura blossoms inked into his skin. It made Liam feel even smaller somehow.

“I hated them,” Yuki started, his voice low and controlled. “Those two old men who smiled at me, promised me the world, and then threw me away like trash the second I wasn’t convenient for them anymore. I gave them everything—five years of my life—driving cars that weren’t good enough, hearing excuses that didn’t make sense, and still, I kept showing up.”

Liam’s nails dug into his palms.

“They told me to be patient, to wait, that my time would come. But it didn’t, did it?” Yuki laughed bitterly. “When 2026 came, and the seat was full, I knew I was done. Not good enough for them. Never good enough.”

“Yuki, you were—”

“No,” Yuki snapped, his voice cutting through the room. “You don’t get to tell me that. Not now.”

Liam bit his tongue.

“Do you know what it’s like, Liam?” Yuki’s voice broke, just a little. “To give everything and still not be seen? To know that no matter what I did, no matter how fast I was, no matter how hard I fought, it was never going to be enough?”

Liam didn’t answer.

“Because I’m Japanese? Because I’m not loud enough, not tall enough, not charismatic enough? Or maybe because I refused to smile and play their games when they wanted me to?” Yuki’s jaw clenched, his shoulders shaking. “They said I needed to be more marketable, easier to sell. What the hell does that even mean?”

Liam shut his eyes, guilt clawing at his throat.

“And you,” Yuki whispered, and Liam froze. “They used you, Liam. You don’t even realize it, do you?”

Liam looked up, and Yuki’s eyes were already on him, dark and tired.

“They used you to make me feel small,” Yuki said. “Every time you got praised, every time they pointed at you and said, ‘Look how good Liam’s doing,’ it was a reminder that I wasn’t enough. And I hated it. I hated them for doing it, and I hated you for being part of it—even though I knew it wasn’t your fault.”

Liam’s breath hitched.

“But you know what the worst part is?” Yuki leaned forward. “I didn’t say anything. Not to them. Not to you. Because I cared about you too much to ruin what you had. I couldn’t take that away from you, even if it hurt me.”

Liam opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“And now?” Yuki sat back, arms dropping to his sides. “I’m here. Running a business on a tiny island, trying to pretend I don’t care anymore. But I do.”

The silence was suffocating.

Finally, Liam spoke. “I’m sorry.”

Yuki didn’t move.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see it,” Liam said, his voice trembling. “I should’ve noticed—I should’ve said something, done something—but I didn’t. I was so focused on my own career, my own goals, that I let them turn me into something I never wanted to be.”

He exhaled sharply, hands trembling as he gripped his knees.

“And the worst part? I knew it was happening.” Liam’s voice cracked. “I saw how they treated you, how they talked about you when you weren’t in the room. I heard them compare us—over and over again—and I let it happen because I was too scared to speak up. Because I was afraid it’d be me next.”

Yuki’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes softened.

“I hated myself for it,” Liam admitted. “I still do.”

The words hung in the air between them.

Yuki sighed, leaning back in his chair. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers brushing against the edge of one of his earrings.

“I wish you didn’t apologize,” he said quietly, and Liam blinked, taken aback.

“What?”

“It’s not your fault,” Yuki continued, his voice steady but low. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Liam. You just… played the game better.”

“That’s not—”

“It is,” Yuki cut him off, shaking his head. “It’s a fucked-up sport. It’s always been like that—cutthroat, political, and ugly under the surface. It’s never just about talent, is it? It’s about timing, connections, and luck. And for once, it worked in your favor.��

Liam’s breath hitched, his guilt still clawing at him, but Yuki’s expression didn’t waver.

“I don’t hate you for that,” Yuki said softly, and that hit harder than Liam expected.

“But—”

“I hated everything else,” Yuki admitted. “The way they treated me, the lies, the fake promises, the way they talked about me like I was a project that didn’t work out instead of a person.” He paused, his gaze distant. “I hated how they made me feel small. How they made me feel like nothing I did was ever enough, even when I gave them everything I had.”

Liam swallowed hard, his chest tightening.

“But you?” Yuki’s eyes met his again. “I could never really hate you, Liam. Not in the way I hated them. It wasn’t always like this.”

Liam’s shoulders sagged in relief, but the weight of Yuki’s words still lingered.

“I was angry,” Yuki continued. “At the system, at the people who pulled the strings, and yeah—sometimes, I was angry at you too. Not because of who you are, but because of what you represented. Because every time they praised you, it felt like they were telling me I wasn’t good enough.”

Liam clenched his fists, but Yuki just sighed again.

“And I’m sorry,” Yuki said, and Liam froze. “For letting it get this bad. For shutting you out when I should’ve said something sooner. But I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to drag you down with me.”

“Yuki…” Liam’s voice cracked.

“I mean it,” Yuki said, his voice softer now. “I don’t want you carrying this guilt. You deserved that seat, Liam. You worked hard for it. Just like I did.”

Liam bit his lip, forcing himself to stay quiet even as his heart screamed at him to argue.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Yuki added, and for the first time, his voice faltered. “I thought we’d both make it. That we’d be there, side by side, at the top. But life doesn’t work that way, does it?”

Liam shook his head. “No. It doesn’t.”

Yuki leaned forward then, resting his elbows on his knees. “I never wanted to hate you, Liam. And I don’t—not anymore. But I needed time. To let it go. To figure out who I am without all of that.”

“And did you?” Liam asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Yuki hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. I think so.” He gestured to the room around them. “This? It’s not what I thought my life would look like. But it’s mine. And I’m happy here.”

Liam’s chest ached, but it wasn’t the sharp sting of guilt anymore. It was something gentler. Something closer to hope.

“I’m glad,” he said softly.

Yuki smiled, small but genuine. “Me too.”

Liam watched as Yuki stood up, stretching his arms before heading toward the kitchen. The subtle shift of muscles under his tanned skin and the glint of the sakura blossom tattoo peeking from under his sleeve made Liam’s breath hitch, but he quickly averted his eyes when Yuki turned to glance back at him.

“Have you eaten yet?” Yuki asked, pulling open the fridge.

Liam rubbed the back of his neck. “Plane food doesn’t count, right?”

Yuki snorted—soft but familiar—and Liam found himself momentarily frozen, the sound tugging at something in his chest. It wasn’t loud like before, not the sharp laughter Liam used to hear echoing in the paddock or during late-night calls after races, but it was still Yuki. And maybe that was enough.

“Sit down,” Yuki said, already pulling out ingredients. “I’ll make something quick.”

Liam obeyed, settling at the kitchen island as Yuki moved around with practiced ease. He was calm—focused in a way Liam didn’t expect. Yuki had always been restless, bursting with energy even when exhausted, but this Yuki? He was deliberate. Measured. Different.

And undeniably attractive.

Liam swallowed hard, eyes trailing over the curve of Yuki’s shoulders and the slope of his back as he chopped vegetables and peeled shrimp. The tattoo inked along his arm shifted as he moved, and Liam blinked, forcing himself to look away when his cheeks began to burn.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He cleared his throat, eyes flickering to the stove where Yuki was stirring rice in a wok. The faint scent of garlic and soy sauce filled the air, and Liam latched onto it like a lifeline.

But his thoughts kept circling back.

Yuki had changed—a lot. He wasn’t loud or hyper anymore, and there was a weight to him now that Liam wasn’t sure how to define. His English had a thicker Japanese accent than before, probably from spending the last three years in Okinawa, and even the way he carried himself felt more grounded, more mature.

Liam had changed too. He wasn’t the wide-eyed rookie he once was. He’d bulked up, hardened under the pressures of the sport, but sitting here now, watching Yuki cook like it was second nature, Liam couldn’t shake the feeling that Yuki had grown in ways he hadn’t.

And maybe that was what made it so hard to look away.

“It’s done,” Yuki said, breaking Liam out of his thoughts. He turned to find Yuki setting two plates of fried rice down on the counter, steam curling up from the shrimp scattered on top.

Liam grabbed a fork without hesitation, shoveling a bite into his mouth—and nearly choking.

“Since when can you make fried rice this good?” Liam blurted, eyes wide as he went in for another bite.

Yuki raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement tugging at his lips. “You think I survived three years here without learning how to cook? I owned a restaurant man.”

“No, seriously,” Liam said between mouthfuls. “This is—damn, Yuki.”

Yuki huffed, shaking his head, but there was the faintest trace of color dusting his cheeks.

“Shut up and eat.”

And for the first time in a long time, Liam smiled.

–

Liam stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up and hands already submerged in soapy water. He scrubbed the plates with a focus that was entirely unnecessary, especially since Yuki’s kitchen was spotless to begin with.

“Liam—”

“Already started, can’t stop now!” Liam interrupted quickly, flashing Yuki a grin over his shoulder before turning back to the dishes.

Yuki huffed, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter. “I wasn’t asking.”

“And I wasn’t offering,” Liam shot back, his tone light but his heart thundering in his chest.

Yuki shook his head, muttering something in Japanese that Liam didn’t catch. It sounded exasperated—probably a curse—but Liam just smiled to himself and kept scrubbing.

The sound came next. A soft, high-pitched meow.

Liam paused, sponge in hand, and turned toward the source of the noise.

“No way,” he said.

Another meow, followed by the soft padding of paws against the tile. And then there they were—three cats, all staring up at him with wide, expectant eyes.

“Yuki,” Liam said slowly, voice dangerously close to disbelief. “You have cats?”

Yuki didn’t even look up. “Don’t judge me.”

“Judge you? No, I’m impressed.” Liam crouched down, extending a hand, and immediately one of the cats—a sleek black one with a little white spot on its chest—sauntered over and rubbed against his fingers.

The second cat, a fluffy orange tabby, flopped onto its back, clearly demanding belly rubs.

“Oh my god,” Liam whispered. “They’re adorable.”

“They’re a menace,” Yuki countered, though the affection in his voice said otherwise.

Liam looked up just in time to catch it—that soft, almost shy smile on Yuki’s face as he knelt down to scoop up the third cat, a gray and white one that curled up easily in his arms.

And Liam? He was doomed.

Because Yuki had always been attractive—sharp-edged and quick-witted, equal parts fire and charm—but this? The soft edges, the calm demeanor, the subtle strength in the way he held himself now? It was something else entirely.

“You’re staring,” Yuki said, looking down at him with a raised eyebrow.

Liam blinked, scrambling to cover. “I was admiring the cats!”

“Right,” Yuki said, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he set the cat back down and leaned against the counter again, watching as Liam stood up, suddenly hyperaware of how close they were.

The tension shifted then—subtle but undeniable.

It wasn’t new. Liam knew that. It had always been there, simmering quietly between them even when they were teammates—late-night talks, lingering looks, and smiles that meant more than they should’ve. But now? It felt sharper. Hungrier.

Yuki must’ve felt it too because he cleared his throat and stepped back, suddenly very interested in rearranging the spice jars on the counter.

“So,” Yuki said, his voice steadier than Liam expected. “You’re good with cats.”

Liam latched onto the topic like a lifeline. “I mean, they seem to like me.”

“They like anyone who gives them attention,” Yuki said flatly, but Liam caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Guess I’ll have to come back, then,” Liam said without thinking.

Yuki froze, just for a second, before forcing a laugh. “For the cats?”

“Sure,” Liam replied, but they both knew better.

The weight of it hung there between them—unspoken but heavy. And as much as Liam wanted to push, to close the space between them and figure out exactly what the hell this thing between them was, he didn’t.

Not yet.

Instead, he knelt back down, letting the orange tabby paw at his hand, and pretended not to notice the way Yuki kept looking at him.

–

They settled into the living room, Yuki on the couch with one of his cats curled in his lap while Liam took the armchair across from him. The plates were clean, the cats were fed, and the tension that had hung between them earlier had softened into something more manageable—familiar, even.

“So,” Yuki started, absentmindedly scratching behind the cat’s ears. “How’s life?”

Liam snorted. “You mean outside of flying in private jets and avoiding PR nightmares?”

Yuki raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. The real stuff.”

Liam hummed, leaning back. “Busy, mostly. Traveling, racing, pretending I don’t check your Instagram stories even though we both know I do.”

Yuki’s cat stretched, yawning as if it, too, was judging him.

“Funny,” Yuki said, smirking slightly. “Because I could say the same.”

Liam’s eyes widened. “Wait—you—”

“Relax,” Yuki said, waving him off. “It’s not like I’m scrolling through your tagged photos. Just...keeping up.”

Liam let out a breath, his lips twitching. “That’s a relief. Because if you’d seen half the things people edit me into—”

“Oh, I’ve seen them.”

Liam groaned, covering his face with his hands, and Yuki actually laughed—a real one, light and genuine. It made Liam’s heart lurch in his chest, but he pushed it down and refocused.

“So what about you?” Liam asked, lowering his hands. “I mean—art? I still can’t wrap my head around that.”

Yuki shrugged. “I always liked it. Had time after retiring, so I started sketching. Posted a few online, and somehow it blew up.”

“Blew up?” Liam repeated. “Try exploded.”

Yuki flushed slightly, brushing off the comment.

“No, seriously,” Liam pressed. ��You’re Takako.”

Yuki winced at the name, but Liam wasn’t done.

“The Takako. The one everyone lost their minds over when that first series dropped in 2026? The one with the gallery showing in New York last year?”

“Stop.” Yuki groaned, hiding his face in the cat’s fur.

“No way,” Liam said, grinning. “I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out sooner. I mean, the pen name threw me, sure, but the art? It’s so...you.”

Yuki peeked up at him. “Is that a compliment?”

“Obviously.”

Yuki rolled his eyes but looked pleased anyway.

“And the mascot thing?” Liam asked.

Yuki shrugged again. “Perks of being Japanese. People are used to anonymous artists with avatars. Makes it easier to keep my privacy.”

“And you’re nominated?”

“Maybe,” Yuki said, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.

Liam shook his head in disbelief. “Unreal. Yuki Tsunoda—the guy who used to sneak instant ramen into hotel rooms—is an award-nominated artist.”

Yuki smirked. “And you’re still just driving in circles.”

“Hey!” Liam protested, but he was laughing too.

Yuki leaned back, stroking the cat in his lap. “Anyway, what did I miss? The grid gossip. I know you’re dying to spill it.”

Liam’s grin turned wicked. “Oh, you’re not ready.”

Yuki raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Max confessed to George,” Liam said, savoring the way Yuki’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Bullshit.”

“I swear.” Liam held up his hands. “They’ve been soft-launching for months now, and George finally posted a picture of Max holding his dog like a baby in their private. It’s disgusting.”

“No way.”

“Way.” Liam smirked.

“And Charles and Carlos?”

“Still together.” Liam smirked. “You know they went Instagram official last year. Viral, even. Lots of dramatic vacation pictures and shirtless selfies.”

“Yeah typical,” Yuki muttered, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

“Oh! And Pierre and Esteban.”

Yuki perked up at that. “What about them?”

Liam leaned in, eyes glinting. “Kissed.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Yes, Yuki. I swear. Kissed and now dating. Apparently, they used to be in this weird situationship for years before actually making it official. It was a whole thing.”

Yuki’s jaw dropped, and he ran a hand through his hair. “I need to message Pierre. Immediately.”

Liam laughed, watching Yuki scramble for his phone before realizing he didn’t even have Pierre’s new number. “I’ll text him for you later,” Liam offered.

“Do it,” Yuki said, still reeling. “God, I really missed everything.”

Liam’s grin softened as he took in Yuki’s expression. “Yeah, you did. But they’d all be thrilled to hear from you, you know.”

Yuki hesitated, fingers brushing the phone screen in his hand. “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s been so long, god damn, I left and the entire grid turns into a soap opera.”

Liam watched him carefully then, the way his shoulders had relaxed and his expression had softened. It was like seeing glimpses of the old Yuki again, and he couldn’t stop the fond smile spreading across his face.

“Still,” Yuki said, from the phone now looking at him. “It’s nice to know they’re doing well.”

“And you’re doing well,” Liam pointed out.

Yuki blinked at him, looking almost startled by the sincerity in Liam’s voice.

“Yeah,” Yuki said quietly, slowly avoiding eye contact with the blond man. “I guess I am.”

And for a moment, they just sat there—two people who had drifted apart and somehow found their way back to each other.

Suddenly, the peace was shattered by the most chaotic noise Liam had ever heard. A high-pitched yowl echoed through the room, and before he could even register what was happening, one of the cats had launched itself off the couch, landing on the counter with a loud thud.

The other two cats, apparently on some sort of coordinated mission, joined in on the madness, darting around the room with wild abandon. One of them knocked into the bookshelf, sending books cascading to the floor with a crash, while the other went straight for the mug on the counter. Liam barely had time to react before the cat swiped the mug off the edge, sending it hurtling toward the floor.

"NO!" Yuki yelped, diving forward to catch the mug, but the cat was faster. It tumbled down, crashing against the counter with a sharp, horrifying clink, shattering into pieces.

"That is THIRD mug this week!" Yuki groaned, falling back on his heels. His eyes met Liam’s in frustration, but the sight of the cat now sitting on the counter, looking entirely pleased with itself, was too much.

Liam burst out laughing, but that didn’t stop the chaos. The cats were still everywhere—two had jumped onto the coffee table and were now batting at Yuki’s art supplies, and the third had decided that Yuki's lap was the perfect place to take a nap again.

As Yuki reached for the stray cat on the table, his foot caught on the corner of the rug, and in a flash, he tripped—straight into Liam.

"WHAT—" Yuki gasped as they collided, arms flailing. For a moment, everything seemed to slow down, like they were trapped in an action movie scene. But instead of gracefully stumbling backward, Yuki found himself toppling straight into Liam, their bodies crashing together in a hilarious, jumbled heap on the floor.

Liam’s heart skipped a beat, his body going rigid at the sudden contact. For a moment, all he could hear was the rush of his own heartbeat, louder than a Formula 1 car at full throttle. He froze, looking down at Yuki, whose wide eyes were locked onto him.

"SHIT, sorry!" Yuki yelped, scrambling to get up as quickly as possible, but his arm brushed against Liam’s chest, sending a shock of warmth through him. "I—uh—didn’t mean to—"

Liam blinked rapidly, his face turning an alarming shade of red. "No, no, it's fine," he muttered, trying to push himself off the floor and stand, but his legs felt a bit wobbly. "I’m good. Totally fine."

Yuki scrambled to his feet too, looking flustered, his cheeks turning pink. "I—I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking—"

"No worries, really," Liam managed, but his voice was higher than normal. His heart was still racing like he was about to go into a race. "It’s all good."

Just as they both tried to regain some semblance of composure, the third cat meowed loudly from the counter. With a smug look in its eyes, it gave the broken mug a gentle nudge, and it clinked off the edge, sending a small piece flying into the air.

Both Yuki and Liam froze, eyes darting between the cat and the mess.

Yuki sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. "That’s it. I’m getting a dog."

Liam couldn't hold it in anymore. He laughed so hard, his stomach hurt. The absurdity of it all—the wild cats, the unexpected trip, the chaos—was enough to finally break the tension between them. He couldn't stop laughing, even as Yuki scowled at the mischievous creatures wreaking havoc in his apartment.

The sound of laughter filled the room, echoing around the small space, and for the first time in a long while, everything felt right.

–

The sun hung low in the Okinawan sky, bathing the small seaside town in a warm, golden glow. Liam followed Yuki into the modest, cozy restaurant tucked between older, weathered buildings. The wooden beams and hanging lanterns gave the space a timeless charm, and the scent of fresh ingredients and simmering broth filled the air.

“This is it,” Yuki said, gesturing around as he led Liam inside. “Welcome to my second home.”

Liam took it all in—The restaurant was small but cozy, with wooden beams and soft lighting that made the space feel warm. It had the kind of charm that invited people to linger a little longer after their meals, chatting over tea or quietly enjoying the ambiance. Liam stepped inside and immediately felt out of place in his designer shirt and watch, but Yuki didn’t seem to care. He moved with ease through the space, flipping chairs down from tables and tidying up before the evening rush.

“This is your side gig?” Liam asked, leaning against the counter as Yuki set out utensils.

“More like my sanity project,” Yuki replied, flashing a quick smile before gesturing to the kitchen in the back. “Cooking helps. Keeps my hands busy.”

Liam didn’t miss the way Yuki’s voice softened, like he’d said too much and was trying to backtrack. But then Yuki shrugged, falling into a familiar rhythm. “It’s nothing fancy—affordable, good food, nothing pretentious. This island’s mostly retirees, so that’s what works.”

Liam watched him, his hands moving quickly as he prepared ingredients, and for a moment, he was transported back to their younger years—when Yuki used to talk about opening a restaurant someday. “You really did it,” Liam murmured.

Yuki paused, glancing over his shoulder. “What?”

“The restaurant,” Liam said, smiling faintly. “You used to talk about this all the time. You said you’d have a place where everyone could eat well without worrying about money.”

Yuki turned back to the counter, but Liam caught the slight upward tilt of his lips. “Guess I wasn’t lying.”

By the time the regulars started calling, asking if Yuki was open tonight, Liam was already seated at the bar, quietly observing. Yuki didn’t hesitate to say yes, flipping the sign on the door to welcome them in. And that was when Liam saw it—Yuki in his element.

The tension Liam had seen earlier, the guarded way Yuki held himself, melted away. Here, Yuki smiled. He laughed. He teased the elderly customers who came in one by one, treating them like old friends. Liam saw how they adored him in return, bringing little trinkets or baked goods to share.

It was only when the bell above the door jingled that Liam snapped out of his thoughts. An elderly woman shuffled inside, holding a reusable shopping bag and wearing a wide-brimmed sunhat. Her wrinkled face broke into a smile the moment she saw Yuki.

“Ah, Yuki-kun!” she greeted, her voice soft but warm.

“Obaa-chan!” Yuki beamed, wiping his hands on a towel before bowing slightly. “You’re early today.”

“I wanted to see you before the sun went down,” she said, then turned her sharp eyes toward Liam. “Who’s this?”

Yuki looked slightly amused. “My best friend,” he said casually, and Liam’s heart stuttered at the words. Despite Yuki it in Japanese, Liam understood it. Best friend. God, he’d missed that. But something about the title felt uneven, like it didn’t quite fit the shape of their relationship anymore.

“You can sit with him while I finish up.”

The old woman didn’t hesitate to walk straight over, gesturing for Liam to pull out a chair for her, in which he catched on quickly. He obliged quickly, sitting across from her as Yuki went back to work behind the counter.

“You’re Yuki’s friend?” she asked in slow, deliberate English.

Liam nodded. “Yeah. From a long time ago.”

She squinted at him, as if examining his soul. “You are far away from home, yes?”

“Yeah,” Liam admitted. “But I wanted to see him.”

Her lips pressed into a thin smile. “Good. He needs friends. Too alone here. Always working, always busy. Never resting.” She glanced over her shoulder at Yuki, who was flipping something in the pan with practiced ease. “He smiles, but not like before. Guarded. Always guarded.”

Liam felt something ache in his chest as he looked toward Yuki’s back, watching the way his shoulders shifted as he cooked. It was true—Yuki had changed. He wasn’t the vibrant, reckless force Liam had once known. He was quieter and steadier, but there was an undercurrent of something heavy beneath the surface.

“He looks out at the sunset sometimes,” the woman continued, her words simple but cutting. “Like he is waiting. Or maybe longing for something.”

Liam swallowed thickly, gripping the edge of the table. “I—”

The old woman patted his hand gently, surprising him. “You talk to him. Don’t let him stay in shadows. It’s no good for the heart.”

He stared at her, unsure of what to say, but she simply smiled and stood up, muttering something about needing to get back home before dark. Liam watched her leave, her words echoing in his head long after the door jingled shut behind her.

When he turned back, Yuki was setting a plate down in front of him, giving him a curious look. “What did she say to you?”

Liam hesitated before shaking his head, forcing a smile. “Just... that I should eat before it gets cold.”

Yuki smirked, clearly not buying it but letting it slide. Liam picked up his chopsticks, but as he took his first bite, his eyes kept drifting back to Yuki—this version of him that was so familiar yet so different.

Because as much as Yuki had built a new life here, surrounded by warmth and laughter, Liam couldn’t shake the feeling that something was still missing—and that maybe, just maybe, it had something to do with him.

–

The night had slowed into something softer, quieter. The restaurant was cleaned, the dishes put away, and the elderly regulars had shuffled home, leaving behind faint traces of laughter and conversation. Liam stayed behind to help Yuki lock up, and by the time they made it back to Yuki’s home, exhaustion was starting to creep in.

It didn’t take much convincing—or rather, Liam’s stubborn insistence—for Yuki to end up sharing the bed instead of the sofa.

“No way,” Liam had said, hands on his hips, blocking the living room like a wall. “You’re not sleeping on that thing.”

“It’s fine, Liam. I—”

“No,” Liam interrupted, dragging Yuki’s blanket toward the bedroom. “Don’t even argue. Come on.”

Yuki grumbled but followed, muttering something under his breath that Liam pretended not to hear.

Now, hours later, the room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains. Yuki’s breathing was steady, his back turned to Liam, the faint outline of his sakura blossom tattoo peeking out from under the loose sleeve of his shirt. Liam had tried not to look, but it was impossible to ignore.

Lying there, with the sound of the waves in the distance and Yuki so close he could feel the heat radiating off him, Liam felt restless. He couldn’t sleep—not with the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on him.

He exhaled softly, his voice barely a whisper in the stillness.

“I don’t think I ever told you,” he began, unsure if he was speaking to Yuki or to himself, “how much it meant. Having you there.”

Yuki didn’t move, his breathing steady, and Liam took it as permission to keep going.

“I thought about it a lot,” he admitted, his voice breaking just a little. “You were the one who kept me grounded. When things got overwhelming, or when I felt like I didn’t belong, you were there. And then—then you were gone.”

His fingers tightened against the blanket, guilt rising in his chest.

“I hated myself for letting it happen. For not fighting harder for you. And I know I had no control over any of it, but still…” He trailed off, swallowing the knot in his throat.

The words lingered in the air, and Liam suddenly felt ridiculous. Yuki was probably fast asleep, blissfully unaware of his late-night confession.

“I just—” He sighed, quieter this time. “I miss you. More than I think I realized until now.”

The room fell silent after that, and the weight in Liam’s chest slowly eased as sleep began to pull him under.

What he didn’t see was the way Yuki’s eyes opened, dark and sharp in the dim light. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe too loudly—just listened.

And when Liam’s breathing evened out, signaling that he was finally asleep, Yuki turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling.

Liam’s words replayed in his head, over and over, cutting deeper than he wanted to admit.

Because the truth was—he missed Liam too.

But saying it out loud? That scared him more than anything.

–

The next day, neither of them brought up what happened the night before, leaving it unspoken. Yuki decided to make a call, informing everyone that the restaurant would be closed for two days so he could spend some time with Liam. It was the only time he ever did this. Since Okinawa is such a small island where everyone knows each other, the regulars understood and sympathized with the restaurant owner’s decision.

The roar of Yuki’s motorcycle had long since died down, leaving only the soft hum of cicadas and the distant crash of waves against the shore below. They were perched at the top of a hill, the kind of place that felt untouched by time. From here, the entire island stretched out before them, bathed in gold and amber hues as the sun dipped lower.

Liam sat on the grass, his legs stretched out, while Yuki leaned against his bike, arms crossed as the wind toyed with the strands of his hair. For a while, neither of them spoke, content to let the silence stretch between them. It wasn’t awkward—not anymore.

But Liam should have known Yuki wasn’t the type to let things fester forever.

“I heard it,” Yuki said suddenly, breaking the quiet. His voice was calm, but it carried weight—heavy and unflinching.

Liam blinked, turning to look at him. “What?”

“Last night,” Yuki clarified, not looking at him. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, sharp and unwavering. “What you said.”

Liam’s stomach dropped. The words he’d spoken in the dark, half-confession and half-regret, came rushing back all at once.

“Oh.” He scrambled for something—anything—to say, but Yuki cut him off.

“It’s okay,” Yuki said, finally turning his gaze toward Liam. “I’m not mad.”

Liam let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, but before he could relax, Yuki kept going.

“But I need you to know something.”

The tone in Yuki’s voice made Liam sit up straighter.

“I didn’t leave because of you,” Yuki said. “Not really. I left because I needed to get away from it—everything. The pressure, the expectations, the way it felt like I was constantly drowning just to keep up.”

Liam swallowed, the guilt tightening again. “Yuki—”

“I hated it,” Yuki interrupted, and for the first time, there was venom in his voice—raw and unfiltered. “I hated how the sport made me feel like I wasn’t enough, no matter how hard I tried. I hated how it chewed me up and spat me out, and I hated how I couldn’t stop loving it even when it hurt me.”

Liam flinched at that, but Yuki didn’t let him sit with it for long.

“I hated myself for not being stronger,” Yuki said, softer now. “For not being able to keep going. But I hated the system more—for making me feel like walking away was my only option.”

Liam didn’t know what to say.

“I didn’t tell you any of this back then because I didn’t want to drag you down with me,” Yuki admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “You deserved your chance. You worked for it. And if I had said something—if I had lashed out—I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.”

Liam’s throat felt tight. He wanted to argue, to tell Yuki that he should have said something, that he deserved better—but he also knew Yuki didn’t need that right now.

Instead, Liam reached out, grabbing Yuki’s arm and pulling him down to sit beside him.

“I’m sorry,” Liam said, the words barely scraping past his lips.

“I told you to stop apologizing,” Yuki replied, but this time, there was no bite to it.

They sat there as the sun dipped lower, the sky painted in streaks of orange and pink. Liam glanced at Yuki—at the tattoos and the earrings, at the leather jacket and the guarded expression that had started to soften.

“You’re still my best friend,” Liam said suddenly, surprising even himself.

Yuki turned to look at him, his eyes searching Liam’s face for something unspoken.

“…I know,” Yuki finally said. “You always were.”

And just like that, something shifted—something unspoken but understood.

Yuki leaned back, resting on his elbows as he looked out over the horizon.

“You know,” Yuki said, smirking just slightly, “I was really tempted to make you ride the moped instead.”

Liam burst out laughing, the tension breaking completely.

“I would’ve murdered you,” Liam shot back, nudging Yuki’s shoulder.

Yuki grinned, and for the first time in what felt like forever, it actually reached his eyes.

–

Yuki watched as Liam laughed, the sound ringing out like music, and for a brief moment, Yuki couldn’t help but think about how much things had changed between them. How much Liam had changed.

The Liam he used to know had always been the lanky, quick-footed kid, with a wide grin and sharp eyes. He used to be all wiry muscles and endless energy, always cracking jokes and never staying still. But now, sitting next to him, Yuki could see how much more solid Liam had become. There was a weight to him now—his shoulders broader, his chest a bit wider, the muscles on his arms defined even through the simple t-shirt he wore. Yuki found himself glancing over, just for a second, before quickly looking away.

It wasn’t just his body. It was how Liam moved now—more controlled, more sure of himself. The reckless energy that used to make him seem like he was always on the edge of falling apart had been replaced by something steadier, something deeper. There was a quiet confidence in the way Liam held himself now, as though he was no longer trying to outrun everything.

Yuki couldn't help but notice it—notice him.

The way Liam's eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled, or how his lips curved into that smirk Yuki used to know so well. And those eyes... They used to be full of mischief and youth, but now, they were different. There was something in them—something Yuki couldn’t quite place but that he knew was there.

It made Yuki’s chest tighten in a way he wasn’t used to.

He glanced at Liam again, just for a moment, catching a look in Liam’s eyes that was almost unreadable, but definitely not the same as before. It was like there was a quiet curiosity there, something that hadn’t been present when they were younger.

And suddenly, Yuki became painfully aware of how close they were, the way their shoulders brushed as they sat next to each other on the grassy hilltop.

He hadn’t meant to, but he let his gaze drift again. He caught the way the sunlight seemed to highlight the contours of Liam’s jawline, the way his chest rose and fell as he laughed, and he felt an unexpected flutter in his stomach. Yuki’s heart skipped a beat, and he quickly turned his head, looking out at the sunset.

“Stop staring,” he muttered under his breath, but even as he said it, he knew that wasn’t really the problem.

He was aware.

Too aware.

It was strange—having Liam so close, knowing that the boy he used to know so well had changed, and yet still carried some pieces of the past with him. Yuki wasn’t sure how to reconcile the way things were now with the way they used to be.

But one thing was clear: There was something different between them now. Something neither of them had quite addressed, but it was there, just beneath the surface, lurking.

Yuki knew that the look Liam had given him earlier hadn’t been just friendly—it had been something else. Something more.

And as much as Yuki tried to push it away, he couldn’t ignore it. He couldn’t pretend it didn’t affect him, because it did. It affected him more than he cared to admit.

So, he did what he always did when things got complicated—he buried it.

“Alright, alright,” Yuki said, clearing his throat and looking at Liam with a teasing grin. “Enough with the sappy looks, yeah? You’re ruining the sunset for me.”

Liam laughed again, but this time there was a hint of something else in his voice—something Yuki couldn’t place, but that sent a flicker of warmth straight to his chest.

Maybe he wasn’t the only one feeling the shift.

–

The night was thick with unspoken words, the air heavy with something neither of them wanted to name. Okinawa’s quiet buzz seemed to fade into the background as Liam and Yuki sat in the small, dimly lit living room. Everything about the evening felt too real—too final. Tomorrow, Liam would be leaving. He would be back in Austria, back in the factory, preparing for the second half of the Formula 1 season. Yuki, once again, would be left alone, facing the emptiness of his quiet life.

But tonight was the last night. The final night they had together before things went back to how they had always been. It should have been easy—comfortable. They had known each other for years. They should have been able to slip back into their old dynamic. But the silence between them was loud, and the weight of all that had passed between them, all that had been unsaid, sat in the room like an elephant.

Liam stood by the window, his back to Yuki, staring out at the night. He didn’t know what to say. What could he say? His mind was a whirl of thoughts—of memories and the electric tension that had been building between them for years. It was maddening, this distance between them. So much time spent pushing it away, hiding from it. And now, with so little time left, he was struggling to breathe.

Yuki, on the other hand, had been quiet too long. His eyes, which had once been playful, mischievous even, now seemed faraway—guarded, like something was holding him back. But tonight, Yuki knew. He couldn’t stay quiet anymore. The ache in his chest, the longing, the hurt—it was too much. The time they had shared here, these stolen moments, had awakened something in him that he couldn’t ignore.

Yuki stood up abruptly, his movements sharp and decisive. He crossed the room in two long strides, his heart pounding in his chest. Without thinking, he reached for Liam, his hand cupping his face. And then, in a moment of utter recklessness, he kissed him.

It was sudden—unplanned, an impulsive act born of frustration, of desire, of the overwhelming pull between them. It was a clash of lips, a rush of heat, of something that had been building for so long that neither of them could hold it back any longer.

Liam froze for a fraction of a second, his mind scrambling to catch up, to make sense of it. But then it was as if something clicked inside him. He kissed Yuki back, his hands moving to Yuki’s waist, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. Yuki’s body was warm, so warm, his lips soft but insistent, as if he had been waiting for this moment, too.

It wasn’t perfect, and it certainly wasn’t careful. The kiss was messy, chaotic, as if their bodies were trying to make up for lost time. Yuki's fingers threaded through Liam’s hair, tugging him closer, and for a brief moment, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just them, tangled together, caught in the rush of something neither of them was ready for but both had wanted for far too long.

Yuki’s hands slipped under Liam’s shirt, feeling the heat of his skin beneath his fingertips. He groaned softly, his fingers brushing against the hard muscles of Liam’s torso, each touch sending sparks through him. He wanted more—he needed more. Liam’s body was real, solid, and alive beneath his touch. And Yuki couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t stop the way his body reacted to Liam’s.

Liam’s hands moved quickly, almost desperately, tugging at Yuki’s shirt, pulling it off over his head. The moment the fabric came off, Yuki’s tattoos were revealed. The intricate designs stretched across his body like a map of his past—motorsport-related ink, logos of cars he had once driven, and delicate cherry blossoms that symbolized his Japanese roots. Liam’s eyes widened, taking in the sight of Yuki’s body—of the tattoos that marked him as his own, as someone who had lived a life far beyond the simple confines of this small island.

Yuki watched the way Liam’s gaze lingered on his body, the intensity in his eyes making him feel exposed. But it was a good kind of exposure. It was the kind of vulnerability that felt like freedom, the kind that told him that he didn’t have to hide anymore.

Liam’s hands roamed down Yuki’s back, and the touch sent a shiver down his spine. His body reacted to the pressure of Liam’s fingers, his breath coming faster as they stumbled toward the bedroom. It was like they couldn’t get there fast enough, as if the distance between them wasn’t enough. Liam was pulling him closer, urging him forward, until finally, they fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs.

Yuki didn’t hesitate. He kissed Liam again, deeper this time, pulling him closer, feeling the heat of his body. Liam responded with equal intensity, his hands roaming across Yuki’s skin as if trying to memorize every inch of him. They were both lost in the kiss, in the sensation of their bodies colliding, of finally being able to touch, to feel, to express everything they had hidden for so long.

Liam pulled away for a breath, his chest heaving as he looked down at Yuki. His eyes were dark with desire, and Yuki could see the storm brewing inside him. But there was something else there too—a softness, a tenderness that took Yuki by surprise. Liam wasn’t just here for the heat of the moment. He was here, with Yuki, because something deeper had been awakened.

Yuki pulled him back down, not wanting to break the contact. He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to feel Liam’s hands on him, his lips on his skin, forever. But before they could continue, Yuki paused, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

“Liam,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t keep pretending. Not anymore.”

Liam looked at him, confusion flickering in his eyes, but Yuki could see the understanding in them too. He could feel it in the way their bodies were pressed together, in the way the air between them had shifted. They were no longer just friends, no longer just two people sharing a space. They were something more. And for the first time in a long time, Yuki didn’t want to run away from it.

He kissed Liam again, pulling him back into the abyss, into the overwhelming tide of desire and longing that had been building for years. Neither of them had the strength to fight it anymore.

They tumbled into the night, their bodies tangled together, lost in each other. Yuki’s hands roamed over Liam’s body, feeling the rough edges of muscle and skin, tracing the lines that had hardened over the years. His fingers traced the scars and the tattoos, feeling the marks that told the story of Liam’s life. And Liam, in turn, explored every inch of Yuki’s body, his touch tender but insistent.

For the first time, there were no barriers between them. No hesitation. No walls. Just two bodies, entwined, the bared skin intertwined with the tattoo-covered one, falling into the abyss of everything they had been hiding for so long.

And as they kissed, as they gave in to the heat between them, Yuki knew—this wasn’t just a goodbye. It was the beginning of something new. Something neither of them had ever expected, but both had needed all along.

Their bodies moved together, a symphony of passion and need, and neither of them was willing to stop until the world outside no longer existed. Until all that remained was this—this moment, this feeling, this connection that neither of them could deny.

–

The room was still, save for the occasional sound of the wind brushing against the windows. The night had fallen deeper, the only light now a faint glow from the streetlights outside. The chaos of earlier had subsided, leaving an overwhelming sense of peace.

Liam and Yuki lay tangled beneath the soft, worn blanket, their bodies spent and warm. They had cleaned up, both moving in quiet synchrony as if they were scared that even the slightest movement might break the delicate air between them. But now, in the aftermath, all that remained was the comfort of being close.

Liam lay behind Yuki, his chest pressed gently against Yuki's back, his arm draped across his side. Yuki’s body, small but firm, fit perfectly against him. He could feel Yuki’s breath, steady and deep, as if he were still processing everything that had just happened. Liam closed his eyes for a moment, his hand unconsciously moving up and down Yuki’s arm, soothing and rhythmic.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of everything—the miles, the months apart, the years of unspoken words—seemed to lift. In this small moment, everything felt right. The reality of the night had settled, and now there was only silence. The comfortable kind, the kind that allowed both of them to exist without the need for words.

But the silence between them grew too heavy, and Liam could no longer ignore the turmoil swirling in his chest. He needed to say it. He needed to speak his truth. He had never been good at these kinds of moments, the delicate ones where emotions ran deeper than anything he had ever known.

With a deep breath, Liam shifted just slightly, his face burying itself into the crook of Yuki's neck. He inhaled deeply, the scent of Yuki’s skin mingling with the fresh scent of the ocean breeze that lingered in the room. He let his breath steady, his hand gently brushing against Yuki’s side.

“Yuki,” Liam began, his voice softer than usual. “I don’t think you understand what this—what tonight—means to me.” He hesitated, feeling his heart beat faster, like a racing car ready to take off. “I don’t know how to explain it, but I feel like everything is different now. Everything we’ve been pretending—it’s like we’ve both been running from it. From what we really feel.”

Yuki remained quiet for a moment, and Liam wasn’t sure if he was listening or if the words had startled him. But then Yuki shifted, rolling just enough so that his back was to Liam, his face half hidden in the pillow. But Liam could feel the tension in his shoulders, the way he stiffened as if he was bracing himself for something.

“I think I’ve known for a long time,” Yuki said quietly, his voice low but steady. “But... I’ve been scared. Scared to admit it. Because if I do, it means things can never go back to how they were. And part of me... part of me doesn’t know if I can handle that.”

Liam’s heart skipped a beat. He had been so caught up in his own thoughts, his own feelings, that he hadn’t stopped to consider Yuki’s fears. He could feel the uncertainty in Yuki’s words, and it hit him hard. The truth was, neither of them had ever been good at confronting what they really felt. They had danced around it, pretended it didn’t matter.

Liam reached out, his hand settling gently on Yuki’s waist, pulling him a little closer. His touch was soft, almost reverent. “Yuki, I...” He didn’t know how to continue. The words felt too big to fit into the space between them, but he couldn’t back down now. “I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to go back to the way things were before. I can’t.”

There was a long pause, one that stretched on for what felt like an eternity. The weight of their unspoken truths hung in the air, thick with the things they hadn’t said. Yuki was still, but Liam could feel the faint tremor in his body. He could sense that Yuki was processing everything, considering the weight of Liam’s confession, his own feelings.

Yuki finally turned in his arms, his face now fully visible, his expression unreadable but gentle. “I don’t know what to do with this,” he whispered. “With us. I’ve always thought of you as my best friend. But this... this is different.”

Liam's thumb brushed gently against Yuki's skin, his gaze locked on his eyes. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “We don’t have to figure everything out right now. But I can’t go back to pretending I don’t care. Not after tonight. Not after everything we’ve shared.”

Yuki’s eyes softened, and for a moment, Liam thought he might say something more. But instead, Yuki closed the gap between them, his lips pressing against Liam’s in a quiet kiss. It wasn’t desperate like the first, but it was still full of the same urgency, the same emotion. Yuki’s lips were soft against his, and as they kissed, Liam felt everything they hadn’t said—everything they had been too scared to admit—finally begin to unravel.

When they pulled away, there was an understanding between them. Unspoken, but clear. They didn’t need to have all the answers. They didn’t need to figure out the future right now. But tonight, here, in this small bed, in the comfort of the warmth they had created together, they could simply be.

Liam’s hand moved to Yuki’s cheek, his thumb brushing over his skin, his heart full of something he couldn’t name, but it felt like home. “I’m not going anywhere, Yuki,” Liam whispered, his voice full of sincerity. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

Yuki’s gaze softened, his hand resting over Liam’s chest, where his heartbeat was still racing. “I don’t know what tomorrow holds, Liam,” he said quietly. “But for tonight... I’m here. With you. And that’s enough.”

And with that, they lay there, wrapped in the comfort of each other’s arms, knowing that whatever came next, they had taken the first step. Together.

–

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting soft beams across the room. The air felt different today—more fragile, like it was holding its breath. The events of the night before seemed to have changed everything, though neither of them had spoken much about it in the hours that followed. Now, as the sun rose higher, it was time to face the reality of the inevitable. Liam had to leave. The season would continue, and he had commitments to fulfill in Europe.

Yuki was already up, packing a small bag with a few things, his movements deliberate but slower than usual. He seemed lost in his thoughts, his gaze distant as he folded clothes into his suitcase. Liam watched him from the bed, lying on his back, arms behind his head. He didn’t know what to say. The words felt inadequate, but he knew this moment had to come.

The silence was heavy, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that lingered when two people had finally come to terms with what they felt but didn’t yet know how to say it out loud.

After a while, Yuki turned toward him, his expression unreadable, but there was a softness in his eyes. “I’ll walk you to the airport,” Yuki said quietly, breaking the silence.

Liam nodded, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. “Thanks, Yuki.” His voice was thick with emotion, but he couldn’t help it. Saying goodbye always felt like an impossibility, especially now. Not when everything had changed.

The drive to the airport was quiet, the hum of the motorcycle engine beneath them the only sound as they made their way through the streets of the small island. Yuki’s leather jacket fluttered slightly in the wind, and for the briefest moment, Liam wondered if they could just drive forever—if they could escape the reality that was waiting for them on the other side.

When they arrived, Yuki parked the bike and turned off the engine, the soft clink of the key as he pulled it from the ignition ringing in the still air. Neither of them spoke immediately, both of them knowing the end was near. It was the kind of goodbye that neither of them was ready for.

They stood for a moment, the silence between them now a heavy weight that neither wanted to carry. Liam’s chest tightened, the realization that this was the last time he would see Yuki for a while settling deep within him. His hand instinctively reached out, and before he could stop himself, he pulled Yuki into a tight hug.

Yuki’s arms wrapped around him just as quickly, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The world around them felt far away, like nothing existed except the two of them in that single embrace. Liam could feel Yuki’s heart beating against his chest, steady and strong, and it gave him the strength he needed to say the words that had been swirling in his mind all morning.

“I’ll miss you,” Liam whispered, his voice thick. “I don’t know when I’ll see you again, but I’ll make sure to contact you. I promise.”

Yuki pulled back just slightly, his hands on Liam’s shoulders, eyes meeting his with a softness that made Liam’s heart ache. “I’ll miss you too,” Yuki said, his voice steady, but there was a trace of something deeper in his words. “We’ll figure it out. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Liam chuckled softly, though it felt like it was born out of nerves more than humor. “You better not. I don’t know if I could handle that.”

Yuki smiled, a small, knowing smile that made Liam’s chest tighten. “We’ll see each other again. When the time is right.”

Liam nodded, swallowing down the lump in his throat. He had to let go, he knew that. But it didn’t make it any easier. He took a deep breath and offered Yuki a small smile, trying to mask the feeling that threatened to overwhelm him.

“You better take care of yourself, Yuki,” Liam said quietly. “Promise me you won’t work yourself too hard. I don’t want you burning out on me.”

Yuki raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smirk. “You’re one to talk. You drive race cars for a living. Don’t tell me you’re not pushing yourself to the limit every single day.”

Liam laughed softly, his hand resting briefly on Yuki’s arm. “Touché. I guess we both have our ways of taking things too far.”

Yuki’s expression softened again, and he placed a hand on Liam’s chest, just over his heart. “Take care, Liam. I’ll be here, waiting for when the time comes to see you again.”

Liam smiled, his throat tightening once more. He stepped back, picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He had to go now. He didn’t want to drag it out any longer than necessary.

But before he could turn to walk into the airport, Yuki’s voice stopped him. “Hey, Liam.”

He turned, looking back over his shoulder at Yuki.

“You’re always welcome here,” Yuki said with a slight nod, the weight of his words settling between them. “No matter where you go. Just remember that.”

Liam’s heart swelled, and without thinking, he crossed the small distance between them and pulled Yuki into another quick hug, holding him tightly for just a moment longer. He could feel Yuki’s warmth, his steady heartbeat, and for a brief second, he wished they could freeze this moment in time.

“I’ll be back,” Liam said, his voice resolute.

Yuki didn’t respond with words, but instead, gave him a small smile, the kind that spoke volumes more than any sentence ever could. The promise was made, not with grand gestures, but with the quiet understanding between them.

As Liam turned and walked toward the airport, he didn’t look back, but the weight of Yuki’s presence lingered with him. He knew, deep down, that this wasn’t goodbye. It was simply the beginning of something they had both been too afraid to admit.

And when the time came, they would find their way back to each other. They had to. Because this—what they shared—was too real to let slip away.

#Spotify #yuki tsunoda #liam lawson #yukiam #yuki x liam #lawnoda #liam x yuki #liam lawson x yuki tsunoda #f1 fic #yuki tsunoda fic #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #I stayed up until 2 am for this RAH IMMA GO BED NOW #no beta we die like men #i really dont know #i want to sleep now

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jewishbarbies · 6 months ago

Note

https://www.instagram.com/p/DD-jzhUhRoO/?igsh=MXh4aTAwNXlubGJ0eA==

I usually appreciate his posts for his brutal honesty I still do, I still respect him for speaking the truth.

But I'll be lying if I say this post doesn't leave a bad taste in my mouth. When Amber first came out with her story EVERYONE believed her (I know it because I was chronically online) which is not a bad thing but I think he forgot why people turned against her. People watched the trial and watched everything go down.

There was evidence she lied and was the one who hit Johnny. And same with Blake. The people who are not immediately jumping to conclusions are because they have seen her interviews and why is this so ignored that she has ties with HARVEY WEINSTEIN AND WOODY ALLEN?!!??

Matt is a raging antisemite who makes bogus infographics for clicks. I don’t respect him at all.

everyone sided with Amber for a WHILE. Amber v Johnny didn’t start with the trial, it started with her coming out in 2016 with the infamous bruise photo (which was later proven fake because of her “bruise kit” makeup confession) and they settled privately. Amber violated their settlement by doing an op ed claiming to understand what it’s like to be a victim of abuse because of Johnny a couple years later, and THAT if when he sued her specifically because she violated their separation agreement. it wasn’t enough for her to smear him once and settle, she HAD to continue to milk her victimhood, and she crossed a line she herself agreed not to. call it whatever you want, but she did bring it on herself. however he found out via audio recording that she taunted him saying no one would believe him that she abused him because he’s a man.

Johnny had been quiet and abiding to their settlement for 5 YEARS before her actions forced him to finally come forward. why wouldn’t he have sued her immediately? why did he not want to deal with it publicly yet? oh, could it be because he was an abuse victim and wasn’t ready to make his trauma public? hmmmmmmmm.

then the trial started and everyone and their dog was watching. more and more evidence came out and Amber acted like a complete fool, her lawyers were a joke and her witnesses didn’t help her at all, and it was SO easy to poke enough holes in her story that very few people believed her anymore. everyone was happy for Johnny when he won because we saw the evidence and the testimony ourselves LIVE. then, the think pieces began. piece after piece came out claiming that Johnny only won because he’s a man and ‘obviously’ it was his fault people online didn’t like her because of a “smear campaign”. remember where that happened? yeah, TikTok. the same place Blake’s downfall happened naturally, and then she claimed it was a “smear campaign”.

yes, it is the “same old playbook”, but WHO’S? because the only people acting the same are the rich white women who didn’t get what they want and were exposed for being horrible people. we have audio and video evidence that Amber was hella abusive and manipulative and we have the same kind of evidence for Blake now. if women like Amber and Blake want to be believed then they should remember recording devices exist, and that if they piss off enough people then their threats won’t be enough to scare people into supporting them when it counts. both women did it to themselves.

#Asks #anonymoose #anti blake lively #anti amber heard

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1moreff-creator · 5 months ago

Text

DROS CH2 Part 7 First Impressions

I have been. So busy. For the last few days. That’s why it took this long for me to actually get this post out. However, make no mistake, my excitement is at an all time high! After all, it’s just about time for the long awaited second trial conclusion! Get ready to be absolutely emotionally destroyed! :D

CWs

“Mark: Well, we still haven’t actually resolved anything with Vivi. If we’re saying that the gun doesn’t have any impact on this murder, then they’re still our main suspect.” Right they’re still on my girl’s ass about this.

“Vivi: First with the motive, now with this… Why won’t anyone ever just listen to me?!

Kennedy: Vivi.

Vivi: What?!

Kennedy: Keep calm. We’ve got this, okay?

Vivi: …Okay. I trust you.” [Nonstop Debate] Yay Mad Duo! They so cool :D And our first Nonstop yay!

So I’m not really sure what to do for this one, but I’m gonna go with shooting:

“Jeff: Still, isn’t it possible you expected the Monoquin File lie to hold up better?”

with Vivi’s Autopsy. After all, if Vivi was the killer, then she would have probably lied in her autopsy to make them believe, for example, that the time was the lie, which would mean the murder was in the Villa and Vivi would be absolved due to inside-outside stuff. So, they actively did something that made the lie easier to catch, they didn’t “expect” the MQ File to hold up better.

[Answer: Vivi’s Autopsy → “you expected”] Alright, good start!

“Grace: Is it really so decisive? There could’ve still been another trick to the autopsy, or the File…

Harper: To be honest, I’m… not so sure that’s true.” [Lie Detector] Ooh… let’s see!

“The Victim is Robert Smith.” -> Damp Body. Or Robert’s profile or something, I don’t really know how to explicitly prove this xD

“He died in the Villas” -> MQ File Lie. It’s what we’ve been saying, right?

“at approximately 9:15 AM” -> Damp Body. Because his body was dry but his clothes and the rope are wet, which kinda puts his death in this time frame, right? That was the thing?

“The cause of death was drowning.” -> State of the Villa. This is a bit roundabout (because I don’t wanna just use Damp Body again lmao), but basically: we know the water in the tub was a fabrication (it would have dried by now if it had been the murder weapon), and there’s no point in doing that unless you know the file will mention drowning. If the drowning is a lie, then the killer turned it on for no reason.

I feel like all of these save the MQ File lie are wrong lol.

[Answers:

Identity -> Vivi’s Autopsy + Robert’s E-Handbook

Place -> MQ File Lie

Time -> Autopsy + Damp Body

Cause -> Autopsy + Damp Body]

Alright well I suck at these! xD Forgot to put the autopsies, and didn’t think to use the handbook lol. Well, moving on!

“Noah: So, Vivi’s definitely innocent…?

Vanessa: It, uh… seems like it…” [Select the Person] Woohoo, the doctor beats the allegations!!! Also I accidentally spoiled myself on the answer to that (Noah), but since I didn’t even know what exactly it was asking, I have no idea how I would’ve replied lmao.

“Noah: Yeah… go ahead. Do your worst.

Davis: That’s… not a confession, is it?

Noah: No…

Taylor: Then, um… do you… have anything to say about it…?

Noah: I mean, what is there to say? I’ve been in my room, alone, for the last… three days? It’s not like I know enough about what people were doing to accuse anyone else, or point out what I couldn’t have done.” Yeah… my man has it rough lmao. At least it seems pretty early for the real blackened to be so defeatist, so maybe he’s not it…?

“Noah: I’m not trying to be difficult. I just… I’ve got nothing.

Harper: …Let me try this again.” [Nonstop Debate] Yay for Noah-Harper duo! (I don’t have a good name for this one :v Young Walker? Sounds kinda silly xD) Defend your bestie Harper!

“Mark: His loved one was already lost to the motive. It could be a sacrifice.

Aidan: If it was, he should’ve talked to me, like I said someone should.” Oh yeah Aidan did say that! Can’t believe I forgot how insane he is <3

That said I have no idea what to do here. I don’t find any options particularly convincing. Maybe shoot “he should’ve talked to me” with something like State of the Villa + Tied Closet Door? If it’s a sacrifice, then Noah would have to admit to it, so all the things the killer did to hide their identity would make no sense. However, I feel like that’d be agreeing with Aidan’s general point, so it doesn’t make much sense.

The other options is a Time Bullet, maybe? Those are always tricky. Like-

“Noah: I appreciate all of this, but it's okay. I’m strong enough to handle it on my own, really…”

Take “strong enough” and shoot it at:

“Harper: The actual crime itself has nothing to do with any of Noah’s traits.”

I mean Noah isn’t particularly strong I don’t think, but maybe it can be argued he’s stronger than others? Idk.

[Answer: “strong enough” → “Noah’s traits”] Holy shit I was right! Take that Time Bullets, I know how to use you! >:D Maybe. I’ll still probably get most Nonstops that use this wrong xD

“Kennedy: Well, hold on. The killer could have just walked through the Fountains and then used the door.

Mark: You’d run the risk of people seeing you, though. Because we all assumed Noah was in his room all day, getting caught out at all could be disastrous.

Kennedy: It’s still a case fact, and it matters. For anyone other than Noah, you could just walk through the Hotel, so it doesn’t matter. While Noah has to be strong for the plan to work for him, anyone else could avoid that step.” Hell yeah Kennedy get ‘em!

“Noah: Harper. I mean it. I can handle this on my own, okay? Don’t sweat it.

Harper: I’m not sure if–

Noah: I’m totally fine, see? You worry too much.

Harper: …Alright. If you say so.

Noah: Okay then. Let me give this a try.” [Nonstop Debate] Hell yeah Noah, stand up for yourself! Interesting little dynamic forming here, reminds me of Vanessa and Antonia in the first trial. Which is probably not a good thing for Noah but y’know :v

I once again have no idea what the hell Im doing. Uh… hail mary, another Time Bullet. Take:

“Noah: I… I really want to live long enough to get out of this stupid game, so please don’t vote for me here.”

And shoot:

“Noah: But, I still have no motive, right?”

The motive could be wanting to get out, right?

[Answer: “get out of this stupid game” → “I have no motive”] Wait I’m goated? I’m “crazy on the sticks”, as the kids may say?

“Ellis: The fact that you called it a “stupid game” is kinda telling in and of itself, handsome.” That is an interesting consideration!

“Noah: I didn’t…

All: …

Kennedy: No. This isn’t it.” I agree with Kennedy, by the way, something feels off about Noah being the killer.

“Kennedy: None of it makes any sense. There’s too many flaws. Why now, all of a sudden, rather than a few days ago?” I know! It doesn’t work!

“Kennedy: When did he go to order it?

Grace: At night, one would assume.

Mark: …Which night?

Davis: Based on timing, it’d be two nights ago, right?” [Evidence Select] Alright, we’re cooking. Uh… Alright crazy idea, Chat Room? Ellis talked to Harper, and Harper said Noah responded to ver messages. I know there’s enough time in one night for Noah to send a message to Harper and order something from the CSD, but maybe it will help his case anyways.

Btw, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but I love how all the sections of the E-Handbook are considered Truth Bullets. It’s very fun :)

[Answer: Ellis’ Chat Room] Woo! I’m on a roll today!

“Ellis: For what it’s worth, Mark and I were outside together two nights ago– I know, be jealous– of Mark– and we didn’t see Noah.” I love how, aside from being a classic Ellis Moment, she also feels the need to clarify you need to be jealous of Mark and not of Ellis herself xD Also I forgot the chat room also included those messages lol. Right answer wrong equation sort of deal.

“Kennedy: Why would someone make it so they couldn’t be seen in the daytime without it being inherently suspicious if they wanted to kill someone during the daytime?” Dude, Kennedy is. Cooking! Good point! :D

“Noah: Why is everyone acting like I’m on the brink of falling apart? I promise, I’m fine…!

Harper: We’re just worried about you, Noah, that’s all…

Noah: And that’s why everyone’s accusing me of murder…?” It is a bit of a conflict of interests lmao xD

“Vanessa: But… if not him, then who?” [Evidence Select] I. Uhm. What? Uh… Alibis? To narrow it down to Jeff and Grace again? Provided Taylor and Paris aren’t lying about theirs?

[Answer: Outdoor People] Well that kinda makes sense too :p

“Kennedy: Just like I said! A mind game, where the killer wanted us to think that they wanted the crime to be inside and outside because they were inside, but in reality, they were playing us the whole time!” Yo Kennedy’s on a roll this trial!

“Vanessa: I’m confused, okay? What was actually true and what was a mind game or whatever? I don’t know what logic’s still true or anything…

Mark: Then, let’s review, okay?” [Mixed Matches] Poor Vanessa man. All this talk about Noah being out of it, but she’s not doing too hot herself T_T Also ooh minigame! :D

“A. The location the file claims Robert was killed in” -> Villas.

“B. The location in which Robert was actually killed.” -> Robert’s Room.

“C. Where the killer wanted us to think they were.” -> Inside.

“D. Where the killer actually was.” -> Outside.

[Checking Answers] Got it right! I mean this one was easy I think but still :p

“Taylor: Then, are we just narrowing down between Grace and Jeff…?

Paris: Seems like! It still could be Noah, too.

Noah: …” […] [Nonstop Debate] Poor Noah, too. T_T

“Mark: Earlier than “normal” isn’t a great choice with Robert.” Lol. Lmao even.

“Vanessa: That’s true… everyone would have had equal access to Robert and his room, ‘cause it depends on his schedule.” This one struck me as notably “counterable” when I read it, so I went to check the map… Jeff is on the third floor, Robert on the fourth, and Grace’s room is right next to Robert’s. So. Uh oh! (I’m shooting “everyone would have had equal access” with Map of Floor 4 if it isn’t clear).

[Answer: Map of Floor 4 → “everyone would have had equal access”] Yep!

“Grace: Fine. But I maintain that this isn’t damning evidence, and that you should still consider Jeff an equally likely suspect.

Jeff: Get on with it already. Your defensiveness just makes you sound even more like the killer.

Grace: Fine.” [Puzzling Pieces] Ooh they’re fighting! :D

“Davis: It’s true that Jeff doesn’t care about anyone but himself.

Davis: They probably wouldn’t care much about the threat of this motive, for themself, or for the sake of others.

Jeff: …Thanks.” Man. These defenses are. Something else xD

“Grace: You can’t perfectly predict another’s behavior, even if that person is Robert.

Paris: Maybe there’s some way that the killer could’ve done just that?

Paris: Word gets around, you know~” Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. Grace has the whole “Clockmaker’s intuition” thing where they can tell the passage of time pretty accurately, so it wouldn’t be hard for them to figure out Robert’s schedule.

Or maybe the point will be that they didn’t need to predict his behavior at all, and that the crime was just opportunistic? That they would have killed whoever came by and happened to be at the wrong place, wrong time? Hm…

[Template: “The __ __ __ a __ __ __.”] Bro what. That’s. Two words. Help.

“The killer could’ve chosen a victim around”? So a random victim that happened to be around? I’m not super happy with it but I’ll go with it.

[Answer: The killer could’ve chosen a closer victim] Close enough! Not really in the point I was making, but at least the actual words themselves! xD

“Ellis: We really have no leads on why the killer chose to axe Robert of all people. Isn’t it possible they just chose him because he was close by?” Yeah, not a good look… Grace is seeming like they really might be the killer! :O

“Harper: Either room on the edge of the Hotel facing the outside would work, correct? Ones on the third floor would function just as well.

Grace: It could have been difficult to find a different victim in such a place, though, couldn’t it?

Aidan: No way.” [Select the Person] Okay this is actually huge. Looking at floor 3, the options are Paris, Aidan and Taylor (unless you bring Antonia back from the dead), and Aidan’s particularly notable. The guy was probably in his room, and he also was willing to sacrifice himself, so the killer could’ve tried to trick him into thinking they were in on the plan when they really intended to win the Trial. More importantly, though, any victim on the third floor would’ve been way more convenient because you have to climb less amount of rope, saving you time and effort.

[Answer: Aidan Ho] Oh also there was a minigame. Not too hard, this one, but still nice to get it right!

“Aidan: It’s true. It wouldn’t have been very hard to go after me instead. There’s really no point in targeting Robert, right?

Mark: There is a point. It just only points towards one of our two potential suspects.” Uh oh… Grace it might be over.

“Grace: You’re still making several mistakes here. Do you really believe that the killer could play mind games regarding the inside or outside, but couldn’t do such a thing regarding which floor the murder occurred on?

Mark: Hm…” [Progressive Deduction] Hold on they got mindgames on mindgames in this house! They’re cooking!

“1. Why must one of the rooms against the outside wall have been used?” -> b. It would have allowed the killer a private place from which to lower the body to the outside.

“2. Who lives in the four rooms facing the outside wall?” -> c. Paris, Aidan, Grace and Robert. I guess corner rooms don’t count lmao.

“3. Why might the killer have chosen to kill Robert specifically?” -> b. Because they’re especially close to him, making him a more vulnerable target. I’m assuming this means “specifically Robert as opposed to Grace-Aidan-Paris.”

[Checking Answers] Okay I got the first two right, but the last one’s answer was “d. To distract from the position of their own room.” Uh… didn’t expect that! Maybe the point is that their own room faces the outside, so they could’ve climbed up and down from there?

“Ellis: If we figured out that the rope would be best used from either Paris, Aidan, Robert, or Grace’s window, if Grace had killed somebody who didn’t live in one of those four rooms, we would all assume that one of those four is the killer. If Grace made it so that the killer had the option of just using Robert’s window instead, then that becomes less of a factor.” Makes sense, makes sense. Good job Ellis!

“Taylor: Then, you mean…

Noah: You think Grace’s room is the real murder location…?” […] [Nonstop Debate] Oh shit I didn’t even think of that! But yeah, it wouldn’t have been impossible to get Robert to come over and kill him there. It’d be easier to clean up Robert’s room afterwards, and Grace was the one who claimed that room was clean enough to be suspicious… hm…

“Grace: If that’s the case, why was Robert’s room so eerily neat?

Grace: If the murder took place in my room, I’d have no chance to reorganize it.” I mean, wouldn’t you? I can’t imagine the switching places of the body taking too long, especially since Grace can leave the corpse in their own room while they clean up Robert’s to avoid the BDA happening before they were ready (there’s no chance anyone would’ve entered Grace’s own room, anyways). As long as Robert had a normal amount of organization, the cleanup shouldn’t take long either if the murder happened at Grace’s. And given the guy’s talent, I would imagine he does in fact have a “normal level of organization.”

“Mark: The e-Handbook was on Robert’s body during investigation, so it was definitely with him by then…” …Do the dorm doors lock from the inside and out? Or just from outside? Because if you need a handbook to get through Robert’s door from the inside, then the killer couldn’t have made it out of there if they left the handbook at Robert’s corpse. Meaning the killer would’ve had to stay outside {or gone through a different room}. I don’t think that’s the point we’re making, but still. Also I don’t actually remember how these locks work xD

Ok so just because this trial is full of them, I’ll gamble on another Time Bullet. Take “during investigation” from the Mark quote I put before, and shoot:

“Grace: If the murder took place in my room, I’d have no chance to reorganize it.”

While I think there’s better ways to go about this (see: the idea of leaving Robert’s corpse in Grace’s room for a bit), Grace organizing during the investigation makes enough sense for me to consider it a possibility.

[Answer: “during investigation” → “I’d have no chance to reorganize it”] I am. So good this. How do I do it??? xD

“Grace: No, you haven’t! There’s still plenty of other things to consider, like… Jeff chose the Pool as their alibi location, correct? That would work perfectly with having to wade through the Fountains. If he came out of it looking a bit wet, no one would think anything was strange.

Paris: Yet another reason why you, as the killer, just conveniently chose drowning as a murder method, hmm~?” Fucking get ‘em Paris!

“Aidan, to Grace: The body was found in the Villas. You know, the Villas near where I met you shortly before I found the body.” Yeah see this is something you might wanna mention earlier my guy??? We knew you two met up, but not where. I was assuming it was the Gardens or something ‘cuz I thought Aidan would’ve brought it up otherwise xD Unless he wanted to avoid steering the conversation the wrong way earlier, which makes sense.

“Grace: No! There are still flaws in your argument. Just… give me a moment to articulate my thoughts.” [Freestyle Feud] Aw hell yeah let’s go!

“Grace: We still have two other suspects that haven’t fully been cleared.” That doesn’t mean our suspicions about you disappear!

“Grace: The motive has no effect on me, because the one I loved is already lost.” For that same reason, you could get desperate to go home! (Maybe? I don’t actually know where we’re going to go with this xD)

“Grace: If I was going to kill, I wouldn’t have wasted so much time.” But you sorta needed to, to carry out your plan! (So I read the last of Grace’s lines on accident, and I based this rebuttal on what my next one’s gonna be. I’m not sure that’s allowed, I’ve forgotten the details of the rules for these things lmao)

“Grace: There’s nothing different that means today is the day I’d have tried!” No, that’s wrong, as any earlier, the rope hadn’t yet arrived! (If my vague recollection of the timeline four weeks after the murder actually happened in real time is accurate, which it might not be xD. If I recall correctly, the thing goes “Grace loses loved one-Orders rope at night-Noah and Davis lose loved ones-Grace receives the rope at night-Next morning Robert dies”)

[Checking answers] 1)”Ellis: Yet, you’re more suspicious than either of them; weird!” This is funny to me for reasons I can’t properly explain xD

2)”Ellis: It’s possible you grew frustrated with none of us paying the necessary cost.” This is actually more in line with what I’d imagined than what I wrote down, but I couldn’t think of a way to make it rhyme lol.

3)”Ellis: You were probably hoping one of us would take the fall before you chose to climb.” This makes sense!

4)”Ellis: There was something different that happened today– the fact that no one died!” Oh! I was wrong on what the point was! Yeah I actually forgot that a rope wouldn’t take the full two days to arrive probably, now that I think about it. I don’t know how this connects to Grace killing, though.

“Ellis: Okay, I have, like, no idea what that would have to do with why Grace would be looking for that as a day to kill Robert…” And good to know Ellis is on the same boat as me! xD

“Vivi: Today was also the day where Kennedy said his plan, right? Maybe Grace wanted to wait until then?” Okay that makes a bit more sense lmao. Maybe Grace wanted to see if there were any alternatives before committing.

“Jeff: Pff. That means they didn’t believe in what you came up with, huh Kennedy?

Kennedy: …They should have. For everyone’s sake.” These are the consequences of not listening to Conspiracy Theorists smh.

“Mark: It’s still always good to check back. Make sure we haven’t overlooked or forgotten anything.

Grace: …It’s a waste of time. But, if you wish to, go ahead.” [Closing Argument] It’s so Graceover.

Alright here’s my order of the Closing Argument!

1- The Motive. Referring to the motive reveal, when Grace’s bf died.

2- Order List. Gotta order the rope before doing anything else!

3- Damp Body. Using this as a stand-in for “the murder happened.” Maybe the MQ File #2 would also work for that? Don’t remember how that worked in the first trial, and I don’t feel like checking lmao.

4- Fountain Bridge. Using this as a stand-in for “the killer took the body outside and avoided the bridge.”

5- Tied Closet Door. The killer put the corpse in the closet. Can be exchanged with State of the Villa.

6- State of the Villa. The killer made sure to leave water in the bathtub. Can be exchanged with Tied Closet Door.

7- Alibis. Specifically, Aidan meeting with Grace. Which happened, like, at 12:30 how is Grace this slow at murder.

8- Aidan’s Account. Aidan finds the body.

9- Body Discovery Announcement. Other people find the body.

10- Monoquin File #2. It is received, aka investigation starts.

11- Robert’s Room. Grace cleans it during the investigation.

[Checking Answers] Oh, Order List before Motive. I guess that makes some sense. Everything else was right though! :D

“Ellis: I guess you could argue that this crime began when the motive did, as the moment the motive was announced was surely… heart-dropping for the killer. Fuck, bad word choice again!” Ellis. xD

“Ellis: Vanessa and I were… hanging out…” Yeah I guess that’s a way to describe what happened :v

“Ellis: And, the identity of Robert’s murderous neighbor? One look at the map of the fourth floor would tell you that that resident was Grace Thomas, the Ultimate Clockmaker.” Haven’t mentioned it yet, but I’m Sad. I liked Grace! And now they’re gone! The setup during the chapter was really good, in the sense that it makes perfect sense that they’re blackened (of course they hated everyone wasting time! That’s their whole Thing!), but in such a way that I really didn’t see it coming (obviously they’re not gonna murder anyone, they say the motive doesn’t affect them anymore!). Simply peak, what can I say.

“Vanessa: That was… pretty simple, considering how long we kept running around in circles…” Yeah right? Very well done to venus for making such a compelling class trial out of what isn’t that complicated of a murder method! :D

[Vote: Grace Thomas] Welp… the Clockmaker was the CH2 killer after all… I should’ve known xD

“Grace was trying to kill all of us! If it was really a sacrifice, they would’ve confessed right at the beginning, goddammit!” Yeah… they really just wanted out huh :/

“Davis: …What took you so long?” YIKES. But fair, ig. Still a bit of a harsh way to phrase that, though.

“Grace: I wanted to win. I wasn’t going to rush in rashly. If I was going to do this, even with nothing at stake anymore, I was going to take the time to do it properly.” Yeah Davis, professionals have Standards! I guess?

“Grace: I wasn’t. This… this doesn’t have to do with the motive anymore. It’s about me, leaving this place.

Noah: Because of the motive…?

Grace: …I should explain.” Trauma dump! Trauma dump!

“Grace: It’s always the same reason with me, isn’t it? Time.

They fidget with their sleeves.

Grace: There are… so many things I haven’t had the chance to do. So many things I want to do. I already felt that I didn’t have enough time in my life to do everything I wanted, and after Justin died, I…” You could say you had… one shot at life and didn’t wanna waste it? Eh? Eh? …Look I’m still trying to make sense of this title xD

“Grace: Do you know how hard it is to grieve here? To find peace, or move on, when there’s a new body every day? When half the people are callous to your loss because they expect everyone else to die for their benefit anyways?

…” Get absolutely called the fuck out, Ellis! That’s been his game plan from day one! Oh that’s awesome :D

“Vivi: …You could’ve let me try, you know…

Grace: That’s true. I could have let you fail.” YIKES.

“Paris: Sorry, babe, but you’re getting no sympathy from me. You were still ready to toss us all to the wolves, too~

Grace: Of course I won’t from you. You wouldn’t understand. You don’t even have a loved one.” Yo Grace is going OFF right now, I love it! They’re so despairful it’s awesome :D

“Paris: Let them say what they want, Tay. Not like it’s gonna matter for that long, right~?” And yet, Paris girlbosses on lmao.

“Vanessa: …Weren’t you the one who was saying that whoever did kill… that they were the one to blame [for the deaths of the loved ones]…?

Grace: …” Yikes again!

[Execution start] “Light illuminates Grace inside the cylinder, trapped within an hourglass. The throat of the hourglass leaves only a slight amount of room to struggle around their waist. They cautiously move around, getting a better feel for where they’re trapped.

Then, water begins to drip down from above. The stream hits the top of Grace’s head, wetting their hair and dribbling down their face, then down, through the hourglass, as the bottom begins to fill. The water starts off slowly, but it rapidly begins to pick up the pace.” Wow, that’s… morbid, but extremely fitting.

“A button on my pedestal lights up green. It has a plus sign next to a picture of a stopwatch on it.” Wait, is that to give Grace more time? That’s… peculiar.

“What happens if the water drains? It’ll continue to fall. Unless the thirteen of us continue to hit the button into eternity, without food and without sleep, without leaving these trial grounds and seeing the sun, we’ll never win.” Oh my god this is actually horrible. The execution could theoretically last until Grace themselves starve (‘cuz they sure won’t die of thirst!), but there’s no way the others keep hitting the button so much. Yikes.

“I hit the button. I’ll be a team player, for as long as the team plays.” o7

“Aidan: Just… stop.

Ellis: Roger that, Captain.

I give a sad salute as Taylor looks at me with concern.

Taylor: Stop…?

Aidan: It’s not like they’re going to let us actually stop this thing. How long do you want Grace to stand there, watching their impending death?” Yeah… it’s Graceover.

“They struggle. They hold their breath for as long as they can, arms trying to swim, or break the glass, or find some pocket of air. But the water overtakes their lungs, and as they try to cough and struggle, there isn’t anything else they can do. Eventually, their body’s movement quiets, and a dull, lifeless stare is all that’s left on their face.

Congratulations. We won.” Fucking hell that’s bleak. Awesome execution! I’m gonna go cry now :D

“Harper: …Kennedy.

Kennedy: Yeah?

Harper: Thank you. You made a number of important deductions this Trial, and didn’t let our votes go astray. It’s thanks to you we’re still here.” Hell yeah, Kennedy getting recognition! Harper’s saying this because Kennedy defended Noah, I assume, but it’s still really cool :D

“Aidan scoffs.” Of course xD

“Aidan: We need to talk when we get back. Dinner?

Vanessa: Okay

Ellis: gotcha”

Okay so he did hear All That, huh? Very interested in where that one’s gonna go.

“I wonder what Noah’s room looks like, after staying in there for so long. I wonder if Grace ever ate those cookies.” :(

“Except, there’s no reason to wonder anything at all, is there?

Stupid, stupid Ellis! You forgot the number one rule of surviving this killing game: none of these people matter! Not in the slightest!” No of course! We’re still on this huh? xD

“I could get more people to fill Jeff, Paris, and Taylor’s spots at the pool. I could find a new Aidan, or probably even a new Kennedy, to argue with. I could definitely find a new Noah to drink with, especially given that he abandoned me this past week anyways.” Uh huh. So we’ve gone from “I don’t care about them at all” to “I care but I could replace them”, I see. There seems to be some kind of progress being made that I’m not sure Ellis would love to notice xp

“I didn’t need to talk to Robert more. I shouldn’t have been kinder to Grace, or tried to invite them to more things. I was already far nicer to Vanessa than she deserved, after ordering a gun on all of us.

No regrets. None at all. Any I once had are surely, by now, swirling down the drain.” Wow, what a finish. This whole “not caring about anyone” deal doesn’t have much life left in it, huh? Though maybe that’s a poor choice of words, considering :v

No Aidan-Ness-Ellis convo? I guess that’s for next chapter. Exciting!

Woo! What a chapter! I wasn’t as attached to Grace as I was to Antonia, but this still managed to be extremely engaging anyways! Grace was a fun culprit, and their character got explored very well both through their actions and the stuff they were saying before the murder.

As for my in-chapter predictions, I didn’t guess this killer right either, though seeing my track record, that might not happen until Paris dies or kills someone lol. The method also kinda escaped me a bit, but some of the core points were there at least.

My other predictions, from Prediction Game, ain’t doing so hot either. Let’s pull up the charts:

As you can see (provided you can look past the horrid image quality lmao), I had Grace as my pick for mastermind, which evidently isn’t happening. That means I get four chapter points and two role points for a total of 6, one point off maximum. That brings me up to 13 from the 7 I had before.

Bronze-ocs is in the same boat, because yes, for the fourth time in a row, our predictions matched exactly. Again, our boards are different, we’ll start being different eventually, but for now we’ve matched each other step by step. That’s quite impressive, honestly!

With me and bronze at double digits, Jonas takes the lead out of the three way 7 point tie, having guessed Grace as the CH2 victim. No chapter points is really good for them, though the two role points do bring Jonas up to 9.

Finally, accirax once again has the closest guess of us all! With a CH1 killer prediction for Grace, she only takes one chapter point, meaning she’s up to 15 and the gap closes once again.

The accirax comeback is on full swing, Jonas takes the lead, and me and bronze still haven’t broken the standstill. Things are heating up in this prediction game, so tune in a few weeks from now to see where we’re at come CH3 victim(s)!

Hope you all enjoyed my reactions to DROS CH2, because I sure as hell enjoyed this chapter a whole bunch! I’m extremely excited to see where we go from here! Have a good one, everyone. See ya’!

#dros #danganronpa: one shot #ellis ortiz #grace thomas #kennedy rey #noah walker #aidan ho #harper young

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lol-jackles · 2 years ago

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Is it just a side effect of being somewhat disappointed in who Jensen presents himself in recent years, or is it normal that I find Dean's sad monologues less meaningful and more over dramatic the more times I watch supernatural?

For me, many of the earlier ones hold up well, but him talking to his dad’s grave in What is and What Should Never Be just feels a bit silly now. Like, that’s not even your real dad’s s grave, dude. And the mirror scene in Regarding Dean feels a bit self-indulgent. Even him talking to Mary inside her head just seems like … too much? It’s like I can feel the show going, “Get ready for it … we’ve got a scene coming up where Dean is going to emote all over you! Cue up the one perfect man tear!" Or the whole over the top apology to Castiel in purgatory.

It could just be the natural effect of rewatching, but I often find the emotional monologues less impactful. Yet, I still enjoy watching Jared play soulless Sam, and looking at how different he is from normal Sam. Or seeing how he deteriorated during the trials era.

I guess I’m just wondering if I’m just biased now. Or if there is a more legitimate reason that Jensen’s emotional scenes loose effect on me while Jared’s characterization still fascinated me.

There’s a reason why I didn’t choose the scenes you mentioned for my "Jensen’s best acting" posts.

I suspect the main issue was the lack of organic build up so it felt slightly out of the left field. Look at the ~build up to Dean's emotional conversation to Mary in 12x22:

12x3 - Dean refuse to look at Mary when she tries to day good-bye

12x4 - Dean wonders why Mary isn't calling or texting him

12x6 - Dean wouldn't talk to Mary

12x7 - Dean is angry that Mary isn't calling or texting him

12x12 - Can't remember if Dean and Mary interacted while Sam was killing Ramiel.

12x13 - Dean bans Mary from the bunker

12x15 - 12x20: Dean is mad that Mary isn't calling or texting him

The saving grace of Dean's speech in 12x22 was it was about how Mary's demon deal had destroyed Sam's life and her death destroyed the family. This speech was a long time coming and it need to happen, but the build up to it should have been better executed.

Dean's apology-prayer in 15x09 also didn't have an organic build up, which was why Jensen comes off as overacting. They didn't spend any time showing why Benny was such a big deal, he wasn't even in the “Then” portion of the intro, so the general audience had no clue who this Benny is because he was last seen 7 seasons ago. Then this was supposed to be the build up to Dean's apology-prayer:

Dean: I know you’re sorry about mom

Cas: I’m so over your dead mother. I was talking about Jack

Dean: *shocked pikachu face*

In contrast to 4x11 when Dean revealed to Sam about his time in hell and broke down into an emotional confession how after 30 years on the rack, he broke and took up torturing souls and he liked that. That breakdown makes sense because the preceding episodes were building up to Dean’s breakdown and he earned the right to do so.

#jensen ackes

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princeblack · 1 year ago

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Regulus knew he’d made a mistake joining the Death Eaters when blood supremacy had almost killed Bee Skywalker in second year, petrifying her. It was something he would never forget; the sight of her in the hospital wing, the fear etched on her perfect face, frozen that way for presumably the rest of time.

Eventually he knew they would reverse the petrification once the mandrakes were fully grown, but for many months he stayed at Bee’s bedside, worrying he’d never get the chance to tell her how he feels.

Uncle Lucius bragged about the diary he’d offloaded onto Ginny Weasley; how it was the Dark Lord’s and his will would work itself at Hogwarts through the artifact. Lord Voldemort’s cruelty didn’t end there; he used Kreacher to test defenses of his horcruxes, almost killing him in the process. When Regulus first joined the organization, he knew they would go to war for their own kind. He wasn’t completely naive; he understood lives would be taken. But his own ancestors were almost wiped out during the witch hunts, when wizards had attempted to integrate and survive amongst muggle society.

So, then, it was sound reasoning to him what his family always believed— that muggleborns shouldn’t be brought into the wizarding world. How much danger would that pose to them all? And even further than that, how many muggles could you marry until your magical bloodline was stamped out?

But Regulus was never particularly good at being cruel unless someone deserved it. And Bee Skywalker is the kindest person he’s ever met, only ever deserving kindness back. She didn’t deserve to be ‘cleansed’ along with the muggleborns just because she was walking with one when the basilisk attacked. Lucius would call him weak for faltering; for not having the stomach to stand by his convictions. But Regulus isn’t so sure he cares what Lucius thinks anymore, after watching how cruelly he plotted the demise of so many of his peers.

And then in third year, Sirius escaped Azkaban. He arrived at Hogwarts, looking for Peter Pettigrew, the man who had framed him for the murders. Harry Potter, of all people, had defended him, convincing Dumbledore to demand a trial with the use of Veritaserum. The difference, this time, was that they also had Peter Pettigrew, who finally confessed to the murders and set Sirius free.

Reconnecting with his brother was strange but welcome, especially after learning that Sirius was innocent and never on the Dark Lord’s side. He’d had his suspicions, especially since the other Death Eaters were hush about it, never wanting to speak of what Sirius had ‘done’.

With Sirius’s help, Regulus had finished the fake horcrux– something he’d been working on since Kreacher almost died defending the real one. Sirius expected Regulus to let him help, but instead he had bided his time, never telling his brother when he finally stole away to go steal the Dark Lord’s horcrux. After all, it was his fate to face. It was his price to pay, for everything he’d done. Only he could be Voldemort’s undoing by taking and destroying that piece of his soul. Only Kreacher accompanied him, to take the real locket and apparate away.

It was only because of Bee that he survived, being pulled out of the water. It was then that they discovered her ancient magic, a force so powerful it was able to destroy the inferi and save them both so they could escape.

It wasn’t until this year, year four, that Regulus turned in the real horcrux to Dumbledore in exchange for a pardon, offering all knowledge he had of the Dark Lord’s activities. They then performed the fidelius charm once more, hiding Sirius’s new home with Remus Lupin as the designated secret-keeper. Regulus decided then that he wouldn’t return home ever again, instead vowing to move in with Sirius once the school year was up once more. Being at the school or under Sirius’s care were his only options to avoid repercussions for leaving his post as a Death Eater. He’s sure his parents wouldn’t protect him, if faced with questions from Death Eaters.

But even after all of this preparation, Regulus isn’t sure he’ll survive the year. Because to top it off, his name was drawn in the Goblet of Fire. There were only supposed to be three names expelled from the goblet; one for Hogwarts, one for Durmstrang Institute and one for Beauxbatons Academy. Instead, two other names that weren’t submitted had emerged; Harry’s and Regulus’s. There had been uproar at first; many outraged, especially the teachers and students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. After all, with three champions, Hogwarts was mostly likely to win and it didn’t help that it was their school hosting the event. It looked every bit like cheating.

But Regulus knows better. His dark mark burns more frequently every week and he’s aware the Dark Lord is gaining power; he’s likely to enact his ritual to regain a body soon, although Regulus wasn’t given the details of what that ritual would entail. He wonders distantly if it’s possible the Triwizard Tournament is somehow apart of his plans.

He hopes more than anything that he’s wrong, not just because he’s left the Death Eaters but because he wants to tell Bee how he truly feels without worrying for her safety. The first task is looming ahead and not long after it is the Yule ball; students all over the school are already talking about who they’ll take. It almost feels trivial to Regulus, who is already steeped in a war that most students his age know nothing about.

But he also can’t imagine Bee going with someone else and just the thought makes his stomach churn. She probably has no idea he cares about such a thing, because it’s not like he’s been honest with her. She found out his dark secret about being a death eater when she saw his arm, coincidentally on the same night he helped her with a werewolf transformation. They traded one secret for another, both outcasts at Hogwarts for very different reasons. In a sense, he’s lucky he shared his secrets about the cave and the horcrux, because how would she have known where to go when she caught him sneaking out? He would be dead without her.

But even still, after everything he’s done, how could she possibly like him the same way he likes her? Especially after being petrified in their second year; he doesn’t expect her to ever forgive him for the part he’s played in it all.

But they’re still friends somehow, and she hasn’t told anyone his secret. No one knows besides Bee, Sirius and Dumbledore. He’s not even sure that Sirius has mentioned it to Harry yet, who is also coming to live with them, being officially adopted by his god-father.

Regulus has a lot to say to her and for once it feels as if he’s incapable of stringing the words together. He’s been taught eloquence all of his life, charming teachers and important wizards, but he’s a little afraid of the most beautiful girl at the school. What if she didn’t feel the same way? What if she saw him as a friend, or worse, held some resentment for how things have gone? Not that Bee has a resentful bone in her body.

He decides to write a note in a feeble attempt to organize his thoughts, but he only manages to scribble a few words:

Dear Bee,

I don’t know if you’ve noticed it, but it’s difficult for me to breathe whenever you’re near. Truthfully, I don’t know how to ask this after so long of being careful not to hurt you, so I’m just going to say it.

Please go with me to the ball. I know I’m being selfish by asking, especially after everything I’ve put you through. You deserve someone kinder — more like you. But you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known and I can’t keep up this pretense anymore.

Yours,

R.A.B.

He takes the parchment with him after classes are over, carrying it in his things when they meet in the Potions dungeon for personal tutoring. Professor Snape is gone, leaving the classroom dark, cool and empty. The dark-bricked castle walls are lined with glass jars of pickled animals, something he knows Bee had never liked. They feel even more eerie in a quiet, near-empty classroom. He feels guilty for having left her alone in here, waiting on him to arrive. But she’s as kind and forgiving as she always is— maybe more than Regulus would ever deserve from her.

When they get started on brewing the Calming Draught, he gathers the ingredients from the supply cupboard; some lavender, a crocodile heart and peppermint. When he returns to Bee’s cauldron he sits down, laying out the herbs. The crocodile heart is conserved in a charmed bottle to keep it at the right temperature, and rather than removing it, Regulus tilts it out and into her cauldron. “Luckily, the heart doesn’t have to be cut or smashed in any particular way. It’s enough to just place it inside.” He glances at the Hufflepuff sideways, a little worried for her. He knows how soft and sweet she is; using animal parts isn’t in her nature. And then, realizing her thoughts, he adds, “You don’t have to worry about them harvesting the hearts unethically, if it’s any consolation. These are used for calming draughts, so the crocodiles had to die peacefully in order for their hearts to be of any use in the potion.” It’s something he knows only because he cared enough to research it. In that way, maybe he and Bee are more alike than he thinks. His mother would hate the thought, but for Regulus it gives him a little bit of comfort. But then he remembers what he’s done and sobers again, starting to get to work on chopping the peppermint. He uses Bee’s dagger to do so, slender fingers wrapped around the black handle.

The youngest Skywalker had requested tutoring on her potion making technique, wanting to score better grades on tests. Regulus was happy to comply because he enjoyed helping her as much as he loved spending time with her.

He tries to focus on how he can help– he knows how nervous she gets when working around Professor Snape, too. “Try to have a firm grip on the dagger when you’re cutting. You want to chop the herbs as finely as possible so they’re easier to combine with the rest of the potion.” Pushing the lavender towards her on the table, he hands her the dagger. “Go ahead and chop these for me.”

He wonders, silently to himself, if he’ll gather the courage to hand her the note. Maybe when they’re done and leaving the Potions dungeon, he would summon the courage. Or maybe it should be burned to save Bee from the fate of dating someone such as him. / @devcted

#Ⅰ. ⸻ / 𝑹.𝑨.𝑩. ( prose ) .#Ⅰ. ⸻ / 𝑹.𝑨.𝑩. ( 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕. bexley ) .

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stay-prideful · 3 months ago

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Helluva Boss x Reader (OI1)

Overlord Intro Part 1: The Hanged Man, XII

Head’s up: These next few chapters serve as an introduction for alternative chapters. This means I can write new chapters for characters I’ve already written, this time through the context of the sinner character having become an Overlord.

This introduction is also going to be pretty plot-heavy, without any romance, so I understand if you’d want to skip it. Though, it is a detailed description for a pathway on how someone might become an Overlord, so…could be cool to read.

(Coming back to this intro after writing for a few chapters: Yeah, it's a pretty detailed explanation on how to become an Overlord...I ended up needing to write the first 3 chapters of this intro before posting any of them because they are so connected to each other. A small detail changing from a realization means all 3 need to be changed. Can’t wait to post the “scrapped scenes” for these ones)

Also, these chapters contain some body dysmorphia. You've been warned.

In Tarot, “The Hanged Man” may represent trials and sacrifice. It signals you need to trust your intuition. Who is really making the sacrifice here?

You settled into your new job with a surprising amount of ease. Maybe it was how easily talking to people who couldn’t see your face came to you. Maybe it was that customers who came in talked to Blitzø mostly, and had very short interactions with you. (Not short enough in your opinion. You were still treated like shit in those brief moments). Or maybe it was the way that your new coworkers and boss treated you, with respect. Yeah, that last one was definitely it.

Eventually, you became the fifth member of I.M.P. that they never really knew they needed. Hiring you to become their receptionist had been one of the best decisions that Blitzø had made, falling only behind hiring the other members. You expertly organized meetings with clients, and scheduled appointments over calls. Your intimate knowledge with Earth as a Sinner made it so that portals were often extremely close to their targets, cutting down time taken to complete missions. You had ended up confessing that you were a Sinner pretty early on to Blitzø in private. He had taken it surprisingly well. You didn’t go on missions topside anyways, so it wasn’t that big of a deal. Eventually it came out to the other employees, but they just accepted you for who you were, and didn’t judge you by the fact that you were universally determined to be a “bad person.” After all, from what they could see, you were kind and effective coworker.

Blitzø was a great boss, despite his flaws in maintaining healthy relationships. Moxxie had become something of your “Work Best Friend,” and Millie had become protective of you, as though she had taken on the role of being your parental guardian. Mostly she scolded Loona when she insulted you. You didn’t mind Loona, although she did sometimes get on your nerves. You bit back when she did, refusing to be a pushover. Though there was never any real bad blood. You two had become close friends, and she had shown you how to use Sinstagram. You didn’t use it often though, because you found almost everything down in Hell was often too disgusting or horrible to share on the platform. Loona was your only follower.

Work was great, for a while. But no matter how welcoming of a workplace I.M.P. was, it didn’t change the fact that the rest of Hell still treated you like shit. You still looked like a Hellhound, and were considered as such. Almost nobody let you explain what you were, and if they did, they either wouldn’t believe you, or didn’t care.

You were reminded of the injustices Hellhounds faced every day, when you left work. You often walked home, because you didn’t want to make M&M’s carpool any longer than it had to be, and because you didn’t want to be a burden, along with a multitude of other reasons. However, this meant you had to endure being out in public as a Hellhound, despite your status as a sinner. Most days were fine, but you would still get glances of fear and disgust. There were also days when you would be yelled at, and called new slurs you learned since arriving in Hell. It was torture, but I guess that’s what you deserved for being down here. Didn’t mean you had to like it.

Talking to some clients also brought challenges. Most were over the phone, so they weren’t made aware of your appearance. There would be a rudeness, but that’s because they were angry sinners looking for revenge, not because they knew you looked like a Hellhound. Today though, a sinner had come to I.M.P. in person. He got one look at you and regarded you with disgust, invading your personal space by walking right up to you and leaning himself over the desk. Insults came at you from the moment he opened his mouth.

“Aw shit, it’s a bitch that works the desk. I should’ve known the quality of this place was gonna be shit the moment I heard it could access Earth. I guess that’s what I get for trusting ads that look like they were written by a fucking child,” he said, accusing you of being the one responsible for the horribly misspelled ads that plagued I.M.P.

You bit back a deep growl. You had learned to manage your anger in Hell, especially after the incident in BarkBucks. However, the way this guy was acting was making you seriously reconsider holding back for so long. You wanted to rip his throat out. Loona wouldn’t mind if you did. In fact, she’d probably encourage it. Still, you had to keep it together for the sake of professionalism.

“Our business is the best at what we do, sir. If you have a problem with the perceived quality, I'd be happy to bring it up with my boss,” you said through clenched teeth, it taking every ounce of effort not to scream at the sinner.

What followed was the sinner shouting at you, insulting your intelligence and lack of ability to do your job properly. You snapped back, not being able to hold back your anger any longer. You retorted that if he was so smart, he would’ve seen that you were the best damn receptionist he’d ever had the pleasure of meeting, and that you had given him a chance, the benefit of the doubt. Another insult, aimed directly at your perceived status of being a Hellhound, him not even caring about I.M.P., or the hit anymore. It escalated from there, becoming a screaming match, and you lost yourself.

Your mind was pulled back into a time when you didn’t work at I.M.P., to your first days in Hell, when you didn’t quite know what a Hellhound was yet. People threw things at you, yelling at you to go back to your owner. When you tried to get a job, you had been turned away at the thought of being a Hellhound, and were screamed at when you tried to tell them differently. When they did listen, it became a priority for them to sign your soul away, which was a different kind of terrifying. You were on the streets for a while, and had been muzzled when Hell’s equivalent of animal control was called on you. You had been dragged to a shelter. There, you found out about the existence of pounds for younger Hellhounds, from older Hellhound survivors, and that had horrified you further. You couldn’t be sure if you were even different from them, until you were told that they had been born in Hell, while sinners always came from Earth. You learned about the general hierarchy of Hell, and that they were at the bottom of the metaphorical totem pole, and you realized how unlucky it was that you had been killed by wolves, thus taking on their appearance as a sinner, further adding to your growing hatred of the animal. You became disgusted by your own body, the trauma of your death, as well as your experiences causing you to scare yourself every time you looked in the mirror.

When you had gotten out of the shelter, and had finally gotten a job, you found more reasons to hate your form. Children would use your tail as a napkin, grab your whiskers, and push hard on your nose, “booping you,” and you couldn’t snap back, or even say anything, for fear of losing your job. You hated this form that you had been cursed with.

The sinner was still shouting at you, and you him. Blitzø had at some point stepped in, and had thrown them out for how they were treating you. You had been wrapped up in your own little world to really pay attention, and thanked him absentmindedly. You sat back down in your chair, mind still buzzing with memories of past jobs and people that had treated you like shit. Blitzø tried to say some comforting words, but fell short of succeeding. He shuffled awkwardly back into his office.

You tried to remember a time when you didn’t look like this, but could barely remember your past life. How long had you been in Hell? A few months at most? You were horrified that your previous life had become a distant memory, alien to your present. You couldn’t imagine yourself as anything other than what you were now. Distressed, you started tugging at the fur on your arms, hatred of your appearance manifesting as self-destructive behaviour. You started weeping, and you were almost grateful for the tears that obscured your vision, preventing you from seeing yourself.

At some point Loona had come into the waiting room, and noticed what you were doing. She rushed over to demand you stop, and asked you what the fuck was going on. Through choked sobs, you told her about what had just happened, and how you had been treated since you first arrived in Hell. She sympathized with you. You also ended up confessing the nature of your death, given it was so tied to the hatred of your body.

“When sinners…die…they take a form relating to how they died. You already know this.” Loona nodded. “So, I look like this,” you gestured towards your wolf-like face, “because something like it killed me.” Loona nodded again, and a thought occurred to her. “Oh Satan, I didn’t kill you, did I?”

“No! No, of course not!” you reassured her. She let out a sigh of relief. “I died…” you took a deep breath before continuing, “…because I was torn to pieces by a pack of wolves. I was trying to save someone. I don’t know if they’re down here, or even if they’re dead or not.” You stopped a moment to gather your thoughts. “When I woke up down here, I was fucking furious that it was the case. I mean, I had died trying to save someone. Surely, I was a good person when I was alive. Then I saw my face in a broken window, and I made the horrible discovery that I look like this. I look like the animals, the monsters, that took my life in the most painful and primal way. It was a completely fucking preventable death too; if only my parents had listened to me.” Loona nodded knowingly, thinking of Blitzø. “Then I went through weeks of being treated like a Hellhound, and not the sinner I actually was. Believe me, I’m not trying to discount what real Hellhounds like you go through.” You gave a pause. “My first day at I.M.P., I tried to go through the portal back to Earth, hoping that I would be able to be human again, but I stayed the way I was. I’m stuck like this. Eventually I burst into flame when I gave heaven the finger for punishing me in this way,” you gestured towards your entire body, disgusted with yourself.

Loona didn’t know what to say. She did her best though, saying it must’ve been hard to live with the appearance of something you hated. She said something about how you didn’t let your experiences affect how you treated her, or other Hellhounds. She still thought you were a good person.

You thanked her for understanding, though you commented on the fact that she had lived with this kind of treatment all her life, and you hadn’t suffered nearly as long as her. You didn’t deserve the right to complain. Loona had snapped back, scolding you for downplaying your trauma. That surprised you. You had assigned a less than genuine quality to your experiences, because you didn’t consider yourself to be like her. Loona seethed at you, for the sake of you.

Against your useless protesting, Loona spent the next few days bringing you over to her and Blitzø’s place to talk about what it was like to be a Hellhound, and how she dealt with it. She tried to comfort you with her own experiences, and it worked, if only for a time. She had been in the pound for a long portion of her life, and had witnessed many terrible events that happened there. It was in the pound that she had developed her phobia of needles, though she refused to explain what exactly had brought it on. She moved on, to when she was ready to age out of the pound, only a month away from being freed from what was essentially a prison for young Hellborn of her kind. She had hated that Blitzø had basically bought her, but admitted to you that she was grateful to have his support in her life. Who knows where she would’ve ended up without him?

As Loona opened up more to you about her past trauma, you got angrier at the injustices Hellhounds faced. You still didn’t identify as one, but your heart hurt nonetheless. You started to fill with an untamable rage, a rage that Loona recognized all too well. She knew what you were feeling, and understood it.

It was then that you remembered that you once held the dream of becoming an Overlord. As the thought returned to you, after many weeks of working for I.M.P., you entertained the idea, thinking of the power and status you could grant to your new found family. You would be able to destroy the oppressive systems of Hell, at least in the Pride Ring. You could create an entirely new system, and grant greater freedoms to the Hellhound population of Pride. The rage in your heart was a flame that stoked you as you dwelled deeper and deeper into these thoughts, until you seized that dream once again, this time for the sake of others.

All that was needed was a plan. A good plan. You still looked like a Hellhound, after all. Nobody was going to trust you. Even if you didn’t have this body, it would still be an astronomically difficult task to convince even a single sinner to hand over their soul to you. What did you even have to offer them? Most had been in Hell longer than you. If they had something they wanted, and it was out of their reach, it would certainly be out of yours. After all, they had more time to attain it than you did. And that was assuming they would be willing to pay their soul for it, if they hadn’t already sold it to a previously established overlord.

You told all of this to Loona. She had put a hand on your shoulder, commending you for your kindness, and the want to create a better world out of Hell. However, she told you it was impossible, that she had seen firsthand how corrupt the system was, seeing as she was a product of it. It was practically irredeemable, the same as sinners (no offense). Overlords weren’t the kind of people who helped, either. She warned you that if you tried to become one, you could very well lose yourself, and your dream of changing the system could be lost. It was possible you could be corrupted to the point that you made things worse instead. You clenched your fists. Why didn’t Loona believe in you? She was telling you she wanted to change how Hell worked too, but she was still afraid of what really trying could mean.

Your claws dug into your palms, but you relaxed them as Loona pulled you into a hug. You had jumped a little at first, startled by the gesture. It was unlike her. You asked her about this behaviour, and she explained that she just didn’t want to see you hurt. You were her best friend after all, and she didn’t want to lose you to Hell’s brutal, often bloody politics. You pulled away from her, determination filling you.

“I can change that, though. If I can somehow craft the perfect deal, I can change the Pride Ring. It doesn’t have to be bloody. Overlords function as part of a system; they are systems. it’s not just their raw power that makes other sinners bend a knee; it’s the industries they control. They’re all specialized; they own the jobs themselves. They control the media, weapons, territory, whatever. If they actually served the sinners under their control, Hell could be a better place,” you explained. “I could do that for Hellhounds.”

Loona looked at you, curiosity and concern in her eyes.

“How did someone like you ever end up in Hell?” she asked, slowly. “You’re a sinner. How badly did you fuck up in life that you’re stuck down here?”

You tilted your head down. You had tried not to think about that. If you didn’t deserve to be down here, then that meant that the universe was unfair. You hated that thought; you had to be at fault, needed to be, somehow.

“I don’t know. But I can’t change the fact that I am here. And I can help people.”

After thinking more about what she said, you looked back up at her.

“I’m going to become an Overlord. I don’t care if you don’t want to support me. I get it; the idea is terrifying, and I could lose myself. But, let me make a promise to you, Loona.”

You stuck out your hand. Loona shook her head, bewildered, and slightly offended.

“Hellborn don’t have souls, dipshit. No deal you ever made with me would work. I don’t even know what you’re offering me!”

You kept your hand out, steadfast in your decision.

“I’m not asking for your soul Loona. If this isn’t binding here, then I’ll add this promise to the first deal I ever make: Loona, If I ever lose sight of my dream to make Hell a better place for Hellhounds, even if I can only help those in the Pride Ring, I will willingly give up every soul I’ve taken, or will ever take, on this path.”

Loona’s face was incredulous. Still, she took your hand in hers.

“I’ll have to see this for myself. And I still don’t like that you want to do this.”

She shook your hand, but nothing happened. That was fine. You knew in your heart that you were going to do it anyway.

“I still have to craft the perfect deal,” you said. “It could take me days, weeks, even years. But I will create it, Loona. I’ll change Hell.”

It did take you a long time. Nonstop thinking in the moments of time between calls for sinner clients. When you were at home, developing your cooking skills to make your quality of life in Hell just a bit better, you thought of ways to make a deal. Little by little, you chipped away at the stone that would hold your Michelangelo. You started by trying to think back to why you had originally wanted to join I.M.P., back at BarkBucks. (Christ on a stick, that name was condescending) You had talked to two deplorable sinners; one who had died of a heart attack, the other from a falling dresser.

You had talked to them because you had overheard their conversation about I.M.P. Why? That memory took a few days to come back to you. It was a gradual return. You almost didn’t notice when you remembered the actual reason, and you had to double-back on your thoughts, before a surge of joy ran through you. You remembered when you were on a call with a potential client.

You had wanted to join I.M.P. because of the sinner clients! The clients that were new to Hell, and wanted revenge as soon as possible. This meant that there was a very real possibility that they hadn’t sold their souls yet. Though, you had met some pretty shitty sinners working as the receptionist. They would be hard to convince, as they had already seen the horrors of Hell. It was at least something to work with…You thought harder, and realized you could actually refine this idea, now that you knew how I.M.P. actually worked, being a wolf on the inside. Ugh.

I.M.P. functioned because Loona, being a Hellhound, was able to simply sniff a name, and through some unknown Hellish means, track their scent to the mortal world. It was also possible this was why she had been able to track Octavia to L.A., without having seen the portal itself. You couldn’t prove that latter point, and it could end up being that it didn’t function the same with actual demons. However, this meant that there was a chance that if a name was smelled, you could track a newly murdered victim of I.M.P. to Hell, if they did in fact end up down here. You’d be practically guaranteed to find a sinner who hadn’t sold their soul.

You could take advantage of this, harvesting new souls as they came to Hell. If you played this right, it had the potential to make you an Overlord at record speed! There were still some hiccups, of course. You had no idea where sinners ended up when they first arrived in Hell. When you had arrived in Hell, you were at the outskirts of Imp city, and all alone. You doubted new dead people always ended up there, otherwise you would’ve run into somebody sooner on your first day. It was also possible that new sinners could end up in an Overlord’s territory, and it would be dangerous to seek them out there. Not to mention you still didn’t have the makings of a deal!

You spent the next few days gathering questions, and raising potential issues to yourself. Not to answer or solve them yet, but to simply to know what problems you had to deal with. It was possible that multiple problems had the same solution, and you wanted to be as efficient and safe as possible. Becoming an Overlord was probably the most dangerous thing you could do, besides face exterminations or Demon Royalty head on. These were the issues you found to be at hand:

1. You weren’t really a Hellhound, so you might not have the tracking ability required to find sinners. It’s possible you would need another Hellhound’s help. Loona wouldn’t want to, given her feelings about helping you. Maybe she had some Hellhound friends that would?

2. This would be taking advantage of Blitzø’s business, and you weren’t sure how he’d feel about that. You would need to ask permission, or have some kind of backup method in case he considered you too dangerous.

3. You would be unable to seek sinners out while at work, and you might have to venture far out into Pride in order to find them. Potentially entering an Overlord’s territory was also extremely dangerous. You would need to get faster and stronger, to reach sinners in time, as well as defend yourself.

4. You still needed to figure out a deal. One that was convincing, didn’t cost you too much, and could be easily repeated.

You needed to ask the right questions, and ask them to the right people, in a way that didn’t offend or stop your plans before they could even start. This was going to be difficult. Becoming an Overlord was a monumental task, even with the beginnings of a strategy, and you hadn’t even begun to make deals yet.

You decided that the current biggest issue on your list was talking to Blitzø. If he didn’t give you permission to take advantage of his business in this way, your plans were dead in the water. You also needed to venture out at the same time an assassination was taking place, otherwise you would lose the opportunity to take the sinner’s soul. Communication was a requirement.

You decided to ask him at the end of a work day, after a successful mission. He would be in a good mood, and you could frame it as a business investment. You didn’t need money, only time and permission.

You came into work, and it was business as usual. You grew more anxious as the day went on though, anticipating what was to come. Your heart beat fast as you cast the last portal for the day. You waved the assassin team of Blitzø and Loona goodbye as they stepped through, wishing them good luck. You always wanted to them succeed, but this time felt different, as you felt the weight of the world on your shoulders. Which was ridiculous; you could always wait for the next mission in case they did fail. You shook the notion of failure from your mind, as you trusted them. Maybe that was why you were worried.

When you closed the portal, you realized that was another asset that you could utilize. If you learned to cast this spell that I.M.P. depended on without the grimoire, you could use it to reach sinners even faster. It could be used for quick escapes, if necessary. You grinned as the thought came to you, and you eagerly awaited the return of Blitzø and Loona.

As they usually did, the mission took much less time than before you worked at I.M.P., due to your knowledge of earth bringing them ever closer to their targets. You ran up to them, congratulating them on a successful mission. They both looked at you a bit suspiciously, as this was unusual behaviour. Sure, you would congratulate them on a job well done, but you usually did it from behind your desk, and you were never this enthusiastic. They didn’t think much of it though, and just thanked you as normal.

Realizing you were acting strange; you walked back to your desk. What you need to do next was important, and you needed Blitzø to think of you as capable. You also wanted to make sure Loona didn’t butt in; she had made it clear she didn’t support you in this endeavor to become an Overlord. You didn’t want to bother her anyway. When Loona plopped down on the couch and had pulled out her phone, you figured that now would be a good as time as any. You got up, and knocked on Blitzø’s door. Loona gave you a strange look from the couch, but her attention could only be pulled away from her device for so long.

Blitzø gave the word, and you let yourself into his office. You had only been in here a few times, but you recognized some things. Blitzø’s office was small, but it didn’t contain much furniture anyways. There was a large desk and chair, behind which was situated a large, framed portrait of the four other members of I.M.P. Blitz and Millie were at the top of the composition, happy, wearing wide smiles. Loona was looking at her phone beneath Blitzø, while Moxxie was almost getting pushed down out of frame by Blitzø’s arm.

You thought about the fact that you were still a relatively new employee, and that you probably hadn’t earned the right to be in a new photograph, if Blitzø even wanted one. The thought made you more determined to prove yourself. You came here to ask him permission, and you needed him on board with your plan. Maybe you could frame it as a business opportunity? Blitzø often bent the knee when it came to money, sending out I.M.P. as bodyguards occasionally, rather than the assassins they actually were. You coughed quietly, and Blitzø gave you his full attention.

“Hey, Blitzø. I have this idea to make I.M.P. a well-known—"

“I’m not giving you money, (Y/N),” Blitzø grumbled. “Moxxie keeps complaining how my ‘investments’ are affecting his paycheck. He’s kind of right, but don’t tell shit-for-brains I said that.”

You faltered from Blitzø’s response, but quickly recovered from his annoyance.

“I don’t need money, Blitzø. Only time and…permission. Trust me, I think it could make us all a lot of money.”

Blitzø raised his eyebrows, now incredibly intrigued. You had appealed to his greed. Something that could make his business more well-known, him rich, and it didn’t cost him money? Not to mention this was an idea coming from his new receptionist, who had already increased I.M.P.’s profits significantly from their professionalism over the phone, and had made it so they had an extra assassin on the team by replacing Loona’s position. What could he have to lose? Blitzø rubbed his hands together eagerly.

“Alright, I’m listening. But I swear to Satan if this is another smooth-brained scheme of Moxxie’s, it’ll be both your heads!”

“No sir, Moxxie has nothing to do with this. It’ll just be me.”

Blitzø nodded, understanding and eager to hear how he could take advantage of your labor. You thought about what you said before you said it, crafting your sentences carefully as to what you were about to break to him.

“If you had a powerful demon on your side, advertising for you, that could easily make I.M.P. reach a new audience, yes?”

Blitzø nodded, and wondered if you were referring to Stolas.

“Well, if you let me talk to the victims of I.M.P. that become sinners, I could start making deals with them, right? What if I became that powerful demon advertiser? What if I became an Overlord? Think about it, if I can—”

“Overlord?!” Blitzø interrupted, shouting at you. “Why in the ever-loving FUCK would I ever let you do anything like that!? Talking to the sinners we’ve personally buried six feet under is asinine enough; there’s no fucking way I’m letting you bring a turf-war to my front door!”

You flinched. You realized that asking this of Blitzø was a much bigger deal than you had originally thought. You didn’t want I.M.P. to become a target, or to put your found family in danger. Quite the opposite. You wanted them to thrive, and you wanted to support them. But you also needed him to trust you. You needed a different approach. So you shared with him the real reasons you wanted to do this.

“I... I’m sorry, Blitzø. I thought I had a really good idea. I know it’s dangerous, and could be really stupid.” You took a deep breath before explaining yourself. “I want to change Hell. I’m tired of Hellhounds being treated the way they are, and I know Overlords have enough raw power to build, control, and destroy entire industries down here. If I became an Overlord, I could help Hellhounds. Do you remember when you adopted Loona? The state of the pound she was living in? I could destroy systems like those, and create something new. I’m not doing this for selfish reasons, I really do want to help. And I think I could do it, if you just agreed to let me do this.”

Blitzø’s intense face relaxed as he heard you out. Had you not already been a person he trusted, he would’ve thrown you out the moment you said the word “Overlord.” He dwelled on what you said, and remembered his own class struggles of making I.M.P. what it was, while being an imp. He was an example of how the lower class could rise above, an inspiration to others of his kind. You were telling him this was an opportunity for you to do the same for Hellhounds.

The rest of Blitzø relaxed, and his shoulders dropped. You noticed this, and wondered if you had gotten through to him. He looked at you, a soft expression adorning his face.

“What was your plan again?”

There were a lot of negotiations that followed. You would still need to maintain the responsibilities of being I.M.P.’s receptionist, and you would only be given a limited amount of time to actually talk to sinners. You had mentioned the use of portals to travel around the Pride Ring, which had been monumental in convincing Blitzø you were actually capable of following through on your tasks. Blitzø was nearly finished, and you felt like your plan to become an Overlord was finally getting somewhere.

“You’ve got a fuck-ton of shit to figure out, (Y/N), and I’ll need assurances you won’t betray us.” Blitzø tapped his foot impatiently from beneath his desk. “I’ll let you do this if you can figure it out on your own. It’ll be interesting having a future Overlord working for me,” he chuckled. Then his face turned serious, and he stood up, pointing a finger at you harshly. “I don’t want anyone here getting more involved than they have to. It will only be you going out there, making deals. I expect there to be fighting, and I don’t need that coming anywhere near my family. I will not hesitate if I need to put an angelic bullet through your skull” he threatened.

You nodded, serious. You knew how dangerous Overlords were. If you really did end up becoming one, you understood why Blitzø would threaten you like this. “I’ll make part of my deal that they can’t talk about the deal, and that they aren’t allowed to harm I.M.P.”

Blitzø nodded to himself, satisfied.

A wide smile stretched across you snout, and your tail started whipping back and forth. Your ears perked up, and you took a playful stance, resembling a happy dog. Without thinking, you were behaving with the attributes of the animal you resembled. Normally you’d try to suppress these unconscious movements, but now that you were going to fight for the sake of Hellhounds, you were slowly becoming used to your identity. You would make sure that your plans would come to fruition, and those that looked like you became well-respected.

“Thanks, Blitzø. You won’t regret this!”

“I’d better not. Or else I’ll be adding a new, unused hole to your corpse.”

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