#but i happen to the kind of person who crumples if i don't get some kind of interaction daily

[lightnersdream]

[happyyyandcrazyyy]

matching bracelets (kaz brekker x reader)

summary: when (y/n) buys kaz a bracelet she does so as a joke, she knows he’ll never actually wear it. imagine her surprise when she sees it dangling around his wrist.

based on the prompt: person A gets person B a friendship bracelet, expecting person B to never wear it, but when it’s given to them person B puts it on and is rarely seen with it off.

warnings: mentions of blood and torture (not explicit, briefly mentioned)

kaz taglist: @the-tpd-bau @ellievickstar @thestudiouswanderer | soc taglist: @ancientbeing10 (if you want to be added or removed from the taglist just dm me!)

a/n: guess who's back after a year of being mia!! i've been working on a lot of fics, but inspiration just hasn't been there, so i'm going slow, i don't like to force myself to write if i don't feel like it. anywaysss, i hope you enjoy this one! it was such a fun ride to write :)

Jesper opens the door with a loud bang, strutting into the Slat with his head held high and a slight jump in his step. He’s whistling good-naturedly, his left hand twirling a pistol and his right hand holding a rumpled piece of paper.

(Y/N)’s right hand— which had immediately reached for the pocket knife in her boot at the tumultuous noise— retreats back to her side. She relaxes, letting her shoulders sag and briefly looking down to make the final correction on a contract Kaz had her look over, left hand holding the pen and swiftly moving over the paper.

Jesper makes his way towards her, still whistling. She follows him from the corner of her eye, a slight smirk taking over her features. He’s in a good mood, the kind of mood he’s only ever in when the Gods are in his favor and he manages to miraculously not gamble away all his money. It’s not something that happens often.

“Did you win some?” she asks, already knowing the answer but enjoying the way the Sharpshooter preens under the attention. Jesper, very much in character and to (Y/N)’s delight, twirls around and does a ridiculous dance before taking a small bow.

“Baby, I won a whole lot.”

She huffs out a laugh, leaning back as she watches him place the pistol in its respective holster before plopping down on the chair by her right side and tossing her a small bag.

(Y/N) catches it smoothly, reflexes as sharp as always.

She doesn’t need to open the sack to know there’s kruge in there; the sound of coins jiggling against each other is a dead giveaway.

Jesper winks, a teasing smile on his lips. He tips his chair back, feet on top of the table, “Because you’re my favorite.”

It’s really because he owes her more kruge than he’ll ever be able to repay, but (Y/N) plays along. She’s never cared much about money, anyways.

“You sure do know how to charm a lady,” she smirks.

“I’m good at charming gents, too.”

“Versatile.”

“You know me.”

(Y/N) smiles, softer around the edges this time, something reserved only for her closest friends. She’s about to being correcting another contact— she has twelve to go through, all because she’d been bored and had decided annoying Kaz would be a great way to spend her time, he obviously hadn’t agreed —when Jesper slides over the piece of paper he’d been holding in his right hand. In the time he’d made his way towards her he’d somehow managed to crumple it completely.

She takes it, half curious, half willing to do anything to procrastinate revising and correcting those stupid documents.

“Brought this for you, too. I’ve got the feeling you’re going to enjoy this much more than the money.”

Her eyebrows furrow with curiosity as she slowly opens up the paper.

Ink contrasts the yellowish hue of the paper. Her own face greets her, drawn by hand, but fairly accurate.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N)

Wanted dead or alive.

1,000 kruge.

She can’t help the snicker that falls from her lips

Jesper is right. This is better, much better.

“Can’t believe it’s only a thousand this time,” she huffs, a small pout on her lips. “I must be losing my touch.”

Jesper snorts at that.

(Because she hasn’t lost her touch, not even a little, and they both know it. Just yesterday she’d managed to get vital information out of a Black Tip member with a single touch and a minimal amount of bloodshed. Three days before that she’d disposed of a rival gang member who’d been speaking too freely and she’d made sure his body would never be found. Two weeks prior to that Kaz had sent her to steal a miniature stature and she’d done it without a hitch, forging an identical copy in less than five days. No, she still very much has it.)

“I might have to go overboard next time,” she muses quietly to herself, “do something that will raise the bounty to at least two thousand five hundred.”

She traces the outline of her name, biting down a smile when Jesper snorts.

“You’re insane,” the Sharpshooter deadpans, the fondness in his tone almost tangible.

(Y/N) smiles wickedly at him, “So they say.”

Marbles is what they’ve nicknamed her around the Barrel. They say she’s lost them all. And it must be true, she must be out of her mind, because having a bounty on your head in Ketterdam is nothing less than a death sentence. It means having the most ruthless assassins coming after you, all looking for a way to make fast money. It’s living with the constant fear of someone sneaking up on you and slicing your throat, of having your food poisoned, of being choked to death in your sleep, of having your closest friends betray you as a means to survive. But to (Y/N), who has been part of the city’s underworld since before being able to formulate words, who has had any sort of ability to feel fear beaten out of her, this is nothing but one of the most amazing sources of entertainment. It keeps her on her toes, brings an adrenaline rush that does not compare to anything else. She must be crazy because any sane person would be paralyzed in fear, running for their lives, and yet all she can feel is the comforting thrill of being in mortal danger. (And, yes, it is comforting. She was raised to be a weapon, trained to withstand any form of torture; having Death peering over her shoulder is something she’s comfortable with, something she’s used to, something that soothes her). Besides, even if she wasn’t deadly confident in her own abilities (which she very much is), and even if she was able to feel terror overtaking her limbs (which she doesn’t think she’ll ever feel again), the title she holds would be enough to keep her relatively safe; she is Kaz’s right hand, and no one dares touch something that belongs to Dirtyhands.

(Y/N) stares at the poster for a little while longer— they got her nose wrong, made it too pointy —before smirking to herself. She knows how this will all go down, has seen it played out a few dozen times before (this is a regular occurrence, after all, a bounty is placed on her head every couple of months, whenever she loses her temper and murders someone who was deemed untouchable, or steals something much too valuable for her blood-stained hands). So, yes, she knows how this will go; the bounty will stay up for a couple of weeks, long enough for a few to dare try to kill her, and then it’ll be removed by whoever placed it once they realize it’s futile, once they see how everyone who even dares breathe too close to her winds up dead. She hopes the assassination attempts are entertaining, she hopes whoever dares come after her head gives her a good fight, if only to keep things interesting. It’s been a while since she’s had some unrestrained fun.

(Kaz keeps her on a tight rein, knows better than to let her run around freely. To say things can get out of hand when she’s left to her own devices would be an understatement.)

“Again?”

The voice comes from behind her, and (Y/N) doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is, she heard his steps since before he even walked into the room. (It’s easy to know when it’s Kaz, he subconsciously places more weight on his left leg to keep the right one from aching, it makes his footsteps distinctive.) Still, she angles her head to meet his eyes. He’s leaning over her chair, cold eyes watching the bounty poster with disdain.

He’s never said it but (Y/N) knows that he doesn’t appreciate her life being imperiled. She is, in a way, an extension of him, and therefore any threats to her he sees as direct threats to him. Dirtyhands doesn’t take it well to being threatened.

“It’s okay, boss,” Jesper calls out. He’s still tipping his chair back, now playing with his guns. (Y/N) is kind of tempted to lean forward and kick one of the chair’s wooden legs, just to watch him struggle, possibly even fall. But Jesper’s known her long enough to realize when she’s on the verge of becoming a nuisance because his eyes narrow playfully and he lets the chair’s weight drop forward, “I wouldn’t worry too much.”

From the corner of her eye, (Y/N) can see the way Kaz’s face morphs. It’s almost indistinguishable, but she notices it. She thinks she would be able to spot the most minimal change in Kaz, she’s known him long enough for that. (Y/N) watches in amusement as he opens his mouth, no doubt to argue that he isn’t worrying at all, because Gods forbid he ever outwardly cared about anyone, but Jesper beats him to the punch and keeps going, “Heard some of Pekka’s Lions talking ‘bout how they’re not even going to try to come after her this time.”

“How boring,” she mutters to herself in disappointment, reaching for her glass of whisky. She’d meant for the comment to go unheard but Jesper’s snicker tells her that she wasn’t successful.

She takes a chug as Jesper points an accusatory finger at her and smirks, “That’s all on you, Marbles.”

At her bewildered look, he elaborates, “Two of them said something about not wanting to meet the same fate as the Razorgull guy from a couple of months ago—” (Y/N) smirks at that. The guy had deserved it. He hadn’t just tried to kill her, but also grope her. Murder she could understand, respect even, but touching someone else without their consent? No, she drew the line there. She’d had him swallow his own testicles; it’d seemed fitting enough. “—and the other one said that even if you hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t come close, not with you being Kaz’s right hand,” Jesper pauses for a second, a smug smile appearing on his lips, “and his best friend.”

Their reaction is instantaneous; Kaz goes rigid at the words and a smirk takes over (Y/N)’s features.

Oh, if the night didn’t just suddenly get better.

She glances up at her best friend, only to find him already glaring daggers at Jesper, who shrugs helplessly and innocently says, “Just telling it like I heard it, boss.” The flicker of amusement in his eyes reveals that he’s very much aware of just how much ammunition he’s provided (Y/N) with.

(Y/N)’s smirk becomes wider and gains a teasing edge when Kaz looks down to meet her eyes. His eyes harden, explicitly telling her to not utter a single word. Sadly for him, she has never been one to follow the rules, and Kaz must notice she’s not about to obey because his face morphs slightly, just enough to show the most minimum amount of discomfort. He cringes just the tiniest bit, bracing himself.

He knows her too well.

“You hear that?” she asks him, tone light and filled with amusement, “We’re best friends!”

“We are not,” Kaz tenses his jaw as he replies. He backs away from her, as if creating physical space between them will somehow stop the words from leaving her mouth and making their way towards him. As if distance could make her less of an bother.

(Y/N) fake gasps, clutching the skin over her heart in the most dramatic manner, “You wound me deeply, Kazzy.”

Jesper snorts, coughing to try to drown the laughter. She might be the only one who doesn’t get a knife to the jugular when calling him that.

Kaz’s eyes snap toward the Sharpshooter and the look must be deadly because Jesper quiets down immediately and tries his best to evade the boss’s glare. Kaz’s gaze then shifts towards (Y/N) and she perks up at the way his eyes harden even further in annoyance. He’s told her a million times to drop that ‘ridiculously stupid’ nickname and she’s decided she never will, not when it drives him to this point of exasperation.

(She’s a thrill chaser, you see. That’s what happens when you’ve seen just about everything and lived twice as much; few things get your heart pumping. And getting on Kaz’s nerves? That’s always exciting. (Y/N) never knows what to expect of him. The Bastard of the Barrel is unpredictable in a way that’s just delightful.)

“If you call me that one more time—”

“What are you gonna do? You can’t possibly try to hurt me. Best friends don’t do that to each other,” she mocks.

His eyebrow twitches, her grin stretches.

Oh, she’s going to have a field day with this one.

It’s obvious that Kaz knows he’s not winning this discussion because he walks forward, snatches the revised contracts and makes his way back to where he came from.

“Get those done before tomorrow afternoon.”

Boring. She was expecting more banter.

(Y/N) turns around to watch him leave, unable to stop herself from throwing a sarcastic, “Sure thing, bestie.” She does her best to sweeten the last word in a way that she knows will infuriate Kaz.

He freezes.

Bingo.

Even from afar, (Y/N) can see the way he tightens the grip on his cane. She’s thoroughly disappointed when he doesn’t throw a dagger her way. That would’ve been exciting. He takes another route, one she should’ve seen coming.

“I’ve got seven more files that need to be corrected. Collect them when you’re done with those.”

The corner of her lips tugs upwards slightly. There’s something thrilling about playing this game with Kaz, of seeing how much one of them can push before the other yields. He’s skilled and she enjoys the competition.

She ignores his order, “Goodnight, Kazzy.”

He slams the door on his way out, the only visible sign that she managed to get on his nerves. That’s mildly entertaining. Causing even the slightest slip of Kaz’s control over his temper is a success in her books.

“You’re out of your mind,” Jesper informs her.

She raises her glass of whisky at him and winks.

And that’s how it begins, as a joke. (Y/N) refers to Kaz as her best friend on every given chance. His reactions never disappoint.

There’s a lot of death threats;

(“Don’t mind him, bestie here is always grumpy.”

Clenched jaw, an exasperated sigh. “I will murder you.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, Kazzy.”

There’s a knife thrown her way. (Y/N) catches it with ease, whistling good-naturedly. She smirks when she catches the look of annoyance in Kaz’s face.)

and a lot of not so kind words thrown her way.

(“I get special best friend privileges, right?”

“You get tolerated,” Kaz mutters, “barely.”

“That might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me. Now tell me you love me.”

There’s that Brekker glare, one that would send anyone to an early grave. (Y/N) just smiles sweetly.

“Get out.”

“Whatever makes you happy, best friend.”

She cackles as she closes the door behind her, the curses Kaz is sending her way loud enough for her to hear.)

All in all, (Y/N) is as happy as can be. Having the time of her life, really. It’s not often that she finds something that makes Kaz fume. He plays the game too, of course. He has her going over financial documents and legal contracts on her free time, knowing just how much she hates the bureaucracy, and he gives her the household chores she despises the most. Still, (Y/N) doesn’t complain. She does everything with a smug smile on her face. The annoyance that flashes through Kaz’s face makes it all worth it.

The bracelet isn’t something she plans for, it really isn’t, but the Saints place the opportunity right in front of her and who is she but a mere mortal that must obey the signs evidently laid by otherworldly deities (or whatever bullshit those religious fanatics preach).

(Y/N) inspects the wristlets in her hand. They’re black and rough, made of broken-down nets that fishermen dispose of near the pier when the material has worn down beyond repair and is no longer useful. The little girl who had sold it to her couldn’t have been older than seven, and yet the design was more than decent. (Y/N) had offered three kruge for it, much more than it was worth. The child had looked delighted, had thanked her profusely as she’d placed the coins inside her worn-down shoes.

Oh, (Y/N) cannot wait to see Kaz’s face.

“What’s that?” Jesper asks as she meets up with him, eying the bracelets with a gleam of interest. He twirls his guns absentmindedly, missing the way some of the fishermen glance at him with distrust.

“Oh, you know, just some matching bracelets for me and my best friend.”

Jesper snickers, shaking his head and proceeding to let out a low whistle.

“This might be his breaking point.”

“Wouldn’t that be delightful.”

“You’re insane, Marbles.”

She gives him a wicked smile accompanied by a wink. She’s about to retort when she catches sight of a shadow on the corner of her eye. She recognizes it immediately as her target. Shopping, as fun as it had been, wasn’t the reason she and Jesper were waiting by the pier. They’ve got orders. She has people to torture and interrogate and dispose of— preferably in a quiet manner —and Jesper is Kaz’s way of making sure she’s got her back covered. (Not that she needs backup, but whatever, she has tried arguing with Kaz about it and it’s the one thing he won’t relent on, the one matter she’s accepted she won't ever win. Kaz doesn't play when it comes to her safety.).

“If you’re kind enough to hold these for me,” she places the bracelets on Jesper’s unoccupied hand, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

They make it back to the Slat before sunrise. (Y/N) had been quick and efficient, as she always was, and Jesper had been a quiet and solid shadow, as he always was.

“I assume it all went according to plan,” the Bastard asks when he hears their steps coming into his office. It’s late, or rather extremely early in the morning, and yet (Y/N) isn’t surprised by Kaz’s presence. He rarely sleeps.

“It went without a hitch, boss,” Jesper responds, resting against the doorframe.

(Y/N) hesitates for a split second, her memory providing a brief flashback to the interrogation she’d done, to three little words the man had let slip out: they’re coming for you.

A warning or maybe a promise.

Thrilling, either way. It wasn’t often that she was verbally threatened.

At the time, she’d dismissed the words, too filled with bloodlust to pay them any mind, but now, with a clear mind and a steady heartbeat, she suddenly remembers her face plastered on paper all over Ketterdam and wonders if the words might be related to the bounty on her head.

Oh, she hopes so. That would prove to be fun.

They’re coming for you. Good. Let them try.

She nods her head in agreement with Jesper’s words. Kaz nods in approval and then jerks his chin Jesper’s way, a clear sign of dismissal. The Sharpshooter never walks into Kaz’s office after missions like this. He’s an escort, a babysitter of sorts, merely Kaz’s way of making sure she heads his way instead of making a beeline for her bed.

(Y/N) sticks her tongue out at him and Jesper blows her a kiss in response.

Lucky bastard. It’s always her that has to stay up to report. And she hates to admit it, but she’s tired, she can feel the exhaustion begin to creep on her bones and settle in. She has been up for more than thirty-seven hours at this point, and she can feel it catching up to her. Still, she knows that Kaz prefers to hear details when the information is fresh on her mind, when she can provide as much detail as possible, so she pushes through for him. She just has to wait a little while longer before crawling into her bed and passing out for the next twelve hours.

“Marbles comes bearing gifts by the way,” is the last thing the Sharpshooters says before exiting.

A smirk takes over her features, sleep, exhaustion and the new information briefly forgotten.

Kaz is going to hate it.

Lovely.

Kaz seems to sense, probably by the wicked amusement on her face, that whatever it is it’s not something he’s going to enjoy. His face twists into a scowl.

“Out with it, then.”

She pulls out the dark bracelet from her pocket as she walks towards Kaz, dangling it in front of his face when she’s close enough.

Jesper had handed them back on the way home, tossing them over as soon as she’d wiped the blood off her hands. He hadn’t said a word, but (Y/N) knew that the action had meant to snap her out of the weird haze that clouded her mind after every mission, where adrenaline still coursed through her body and all she could think about was bloodshed, fingers itching to kill and maim and fight.

(It was a thing, the haze. When taking lives there was nothing but calmness and bloodthirst, the restlessness that always lingered beneath her skin subsiding as soon as a weapon was placed in her hand and orders were given. And as soon as the mission was done, as soon as the target was neutralized and she’d efficiently fulfilled her orders, fogginess followed. Her mind became clouded, as if somewhat trapped in a loop of violence, every nerve on edge and ready for any threat to emerge.

She was brought up as a killing machine, a child soldier, the best out of all the assassins produced by the Silent Blades, her father’s pride. She was ruthless, wretched, or at least those had been the words used to describe her when she’d been a child. She supposed the dissociative state she slipped into was normal when considering her upbringing, some sort of psychological shield that kept her from going insane.

She never spoke about it, but the Crows somehow knew. They often eased her out of it, knowing full well that when trapped in that state she had not an ounce of thought and only muscle memory to rely on, which made her infinitely more lethal.)

Jesper’s actions had worked like a charm. With something else to do with her hands, the fogginess had ruptured. She’d absentmindedly tied one of the bracelets on her own wrist, fingers playing with the edges of the other.

It’s that bracelet, the one on her arm, that Kaz glances at now. It’s brief, but for a split second the scowl etched on his face softens and something that she can’t quite catch passes through his eyes. It’s gone before (Y/N) can even begin to process it.

“Best friends have to have matching bracelets, don’t they?” And if she wonders about it later, she’ll blame it on the exhaustion, but the words come out softer than she intends them to. A jest, but not any less truthful.

Kaz’s face morphs and she gets a fleeting glimpse at that flicker in his eyes again. His scowl melts into something a tad bit gentler, the look contrasted by the aggressiveness with which he snatches the bracelet from her hand, “You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met.” He means that and his tone has enough bite to make her cackle.

Amusing.

Placing her hands on her back pockets and shrugging, she responds, “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Kaz snorts, “Go take a bath.” He dismisses her, turning around and making his way to his desk, “Reports can wait until you don’t look half dead.”

That’s unexpected.

(Y/N) raises her eyebrows, “You’re being nice.” It isn’t often that Kaz forgoes a report after a mission. He might’ve been more touched by the gift than he’s letting on.

“It’s for my own sake,” he retorts, not turning around, “you just stink and it’s making me nauseous.”

She does have a lingering smell of blood and sea water.

“Everything in this damned place stinks,” she responds. I know you’re lying, she’s saying, I know you’re being kind.

“Get out.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” (Y/N) mocks, walking out of his office.

She sleeps a full day after that, everyone knowing better than to bother her unless they want to lose to their head, and when she reports to Kaz the next morning the three words she’d heard from the man slip her mind. (Y/N) doesn’t remember them until a few weeks later when she’s tied to the ceiling by her wrists, face bleeding.

Now, she must admit, she’s impressed. No one had ever tried kidnapping before. There’d been more attempts on her life than she could even count; stabs resulting in blood being shed, never one drop of hers, poison that she had either swallowed down like a champ or identified before a single lick of it touched her tongue, because being raised an assassin meant she’d been trained in the art of toxins and she’d built up tolerance to pretty much every substance in existence, and that one time they’d tried to shot at her, which only resulted in (Y/N) stealing Jesper’s gun and placing a bullet right between the perpetrator’s eyebrows. All in good fun. Kidnapping was new, but only because those who had attempted on her life had never tried joining forces, all of them wishing to keep the financial reward for themselves.

Torturing, that was new, too.

She could endure, of course she could, she’d been trained for this. That did not mean she’d missed it.

The poster had stated she was wanted dead or alive and it was clear that the man in front of her wanted to take his time. It was personal, she could tell by the brunt of his hits and the delicate precision of his cuts. Had she been anyone else, she would’ve been begging for it to stop, but (Y/N) was a Silent Blade, even if she’d left the organization and that life behind, and she would never break.

The only reason she was in this situation was because the assailants had gotten the upper hand. They’d used one of (Y/N)’s street urchins— a little girl with piggy tails and two missing teeth, one of the ones who gathered information for (Y/N) and traded it for food and shelter —as leverage. And time had apparently made her soft because she’d hesitated. The brief second of doubt had been everything they’d needed.

Them subduing her didn’t mean she’d gone down without a fight. There’d been five of them in the beginning. Only three remained. She’d plucked one guy’s eye out, going deep enough to sever the optic nerve and cause brain damage, and she’d ripped the other’s ear with her teeth before slitting his throat. She’d managed to stab one of the three men remaining with a dagger before being injected with some unknown serum. It hadn’t knocked her out, not the way it was supposed to if the incredulous look on her kidnapper’s face was any indication, but it had drugged her enough to allow them to overpower her.

And now here she was, slowly bleeding out.

“I intent on handing your corpse to them and claiming the reward.” He’s been quiet for so long that (Y/N) had almost forgotten his presence. She doesn’t raise her head, only looks up. It’s hard to do so when her right eye is swollen shut. “But they never specified the conditions it had to be in.”

The man has his back towards her, fingers running through a box of tools. He’s used almost all of them on her by this point. Amateur. A skilled torturer knows to go slow, to drag it out, to choose a weapon and stick to it until the person is weeping and screaming.

“It was my brother that you killed.”

That sparks her interest, a smirk taking over her bloodied lips. She looks at him, dead in the eye.

“Which one?” she taunts.

The sound of her voice, still strong despite the blood loss, startles him. He freezes for a split second, hand over a wooden baseball bat.

“What?”

She snickers, blood dripping into the floor. “I’ve killed a lot of men, darling.” The way he seethes, fury filling his features, amuses her. “So which one was your brother?”

“You had him swallow his own testicles.”

“Oh, him,” she nods her head in appreciation. “Can’t say I regret it.”

Now he’s fuming, hand shaking so badly he almost loses the grip on the bat. If (Y/N) looks close enough she can see the resemblance. Same brown hair, same nose, same crazy look in their eyes.

“I’ll make you regret it.”

“You can certainly try,” she concedes mockingly. Because, honestly, there’s nothing he can do to her that she hasn’t already withstood.

There’s a raging roar and then a burst of pain. A hit to her abdomen, which no doubt bruised a rib, and then two to her back. But it’s okay, she thinks to herself as she wheezes and coughs, trying to regain air in her lungs, she knows how to play this game and how to win it. Keep him talking, keep him angry, let him think he has the upper hand, keep him from noticing how she’s preparing to break free.

“I wonder…” he murmurs, bat dragging behind him. “You’re not particularly remarkable.” She scoffs as he begins circling her, a tactic supposed to drive the prisoner into panic at the lack of vision of their assailant. Her heart doesn’t stutter. She’s trained to identify people and objects by sound not sight. She knows precisely where he is, even if she can’t see him. “So, what makes you interesting enough for the Bastard to keep so close?”

She grins, feral and with bloodstained teeth.

“Why don’t you come closer and I’ll show you?”

His face does not change but his step falters. “You cannot believe me stupid enough to fall for that.”

“You were stupid enough to tie my wrists with handcuffs,” is all she replies before dislocating her own thumbs and releasing herself from the shackles.

She hits the floor hard, body swaying for a second. Her hands are numb, nerve endings frayed. It hits her, now that she has to keep herself outfight, just how much blood she’s lost. The edges of her vision blur.

There’s a cut on her thigh, it bleeds heavily. Her back is all flayed skin. Breathing is hard.

It doesn’t matter. She only needs four fingers and half a mind to hold and use a dagger. She shakes the dizziness off.

He comes at her, but she’s expecting that. Sidestepping him is easy, kicking him in the back as he passes by even more so.

“You’re not much without your friends and a syringe full of drugs, are you?” she stumbles a little as she taunts him. Time is not on her side, she knows this. He’s cut deep in her arms and legs, no major artery touched, but with precision to give her a slow and prolonged death. She’s been steadily bleeding for hours.

(Y/N) has to end this. Soon.

He comes for her again, and she dodges, punching him right in the gut. He feigns left and she moves away, noticing too late the fist that impacts with the right side of her face. Despite the pain, she manages to stomp his toes and slam her knee against his balls.

That does it.

A high whimper leaves his mouth and as he struggles for air, she backs up. Keeping her eyes on him, her right arm reaches back to the toolbox. She knows what she’s grasped as soon as her fingers graze it.

“Say hi to your brother for me.”

The scalpel lodges itself right on his carotid artery.

“Nice,” she mumbles in delirium as she hears him choke to death. It’d been a majestic throw.

The adrenaline is gone in a second. (Y/N) stumbles backwards, barely aware of all the tools scattering around in the floor. She lets herself rest against the wall, slowly sitting down on the floor.

She’s going to die.

It doesn’t matter that she’s managed to get rid of that poor excuse of a man. She’s too injured. She knows.

(Y/N) isn’t scared. She’s tangled with Death for a long time, and as cold begins to creep in and the edges of her vision blacken, it feels like welcoming an old friend. It feels like getting what she has always had coming for her.

The tips of her fingers begin to tingle, her body’s desperate effort at keeping her heart pumping. Her ears are ringing, hard enough that when shouts begin all that she can hear are muffled sounds.

Then someone’s touching her face. She greets the warmth.

“Fuck,” she hears as she tumbles forward, her forehead landing on a collarbone. Jesper grasps the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair. At least, she thinks it’s him. Her brain feels mushy, but her nose has never failed her, and it smells like gunpowder and mint.

She’s laid down on the ground gently, probably to inspect her injuries before moving her.

“You’re going to be okay,” the Sharpshooter reassures her, but his voice is trembling. He’s scared. She must look worse than she feels, and she feels like she’s been attacked by a group of Heartrenders.

She wants to speak, to tell him it’s okay, but opening her mouth feels like an impossible task.

“Save your energy.” That’s Kaz. His voice is steady, but she can feel the underlying tension, the worry in his words. “You are not dying tonight.” And he says it with so much conviction, like he would hold her soul with his own hands to keep it anchored to her body, like he would keep her heart beating with pure willpower.

Her eyes look for him, but she catches sight of something else entirely.

“You’re wearing it.”

She must make no sense, words slurred, but Kaz understands. His whispered words are the last thing she hears before slipping out of consciousness.

“How couldn’t I?”

Then there’s nothing. She loses track of time. She comes back to her body from time to time, able to hear words but incapable of pinpointing the speaker. She’s floating, but there’s pain and aching.

“…too much blood, I don’t know…”

“…keep her alive.”

“I am trying!”

“Don’t try, do it.”

“…punctured lung, broken ribs…”

“…don’t know how she’s still alive.”

When she comes to the first thing that she feels is blinding pain. Everything hurts. Her muscles complain as she sits up. She clenches her jaw to keep the tears at bay. The worst is already over, she will not cry.

“Don’t move,” (Y/N) freezes at the command, her head snapping towards the voice. “Nina stitched you back together, I doubt she would be very happy to see all her hard work ruined.”

She gently eases herself back on the bed, fingertips running over her bandaged stomach. She can feel the edges of the stitches poking through it. It must’ve been bad, then, if she required stitches to keep the wound together. Usually, she’s a fast healer, a result of all the training she’d gone through.

“How long?” Her voice is raspy after not being used. Her throat hurts, which might be related to the way she was choked to the verge of unconsciousness several times while held hostage.

“Four nights.”

Bad then.

(Y/N) can feel Kaz’s eyes on her, assessing. She meets his stare, and it’s when she’s looking at him that a vague memory comes back.

Her eyes drift down to his wrist.

The twin bracelet to her own, the one she keeps tightly wrapped around her wrist, as if part of her own skin, greets her.

“You are wearing it.”

Kaz frowns in confusion, until he follows her line of sight. He looks away, hand clenching and unclenching over the head of his cane.

“Even after almost dying you’re still insufferable,” he responds.

But when he looks back at her, (Y/N) can see everything in his eyes.

How could I not, he’d said, and he’d meant it. If friendship was something that could bloom in a wretched place like Ketterdam, Kaz was her best friend and she was his, even if they’d never discussed it, even if they would never admit it. You’re the steady order to my unrelenting chaos, she thought to herself, someone I would follow to the end of the world.

He nods, as if reading her mind and agreeing with her.

“Rest.” That’s an order, one she has no intention of disobeying.

“Sure thing,” she responds as Kaz makes his way towards the door, “bestie.”

(Y/N) can feel the amusement in his words, “Absolutely insufferable.”

She smirks, toying with the ends of the bracelet’s strings.

(Y/N) never takes it off. Neither does Kaz.

[charlottecutepie]

｡ꪆৎ ˚ Bully (Michael Afton x fem!reader)

while I'm writing fics with William (and making some people’s requests!), i decided to post Michael smut bc there’s lack of content about this boy :)

summary: you're mad at both Simon and Michael for not helping you with project. But guys only mock you, saying stupid jokes about your ex. Wait, was it you or Michael’s voice sounded rather… jealous?

tags: Michael is jealous and kind of possessive, bully!Mike, mention of break up, smut, vaginal sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, kind of rough sex?? (Michael can’t control himself), William Afton mentioned

"Stop smoking." in a loud, angry tone, you tell to a couple of guys beside. One of them turns around and blows smoke right in your face, laughing. "Fuck you, Simon."

"Don't tell me what to do, tuts," Simon frowns and leans against his friend Michael, who was busy reading comics, not paying attention to you. "You've been too nervous and angry lately." guy notices. "Is it because of your ex?"

"Of course, no dick and she's all worked up." Michael adds fuel to the fire without even bothering to turn to you. However, his back stiffened.

"What are you talking about? What does this have to do here? We have a fucking project together and I'm only one doing something, that's why I'm mad at you!"

Simon didn't answer because he just didn't know what to say. You were right. He and Michael didn't do shit, only you worked on the task. Simon just gave you a blank look, raising his eyebrows mockingly. There was a rage boiling inside you that almost made your face turn red.

"Ran after him like a tail." Michael lets out a strangled laugh, finally turning to you, his fingers clutching the comic. "You really loved that boy so much, didn't you?"

Now it's your turn to shut up. Insults and obscenities rise in your throat, threatening to jump out. Michael's face didn't flinch for a second as he continued to pierce you with blue eyes, as if trying to make you uncomfortable, which was puzzling. Michael has always been like this: aggressive, with cruel and stupid jokes, cheeky taunts. But why do his words sound like he's jealous now? Why so much attention to your personal life?

"You two are completely useless, I'll have to ask teacher to pair me with other students." you sigh, putting all your notes, notebooks, sunglasses in your bag, and the next second you leave both guys behind.

Their behavior, especially Simon, who was like Michael's faithful dog, doing everything just to get approval from its owner, infuriated and caused indignation. But more than that, you were hurt their comments about your personal life. Your ex has nothing to do with it.

You go back to school walking through empty corridors since classes have already ended. Of course, you'd have been home a long time ago, too, but thanks to a couple of jerks, you're stuck here until tonight. You angrily punch Michael's school locker, ripping off the poster of his favorite rock band.

"Fuck you, Michael Afton!" you swear, crumpling the poster in your hands and throwing it on the floor.

You had no idea that someone was following you slowly and carefully through the corridors.

Upset and frustrated, you enter lady's bathroom, go to the mirror and look at yourself carefully. Why, you think, he broke up with me? What happened between us?

You straighten your hair, carefully laying it on your shoulders, without interrupting eye contact with your reflection. You need to push these thoughts away, now is not the best time for self-reflection, you need to gather your strength and finish this damn project.

You try to find something in your bag as you take out a lip gloss from your makeup bag. And again feeling of sadness and longing comes through. Now it feels wrong and hurtful whenever you look at that gloss. Your boyfriend always liked it when you applied it. And now it's a painful reminder that will haunt you for a long time. It's just not fair.

Just when you're about to throw that lip gloss in the trash, someone comes into the bathroom. You think it's another girl, so you don't pay attention.

"It was my favorite poster." Michael's voice is slightly angry. An unpleasant surprise is reflected on your face as you turn to him, pressing lip gloss to your chest. This is definitely not what you expected to see in the women's bathroom.

"What the fuck are you doing here?!" you hiss at Afton, looking him up and down. "You've been following me?"

"Knowing what a crybaby you are, it was the right decision." Michael shoves his hands into the pockets of his ripped jeans, leaning against the wall. "What if you went to hang yourself? And then Simon and I would be accused of driving to suicide."

"Stop your idiotic jokes at least now! Can't you see that I feel too bad?" you grit your teeth and frown. Your voice sounds offended. Michael's behavior has always been infuriating, but now it crosses all boundaries.

"My father taught me that if a girl is upset, she needs to be supported. That's how all gentlemen behave." the young man says with a sneer.

"Fuck you and your dad, Mike," you shout. "you're just like him, you selfish jerk!"

"Mmm," Michael nods, grinning. "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

You are silent again, not knowing what to say to this insolence. Does Afton really think that in eyes of other people, he's all cool and cocky? Doesn't he realize how stupid his behavior is? Yes, he is certainly a copy of his dad, Mr. Afton, but with a slight difference. The last one has at least some brains.

"My eyes are up here, honey," Michael grins, noticing your gaze. You blink in surprise, raising an eyebrow. "Come on, aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

"I didn't even look there, you idiot." you fold your arms over your chest and turn away, lifting your chin. That's when Michael pushes you against the wall, towering over you.

"Sure." he can't help but smile stupidly. "I must say, you have beautiful eyes, princess. That's what he called you, right?" there was something wrong with Michael's intonation, even this mockery sounded like he wanted to hurt not you, but himself. There was definitely a hint of jealousy in the young man's tone, although you didn't pay attention to it.

With every action and word of Michael, anger grows inside you, which has been accumulating all this time. And then the mixture of all the negative emotions finally reaches the top. You can't get over how much of an asshole Michael is. You'd do anything to shut him up, just to show him his place. But it doesn't take much time, the anger breaks out. Putting the lip gloss back in the bag, you raise your hand and slap Michael hard in the face.

Afton's cheek burns from your blow, it hurts unpleasantly so it takes him a couple of seconds to come to his senses, then he raises his head at you. His hand instantly reaches for the red mark, stroking it to ease the pain. Yes, it was insulting, even a little humiliating, but again he hides it behind an arrogant and satisfied grin.

However, his next words are strangely surprising.

"You know what?" Michael says in a calm voice. "That was hot."

You look at him, not even hiding your disgust at his words. Michael is such an asshole, even much worse than Simon and their two other bully friends. No wonder why Afton is the leader of their stupid bully four.

Just as you're about to slap him again, Afton grabs your wrist, pulling you closer to him. Your eyes widen with shock from his his behavior, you try to break free. Your heart is beating faster from misunderstanding. Being in the hands of a bully, in such an intimate position, when anyone can enter here, makes the situation even more dangerous.

"How stupid of him to lose a beautiful girl like you," Michael whispers, looking at your face, at how your lips are trembling. "I'll repeat, my father taught me to support when girl is sad." the last thing he says before leaning in for a kiss.

For a second, everything in your body, especially brain, stopped working, you froze. Even though Michael is holding you, you don't even try to pull away. Afton's actions become bolder because he sees no resistance, so he tries to get his tongue into your mouth. And that's when you finally realize what's going on and push him away.

"Fuck off, you idiot." you mumble, looking at him point-blank.

"I see that such support isnt enough." Michael bares his teeth and pushes his knee right between your legs what makes your skirt rise a little. At that moment, you blush and try to pull it back, but Michael's hand stops you.

You froze in another shock from another sudden kiss. You expected him to do everything but that. You try to push him away, but it's hard to get out of his grip. Or is it you who's fighting too weakly? At first kiss doesn't seem so pleasant, but then Michael deepens it as his hand moves to your waist, hugging you. The kiss gets more intense when you start responding, your body melts under Afton's touch. You don't even have time to keep up with your thoughts, confused by your own actions.

His lips suddenly feel so warm and pleasant which makes you want more, crave even more of this feeling: to be held like this, to be kissed like this even if it's Michael damn Afton. You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him harder. This isn't what you planned when you went here.

When he pulls away from you, you are in oblivion, heat is burning inside. Michael looks at you hungrily, not understanding why you responded. He lets you go and you stumble away from him, but after a moment your back hits wall. You're trying to figure out what just happened. Did he really just kissed you? And you responded with same? Why did this happen at all? There are more questions than answers.

Your heart is pounding as you stare at him, into his eyes, trying to read the answers in them. He caught you off guard, but you didn't push him off right away, you even started responding. The bitter truth is that you liked it more than you wanted to admit. The way he kisses, kind of rude but so hot… It caused an exciting pleasant feeling. But you don't understand how you can be attracted to this bully, in fact, a tormentor, a brute. All thoughts are fucked up and your legs feel like cotton wool.

Michael is elated to see the confusion on your face.

"Little miss hard-to-get," he says, running a finger over his lips. "always trying to be unapproachable." you're staring at him, heart is still pounding from the kiss. You can't find words. Michael feels your vulnerability and it only gives him confidence. "Don't pretend you didn't like it," he says with a sly grin. "I know it by the way you melt in my arms.

So he's also a romantic. However, he sucks at making tremulous speeches.

Feeling of annoyance reappears.

You try to deny it, but deep inside you know that Michael's words are true. You hate what's happening, what you've gotten yourself into. You blame yourself for enjoying it. A feeling of incomprehensible and inexplicable resentment grows inside: why couldn't HE make you feel like this? Why does it have to be Michael? It's unfair.

It's wrong to be aroused by Michael, to feel a pleasant tingling in the lower belly. Wrong, you keep telling yourself. You need to slap that cocky face one more time and get out of here. Forget about everything that just happened.

Why the hell does it have to be Michael? You have to act like this with your boyfriend, it's almost cheating. But a second later, a bitter realization comes to your clouded mind. Right… You don't have a boyfriend anymore.

Michael sees the contradiction on your face and decides to try his luck, as if reading your mind.

"Maybe I'm the one you should be with," he leans closer. "I mean look at me," he says, pointing at himself. "I'm handsome, confident and I know how to treat a girl." he chuckles softly.

No way! You shake your head trying to come to your senses. You know what he's doing, trying to manipulate emotions by hitting on your weak spot: ex. But for some reason, you don't deny his words. It's strange, the feeling of impermanence, misunderstanding is infuriating. And Michael is like some kind of drug right now that you can't resist. Your palms sweating.

You're trying to regain your composure, push him away. But you don't don't strength, especially moral one, to do that. So you just look into his blue eyes, trying to understand the strange feeling inside.

"Have you been jealous all this time?" you ask, without realizing the question yourself, now you are acting only on emotions.

That's when the picture finally starts to show up… Michael's words, actions. All those stares, all those sneers. It was Michael's jealousy, which he could only show in this way.

"Jealous?" he repeats, his eyes widen slightly at your question. Michael was even surprised that you understood so quickly. "You have a rich imagination."

But you know better now. You didn't notice it at all before, spending all your time with your boyfriend. But others, especially Michael's friends, noticed the way he looked at you. Now it's getting clearer, now you see it. He was motivated and is still by something more than just hatred and the desire to mock you forever.

"Don't lie, you're really jealous." it seems that your words hurt him more than you thought. He looks away, staring at the floor.

"Maybe," Michael admits quietly. "maybe i am."

You feel a strange sense of victory, realizing that you've figured out reason of his stupid behavior. But at the same time, you feel guilty. You shouldn't like how the situation is developing and where it's all leading.

When you look into Michael's eyes, the tension only increases. It's as if all the pent-up emotions have been spilling out for so long, turning into an inexplicable lump that confuses both of you.

Suddenly his hands pull your hips closer to him, and you feel his erection through his pants. You both sigh from the close contact. Michael leans in kissing you again, his fingers sliding under your t-shirt, tracing the outline of your breasts. You moan softly into his mouth. Afton pulls away and begins to cover your chin line with hot, wet kisses, then your neck. You tilt your head back, closing your eyes, surrendering to the sensations. You don't want to think so you drive common sense and thoughts away.

Michael slips his fingers behind your bra, unbuttoning it. After that, he gently rolls your nipple in his mouth, sucking on it a little. You exhale, clutching at his hair. This is madness, it's impossible to stand it anymore. Michael's lips leave a trail of passionate kisses along your collarbone, his fingers teasingly descend to your stomach. He stops for a moment to look at you, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You know," he begins, his voice already hoarse with arousal. "I can get any girl I want."

You bite your lip, trying not to show how much you enjoy it. You realize that Michael is just trying to play on your nerves.

"Yeah?" you ask, trying to hide a groan. "Then what makes me so special?"

Michael grins darkly, his fingers tracing your sensitive nipple.

"I don't know," he replies, and gets a menacing look from you that says he's about to get a smack on head. "Maybe it's because you're so damn sexy when you play hard to get."

His compliments and flirting, if you can call it so, are pretty stupid and dumb, but then why do they cause pleasant goosebumps that cover the whole body? You want this. You need him. You can feel desire intensifying with every second, body craves his touch. You turn to face the wall, pressing your butt against his hard-on, letting him know exactly what you want, even though Michael understood everything a long time ago. And he wants the same thing.

"That's it," he breathes, giving you a kiss on the neck. "You want me to fuck you, don't you?"

"Yes," you're squirming. "I want you to fuck me." you meet his gaze, giving him puppy eyes.

Without wasting a second, he lowers his hand down, his fingers push your soaked panties aside, exposing your already dripping pussy to the cool air.

"God, you're so fucking wet…"

Michael's fingers slide between your folds, exploring your wet cunt. Your knees are buckling, and you have to lean against the wall to keep your balance. Michael smiles slyly, his fingers sweetly toying with your clit. You're whimpering, snuggling up against him, pushing up your skirt. He sighs noisily, thrusting two fingers into you at once, sliding them deeper and deeper inside, stretching you as your body shudders with pleasure.

"Lovely, such a good girl." he mutters, still moving his fingers. "cum for me, cum on my fingers." he whispers.

You grab onto the wall as a pleasant shiver runs through your whole body. Michael continues to stimulate your clit, making you arch. And you reach the peak, your body shivers.

"I've wanted you for so long." his hand turns your face to him, Michael looks deep into your eyes. "Your ex," he says in a low and angry voice. "he's a loser, a real idiot, because he couldn't satisfy you. That's why you're here, with me, in my arms."

Your desire is mixed with guilt, realizing what Michael is hinting at. You think you've somehow betrayed your ex by falling into the hands of someone else. But it's not like that. And Michael will prove it to you.

"You're mine now. That bastard missed his chance." Michael says, pressing his lips to yours.

As soon as Michael's words reach you, he straightens up and pulls your body closer, spreading your legs. He rubs his hard cock against your wet entrance and you shudder again in anticipation, responding to his caresses.

Michael pushes inside you, trying to stifle the desire to fuck you hard and rough, to make you cry, to make you forget that you ever dated anyone before him. Jealousy devours him and a disgusting picture forms in his brain… of you hugging and kissing HIM. But not Michael.

He stops, he pulls almost out only to slam back inside again, this time much deeper. Your walls tighten around his cock, waves of pleasure overwhelm both of you. Michael exhales loudly, squeezes your hips and picks up speed, furiously driving into you.

He can't control himself.

You scream into your own fist, all thoughts of the wrongness of the situation disappear, Michael hits all the right places, causing you to moan sweetly. Each hard thrust echoes with vulgar sound of skin slapping against skin, which only excites you both more. Michael holds you tightly, fucking you as you move your hips in response to his thrusts. The orgasm grows again, a tight knot of pleasure twists in your lower abdomen.

"Michael, I'm… I'm gonna!…" you whimper.

Michael growls in response, already breaking into a wheeze. Sweat rolls off his forehead and he frowns as he continues to ruin your sweet pussy. He likes to hear you lose touch with the world around, knowing full well that he's reason of it. Pushing into you harder and faster, he lowers his hand between your legs, finding your clit with his thumb, ripping off another moan from you.

You cry, arching your back, his finger starts tracing your sensitive nub. The additional stimulation pushes you to the limit, your pussy walls clenches hard around his dick. Orgasm hits you like a wave, forcing you to swallow air.

But even when you're shaking from overstimulation, Michael doesn't stop. He continues to thrust, desperately driving deeper, already reaching your cervix, determined to show you what good sex is. Aggression, jealousy and resentment flare up inside him, regardless of the fact that you're completely his now, he cannot contain his emotions. He grabs you by the neck, squeezing just a little. Michael buries his nose in your hair, hiding his face in it and breathing heavily.

Michael fucks you so hard, so furiously, so fast that there's lack of air in your chest.

"His cock wasn't good as mine?" he pulls back slightly, leaving a kiss on your shoulder. It's like he purposely leaves bite marks and kisses to make sure that you really belong only to him.

You can't think, your eyes roll back in pleasure. You can only mumble plaintively to yourself.

"Yes! Your cock is so good, so good!. . ." you admit between ragged breaths. Michael smiles dreamily, feeling a sense of triumph, such recognition fills him with pride.

"That's right, baby," he bites your earlobe. "all you need is me."

The pleasure becomes all-consuming, hitting right into brain. Michael growls raggedly, feeling that hes also close. Another orgasm snaps in you, a discharge passes through your body. Mike also reaches his climax. His body is shaking. He pulls out of you at the last moment, cumming on the wall, moaning through clenched lips.

Both of you are just standing there, panting and trying to come to your senses. But you feel weak, still not understanding a single bit of what happened. You almost fall, but Michael holds you tight, both bodies sweaty and hot. Michael closes his eyes, breathing down your neck. Unlike you, he is aware and understands well what happened because he planned it all. Anger leaves him, but not jealousy. Michael is a very jealous person, especially when it comes to you.

The muscles begin to relax, a pleasant fatigue covers your body. Suddenly you feel his teeth digging into your neck, leaving a small painful bite. Michael runs his tongue over the small wound, at the same time his hands begin to squeeze your breasts, as if he is afraid to let you go.

"You're disgusting." you're mumbling.

"I take after my father." Michael answers you, not hiding the joy in his voice.

Though Michael will throw away the lip gloss anyway.

[meaningofaeons]

Ehhh hi! I love your work so i wanted to ask for hcs with star rail men and kafka (choose whoever you want) with gn!reader or s/o who has a lot of childhood trauma. I mean brutal emotional and physical abuse from a really young age, a lot of scars, blood, sa, ect. How would (star rail character) react to s/o telling them about their past/ seeing s/o's scars? Pls angst🙏. If you dont like the request, just ignore this. Have a nice day/night! -anon

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ old scars die hard

⊹ character(s) - sampo koski, kafka, jing yuan ⊹ word count - 1.3k ⊹ notes - gn!reader, TW!! themes of abuse both emotional and physical, self-harm tendencies (not touched on as much but possibly implied?), etc. please read with caution and heed the warnings!!!

hi anon omg I hope you're okay (ﾐዎ ﻌ ዎﾐ)ﾉ I don't know whether this is personal to you and your experiences or not but regardless!! this req touched me I know it's been sitting in my ask box for a while but I wanted to do it proper justice. I love you anon and I hope you are doing well <3!!! thanks for the req!

⊹ Sampo Koski

He's not super concerned at first when he sees the first signs of scars

I mean, he's had his fair share of run-ins with disgruntled "customers". His scars are more numerous than yours, he'd assume.

That is, until he remembers you're not really in the same line of fire that he can typically find himself in

That's what gets him wondering.

Sampo's not really one to get into emotional vulnerability, and I don't think he'd ask you first

Unless of course, you started to gain new ones under his watch

If he's known you for a while, I feel like he'd have questioned it often until you told him to stop, and then he'd be kind of reluctant to bring it up again.

However, if you two are fairly new friends/partners, he'd dance around the issue but try to confront it regardless.

Especially if the abuse is current from people currently in your life or something you recently inflicted on yourself, he'd try to mention/address it in a roundabout way.

"That doesn't look so hot, Y/N! Might wanna see Miss Nat for it. What, you getting into the business of scam—aheh, I mean, customer service—too?"

Sampo tries to keep it light, but when he notices the way you tremble at the acknowledgement he makes of your wounds, his face crumples.

He's instantly apologizing, instantly doing anything to make you feel even a little better.

Offering to take you out to lunch, buy you something nice, or just get some takeout food and watch a show together.

I feel like Sampo, being relatively unequipped to seriously handle stuff like this (considering he's very much a humor-cope kind of person) would be especially frantic in trying to assuage your troubles

Whatever you want! Seriously, he'll bend over backwards for you, especially when you're vulnerable.

Sampo Koski may not be the most sensitive or empathetic, but he knows when to hold the quips and jokes.

He's a very good listener, though. It's honestly pretty shocking.

Now, Sampo's not much of a violent criminal.

Yes, he's a conman, but usually his plans involve escape over actual fighting back.

Still, when he hears about those who have made you suffer, he's not going to stand by.

In the cover of night, after tending to your wounds (both physical and emotional), he'd be off.

He won't kill them. But Sampo sure as hell will make sure they wouldn't even think of coming within five miles of you ever again.

And you'll never find out about it, either.

All that will happen is your life improving because your abuser will be out of it, and Sampo is perfectly content melding back into his usual joking self, bringing as much normalcy to your more peaceful life as he can.

⊹ Kafka

At first, I think Kafka sees your scars/wounds and is kind of... uninterested? Or perhaps less uninterested and more just unconcerned.

Sure, there's questions and thoughts to be had, but everyone has their pasts—especially those among the Stellaron Hunters.

However, over time and with careful, calm observation, Kafka notices more about you.

She takes a special interest in you that she doesn't quite hold with her other fellow Stellaron Hunters.

How you apologize endlessly over small mistakes...

Or even how you flinched back when Silver Wolf of all people got angry and shouted at one of her video games.

I mean, Silver Wolf! The smallest of the Stellaron Hunters—outside of her abilities in manipulating the data of reality and hacking, she physically couldn't hurt a fly.

So, Kafka takes matters into her own hands.

She's pretty upfront, seeing no reason in beating around the bush.

She was content before in letting it slide as "everyone has their secrets", but she eventually develops something akin to concern for your situation.

"Darling, I just had a few small questions for you... Don't feel pressured to answer if you're not inclined."

The second half of her sentence shocked her a bit.

She has abilities relating to hypnotic suggestion—if there's something she wanted to hear or know, there's no reason she couldn't acquire it. And if there's something she wanted someone to listen to and obey, she could do it with no questions from the other party.

So really, it was awe-inspiring that she afforded you the luxury of choice here.

After hearing what happened to you, Kafka is not the type to go on a vengeance-path.

She knows the past is the past, and that you're with the Stellaron Hunters now, so your abuser is long gone from reach.

I think Kafka mostly focuses on comforting you in the moment.

Especially if you're partners, she'd be very inclined to give you a shoulder to lean on, a person to cry to.

Kafka may seem flippant, but she holds a deep-seated affection for you and she treats your trauma with the utmost respect and seriousness it deserves.

She'd definitely get more protective of you after hearing your past.

As long as it's not against Elio's script, she's accompanying you on any mission you need to attend to.

And, well, if someone happens to trigger any unpleasant memories, be it a stranger or otherwise...

They're taken care of. Quietly.

⊹ Jing Yuan

Jing Yuan, teddy bear of a man he is, is likely the most forthcoming of the three about any scars he sees on you.

He's the General and goes into battle so that you don't have to get scars like his, and yet, what are these past wounds he sees on you?

The man isn't an idiot, though. He knows the circumstances behind them are likely far from pleasant.

He also knows how to treat a matter with the delicateness it requires.

"My dear... May I ask about that wound on your arm?"

So, so gentle.

He's already got you in his arms before you can say a word, cradling you gently and soothing you before you can get the story out.

Listens to every single word you have to say, only breaking your continuous sentences to hush you now and then and calm you down

Doesn't matter how much work he has to do, Jing Yuan would stay with you for hours or days on end to make sure you were okay

He, like Kafka, is not the type to be overly vengeful or seeking of retribution against those who hurt you.

Rather, he's more of the mindset that the best revenge is a life well-lived, and that's exactly how he intends to get back at your abusers—by making your life as wonderful as he can.

That's not to say he won't do anything, though.

If your abusers were still alive or around, he'd definitely pull some strings.

Nothing violent, of course, but the abuser(s) lives aboard the Xianzhou Luofu would never be peaceful again if he knew who they were.

Jing Yuan is more focused on you and your recovery.

If you ever feel like hurting yourself, or the past comes back to haunt you, he's dropping everything for your sake.

He doesn't just treat you like glass or tiptoe around you, though.

He knows how strong you are to have made it through such experiences and still be alive—to a long-lived species, it's especially admirable that one could sustain themselves through such things

As such, Jing Yuan respects you greatly. And he demands the same from others.

Not that he didn't already, being that you're his partner or closest friend (however you'd like to interpret, but he is most certainly in love with you!)

He's just more conscious of his own actions henceforth.

Jing Yuan wasn't the type to raise his voice or get visibly upset with you even in moments of disagreement or conflict, but he's especially more gentle after hearing your past.

The man is literally a walking green flag, I don't know what else to tell you!

[poetryandfluffycats]

Confessions

A/N: this was meant to be for a request but I went off the rails a bit, hope you all still enjoy! I also tried something new with the photo on the top, not sure if I like it

Pairing: Tsukasa Suou x fem!reader

Warnings: none, just wholesome bliss, arashi has screentime

Content: The press has been obsessed with your friendship with Tsukasa lately, which is crazy. Your crush was completely one-sided!... right?

Words: 1.6k

Oneshot under cut!

"So, how's your boyfriend?"

Arashis words nearly gave you a heart attack. You whipped your head around, staring dumbfounded at the blond woman as she raised her eyebrows at you. The two of you were in the Knights dressing room putting some last minute additions onto a new outfit for their next performance. They had asked you to help Arashi sew the puffs onto the sleeves since most of the members were busy, which you had happily obliged to. Who wouldn't want to hang out with Arashi? You were starting to regret your decision.

"B-boyfriend!?" You stuttered out, your face turning as red as a tomato. "Who are you talking about?"

The model rolled her eyes. "Don't be coy with me, I see the way you look at him! You can trust me, I won't tell~" She leaned over to you, resting her chin on your shoulder. "I can just see it now, Knights king and queen of the stage! Tsukasa Suou and (name) (last name)!"

You shoved her way, a very obvious pout on your face-although you tried to hide it. Of course she was talking about Tsukasa. Anyone with a brain would be able to figure out your little crush. It wasn't your fault, he was just so cute! And strong, and so talented! He was the most amazing person in the world-

Dear lord, you had it bad.

"We're not dating! He's a friend, nothing more" You lied through your teeth knowing damn well Arashi could see right through you. Turning your head back to your handiwork, you continued to stitch the sleeve, trying your hardest to ignore the eyes burning into you.

She let out an over-dramatised sigh, standing up from her place on the floor and skipping over to her bag, rummaging through the contents. "Fine, don't tell me! I already have my evidence"

Evidence? What on earth was she on about? From out of the corner of your eye you could see her pulling out a magazine, probably some sort of student-issued gossip rag. The kind that published complete bullshit about the ES idols just to get a quick buck. There was no possible way there was any reliable 'evidence' that you were dating Tsukasa anywhere, especially not in there.

"Here! You two made the front page!" Arashi slammed the magazine down in front of you, a cocky grin on her face.

Your blood ran cold at the grainy image on the front cover. It was from the day you and the redhead had gone out for cake together, and it was angled in a way that made it look as if the two of you were kissing. But that wasn't what had happened at all, it was a simply platonic meet up! Or at least, you thought so? Maybe you should have kissed him? Would he be a good kisser?-

Shit, stay focused (name)!

"I-its just pointless gossip! This isn't even real proof, anyone who thinks so is delusional" You huffed, pushing the magazine away and trying your best to hide the bright red blush that covered your face.

Arashi let out a "Humph!" and pushed the paper back over to you, flipping the page over to another article. "You're missing the best part, they got more"

"More!?" You shrieked, snatching the paper out of the blonds hand, nearly crumpling it in the progress.

The second page was littered with more photos of the two of you. Some taken from Knights live shows, some from public appearances at events, even some taken from within the Knights training room. How this person got their hands on those, you had no idea. The main one that stood out to you however, was a picture from a party that had taken place a few weeks ago. It was zoomed in on you and Tsukasa dancing together, both of you smiling like dorks with crazy blushes on your cheeks.

The headline that accompanied the image just made it all worse.

"Knights star seen getting frisky on the dancefloor!"

Frisky? Frisky!? Were they trying to imply that the two of you had been sleeping together? Sure, you liked the guy, but come on! You'd probably pass out if you so much as held his hand, to even think about doing anything more intimate made you want to jump off a building.

"This is absurd, who would believe this? Its not even true!" You tried to sound calm and collected but it came out more as a flustered whine.

"Oh I know, the media is just horrible aren't they?" The model said in mock sympathy, a shit-eating grin still stuck to her face. "Horrible for you, that is. I'm loving every minute of it"

You scoffed, throwing the magazine back at the girl, only narrowly missing her face. "Go back to work, Narukami, we're not talking about this!"

"Okay, okay! But, you have to tell me. Are those rumours true? Is it true he has a really nice-"

"NARU!"

/----------

That conversation with Arashi still hadn't left your mind by the next day when you were sat in the training room, watching the members of Knights practice their new choreography. You were there to help out and give tips on how to improve, but you couldn't help but feel a little distracted by a certain someone.

Screw that, you were very distracted.

The way he moved so gracefully with each step, how his small but defined muscles tensed up and glistened with sweat, the way he panted softly and how his hair fell out of place-he was perfect. You were a woman possessed, using every ounce of willpower you had to not run up and kiss him right then and there.

You wondered, would he be a good kisser? Would he taste sweet, like the cakes he chose to eat? Or would he taste salty from the sweat that accumulated on his face? How would he kiss? Slow and passionate? Rough and sloppy? Would he take the lead, or would he be more submissive? You wouldn't mind him either way, just as long as you got to hold him and feel his soft, warm skin against yours-

"(name)? Are you okay? Everyone else left already"

Your fantasises were interpreted by a concerned Tsukasa, who was now standing in front of you with a towel wrapped around his neck. The training room behind him was completely empty, leaving only you and the man you had been ogling over for the past half hour. You shook the blush from your cheeks as you stood up to gather your things. Was there a way to say "sorry I spaced out, I was thinking about kissing you" that didn't sound creepy and stalker-like? Probably not.

"Y-yeah! Fine, I'm fine!" You chirped, although it most likely sounded more like a high-pitched stutter. "You must have lots of things to do, right? I won't keep you, good job today!"

Nice. Not suspicious at all.

You turned on your heel, making a beeline for the door. If you didn't get out of that room you just knew you would end up saying something stupid and ruin everything.

Just before you could reach your sweet exit, however, a firm hand grasped onto your wrist, pulling you away from your escape route. You spun around, now finding yourself mere inches away from the redhead, close enough that you could feel his breath hitting your face. A cute blush dusted his cheeks, those big purple eyes staring deep into yours. He was so cute, too cute. He could ask to pull your teeth and you'd still think he was cute.

"Wait, (name), before you go" He paused, releasing his hold on you and clasping his hand together in front of him "I have a confession to make"

A confession? Was this it? Had the moment finally arrived? Was he going to confess his undying love to you and sweep you off your feet? Maybe he was asking you out on a date?-

"Augh! This is so embarrassing! But I-I must get this off my chest!" He cried out, cupping his face in his hands to hide his ever-growing blush. "I've read those articles about us and..."

"And?" You urged him on.

"(name), I think you're the prettiest girl in the world! And I think you're so kind, so wonderful and so talented! Please, I'd be honored if you were to accompany me on a romantic outing-I mean a date! I would like to take you out on a date"

Tsukasa bowed down before you, his face so red it rivaled his hair and legs shaking so hard that he nearly toppled over. After hearing his little speech, you felt as if you had died and gone to heaven. He liked you back, the king of the stage liked you back! Your mind spun at million miles per hour as you tried to think of a decent response. There were so many things you wanted to say all at once that you couldn't find a way to string them all into a coherent sentence.

So, instead of using words, you decided to show him how you felt.

Before the trembling boy could register your actions, you swiftly dropped down to his level and crashed your lips against his. Tsukasas body stiffened at the feeling, but slowly eased into kissing you back tenderly. It wasn't particularly elegant or long, but it got the message across. Pulling away from the kiss, you took in the sight of the now very flustered Tsukasa, his face beet-red and mouth hanging open like a fish out of water.

"I'd love to go on a date with you"

[mammalsofaction]

Those Moments When We Didn't Get Along

Rating: G

Relationship: Heinz Doofenshmirtz/Perry the Platypus

Add tags: Human Perry, mute Perry, POV Outsider, the whole Flynn-Fletcher family, set during the breakup scene from About Time.

A/N: The lore behind Perry and Lawrence's relationship is in compliance with the Human Perry Lore post I've made a while back here. Perry's sister, Lawrence's ex-wife, was named Evelyn, AKA Agent Eve the Echidna. (Get it, egg laying mammals native to Australia?)

Now read it on Ao3!

---

"Perry?" Lawrence calls out, knocking on his door. The room is dark, unlit, but the answering churr is unmistakable. He sounds...

"Are you alright, dear boy?" This time, an indecipherable grunt. "Linda sent me up to tell you dinner's ready. May I come in?"

When he hears no response, which is as good of an answer on its own, he pushes the door to let himself inside, and instinctively reaches for the light switch.

Perry's face down on the bed, still partly dressed in his teal work clothes. He doesn't flinch.

"My word, old boy, what's happened?" Lawrence demands, mildly alarmed. Perry bats his hands away when he plops himself down next to him on the mattress, shoving at his shoulder, but he does it without twisting himself around. "Don't be like that, let me look at you. Perry. What's gotten into you?"

Then he hears it. The unmistakable sniffle.

Lawrence gapes. "Have you just broken up with someone?"

It was an educated guess, but the way Perry leaps up to slap at his face all but confirms it. Lawrence supposed he had said it too loudly considering the kind of household they're in. He could swear Candace's hearing could be supersonic sometimes. "We didn't even know you were dating anybody," Lawrence chides, half despairing. Perry tries to plop back down into bed, and Lawrence doesn't let him. Going so far as to physically set himself between Perry and the miserably crumpled mattress so his foster-cum-brother-in-law was throwing himself into his embrace instead.

Lawrence pats Perry's back, commiserating. Perry's buried his face in the crook of Lawrence's throat. He hadn't gotten more than a glance at Perry's face, but what he's seen has practically torn his heart apart; nothing but swollen eyes and visible tear tracks. "What happened?" He asks again, helplessly. "Will you tell me?"

Lawrence half-expects being ignored. Both of them knew that Lawrence knew, at least partially, the hidden truth of Perry's career, but it wasn't from anything Perry ever tells him in person. There are some unmistakeable aspects of himself that he still clamps down on, and Lawrence would never presume to push.

So he's taken by surprise when Perry shrugs, noncommittal, then raises his hands to sign; Think I just got cheated on.

"You what?"  Lawrence hisses.

It's fine, I don't-

"No, Perry." Lawrence fumes emphatically, and the teak haired man stops short in surprise. "It is very clearly not fine."

Lawrence-

It's too late. Lawrence had already gotten to his feet, hands on his hips in a way that Candace had once told him made him look his own age, in a derogatory manner. He isn't thinking about that now, though. Now all he is is vibrating at an visible frequency of second-hand outrage. Dinner first, Lawrence thinks to himself. Then he will...he will drive out, and get Perry some ice cream so they can. Can stew and Perry will eat his heart out and they can cry and rage all about this....this no-good heartbreaking bedswerving cad.

This he tells to Perry, who responds by simply burying his face back into his pillow so he could continue wallowing. Lawrence feels generous enough to let him, but he leaves the lights on as he stomps his way downstairs, where the family was happily eating dinner before they see the look on Lawrence's face.

"Dad?" Phineas asked innocently. "What happened? Where's Uncle Perry?"

"I'm afraid Uncle Perry will not be joining us for dinner tonight, boys, and will unfortunately be out of commission until spoken otherwise."

"Out of commission?" The boy gasped dramatically, kneeling on his chair. Candace and Linda had both curiously put their spoons down. "He's sick?" Phineas concludes in dismay. Ferb blinks, shocked.

"Of a sort." Lawrence answers grimly.

"Of a sort?" Candace grunts. "What kind of answer is that? He's either sick or he isn't." Her tone was haughty, skeptical, but Lawrence could hear the concern in her inflection from a mile away. Candace loved pretending she cared less than she truthfully did.

When Lawrence feels the tug on his sleeve, he turns to see Linda, who had a carefully concealed look of concern. A single flick of her eyes in the direction of Perry's room was all she needed to communicate her offer; Dinner?

Lawrence nods, then points to the car keys, hanging by the front door.

Her brow furrows further in concern, but they both know that it wasn't the right time to properly ask. She turns to back to the kids instead. "Honey, why don't you help me make a plate of dinner, and Candace can send it up to Uncle Perry?"

"I want to help send it up!"

"There shouldn't be too many people in Uncle Perry's room, dear, he might have a headache."

"Me and Ferb will be really quiet, please please please please please-,"

Lawrence leaves them to it, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of Linda's temple and ruffling Ferb's hair as he makes his way out. He feels the boy's gaze follow him all the way to the door, but doesn't realize he's being followed until he turns around to shut the door behind him.

Ferb blinks expectantly.

"Oh, go inside, my boy, it's chilly! I'll just be a moment."

The boy responds by pulling a pair of mittens, and his purple bobblehead hat from his deep pockets, blinking again once he shrugs them on.

There was no talking Ferb out of something he's clearly made his mind about. Lawrence sighs, taking his hand as they walk to the garage.

"Alright," Lawrence concedes. "But promise we'll keep this between you and me, alright?"

Lawrence doesn't doubt he will. Ferb blinks eagerly in compliance.

-----

Lawrence figures the boy's figured it out, on their way home from the supermarket, cradling a chilly tub of Perry's favourite ice cream between his legs on the ride home and nothing else. He had snuck a couple packets of antibiotics and fever patches into the basket while they were out shopping, and Lawrence had awkwardly put each one of them back.

When Lawrence returns the sachet of night-time tea they both know Perry favours when he's actually sick, the boy had turned to him with such a deeply knowing look Lawrence felt busted for something he hadn't even been trying to hide, much less of any sort of trouble. The boy said nothing. He didn't have to. He reached for nothing else (save for a packet of gum from the side of the register of both his and Phineas' favourite brand) and remained perfectly well behaved for the rest of the trip.

"Now Ferb," Lawrence says warily, as they start pulling into their street. "You will have to promise me to keep this between us, not even to Phineas if he hasn't figured it out yet. Your uncle is the private sort, and I can't imagine he will want his dirty laundry waved all across town in the state that he's in. He's feeling vulnerable, you understand?"

Ferb nods firmly. Lawrence stretches out his pinky.

"Promise?"

Ferb takes it, and they shake on it like men.

"Good boy." Lawrence says proudly, once again ruffling his hair, and pulls into the driveway of the house.

Ferb rushes inside to put the tub in the freezer (Lawrence hears Phineas happy greeting from the kitchen, "Oh, there you are, Ferb." ) and Linda comes forward to take his jacket, welcoming him home with a gentle kiss. "Welcome home, stud. Found everything he needed?"

"As far as we know. Did you get to talk to him?" 

"He's not in a chatty mood. Though Candace squirreled a thing or two out of him; think she figured out faster than I did."

"She's always got a good head on her shoulders." Lawrence concedes, unsurprised.

"When need be." Linda agrees, before her facade drops and he spies a glimpse of regret. "I didn't even know he was dating someone."

Much less it was anything this serious. Goes unspoken. "I'm inclined to think it's deliberate. Not that we didn't have our suspicions."

"Did he say anything to you?"

Lawrence hesitates. "Not much." He hedges, unconvincingly, from the look of his wife's face. He sighs, and triple checks that the children had dispersed their own ways out of earshot.

"He did say," Lawrence begins carefully. "That there was some matter of. Infidelity involved."

Linda gasped. "Oh, that poor man."

"Not particularly forthcoming beyond the statement."

"Do you think it's one of his...co-workers?"

Lawrence glanced at Linda with a raised brow, but she seems firm with her line of questioning. She's one step further removed from any personal knowledge of Perry's life choices, and occupation-but Lawrence could hide from her as well as blood from gauze. She knew everything he did of Perry's career, which was never much at all. Enough to go by. Enough to reassure her it wouldn't harm their children.

Lawrence had never even considered this, but now that he was, it made a terrifying amount of sense. "I'm obligated to think it might be." He acquiesced. "Might be more complicated than your run of the mill splitting sob story."

Linda hums in agreement, before tactfully changing gears. "I'll reheat your dinner. Did you get him rocky road?"

"Mint chocolate."

"Oh my."

"I'm afraid we'll have to pull out all the stops this time around."

"Maybe I'll pull out my cake pan."

-----

In the days that follow, Perry remains inconsolable.

He's mostly taken to stuffing his face in chips and junk food in front of the TV, half watching re-runs, but for a couple of hours each day the children manage to convince him to participate in their backyard projects, and Candace even manages to coax him to come with her on a trip to the mall. Perry had come home laughing, with a new pair of jeans and flip flops, raving for some obscure chinese martial arts movie they had watched together. The joviality didn't stay, but it was still such a relief to see.

On a pleasantly windy Thursday night, while they've set up a fire and a couple of beers for a Men's Night In in the backyard, Perry nudges his shoulder to tell him, lightly, that he's thinking of quitting.

Lawrence inhales his drink down the wrong tube, and practically coughs his lungs out. Perry thumps him helpfully on the back, and politely refuses to comment.

"Perry," Lawrence gasps, when he's gotten his breath back. "Perry, that's-,"

That's good, he wants to say. But was it really? Bias aside...

That's odd, seemed a bit more truthful, but what kind of response would that be? Nothing at all.

"Are you really?" Is what he ends up saying, more baffled than he meant to put out. Perry shrugs, avoiding his gaze. A moment passes as he takes a sip, and running his thumb around the circumference of the tap.

Maybe not really. Perry admits. Just. I'm getting on in years, maybe I'm not fit for any of the fieldwork I used to do in my twenties. Maybe train some recruits, let someone new take my place.

This was the longest, most honest conversation they've had surrounding Perry's career. Even compared to the one surrounding Evelyn's death, almost a decade ago now.

He knows Perry enjoys fieldwork. It's been largely implied he prodigiously excels in it. So had Evelyn. He had never begrudged her for it, not even till her very end.

Lawrence wonders what changed. He doesn't have to for very long.

The honesty in the air makes him bold, almost uncharacteristically so. "This partner of yours," he starts, careful, careful. "Who was he? To you?"

Perry smiles, a small, bitter thing.

He was everything.

------

Then one day, Perry comes home and he's...better.

Not a 180, but it's. Close. A noticeably stark difference than how he had been last night that it even puts Phineas off, but only for a moment. Mostly he was just ecstatic.

"Uncle Perry's better!" The boy cheers and giggled, dangled beneath Perry's pit like a sack of fresh loam. Ferb's hanging from the back of his shoulders, kicking happily and trying to pull himself up. The man doesn't seem to notice, or mind, the pain. "He's better! He's better! Candace look!"

Ferb manages to haul himself up to sit and wrap his legs around Perry's shoulders, and Perry grunts, reaching back to help him establish balance as he drops a wiggly Phineas back on his feet to reach his mother, chopping lentils in the kitchen.

"Perry? Oh!" Linda says, surprised as Perry swoops in to plant a kiss on her cheek. She giggles, and pinches his. "Welcome home, you blasted rouge. Are you going to help me with dinner?"

Perry responds by taking over chopping duties, pulling the board closer to himself and stealing away her knife to commence vegetable slicing duties. His speed, and the nonchalance that accompanies it-despite the heavy burden around his shoulders, swinging his legs- was almost terrifying, but Linda barely notices. She's reaching for her phone by the cooking stove, sending her husband a red alert. Perry was whistling.

"I gather you had a pretty good day at work, huh?" She muses, half-serious.

He gives her a cheeky one-shouldered shrug, eyes rolling up. His smile dimples. Maybe.

She's practically burning with curiousity, but knows that now wasn't the time to ask. "Well, I'm making braised chicken. Why don't you help me with the asparagus? Ferb, sweetie, you want to get down and help me with seasoning the chicken breast?"

"Oh, but mom!! Asparagus makes Ferb farts so stinky!" Phineas complains.

"It also makes your farts stinky, mister. Now go help Perry pre-heat the oven."

-----

After dinner, Lawrence drops by again. In contrast to the state of things when the trouble began, his room is well-lit, and instead of resting, Perry's at his desk with his reading glasses, and a stack of documents he folds and puts away, out of sight, before he lets Lawrence in with a warm chitter.

As if the last few days never happened at all.

Lawrence has been witness to something like this a few times before, but it never gets any less off-putting, to realize he was so distant from the heat of things -the state, the conflict- and being privy only to the resolution.

Perry had been cheated on, by a man who meant everything. And now?

"Just wanted to check on how things were going." He says, closing the door behind him. "The kids were telling me you're feeling a lot better."

Perry, confoundingly, began to blush, looking down at his pen, rolled and fidgeted between his fingers. I am, he tells Lawrence. Wish I could say it was a huge misunderstanding, even if it was, a little bit. We just never put it into words, what we were, and I think it never occurred to us how much it would hurt, for him to have done what he did.

Perry put down his pen, picked it back up again, uses it to scratch the back of his nape as he looks at Lawrence a little bashfully. Then he puts the pen back down. It surprised me too, that I took to it as bad as I did. What we had was something...special. I didn't realize...

Lawrence looked at him intensely, arms crossed. When he determines Perry had nothing else to say, he asked -what he knew to be- the most important question of all. "And did he apologize?"

Perry smiles. It dimples. This time, it's directed at Lawrence himself, instead of a special man in the distant mind. He did. Perry signs.

"And he meant it?"

As much as he could.

"Well," Lawrence proclaims brusquely. He's trying to sound stern, but the undeniable lovesick smile on Perry was contagious. "So long as he doesn't do it again...,"

Oh, Perry signs ominously. He won't.

Lawrence finally lets himself smile, echoing the childish joy on his brother-in-law's face. "Well," he chuckles. "Then I suppose that's all that matters, doesn't it?"

Perry concedes with an affectionate roll of his eyes, but when Lawrence comes forward to hug him, he returns it right back tenfold.

Thank you, he signs meaningfully.

"You're family, Perry." Lawrence replies, with a shake of his head. "What slights you is a slight to all of us, and your joy is ours. Family sticks together."

It's an old catchphrase of a woman long gone, beyond what's left of her in both their hearts, and Perry tears up. Though he plays it off with a dismissive sniffle, and a bump of their shoulders.

You can be just as insufferable as she was. He signs, more affectionately than he wants to pretend to be. His tone shifts, grows bashful again.

Lawrence, he signs. Slow, hesitant. Do you think....if things ever....and I brought him over to meet...would you...like...?

The implications of Perry's broken up request was as strong as a punch to his gut, and Lawrence fears he might have lost his cool in his eagerness. "Of course we will!" He restrains himself to a stage whisper. He fears he would wake the neighbourhood in excitement, otherwise. "Perry, of course we will. I'll...we'll be honoured, my boy."

He means it too, and Perry could tell. His smile was blinding, and his blush had spread brighter than his skin tone, all across the bridge of his nose. You have to be cool about it. He makes Lawrence promise.

"Oh, totally." Lawrence reassures him. He's putting it on a little bit, on account of it making Perry laugh. "Chill. 100 percent-o. Call me liquid nitrogen the fact that I am lighter than air. I am pre-emptively cooling a block of ice. Call me Fro-zone the way I'm-,"

Get out, Perry demands. Barely. He's also doubled over in laughter. Oh my god, just get out before you make me regret this.

"Getting out!" Lawrence complies with a salute, and dashes out the room. He can still hear Perry chuckling as he closes the door behind him. His cheeks ache from his grin. All better, indeed.

Flushed with triumph and good tidings, he embarks on a mission to find his wife and share the wonderful news.

[a-libra-writes]

Lol I love your Lackadaisy reader insert 😩

I'm actually glad they animated it ..so can you write a romantic headcanon for Victor I love big beefy men ..👁️👄👁️

I kidda like if the reader is like a famous model and him a over protective male wife

I hope this make sense thou tell me what you think..

I love your works and have a good day/or night (⁠っ⁠˘⁠з⁠(⁠˘⁠⌣⁠˘⁠ ⁠)

lol so i really cant see viktor as like, a "malewife" as hes p traditional and rough around the edges but this made me think of some HCs with him and a married reader so here ya go!! It kinda got away from me.

Femme reader ahead!

--

Regardless of how you met Viktor -- perhaps you were both from the old country and came to America together, or you're a fellow immigrant he found common ground with once he arrived, or an American girl who actually bothered to talk to him -- eventually, you two married. You were a pretty girl and he actually had trouble talking to you the first few times. Viktor was quiet, but sweet, honest and reliable.

You and him only got a few years of married life before the draft came.

He wanted to do it, hoping it would bring some kind of opportunity for you both. At least the pay was better, as most employers felt a Slav was only good for dumb labor and low wages.

When he came back, he was Viktor, but not the one you married. Not quite.

The job at the docks was one he'd been able to stick to for some time, though you know he disliked it. He worked for your sake, so you wouldn't have to pull such long hours yourself. He did many things for your sake, silently and without complaint. He didn't used to be this quiet.

You didn't hear about the terrible riot, or his involvement. You just knew he never came home, and then some neighbor said he was arrested. Then - there was some lawyer? Some man named Atlas May? It happened so quickly. No one at the police station would help, as expected. But then that man, that Atlas May, drove up to your modest little apartment and explained in his polite, calm voice. There was no need to worry. He has a new job, and you'll be much provided for. He wouldn't tell you why Viktor was in jail or what this new job was.

Viktor had to move to a different part of St. Louis for this job. He didn't even tell you in person, he wrote about it, saying he'll send money and you shouldn't worry about him. If anything, you should move somewhere nicer and not think of him.

Obviously you crumpled that letter up and figured out where the hell he's gone off to. Once you find the Little Daisy, you look around and see your big husband in the garage. You immediately rattle off at him. WHAT does he mean by this and what happened to his eye and WHO is this man who paid for the lawyer and if Viktor thinks he can just upend your lives and not TALK to you--

Your language or his, he gets the point. The whole building probably heard you.

So, you find employment in the Little Daisy. The pay is generous; you wonder if Atlas is either placating you or feels bad for the whole mess. Maybe both, but it's much easier than the work you did before. And his wife Mitzi is friendly - you think she likes having female company for once. In spite of her fancy clothes and talk, she's quite down to earth.

Even if you don't mind working the cafe, Viktor feels a great deal of guilt for "involving" you in the business. Well, it is what it is. It's not so bad, on the quiet days. Sometimes he's home in the evening with you, sometimes he's out all night and gets in as you're getting ready for work. You'll share a kiss and give him a long, long hug before sending him to bed with no questions.

If he's wounded, Viktor doesn't like coming home. He'll stay at the speakeasy and get it fixed there, and recover there if need be, until you drag him back home. You are not above cornering Mordecai, dangling a rat by the tail and making him spill what Viktor got into.

"You wouldn't - I just cleaned this room, do you realize how quickly those vermin breed--" "Ohh, I would, and I'll get more until you tell me where he's laid up!"

Actually, you have kind of a weird friendship with Mordecai, like Viktor does. You know the surly cat keeps your husband safe and has saved his life before. When you tuck away some sandwiches and a thermos of coffee for your husband, you start adding some extra food and a thermos of tea for Mordecai, too. He doesn't say anything to you directly, but returns the clean thermoses and cups to Viktor. And comments it's nice to know someone around here can make a proper cup of tea.

If you know Slovak, that tends to be what you and Viktor speak to each other, even in front of others. Otherwise you two have a weird half-English half-Slovak and whatever else that most people only get every other word of. He finds your accent very charming, and kinda prefers that people don't know what you two are saying. It's more private that way.

If he's around, he likes to join you on your lunch break and yall get a nice moment alone. You snuggle up and lean on him and he quietly enjoys the affection. He growls at anyone who comes in and tries to interrupt Wife Time (tm). If he doesn't have something to do immediately, Viktor likes keeping you company while you cook up the food and work the register though he kinda scares the customers.

He REALLY doesn't like the idea of you working down in the Speakeasy, you're a pretty girl, and that's a rowdy crowd. Even with all their money, the men are the same. The few times you've had to go down for something or to help out, it only takes ten minutes before some Mister Whoever stops you and says you ought to be in magazines and the pictures. If Mordecai spots the altercation early, he beelines over to deal with it - because otherwise Viktor will come by, and his way of dealing with it is picking men up by their necks and all but full-body throwing them up the stairs. Atlas doesn't complain - it keeps the other patrons in line. Mordecai just doesn't want to deal with the mess.

(Sometimes it's just some harmless drunk whose clearly confused you for a different girl and you still have to pull Viktor away. "Dear, please, no one should get their teeth knocked out for a misunderstanding ...")

More than once Mitzi has taken you shopping and dressed you up. If it's a special occassion - New Year's is a big one for Lackdaisy - you should go all out! She makes sure your hair is done and lends you some jewelry, and floats the idea of you getting Viktor in a tuxedo. It would never happen, of course, but she'll try.

Yes, it isn't so bad to be here - the violence is frightening, but Viktor always makes it home back to you. Maybe just another year or two of saving and you both can find a nice house in the country.

[niamiya]

When you're all alone, I will reach for you.

Synopsis: You got ghosted by someone to which you didn't handle well, and now your roommate takes care of you 👍

Genre: fluffy fluff, comfort, a little angst??

A/n: TBH, I wrote this cause I actually did get ghosted by my crush recently (this might be me coping), so yeah 🤗 but hey, real-life experience makes the writing more realistic mweheheh (except i dont actually have a kaveh 😔) I like to write stuff based on my experiences and i love mah boy kaveh, anyways first post and sorry for any grammatical errors english isn't my first language!! Enjoy reading <33

Your crush had recently ghosted you, leaving you confused and depressed causing you to not want to leave your bed a rot there to the point your roommate, Kaveh, got worried. Whenever he returned from his work, he would usually catch you on the couch watching TV, but it had been weeks since he last saw you other than inside your room to the point that it felt like the place was filled with melancholy without yout presence, so he decided to check up on you.

"Hey, just checking up. Is everything alright? You haven't gone outside your room for a while now, can't help but be worried." Kaveh knocked on the door. The light from the living room shining past the slightly opened door to your pitch black room "I may not know what you're going through, but is there anything I can do to help?" He offered.

You jumped from the fact that kaveh had suddenly turned up to your room. You didn't think he'd be back this early since usually he would come back late due to him being an architect with possibly loads of projects, but even so, you covered yourself under the sheets not wanting him to look at you at this state which he did not take as an answer, he approached you and sat at the edge of the bed.

"Look, I won't force you to tell me what happened, but this is getting ridiculous it has been weeks. Could you at least let me take care of you? I can't see you in such a state," kaveh murmured. You can tell from the hint of his voice that he seemed like he genuinely cared about your well being, he had always been like that, caring about others more than himself, so much that sometimes you had to scold him about people taking advantage of his kindness.

But this time, it was different. It was you now who needed scolding for letting yourself rot in your room, skipping meals, ignoring and locking yourself from everyone over some person who broke your heart. This was the first time kaveh had to take care of you. He never saw you in such a vulnerable state (well maybe because you prefer to hide it) or it would always be the other way around because Kaveh would always put others first before himself which can sometimes not place a positive impact for his own good.

After a moment of silence, you realize he isn't leaving until you give him an answer, you slowly got up and let the blanket fall, revealing your puffy eyes and wet cheeks from the tears, pillow stained and crumpled tissues everywhere, your skin pale everything about you right now was so not you, you let out a hiccup and covered your face with your hands due to embarrassment, Kaveh gently rubbed your back making you feel more comforted as you sobbed more "I'm stupid, kaveh.. I wish I never wasted my time," you cried out to him.

He was listening to you tentatively, still rubbing your back while your words almost made no sense due to your cries and hiccups he was still listening, understanding your state, and trying his best to comfort you "Hey now, don't say that okay? You're not stupid at all. In fact, I think you did amazing. I've seen you giving all your efforts, and he just failed to see it, and it's not your fault," he admitted, truth to be told, he would always be the first person to hear what you have to say about your crush all the time even if it was a slight interaction, He had seen lengths you'd go through just to make your crush happy.

He removed your hands that were covering your face. Your vision was blurry due to your tears, but you could still see his figure wiping your tears with his thumb. "There there, you'll be okay. Trust me, I won't let you ruin yourself just cause one person broke your heart." he continued comforting you through it all to which you sobbed a bit. You thought that you'd have to go through this alone, but seeing your roommate now by your side gave you hope.

"I may not have much experience with this.. love thing, but I do know that not all people in this world are the same. You will meet someone who will notice all your efforts, so don't cry, okay?" Cheered kaveh, trying to find all the right words to say, all his words comforted your heart which was once shattered you couldn't help but pull him for a hug and let a few happy tears "thanks kaveh... for being here, I know you also have your fair share of problems to deal with, but you had always been so caring, " you whispered, with your hands around his shoulder.

"I'd do anything to see your 'too much energy' side again. In fact, I miss it, seeing you tell your day every time after I come back from work, so seeing you lock yourself away from everyone was devastating, " he whispered near your ear "you also have always been there for me when I always rant about my work, and I want to be there for you" he rubbed your back comfortingly confessing sweet nothings.

He slowly pulled away from the hug. "Come on now, you hadn't eaten any decent meal, right? How about I cook us your favourite meal for dinner?" He offered with a genuine smile. At that moment, you felt your heart skip a beat. You eventually nodded slowly. Your stomach had been rumbling all day as he gently took your hand, and both of you headed to the kitchen.

The light was almost blinding due to you being cooped up in your dark room for weeks, but the atmosphere felt comforting. The air felt fresher than the suffocating room. As you reached the kitchen, you sat down on one of the chairs as Kaveh prepared all the ingredients to cook your favourite meal. It's just a simple activity, really, but seeing your roommate so dedicated to cheer you up made you feel warm inside, he was smiling genuinely everytime he made eye contact with you whilst he was cooking the food.

Only then had you realized you were falling for your roommate.

______________________________________________

[lumiereswig]

Beauty and the beast but the people who are normally the good guys are evil

heheheheheheee I actually have a playlist called “evil batb” I listen to when I am ready to be wicked and commit crimes

Agatha cursed Adam at the last moment not as a sort of justice from hell measure but because he was about to crush her windpipe. sometimes self defense has to be a spell you set with your own blood. she crumples to the floor, dead, as Adam grows bones and claws and nails and teeth—and teeth—and teeth—and teeth….

In this timeline, a girl who might have just once been a dreaming bookworm has gone mad with loneliness, her heart a husk of what it was. she had a mother once, who died. she had a father once, who lived, staring at nothing, his fingers tinkering with gears that never fit. the magic and adventure never came. and when she hears there's a monster in the woods, she thinks I can turn my loneliness to some good measure. I'll go and kill the beast. Maybe then someone here in this village will take me as I am, if I finally have blood on my hands.

why was Adam trying to kill Agathe? because he doesn't trust magic, never has. What good is magic if the people you love can die and they do nothing to stop it? Agathe could have kept his mother from dying. Agathe could have stopped his father, any chance she had. but loneliness and anger creates more loneliness and anger, and in his desire to kill the last magic thing in the forest he becomes it, himself, roaring through the hallways and filling the rooms with a shaggy, aching rage.

Belle shows up and these two souls who don't have one good thing to say about the rest of the world start trying to kill each other—Adam because he has nothing left to be but a beast; Belle because she has nothing left to be but a slayer.

the staff are evil too!! oh my god they’re all so bad! but they’re bad in like, the campy tim curry ooo I’m evil because I wear leather kind of way. they’re bad like muppets. plumette throws knives lumiere wears thigh-highs cogsworth plots and schemes on like, how to set the table with purple napkins instead of white. in a previous life mrs. potts was a master assassin. they're all so busy dancing to lady gaga and being gay they never get around to actually committing any crimes.

what’s Gaston doing here? Gaston is simply a Man of the People! He’s been put down Too Long! he is in love with Belle and entirely unknowing that she’s got a heart made of holes. he's big into examining himself from a "safe and healthy perspective" and discussing every aspect of his personality in therapy but hasn't actually noticed that Belle is lonely or, uhh, not here anymore because she went to kill the monster in the woods and that was five weeks ago.

as naturally happens when two angry toxic people with precisely the same cocktail of loneliness meet, Adam and Belle segue quickly from trying to kill each other to, oopsie, relating over their shared griefs and maybe actually finding solace in each other. Are they in a healthy relationship? Absolutely not! Oh my god nobody go near them! They're surrounded by evil gay furniture why would you even want to! But they are what the other one needs, in this broken and fragile state, and I don't think anyone should fault them for holding onto each other, if it's the only life raft they have, as they patch their broken pieces in the only ways they know how. No one wants to be wicked. Some just have shadows that grow longer, and need a little sun to light the way.

So maybe they're damned. It's not a bad thing to be damned together.

[flamingo-writes]

Hello Flamingo!!! how are you? I hope ok.

This is an idea that came to my head a few weeks ago, if you'd like to write it, it's up to you! I hope you like it💕

Reader who was generating a great addiction to the medications that were prescribed for his anxiety and depression, adding other types of addictions such as cigarettes or alcohol, meets Hobie/Spider-Punk and helps they with this problem, empathizing with their situation, Hobie would visit Reader from time to time to ask how things are going or develop some kind of relationship with they.

I think it's an essence of Hobie that you don't often see and I think it's something he would do quite often.

I am finally replying to this! Jesus, I am so SORRY for the delay!

I absolutely loved this request! And I learned so much about addictions during my research. And got google constantly concerned offering me hotlines every google search.

Flirting With An Addiction — Hobie x GN!Reader

Title based of the song Particles by Nothing But Thieves. Love this band, love this song, helped me set the mood for the angsty parts. Especially any live or acoustic version 😭

A/N: i have to clear some stuff first, because some of you are too quick to feel victimised. I do not specify colour nor gender of the reader. I do mention the reader looks pale at some point. Now, because it happened to me once, that someone tried to get sassy with me because dark skin can’t get pale, yes, yes it can. If you have a heartbeat you can get pale, period. Pale is not only a synonym for white, paleness is a medical term used to describe the loss of normal colour in skin or membranes. Pale is a way to describe someone who presents paleness. If you have dark skin, you can still get pale when you’re sick.

Warnings: drug consumption, needles, depictions of several withdrawals symptoms like stomach issues (emetophobia), depression, anxiety,

Word count: 2.7K

Hearing from your parents first hand that you had gone missing was the worst that could have happened to Hobie Brown. You were his favourite person, his best friend, his go to confidant, his partner in crime. And hearing you had gone missing felt like the ground on his feet started crumpling down. His lungs ran out of breath as he mouthed:

"What?”

And your mother explained, drowning in her own tears. And even as she did, he couldn’t understand what was coming out of her mouth, as a horrendous buzz was drilling his brain. He simply heard: "drugs" "weed" "ecstasy" "used needle" "gone". His stomach turned, making him feel nauseous as he couldn’t find anything to say to your parents other than:

"I’m so sorry" he said. "I could’ve helped them" he said. "I wasn’t there for them," he said. And with that, he was gone. Somewhere along the line, he put his mask back on and took off.

Pav and Gwen were there with him when it happened. What started as an innocent hangout at his place, turned into a search party. When Hobie thought of inviting you over as well and realising you weren’t picking up the phone in your house, he decided to look for you. You weren’t at your place, you weren’t at his, your coworkers said you hadn’t showed up for work in three days, and that’s when he went to your mother.

"They’ve been gone for the last five days…" were the last things he heard before that painful buzz started echoing in his head.

He took off. And he’d never swung so fast in his entire life. Pav and Gwen didn’t even have the chance to exchange glances when both of them were running after him. "Running". Between not being familiarised with Old York’s building distribution, nor being familiarised with the streets, they had absolutely no clue where Hobie was heading. They simply guessed Hobie knew where you were.

Boy, we’re they wrong.

Hobie had not the faintest clue where you were. He had a notion of where you could be. But with every fibre in his body he wished he was wrong. "Used needle" was perhaps his best clue, and possibly the one that terrified him the most.

He had a pretty decent notion of where the most famous crack houses were. He’d grown in the streets, of course he knew. More than once he’d been in them, not to make business, but because he was looking for something or someone, or doing Spider-Man duties. And truth was, the very last person he thought he’d ever go looking into a crack house was you.

As he arrived to the first one and kicked the door open, the few junkies there flinched, expecting to see a copper. But instead they saw Spider-Man. He looked around. Pushers, burnouts, and crunched junkies passed out on the floor. Some, Hobie wasn’t even sure they were still alive. He walked around looking for you.

Pav and Gwen caught up with him, and soon realised what was going on. Hobie did not know where you were, he was looking for you. Gwen didn’t have much experience with the darker side of her New York, she was creeped out. Pav, on the other hand, was the youngest of the gang. And he’d been Spider-Man for so little, he hadn’t had the misfortune to end up in the lower parts of Mumbattan. Pav was terrified.

"Hobie?” Gwen asked as he quickly walked out of the flat.

"Not ‘ere" He mumbled, more to himself and took off again.

It went on like that for the next few hours. Crack house after crack house. Desperately looking for you, whether you were baked out of your mind, or simply OD. But the fact that with every place he went to, his chances of finding you grew narrower and narrower, he didn’t know what he preferred. To find you dead on the floor of one of those nasty places, or not finding you at all. With each location, Hobie’s anxiety grew, his movements became clumsier, rougher, even more aggressive.

"Hobie, wait—" Pav yelled after the fifth crack house.

But Hobie didn’t stop. He listened, but his mind was rushing with adrenaline, hyper focusing on his task at hand: finding you.

The guilt accumulated in his chest, weighting more and more with every passing minute. Why was he even feeling guilty for? It’s not like he’d given you the drugs, and forced a needle up your arm. But he knew you had problems with loneliness, he knew about your consuming anxiety and your seasonal depression. He knew you had a strange relationship with your medication. He knew you were picking up a liking for recreational drugs. Harmless stuff like weed and shrooms. Acid at most. He should’ve imagined you’d eventually try to stray into the drugs you swore never to mess with. Ice, dust, junk…He should’ve guessed something like this was going to happen. But he was busy. He was busy being Spider-Man, he was busy jumping between universes. He was busy helping others, but not helping you. Not when he knew you had it rough. That guilt consumed him. He was busy helping everyone else, but you. He was busy helping people from another universe, but not that one person who he considered his family, his world. And boy, that guilt was drowning him.

Was it good luck or bad luck when he found you? He couldn’t tell. He felt his blood turn cold the moment he saw you.

Despite the pale look on your face, and the dark circles under your eyes, but you looked so peaceful. Lying on a dirty mattress, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, relaxed face. You looked so beautiful in the most disturbing way. Thinner than what Hobie remembered. And so terrifyingly still. Were you alive and lost in some euphoric dream? Or were you dead? It was hard to tell. You didn’t seem to be breathing.

Hobie rushed to your side, and he quickly checked your pulse. He called your name, almost in a desperate cry as his eyes quickly teared up behind his mask with the most suffocating feeling of powerlessness and incompetence that he’d ever felt washed over him. You groaned in response, unable to form coherent words and simply stuck to noises, your mind was far too dissolved, drowned in heroine, trapping you in a haze.

He checked your pulse. He checked your breathing. Your eyes of course were almost completely black due to the high. And you had a couple of marks on your arms from needles. Hobie didn’t even dare to count them, the less he knew about your newfound addiction the better for him, or so he thought. He looked around and next to the mattress there were various classic heroine use paraphernalia, making Hobie’s throat close.

"No, no, no, no baby…" Hobie whispered as he stared at you as you lied there, relaxed and heavy in his arms. He pulled his mask off to better look at you. For you to look at him if you were there by any chance. "Not heroine, why heroine…" He whispered as he pulled you closer and kissed your forehead. "You knew heroine wasn’t to be messed with, one time is fine, two makes you an addict, sweet’eart…" He purred with his lips pressed against your skin.

"Hobie…" Gwen said gently touching his shoulder.

"We have to go," Hobie said at once as he carried you.

Once in his boathouse, Hobie gently set you down on his bed as he sat on the edge and stared at you attentively. His eyes looking miserable, as he caressed your cheek delicately.

"Hobie?” Pav said, slowly walking inside his room. "We’re very sorry…"

"I am too…" He murmured in response.

"Can we help?” Gwen asked softly.

Hobie was ready to tell them to leave him alone for a while, when he actually thought of something.

"Yes…"

He then gave them a short shopping list with food and over the counter painkillers and some medication for stomach issues. It seemed very random to them, but in that moment Hobie thought he’d keep you in his boat and help you through your detox. At least as long as he could. A week or two, to start, and from then, he’d improvise along the way.

His impulsive and spontaneous thought of keeping you there over the period of detox didn’t really prepare him for the absolute torture it turned out to be.

To him, it was terribly, awfully, agonisingly painful. Watching you suffer like that. The way you whined and curled up on his bed, crying in silence from the pain, dealing with the tummy issues. The nausea, the not being able to leave the bathroom, looking weak, constantly upset, the shivering, and awful ups and downs in your anxiety and your mood.

Everything hurt, your head, your limbs, every muscle in your body, your stomach, even organs you couldn’t exactly pin point where they were, now you could because of the sharp pain. Even the smell of food made you excruciatingly nauseous, and puke green bile across the room, even feeling nausea was painful. It was hell. You were dying, you were sure your entire body was shutting down and you were going to die in this aching hell. Too anxious to sleep, to weak to move, too nauseous to do as much as roll over on the bed, too shaky to even be able to hold things in your hands. Sometimes you didn’t even feel your limbs at all for hours.

He could only imagine how it was like for you. How it was going inside your head. But sitting and watching was awful for him. He wanted to help, and from an objective point of view he knew he was helping, but he didn’t want you to hurt. He wished time and time again that he was able to take that pain away from you. The first three days were the peak of your suffering. And there was nothing Hobie could do other than keep an eye on you and get you what you needed.

When the physical symptoms started to subside, when you were able to keep food in your stomach, and when you stopped complaining about everything hurting, the psychological symptoms began. The consuming guilt and anxiety, the fear of showing up at work or at your parents’ house, the fear of the disappointment. Pitying yourself, pulling yourself down into that depressive hole you’d been digging.

Crying every night before going to bed became a recurrent event. You crying your heart out as Hobie held you tightly in his arms, comforted you until you’d fall asleep. You cried several times a day, but the one before bed was always the worst.

And soon, it became a recurrent event. Hobie keeping you all in one piece, as you cried and your heart broke all over again. His long yet strong and warm arms managed to hold you together every single night. Soon, sleeping together became a habit. And more than a habit, soon, Hobie’s company became a better painkiller than the pills you took. His scent managed to soothe the nausea which was thankfully decreasing with every day. His warmth seemed to help you control the shivers and the goosebumps. His voice quieted down the mean anxious thoughts in your brain. His company drifted you to sleep for several hours without waking up with tachycardia and short breath.

Falling asleep in his arms became just the right medication, although the long term effects were still there. But they were much bearable. The mornings were the best time of the day. First thing in the morning, drowned in the aftermath of that sleepy haze, you’d always find yourself staring at Hobie.

He didn't like mornings, he wasn’t a morning person. But something about seeing him sleep, his face relaxed, thick lips slightly parted, and the dim sunlight hitting his face, making him look absolutely gorgeous. Had he always been this attractive? Easy, yes; he had always been an attractive lad. But had you always felt that feeling in your heart? That was new. And you were sure it was not the usual tachycardia you’d get from the drugs, but something Hobie did unconsciously.

"You know it’s real creepy that you stare at people while they sleep…” He whispered softly as he woke up slowly, opening his eyes slowly and seeing you staring at him with a subtle and sweet smile on your lips.

"Shut up" You chuckled.

"How are you feeling?" His voice was low and raspy, still creeping with sleep.

"Better…although that might change in a couple of hours" You sighed, already getting mentally ready for the awful up and downs in your mood and anxiety.

"I’m sorry"

"That my life now, I guess"

"It’ll get better…it’s been getting better hasn’t it?" He immediately added as he looked at you, slightly more awake, taking in the details of your face, as you were snuggled next to him, most of your body touching his, sharing the same comforting heat.

"Yeah I think so" You purred.

"Hey, I’ve got you, okay? Not letting you fall again into that dark place"He whispered, leaning forward, bumping his forehead against yours, as one of his hands caressed you cheek, making your heart skip a beat.

"Thank you" You closed you eyes, as you savoured this sweet intimate moment with Hobie.

"Don’t mention it, luv"

"But I mean it…" You whispered. "You’ve been basically the entire time here…keeping an eye on me…ignoring your Spider-Man duties…I’ve heard you argue with that Miguel guy over your watch…"

"He can fuck off," He said with a cheerful whisper and a chuckle "he’s got another hundreds of spider-people at his service, he doesn’t miss me, he just likes to be patronising…"

"I still appreciate it very much…" Your eyes opened slowly with your statement as you stared into his eyes, and he seemed to immediately get lost in yours.

"No problem…I’d do anything for you…"

You both stared into each other’s eyes. And something about his eyes was slightly different. The eyes you grew up looking at, those eyes you knew how to read perfectly, almost being able to read his thoughts, now had something slightly different about them. Something that made your heart race and your cheeks grow hot. Something Hobie saw reflected in your own.

And you both read each other’s minds. And you both leaned forward without having to be told. Closing your eyes, you felt your breath leave your lungs when you felt his warm lips against yours.

Hobie wasn’t by any means a slow tender guy, he was the passionate dude who knew how to use his tongue. Not this time. This time he felt the world stop, time stop, and all there was, was you. And he wanted to savour it. He kissed you slower than he was used to. The kiss was gentler than what he was used to. He was used to kissing strangers, perhaps someone he shared chemistry with, but never really someone he cared for as much as you. This felt far more special, far more unique. This felt like something he could get addicted to, and something he wanted to relive often.

As he broke the kiss slowly, catching his breath, he opened his eyes and stared at you as you remained with your eyes closed, still processing what you’d felt. He smiled and bumped his forehead against yours.

"I promise you, you’ll be alright, okay? I’ll make sure you’re safe and sound…even if it kills me" He reassured you.

"Please don’t say that," You murmured.

"What?" He chuckled.

"Anything that’s in some way related to you dying," Hobie chuckled, thinking your concerns were very cute, although very understandable as well.

"Fine…" He replied "I’ll make sure you’re safe and sound even if…it’s a near death experience…better?"

“No, not really…" You chuckled, "but I appreciate the effort

"Hey, you mean so much to me, you know that?"

"You mean mean so much to me too…"

[senjuushi]

hi i’m the nonnie who asked about bathroom kinks. so since it’s okay,

how would siegblut belga ninety and kirsch react if their master bought them some really nice clothes and they had an accident while wearing it.

feel free to ignore if it makes you uncomfortable haha

There's something fun about analyzing kinks that I'm not personally into well enough to write them y'know? ...soooo this kind of ask is fine! owo I hope this turns out entertaining for you, anon~

. . .

Siegblut

After an accident, Siegblut is so consumed by shame that rational thought gets completely shoved aside. Even if the clothes were from you, he'd rather destroy the evidence of his failure and face your disappointment than let anyone find out what happened. He'd rather die than let his Master know about such a humiliating mistake— thus, any questions about the clothes are met with his usual defense of a nasty attitude and violent denial.

Belga

The mess itself doesn't bother him much (Belga isn't exactly concerned with being dirty at the best of times), but he's wet, he's uncomfortable, and he knows you're going to yell at him for fucking up the special clothes you gave him— and that's enough to have him sobbing. It's your fault for thinking he should wear such nice things in the first place! Don't you know he's too stupid to be trusted with anything important? It's that kind of tantrum.

Ninety

Dogs have accidents plenty (and Ninety himself has a history of that problem when he's really scared), so that on its own wouldn't bother him too much— aside from fearing how he'll be punished for it, of course. But this is different. He got the nice things you gave him dirty, and that's far more distressing than any personal shame about the accident. Assuming he deserves the discomfort of it, he'll sit in his own mess and tremble like a scolded puppy.

Kirsch

As soon as he realizes what's happening, Kirsch panics. You went out of your way to spoil him with pretty clothes, and he's so dirty and bad that all he does to thank you is ruin them. If he could think clearly enough to manage it, he'd strip off the clothes and scrub himself red and raw trying to get rid of the filth before you can notice it— but with how badly he's spiraled, all he can do is crumple to the ground and cry himself sick until you find him.

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Kicho's Main Story Chapter 6 Part 1

These translations are not intended as a replacement for the game. Please support cybird by buying their stories. JP SPOILERS under the cut. Expect mistakes.

Mai: "So, this Kicho who is here now is..."

Sasuke: "I don't know all the details, but I guess he was affected by the distortion of history."

Sasuke: "That means he was originally a different person who never existed."

Mai: "Isn't that impossible?"

(How can one person's existence change like that?)

Sasuke: "I can't say it's impossible. There's always the unexpected."

Sasuke: "Have you noticed anything unusual around you since the wormhole stopped appearing?"

Mai: "Unusual?"

Mai: “Oh, after the attack on Azuchi Castle, the book I brought from the future turned weird.”

Mai: “It was a travel guide, which had some historical info in it, but right now, most of the pages are blank.”

Mai: “It was as if the future had disappeared.”

Sasuke: “I see. That would explain why I can no longer observe wormholes.”

Sasuke: “Then, to return to our original time, we first have to deal with the distortion.”

Knock, knock.

Mai: "-----!"

Subordinate's voice: "Have you finished carrying the package?"

Sasuke: "Ah, yes. Safely."

Subordinate's voice: "I see. Then I'll walk you to the door."

(Looks like he's on the lookout.)

When I blinked at him, Sasuke immediately understood and replied cheerfully while quickly writing something on a piece of paper he had taken out of his pocket.

Sasuke: "Thank you very much."

Sasuke: "Well then, miss, I'm leaving. I look forward to working with you again."

Mai: "Yes, it's my pleasure."

I accepted the note he laid on the table, and just as I crumpled it up to hide it in my hand, the door opened.

Kicho's subordinate: "This way, please."

Sasuke: "Yes."

I looked over at Sasuke, resisting the urge to wave my hand.

After confirming the two had left, I gently unfolded the crumpled-up paper.

"Anyway, there may be some serious things ahead. I'll come back to you again. Until then, please take care."

(Serious things, huh?)

(I finally have a chance to get in touch with Mitsuhide, thanks to Sasuke, but there are more mysteries to solve.)

That rainy night, I finally felt grounded, and my vague sense of self took shape when Kicho told me I should just live as me no matter what.

(Is there anything in this world that didn't exist originally?)

(If so, when everything goes back to the way it was, will it be as if it never existed again?)

Kicho: "That's all for today."

Mai: "Okay.”

Kicho: "............"

Mai: "What is it?"

Kicho: "That's what I want to ask. What happened while I was away?"

Mai: "Eh, is something wrong with me?"

Kicho: "You have dark circles under your eyes. Are you having trouble sleeping?"

(As expected, he's sharp as a tack.)

Mai: "My sewing tools and fabrics arrived the other day, and I got caught up in making clothes."

Mai: "I know staying up late is not good, so I'll be careful."

Kicho: "Yeah, it's not worth it if you hurt yourself. It's best to do it in moderation."

(To be honest, I haven't even come up with a design yet because I don't know what to make.)

(I can't talk to him about it, hence the lie.) 

For the past few days since my encounter with Sasuke, I couldn't stop thinking about what I had heard.

I found myself worrying about his every move more than ever and ended up thinking about a lot of things at night.

(In the first place, if there's a historical distortion involved, he may not even be aware of it, and it's probably none of his business.)

Kicho: "By the way, I have one more thing to tell you."

Kicho: "We're going to have a banquet here at the trading post in two weeks to get acquainted with our business partners."

Kicho: "No, I think it would be better to call it a party."

Mai: "I could kind of imagine it. Can I help with the preparations?"

Kicho: "Yeah. You're quick to catch on."

He nodded briefly and took a few papers from his desk drawer.

Kicho: "Here is a summary of what I need."

Kicho: "We don't have much time, so we'll have to split up the work with the others."

Mai: "What about the business meetings?"

Kicho: "I'll head to one tomorrow alone."

(Alone.)

Mai: "Then, we'll be working separately for a while."

Kicho: "Also, I'm not going to have my men watch you 24/7."

Kicho: "As long as you don't make any suspicious movements, there is no need to be so worried."

Mai: "What?"

Kicho: "You looked bothered just now. I just thought you were worried about the surveillance."

Mai: "No, it's not that一Oh."

I involuntarily turned around to escape his gaze.

(Was I feeling lonely just now?)

(Nah, there's no way. Maybe he's right. Maybe I was just worried about the surveillance.)

Kicho: "Mai, what's wrong?"

Mai: "N-Nothing!"

Mai: "More importantly, um, I'm gonna get ready for today's work. Excuse me!"

Without making eye contact, I left the room in a hurry.

Mai: "*sigh* That surprised me."

I put my hand on my forehead and took a deep breath.

(Anyway, let's go to work.)

Then, without seeing Kicho much, I began to spend my days running around preparing for the event.

Mai: "Is that the guy?"

Kicho's subordinate: "Probably. It's easy to tell when he's dressed like that."

Mai: "Right. I'll go talk to him then."

(I still get nervous when I'm with other people.)

(Until now, I've mostly been working with Kicho.)

I came to the port today with his men to get the necessary supplies for the party.

Hiding my tense appearance, I hurried over to our business partner, wearing a tall hat.

Mai: "Hello. Um, here, please."

When I handed him the letter that Kicho had written for him, he smiled, nodded, then beckoned me to come over and walk on.

Mai: "They have some stuff over there. Let's go."

Kicho's subordinate: "Yeah."

(I can't believe he's already made all the arrangements.)

(We worked every day and night, so when did he start preparing all this?)

Thinking of him, I looked at the man walking ahead of me.

(Still, it's fun to see all these fancy-looking clothes.)

(I bet the people attending the party will wear something nice, too.)

(I wonder what Kicho plans to wear.)

Mai: "Right!"

Kicho's subordinate: "Is something wrong?"

Mai: "Yes, I've finally decided on the design."

Kicho's subordinate: "Design?"

Mai: "Um, I mean the style of the kimono."

Mai: "Hey, can I ask you for some help?"

That night.

Kicho: "What's the matter with you guys? Why are you in a hurry?"

Kicho's subordinate 1: "Before you return to your room, can I have a moment of your time?"

Kicho's subordinate 2: "It'll only take a moment, so please remain standing."

Kicho's subordinate 3: "Excuse me!"

Kicho: "Hey, what are you suddenly wrapping around me?"

Kicho's subordinate 4: "Don't worry about it. We'll remove it as soon as we finish the measurement."

Kicho's subordinate 2: "This one is complete. How are the others?"

Kicho's subordinate 3: "Done."

Kicho's subordinate 1: "This one is also complete."

Kicho's subordinate 4: "Then I'll take them and report back to Lady Mai tomorrow."

Kicho: "Mai?"

Kicho's subordinate 2: "Thank you for your cooperation, Lord Kicho. We apologize for troubling you."

Kicho’s subordinate 2: "Well, please excuse us!"

Kicho: "Hey, you guys...!"

Before Kicho could call out to them, his subordinates quickly left.

Kicho, who remained there alone, looked at the door of Mai's room at the end of the hallway with a look of dismay.

Kicho: "I didn't expect you to order around my men in just a few days."

Kicho: "What the hell are you up to?"

One week later.

(Yup, it looks pretty good!)

Comparing the design with the finished material, I pulled my sewing kit next to me.

(All I have to do is sew the rest and make adjustments as I go along.)

(I really appreciated their cooperation.)

His men were willing to help me when I asked them to get his measurements for the clothes.

(They weren't as scary as I thought they would be when I talked to them.)

(Just like Kicho.)

(I haven't seen him for about a week, but I hope he's okay.)

I imagined his face and felt a little sad.

(Anyway, I'll do whatever I can to finish this before the party next week.)

(If I do it on my breaks, I'm sure I can finish it.)

Mai: "Crap, it's this late already!?"

Remembering my promise, I rushed out of the room.

Mai: "Thank you for your cooperation. I really appreciate it."

Merchant: "No, this is nothing. Merchants help each other from time to time."

(He's so kind.)

Today, I visited a merchant we met along the way to borrow some supplies for the party at a warehouse near the main street.

Merchant: "The tablewares are on that shelf, and the vases and picture scrolls are over there."

Merchant: "Next is一sorry, there are too many things to keep track of."

Merchant: "The items stored in this warehouse are not particularly meant to be used, so please take them as you like."

Mai: "Okay, thank you very much."

Merchant: "By the way, I heard that Lord Kicho is coming today."

Mai: "He's busy right now, so I'm taking his place."

Merchant: "I see. He really trust you."

Mai: "I don't know about that."

(Sometimes it's because they don't trust you that they keep you around.)

(But I don't think I should say that here.)

Mai: "Don't worry. Even if he's not here, I'll do my best. Huh?"

Before I knew it, something cold touched my neck, and as soon as I looked at it, I saw him holding something shiny.

(A knife!?)

Mai: "Why?"

Merchant: "Sorry, but a businessman needs information to make a profit."

Merchant: "See, I told you before. We need to help each other from time to time."

Mai: "I don't have any information. I'm only一"

Merchant: "Shut up!"

Mai: "............"

I could feel the coldness of the knife as he put more force into it.

(What should I do? Kicho's subordinates aren't here yet.)

The man had a scary glint in his eyes, as if he believed that what he was doing was the right thing, with not the slightest hint of hesitation.

(I don't think I can buy some time.)

(I have to handle this myself!)

I quickly stepped back, put my hand on the shelf, and knocked it down forcefully.

Merchant: "Whoa!"

Crash!

Mai: "I'm Kicho's secretary, but no matter what I am, I will never do what you say!"

Merchant: "Guh, you cheeky little shit! Hey, you guys, come out here right now!"

(Are there more people outside!?)

(Then I can't escape.)

???: "Yeah, I was going to come out even if you didn't tell me."

Mai: "Huh?"

Kicho: "It looks like you gave my secretary a great deal of hospitality."

Mai: "Kicho!"

A graceful silhouette holding a pistol emerged against the light shining into the warehouse.

Kicho: "Your buddies outside are in no condition to be of any use anymore."

Kicho: "Get that girl over here now, or I'll shoot you."

Merchant: "Damn it!"

Mai: “Ah!”

He pushed me hard in the back, and before I had time to catch myself, a blinding pain resonated through my entire body as I fell to the ground.

Mai: “Ugh...”

Kicho: “Mai!”

Kicho immediately ran to me while the man rushed to the doorway, smiling wryly at us.

(Don’t tell me he’s...)

Merchant: “Later, losers!”

Mai: “W-Wait!”

I frantically shouted, only to be answered by the sound of a door being closed, followed by the sound of a lock.

(What to do? We’re trapped.)

Mai: “Sorry for causing you trouble.”

Kicho: “............”

Mai: “Kicho?”

I looked up with my hands on the floor and saw him breathing shallow breaths, and his face was so pale.

Mai: “Um, are you okay?”

Kicho: “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Mai: “Yeah, you’re not okay.”

He immediately turned away from me, but I could see a bit of sweat trickling down his forehead.

Mai: "Are you hurt somewhere? Or are you feeling sick from all the work you've been doing the past few days?"

Kicho: "No, none of the above. It's because of this situation."

Kicho: "I have to get out of here as soon as possible."

Kicho frowned as he fell on one knee, clutching his collar.

(His hands are shaking, and his breathing is becoming more frantic.)

(Is there anything I can do?)

Mai: "You stay put. I'll find a way out."

I got up and walked around the warehouse, relying on the little light I could see.

However, there was no place to go in or out except for the closed door.

I tried opening it, but it was locked from the outside.

(I don't think I can do anything about it from here. At least, if someone passes by一no, what if it's a guard?)

Mai: "Kicho, we need to find a way to get out of here."

Just as I turned around, his shadow slid out of its position.

Kicho: ".............."

Mai: "Kicho!"

I ran to him and supported his body as he fell to the floor.

Just listening to the sound of his weak breathing made me feel suffocated.

(What's wrong with him?)

Kicho: "...ive…"

Mai: "What?"

Kicho: "I want to live."

Previous Part╏Masterlist╏Premium

[allswell]

❝ When you are who they expect you to be, they never look too closely. ❞

 * . ✧ THE GILDED WOLVES ✧ . * starters

❛ Is that how you slipped in? ❜

❛ I do like the jacket, by the way. ❜ Cecil reaches for the fancy lapels, then goes for those ears, before Zevran's bending his wrist painfully backwards with a blade against the skin.

"Don't make me cut your tendons."

❛ Then your voicebox too, yes? ❜

The marquis smiles while the assassin feels the push of a bamboo chopstick against the soft skin of his throat. At some point they've both picked up weapons to use against the other, though Cecil's is admittedly makeshift. Behind then, the din in the dining room continues—guests are streaming in one room away.

"What are you here for?" Zevran asks a second later. Neither of them have relaxed, but no pressure's been applied to either of their tools.

❛ The bride had a pretty dress. I wanted to see the embroidery up close. ❜

"By killing the waiters too?"

❛ I didn't think these were so sturdy. ❜ Cecil flashes the other chopstick in his hands. ❛ What's your job here today? ❜

"Do you think I'd let you know?"

❛ It's not as if I'd tell... ❜ Lavender-pink eyes blink at him guilelessly. ❛ Besides, I've already killed more people than you. ❜

"Who's there?!" Loud footsteps, stomping in their direction. Cecil and Zevran move at the same time until the person comes to a halt and crumples on the ground. In the silence, both of them peek out from their hiding place behind the curtains.

The end of a chopstick rests in the man's eye socket, while the handle of a blade sticks out from his throat. A bit of overkill, Zevran muses, even as Cecil says, ❛ I guess this kill counts as a tie. ❜

They exchange looks again, one suspicious, one amicable—and somehow, end up linking arms and going to the fancy wedding banquet together after dealing with the body. Zevran doesn't want to let Cecil out of his sight (just in case) and Cecil—well, to him it was a waste to come to dinner and not eat.

❛ Where did you find your tailor? ❜ the marquis whispers to his partner while ladling soup into his bowl. ❛ I like the way he's stitched the collars. ❜

"Don't know. I took this suit off a body."

❛ And it fit you just like that? ❜ Cecil sounds impressed.

"I picked out the victim ahead of time." Of course he was going to blend in as someone his own size.

By the third course, Zevran's already reviewed his exit paths and counted out the victims he needs to kill in clean, meticulous order. Cecil pokes at the seafood bird's nest on his plate, fascinated by its presentation before humbly picking out a piece of scallop to try. He chews it thoughtfully, then turns to whisper at Zevran in disappointment. ❛ I think it's overcooked. ❜

Zevran whispers back, "If you still want the bride, take her after the next course."

Cecil blinks at him and hums.

There are certain procedures when dealing with extras on the job. He doesn't come in contact with other mercenaries often, but like today, it could happen. Giving Cecil advance warning was already the greatest kindness he could offer.

When the fresh round of waiters come bringing in the next dish, Zevran barely moves from his seat. The next second, the crystal chandelier in the ceiling's gone crashing to the table, its metal chain sliced clean through. In the midst of the chaos, Zevran cuts the lights and gets down to business. His targets tonight—to be honest, they didn't matter. The important thing was to complete the job before 10 o'clock.

Multiple rounds of fighting ensue, luring in the guards and who know what else. By the time everything's done and silent, Zevran's perched on the window, ready to make his escape.

Click.

His head whirls back as Cecil turns back on the lights to study the carnage he's left in his wake.

❛ Oh, you're very clean with your kills. ❜ The marquis approaches the nearest corpse and inspects the thinly-slit throat. ❛ The angle and depth are perfect, too. ❜

Despite himself, Zevran pauses. "Why are you still here?"

❛ Why would I miss a free show? ❜

"Did you—" He thought the kills had happened too smoothly. "Were you helping me?"

Cecil looks at him, shocked. ❛ I wouldn't get in the way of your work. ❜ A pause. ❛ At most, I pushed around a few bodies. Only because they risked knocking into me. ❜

"And the bride?"

❛ What about her? ❜

"Didn't you want to see her dress? She..." he trails off, seeing a familiar body in white slumped in her seat at the head of the table. There was the bride, as dead as the rest of them.

❛ My eyes are very good, even in the dark, ❜ Cecil explains while walking towards the window. ❛ I checked before stabbing her. It was very ordinary machine stitch. ❜

He stops by Zevran's side, looking at the scenery out the window. This was a private banquet hall located in a tall, wooded area, so there was a good view of the city lights below.

❛ Let's go? ❜ Cecil asked.

"Let's?" Zevran echoed.

❛ You'll need to report this in, yes? And I need a job. ❜ The marquis stretched, then took the lead to climb out the window. ❛ Then I can afford to pay for my own meals. ❜

[bwobgames]

Previous First

The man makes a phone call

"Vivi! Turn on your location. I am coming over!"

"Wh- dont say it like that! No, we didn't do anything, just chatted"

"I wouldn't say disappointed. I mean, it's too early"

"That is an old nickname, and it does not reflect the man I am today"

"Lovingly: shut up, I am going there with him, so be nice"

"Yes, yes, bye!"

"... nickname?"

"Due to my poor decisions in previous years of my life that I do not plan on repeating, I was known as 'Goatman' for being 'Hornier than someone with horns'

I am now regretting giving her this information"

Oliver tries very hard not to laugh

"Ok, I know where she is. Let's go"

They get to a corridor

"Well well well, if it isn't Ángel and a little buddy, what bussiness could you two have with a lady like me?"

"So his name is Ángel"

"Job bussiness sadly"

"Man, and here I thought we would have a new person for our dnd campaign"

"That could be arranged"

"Before we start being boring, have any of you seen a photobook anywhere?"

"I wanted to take pictures of the storm, but without a photobook, they will get all crumpled in my pockets! I have been obligated to use my phone's camera like a measly instagram influencer, Do you see what that does to a vibrant soul like me? The pain? The shame??"

"I'm sorry, I'm sure we'll find it eventually"

"A lost photobook, that's another mystery.

Logically, I know it's probably just a misplaced item, but

Something feels bad about it

Dangerous

What if it was stolen?

By someone with bad intentions?

What if something bad happened?

What if something bad will happen?

What if it's happening right now?

Is there someone behind me?"

"No. Of course there isn't. I must be on edge from what Ángel told me. Ugh, this is not the time for new phobias to be created"

"Time to get into business"

"Excuse me, We were actually here to ask you about Eugene Coli's speedrunning incident. Do you happen to know about it? Why would he do that?"

"Yeaaahhhh no, I only know what happened afterward, I mean, I wanted to know! But the guy didn't want to give any interviews!

And then the guy went to jail for like, a week, only to disappear from public eye until this party, so he's probably here somewhere. If i find out, I'll tell you!"

"But you are then one who found out first, can you tell us about that?"

"It was an anonymous link sent to the place i work at. It led to a speedrunning website with the mans run in a video"

"Did you watch the video?"

"Yeah! It was taken off the site days later, but i managed to download it! It was like a tour to the man's factory. You could see him talking to whoever was recording. Although the sound was replaced with some techno music for some reason.

The video even had accidents! Like, blood and burns! I have no clue how the moderators accepted it, I'm blaming money"

"It was listed as a satisfactory gameplay ironically enough."

"Did you know that the guy used to be a speedrunner? He used the same account to upload this one"

"I don't have any knowledge on psychology, but maybe this guy is just obsessed with speedrunning"

"Well, this does tell us some things. Thank you for your help"

"Also, we must warn you, we think this event might be some kind of disguise for crimes that could hurt us"

"That blows"

"You don't seem very worried"

"I've reported dangerous situations live. This isn't my first rodeo, mister"

"Yeah, but this is more serious. You might be killed here"

"Well, if it's my time, then it's my time"

"Don't say that. You're sending yourself to an early grave if you're this careless all the time"

"Me? Aren't you the guy who can't be two days without injecting cancer gas directly into their lungs?"

"That's not the same"

"How is it not the same? Is that and your crazy stunts of dubious legality not also sending you to an early grave?"

"I quit that! And I can quit smoking anytime! I just don't have the need to"

"Right, right, of course, I'm just being careless unlike you, mature and responsible man"

"Is, is this a fight? A friendly fight? Should I intervene, or is it more like a sibling fight where this is a normal thing that happens. Can we leave?"

"Listen, I get it, I was stupid and unsafe, and I probably should've died thrice by now, but I don't want that life anymore!"

"I want to be safe now. I dont want any of us to be in danger"

"I don't want us to die"

"... It's going to happen eventually, you know this"

"I don't want it"

"Yeah, alright, I'm getting involved"

"...It is normal to fear death. It's unknown and out of our control, but only with death, we have life, yeah?

So let's not waste it by bickering, and let's keep going"

"I've never been good at pep talks, but if we really are in danger, then there's no time for existentialism"

"... Right, keep your location on Vivi"

"Maybe I will. Maybe I won't"

"... I'm sorry for calling you careless"

"...Ugh, Fine, I'll keep it on, stop looking at me with that mopey wet cat face and leave already"

"Well, we didn't find motive, but we have some information.

Do you know anyone else who might have something on the speedrunning stunt?"

"... Someone comes to mind"

"Alright, we'll go now, bye Vivi!"

"Yeah, yeah, run along, bunny boy"

"Did she just ...assign me a fursona???"

"She does that"

[thelustybraavosimaid]

"...Jon!"

"Arya," he snapped his head up and leaned back in his seat. He eyed her suspiciously. "You heard, haven't you?"

"It's all Robb wanted to talk about to everyone," she pressed her lips together, plopping down with a huff. "And now they're all talking about it. The next person who calls you the Black Bastard of the Wall is going to get a clout on the ear."

"Robb and his big mouth." She vaguely heard Jon laughing but it died as quick as it came. "Still, I wish you had heard from me first. Are you going to try and stop me?"

"No," Arya said, much to his unhidden surprise. She brushed her fingers over his knuckles, finding some semblance of reassurance in the familiar dark grey of his eyes. She found herself praying he wouldn't sense the doubt coiling in the pit of her stomach. "I think you should go. This is something you've wanted for...for a while now. You told me before that you were going to do something important with your life..."

But then I used to cling to you and tell you to never leave me. You always kissed my forehead and rustled my hair and said you weren't going anywhere without me. But now...what happens, Jon? What do we do?

Jon didn't respond, and the silence dragged until all she could hear was her breath.

"...and this would be the best way to go about that, right? What kind of person would I be to stop you from getting what you want?"

"You're...the only person who could," Jon finally said, filling his goblet with wine he stole from the kitchens before he drank some, offering the rest to Arya. "Are you sure--"

"I, uh...know you're worried about me. Worried that I wouldn't be able to bear it...but trust me, Jon. I'll be fine. You'll be okay, and I'll be okay, and, eventually, we'll see each other again soon." She looked at the gift he had made for her, just for her. The gift that they named together...Needle. The representation of all that she had...and all she could lose. "...I could always send you a raven when I'm feeling the distance."

Were the words calmer than she felt?

"You can. And I'll try to respond as often as I can, I promise." His smile was strange. Was it sadness or resolve? She did not know, but she welcomed him placing his forehead against hers, their breaths slowed and in sync. He held up his hand and Arya spread her fingers apart and filled the open spaces, curling her fingers as he had done the same. The heat of his hand warmed her cool digits. "This is for the best, little sister. I'm glad you understand."

But I don't. She held her tongue, sitting with him in silence. The minutes passed by, and the quiet was almost stifling. She looked down at the stupid light blue dress her mother had picked out for her and crumpled the fabric in her fists. I don't want to understand.

[sparklecryptid]

(Do let me know if I'm being a bit much.)

So a while back you had your "Like a Lamp In A Bomb Shelter" Verse, where someone reincarnated and published a book based on Noctis' journey. I wrote this a while back and I don't think I sent you this? ...probably not, considering it's unfinished.

Anywhere, here you go:

Gladio’s eyes narrowed as he continued reading, often skipping entire pages. Eventually he stopped at the beginning of one of the later chapters.

“Hey Ignis, read this”

“And why should I read your choice in romance novels?”

“First of all, not everything I read is a romance,” Gladio defended himself, ”Second of all, does this seem familiar to you?”

Ignis raised an eyebrow but accepted the book and began skimming through the chapter. Closing the book he ignored Gladio’s squawk and frowned. Ignis tapped the book cover in contemplation.

“This describes almost exactly what happened in Altissia.”

“Yeah, I thought so too.”

-Something-

“The only question would be how the author got this information.”

//AND SINCE A THROWAWAY COMMENT GOT THIS STUCK IN MY HEAD//

(Said throwaway comment being that Prometheus looked like a mix of Ardyn and Regis)

“Chancellor/Ardyn,” Prompto asked, “Do you know if Besithia ever took any DNA samples of you?”

“Not that I am aware of,” he answered, raising an eyebrow.

Gladio did not like where this was going.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t he look a lot like a mix of you and King Regis?”, he pointed out.

-something-

-Ardyn and Regis (plus others?) leave-

“If he is a clone, why wasn’t he around before we went back in time?”

“I mean, time travel is going to have some consequences, right? Who’s to say our way back didn’t cause some kind of ripple effect?”

“Ripple effect?”

“Yeah, like excess magic making sure someone survives something they didn’t before.”

“You might be right, but that doesn’t explain his existence.”

-A Pause-

“I mean, it didn’t have to be Besithia? He had assistants, didn’t he? They might have tried to emulate him, and if they had  managed to create a Lucis Caelum clone,they would have waited to make sure they were viable right? Viable as in, had magic”

“So you’re saying that if we hadn’t gone back in time- something that would definitely have a massive magical discharge and ripple effect- this person, Prometheus, would have died. Either from deranged scientists or whatever else this world had to throw at him.”

“Yep.”

“You do realise that if he does turn out to be a clone of the two they’re going to be ridiculously protective? If not outright possessive?”

“...Yes, I am aware.”

“This is going to be a disaster, isn’t it?”

“Quite possibly.”

“Will the empire be standing by the end of this?”

“That depends entirely on their science departments.”

“...Niflheim is doomed.”

Prometheus being a clone isn't canon to the verse but gods wouldnt it be fucking funny.

so have this

-

Prometheus is doing fine. Sure he's stuck with a guard and has to take weekly trips to the Citadel so people can make sure that he's not using his knowledge for evil as it were but things could be worse!

He could be dead for one! He's alive so that's a bonus all on it's own. It doesn't look like Ardyn is going to plunge the world into eternal night either so that's another bonus!

What isn't a bonus is the fact that Prometheus gets called to Regis' office at nine a.m. without reason. When Prometheus arrives he blinks at the sullen almost angry atmosphere he steps into.

"Uh, did I miss something?" Prometheus asks as he hesitantly sits down in front of Regis. Ardyn is standing to the other side of the King and Clarus takes up the space by the door.

This does not look promising.

"Do you know who your parents are?" A straightforward question. One Prometheus has answered before.

"I told you who they were already," Prometheus says, "What's this about?"

Before Regis can continue Ardyn reaches out with his magic and something in Prometheus crumples like the walls of a great city. There is nothing but light and pain for several moments before he comes back to himself.

He fell out of the chair, that's embarrassing. No more embarrassing than choking back sobs as what feels like sunfire races through your veins but still embarrassing enough.

"What the fuck?" Prometheus manages to get out before his arms fail him and he falls from a kneeling position, were it not for Ardyn catching him Prometheus is certain he would have faceplanted onto the floor.

Ardyn is bright. Mired but dark and sickness but still bright enough he shines despite the dark. He is bright and his magic curls around Prometheus with something possessive in it.

Prometheus lets out one last curse before he faints.

-

Regis does not tell Ardyn that Ardyn should go and wreak devastation across the Empire.

Ardyn does so anyway.