#but for now anything could be added or changed

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: A change of living arrangements means you and the lieutenant are going to be sharing quarters for a bit. All would be fine, if you two could actually stand each other. Is that really it though? Neither of you will tell. But one night, an impromptu confrontation leads to something explosive.

Word Count: 7.9 k

Warnings:

“Fuckin’ hell,” the masked lieutenant says under his breath as he opens the door to his new room in the barracks to see just what fresh hell awaits him now.

As a slew of recent recruits just got added to the task forces numbers and so orders went out that temporary room assignments would be put in place until more permanent accommodations could be dealt with to fit the growing numbers. That meant everyone already here had to double up in the short term and Lt. Riley is no exception.

It’s already been a long day and he just wants to get this over with so he can get some sleep soon. The door widens just enough that he can see the figure of his new roommate on the other side of the room setting up their area and that is all it takes for him to stop dead in his tracks as his heart begins to pound heavy in his chest. 

No, no, no; this can’t be right.

Even from the back he already knows it’s you that will be sharing a space for God knows how long and suddenly he is unsure of how he is going to make it through the proximity. Why the fuck of all people did it have to be you that he was paired to board with? The one person that would make the stay that much harder?

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ jokin’,” he says aloud and as soon as those distinct bassy notes make it out of his mouth you immediately turn.

The color drains from your face. “No,” you say as you shake your head. “This has got to be a setup. What the hell are you doing here?”

The lieutenant adjusts his pack full of his clothes and personal items hanging off his shoulder. “What the fuck do ya think I’m doin’?” he asks, his tone harsh. “This is tha room I’ve been assigned.”

The universe has to be playing a cruel joke on him that it would force him into being near the one person he can’t stand above anyone else in this shithole. It has been hard enough having to work together, but now he would have no escape from you and he could already feel himself growing weary at the prospect. 

You shake your head. “That can’t be right. There’s no way they even thought to put us together.”

“Ya think I jus’ decided ta bunk with ya of my own free will?” he shoots back as he moves to his side and sets his gear down. “I’d rather be anywhere else, princess.”

Where this dislike came from neither of you even really knew. There was never any pinpointed incident, no explosive confrontations, no pushbacks to his authority from you or questions about your abilities from him; it seemed to be as simple as two personalities that just repelled each other.

At least that’s what Lt. Riley tells anyone that happens to ask about why you two can’t seem to really get along, but if someone were to really pay attention maybe it isn’t that at all. Maybe there is, in fact, another reason for his attitude, a secret reason that means his eyes will sometimes linger a little too long on the person he says he dislikes, but if…and that is a big fucking if…there is something, he would rather take it to an early grave than even give a hint of anything.

And you, well… Your eye rolls whenever he crosses your path are getting a bit too theatrical to be believed fully anymore, almost as if you are trying to not only convince others of your strong distaste for the officer, but that you are trying to convince yourself as well. You keep your lips sealed tight though and so face value is all anyone can take, even if they just so happen to catch a glimpse of the way your pupils seem to dilate when he is near.  

“Don’t think you’re going to be here long,” you say, your tone snide. “This will be sorted soon enough cause this” you point between him and yourself repeatedly “will not work.”

The lieutenant has already resigned himself to living in hell as he hunkers down in his bed. “Whateva’ ya fuckin’ say, princess, but ya know what Cap’n Price said about not bringin’ this bullshit ta him as he’s too fuckin’ busy dealin’ with everythin’.”

Fuck. You’d forgotten that little memo… mostly likely put in place to avoid having to deal with situations just like this. If it wasn’t for that you would have marched right down to the captain’s office at first light to demand a change, but you’re already on thin ice as it is right now and can’t afford to cause trouble. All you can do is suck it up and bear it. 

It’s just a few weeks, right? Just a couple of measly weeks and you can both go back to avoiding each other like the plague and all will return to the status quo. Right?

Well a couple of weeks feels a lot longer when it’s spent in company with someone you are actively trying to keep up appearances around. By the end of the second week, even being the highly trained military officer that Lt. Riley is, even he is starting to crack under the constant closeness. 

He used to have an outlet, time that he could spend away from you to deescalate the desperate need growing in his belly, but now… now he has to see you after hours moving about the room in your pajamas that leave very little to the imagination and fuck is it killing him to not have some form of relief. 

He needs something to take the edge off or he is going to start getting sloppy around you and there are still three more weeks that just got added on to this torture. He’s held on for as long as he can, done all the mental gymnastics to keep certain thoughts at bay, but being forced to have his nose filled with the scent of your soap after your shower and have to watch you lay about casually on your bed as you read before going to sleep, legs propped in just a way that he can almost look into your shorts, he can’t do it anymore.

Tonight he has to fix his problem or you’re going to be able to see it protruding from the crotch of his pants. 

Lt. Riley waits long after he’s heard the change in your breathing to be sure you’re sound asleep before he puts his plan into action. The sharp edge of his teeth grip into the rolled up bottom of his crew neck shirt, holding it up off his stomach as his large hand is wrapped tightly around the shaft of his cock sticking out the top of his grey sweats. He had stuffed the fabric into the cavity to keep himself quiet, not wanting the sound of his desperation to wake you until he can finish; he has to get through this somehow and keeping his balls empty is the only way he knows will work. 

Vigorously he strokes up and down his length, using the bit of precum dribbling out of the tip as lubrication to smooth his movements. Those coffee-colored eyes stare up into the dark ceiling as his fantasies play through his mind like a film: you being a vision of beauty naked, his large body wedged between your legs, your bare thighs crushing against his hips as he slams into you hard and rough enough to make your breasts bounce with each thrust. 

Fuck, he cannot draw his thoughts away tonight. 

He desperately aches as he always does to feel you, get lost in your curves, let his touch map the contours of your body as he pulls your pleasure from you himself. His hand around his cock strokes harder as he imagines the way your body would feel wrapped around him instead of his rough palm. Would you cry out as he stretched you out for the first time? How hard would your hips buck and writhe against his?

God dammit, why do you have to be just out of reach? Close, right on the other side of the room, but not close enough… not in his bed, not under his body, not filled with his cock. Instead, here he sits propped up against the wall in his bed just as he has so many times before in his old room, using his palm to fuck himself, wishing he could be worthy of a minute of your softness instead.

He nearly bites a hole through the bottom of his shirt imagining the way the sound of your whimpering voice would run like a drug through his veins, leaving him in an intoxicating haze of desire as you moaned his name into the silence.

And that’s when it happens. This one isn’t only imaginary though, like your voice in his head. Muffled, your name falls from his lips in a groan and he doesn’t realize what he has done.

The hardened military lieutenant is unraveling at the seams, forcefully stopping himself from grunting like an animal as his abdominals tense the more that pressure builds inside. He’s almost there, so close that just a bit more and he is going to spill over the edge and finally be able to sleep so that another day can pass, but before he can reach that sweet peak of pleasure his eyes flutter open…

And there you are silently standing near the edge of his bed.

He should have been paying more attention to his surroundings during such an intimate act, but the ecstasy was too strong and he missed that squeak of springs and the soft pitter of feet across the floor. The bunched up shirt slips out of his lips as he tries to shove his cock back inside his pants, praying that the dark has masked enough of his body that you can’t see him clearly.

“What tha hell are ya doin?” he asks as embarrassment floods his nervous system.

Reaching over to his bedside table and brushing your hand over the fabric of his mask, there is a click as you turn on the small lamp to give the room just a tiny bit of light. You try not to get distracted by having those sharp features that you so rarely get to gaze upon meet your sight and you swallow to regain composure to continue.

“Could ask the same thing of you,” you return as you nod your head, using it to point to where his hands are doing a poor job of hiding the massive hard-on he still has.

Now it’s his turn to be silent. What the fuck is he supposed to say? It’s obvious that you’ve seen everything so no lie is going to convince you otherwise.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” you ask, but still he says nothing. “You know, you’re not as quiet as you think you are.”

The thought is left to hang in the air a moment, the only sound filling the room is of his heavy breathing as you weigh your options on how to handle this. You know you could simply chide him for needing to have a wank while bunked with a roommate and leave it at that, but that’s not what you want. No; you know what you just heard and that you have to know if what he was just doing was out of need for you… a need that you secretly share.

If this is your chance to make something happen between you both, you cannot let that go.

The lieutenant’s breathing gets even harder as he watches you move forward without another word and slowly climb onto the bed with him. You move your body up over top of him, his back still propped against the wall behind him, crawling up over his legs until you are straddling over his lap. 

Your face is right before his and there is a glisten that shimmers through the irises of your eyes  as you stare back at him that catches the spare bit of light illuminating the room and it makes him unable to pull his sight away. You’ve been quiet this entire time, but he still expects you to say something, anything, break the silence because he isn’t going to do it. The lieutenant doesn’t say a word as he keeps his eyes plastered to your face. His gaze drifts down to your lips where they linger only a moment before finally he watches you open them to speak. 

“But, you know, it wasn’t the sound of you fucking stroking yourself that woke me up,” you say and his eyes drift back up to meet yours. “Been in the military long enough to know that when you gotta relieve pressure, no matter the situation, you just gotta fucking do it. No, that wasn’t it.”

You pause and he waits on baited breath for you to finish the thought. He needs you to finish the thought so he can do something about how you are over his lap, nearly rubbing up against the tip of his hard cock.

Reaching for the bundled up edge of his shirt still resting at the top of his stomach, you give it a tug to draw his attention to it, brushing your knuckles over the hair covering his abdomen and he fidgets trying to keep quiet as ecstasy-filled synapses spark over his skin from your touch. 

It isn’t hard to miss that the contact has a certain effect, but you don’t say anything and instead continue your thought. “Your muzzle really isn’t that effective at buffering the sound…when you absentmindedly said my name in a moan. Care to explain why I was in your head?”

The lieutenant bristles and your smirk is as sly as a foxes. “Have I been in there long, sir?”  

That strong jaw shifts back and forth as he breathes in deep through his nostrils to try and calm his pounding heart from beating out of his chest. You’ve barely touched him and it is already rendering him nearly incoherent, but he has to pull it together cause he won’t give you the satisfaction of making him fall apart, especially and until he figures out what the hell is going on.

“Why don’ ya just go on back ta fuckin’ sleep ‘stead a askin’ questions?” he pushes back. “I’s late.”

You shake your head. “Suddenly I’m not so tired anymore. Come on, I promise I won’t tell,” you lower your voice “How many times have you stroked it to the thought of me?”

“Bed,” he barks, but you aren’t having it.

“I’m already in one and I’m not moving until you tell me.” 

Fine, he’s already caught anyway. What’s the harm in the truth? You already have enough ammo to use this against him, what’s a little more? 

“Alright, ya really wanna know? Do ya ‘ave any fuckin’ idea what it’s like to want someone and feel like you’re unable ta do anything ‘bout it?” he growls. His intense gaze never waivers and yours doesn’t either. “I mean, we ain’t exactly chummy with each other, what the fuck was I ‘spose ta do other than rub one out ta get it outta my system? Do ya know how bad I’ve been fuckin’ achin’ to ‘ave my way with ya?”

You tilt your head. “Is that why you’re always in such a piss poor mood when I’m around? Cause you want to bury that cock of yours in me so fucking bad? Is that right, Simon?”  

He smirks in return, running the tip of his tongue slyly over his top lip to buy him enough time to calm his racing heart down from hearing you say his name before his hand juts up from his side to find its way onto the back of your head tangling in your hair. 

He gives the strands a rough tug that makes you grin instead of wince. “Who said ya could fuckin’ call me that?” he waits for your answer a moment, knowing you won’t give one before continuing “And what’s your fuckin’ excuse for the way ya act, hmm? Maybe ya want me ta bury my cock in ya, princess.”

You move your face in nearer despite his grip, your lips ghosting so close to his that he can feel the heat of your breath on them. “Are we going to keep sitting here exchanging insults…” the sentence gets interrupted by a hiss from him as you rock your hips so that your pajama clothed pussy brushes over top of his bulge, “...or are we going to do something about this? Cause maybe we just found a way we can stand each other and you’re letting it slip by.”

A chuckle emanates from deep in his chest. “Fuck you,” he grunts.

The tip of your nose bumps against the tip of his as again you move your hip and you can feel the sharp inhale he takes as it steals some of the air from your mouth. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to get you to do, Simon. So, you better make up your fucking mind fast. Am I going back to sleep or…?”

That dam of need he’s kept walled up inside himself for this long had never been tested like this before and as you roll your hips one last time it finally bursts open with such force that there is no stopping the flood. Simon is no longer in control of his actions, though he still has a bit of sense left that he lets out in a terse comment before he lets himself completely go.

“I can’t fuckin’ stand how much I need ya, but you ain’t goin�� anywhere, princess,” he says in a groan and before the last syllable is even uttered his hand at the back of your head pushes your head in towards him so rapidly that you can feel the last word die on your mouth before he mauls you in a kiss that overwhelms your entire face.

A kiss that you cannot get enough of and you meet his intensity and desperation with the same magnitude of your own.

All he needs from this point on is you, all he wants in this moment is you. Nothing else in the world matters or exists except the two of you tangling your limbs and lips together in a union he has obsessively fantasized over for so fucking long it makes him ravenous for each kiss, each, touch, trying to satisfy that burning desire he had suppressed. And by the way you meet his kisses with a ferocity, he knows that you will take it all, anything that he has to give. 

Suddenly, in a display of his sheer strength, he grabs you tightly in his arms and flips you both over so that your back is now pressed into the mattress and his body weight is crushing you into it, causing the kisses overwhelming your mouth to not be the only thing making it harder to breathe. His heart is racing, his blood feeling like fire in his veins as he briefly breaks his mouth away to look down at you beneath him, swallowed under the bulk of his body; the angle he’s dreamed of seeing you in. His lips lock back to your own, devouring every heated kiss that you give to him like a man starved.

You moan into his mouth as he thrusts his hand down the top of your short pajama bottoms and into your panties while he pins his lips tighter against yours to swallow the sound of your pleasure down like water and keep it from escaping into the room. He has needed this for so long that now that he has it, he can’t get enough and he won’t waste a single note of it.

The lieutenant is flying blind, but his desire won’t let him falter in his movements. He struggles to keep as much attention he can scrounge up to observe you, read your body, let your sounds guide him so that he can adjust his actions. He isn’t worried about the rush, he is going to be thorough in finding all the ways that can make you fall apart for him and have you completely addicted to him by the end.

Simon’s thick fingers spread apart the silky, warm lips of your pussy and he slides the middle one right up your slit to your clit where he presses the rough pad against it harshly and begins to draw tight circles over it. He is not hesitant at all, touching you like he owns that thing between your legs and you are rendered dumb within just a couple of minutes of him stroking his finger over that small bud.

You’d seen his hands before, meticulously cataloged each thick finger both in and out of his skeleton-patterned gloves and mused about what they would feel like against you, on you, in you. So you know exactly how big they are, but having them between your thighs is an entirely different thing. They are strong, precise, everything a trained professional should be and you know you don’t stand a chance against how he decides to use them. 

The more he plays, the more that other hand of his he wants to put to good use and so he slips it up under the hem of your shirt to roughly push it up revealing your soft torso until it reaches the point that he will have to pull from your mouth to rip it off over your head. 

Simon tears the fabric off your body, flings it away, and lets his dark eyes linger on your naked curves to take you in as if seeing you for the first time all over again. He’s seen you almost every day that you’ve been a part of this team, but he has never been able to see you like this: naked, breasts on full display with their hardening nipples, the muscles along your torso clenching as his hand in your bottoms is quickly making a mess. 

But all this newly revealed bare skin calls to him and he pulls his fingers out of your cunt to cross his arms over his abdomen while grabbing the bottom of the shirt he still has covering his chest so that he can quickly pull it up and off in one fluid motion. He tosses the piece of clothing to the ground atop yours and immediately dives in to press tight to you while letting his touch glide over the contours of your exposed skin until his fingertips tremble with ecstasy. 

There is an electrical pulse that bursts over his flesh as your bodies connect skin to skin for the very first time, an attraction that is magnetic in its design, and he groans deeply as he nips at your bottom lip lightly. “God dammit, why tha fuck do ya feel so fuckin’ good?” he huffs in a desperate strain of his gruff voice as his fingers slip up into the short pant leg of your pajamas so that they can go right back to servicing your now damp pussy.

A shuddered breath escapes his lips, the corners upturning into a sinister grin as an idea strikes him and suddenly he is bringing his head in towards your chest, moving to one side and opening his mouth so that he can graze the tip of your nipple with the edge of his teeth before he circles it with the tip of his tongue. 

God damn, where the fuck did he learn something like that?

You let out a whimper as the feeling he elicits from your breast when he does it again can be felt in your clit, making the stroke of his finger even more potent. “F-fuuck…” you say in a shaky breath and you swear you can feel that bastard smile into your tit as he hums with satisfaction that his maneuver worked just like he had hoped as he switches sides to do the same to the other. 

Satisfied with how your nipples are nice and hard, his lips press into your breast so he can suck them into his mouth and now he has you right where he wants you- whimpering and bucking your hips into his hand to grind harder on his fingers. He knows right now he can do anything he likes and your body will force you to comply just to get him to keep going…and he is still feeling raw from being the only one to have to confess the extent of his need earlier.  

That hot mouth unsuctions from your breast with a pop.“Admit it,” he demands abruptly as he pulls his mouth away from your skin. “Admit ya have been achin’ for me just as bad as I’ve been achin’ for you.”

Caught up in the pleasure, you close your eyes and ignore his order to talk, wanting to only focus on the sensations causing your mind to get more hazy by the second. “Don’t stop,” you moan instead. “We’ll talk later.”

Without a word he drags his finger down through the gathering wetness in your slit away from your clit and lifts it out to settle it on the crease between the lips of your cunt and your leg, forcing you to open your eyes to him as you whine in protest. “Ya heard me tha first time,” he says.

You desperately try to wriggle your hips to maybe somehow get him to slip back in, but his free hand keeps your body restrained in place. He’s strong, strong enough that you aren’t going to get anywhere trying to push back against him. The only way you’re gonna get him to keep going is to speak…and you better do it fast because you cannot take this torture.

“Okay, okay,” you give in with a frustrated sigh; you made him admit, it’s only fair you do the same. “There is just something about you, I can’t explain it. This…desire… came out of nowhere and it’s been torturing me for a long time now. And then all this happened and I thought I wasn’t going to make it; I need you so bad sometimes it feels like I’m going to fucking combust. Then I heard you say my name tonight and the only thing I could think as I walked over is that I hope he will want to act on whatever he’s fantasizing about. Is that good enough?”  

Simon’s hand moves back to inside your lips, but it isn’t back up towards your clit. His finger gathers a friend and he moves them both down to your entrance where he aligns them quickly before slamming them up into you until the lips of your pussy hit his palm.

“That’ll do,” he praises in a low growl that gets quickly drowned out by your moan from the stretch of your walls to accommodate his large digits.

God you’re so fucking tight around his fingers it’s enough to drive him insane and his cock throbs as his excitement grows to thrust it inside, but not yet; it’ll do for now just to hump the back of his hand against your pussy until he’s finished prepping your body for what’s to come. 

Over and over he heatedly ruts against you and the bulge in the crotch of his pants hardens again into a stiff peak that tents his clothes. There are only a few measly pieces of fabric that separate your bodies and that only makes him grind harder and harder, scrambling for a tiny bit more friction. You match his energy by wrapping your thighs around his hips so you can roll your body into him and ride his fingers curling up inside until you feel the drip of your honey down his hand to gather into the crotch of your panties.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groans.

You nod. “I’m ready,” you say desperately. “Fuck me; I need you inside me.”

Your plea goes unanswered for a moment as his fingers continue until you hear him chuckle; it’s anything but cheerful.“No.” The statement is short, but powerful.

“What?” you gasp, your breathing heavy.

That familiar tension is starting to build inside that causes your limbs to tingle and you know that if he keeps the rhythm steady that it won’t be long and he will make you cum. A part of you wants him to stop and fuck you, but the other part, the part that is surprised at his skill with his hands, wants him to keep going. You don’t have to struggle with the weight of deciding too long as your decision is made for you.  

“You’re not getting a god damn thing more till ya cum for me right now, princess,” he demands, “all over my fuckin’ fingers. Wanna feel it. Ya don’t know what you’re gettin’ yourself into; you’re gonna ‘ave ta be nice and wet ‘fore ya take me.”

That pressure is welling up inside you, ready to burst at any second as long as he keeps his strokes steady. Your mouth falls open and hangs slack so you can simply breathe as each minute that passes brings you to that edge until that heated knot in your core finally becomes so pressurized that it bursts open and sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body like a river of fire.

You cry out as your body lurches and your hips buck against his hand and he groans in ecstasy to feel your body clench around his fingers. “There ya go princess, let it out,” he coaxes as he curls his fingers over and over inside you through your orgasm until you finally relax as the ecstasy subsides.

You lay there breathing heavily as you try to contemplate how hard you just came, but your thoughts are wrangled back into the present as you feel heated lips against your neck trailing down to your collarbone.

Simon pauses and pulls his face back up to meet yours for only a moment; he is on a mission and can’t be stopped for long. “I am gonna fuckin’ ruin ya,” he snarls his deadly promise into your face before flashing a smirk and diving back into his work. 

Your body is burning under his fingertips as if everywhere he touches he sets ablaze and he can feel it as his lips follow closely behind. Down the line of your abdomen he places his kisses: over your ribcage, across your waist, over your belly button, and coming to a stop right above your shorts. 

His fingers hook into the fabric. “Lift your hips,” he urges and you follow his request as he grips into the material to pull them over the curve of your backside and down your thighs, tugging them the last bit off your feet and tossing them out of the way.

Only the skimpy bit of fabric that is your soaked panties remains, but his feral brain will only let him remove them one way and it isn’t with his hands. He moves in by lowering his head to your pelvis, his warm breath traveling over the sensitive skin just below your belly button until he raises goosebumps across the surface in response. The scent of your arousal fills his nostrils and it only fuels his urges with fervor.

“Christ, Simon,” you moan at delicious feeling of the damp heat from his mouth warming your skin, followed immediately by a louder one as the stubble on his jaw pricks you as the touch of his lips meets your body so that his teeth can sink into the top of your panties. 

Your head pops up over the line of your body at the strange sensation just in time to watch him slink down over your legs with shoulders arched and muscles rippling across his back while dragging the cloth of your panties stuck securely between his teeth. He looks up so his eyes can lock onto yours as he goes and you swear you can see them darken with the untamed desire that is floating in their depths, desire to give in to all that he has denied himself for so long and unleash it on you in the most depraved ways.   

He makes it to the end of your legs and harshly pulls the fabric off, holding the garment in his mouth like an animal as his chest heaves strenuously up and down with each labored breath. God, he can’t stop the way your body holds his gaze hostage. He is drowning in the beauty of you as he stares with baited breath, admiring how all this gorgeous flesh that he has pinned to get just a glimpse of time and again is right in his grasp and all he has to do now is reach out and take it.

Taking your damp panties out of his mouth and setting them onto the bed, he pops his gaze back up to your eyes. “Open your legs,” he says, inhaling sharply as you follow his direction and he sees your naked pussy presented to him. 

He tries to be as coherent as he can through the heavy panting he cannot settle, mix that with the visceral reaction he has to seeing you bare and dripping before him and his temperature begins to skyrocket so that the overwhelming desire he feels for you in that moment is strangling him like a straightjacket of heat.

Suddenly he is overwhelmed with an insatiable hunger to get at you with his tongue, wanting to feel you squirm across his face as his mouth makes contact and he begins to lap at you like a hungry dog. He needs you to make an absolute mess of cum across his stark features as he uses his tongue to draw out your pleasure until your scent has fused with his skin and your nectar has awakened the taste buds in his mouth.

Crawling on all fours he stalks back in close and in the haze of his desire, he grabs your thighs harshly to spread them even wider as he drops down onto his stomach. “Was jus’ gonna fuck ya, but not yet,” he growls. “You’re gonna cum again and I’m gonna eat ya out till ya do.”

No more words, he ignores your pleas to give you a moment as he moves his face in and places his lips to the petals of your pussy in delicate kisses that send shivers up the length of your spine from the stimulation and makes your head strike back into the mattress as you cry out.

You shut your eyes tight as you are immediately overwhelmed with the sensation of his lips pressed between your legs as he uses his tongue to push through them so he can suction around that sweet little bud and sucks it into his mouth. 

The sensation from your still tender cunt makes you buck your hips and slam them against his nose, but that doesn’t deter him one bit. The thrill of the struggle to eat you out while you’re still so sensitive is what makes him want more; Simon wants those whining cries and moans, wants to feel trapped against you as your muscles flex and make you lock your legs around his ears.

It takes a bit, but soon the slight discomfort subsides and all that’s left is the ecstasy of his agile tongue. Your hand finds the back of his blonde head and pushes down so that he is pressed tighter against you. Simon hums his pleasure deep inside his chest at the act of being forced to suffocate against you and the grip wrapped around your thighs tightens as if he is physically trying to hold on to his sanity.

The moisture rolls down Simon’s strong chin, through the stubble on his jaw, and drips down his face onto the sheets beneath him so that a noticeable dark stain begins to form on the fabric. Good, get him filthy, wreck his sheets, he doesn’t care. He isn’t going to stop licking and sucking no matter how bad it gets.  

How does he do it? How does he keep up the stamina to keep going at your clit with his tongue with just as much vigor as when he started minutes and minutes ago? You whine and it seems to make him go in harder, you buck and he is not deterred; you’ve never been treated like it was a fucking pleasure to get the opportunity to eat you out before.

Just the insatiable way Simon uses his mouth to pleasure you is enough of an aphrodisiac to kickstart the second gathering of warmth in your belly.

You want to cum again for him and so you leave him to his work and focus on letting him go wild. Giving up that control is what it takes and within minutes, you can feel that tautness inside about to give way to your ecstasy. You go completely silent and with a few more strokes of his tongue your orgasm comes on strong so that your legs draw together out of reflex to the overwhelming euphoria. 

Your thighs are wrapped around him so tight that if you don’t let up he is going to die between your legs from lack of oxygen, but still he doesn’t give up; if he dies, he dies. The air is slowly slipping away and just before he goes to pry you open so that he can escape, your body relaxes and you release your hostage as you sink into the mattress.

Simon rolls onto his side and rests his head against the shaking muscle of your thigh to catch his breath, lifting his eyes to gaze at the mess shimmering as it leaks from between the lips of your pussy, the mess that is entirely his doing. He smiles to himself as he wipes away the spit and cum that’s accumulated on his chin before he sits up and moves back over top of you. 

“God damn, ya never sounded better than when you’re cummin’ for me,” he breathes the words against your raw mouth as he steals it again, trying to drink your whimpers as you come back down that second time.  

There is a bit of fidgeting between your bodies that you can feel as he keeps your face at his mercy, but soon it becomes clear that he is wrestling down his sweats off his hips and kicking them off his legs. 

Through a panting breath you beg him. “Please.”

That’s all you have to say to make your intention clear, that one word is all he needs to understand what you’re imploring him to do; you need to feel him, even though you aren’t even sure you can stand another orgasm. It doesn’t matter, you need his cock inside you - now.

The tip of his free cock throbs against the skin on your thigh and he grabs your hand to wrap around it so you can get your bearings on what he has to work with; it’s definitely got some girth.  “Tha’s all for you,” he grunts as your hand tightens around the shaft. “Ya want it, princess?”

Staying silent, your hand still wrapped around it, you move it to align the head with your sopping entrance. You can taste the distinct musk of yourself in his kiss that he steals as he pushes his hips forward and presses the tip against the membrane. 

“I’ll go slow,” he reassures in a whisper on your mouth, “jus’ breathe for me.” 

Those strong hands hold your hips steady as he clenches his abdominals and drives the tip of his cock carefully up into you until your body gives way to his girth. The stretch causes your walls to expand quickly and you cry out at the delicious feeling of suddenly being so completely full of him. 

Christ, you’re so tight that he has to pause and pant heavily to gain control of his sanity before he attempts to continue or else he risks coming too soon. And nothing, absolutely nothing, is going to make this moment you’ve both waited agonizingly long for be over before it’s begun.  

“Tha’s it, sweetheart, tha’s it,” he struggles to get the words out coherently. 

His thrusts start slow, hips rocking back and forth easy until he is sure he can pick up the pace without losing it. As the speed increases so does the strength, each new thrust hitting harder and harder as he holds onto your hips to keep your body from being shoved away from the intensity.  

“Fuck…ya drive me insane,” he grunts, his fingertips digging into the meat of your hips so hard you can already feel the skin begin to bruise. “And I can’t fuckin’ get enough a it.”

His breaths are now ragged, each one more of a struggle to draw in than the last and his thrusts become more sloppy with each pass as he fights himself to gain back control.

“Your mine,” he groans with a fierceness that sets your soul on fire to hear. “All mine, no one else can fuckin’ have ya. Understand? You belong ta me. Say it, say ‘I’m yours, Simon’.”

There isn’t a moment of hesitation as the words fall effortlessly from your lips. “I’m yours, Simon,” you repeat his words and he slams into your hard.

He drills his fingertips into your soft thighs to hold on to them like handlebars. “Say it again,” he commands.

“I’m yours, Simon.”

He frees one of his hands from your thighs to find the back of your neck and closing his eyes, he leans forward while pulling your head towards him to rest against you with foreheads touching. “Again.” The needy word is barely audible.

You steady your voice by taking a deep breath. “Simon, I am only yours,” you reassure and again he slams his cock into you more vigorously in response.

He could ask you to repeat the phrase ad nauseam until you are hoarse and he would still want to hear it again; he can’t get enough of the way it makes his heart pound faster and faster to hear you say it with such conviction as his cock is buried inside you. It’s the only thing he wants, the only thing he craves, and he cannot help the way he wants to hear it again so he can commit it to memory in case this is all some big dream he will soon wake up from. 

Your bodies slip against each other more now as the perspiration created from your copulation coats over all that exposed skin until you both sparkle in the soft light of the room. His hips roll into you with a sense of urgency; he’s close, but he has to be sure you come first. Reaching between your bodies into the gap created from this position, he guides his hand down the warm, glistening skin of your pelvis to slip his fingers back between your damp petals and up against your swollen clit. 

You mewl pitifully into his face with your mouth hung open as the pleasure radiates out from that tiny bead that his fingers rub over down into your core and you can’t help but try and push against his hand that is keeping your head locked to his as you desperately try to arch your back. “Gonna cum again,” you struggle to say. 

Simon nods his head against yours. “Finish for me, sweetheart,” he groans against your bottom lip as his fingers slip through all that natural lubrication that begins to dribble down over the back of his hand towards his knuckles the longer he strokes. “I need ya ta cum one more fuckin’ time for me.”

Your walls are fluttering around him, the pressure in the pit of your stomach almost painful as your body strains to bring you to orgasm for the last time. But it can’t be stopped even if you wanted it to, you are at the point of no return and there is no turning back. You whimper into his face, loud and pitiful, seeing stars in the darkness behind your closed eyes. 

He adjusts his head and opens his eyes so his sight can watch the movement of your bodies, watching to make sure that he is keeping steady. “That’s it, pretty girl,” he grunts, about to cum himself, “come on my cock. Show me how I’m tha only one that knows how ta make ya come.”

A few hesitant groans and your body clenches as you reach climax once again, only this time the wave of pleasure is more intense as his cock is buried inside you. And Simon feels it, the way you core squeezes him and he can’t hold off from cumming any longer. At the last possible second he pulls out of you and up between your thighs as his warm cum shoots out the tip of his cock to cover your stomach. 

Through the mind-numbing ecstasy flooding your body to make your limbs tingle, you quickly reach for him and wrap your hand around his shaft firmly, stroking it to milk his orgasm for as long as possible as he grunts deep and guttural while writhing in your touch. His fingers sink into your thighs as he sits back and lets you finish him off until he slows his movements and places his large hand atop yours, causing you to immediately slow to a stop.  

Your hand releases him and falls heavily onto the mattress beside you as you lay there and try to calm your breathing. The sweat along your curves starts to cool your burning skin the longer you stay still and it isn’t much longer before you start to get a chill. The hulking officer still kneeling between your legs is able to gain control of himself after a few minutes and moves to lay beside you on the bed, but not before stretching himself to the floor to grab his shirt.

Simon moves in closer and using the top he wipes up his cum off your stomach carefully, making sure to get it all before tossing the garment back to the ground. You turn your head to look up into his face as he props himself up on his elbow and meets your gaze.

“You going soft on me?” you ask, your tone light and playful as you are too tired to even try and pretend your usual attitude towards him is going to be kept up now.

Grabbing your hand he laces his fingers through the spaces in between your own, his thumb stroking over your knuckles gently. “Just keep quiet and fuckin’ enjoy it, yeah?” he returns, pulling your arm to roll you over so you are against his chest. 

He leans down and captures your lips so you can’t say anything else. Suddenly these new room assignments don’t seem so bad. In fact, you may just become a permanent bunk mate in his room no matter what comes in the next few weeks if this keeps up…and he is going to be sure it keeps up.

[manicmanuscription]

By The Candlelight

Azriel x Reader

Summary: When you and Azriel finally get a chance to sleep after traveling for so long he gets a glimpse of you through your shadow being reflected.

Word Count: 1041

Warnings: Mutual Pining, slight seduction, Azriel being a mess over reader. Forced proximity. Mostly written in Azriel's perspective.

Based on the request here. Thank you so much for your request enjoy!

─── ♡ ───

“Sorry.” Azriel had murmured as you finally, finally, reached the safe house. Although ‘house’ probably wasn’t the best term. It was more of a single room with walls. It could barely fit Azriel and his large frame but at least there was a small mattress and a sink so you weren’t complaining, happy to just finally be out of the cold and have the chance to rid your rain soaked leathers. “It’s usually just me staying here.” 

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve stayed in worse.” You chirped, throwing your go-back on the mattress rifling through it as you looked for a change of clothes pulling out various daggers, healing potions and salves, and of course a few necessities for your hair.

“Sorry I was added to the mission so late. I don't mean to overstep or be a burden.” You mentioned a pang of guilt pulling on your heart. 

“You are not a burden.” Azriel said quickly from behind you. You ignored the way your stomach flipped at the determination in his words. 

A few moments of silence passed, the rain beating against the wooden walls, the very faint hum of magic as the few wards strained to keep this place concealed and warm.

Azriel shuffled closer so you were now standing shoulder to shoulder, his hand slightly brushing against yours and his breath hitched at the contact. He picked up your hairbrush and what looked like to be a bottle of face wash. “Really?” The Shadowsinger teased. “Rhys told us to pack light.” 

You flashed him a smile, snatching the items from his hands. “I may be a Spy, Azriel but I am still a female.” You said with a playful smile, simply brushing your wet hair over your shoulder. Your smile, the way you said his names- gods- it had his knees buckling slightly. 

You picked up your bundle of fresh clothes after stuffing everything else that wasn’t needed back in your bag and faced Azriel a few beats of silence passing, your face inches apart.  He was too focused by the faint blush on your cheeks to notice your timidness as you spoke shyly.

“I..need to change.” Your voice broke the moment of staring and Azriel cleared his throat. “Of course, my apologies.” He moved towards the door, a miracle it was still on its hinges, his hands brushing against the wooden knob when you spoke again. “You…don’t have to go outside, it's raining pretty bad.” 

Azriel froze momentarily. His heart was pounding in his ears, he was sure it roared louder than the clap of thunder that rolled across the mountain. Lightning was next, flashes of it echoing through small cracks in the walls.

“Alright.” Azriel finally spoke, his voice hoarse and he slid his hands in his pockets trying to hide the slight tremor that ran through them. He still faced the door but took a step back inside if only to appease you. 

He could hear your clothing being removed from behind him and a lump formed in his throat as lust and imagination clashed in his mind.

A few candles had automatically lit as the door opened when you two arrived and their light stayed a strong steady presence. He did his best to ignore your shadow perfectly casted on the wall, yet each movement you made had his eyes straying to the illusion there. The tiny space made your silhouette as accurate as possible and he did his best to breath through the desire that hit him like a brick. 

He needed you more than he needed anything or anyone in his life and right now you were playing a dangerous game, albeit unknowingly.

He couldn’t even feel the wetness that seeped into his leathers, no longer feeling the cold that had settled so firmly. His shadows dispersed even further away from him, settling underneath floorboards and cracks in the walls, their absence somehow making the candles brighter and his breath hitched as your shadow enhanced at the new light. He hissed under his breath and his shadows laughed at his dilemma.

A few more minutes of intense silence passed and he tried to focus on the rain, on the cracks in the floorboard, yet his eyes could not stop straying to your shadow, to your curves and elegant movement.

Azriel was sure his breathing had stopped and his mind had emptied of all other thought’s that weren’t about you. He was clenching his teeth so hard they might break. Shame and guilt tingled in his gut yet he could not look away.

Everything about you enchanted him and knowing that you were changing just a few paces behind him, knowing that you trusted him enough to do that? His cock struggled in the confine of his pants and his mind whirred at the possibilities. 

“Alright.” You spoke gently and he turned around slowly, drinking you in. You were wearing an old t-shirt that seemed just a little bit too big for you and some long sweatpants that hugged your thighs perfectly. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, staring at you with that intensity he always seemed to possess.

“Hope I didn’t take too long.” You whispered and he shook his head no, not trusting his voice. 

He was entranced with your movements as you set your bag on the floor, sliding underneath the covers of the mattress and moved over, very deliberately leaving a space for him there and his heart was going a million miles a minute, his breathing stopped as you started talking once again, it took him a minute to process your words as the sound of your voice hummed in his chest pleasantly, drowning everything else out. 

There was only you.

“Make sure to dry off before coming to bed.” 

He nodded, turning around and running his hands through his hair, trying to calm his heart and steady his breathing. Did you not see how you were affecting him?

How having you so close yet so far was physically painful. He ached for you and silently cursed Rhys for this mission. Azriel rolled his shoulders and reached for his own bag. His hearing hyper focused on the sound of your breathing, on every shift you made in the bed. 

Gods you were going to be the death of him. 

[wearysparrows]

I (Almost) Shot You Down

Summary: A chance encounter with Sylus snowballs something much larger, and you're pushed even deeper into the depths of his world -- whether you like it or not.

Chapter 1: A pillar of Salt

After being forced on leave from the Hunter's Association, you try to find respite outside of the safety of your apartment. By chance, you see Sylus engaged with someone else. You nearly take his head for it -- but he gets his way, in the end.

CW (18+): Sylus/reader, no use of ' Y/N,' Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Guns, MC is chronically depressed and exhausted, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Not Beta Read, Explicit Sexual Content, Blood and Violence, Drug Use, Gambling, Reader is MC, AFAB reader is implied but no pronouns are used

A/N: This is my long, ongoing work that is still being updated. There are many more chapters up on ao3, and I'm working on getting them to tumblr. They're also being edited and improved from their original postings, so if you've read it before, there may be some changes as I upload!

You had finally begrudgingly accepted a few days off from your work with the Hunter’s Association, at the behest of your primary care physician (citing your declining physical health), your boss (citing your declining work performance), and your work partner (citing your declining mental health). The aforementioned meddlers had teamed up in an effort to finally tear you away from hunting, and would not allow you to return, despite your valiant attempts at protest. Work was your escape – from yourself, from the reality of your life, from your relationships – and everything in between. Hunting never changed, and you only got better at it. 

Your blatant disregard for yourself had failed to continue to go unnoticed by those who cared about you, though. Now, here you were, sitting in your empty apartment with only the all encompassing silence to keep you company. Left alone with your thoughts. Again. You hadn’t bothered to kick the lights on. Only the sound of the heater clicking filled the otherwise empty air around you. Your mind went where it always did, then. That day. No bodies were ever recovered. You didn’t even have something to bury. Caleb’s dog tags had found their way into your hands at some point, and you gazed at them listlessly in your palm. You could still feel the heat from the residual fires of the explosion radiating off of the metal. The warmth of his hand in yours. It was all you had left to prove he ever really existed.

You desperately needed to get out of the house. Anything was better than being here, and perhaps you would accidentally run into some wanderers while the ghost of you made its way about Linkon city. Throwing yourself at hordes of wanderers was the only coping mechanism that had shown any signs of taking your mind off of things. Sort of. With this scheme in mind, you quickly dressed yourself in your usual, strapping your gun to your thigh, concealing its comforting weight under your coat. It wasn’t like you were on forced bedrest, so a walk wouldn’t hurt, right? You stashed Caleb’s tags in your nightstand drawer, returning them to their safe place. You imagined that someday, they’d burn a hole in that wood, and you’d come back to nothing at all.

You left your apartment with no particular aim in mind, being sure to lock the door behind you. The biometric lock shifted into place with a soft whirr behind you. You may have been utterly exhausted, but you were never complacent. The weather outside wasn’t ideal for a walk, and the wind buffeted your hair about your face, and bit at your skin, as if you were offending it with your mere presence outside. Your eyes watered, protesting the assaults by the air. You opted to ignore these sensations, and continued to walk in what you thought was the direction of the nearby shopping district. Your appetite had long since left you – months ago now – but you knew you could find a small measure of pleasure in a cup of coffee on a day like today. 

After many twists and turns, your weary feet led you to an area you weren’t wholly familiar with. Maybe it was new? This was more upscale than your usual, you realized – your Hunter’s salary was decent enough, but definitely not this decent. Cobblestone that looked suspiciously new made the click of your boot-heels echo loudly off of your surroundings. You scrutinized the buildings before you, searching for somewhere that your presence would not offend, where you could also acquire what you were after. Everything was just a touch too upscale, too unwelcoming. All of the storefronts blurred into one image, one place where you weren’t welcomed. You chased thoughts from that same morning out of your mind that threatened to break through as you were forced into a moment of mental silence, and the still of the air and the lack of bustle kept returning you to reality. The last place you wanted to be. 

After a time of aimless searching, you spied a place that looked acceptable. It was smaller than the other establishments, tucked away conservatively into an alley, lit by warm sconces along either side. Unlike the other buildings, it was painted in a warm, sandy beige. You couldn't tell much else about it from the outside, other than that the interior was dimly lit. The imagery of the cup of coffee on the signage was enough to guide your way. You pulled open the heavy glass door, and half expected it to be partially empty on the inside, but you had no such luck. It was bustling, but warm as a result, and you realized how cold you had been before you had stepped in. The change in temperature almost immediately made you feel too hot in your coat.

The patronage was definitely outside of your tax bracket. The patronage was clad in an array of expensive looking furs and fabrics, all speaking to each other in the lowest of dulcet tones. You felt their eyes on you, but disregarded them. It wasn’t as if you weren’t allowed to be here, regardless of how out of place you may have looked. Which, you thought, wasn’t that much. You might not have been born into high snob-society, but you took good care of your looks. Your fingers were still moving slowly in protest to the inclement weather as you fished your wallet from your coat pocket, stepping towards the counter with the intention to order. You hardly glanced at the menu. You didn’t even have a drink in mind. Just something as a distraction. Liquid, hot enough to burn your tongue. A sensation to chase the thoughts away.

This course of action was quickly interrupted, however. In your periphery, you caught a glimpse of a shock of white hair on someone who seemed to tower over the rest of the people in the room, even while sitting. Clad in blacks and velvet reds, he both fit in perfectly and stood out starkly all at once. He was talking to someone else you couldn't see in a hushed tone.

Sylus?

Surely not. Why would he even be here, of all places? Sure, it was nice, but not places-Sylus-frequented nice. Or at least, the places you imagined he frequented. You still didn’t have a full idea of all of the things Sylus did with his free time. Short of that, what was he doing cavorting about in Linkon in public? Your eyes bored holes into the back of his head, trying to catch wind of what could have possibly brought him to a place like this. You side stepped into a corner table that allowed you to get a better look at who he was speaking with.

A woman?

This clearly wasn’t just any woman, either. A cascade of elaborately curled blonde hair fell down her back in elegant waves, and a deep red dress clung to her like a second skin, outlining her perfectly against Sylus’s dark form. A small nose, and full lips. Long, dark lashes. She was saying something to him, but you couldn’t make out the words in the den of the conversations from the other patrons. He laughed in response to her words, and leaned closer to her. She was smiling at him, covering her mouth with a delicate hand. Her other hand touched his shoulder.

Stones stacked neatly in your stomach as you watched them. You felt like a voyeur. They looked exquisite together – it was undeniable. She was even wearing the perfect color of red. It looked as if she had exsanguinated someone and dyed the dress in their blood – a perfect match for Sylus. Everything else – everyone –  in the room paled in comparison. Sylus was still smiling at her, full of charm. You thought about what Zayne had said to you before forcing you to take time off. 

You look like you’re two steps away from death. Take a few days off.

Well, his observation was more astute than he realized, clearly. You certainly felt that way now, in light of the spectacle that was playing out before you. Maybe only one step away. Half a step. You told yourself this was none of your business, that you should just quietly take your leave before he noticed you had ever been here. There was no reason for him to take notice of you while he was attending to his private matters. You were just passing through his life. Brushing through his fingertips. Never actually touching him in any way that mattered. Physically, mentally, spiritually. 

You decided you needed to leave. Urgently. Despite telling yourself staring down the couple wasn’t bothering you because there was nothing between you and Sylus anyway and what the hell was your problem, you had begun to feel nauseated. You clutched your arm about your midsection, and hurriedly peeled yourself out of your seat. Every one of your muscles protested at the movement, reminding you that you should be at home right now. On forced bedrest, probably. 

That just wasn’t in the cards. You weren’t sure you had a hand to play at all. You silently cursed the great dealer in the sky.

You made a beeline for the door, but not before you took one final glance at Sylus and his companion. Even if you were to turn into a pillar of salt for looking back, you just needed one more glimpse. To satiate your curiosity. But luck wasn’t on your side (when was it ever?), because you met Sylus’s eye as you looked, as well as those of the beautiful woman. You saw surprise pass over his features, and thought you saw his lips part as if he were going to say something. The woman peered back at you curiously. You cast your eyes away from the bewitching image before you. 

You could feel all the water being sucked from each of the cells in your body, one by one. You would shrivel up on the spot, and leave behind only the base impression of yourself in the wake of your shame. Hopefully, your rotten yearning soul would be freed to roam elsewhere, far from here, in this place you didn’t belong.

Ah, take me, O salt pillar!

There were no such mercies in this life, of course. You left the cafe as quickly as your feet would allow. The glass door slammed behind you. You were running now, for reasons you couldn’t (didn’t want to) quantify. It wasn’t as if he was chasing after you, coming to explain that no, she’s just a friend, just someone I work with, don't worry.  Faster you went, the need to see the comforting outline of your apartment against the sky becoming more desperate by the moment. Fortunately, the run home was certainly shorter than the walk to the cafe, and the image you so desired to see appeared before you, blessedly. 

Only then did you allow yourself a moment to rest. Your lungs screamed in protest at your outburst, and you sucked in great mouthfuls of air, trying to forcibly still your rapidly beating heart. It was always betraying you in one way or another, even now. You bent over, your hands on your knees, and took a moment to collect yourself. You were grateful no one had been around to see this display, from you leaving your apartment, to running away from a damn coffee shop empty-handed. You curled a fist in your hair, willing it out of your face as you righted yourself. A few stray strands came away in your fingers. That had been happening more and more often, as of late.

The walk up the stairs was nothing else if not excruciating, and you thanked even your unluckiest stars that Xaiver didn’t seem to be home from work yet to see the unfortunate events of your life play out as they were. You stumbled into your apartment – being sure to lock the door behind you, as always. 

The safety of your home did good work to soothe your nerves, a stark contrast to the horrid occurrence in the cafe. You shrugged into something more comfortable: a camisole and a pair of soft, cotton pajama shorts. This set had yet to let you down in the comfort department. Even as you changed, the events played over and over through your mind, and you burned with the embarrassment of it all. Sylus’s smile at that woman, his laughter. The way his gaze had twisted into something else entirely when he saw you. Your nausea refused to calm. Your mouth kept filling with too much saliva, over and over.

Why did you have to run away, of all things? You had left like a petulant child who was unable to cope with the sight before them, instead retreating to your small corner of safety in the world. 

Wry thoughts came to you. This is what I get for taking a day off. You knew you had been wrong to do so. Your prophecy was always fulfilling itself. Take that, Dr. Zayne. 

Still, you were yet unwilling to heed the siren’s call of your bed, despite the increasing intensity of its song. You flopped onto the couch instead with a sigh, the air entering and leaving your lungs easier now. You longed to be rid of the image of Sylus entangled with someone else, and decided you needed to busy your hands with something to scrub the thoughts from your mind. 

As a result of not taking nearly any days off lately, you were definitely behind on the maintenance of your weapons. It technically wasn’t work. It was only related to work. You bent over from your position on the couch, and peered underneath it. Here was where your smallest gun safe lived. Perhaps not the most ideal place for it – but it wasn’t as if you had company over often, anyway. Save for Xavier, your steady and ever-reliable partner. And more recently, Sylus, who you hadn’t yet found an accurate definition for. His presence was usually accentuated by some excuse to intrude on your space.

You unlocked the safe. It was an old-school version, not biometric like the newer models. Pure, vintage analog goodness. A gift from Grandma when you had entered the Hunter’s Association. It came open with a soft, satisfying click. Only two weapons were usually inside – your Hunter’s issue handgun, old faithful. You returned it to its rightful place, now, as it had dutifully attended the cafe fiasco with you. With it was a piece that had forced itself into your possession – or rather, Sylus had forced it into your possession. You eyed the offending object, picking it up gingerly and placing it on the coffee table in front of you. It was considerably heavier than your standard issue. It had thunked onto the glass of the table, as if it were moderately offended to be there. Did even his gifts take on aspects of his personality? His influence seemed to know no bounds, so nothing would surprise you at this point. He certainly had a penchant for creating objects with personalities, if Mephisto was any measure.

This gun wasn’t the only firearm Sylus had thrust upon you. A gift, he had said. You weren’t wholly unconvinced he wasn’t using your house as his millionth-whatever-armory. You had accrued so many weapons that you had to acquire a secondary safe, the hulking mass of which sat in your bedroom forebodingly. It held all of the other “gifts” inside, tucked safely away in the darkness, waiting to be used for their dark purpose. You hid it underneath a spare sheet. The second safe was another gift from Sylus. It reminded you of him, in a way – it imposed its presence in your house: tall, cold, stark, and white. It didn’t fit here at all. And it was full of things meant to rend flesh from flesh, flesh from bone. Life from this plane into the next. You thought about the first time you met Sylus, and how he had obliterated a man from existence before your eyes with his evol. There hadn’t been so much as an ounce of recognition in his eyes for the life he had taken. The memory made your nausea threaten to return to you.

Your eyes came back into focus on the gun in front of you. You liked guns, and as much as you hated to admit it, this one was no exception. It was a beautiful article – a faithful reproduction of a vintage Colt 1911.  A classic, by anyone’s measure. It was a forty-five caliber, with an eight-plus-one round capacity. The recoil of your Hunter’s association issue paled into comparison to this, and it affected your accuracy negatively. You had recently replaced its bullets – standard full metal jackets – with hollow point rounds. Higher accuracy, higher damage. You planned to test this on the next Wanderer who was unlucky enough to be at the other end of your barrel. Or the next man. Those had only recently come into your sights, as a result of your exploits – at the request of Sylus. He had never actually asked you to gun a living person down, though. You weren’t sure you were even capable of doing so. Or if he would ask. 

The wood grip was custom engraved with your name, and encrusted with jewels, courtesy of him. Naturally. The body was scrubbed of any serial number. Naturally.

Ugh. 

You placed it on your knees, with the intention to take it apart to clean and maintain it. You intended to add a suppressor, which you had purchased with your own money. Not a gift from Sylus. Small victories.

Just as you began to take the weapon apart, you caught a sound. There was a sort of shuffling at your door, as if someone were standing behind it. The hair on the back of your neck stood up, prickling. Your intuition told you that whatever was behind it was something to be feared. You loaded the spare magazine of hollow points into the piece with a soft click. You flicked the safety off. Your hands had already begun to sweat.

You pointed the gun at the door. It was too heavy in your hands. 

Whoever was behind the door was making quick work of the lock, despite it necessitating your biometric data to unlatch. 

What if it was the same people who had taken the lives of Caleb and Gran? Had they finally had enough of this game of cat and mouse, and come for you?

You held your breath to steady yourself. The extension of Sylus’s violence wavered back and forth in your grip. The door came open at a painfully slow pace, and a large figure in black slipped through. You cocked back the hammer, which had previously given you difficulty. Now adrenaline bolstered even the strength in your fingertips, any previous weakness forgotten. The figure turned, closing the door behind him. Upon seeing you on your makeshift gunner’s perch on the back of the couch, he raised his hands in surrender, showing you the calloused tan of his palms. One of his hands was nearly the size of your head.

“Sylus?”

His eyebrows had initially shot up in surprise at your current posture, but he quickly relaxed his face into that of his usual mask of easy confidence. You hated that about him, his composure. You adored it, too. He couldn’t even bother to look afraid at the end of a gun. The gun he gave you. You exhaled the breath you had been holding through your nose.

“Expecting someone else?” 

He sounded pleased, of all things. You suddenly felt very exposed, in nothing but your camisole and shorts. Despite the gun in your hands, it was as if you were at the other end of his. Your head felt hot. Your forearms began to protest at the weight of the weapon. You blinked new wetness into dry eyes. 

“Why the fuck are you breaking into my house?” 

You didn’t lower the gun. You didn’t want to.  It wasn’t as if it was the first time you two had ended up like this. You, trying to kill him. Him, accepting your choice. Probably not the last, either. You were angry with him – not for breaking in, no. Not for his casual nonchalance in the face of death (could he even die?), not for his disregard for your poweress as an opponent. But for his date with someone else. Someone who was decidedly not you. The feeling bubbled up, stronger and stronger until it was burning you from the inside out. Shame accompanied it, hand in hand.

Of course, you had no real justification for this feeling. You and Sylus weren’t dating, as you needed to remind yourself more and more frequently. You weren’t even sure you could call your relationship friendly – it was somewhere in the bizarre stage of you wanting him, and him accepting your every move with grace. He took you for all you were in stride, met you for all your whims, and you trailed after his every word. You had something he wanted – what it was, you were never quite sure. It changed with his tides. You couldn’t pry it from him. Questions were only answered with more questions, so you had given up on asking them. Sylus’s response to your question cut through your thoughts. His voice was soft, imporing. 

“You didn’t answer my texts or calls. I was knocking for a while, too, but there was no answer. With the way you left, I came to make sure.” 

Make sure of what?

You hadn’t heard any knocking. You also hadn’t checked your phone.

He seemed to be choosing his words carefully, and they came in a slow, steady stream into your consciousness. You thought about the first time you had shot him. How his blood erupted from his chest in hot streams. It stained your hands as you tried desperately to stop his bleeding, pressing against the pulse of the open wound. When you thought you had taken his life. When he had pressed the trigger for you. When he didn’t die. The heat of him was still there, under your palms. It wouldn’t wash off. He was under your skin.

“I’m glad you like the gift, by the way.”

He took a step towards you as he spoke. You adjusted your grip. He was still in your sights. Your breath came quick, your mouth dry. You licked your lips, cracked from worrying your teeth on them so often lately. You thought about the woman and Sylus. Together. The red dress. Sylus’s blood. His laugh, for someone else. Not you.

“You’re welcome to take my life again,” he murmured soothingly, “But it might disturb the neighbors. Particularly the one downstairs. Of course, I’m willing to help you deal with the aftermath. Either way.” 

He still had his hands raised in submission. The image of it was practically ridiculous. This wasn’t a posture that Sylus took up under any other circumstance. You knew it was all a show for your benefit, and that you were no match for him, despite your own prowess. Something about his unrelenting acceptance of his own death at your hands (again) dragged you out of your stupor by your achilles heel. You lowered the gun. Sylus took the opportunity to stride forward, and quickly slipped it from your hands with his own. You let him. His touch lingered just a moment too long, fingers pressed to yours. He was warm. Too warm for someone who had just been out in the cold. You resisted the urge to take his hand. His evol materialized, and quickly turned the safety on, ejecting the magazine. It returned the gun to the safe, shutting it away as if it had never happened. The red cloud disappeared as quickly as it came, as if it never were at all. The process took no more than a few seconds of silence between the two of you.

“You were going to modify it?” He asked, nonchalant. As if you hadn’t just been almost making an attempt on his life. He glanced at the suppressor, now cold and lonely on the coffee table.

“Yeah. I was going to...add a suppressor.”

You could hear the flat affect in your voice. It reflected how drained you were beginning to feel by all of this, on top of everything else. Your shoulders sagged under the weight of it.

What the fuck was this conversation, actually? 

Sylus nodded, still managing to look pleased with the situation. You felt your life force actively draining from you as the seconds ticked by, as if you were the one who had almost been shot. His gaze shackled you in place, still. The sterling of his hair and the garnet of his eyes were just as enticing as ever. Radically out of place in your modest apartment. 

“Can I help you down?”

His soft inquiry brought to your attention that you were still perched with one foot up on the back of the couch, poised to kill him. Your hands were now very much without the gun. Nothing connected you to the world below you concretely, anymore. Except him. He was standing before you with an offered hand. At some point during your conversation, he had rolled up his sleeves, revealing the rippling capability of the muscle of his forearms. It enticed you without voice. You took his outstretched hand, wordlessly. To your surprise, he pulled you over the back of the couch and towards him, catching you like you were nothing, his free hand supporting your waist. You landed softly on your feet in front of him, still in his arms, hand in his own. For a moment, the posture reminded you of how you had danced with him at the auction. You looked up at him, he down at you. His expression was inscrutable, save for a little smile. You were close enough to see the soft sweep of his eyelashes. The circles under his eyes. Proud nose and soft lips. You pulled away, hugging your arms to yourself. It was much colder for his lack of touch. His hands hovered at the place where he had held for a moment, and then fell back to his sides.

“What has you so wound up? I tried to call out to you this morning, but you bolted before I could greet you.” 

Sylus had his head cocked at you now, as if the answer you had for him was something very simple. He adjusted one of his sleeve garters. You averted your gaze, studying a now very interesting speck of dust on your floor. You wanted to put all of this behind you, to forget it had ever happened. You would have never brought it up had he never shown his face. But he had to be here, asking questions. Making you lie to him even more than you already did. You had never been a liar until you spent time with him. You tried to keep your tone level as you spoke.

“I didn’t want to interrupt your date.” 

Even saying it made your insides crawl. You spat the last word out with more venom that you had intended. Your lower intestine was trying to creep up to your diaphragm, and seemed to be succeeding. Sylus raised an eyebrow in your direction.

“Date?”

 He crossed his arms over his chest. The movement made his biceps all the more prominent. He sounded puzzled, and was scrutinizing you, now. You couldn’t comprehend what was so hard to understand about all of this. You sighed, despite your best attempts to keep your emotions from bleeding through your cracks.

“Yes, date. What would you have me do? Come up and introduce myself while you’re clearly in the middle of something?”

You were aware you were completely out of line here. None of this was any of your concern in the first place. You had stuck your nose where it didn’t belong. Sylus had, quite literally, no obligation to you whatsoever. Certainly not to explain himself, or who he chose to spend his time with. You wanted to shrink and disappear into the floorboards. Perhaps you could seep through the cracks like smoke, and escape this confrontation all together. But you didn’t have that kind of power – unless Sylus was with you, holding you in his arms.

He had been quiet for a time. He started again.

“The woman I was with today is one of my contacts in Linkon. She helps me smuggle things in and out when I can’t attend to them personally. I’ve been working on...procuring something. For you.” He cleared his throat a little, as if he had just told you an embarrassing secret. 

You gawked at him. He was still smiling at you. His eyes met yours. Seeing everything you didn’t want him to see. He didn’t even need to use the protocore in his right eye. It was all bared to him, regardless.

“And yes,” he continued,

“I would have been very pleased to introduce you. You only let me show you off every so often – I wanted to seize the opportunity by the horns.”

There were too many things you didn’t understand. How he could move about Linkon so nonchalantly. How he could be having conversations about smuggling in an upscale Linkon cafe. How the man before you, who gained all of his income from untold numbers of criminal activities, was the same who willingly spent his free time with you playing Kitty Cards and screwing around in the arcade. It was too much. You turned from him, and instead returned to the safety of the couch. You sat on it, grounding yourself with the feeling of your own belongings. You heard him follow after you. His shoes were still on, but you didn’t have the heart to scold him for his disregard for your floor's cleanliness.  He sat next to you. The couch sunk under his greater weight, and caused you to slip a little closer to him on the furniture. 

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Sylus.”

It was all you could say. Better to keep the respectable distance between you just as it was. Any further and you wouldn't be able to keep up this facade around him anymore. He kept pulling at your threads, trying to reveal your insides. 

“No one owes anyone anything. But I wanted to tell you. Besides,” you felt his evol touch your hand, ever so gently. It was as if he was holding it without actually holding it. The little red extension of himself curled around your fingers playfully. You remembered how it had choked and shackled you in the past. Now it sat in your lap like a beloved pet, curling about your knees and fingertips. It’s usual crackling intensity was gone, now only a light, pleasant buzz against your skin. You focused on the sensation. It was warm, like him.

"Here I was, excited to think that you were going to shoot me because you thought you saw me out with someone else. I’m a little disappointed that wasn’t the reason.”

He was chuckling, like what just occurred had amused him. Something to spice up the usual banal repetition of his everyday life. You felt yourself deflating. There was no more hot air left inside – just the residual exhaustion, both emotionally and physically. You found yourself wishing, again, that you hadn’t taken a day off. If you hadn’t, Sylus wouldn’t have broken into your apartment to explain he wasn’t out with someone else. To you. The person he was also decidedly Not With. You fiddled with his evol in your lap. You had been around him often enough to know this teasing was his way of trying to cheer you up – to take your mind somewhere else besides exhausted and angry and I want to leave this plane of existence.

“I’ll be sure to follow through with it next time.” 

There was no real bite to your words – to your ears, you only sounded exactly as you felt. Like you were threatening the man you had feelings for who did not return them, yet still refused to leave you alone. A plaything for his own amusements. Sylus merely nodded. His evol had since made its way to the drawstrings of your shorts, and it was tying them in various intricate knots, there. You wondered at it. It seemed to have a mind of its own – but you were certain that this, too, was another idle whim of his.

“I’m looking forward to it, then.” 

His statement was quiet, nearly a sigh of pleasure. The back of your neck and ears burned in tandem. You examined the knots that were now likely forever tied into your poor drawstring. 

What the fuck kind of knots even were these?

You pointedly ignored the minor arousal that threatened to arise at this.

“There’s something wrong with your brain. Seriously.” 

“It takes a thief to catch a thief, my dove.” You could hear the smile in his words as he spoke.

“You have a few days off, right?” He was rolling the previously abandoned suppressor around in his fingers, examining it. You swore he had somehow gotten closer to you on the small couch – with the way his legs were spread, his knee was just barely touching yours. 

“Yeah. Wait, how did you know?”

He ignored your question. As he almost always did, as it suited him. Instead, he responded with another question of his own.

“Why don’t you come back with me to the N109 zone? You can rest there, instead of here. Or, we can go out. Whatever you’d like.”

You were about to deny him, but his voice took on a more serious tone as he continued to speak.

“This place is going to claim your life if you don’t leave it every once in a while.”

You look two steps away from death. Take a few days off.

Why was everyone in your life so thoroughly convinced of your impending collapse? Even your criminal mastermind was in on it. You scrunched Sylus’s evol up in your hands. It wiggled, protesting your treatment in your fingers, but not dissipating. You wondered if he could feel your touch through it. If he could feel it when he killed. Maybe you did need to leave – maybe this place was killing you. If it wasn’t Wanderers, it would be your own disregard for yourself. Maybe the air was forever tainted by the death of your family, and the miasma would never quite leave your lungs. Maybe running away was the best thing to do. Sylus was giving you an out – at least for a little while. Maybe there were strings attached. There had to be, without a shadow of a doubt.  He was silent while you mulled it over. You expected him to comment on your lack of response, but he said nothing.

Irritatingly patient.

You sighed. You turned to Sylus.

“Fine. But I only have a few days. Give me a few minutes to pack my things.”

Sylus had the good grace to look surprised at how easily you had agreed to his suggestion, but it quickly turned into a look of barely concealed smug satisfaction. His evol vanished from your grip, and you found yourself missing its comforting touch.

“You technically don’t need to pack anything. I have everything you could possibly need at the base. Clothes, food, weapons, shampoo, conditioner…the kinds you like.” He trailed off. You couldn’t tell how serious he was being, what with the expression he was serving you. You shot him a look.

He raised his hands, showing you his palms, submitting once again. 

“Like I said. Give me a minute to pack my things.”

Sylus leaned back on the couch, relenting. He dropped his hands.

True to your word, gathering your things for a trip to the N109 zone took little time at all. It wasn’t that you were particularly Spartan with your assets – but rather that Sylus really did keep all of the things you needed around, and much more. Knowing you could trust him on this front made warmth creep to your face, and the cold began to seep from your bones. After changing, you returned to the living room with your bag, where Sylus was patiently awaiting your return. He was peering out your window. The sun hit him just right, and it illuminated his eyes with its beams. The red only intensified in the light, the color of blood only just exposed to air. You could have stared at the image of him forever. He always claimed to be unlucky, but it seemed to you as if every aspect of the world bowed to him. For someone who was so weak to its rays, he was lit brilliantly by the sun. He turned to you, squinting. Your eyes fell to your gun, which was in his hands. You recalled that he had definitely returned it to the safe, previously. He waved it at you, careful not to point the barrel in your direction.

“Don’t forget this.”

He stood as he spoke, and stepped toward you. His form loomed over you, and you felt him slip the gun into your thigh holster (where you had planned to put your standard issue) underneath your coat.

  Bastard. 

His hand lingered on your hip before he put it in his coat pocket. He smelled good. He was wearing something today that you couldn’t quite place. His natural scent was there, too. 

Rosemary? Figs? Cloves?

“Shall we?”

His voice cut through your mental musings on men’s fragrance notes. You nodded, following after him as he led you out of your apartment. You were sure to lock the door behind you. Again. His bike was waiting faithfully for you in the parking lot. Sylus slipped your helmet on for you (why did he even have a second helmet on him today in the first place?), making sure your hair was tucked neatly away behind your neck. After repeating the action on himself, he kicked the stand out from under his bike, and you got on behind him. You always had no choice but to wrap your arms around him when you rode. You wondered how it made him feel – or if he felt anything about the contact at all. His back was broad, solid, and warm underneath your touch. You swore you could feel his muscles ripple underneath you, even with the barrier of his clothing between you. You squeezed him a little tighter as he began to drive. Even through your jacket, the air nipped at you for your speed. As he pressed the bike harder, you felt something tickle around your waist. You peeked down as best you could through the visor of your helmet. Sylus’s evol was keeping you neatly attached to him, as if your arms weren’t enough. The inside of your helmet suddenly felt hotter. You tried not to think about why he did the things he did. Sylus offered no acknowledgement or explanation for any of this. As always.

The bike sped on to the N109 zone, eager to return to where it belonged.

[chlix]

treatment resistant

bf! chan x fem! reader: he comforts you during a mental health episode

pairing: chan x reader

genre: ANGST like seriously, turns into comfort at the end tho 🙏🏾

word count: 4.7k

warnings: graphic depictions of depression, anxiety/anxiety attacks, and psychosis (paranoia); self worth issues; general self-loathing

a/n: i wrote this in one sitting about six months ago and deliberated posting it, but it's almost the end of the year so i feel like i should release it. i used to feel so validated by fics where reader is depressed and gets comforted, but she was never as depressed as i sometimes was, so i drew a bit from life for this one. everyone please be safe and read the warnings <3

It doesn't start with the dishes. In fact, you think your therapist might tell you that it's not about the dishes at all, but about your own poor self-image, or lack of emotional regulation, or about a thousand other things that are wrong with the way you perceive yourself and the world.

The truth is that lately you've been sleeping way too late and waking up too early, and you're so tired that you can't eat, which makes you so hungry that you can't take naps. You're between jobs and the outlook hasn't been great, your best friend keeps blowing you off in favor of her new boyfriend, and just this week you found out that your favorite bakery is no longer making the souffles that you've been using as a pick me up since you moved into this building.

You don't do well with change, or rejection, or honestly anything, lately. You wake up stressed and you go to sleep stressed. You keep your phone on Do Not Disturb because you can't bear receiving notifications. Just today you've talked yourself out of taking showers twice, only to have a meltdown when you tried to sit on your bed because you felt too dirty to touch your own sheets. You sit on the floor instead. You eat a singular banana for lunch, just to make your headache go away. Your headache does not go away. You feel both unreal and painfully solid, sinking into the ground and on the verge of floating away.

Your boyfriend, Chan, keeps texting you updates about his day, and answering them feels like an exercise in performance art. You scroll through your previous texts to make sure you're adding the right amount of exclamation points, that you're using the same recent emojis. It's like cosplaying a happier version of yourself. A better version, a version that he could love, as opposed to how you are now: greasy and gross and plastered to the floor in your hallway. The idea of him seeing you like this fills you terror, or at least it would if you hadn't burned out your capacity for feeling things already.

A new message pops up.

Chan: Hey baby ❤️ Was thinking of swinging by tonight after work? I can bring dinner with me

Just the thought of eating threatens to make you vomit. You suck in a breath and hold it as you type,

You: If you want something specific go for it! I already started cooking but we could have it another time

Chan: I don't want to waste all your hard work. We can have what you're making. I'm sure it'll be delicious :)

You: I can promise edible. Delicious is up in the air rn 😭

Chan: I have faith in you even if you don't ❤️. I'll be there around seven today

You: Okay! I love you sm, see you then! ❤️❤️❤️

You lock your phone and throw it across the room. Why do you do this to yourself? "Already started cooking?" You haven't showered today.  Normally you try to deter Chan from coming over when you're having a freakazoid episode, but now you've basically invited him in? You have to be normal for an entire evening?

You fall on your back on the ground and put your hands over your face, blocking out the sunshine that insists on steaming through the cracks in the drapes. Your heart is beating so hard you worry you're going into cardiac arrest.

Get off the fucking ground, y/n, you tell yourself. You have to go cook dinner for your boyfriend.

"There is something very wrong with me," you say out loud, very quietly. The silence of your apartment swallows the words. They vanish, as if never said.

You get up.

It takes you two tries to make something even passing as edible. Your head is all over the place, and you burn batches of oil and veggies before you manage to stay in your body long enough to finish making anything. It takes an embarrassing amount of pans and spoons and bowls to make something that should be simple, and as dishes pile up in the sink you feel stupider and stupider. Why are you acting like you don't know how to cook? It's not hard to make some vegetables in stew. You don't know why it's taking every appliance in your kitchen and all of your concentration to execute such a simple task.

By the time you're done cooking, you've stressed yourself out enough that you're getting a tension headache. You close your eyes and brace yourself against the sink, rallying yourself.

Just do these dishes and then you can sit down, you think. Just one more thing.

You pick up a sponge.

You put the sponge down.

There is no way you can do these dishes.

It doesn't so much hit you like a train as the realization slowly creeps up on you. It's not that many dishes, really. It looks like a lot, because the pots and bowls are so large, but numerically there's very few items in your sink. It wouldn't even take 30 minutes to clean everything and leave it in the rack for later.

But that's not happening. The idea fills you with a cold and genuine dread, just as strong and perverse as when you'd tried to shower earlier, or sit on your bed. You can't turn on the tap because then the water will touch you, and it will feel Wrong, and then your whole body will feel Wrong, and then you'll die of Sudden Onset Wrongness. And now that you think about it, a lot of your anxiety today has revolved around water, and isn't that a symptom of rabies? Hydrophobia? Did you get rabies somehow? Would you know if you had rabies? Maybe that's the thing that's wrong with you- you're not depressed or insane or just a terrible person living a terrible life. You're just rabid. There's something eating your brain, and that's what's making you into such a fucking failure of a person.

While you're debating the possibility of brain-eating viruses, Chan comes home from work. You automatically turn towards him, a bright smile on your face, and rush to greet him.

"Hey, Channie!" you say, bouncing over to him with a pep you do not feel. "I'm so happy you're here!"

And you are, mostly. You love your boyfriend, really you do. He's loving and attentive, and he's never made you feel like anything less than the number one priority in his life. You have similar values and work ethics, which keeps you on the same page through most difficult periods in either of your lives and careers. You haven't been together long, but your bond is solid, and you really believe you're going to make it far together.

You also really believe you won't if he ever finds out what a complete nutcase you are. So you hide it. You grin at him and you appear light and joyful and easygoing and you brush off his concerns with adages and placations, and you redirect the conversation back to him, because you're a good listener and you love the sound of his voice and you much prefer that activity to any activity that involves you explaining how you laid on the floor for five hours and had an emotional breakdown while slicing cabbage. He has other things to worry about, other problems to solve without adding yourself to the list. You're supposed to be his respite, not another draining task. He doesn't need to know how hard it's been lately. You shouldn't have to say it.

So he doesn't. And you don't.

"Hey baby," he says. He sets his stuff down and kisses you in greeting. "How was your day?"

"Okay," you say. The answer feels curt, but you don't want to ruminate any more on your absolutely fruitless afternoon.

Chan doesn't comment on your strange answer. He takes his shoes off and hangs up his coat, and as he's about to walk past you he spots the mountain of dishes in the kitchen.

"Oh, were you about to do the dishes? I can do them if you'd like."

"You just got home," you protest. "You should go sit down."

"But you've been standing just as long cooking dinner, right? I should do my part."

His insistence is making something terrible expand in your gut. Instead of being flattered at his offer to help, his words feel like a violent condemnation. You should've done the dishes before he got home. You should've finished cleaning the kitchen altogether, so that he can relax in a clean environment. What kind of stupid fucking girlfriend are you, where you can't even do basic chores around the house?

"No, it's okay. I already psyched myself up to do them, so I'll do them."

Chan hums in a tone that's either playful or mocking, you genuinely can't tell which. "Okay, if you say so. Don't be afraid to tap out if the dishes get the better of you."

Great. He thinks you're so stupid you couldn't do the dishes if you tried.

You subtly regulate your breathing as you turn towards the sink. Chan disappears into the apartment out of view, and you give yourself thirty seconds to push your freak-out as far down inside you as you can.

"You're not an idiot, y/n," you tell yourself. "You can do some fucking dishes."

You reach under the sink and pull out some disposable plastic gloves. They make your hands look weirdly swollen and unfamiliar, as if they aren't your hands anymore. For a bizarre moment, you're convinced that they're genuinely not, that someone else's hands have been put on your body. You close your eyes so hard sparks fly in front of you.

Stop being crazy. Do the fucking dishes.

You turn on the water and pick up a bowl.

Chan reappears. You flash him a smile, but say nothing. Chan grins back, all dimples and crescent eyes. He's so handsome it makes you want to rip your own skin off. You thank God every day that you were born beautiful, because you could never have caught his attention with your personality alone. He'd be completely out of your league, and honestly, maybe he still is.

That thought gets shut down and pushed away. One crisis at a time. You don't have hands and you might have rabies, but you definitely have a boyfriend who loves you. There's no point in kicking yourself while you're down.

You turn back to the sink.

You cannot do these fucking dishes.

"Work was funny today," Chan says as he moves over to the stove and opens the pot.

"Mm?"

"Just some technical issues in the studio. Nothing serious, but it gave us some good bloopers."

You pick up a glass cup. You can see your reflection mirrored back at you in the curve, and your eyes are so wide. Have they always been that wide? Are your eyes drier these days than they normally are? You can't tell, because every part of you feels both dehydrated and submerged under water.

"This is really good, babe," Chan says.

You blink. "What?"

Chan holds up his bowl. "The stew. It's great. I told you it would be delicious."

You let out a pleased sound. "Thank you baby. Your encouragement really motivated me."

It was the wrong thing to say. You have no idea how, but from the way Chan's expression changes slightly as he looks at you, you know he's caught on to you acting weird.

"Is everything alright?"

Shit.

"With me? Yeah, I guess so. I've just been really tired lately."

"On the job hunt?" he asks sympathetically. It's like a stake in your heart.

"As always."

He wraps an arm around you and presses a kiss to your hair. "Don't worry, baby. You're super qualified in your field. You'll find something soon."

You need him to stop touching you or you'll start throwing pans at the wall.

"I hope so," is all you say.

"I know so. Just keep faith."

You hum again, noncommittal. It's like you're slowly losing the ability to speak. And the gloves are too tight and the water is so loud and you're nauseous and your head still hurts and it's probably not even the stress, it's probably the rabies, it's turning your brain into swiss cheese as you speak.

After another tight squeeze, Chan lets you go and retrieves his bowl from where he'd set it down. You hope he might leave you to go eat in the living room, but instead he hovers on the opposite side of the island, and continues telling you about his day. Normally, you'd love to hear the play by play of every crazy thing that happened with his group members and managers. Today, it's like nails on a chalkboard. The story is endless, keeps weaving around other anecdotes and tangents and you wish he would just shut up for one second so you can pull yourself together but you can't say that, because he isn't doing anything wrong, you're just being crazy, you're a bad and lazy girlfriend and you can't even put your own issues on hold long enough to listen to your boyfriend talk about his day. Everything is wrong wrong wrong, and you're Wrong and something is Wrong With You and it just keeps going it never stopswhy can't it all just stop-

"Y/N?"

Your name sounds like it's coming from a thousand miles away.

"Y/N? Are you okay?"

You turn to look at Chan, see his eyebrows pinched together in concern. You have no idea how long he's been saying your name.

Very calmly, you strip your gloves off and lay them to the side. You turn off the water.

"Sorry," you say. "Give me one moment, please."

You walk past him and down the hall to your bedroom, where you very calmly and gently close the door behind yourself. You climb on to your bed, filthy clothes and all, and pull two of the pillows from the end to rest on top of each other. You tie your hair back with a hair tie, press your face into the stack of pillows below you so that your whole face is covered.

And you just start screaming.

Screaming is therapeutic, apparently. Or at least, it's on the approved list of emotional regulation activities your therapist had given you. As long as you aren't screaming at anyone, it can be an effective form of release. It helps you release the tension from your core and focus that nervous energy into sound and action.

You scream into the pillow as loud as you can. You aren't sure how much it's doing to muffle your sound, but the belief that it's helping allows you to let go. It's tearing at your throat, the intensity of it. Once you start it's hard to stop, you just keep going and going and going, as if you're expelling demons.

When you finally peter out, you pause for a moment, then push yourself onto your knees. You're dizzy. Blood is rushing in your ears. It's oddly hard to breathe, as if you can't get enough air in your lungs. Even the fact of your own body is too much for you. You wish you could abandon it, just for a moment. You wish you could observe this from the outside so that you would better know how to fix it.

Eventually, your breaths calm. The buzzing recedes, leaving room for rational thought. And your chest feels....lighter. No longer is there a bomb sitting in your sternum, waiting to explode. The pressure has equalized. You look down at your hands, fisted in your bedsheets, and they look like your hands.

Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool.

You think you can probably do the dishes now.

Gingerly, you climb out of bed and make your way to the door. You open it, prepared to put your smile back on and apologize for your rude exit.

Chan is outside your door.

His eyes are wide with alarm. He looks stiff, hesitant. One of his hands is outstretched towards the door, as if about to knock.

Your face goes blank, wiring short-circuiting as you try to figure out what to say.

"Hey, y/n," Chan says, slow, testing. "Are you okay?"

Your script restarts, and a big smile automatically draws itself on your face. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Sorry about that. I just got a little overwhelmed."

"Overwhelmed?"

"Yeah. It's fine, though. Come on, you can finish telling me your story."

You grab his hand and try to pull him away from the bedroom. He doesn't budge.

"Will you tell me what's going on?"

You turn back to look at him. "Nothing's going on."

"Baby, I understand if you don't want to talk to me about it yet. But you don't need to pretend there's nothing wrong. You don't need to lie to me."

"I'm not lying."

"I heard you screaming in there."

Ice flushes through your body.

"Ah. Well, it's like I said. I got a little overwhelmed. I'm not hurt or anything. Sorry if I worried you."

"A little overwhelmed?" He's getting frustrated now, put off by your blase tone. "You look like you're on the verge of a nervous breakdown."

"No, I don't," you say, because you don't. You know what you look like when you get like this. You've trained your expressions so well that your face doesn't flush. Your eyes don't tear up. You have to look put together, because if you don't look put together then you can't convince yourself that you are put together.

"Y/n. I know you. I can tell when something's up." He sighs. "I've thought you were a bit distant for the past couple of weeks but I figured you would come to me eventually. But here we are, and you're having an anxiety attack right in front of me and you won't even admit it."

"I'm not having an anxiety attack."

"Love, I know what anxiety looks like. If you'd just let me help-"

"I'm not having an anxiety attack. I don't have anxiety. I would know if I did."

"Everyone has bad days and hard times, baby. You don't have to be defensive. I'm not accusing you of anything."

"You say you're not accusing me of anything after unilaterally diagnosing me with anxiety?"

Chan lets out a long breath. "That wasn't what I meant. I just mean-"

"You can't just assign me disorders when you decide I'm acting irrationally. You don't know my medical history. You don't even know me that well. You don't know if my behavior is normal or not."

"You can't be getting upset at me for 'not knowing you' when it's clear you're actively hiding things from me," Chan says, patience thinning. "I see you're in distress and you're picking apart my wording? I'm trying to help you."

"I didn't say I wanted your help."

"You're my partner! Of course I'm going to help you!"

"You can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because-" You choke on it and slam your lips shut.

Chan's face is drawn in irritation. He makes a go on gesture. But you can't go on. It's like the words are trapped in bubbling tar.

Your silence stretches. Chan sighs and drags a hand down his face in exhaustion. He'd gone out of his way to come visit you and now he regrets it. You've wasted his evening and ruined his mood. It's only a matter of time before he realizes you ruin everything. Hell realize he's drowning in all your mess and decide to save himself, and then you'll be alone again.

You draw in a breath of your own, but you're still lightheaded.

"Why did you invite me over if you didn't want me to see you like this?" he asks finally. "You don't have to see me every day if that's not what you want."

All the anger is gone from his voice. He's being so patient that your own stubbornness is acrid in comparison. You swallow, hard. Every muscle in your body is tense. You have the pull the words out of your throat with hooks, one syllable at a time.

"I wanted to see you," you explain, stilted and pathetic. "I thought I could pretend for long enough."

"Pretend what?"

That I'm not crazy. That I'm not falling apart. That I'm normal and easygoing and a joy to be around and definitely not rabid.

It's impossible to say. You don't know what's wrong with you, but you know that something is. You can't do the dishes. And you can't do this.

Your knees buckle and you sink to the floor of the hallway.

"Y/n?"

You don't respond. You're just staring straight ahead, all your thoughts whirring so fast that you're having trouble parsing any of them.

"Y/n? Hey, baby, sweetheart, can you look at me?"

You blink, and he's in front of you, on your level. He's trying to look calm but you can see the panic in his eyes. It only makes your chest tighter. You're dragging him down, you're cursing him. He needs to get out or you'll have his blood on your hands.

"We need to break up," you whisper.

Chan reels back like he's been slapped. "What?"

"We can't- we need to break up. I shouldn't have invited you over. I'm sorry."

"I..." Chan is at a loss for words. "You don't mean that."

But you do mean it. With everything in your body. "We can't be together."

"Baby, I don't know what you're thinking, but we don't have to break up if you don't want to. I don't want to break up."

You feel sick with his sureness. How can he claim to know you better than you know yourself?

"You don't get it," you say. Your tone is unnatural, words strange on your tongue. "We just can't be together."

"Can you tell me why you feel that way?"

"Just look at me."

"I am looking at you. And all I see is my beautiful, wonderful, perfect girlfriend who is having a very bad day and might be making some hasty decisions."

"Not a bad day. A bad life. I'm fucked up, Chan." The words come out with such a quiet malice that it shocks even yourself. "I can't even do the fucking dishes."

"I can do the dishes, love. I said it wasn't a big deal."

"No no no. It's not about the dishes." You're struggling to explain- the words are getting twisted, the thoughts all merge together- "I can't do anything. It's not about the fucking dishes. It's about- I can't-"

And you burst into tears

"I'm sorry," you say. "I'm really sorry. I just-"

"It's okay," he soothes. "It's okay. I understand now."

He doesn't. He can't, and you know that full well. You shake your head, vision blurring from your tears. You're so embarassed and it's making you cry worse. You think you must look so ugly right now. He must be repulsed by you. You're repulsed by yourself, your own misery making your skin crawl.

"Can I touch you, baby? I want to hold you."

You shouldn't. You'll infect him. You'll ruin him and take away everything that makes him good. Why is he even still talking to you? Why doesn't he leave?

"You don't have to-to feel obligated. I can just- if you give me a second-"

"I don't feel obligated," he says, patient but firm. "I love you. I want to hold you all the time."

Something in your chest cracks. You're so weak. It's pathetic. But you can't hold yourself back anymore.

"Please," you whisper, defeated.

Chan reaches out and pulls you into his arm. You're both still on the ground, but he rearranges you so you can hide your face in his shoulder, and you do, too humiliated by your tears to be able to look at his face. He presses a kiss to the top of your head and your traitorous body relaxes without your permission.

"You've been struggling for a long time haven't you?" he asks. "You didn't want me to pity you."

You don't say anything. You can't bear to.

"Well, I don't pity you. I think you're very strong, trying to deal with this on your own. You made me dinner today even though you didn't really want to, right? That was very kind of you to do. You take such good care of me, baby. You light up my life. Isn't it fair that I should get to take care of you too? Can't I return the favor by helping you now?"

"It's not the same," you mumble into his shirt, because the magnitude of the two asks isn't comparable. You chopped up some vegetables and threw them in a pot. He is witnessing you have a mental breakdown in your hallway. You're not equally yoked. It's too much to ask of anyone.

"Whether it's the same or not doesn't matter. Love isn't transactional. It doesn't have to be equal effort every single time. This isn't a favor I'm returning. I'm comforting you because you're upset, and I hate to see you cry. Do you believe me when I say I want to see you happy and smiling? That I would do anything to ensure it?"

You finally pull away from him, wiping away your tears on your sleeve. "You might have to go find a new girlfriend then," you say, voice cracking from the tears and the weight of your despair.

"I don't want a new girlfriend. I want you." He's hesitant, but he continues. "There are ways of getting help, you know. We can try some things, like therapy, or medication. I can help you. You don't have to feel this way all the time."

You shake your head. "I'm in therapy and on meds already. None of it really....works on me. I have fewer bad days than I used to but they still leave me like...like this. And they just drag on....it turns to weeks and months, and I can't....I can't do anything." You let out a shaky breath and make yourself stop talking. Even after all this, the urge to hold back is engrained in you. "You deserve better."

"I think I decide what I deserve," Chan says. "I know it's hard to open up about things like this, but what's worse than you being depressed is you hiding it from me. How can we work on this if you're pretending it's not real?"

"I wanted to be good for you. I wanted to be...to be easy."

Chan leans forward and cups your face in his hands. He looks you right in the eyes, and you see that they're glossy with their own unshed tears. "I don't need you to be easy. No one is. I just want you to be you. And I want you to let me be there for you. In everything. Including this. I want all of you. Do you think you can do that? Can you try?" He wipes away your tears with his thumb.

You swallow harshly. It goes against everything in you, everything you've taught yourself. Chan loves you. He wants to stay. Even though it may all crash and burn later, even though he might still turn on you or reject you or give up on you and declare this all a lost cause, right now he wants to stay. He believes in you. And you want to hold on to that belief as long as it lasts.

"Okay. I'll try."

A relieved smile stretches across his face.

"That's my girl," he says, and presses a kiss to your forehead. It makes something like pride settle in your chest, as if the part of you that cracked earlier might not stay jagged forever.

"Let's get off the floor, hmm? I feel like you might've spent enough time down here today."

You definitely hadn't mentioned that. Maybe he really does understand more than you'd thought possible. You don't know exactly how to feel about that, but you allow a bit of gratefulness to come through as he stands up on his own and reaches a hand down to pull you up. You wipe your eyes one last time, let out a breath, and take his hand.

[pillowspace]

Hihi!! Could I have some ISAT fic recs? Hurt/comfort is my fav but anything good is good~ Thank you!

I've read 200 ISAT fics, I'm gonna really have to think on which ones to put

Okay, here's your recs from my 200 fic scroll in no particular order <3 There's so many fics I like that I didn't put here, but I had to be picky about it so I didn't just put down everything I had

---

victim of your own creation by dysphoriahighschool

Siffrin has craved blood for as long as they can remember. After so many years of wandering, he's come to Vaugarde in hope of finding answers, just as the King's Curse begins freezing the country in time. He's quickly losing hope, but when they come across a small group determined to save Vaugarde from the King, Siffrin decides to join them. They can't get the answers they want if the country gets frozen in time, after all. They'd never traveled with other people before. Siffrin doesn't expect to grow attached to any of them, but as time goes on, the thought of leaving them hurts more and more. Worse yet, they refuse to even entertain the thought of one of them discovering what he is and what he's done. They just know that if they find out, they'll hate them.

Words: 192,175 | Chapters: 32/?

---

Stagger on Backwards by entryn17

[Ha… Ah?]

The fist opens. Hand turns. Fingers twirl. Again. And Again. You watch with mounting horror as your hand moves on its own, the actions becoming more frantic, more jittery, your chest starts to heave, stomach muscles spasming.

(Loop–)

[Stardust–]

They’re in your body. They’re in your body.

⯍

Or, after experiencing hundreds of grueling loops, Siffrin suddenly wakes up 3 months before they even started, on a bed in an infirmary, bandages wrapped tightly around their newly missing eye. Loop is there with them, too.

Words: 15,213 | Chapters: 3/?

---

UNCANNY ALL ALONG by entryn17

You can… you can still fix this. If you can just muster up enough want, you, both of you can come back from this.

“You can’t come back from anything! Hundreds of days spent in stasis, in your own personal handcrafted hell, an ice cold inferno – you think you’re the same person you were before you laid down on that meadow?”

✧

Or, trauma changes you, often in ways that leave you unrecognizable to even yourself. Now freshly out of the loops and rough around the edges, Siffrin with the help of their friends has to navigate not being the person they remember.

Words: 33,629 | Chapters: 8/?

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Even in my fantasy, I can't commit to believing by Loafabun

You’re not sure what to think of Loop.

So far, you’ve come to two rather obvious conclusions during your time around them.

1) They’re… a star.

2) You don’t think they like you that much.

Words: 18,275 | Chapters: 3/3

---

Human After All by dunkalfredo

Isabeau, freshly recovered from burnout after rushing through graduate school, stumbles across an ad for a lab position at the research institute where his idol, Dr. Odile Yamamoto, conducts her work. Willing to risk another bout of burnout to potentially work with the Dr. Yamamoto, he applies for the position and gets the job. However, in the process of applying, it quickly becomes clear that something sinister is happening at this institute. He decides to go forward and accept the offer—only to find himself in way over his head in a conspiracy far bigger than himself.

(Or: Modern AU/Sci-fi. Isabeau goes back into the world of science after swearing it off only to end up in the Vaugarde equivalent of Area 51 and finds Siffrin, a shapeshifter of unknown origins, trapped deep underground in a padded cell. Unfortunately, he falls in love. Is their romance doomed? Could Siffrin ever escape? What is Siffrin, anyway? And, importantly—how does Odile factor into all of this?)

Words: 33,697 | Chapters: 3/8

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The Funeral of Siffrin No Last Name by Kamary (SERIES of fics about ghost Siffrin)

"Ha, like, cut your ashes in equal parts like a pizza?"

(In a timeline that can not and will not take place, Siffrin dies. Unlike other times, he stays dead. Sort of.)

Words: 18,969 | Works: 3

---

Inutile by blueshine

Mirabelle doesn't know what to do. Not with her life, not with her faith, not with her own memory. Why does it feel like she's always forgetting something important?

Mirabelle is the Housemaiden. Isabeau is the Fighter. Odile is the Researcher. Bonnie is the Kid. And that's everyone!

It's raining in Dormont. If clouds cover the stars, are they still there?

Separate Sifloops-

Words: 173,378 | Chapters: 23/34

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What became of you? by goldviola (Note: this one can get dark. I'm including it because I like it, but only read it if you're in that kind of mood)

After the world returned to normal, and everyone was safe and together once again, Isabeau noticed Siffrin's state. He knows they endured far beyond what he could ever hope to understand.

So a vague, earnest wish, mostly symbolic, was made, folded into a star shaped leaf gifted by a little girl.

I wish I could truly understand Siffrin, and always be there to help and love him.

Isabeau had no way of knowing The Universe would listen.

—

Or: Isabeau gets stuck in his own time loop, and does everything in his power to change it.

Words: 27,746 | Chapters: 1/1

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Of Stars and Longing by Raaj

Months after saving Vaugarde together, Isabeau spots Siffrin lingering outside the window of his clothing shop. Naturally, he's excited! The Universe granted his wish!

...It still feels a little bad he had to wish for it, though. And something seems off with Siffrin.

Words: 4,979 | Chapters: 2/2

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The love persists through it all. (The love persists through time.) by Pixxyofice

You are standing in front of a building. Nothing else is around- just a building. The building has a sign above a single door in big letters: TIME LOOP SURVIVORS SUPPORT GROUP. Hanging from that sign is a smaller sign reading Multidimensional!

... What the....

[...]

You let go of the door and look up as it clicks shut behind you.

You see

your family.

---

siffrin meets up with versions of his family who have suffered like he did. is this a blessing or a curse?

Words: 12,015 | Chapters: 1/?

---

Follow the stars back home by Loafabun (note: I haven't actually finished this fic, but I'd like to!)

There's an island north of Vaugarde. You were never able to remember its name. So why now? Why after all this time?

It's so close. You can see it now.

You want to go home.

Inspired by a post on Tumblr by @/auncyen!

Words: 77,781 | Chapters: 16/16

---

Thank you, kind wizard. For making me a frog. by Spinning_Planet_of_Love

With Siffrin's timelooping journey at an end, he walks away with a LOT of new information and trauma to process. Moving forward is a difficult feat, even with his family by his side.

Mirabelle suggests that, perhaps, keeping a journal to organize these thoughts and communicate his feelings to the others may help, so he decides to give it a try.

-

Contains spoilers for ALL content in ISAT, including achievements and quests dialogue, and eventually the epilogue too.

Words: 74,662 | Chapters: 18/?

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Bleeding in Monochrome by JustSalPals

You're the first one to notice.

(After the events of the game, red stayed in this world of black and white.)

Words: 3,061 | Chapters: 1/1

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And if I were not myself, would this be easier? by rabbit_soup

Siffrin and his party's journey to Bambouche, and how he needs to learn to deal with what happened to him during the loops. Between nightmares, regaining his humanity, and his new-found PTSD, Siffrin is sure he's being a burden to his family. They, however, think otherwise.

Hopefully they'll make it to Bambouche in one piece.

Or

Siffrin is traumatized and his friends love him a whole lot.

Words: 63,086 | Chapters: 13/?

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Natural Satellite by dirtbagtrashcat

After a hundred miserable loops, Siffrin makes a wish. Isabeau gets caught in the crossfire.

(…yes, it’s another Isa Loops AU. but hear me out! rock might beat scissors, but there’s no stone in the cosmos that can resist the gravitational pull of a star.)

Words: 55,043 | Chapters: 14/14

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Bloom by Level99Eevee

After breaking free of the loops, Siffrin is more than ready to move on and enjoy life again. They’re with their family—their friends—for another journey, one without the King’s Curse nipping at their heels, and everyone will be together for the foreseeable future. So Siffrin is fine. Great, even! The others don’t need to know that the aftermath of their experience in Dormont still hangs heavy as a noose around their neck.

They just need to get over it.

-

Or: Siffrin has trauma, learning to open up is a process, and the others realize the loops left deeper scars than previously thought.

Words: 41,445 | Chapters: 7/7

To Cut You Open With a Knife and Find Your Sacred Heart by Hexea_Art

They didn't know how they remembered but they both knew that there are legends about these fae doppelgangers, that they wish for nothing more than to steal the heart of the person whose face they stole, for power, for acceptance, to trick more people, to lessen how uncanny they could be.

Either way, it's a death wish to be around someone who shares the same face.

So of course Siffrin and Loop decided to travel together.

(Aka an ISAT changeling AU)

Words: 73,358 | Chapters: 19/21

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raconte-moi qu’on puisse crier tout bas by bibliomaniac

After everything, Loop is struggling to find their place in the world. Siffrin is struggling to adjust to life outside the loops. Isabeau is struggling to balance his love for Siffrin with his need to keep them safe, alongside his own worries about Changing. Politely, things could be better!

But when Loop joins the party on their journey, things tilt even more drastically off course. They'll all need to reconcile their past with their present growing feelings and with the future they're beginning to want. Maybe they'll even do it, too.

It will just blinding suck along the way.

Words: 100,632 | Chapters: 17/?

---

ghostlight by Kittenixie

ghostlight - a single lamp placed on stage to keep the theatre from being in total darkness after everyone’s gone.

After trying and failing to kill Siffrin to take his place, Loop tries to disappear. Siffrin makes them stay. They figure things out together.

Staying with Siffrin's party in Dormont's House of Change, Loop starts down the long, winding path towards recovery, carefully trying to navigate the complicated knot of trauma and grief that the loops have left behind.

Words: 86,075 | Chapters: 24/24

Sequel is back to one | Words: 71,525 | Chapters: 14/?

[aventurineswife]

platonic aventurine meeting teen/younger reader whos also an avgin who somehow survived

The Last of Us

Summary: Aventurine, the last surviving member of the Avgins, encounters you, a person with strikingly familiar eyes, in a crowded city. The encounter stirs up memories of his past, leading him to wonder how someone else from his people could be alive. Despite his carefully controlled demeanor, he is intrigued by your survival and offers a gift as a gesture of connection. The encounter leaves both of you contemplating the nature of your shared history and future.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Avgin!Teen!Reader, Slow burn, Survival, Intrigue, Psychological tension.

Warnings: Potential for darker themes (survival, manipulation, past trauma), Subtle emotional manipulation, Complex relationship dynamics(?).

Aventurine leaned against the cool marble of the courtyard, the noise of the city behind him almost lost to his thoughts. His fingers, ringed with gold, drummed lightly on the surface of his watch, and his eyes scanned the crowd with practiced ease.

It wasn't supposed to happen.

He had survived it all—betrayal, the fall of his people, and the cruel hand of fate. He was the last of the Avgins, a survivor by sheer luck, and yet, there you were.

A teenager, no older than sixteen, with the same striking eyes that haunted his past. A gaze that mirrored his own.

Aventurine's heart, normally calm in the face of danger, stuttered for a moment. His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing you from across the street. You didn't notice him yet, and he made no move to call attention to himself. No, he needed to understand.

Why do you have those eyes?

His lips parted in a thoughtful smile, though it never reached his eyes. How could this be? He, who had thought himself the sole survivor of the Avgins, had now stumbled upon another. But if you were alive… how?

He pushed himself away from the marble wall and moved a few steps forward. His presence was commanding, yet deliberate. The closer he drew, the faster his pulse ran; a feeling of anticipation ran through his veins. He didn't know whether he was more intrigued or unsettled, but he had to know. Had to hear the story that could change everything for him.

"Hello, my friend," he said smoothly, his voice a mix of warmth and curiosity as he stepped into your line of sight. "It seems fate has brought us together."

You looked up, surprised at first, but something in his eyes made you pause. There was no fear behind that gaze; there was only calculation, the kind of look that belonged to someone who had seen the world's cruelty and yet still found a way to push it into being manipulated to their advantage.

His gaze softened slightly as he took another step closer, hands casually slipping into his pockets, but his eyes—those unnervingly captivating eyes—never left you.

“I must admit,” he continued, his voice steady but carrying an undertone of something deeper, “I didn’t expect to see another Avgin. Not after all these years.”

His words hung in the air, an invitation to speak, or remain silent.

You paused, and it was clear that a thousand thoughts had rushed through your mind. You shifted uncomfortably, but there was something about his presence, something almost magnetic, that kept you rooted in place.

"Aventurine," he added, as if that would somehow make you at ease. "You can call me that. It's not often that someone else comes along with a similar history."

There was no urgency in his tone, no need to pry. It was simply curiosity. But underneath that, there was something else—something you couldn’t quite place.

“I... I don’t know what to say.” You looked away for a moment, your fingers curling around the hem of your sleeve, nervously avoiding his gaze.

"Nothing," he said promptly, his mouth twisting upwards at the corners. "You don't have to say anything, not yet. I'm simply intrigued by your survival. You remind me of someone."

He softened his eyes with the barest trace of nostalgia, before he covered it with a practiced smile. "I won't lie—I'm fascinated. But it's not just about the past. It's about what happens next."

He caught your eyes for a short period; between you, there was some weird sense of understanding, that somehow, he was speaking to himself and not to you. The same loneliness that had driven you both to survive. No pity, though—but in a way, unspoken: You won't be lonely again.

And maybe that was the most shocking of all. A connection, however brief, formed out of sheer chance. And in that moment, the world seemed a little smaller, a little less cold.

Aventurine stepped back, raising his hand in a dramatic, almost theatrical gesture, before pulling out a small, velvet pouch from his coat. He held it out to you, his smile never wavering, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something more serious.

"Take it," he said, his voice laced with sincerity. "Something small to remind you that you're not alone in this. Not anymore."

You stared at the pouch, weighing his gesture, before you took it, reluctantly. He beamed with pleasure at your hesitation—he knew you would.

"Consider it a gift," he continued, his voice softening. "And maybe... consider it the beginning of a partnership. You see, I believe we could help each other. The world is full of chaos, but perhaps there's a way to navigate it. Together."

He turned his back to you, his form looming against the backdrop of the city, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had already planned your next move.

“I’ll be around,” he called over his shoulder, that knowing smile still evident in his voice. “I’ll be waiting, my friend.”

But perhaps, just this once, you would gamble with him.

As you watched him walk away, a strange sense of camaraderie lingered in the air. You didn’t know what to make of him yet, but one thing was certain—Aventurine was right. Fate had brought you together, and now it seemed it would keep you entwined in his complex game, whether you liked it or not.

[fulcrums501st]

Ok actually I’m adding onto this weird Silco/Caitlyn comparison s2 and the fandom are making

Silco also goes about extreme means to achieve his goals because he lacks privilege. the undercity has no resources to stand up against Piltover. Silco (and every zaunite) is not naturally born with the power to defeat a superior enemy (like Piltover) so he’ll do anything to achieve it, to achieve independence, because as a zaunite he doesn’t have nice and pleasant options to chose from. He is born without privilege, less resources, and thus is born with less options. Because he starts from the bottom he is put in a position where he must use horrible methods to claw his way up to the top so that he can get the noble thing he’s fighting for. He doesn’t have the privilege of resources and thus doesn’t have the privilege of choosing the “morally right” way to pursue his just cause.

Caitlyn starts at the top, she is one of the richest and most powerful people in Piltover in s2, and with that power and privilege she has infinite options and infinite choices to go about getting justice, and yet she CHOOSES Silco’s way. When Silco chose his way because it was the only way for a second class citizen to go toe-to-toe with the system that is unfairly rigged against him. Caitlyn is HEAD of the system. She has INFINITE resources. She is literally BORN with every privilege and power that Silco had to claw his way to. She has nearly ZERO reason to embark on a similar journey to Silco, (not to nearly the level of extreme we see in s2, tho the narrative does try to absolve her of any blame even when she is helping Ambessa) because a large reason why Silco does it is because he is not born with the means to enact change the pretty way. The story also doesn’t do enough for me to even realistically believe why she would personally choose

Caitlyn has the option of the “morally right” way to go about things because of her social status, while Silco did not. And yet she chooses the revenge filled, totalitarian way when she now controls the system that SHE LEARNED WAS FLAWED IN S1 and could have gotten Justice while changing the system she believes in for the better. Cuz it’s martial law. She can do ANYTHING. She has ALL THE RESOURCES that people like Silco do not.

So yes, it’s harder for me to sympathize with her in s2 compared to a Silco, especially cuz the narrative asks me to forgive her in the end when they did NOTHING to make me feel like it was properly addressed within the story. cuz her whole dictator thing had no real affect on her relationship with Vi or the finale. S1 only ever poses questions about Silco’s methods and morality, it never wants me to forgive him or completely condone him. S2 asks me to forgive Caitlyn without doing the necessary work for it to be earned.

It’s also ridiculous cuz the marriage of s2 does like everything it can after act 2 to absolve her of any actual blame, s1 never absolves Silco of any blame. And they do this in s2 so that it’s easier to forgive Caitlyn when they’re just taking the easy way out . It’s just such a weird and underdeveloped choice.

I have seen some critique of peoples Caitlyn critiques cuz many people hating on Cait also like Silco. Cuz how can you hate one but like the other when they both have some similar themes about being driven to do unjust things for just reasons? And I do see the hypocrisy that comes across by disliking Cait’s character in s2 and then liking Silco. I think there is a valid critique there.

However, there is a difference between the way the narratives of s1 and s2 respectively handle these characters and their actions.

We actively see the harm Silco’s actions cause and we see the benefits (almost getting Zaun independence) and the audience is left to interpret to what extent Silco was justified or not. The narrative in s2 does let us contemplate how much of Caitlyn’s actions were justified, however we are not rlly shown the harms of her actions (gassing Zaun and hitting Vi) and these actions literally have no affect on the plot, indirectly implying that they rlly weren’t a big deal. Also, cuz of fast pacing we don’t have a lot of time to even sit with the fact that these things occurred (especially cuz they have no impact on the plot).

The most important difference tho is that s1 never tries to portray Silco as “redeemed”, or that he is even capable of redemption. His “you’re perfect” line isn’t supposed to make us think that all he did is forgiven. We see his character. We understand his logic and thinking and why he does what he does, and we are left to our own conclusions about how much of a villain he was.

But by the end of s2 we are clearly supposed to have forgiven Caitlyn because she gets with Vi in the end. Because Vi has forgiven Caitlyn the audience clearly is supposed to as well despite the narrative not doing enough to make this arc and development feel cohesive and earned.

The narrative of s2 purposely leads you to a certain opinion of Caitlyn in a way that I’d argue s2 rlly doesn’t do with Silco. Yes, they are both characters that are motivated by revenge and hatred to do unjust things for the right reasons. But s2 clearly wants us to forgive one character, while s1 never asks us to.

(And in my opinion s2 rlly doesn’t do enough for me to understand why Vi and her would reconcile, cuz they don’t let Vi rlly hold a justified grudge against Caitlyn so that their reunion and reconciliation can be simple and quick).

In the end, like most of my issues with s2, it doesn’t let us explore these nuances enough for me to feel the themes they are going for were cohesive amongst all that was happening and thus nuanced redemption arcs like Caitlyn’s feel unearned. Which is a major problem if the final happy ending of the show is a couple getting together when their resolution to their issues feels cheap, unearned, and unexplored in many ways.

[just-a-little-silly]

New year, New Arundhati (??) [lmao not really but hey!! small redesign!!]

Taglist!!

@queengiuliettafirstlady @ike-garden2024 @sh0jun @welp-back-on-my-bs @colourless-hydrangeas @oda-princess @obeymetalesandikemen

Yippee!! And as always please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list💛!!

More about Aru under the cut!!

To be entirely honest, there isn’t much I’m changing about her apart from her appearance (slightly). I also feel like I could have done a better job talking about things than I did in her previous bio but for the most part, things stay the same. I might just not be great at writing these lmao.

I want to emphasize that Aru is playful, warm, and at times, silly though she can be distant at first. Yes, the transition to the Sengoku Era was rough and Arundhati is fundamentally changed by it ( I believe anyone would be) but while she does become distant / detached at first, she manages to overcome that in time. Her “ruthlessness” and “tunnel vision” (as I put it in this post) all stem from the fact that she was thrown into a hostile world so unlike anything she’s ever known.

I think it’s also worth mentioning that she spent two years with her first mentor/guardian/teacher/boss Mochizuki Chiyome and even though she ended up being a mother-figure to Aru, was not particularly motherly. Chiyome’s training was harsh and it is somewhat of a miracle that Aru could pick up anything at all but it gave her the necessary skills to survive as a ninja in the Sengoku Era.

However, Aru at heart ( and to those who are close to her) is a compassionate person though she struggles to express it initially but give her time and she will find a way to show you she cares by taking the time to learn what it is you like. She’s observant, awkward and if she’s just met you but stick around long enough and you’ll see that she’s actually pretty silly, playful and genuine too.

Now for some Arundhati trivia because it’s important to me:

• She LOVES thrifting

• She has insanely sharp hearing.

• Very fast, agile. Not as strong. She can use a sword pretty well but she really does prefer her poisons.

• Has horrid handwriting. Even Yoshimoto, a man who manages to find beauty in almost everything, is taken aback.

• Her handwriting is so bad that Shingen came close to hiring a member of the Mitsumono specifically to decipher Aru’s reports because they were starting to drive him up a wall.

• The part of her backstory where she’s engaged to a man named Gaël remains the same (you can read more about it here though its not very much as I haven’t written all of it out)

Its worth mentioning that it was an extremely toxic relationship (I simply don’t go in depth in the previous writing of it) that had been falling apart for a long, long time.

• She’s strategic but sometimes said strategy will go out the door if she’s hit with an intense emotion. It’s rare but it happens and when it does, she has to rely solely on whatever skills she has at her disposal to get out of the mess she threw herself into.

(Im bolding the next one bc its so so important (= funny) to me)

• She can keep up with Sasuke’s STEM jokes. Has used physics related pick up lines on him before.

ie. “Sasuke, are you a quasar? …because you’re the hottest thing in the known universe.”

And that’s when he knew she was the one.

They really match each other’s freak in every sense.

Though there are moments where he’ll fluster her and she’ll shut down + vice versa.

• She has tattoos!!

—> A sun design on her left shoulder. Her name written in Tamil in her grandmother’s handwriting on the back of her hand. An intricate flower and another sun pattern on the right side of her hip going down her thigh (a pretty large tattoo at that.)

• She’s allergic to peaches. (but she has eaten some to prove a point to Kenshin. she regretted it afterwards).

[I’ll add more later!!]

[takingchences]

𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐩𝐭. 𝟐𝟎

A descendant of a legendary quirk longs to separate herself from her family name, but first she'll have to confront villains, ghosts from the past, and her growing attraction for Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x fem!oc

Warnings: mature language

series masterlist + my masterlist

** Reminder that in canon, the fight with Stain happens on their third day. I changed it because I feel like the characters needed more time to develop their quirks before we saw any real changes (and also because I wanted a fluffy chapter before the big fight lol) HAPPY NEW YEAR!

"Oi, kid! Time to get dressed."

Sana was toweling off from the hot shower she'd just taken when Rumi used her copy of her keycard to enter the hotel suite. It was a precautionary measure to ensure that the Pro could get into her room in case of an emergency or to check in and make sure nothing scandalous was going on behind closed doors. They had given private rooms to hormonal teenagers, after all.

Sana popped her head out of the bathroom, water still dripping from her hair and onto the tile. A fluffy, white hotel robe was hastily tied around her waist, the sleeve slipping down one shoulder. She'd been back in the room maybe ten minutes, having just returned from her routine morning jog.

The rabbit hero snorted at her trainee's startled appearance. "Is this a bad time?"

The solar girl rolled her eyes, walking back into the bathroom to fix her hair. She kept the door cracked so the two could still communicate clearly. "Oh, pardon my nakedness," her tone dripped with sarcasm. "I wasn't expecting guests while I was in the shower."

"Good," Rumi smirked, lounging on the corner of Sana's bed, glancing around the room curiously. "Keep it that way." Sana rolled her eyes, unable to bite back a smile.

"I'm assuming there's a reason you broke in." Sana squeezed the excess water from her hair using a towel, quickly adding in her usual products before combing out any knots. "Or is this another one of your 'inspections?"'

The rabbit hero had burst into her room unannounced twice already in the five days they've been staying here. The first time was a little after midnight on her second day and Sana had been startled awake by a flashlight blinding her as Mirko searched the room for anything suspicious before casually wishing her a goodnight and walking out. The second time was last night, mere seconds after Katsuki had gone back to his room for the night after a lazy makeout session outside her door. She and the hero had had an awkward stare off for a good minute before retreating back to their rooms.

"The Commission is calling in the big guns to go to Hosu."

"Hosu?" Sana reappeared, grabbing her costume case from the closet. "Why?" She took the case with her back into the bathroom to change, disregarding the workout clothes she'd laid out beforehand. She had a feeling she wouldn't be seeing the sparring room today.

"The Hero Killer is hiding there. He's been amping up his attacks recently. No one is safe now that he's started going after pros in broad daylight. The media is putting a lot of pressure on The Commission to handle the situation, who are looking at us to put a stop to him. Discreetly."

Sana stepped out of the bathroom in full costume with a ribbon hanging between her teeth, dragging her semi-dry hair back with her hands. She pulled the ribbon tight around her ponytail to secure it. Sana could read between the lines. She wasn't naive enough to think that heroes never got their hands dirty. They dealt with life and death situations for a living. Fights with villains went wrong all the time. Some simply refuse to surrender. Innocent people are injured or killed in the crossfire. Heroes were human too... but so were the people they apprehended. Did the Hero Commission really expect them to act as executioners?

"What happens if we find him before the others?" The two stepped off of the elevator and exited the hotel. A black town car was idling by the sidewalk for them. A man in a suit wordlessly held the car door open for them as they climbed inside the vehicle. "The guy has a sword. He'll have the advantage if a fight breaks out."

The dark-skinned woman smirked, a mischievous twinkle in her ruby eyes. "That's where you come in."

"Me?" Sana blinked. She'd been stuck on the sidelines during every fight that had broken out this week, which was a lot considering Mirko made it a personal mission to challenge the villains they apprehended to duke it out mano a mano. "You haven't let me join in the action all week."

Rumi rolled her eyes. "Of course I couldn't. You're a target for the League of Villains."

The strawberry blonde was shocked, seeing as that little detail was never made public knowledge. When the story broke the news, All Might was the only reported target. Principal Nezu had made sure to keep her name out of the school's statement.

Mirko arched a brow. "Don't look so surprised. I had a long talk with Eraserhead before the internships started. He wanted me to know in case they tried anything while you were here. They showed up at your school with dozens of petty criminals to back them up. Who knows who they've allied with now? We agreed it was better for you to stay out of the fighting just in case." The older woman flicked her fair hair out of her eyes. "I can't have you tarnishing my perfect record."

Sana deadpanned. "You told me I was the first person you'd accepted to mentor." A tipsy Rumi had revealed over dinner two nights ago that Sana's performance during the Sports Festival had reminded her a lot of herself when she was her age. She admired the teen's fighting spirit and drive and had reached put to her to help guide her on her path to heroism.

The snow-haired woman shrugged, checking her nails. "What's your point? My record before you remains unblemished."

Wow, Sana slumped in her seat. I was benched by Mr. Aizawa. She knew he'd done the right thing by informing her mentor of the possibility of an attack, but she couldn't help but feel a little frustrated with the situation. She'd come here for hands on experience. While her classmates had been learning new techniques and how to react in dire situations, she'd been stuck in the gym for most of her internship or doing crowd work. She hadn't once considered how her role in the USJ attack might affect her internship.

Sana can honestly say she hasn't given any thought towards the League of Villains since that day. They just didn't seem like a credible threat at the time. It wasn't surprising at all that Mr. Aizawa had taken the threat against her more seriously. He was a seasoned pro who valued the safety of his students. They were here, out in the field with active danger all around them. Anything could happen.

"So how do I fit into all of this?" Sana questioned. "I don't even know what Stain's quirk is."

"There's some speculation," Mirko twirled her long hair around her gloved finger. In their short time together, Sana quickly picked up on the fact that the woman either couldn't or refused to be still. She was constantly moving and fidgeting, like a kind of restless energy had taken hold of her. The only time the pro was truly calm was after duking it out in the streets with someone. "Rumors circulating that he's able to somehow immobilize his victims, but no one knows whether it's because of a quirk or some kind of toxin he soaks his blades in."

"And, what? I'm the guinea pig that gets to test the theory out?" The solar powered scoffed, crossing her arms as she slumped against the back seat. "Sounds to me like your perfect record will be a distant memory after tonight."

Mirko nudged Sana's leg with her foot. "Obviously, there's more to it than that. Your quirk is probably the most versatile I've seen, kid. You can use it in different ways depending on the situation."

Sana eyed her warily. "What would you have me do then?"

"You need to get close to him. As close as you possibly can, whether it's an illusion or stealth or boosting your speed. Whatever you do, you can't give him any time to act."

"And where will you be while I'm trying not to get sliced and diced?"

"Monitoring the situation."

Sana arched a brow, a judgmental frown on her face. "I hope you brought popcorn to snack on during the show."

Rumi knocked a knuckle against the girl's temple. "You're dramatic ass is the only one that can get close enough to learn his attacks. Does he have a pattern? A weakness? How exactly is he able to immobilize his victims and for how long? Once I have an idea of how to take him down quickly and efficiently, I'll jump in and finish the job."

Sana crossed her arms. "What about Jeanist? Will he be joining us?"

"I doubt it. He has his hands full with that demon spawn you brought with you."

"Funny. He calls you the same thing."

The rabbit hero flipped her off.

¸☾⋆*･ﾟ¸☾⋆*･ﾟ¸☾⋆*

"You're shitting me."

"Language," Best Jeanist nagged with a pointed glare.

"This is a joke," Bakugou scoffed. He looked up at his latest assignment with disbelieving eyes.

"No, I assure you I'm quite serious." The Pro placed his hands on his hips. "Now get up there. The people are waiting." A small crowd had indeed gathered a few feet behind them, softly murmuring to each other as they filmed the whole interaction. A young girl with auburn pigtails was sobbing next to the ash blonde.

"Please, mister" she blubbered through hiccups. "Save him."

Bakugou shot an annoyed side eye at his mentor, who pointed at the tree. "Go on."

The human grenade sighed from deep within his soul before climbing up the tree. He couldn't use his quirk since the noise might disturb the small orange kitten stuck in the tree. He grumbled under his breath about how stupid this internship was turning out. He easily pulled himself up to the branch, snatching the animal by the scruff of the neck with a gloved hand. Round green eyes stared up at him in fright. Bakugou shook his head. "So lame."

He released his hold on the kitten, which fell directly into the hands of his mentor a few feet down with a distressed meow. The Pro gave him a look that promised a lecture before turning to present the kitten to the young girl. "Here you go, miss." Bakugou jumped down, dusting himself off with a scowl.

The child cradled the animal to her chest with tears still running down her face, but this time they were from relief. "Thank you thank you thank you!" She rushed forward and hugged Bakugou's boot. Her head only came up to his knee. The blonde stilled, his vermilion eyes unblinking. The little girl pulled back, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "You're my hero!"

Best Jeanist chuckled at the look of surprise on his mentee's face. "Yes, Bakugou here is shaping up to be quite the young hero." He placed a hand on his trainee's shoulder, addressing the crowd. "So remember the name, folks. I'm sure he'll be dominating the rankings in the future."

The crowd clapped and whistled, shouting their praises for the denim clad hero. Cameras flashed as Best Jeanist signed autographs and posed for selfies. Eventually, the crowd dispersed and the two men were back on patrol. Bakugou stared down at his boots, scuffing them against the pavement. "Did you mean it?"

"Hmm?"

"What you said back there," he shoved his hands into his pockets. He desperately missed his cargo pants. These jeans were incredibly constricting. "About me. Did you mean it?"

Best Jeanist stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Katsuki halted a step later, turning to look back at the taller man. The hero appraised him thoughtfully for a moment. "I don't make it a habit to lie. I meant what I said. You possess many qualities to make it as a successful hero in this business. You're passionate, tenacious, driven. There's no doubt you'll cause a stir in the rankings once you've debuted."

"Then why the hell are we pulling frisbees and cats out of trees?" The ash blonde demanded. "We're wasting time helping old geezers cross the street when we could be crushing-" he stopped as a slim finger was pointed at him, nearly poking his nose.

"That. That's what is holding you back from your full potential."

Bakugou smacked the pro's hand away. "Huh?"

The number four hero sighed, crossing his arms. "You're enthusiasm," he said dryly. "While admirable, is misplaced. The small things that may seem like a waste of time to you are just as important as any other assignment. You want to be a hero? You have to show people that you are reliable and capable of showing up where you're needed. No one is going to follow a hero they don't believe in. If they can't trust you with the small things, how do you expect them to trust you when their life is on the line?"

Katsuki was speechless. Ever since he was a child, he'd desired to be a hero. He had the physical strength and a powerful quirk. Everyone praised him, telling him what an amazing hero he'd be. He'd truly believed that strength was what made a hero. He knew that if he just made himself strong enough to take on anyone, like All Might, no one could stand in his way. But standing here, listening to one of the top five ranked heroes in the country, suddenly he's realizing there's more to it than that. There had always been more to it. He'd just been too blind to see it.

Or maybe he hadn't wanted to see it.

"You will learn that there are different types of strength in this world, Bakugou, not just physical. You're close with Flare, yes?" The hero asked. Bakugou nodded wordlessly. "What kind of strength would you say she possesses?"

It was a loaded question. Sana was more than capable physically, but she was also strong mentally. She'd been dealt a bad hand by the universe and had had to learn to strengthen her mind and heart at a young age. Sana didn't break easily and he liked that about her.

"What kind of question is that? She's tough."

Jeanist nodded, tapping his temple with his index finger. "You see, emotional and mental strength are also factors in this business. The ability to empathize is crucial. As heroes, we are part of something much more. So sometimes, we must look past ourselves to see the bigger picture."

Katsuki knew that he was at a pinnacle moment in his life. This was a moment that would define his future, change him for the better or worse depending on how he responded to the advice he was being given by someone that he begrudgingly respected. Best Jeanist didn't see him as a lost cause like so many others, but rather a work in progress. An investment he was willing to put his time and energy into to unlock the teen's full potential.

Neither was who the other had originally thought him to be. Beat Jeanist wasn't the uptight pushover he'd expected and Bakugou wasn't the hopeless delinquent he'd portrayed during the Sports Festival broadcast. The number four hero showed a quiet strength that made even the most rambunctious kid quiet down and listen.

The pro's energy reminded him of his father's.

"I'm not trying to change or reinvent you because you're not to my taste. I've actually grown to like you in our time together. I push you because I believe in your abilities and think you'll go far in this field with a little rebranding. Everyone loves a bad boy. There's no denying that fact. However, people need to know that beneath the hard looks and the boisterous attitude, you care. That you are willing to use that fighting spirit for them, not against them. I want everyone who looks at you after this internship to see a respectable, decent young man." Best Jeanist tried to ruffle his hair. It didn't move an inch due to the amount of gel holding it in place. "I know he's in there somewhere, buried under mountains of snark and hubris."

Best Jeanist kept his face well-hidden, but the crinkling around his eye gave away his smile. Katsuki got the strangest feeling at the familiar gesture, like he was seeing a younger version of Masaru Bakugou. The same fatherly pride was visible in the number four hero's eye. "Thanks," the teen grumbled shyly, averting his eyes.

Best Jeanist chuckled at his protégé's sudden bout of shyness. "Now all that's left is to find you a proper hero name."

"You going senile on me, old man?! I already told you my hero name!"

"I refuse to call you by such an absurd name. It's overly violent and crass. Try again."

¸☾⋆*･ﾟ¸☾⋆*･ﾟ¸☾⋆*

Seeing how serene the city was, Sana wouldn't have guessed that a sword-swinging serial killer was in Hosu. The civilians acted normal, going about their daily lives without an ounce of fear or caution. Kids ran around unsupervised, laughing and playing.

"Are we sure he's still here?" She whispered out of the corner of her mouth as she and her mentor patrolled the area.

"He always claims three victims before leaving the city. It's a pattern. He won't leave until he's finished off one more."

"How does he choose them? His victims, I mean." Sana pressed. "Maybe that could tell us who the next target is or where he might strike."

Mirko sighed heavily, shaking her head. "If there is a pattern to the victims, we aren't aware of it. His attacks are mostly unpredictable and uncoordinated. It's probably more of a crime of opportunity than a targeted hit."

"It'll be dark soon," Sana observed the Sun slowly creeping behind a skyscraper. "He could be anywhere."

"Then we need to be ready." The pro's feral grin made Sana shiver. "I hope the bastard tries something," she smirked, popping her knuckles.

"You don't mean that."

"I do-"

"No, you don't. Because if you did, then you'd be saying you hope an innocent person gets attacked... possibly even murdered."

Mirko shrugged, causing Sana to sweatdrop.

There was a loud crash in the distance, the sound of metal grinding against metal. Shouts of alarm caught their attention, making them halt. Mirko held up a hand, her snow-colored ears twitching left and right as she concentrated. "This way!" She shouted, leaping into the air using her powerful legs. Sana was right behind her, forced to run at a normal pace due to quirky restrictions.

Three blocks later, they arrived on the scene of a train crash. Heroes were everywhere, carrying the injured to the designated safety area. Sana and Rumi split up, the teenager assigned to help locate victims from the wreckage while Mirko was tasked with clearing away the bulky metal scraps so the healers could get through. It was two hours of intense labor, though thankfully there were no casualties from the accident. One of the train cars had derailed off the track, causing the cars behind it to lurch off course and crash into each other.

Rumi eventually found her among the wounded, helping to bandage any minor scrapes that needed tending to while the healers focused on the more serious injuries. "Well, I think that's the last of it."

The injured woman Sana had helped grabbed her hand and squeezed. "Thank you, dear." The solar girl nodded with a reassuring smile.

"Of course, ma'am." She helped the woman to her feet before joining her mentor. The rabbit hero clapped her on the back, the force behind it making Sana flinch.

"You're a natural, kid." The dark-skinned woman chuckled. "Only a few days on the job and you're already acting like a pro." Sana's answering grin was adorably bashful, her cheeks taking on a rosy hue.

"Thank you."

Mirko nodded, looking around with her hands on her hips. "We should probably head out-"

"What is that?!" Someone shrieked in the distance. More voices exclaimed in shock and horror.

Mirko curled her lip in annoyance. "What the hell is it now?" The two women ran up the subway steps to the main road. They both were jostled by the fleeing civilians and even some low level pros turned tail and ran at the sight of the creature wrecking havoc on the city.

"Nomu?" Sana couldn't believe it. What the hell was the League doing in Hosu? Was All Might nearby or something?

"You know that thing?" Mirko yelled over the noise as the dark creature bellowed before tossing a car into a neighboring building. "Whatever the hell he is, he's strong." Mirko was practically vibrating in place, her teeth bared in a feral grin. Sana knew she must be itching to fight something so powerful.

"They're weapons for the League of Villains. They have multiple quirks."

Rumi cracked her neck and knuckles, twisting her waist to stretch out her back. "Eraser did say that you fought a monster at the USJ. You really took on one if these bastards by yourself?"

Sana shrugged. "So I'm told."

A second, higher-pitched screech echoed in the distance, drawing their attention. There were more Nomus on the loose.

"If the League is really behind this, then you could be in danger. I have half a mind to send you back to Jeanist, but your experience with these things is too useful. You need to be able to protect yourself, so I'm giving you full permission to use your quirk."

Sana quickly schooled her shocked expression into one of cool confidence. "Okay. Got it."

"Now, let's kick some ass!"

The two split up, both racing towards the Nomus in the distance seeing as more heroes had arrived to take on the one before them. Sana quickly lost sight of her mentor in the rush, pushing all other thoughts away as she approached the spot where a hundred feet a Nomu with multiple chainsaws for arms was tearing up the street.

"Lovely," she huffed. She felt her phone vibrate against her thigh and leaned her back against the brick of the building to check her messages and remain hidden from the genetically modified creature until she was ready to engage in combat. She worried that Mirko had sent her a message, but only found a cryptic text from Midoriya to the class group chat. All he'd sent was coordinates, which weren't too far from her location.

"What the...?" Was he in trouble? Had he also encountered a Nomu and been injured? Was this his way of requesting backup?

She pocketed her phone and revealed herself to the Nomu. The sickly green creature screeched at her, revving his arms. "Change of plans, bub." She called out with a smirk. "We're needed elsewhere."

¸☾⋆*･ﾟ¸☾⋆*･ﾟ¸☾⋆*

Their fight against Stain wasn't going as well as Midoriya had hoped. He'd anticipated for the Hero Killer to be strong, but he was so quick with his attacks, so precise in his execution of his quirk that it was hard to do anything but evade him. One wrong move and he'd kill them or immobilize them indefinitely.

They were failing. He knew it, and he sensed the desperation in Iida and Todoroki's voices and movements. They were flagging... meanwhile, Stain didn't even seem winded by their efforts. They needed someone quick and agile. Someone virtually untouchable. They needed...

"Howdy, boys." Her voice was like sweet music to their tired ears.

"Sakano!" Midoriya couldn't contain the smile on his face. Sana was a sight for sore eyes. Finally, they might have a fighting chance of defeating the Hero Killer.

"Sana, get away from here!" Shoto called.

"You know, you should really send out an SOS if it's an emergency, Midoriya." She coolly entered the alleyway with her arms crossed. "Otherwise people might get the wrong idea and think you sending your location is some kind of open booty call." Her tone remained amused despite the chaotic scene she'd witnessed upon her arrival. Her classmates were bruised and bloody while an unknown pro sat slumped against the wall of the alley. Meanwhile, the Hero Killer Stain stood calmly at the center of it all, brandishing a katana dripping with crimson liquid.

"This really isn't the time-!"

"You pesky kids are really getting on my nerves," the serial murderer hissed. "I've had enough of your antics." With a burst of speed none of them had anticipated, he appeared in front of Sana and the entire group stiffened at the sound of metal slicing through flesh. Her eyes went wide as the three boys screamed her name in horror.

[peachiejeongin]

The Phantoms Part 10 (Finale): Stand Tall | Bang Chan

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 (You Are Here)

Synopsis: After restless planning, the phantoms and y/n finally book a life-changing gig in order to accomplish 3RACHA's unfinished business. Will they perform in time, or will they flicker away?

Genre: 3RACHA/Julie and the Phantoms AU, Angst, Crack, Fluff

Pairing: phantom!Bang Chan x fem!reader [Occurs in this chapter], Minsung if you squint

Warnings: Mentions of death, a little rushed

Notice: And just like that, darlings, we have reached the end. I want to thank you all for the love you have shown for this series. I know it has been long, and the parts are rushed at times; however, I have loved writing this series, and every note on it makes my heart light up. In order to go out strong, I may or may not have added a scene we all wanted to be in the actual finales :) For one final time, I own no rights to 'Julie and the Phantoms,' nor do I believe Han Jisung is gay in real life. Without further ado, enjoy the finale of 'The Phantoms.'

"Don't worry guys," Han said as the three phantoms walked under the bright, flashing sign of the Orpheum Theater. "Minho said he would get us on the set-list tonight, and I trust him."

"This is going to work, right?" Changbin questioned, doubt present in his tone.

"It has to," Chan replied. "It's our only shot."

As if on cue, a shocking, angry jolt coursed through the guys' bodies, making them double over in pain just like so many times prior.

"Are you guys alright?" a concerned voice asked from behind the boys. All three turned around to meet Minho face-to-face, agonizing and confused expressions etched onto their faces.

"We're great," Han answered, sarcasm laced thickly in his voice. "Nothing we haven't felt before. Nevermind us, though. How did derailing the band go?"

"Well let's just say," Minho began with a smirk, "that when the opening band wakes up, they're gonna find themselves 200 miles outside of Vegas!" Minho turned around, showing off the back of a merchandise jacket he had no doubt snagged from the tour bus, smiling as he displayed it proudly. Chan stepped forward, fist-bumping Minho with pride in his motions and demeanor.

"Which means, there is definitely a manager upstairs right about now freaking out," he commented, chuckling as he did so.

"No way, man," Minho replied. "I'm sure he's being very professional as a Hollywood business man."

If by professional, Minho meant the promoter was upstairs banging his phone against his desk while yelling a plethora of profanities, then yes; he was being extremely professional.

The air was silent after Minho's last statement, and Han stepped forward, anxiety present in his gut. Chan and Changbin caught wind of the seriousness and stepped away, giving the two boys time to talk.

"I know how much you're risking for us," Han began, his demeanor a mix of regret and appreciation. "Thank you, Minnie. Truly."

"I told you," Minho responded, swatting playfully at the younger's chest, "I would do anything for you."

Han did not reply verbally; before he could think, he had thrown himself into Minho's arms, hugging the male in a tight embrace as if it would be the last time they ever spoke.

Which it very well could have been.

Minho reciprocated the action without a second thought, burying his head in the crook of Han's neck and squeezing the afterlife out of the younger. They stayed like that for a minute or do before Han pulled away, resting his hands briefly on Minho's shoulders.

"You better get out of here," Han giggled, although his words were genuine. "Y'know, before Seungmin catches you with us."

"Yeah, you're right." Minho's gaze flickered down, sadness etched into it before he looked back to Han. "I'll see you around, Hannie. I promise this isn't the last time."

Minho did not give time for Han to respond before he skated away, tears threatening to well up as he reminisced on the moments he had spent with the boy. Han watched as he left, his heart aching; he held onto Minho's promise sacredly, genuinely praying that it indeed was not the last time they would speak to each other.

As soon as Minho left Han's line of sight, Changbin stepped forward, resting a tight, comforting hand on Han's shoulder.

"You alright?" he inquired, his tone full of care.

"Yeah," Han lied, swallowing a lump in his throat before turning around. "Yeah, I'm alright."

"Well, mate, thanks to your boyfriend, Panic! at the Disco needs an opening band," Chan enthusiastically commented, smiling at the blush spreading on Han's cheeks at the mention of Minho as his "boyfriend."

"Then I guess someone upstairs needs to know that Y/n and the Phantoms is available," Han replied, a sincere smile replacing the faux one that was there prior.

---

The phantoms warped to the upstairs room where the manager was residing, and further slamming his phone against his desk as he yelled at whoever was on the other line to, "stop saying the bus drove itself."

"Minho was right," Changbin spoke up, his voice cheeky. "Guy's a total pro."

"Alright, mates," Chan began, rubbing his hands together. "Let's make this happen. Just, Han, no dancing this time."

Han ignored the boy, erupting into a sequence of ballet steps as he made his way over to the assistant's laptop; Chan only chuckled in response, shaking his head at the younger's actions. On the last step, a perfect pirouette, Han reached one hand down to knock the assistant's pencil-holder off of her desk.

Show time.

Changbin used the time she was distracted to pull up the YouTube video your father had uploaded of the 'Edge of Great' performance on the assistant's laptop; meanwhile, Han scribbled down your number onto a Post-it. Both phantoms snapped away once they noticed the assistant rising back up.

"Tasha, get CJ and tell him I need a band to open in three hours!" an angry manager screeched.

"Sure, but come check this out real quick," she retorted, motioning for the manager to come over. He leaned over her shoulder, his eyes in awe as he watched the video. "Somehow, this video started playing on my laptop, and its got nearly a million hits in just two days. They're a hologram band called Y/n and the Phantoms."

"Tell your friends!" Changbin smirked as Chan threw an arm around him.

"Where are they located?" the manager asked excitedly.

"Our very own City of Angels."

"Book 'em, then! What are you waiting for?!"

The phantoms threw their hands up in success, cheering as the assistant noticed the Post-it with the number scratched onto it; she looked around in fear, wondering how on earth it managed to get there.

---

You were pacing around the studio, worry etched into your features as you attempted to steady your breathing. Suddenly, the phantoms appeared in the garage, causing you to let out a deep sigh.

"Oh my gosh!" you yelled. "What took you guys so long? Did Minho do it? Did you talk to them? Did they watch the video? Did they like it if they did? Are we playing the freaking Orpheum or not?!"

"Okay, that's a lot of questions!" Changbin screamed back, motioning for you to halt in your interrogation. "Chan, I'm leaving this one to you."

"Take a seat, Love," Chan commanded, and you obliged, looking at him with a blend of nervousness and optimism in your gaze. All three phantoms crouched in front of you as he continued. "It's fine, everything is fine!"

"Yeah, you should be getting a call right..." Han paused, pointing to you first and then to your phone, "now!"

In contrast to his words, your phone stayed muted; you looked at the boys, worry returning to your stare as they looked to each other, shrugging for answers.

"Okay, how about," Han tried again, "right....now!"

This time on cue, your phone began buzzing, the caller ID popping up as unknown from Hollywood, California. You and the boys began jumping around, squealing from excitement and stimming enthusiastically as the weight of the moment came upon you all.

"What are you waiting for? Answer it!" Chan nearly screeched as he motioned to your phone. You nodded your head, muttering a string of 'okays' as you slid on the phonecall; you cleared your throat before talking in attempts to sound professional.

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is Tasha from the Orpheum in Hollywood."

Upon that statement, you, Chan, Han, and Changbin began parading around the studio, silently cheering for yourselves as Tasha continued speaking.

"Is this y/n of Y/n and the Phantoms?"

You held your hands out, signalling for the phantoms to halt in their celebration as you picked your phone up from the coffee table where it had been on speaker-phone.

"Yes, it is!"

You gave the boys a thumbs up, a sign that they continue their excited antics; as such, they went back to screeching happily as you told Tasha you could indeed open for P!ATD that night and thanking her for the opportunity. Chan and Changbin picked Han up, swinging him around the room as you happily declared that you were playing the Orpheum tonight.

"I'm swimming!" Han playfully said as he moved his arms in a scuba-motion, causing all three of you to chuckle.

---

"Y/n and I were thinking we start with 'Stand Tall,'" Chan excitedly explained as he circled the song on a piece of paper laying atop the grand piano; it was a setlist for the night, with songs that you and Chan had picked carefully marked in a bulleted list.

"Cool," Han remarked.

"Sounds good," Changbin followed.

"Sounds good?!" Chan yelled, his voice coming off sharper than intended. "Mate, are you serious? We're getting to play the show of our dreams! I want to hear that it sounds awesome! I know it's not how things were supposed to turn out, but not many people get a second try at this sort of thing!"

"I get that," Changbin blankly stared, his voice cracking slightly, "but it's hard. We don't know what's on the other side when we cross over, Chan. Do we all still get to be together?" His voice faltered, and his gaze shifted to the floor.

"You guys are the only family I have. I don't wanna lose you guys."

"Yeah, I mean," Han began, "I don't know what's gonna happen either, but it's not like we have a choice."

At that moment, another agonizing jolt flickered over the boys, knocking them backwards intensely; as they recovered, Changbin rubbed his wrist, soothing it from the electrifying pain he had just experienced.

"Well, we technically do," he corrected. "Only thing is it rhymes with Bollywood Toast Snub."

Before Chan could protest, you swung open the studio doors; you had a clothing hanger in hand, which contained the outfit you were going to wear for the night: a purple, flowing dress with a black leather jacket. Both pieces of clothing had previously belonged to your mother, and you felt they were only appropriate to wear for the performance.

"We ready?" you excitedly asked as you approached the boys; contrary to what you had expected, they were silent, painful and regretful gazes upon their faces as they looked at you.

"What's going on?" you followed up, a pang in your chest arising as you looked between all three of them.

"Nothing," Han instantly assured. "We just got rocked really hard by one of those jolt things." You nodded, unconvinced but allowing it to slide.

"Okay, well uh, Channie? Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course," he stumbled over the affirmations, walking quickly towards you and facing you. You went to hand your outfit on the door handle of the garage door before returning to him; your figures were much closer than normal, and as you looked up at Chan, a smile came over you, shy but genuine.

"What?" Chan asked, his eye-contact filled with adoration as he looked at you and his heart swelling from your beauty.

"Can you do me a favor?" you questioned, your gaze morphing into one of solemnness.

"Anything, y/n," Chan replied quickly, shining a brief smile. "You know I will."

You exhaled deeply, struggling to find the way to word your favor.

"When you guys cross over," you began, your tone quivering from how hard the statement was to materialize, "if you happen to see my mom, can you tell her I love her...and thank her for bringing you to me?"

Chan's eyes softened as a small, close-lipped smile formed. He nodded, slowly but surely.

"Yes, I absolutely will," he replied, his own voice shaking just barely. "And I will also thank her for bringing me to such an amazing girl." You felt your cheeks flush at his comment, but you kept your gaze upon him, making intimate yet sincere eye contact.

"Band circle?" you asked in attempt to break the tense moment.

"Yeah," Chan answered, the two of you joining Han and Changbin by the piano as Chan told them about the plan. Han, Changbin, and Chan joined hands in the circle, and your hands hovered above theirs, a habit you had picked up from not being able to physically touch the boys.

"We don't know what brought us here," Chan started, his gaze flickering between Changbin and Han before landing on you once again. "What we do know is that you're a star, y/n."

Chan's eyes were filled with nothing short of pure love as he spoke to you; the weight of both his words and his stare making the heat in your cheeks spread across your face. The both of you displayed bright grins before Chan continued.

"And just because this is our last night together, it doesn't mean we won't be watching you from above, or..." Chan clicked his tongue, nodding his head to the ground; the comment made you giggle as the other two phantoms shook their heads.

"Now, let's rock this show," he yelled out. "We're gonna give Hollywood a performance that they'll be talking about until the sun comes up. Legends on three." Chan stuck his right hand in the center of the band circle; Han and Changbin laid theirs overtop, and yours hovered just above the aforementioned three.

"One," Han began the countdown.

"Two," Changbin added.

"Three," you finished.

"Legends!" all four of you screamed as you threw your hands up victoriously. The moment was broken up by a horn honk, which made the boys turn their heads in the direction of the noise.

"That's my dad," you explained. "He's driving me to the Orpheum, so I'll see you guys there."

You begrudgingly walked away from the phantoms, your gaze lingering on Chan as you strided. His eyes followed you as you exited, fondness washing over his stare as he focused on you.

"She's awesome," he muttered to himself.

"Yes she is, isn't she?"

The ghosts snapped their heads around as a dark, ear-wrenching voice sounded from behind them. Their gazes widened and their hearts sunk as they met the figure.

"What are you doing here, Seungmin?" Chan demandedly asked, absentmindedly approaching the phantom with his brows furrowed and his lips pursed.

"Such hostility, Chan!" Seungmin dodged his question, instead teasing him for the rough edge to his words. "I'm just here to congratulate you on the big night! Not everyone gets to play the Orpheum! Especially not twice!"

"Cut the crap, mate," Chan snarled. "We know it's you that's doing this to us. We already told you: we have a band, and we don't want to join your little club."

"Hmm," Seungmin hummed out, ponderation bright in his eyes. "Y'see, boys, the funny thing about crossing over is that no one knows what really goes on on the other side. But I know exactly what's happening on this side."

With that, he blew a kiss towards the phantoms, puffing out a huge plume of smoke at them; as the fumes reached their figures, they disappeared, warping away as Seungmin cackled.

"You may not want to join, but you're going to."

---

"Well don't you all look so nice?"

The boys had appeared in the Hollywood Ghost Club, now wearing formal suits in their respective colors instead of their previously-adorned casual wear; Chan had already begun tugging at the tight collar of his blazer.

"Sweet threads?" Changbin questioned more than answered.

"How did you know our sizes?" Han held his arms out in front of him, gaping at the soft, pink material of his suit.

"All the questions you could've asked, and that's it, Han?" Chan snapped at the younger boy, causing him to retreat back into himself.

"Look," Seungmin began, disregarding all three of their comments and questions. "I know you three aren't my biggest fans, and an eternity at my club seems overwhelming, but I just put you in sweet threads, so humor me this last pitch. For starters, isn't it nice that you're all here together?"

The question was mainly directed at Changbin, as he Chan, and Han looked at each other, their gazes filled with uncertainty; Seungmin had definitely been listening to their prior conversation. Despite the intrusion, the idea of sticking together was tempting.

"And trust me," Seungmin continued, pointing to Han this time. "Everything you want, including Minho, is here." Han looked at the ground in order to avoid looking at Seungmin; thus, the magician shifted his focus to Chan.

"And on my stage," he remarked as he approached the guitarist, "you don't vanish when the music stops. You soak in the applause for as long as you want. The connection that you will feel with that audience will feel like no other. I promise."

Seungmin's hands adjusted Chan's bowtie from where he had tugged at the irritating material, before they moved to Chan's shoulders, rubbing them reassuringly. Undeniably, Seungmin was playing to their hearts' desires, from Changbin's want to stay with his friends, Han's yearn for Minho, and Chan wanting people to feel his music rather than just hear it.

The temptation was becoming overwhelming; however, they could not harp on in for too long as suddenly, a wave of applause came over the club.

"Do you hear that, boys?" Seungmin asked smugly. "Those cheers are for you. They're waiting for you!"

Before they could answer, the phantoms jolted once more, clutching their chests and making Seungmin wince.

"Yeah, that one did look like it hurt," he commented, quickly shrugging the matter off. "Now, let me remind you that you don't know if playing the Orpheum is your unfinished business. Do you really have time to make that mistake?"

The phantoms stood in silence, watching as Seungmin strutted through the sparkly curtain nearby and onto the stage, entertaining the croud as he belted out some form of melody. As he performed, he shot glances at the three, only increasing their wants that Seungmin had so designatingly played to.

They observed Seungmin in stunned awe, his voice singing a melody so enchanting it seemed to pierce straight through to their souls. Before they could comprehend the weight of the circumstance, an inexplicable force took hold. Their feet began tapping to the rhythm, first hesitantly, then with an eerie synchronicity, They exchanged horrified glances, watching themselves succumb to the haunting pull of Seungmin's song.

Before they could fully grasp the chaos unfolding, Han's fingers instinctively began twirling a drumstick with an almost hypnotic rhythm, the motion effortless and precise. In the next moments, Han had vanished. When Chan and Changbin caught up to him, he was perched on Seungmin's stage, entirely absorbed in drumming along to the beat.

"Han!" Seungmin yelled out on stage. "Show me what you got!"

Mere seconds later, Changbin held up his bass, looking at the instrument purely terrified before he too warped onstage; his fingers plucked against the strings absentmindedly, as if he already knew the melody of the song by heart. His body swayed to the rhythm, but his face still had a look of pure horror etched onto it.

"Changbin!" Seungmin called next. "Sing it baby!"

Chan, watching the supernatural actions of his bandmates, held back as much as he could, even when Seungmin had motioned to him afterwards. He threw his guitar in the air, his body unintentionally following Seungmin's footsteps no matter how hard he shook his head or tried to step backwards. Eventually, he was fully on stage, scaredly looking at the audience as he, Changbin, and Han played the cursed, entrapping melody. They were fearful, worried that they had missed their shot at escape.

Yet, moments after the song had ended and as Seungmin took a cocky bow, the three had vanished...

---

"Hey, yn. It's time to go on!"

The stage manager knocked at your door, interrupting your anxious pacing. Flynn watched as you lost yourself in worried thoughts, every scenario as to where the phantoms could be consuming your mind.

"Just a second!" you yelled out, attempting to mask the crack in your voice. You walked over to Flynn, eyeing her with a nervous bewilderment.

"I think something's wrong," you told her, your arms wrapping around your middle as if to soothe the unease in your gut. "The guys were getting those jolts pretty bad as I was leaving, and there's no way they would stand me up again...I think they ran out of time."

Flynn took in a deep breath, her eyes widening slightly in dejected shock.

"I'm so sorry, y/n," she apologized, standing up to grip your shoulders lightly.

"They didn't get to cross over," you sorrowfully convinced yourself. "They're just gone, and I didn't get to say goodbye."

Flynn did not think twice before wrapping you in a tight embrace, allowing you space to let out your tears; however, the moment was brief, as the stage manager knocked on the door once again. The mere sound was enough to have you running away from Flynn, despite her pleas, and out of the backstage room, past the manager and outside into the alleyway of Sunset Boulevard.

You stood in the middle of the walkway, throwing your hands down as you sobbed. You looked up at the sky, your voice thick with hurt.

"I don't know if you can hear me, Mom," you began, sniffling through your speech, "but I can't handle this. Flynn says that you're behind everything, but I don't know! If I was supposed to help the guys, I didn't. They're gone, Mom, and I am so sorry. They were my friends. My band. My family. And I loved them."

You paused for a moment, your heart breaking with every word.

"Especially Chan," you continued hesitantly. "Mom, he was so amazing. He knew me like you did, and I really, really grew attached to him. I can't even believe I'm admitting I love a ghost, but...Why can't you just come pick me up, and hold me in your arms and tell me everything's okay and that I'm gonna get through it?! And that even though the phantoms aren't with me, they're in Heaven with you."

You fell to your knees, burying your face in your hands as you loudly sobbed. The weight of everything overwhelmed you; it was not just the boys anymore. It was the boys, plus the loss of your mother, plus the intensity of the night; you were supposed to help them, and you could not. Thus, you lost out on two amazing best friends and one incredible lover.

A woman passed by you, analyzing your sorrowful stance. She looked at you, nothing short of empathy within her gaze, and handed you a flower, patting your shoulder lovingly. The flower was a Dahlia.

Your mom's favorite.

You looked at it for a moment before clutching it to your chest, hugging it tightly. It was then you realized: maybe your mom was behind everything, and maybe you had lost the boys, but one thing was for certain.

You had found yourself.

With this revelation, you ran back inside, determined to not smear the reputation you had built for yourself. You swung the doors open as the stage manager was yelling something about Panic going on now. You held up the floor, looking at Flynn with a newfound optimism.

"Signs," you breathed out, mirroring her words from two nights prior and causing her to smile brightly at you.

Walking onto the stage felt like wading through a thick fog, each step deliberate and heavy with anticipation. The soles of your shoes tapped softly against the polished floor, the sound swallowed by the buzz of the expectant crowd. Your gaze swept over the sea of faces illuminated by soft, golden lights, the murmur of excitement cresting into a wave of cheers as the intercom boomed your band’s name. Applause erupted, thunderous and alive, reverberating through your chest as you approached the sleek, black piano waiting for you. A deep breath escaped your lips as you eased onto the bench, fingers trembling slightly as they placed the delicate Dahlia on the edge of the keyboard, its vibrant petals a stark contrast against the dark surface. Clutching the cool metal of the microphone, you steadied yourself and began to speak, your voice laced with a mix of nervousness and resolve.

"Hi, I'm y/n," you shakily introduced yourself as you scanned the crowd; your eyes landed on your dad, who looked more proud than words could describe. You kept your focus on him as you continued: "I'd like to dedicate this song to my mom, tonight. She may be gone, but she has been there every time I have played. I want to thank her for not giving up on me...I'd also like to dedicate tonight's performance to three special friends, who have changed my life completely. They brought music back to me, and I cannot thank them enough for that. This song is for anyone who has ever lost themselves. Don't give up, and stand tall. Thank you."

You took a deep breath as you began to play, looking to the sky briefly as if to signal to your mom for help; as you did so, a wave of peace rushed over you, and you adjusted your microphone while stroking each key in melody.

"Don't blink No, I don't want to miss it One thing, and it's back to the beginning 'Cause everything is rushing in fast Keep going on never look back

The onlookers erupted into a thunderous symphony of applause as your voice carried into the chorus. A flicker of transformation crossed your face—melancholy giving way to a spark of determined excitement, your eyes alight with purpose as the music flowed through you.

"Whatever happens, even if I'm the last standing I'ma stand tall, I'ma stand tall Whatever happens, even when everything's down I'ma stand tall, I'ma stand tall I gotta keep on dreaming 'Cause I gotta catch that feeling Whatever happens, even if I'm the last standing I'ma stand tall, I'ma stand tall"

What happened next was astounding. As you finished the first chorus, you heard a whoosh! from the left of you, and as you snapped your head to the source of the noise, you were met with a squirrel-esque boy in a pink suit, smiling brightly as he rocked on his drumset.

Han.

Your eyes glistened with unshed tears as you mirrored the grin, your heart swelling with an emotion you couldn’t quite name. Somehow, against all odds, the boys were still here. Their determination to see this performance through matched your own, unwavering and steadfast.

Seconds after Han's appearance, Changbin came in, adorned in a red blazer and tuning his bass casually as you began the second verse; you looked at him as you began, your eyes softening with gratitude.

"Right now, I'm loving every minute Hands down, can't let myself forget it, no 'Cause everything is rushing in fast Keep holding on, never look back"

Your voice crescendoed on the last lyric, a new fire coursing through you. As you started on the second prechorus, you heard a flashing sound, and as you looked to the left of the stage, you saw Chan; he had not fully materialized, however. He was flickering in and out on the stage, attempting to appear but not being able to. Han and Changbin exchanged worried glances, and absentmindedly, you began to sing louder, in hopes that maybe your voice would give him the spark to appear.

Little did you know, that is exactly what it took.

"I'm going out of my mind!"

Chan had finally mustered the strength to appear, his presence sending an electric jolt through you. Excitement bubbled over as you grabbed your microphone from its stand, your feet barely touching the stage as you bounced in exhilaration. The music swelled, your voice harmonizing with the haunting resonance of the phantoms as the second chorus soared into the air.

Amid the vibrant chaos, Chan's gaze found yours. His eyes crinkled with a warmth that matched the brightness of his smile, and he slipped seamlessly into his verses, each note carrying a quiet yet unshakable confidence. The connection between you sparked something deep, a newfound pride blooming in your chest. You felt unstoppable, striding across the stage with a radiant energy as your voice filled the venue, carrying a piece of your soul to every corner.

As the bridge approached, you made your way to the edge of the stage, Changbin following close behind; the two of you rocked the verse out as you high-fived and waved at excited fans in the venue.

"Like I'm glowing in the dark I keep on going when it's all falling apart Yeah, I know it with all my heart Oh, oh"

Chan rang out a, "Never look back!" as you and Changbin rushed back to center-stage; Han then stood up, singing a solo line in a higher, enthusiastic pitch.

"Whatever happens, even if I'm the last standing I'ma stand tall, I'ma stand tall."

Changbin followed after, his voice deep but exhilerating.

"Whatever happens, even if I'm the last standing I'ma stand tall, I'ma stand tall!"

The energy of the crowd surged as you and Changbin unleashed your soaring high-notes, their thunderous cheers reverberating through the venue. With adrenaline coursing through your veins, you darted across the stage in an exaggerated, playful display, arms outstretched and fingers pointing theatrically at the sea of faces. Amid the dazzling lights, your gaze locked onto Chan, his eyes brimming with a mixture of amusement and admiration as he watched your exuberant antics. A mischievous grin tugged at your lips, and you snapped your fingers toward him, beckoning him to join you with a sharp motion, inviting him to share the spotlight for the grand finale.

He trailed behind you as you moved to the front of the stage, his gaze locked onto yours with a teasing gleam in his eyes. Every step you took seemed to pull him closer, his presence a steady, electrifying pull. When you reached the edge of the stage, you turned your back to him, letting the final lyric of the song linger in the air. The moment you spun back around, there he was—his grin widening as Han and Changbin appeared at your side, ready for the final encore, their energy matching yours as the crowd roared with excitement.

You held out your high note for longer than you were supposed to, in hopes to keep the phantoms with you for a moment or two longer. Yet, the music eventually came to an end; as such, you and the phantoms took one last painful yet exciting bow. Once you had risen up, you heard gasps from the crowd, no doubt signalling their disappearance.

For a final time, they had vanished.

---

That night, you made your way back to the studio, opening the doors solemnly as your gaze saddened. You looked to the couch, where Chan had spent all of his time writing songs with you, then to the piano, where the band had all of the meetings over what songs to play and when. You sucked in a deep breath, finding the confidence to speak to them one last time.

"I know I already said this, but uh." You looked to the sky, feeling connected with the boys once more as you took another deep inhale.

"Thank you guys."

"You're welcome."

You did not know what you were expecting, but it was not Changbin accepting your gratitude with a breathy groan, followed by Han and Changbin scoffing and sighing from frustration. Your eyes widened at hearing the boys's voices, so you ran to the lightswitch, flicking it on to see an unpleasant sight.

The boys were laying on the ground of the garage, side-by-side, coughing and groaning from agony. You felt bewildered tears seep into your eyes as you approached them. Chan's head looked up to meet you, sorrow present in his features.

"Why are you guys still here? I thought that-"

You were cut off by another sharp jolt piercing through the phantoms; this one was the worst of them all, knocking them all further down and causing them to squirm in pure pain. The sight of it all sent worry down your spine and made a feeling of pure dread settle in your heart.

"No, no!" you screamed. "Why didn't you cross over?!"

The phantoms climbed off the floor, Chan sitting himself up and Han and Changbin leaned on the edges of obscure furniture.

"Only one explanation," Han replied, his voice breathy. "Playing the Orpheum wasn't out unfinished business."

"Point Seungmin," Changbin punctuated with a groan.

"We wanted you to think we crossed over so we pretended to," Chan admitted, his eyes tearing up as he wiped at his runny nose. It was clear all three boys had been crying. "We didn't have anywhere else to go, y/n."

"Yeah, we thought you were going to go straight to bed," Changbin confessed.

"Well, I knew she was going to come out here, but no one ever listens to me." Han stood up, doubled over the piano. Another jolt rocked their bodies, causing you to run up to them.

"You have to save yourself!" you pleaded. "Go join Seungmin's club, for me, please! It's better than not existing at all!"

"No!" Changbin yelled, unintentionally. "We're not going back there."

"No music is worth making, y/n, if we aren't making it with you." Chan approached you, his lips quivering as he made dejected eye-contact with you. "No regrets."

Without a second thought, you hurled yourself into Chan’s arms, wrapping your arms around him with a desperate intensity. It was as if you needed to hold him so tightly, so completely, that there would be no chance of him slipping away, even if you clung to him forever. Your heart raced, and in the quiet of the moment, your lips trembled as you finally whispered the words you’d been aching to say all month.

"I love you, Chan."

Chan’s heart ached, a sharp pang echoing through his chest as your words hit him. The weight of them, the raw vulnerability, brought tears to his eyes, and they fell silently down his cheeks. Fear gripped him, but he clung to you just as fiercely. His arms tightened around you, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered into the crook of your neck.

"I love you, too."

Han and Changbin watched in sorrow, Changbin's lips quirking up into a sad smile as he sobbed.

In that moment, you pulled away, realization coursing over you as you glanced up at Chan; however, something was entirely unfamiliar about the boy:

He was glowing.

Your hands ran up his forearms to his shoulders as you studied him in a dazed confusion.

"How can I feel you?" you questioned, hoping he had the answer.

"I don't know," he answered, his voice barely audible. His hands came up to cup your cheeks and yours to grip his as he continued, both of you longing for the touch you had so desperately craved from one another. "But I...I feel stronger."

Han and Changbin stood frozen, their expressions mirroring the same bewilderment that mirrored your own, eyes wide and hearts heavy with confusion. The room seemed to hold its breath as you reached out to them, your hand a silent invitation. Slowly, they moved toward you, drawn by the quiet gravity of the moment. Without a word, the three of them joined you in a single, tight embrace, pulling you into the warmth of their presence. 

Just as you had suspected, you could feel them as well, and their bodies became enveloped in the same, golden hue that Chan was. The hug lingered for moments on end before the four of you broke.

"Woah," Changbin sighed. "I don't feel weak anymore!"

"Me neither," Han added on. "Not that, y'know, I was ever that weak." The comment caused a giggle to echo in that moment of tension; suddenly, the three phantoms felt a weird sensation on their wrists, almost like a tingle. Han and Changbin rolled up the sleeves of their blazers and Chan held his sleeveless arm out.

The purple, Hollywood Ghost Club stamps on their arms floated lightly above them before disappearing entirely. All four of you looked at one another, a knowing look present in your gazes.

"I think the band's back," Chan whispered, smiling from ear-to-ear at you. Your eyes flickered to his, pride and adoration visible; before you could act, Han spoke once more.

"Can we uh...can we do that hug thing again?"

"Absolutely!" you, Chan, and Changbin happily sounded at the same time; with that the four of you enveloped into another tight hug, jumping around from excitement at the night's events.

"We played the Orpheum, guys!" you yelled, pulling away from the phantoms.

"Yeah, we did!" Chan responded, his hands gripping your shoulders with an exhilerant intent. As he gazed at you for longer, however, his demeanor shifted.

He took in the weight of being able to feel you, to caress you, and to hug you, and it made him wonder.

"Boys, you mind giving us some space?" he looked to Han and Changbin, who smirked, knowing what the boy was planning. As they walked away, he took your hands in his, smiling brightly at you.

"So we can hug," he said, "and we can hold each others faces, so I wonder-"

You did not give Chan time to finish before your lips closing the gap in between you two. His lips were warm and soft against yours, tentative at first from astoundment. The kiss was everything, from sweet to electric to gentle, carrying the passion you had felt for one another for so long.

When you finally broke apart, your forehead rested against his. Chan smiled the boyish, lopsided grin that never failed to make your heart race.

"Stole my thunder," Chan remarked cheekily, eliciting a chest swat from your end.

"Whatever," you mumbled. "So, since the band's back, can we also be back? Or, can we at least start something?" Chan responded by interlacing your fingers, a motion he felt a certain relief at finally being able to do.

"Didn't know we were ever gone, Love."

---

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght, @amararosesblog (If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know!)

[superbat-lmao]

Scene 5

Robin sees two shady figures on a roof. They aren’t speaking, but they move in perfect timing. Handing each other items out of bags, dodging playful swipes. It’s clear they’re surveilling someone/something but not who they work for. Most goons are pretty obvious, these guys are non descript but don’t signal like league. Robin starts to tail them and see what he can get.

Jason is secretly laughing at Tim because he can tell the kid wants to fanboy so hard at getting to see the original robin in action but knows he can’t say anything to him. It’s why they went silent once they spotted him. They’d have left altogether if the lead they were following wasn’t at the top of their list. So now they’re stuck with the kid until his shadow shows up and they’re distracted long enough to make a break for it. Until then Jason keeps huffing a laugh for every one of Tim’s sighs in frustration. Batman, and his non-civilian associates, are to be avoided at all costs. Basically anyone with the training to recognize their training. They have to be careful how they disguise themselves because they don’t want to give off league vibes but also don’t want Batman to assume any one criminal center of activity has two, new, major league players at their disposal. It would increase their threat level by a wide margin, so they’re mostly sticking to uninteresting moves and silence. Things that used to bore Dick to tears when he had recon shifts.

It took them longer than they wanted to admit that Dick was so easy to spot because he didn’t want them to notice Batgirl. But then Jason really had to stop Tim from giving himself away because the absolute joy that passed over him and then immediate frustration at not getting to see them in action, to test himself against them, was palpable.

When their target moved, they moved. It wasn’t simple recon, so Jason and Tim took different routes and convened in an agreed upon spot. It went flawlessly, both of them getting the intel they were looking for.

When they turned around, they were face to face with Robin and Batgirl. They smiled under their masks.

”Who do you work for?”

Robin’s question went unanswered.

(Need to add more chatter from Robin/Batgirl)

Tim got his way, in the end. The fight against Robin and Batgirl was fun, in its own way. It was interesting to see Dick’s moves in action before they were all polished. When he used certain combos that he’d changed as he got older or added in some flair in his flips. The fact that Tim could counter all his moves was throwing him off.

Jason’s fight against Batgirl was going similarly. He was having the time of his life seeing Babs in action, but clearly knew her skill set and its counters. It was oddly nostalgic.

They didn’t incapacitate them, but did restrain them, only after being sure Dick has triggered his emergency beacon.

“Seriously, who are you guys?”

Jason snorted before cocking his head at Tim. Tim titled his head back before giving a small nod.

”Look. It was a good fight. You clearly need to work on (chaining one move instead of a different one) and Batgirl, you did excellent though if you (other minor form correction) you’d have an easier time switching between moves. Your babysitter will be here soon, so we’ve gotta bounce, but really, thanks for the opportunity. Don’t forget the samples.”

The last comment was to Tim, who leaned over and disabled some of the security measures on their costumes in order to retrieve hair samples the vigilantes and tried to stealthily conceal. There was a tone shift then, at how easily the unknowns accessed their suits.

It went from playing up their struggling for info gathering into tense, considering silence.

”How did you know how to access Robin’s suit?”

Batgirl has always been talented at maintaining an even tone in tense situations. It’s what made her excel at bing Oracle.

”Lucky guess.”

Then, between one blink and the next, the pair bolted off the roof, dropping down to street level and taking off. It would be bad to showcase their grappling skills, especially after the familiarity with the suit.

Batman appeared 3 minutes later, releasing the vigilantes from their bindings.

Robin explained everything, including about his gear being compromised.

Batman told him to hand it over for inspection and found another flash drive in its pocket.

Making it the third unexplained drive. And officially tying the two spotted tonight to his newest foster children.

Outtakes below!

“Yeah but you got to fight the both of them!”

“Which is exactly why we can’t engineer more situations like that!”

“Oh fuck you.”

“Look, I already took care of the Joker, you’ll have a chance to fight Batgirl some other time. For now just be happy you got to fight Robin.”

“Did you see their costumes?”

“Glorified lycra. Seriously, what was B thinking? They look more like a high school costume department than vigilantes.”

“Oh and you would know, huh?”

“Screw you kid, I died before getting to participate in my high school play.”

“I am not a kid! And yeah yeah, join a community college this time around and go live it up. Seriously though, should we be including fabric information on the flash drives? I don’t know how they’re running around like that.”

“Well the real answer is that they didn’t keep running around like that. They got hurt a lot and B tried to bench them. I don’t know if we want to tip our hands even more about their suit constructions. But I also don’t want them to get shot. Jesus, there is no padding in any of that!”

“I think it’s better they’re safe than giving hints about ourselves.”

“You say that now, but wait until we have Big Blue on our doorstep.”

“I have contingencies for that.”

“Speaking of, how is the clone front looking?”

“What?”

“That friend of yours? I was kinda fucked up for a while there but I know you’ve got info on Luthor. How long do you have to wait for him?”

“A few years.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. I will need your help with some of the security for that one.”

“Hacking is more your area.”

“I meant leveling what’s left of it afterwards so it can’t be reconstructed.”

“Now that’s more my speed.”

Tim and Jason AU

Scene 1

Jason makes it look like he’s doing something shady on a nearby roof, something that Tim thinks the Bats would want to hear about. And only Tim notices. He wants to be useful.

He starts to follow Jason and there are some mechanical closets on the top of the roof, and Jason is being very obvious in his direction, so when Tim turns a corner he isn’t expecting Jason to be behind him suddenly.

He’s not dressed in any sort of identifiable style, definitely not League or gang affiliated and not a mask. Tim doesn’t scream and Jason picks him up by his jacket and shakes him in minor frustration.

“I swear you had better instincts than this. Seriously kid, tell me you’re not this reckless. I’m surprised the Bats haven’t already had to clean you off pavement.”

“What are you doing up here?”

“Bzzt, wrong question. Actually, no questions, you shouldn’t be up here and following a shady guy in the dark.”

“What’s the right question?”

“What am I gonna do with you?”

Tim freezes, maybe sinking in a bit how stupid that was but the guys seems to be asking himself more than telling Tim that was the question.

“That’s the right question?”

“What? Yes, if your cover’s blown it’s important to assess how you’ll be appraised and know what the person will do with you. Also called a secondary cover or ploy. Always make sure you have a plausible reason for where being somewhere you shouldn’t be. And if you can’t, have a quick escape.”

“Why would you tell me that?”

“Second tip kid, the questions you ask a suspect inform on what information you have. Don’t get too close to the topic you’re most interested in or you’ll give yourself away.”

“A suspect?”

“How else would you describe me?”

The guy’s grip changes and Tim feels something sharp prick his neck. He feels true panic and hears vaguely, “control your response next time because adrenaline makes your heart spread a sedative in your blood stream faster if you’re panicked. You’ll thank me later, kid.”

When Tim wakes up, it’s to two gloved fingers pressed beneath his jaw. Checking his pulse He can’t get his eyes open yet, but he can hear voices.

(Jason tied Tim up, lit the batsignal, and left a flash drive pinned to Tim’s chest. It explains his home situation, how long he’s been following the Bats, and that he knows their identities.)

*Scenes from a fic I’ll probably never write. Mostly just notes app things. Outtakes below the cut.

“Seriously?! The Batsignal?!

“It was that or leave you in the cave for Alfred, and the Batsignal was less confrontational.”

“And lazy, what, you couldn’t wipe the feed?”

“I can wipe the batcomputer faster than you, I’ve been hiding shit from Bruce since before you were in spandex. But tipping our hand that early? You’re not usually this stupid, Timmy.”

“Just shocked by your self control by not picking the most nuclear option.”

“The most nuclear option would have been holding you hostage and having a good ol’ fashioned stand off with the Bat. Maybe mail him your spleen as motivation.”

“Fuck you. I already took care of Ra’s - he’ll keep his spleen this time.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

[hunniegl4zed]

Oh man, those designs are more than what I could’ve come up with. I’ve never seen Scourge look so deteriorated before. 

Like you would not believe the whiplash I got from the transition Phase 3 to Phase 4, talk to meeeee, what happened to the poor boy, what was the push that led to further physical harm??? I need to know his thought process before withering under Super Scourge’s control entirely! (I WOULD HATE FOR THAT THING TO BE MY SLEEP PARALYSIS DEMON, I HEADCANON HE SOMETIMES ADJUSTS HIS HEIGHT LIKE A SHADOW JUST TO FUCK WITH YOU LMFAOOO) 

Looking at base Scourge to the very end of his phases I was like oh you can breathe, you can blink, you can cry but say goodbye to yourself, by the end of this au you’ll be a changed man. 

Ahh, you just delivered on the horror aspect so so well.

 (Also yay Patch’s got a good chance of living through his life well even if he’s got questions about it and it took years to finally brush his quills. additional question: based on shiny’s first post about patch, would he still hate the color purple?)

Also shoutout to Realm once again for whipping up the life reversion idea and potion purification method, BECAUSE HE BLOODY NEEDS IT!  🗣️🗣️

**I now believe if some methods were used such as the “mind crush” one, Scourge/Patch would need the wheelchair for a good while as part of his recovery process. Going through something like that would fuck you physically up for sure even with chaos healing involved. He’ll be fine but for now he’s just burnt out and doesn’t talk much.

Yessssss, big about out to @hevexns-realm for always bringing up her A-Game with writing 😫💕💕🙏🙏 Realm, you're always know how to create bangers with words and swing my motivation and inspiration right back at it 💪💪❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Well, my boy's thoughts before he got under Super Scourge control are confusing to him as well. Dude just got brought back to life and no one wants to believe him. In the beginning he's just thinking people are pulling pranks on him or that he's used to not being taken seriously by anyone else. The longer the stuff goes on, the more he believes the world is against him and the world should pay for it (Going from the idea another Anon did as well~)

He goes on with his promise and takes care of Moebius, leaving death within his wake. Until he's burned out and somehow ends up in Sonic's world. Clearly traumatized from the stuff he did pull off (killing his father ect.), the whispers of Super slowly start getting into his mind. His harm starts when the whispers starts since he also carries a sense of guilt with him. He starts doubting himself, thinking if all that rampage was for a good thing. Only for Super Scourge to egg him on, to tell him that what he did was right. Purple spots would start to appear on his body and it frightens him, causing the harm we see in the designs. But once it starts, there's no way of going back. It gotten so worse at the end that he takes off his own arm to see if he's sleeping or not and to take "Super away from his body."

When you hear the same thing over and over again everyday, at some point you will start to believe the voice inside your head. The whispers turning to screaming making it unable to deny anymore. At his weakest and most broken moment, Super takes hold :3

My writing isn't the best so might change a few things along the way 🤣✨️

AND HECC YES, SUPER SCOURGE CAN CHANGE ANYTHING HE WANTS FROM HIS BODY. He wants to be able to give maximum trauma and pain. He can take ANY kind of form. Even from other people 👀

Patch and the color purple are no friends indeed. That boiio is traumatized by it, but weirdly also fascinated about it. When Mephiles shows him the power of Dark Chaos energy, Patch would be scared at first since it does have a purple glow.

Also, when Patch gets older, especially in his teenage years, he will get visits from his big friend in his head 💀 The others better take notes on that one.

Scourge/Patch's recovery would be harsh, long and painfull when "Mind Crush" would be used against him. He basically needs to re-learn basic skills as well and mental help cause, although it saved them and made them getting loose from Super, the damage would already be done.

Thank you so so so much for all the compliments as well and for being so hyped about the AU 😭💜💜💚💚💙🙏🙏🙏 Sp honored to share and create this AU with all of you 🥹🫶💕💕💕

[skitskatdacat63]

Hello guys!!!!! Aforementioned project is finally finished 🫠 It was meant to be just a simple weekend project, and ended up being 30+ hours over the period of like four days. I don't think I'm an actual normal human anymore. This is the project that caused everyone in my life to question my mental and physical wellbeing and health. But I'm super excited to share this all of you!!!! Please enjoy!!!! Even if you don't like vettonso, I hope this is still interesting????

If you make any, please reblog this or tag me in it! I'm excited to see what other people, other than just me suffering alone in my bedroom, make out of this!!! <3

[reblog-house]

Some things can change.

[spiritcc]

at this point I don't even know if tag fragmentation in the general russian holmes space is worth addressing. a few years ago I successfully kept the ancient customs intact because I wrote a post so deranged and pretentious it displeased people into doing what I wanted but nowadays what's the point in making a grand return of being terminally online if yall kinda right

[lem-argentum]

it took me until dt to change rudy's hairstyle, but i ACTUALLY think he would've cut it back in post-stb when he became a reaper. the trope of "character cuts hair to feel more in control of their life" is cliché but REAL. and also the visual of him cutting it with his scythe is fun