#but why would they waste their time on a slower person who isn’t allowed to wear tampons?

[randomravager]

hmm okay so i probably won’t make swim team. and even if i do, will I be able to do it?

[password-door-lock]

The third consecutive time that you call him, Saeran decides to cut his losses and pick up. It goes without saying that he’s in a shitty mood about it— who do you think you are to bother him like this, and why did he have to inherit such an annoying toy in the first place? Can’t you follow the instructions that he gave you? He shouldn’t have to tell you multiple times to just stay in your room and wait. But then again, of course you would be troublesome. If Ray liked you, and if you actually liked him back, then it probably follows that you’d be a little strange-- though that’s no excuse for interrupting his work. “When did I tell you that you were allowed to bother me while I’m working?” He snarls.

“Hey,” you greet him, as if you didn’t hear the question he just asked. Unbelievable. “Good morning! Did you sleep well?” 

“Why are you asking something like that?” Saeran demands, “Don’t tell me you’re trying to get rid of me by boring me to death.” 

“The opposite,” you assure him, “Like, I see what you mean about this place being boring— as you know, you just left me here to sit around, and as instructed, I’ve been brainstorming ways that I can entertain you, and I decided to call, since I thought you could use a break.” 

So you finally want to be useful? Still, Saeran’s expectations for you aren’t very high. Just because you claim that you want to entertain him doesn’t mean you’ll actually try to do it, let alone succeed. “Then why are you wasting time by telling me good morning?” 

“Because that’s a thing that people say to each other when they talk on the phone before noon,” you explain, “And sometimes after noon when they don’t realize that it’s not morning anymore, and they say ‘good morning,’ and the other person says, ‘it’s two thirty,’ and the first person is like, ‘oh shit I’ve been reading fic for how long?’ Et cetera.” He doesn’t bother asking you what you’re talking about— if he did that every time you said something ridiculous, Saeran would never get anything else done.

“And now you’re wasting time by telling me why you’re telling me good morning?” He huffs, incredulous. “Do I have to give you a step-by-step guide for how to have a conversation, or is even that too difficult for you?” 

“You asked,” you protest, still sounding for all the world like this is the best day of your life. What reason do you have to be so chipper? “You wanted to know why I said good morning, so I explained why I said good morning. I am following your instructions to a T, sir.” 

“Prince(ss),” Saeran warns. He really does not have time for this conversation, and he doesn’t have time to interrogate the joy in your voice. You’re supposed to be miserable, so why do you sound so excited to be talking to him? “Stop blabbering and start trying to find a way to entertain me. That’s why you called in the first place, isn’t it? So you should go ahead and try it before I really lose my patience.” He doesn’t want to hear any more of your cheerful voice. It doesn’t belong in a place like Magenta, anyway.

“What patience?” You ask, sounding proud of yourself for thinking of the one-liner. Before Saeran can admonish you for mocking him, suddenly you’re talking again: “But, whatever, you want me to entertain you, so I’ll entertain you. I just have a couple of questions before we start— okay, first of all, how familiar would you say you are with dad jokes? Like, where are you on a scale of one to ten?” 

Saeran doesn’t have the slightest idea what you mean by that. He assumes it’s just some silly thing that weaklings like you like to waste time thinking about, and decides not to engage with your weird question. “I thought I told you to stop spouting nonsense,” he growls. “Do I have to talk slower so that you can understand? If you know what’s good for you and you’re able to comprehend what I’m saying, you’ll cut the act now, prince(ss).” 

“Mhm, okay,” you reply, which is not necessarily an answer to his question. “What did the blanket say when it fell off the bed?” 

By this point, Saeran is fuming. You called him while he was working and strung him along with that whole good morning song and dance just to ask him about a blanket? “I said entertain me, not ask stupid questions!” 

“It said, ‘Oh sheet!’” You cackle. 

Saeran smirks, though the so-called “joke” was not remotely funny. He’s more amused by how much you’re laughing about it— seriously, is that all it takes for you to go to pieces? What an airhead.“You must be intentionally trying to piss me off,” he decides. 

“I’m trying to make you laugh,” you pout. It seems you’re always trying to make him laugh, but Saeran doesn’t understand why. Is it that hard for you to just act how he wants and be scared of him? That would be much less of a hassle for everyone involved. You were willing to listen when Ray told you to get into a strange vehicle and put on a blindfold, but suddenly you’ve forgotten how to follow instructions? What kind of messed-up logic is that? “Okay, okay, I’ve got a better one. What’s black and white and red all over?” 

Are you just going to sit around asking stupid questions all day? “What are you—” 

“The RFA messenger!” You giggle. You even have the audacity to cut him off. “Get it? Get it? Because the app display is black and white, but you’ve read all the messages, so it’s read all over.” Oh. Read, not red. 

Saeran can’t help but laugh a little at that— he couldn’t care less about the word play, but at least you seem to understand the extent of his control over the messenger. “Yes,” he confirms, “I’ve seen everything you’ve said there, so you should watch it when you’re typing to your friends.” But, then, if you’re able to understand the situation, why are you still so full of hope? 

“Oh my god,” you breathe with exaggerated surprise, “Did the great hacker of Magenta just… laugh at my joke? I feel so accomplished! Let me tell you, man, there’s so much more where that came from. Feel free to call me whenever you need to cheer up; I’ll be here, sitting around and thinking of jokes.” What the hell are you talking about? You must think you can manipulate him by catching him off guard or something.

“Don’t get too full of yourself, toy,” Saeran spits in a vain attempt to ruin your mood. What gives you the right to be so happy-go-lucky when you’re locked up in the toy room, rotting with your thoughts? “I’ll come see you soon to remind you of your place.” He leaves you with that, hangs up, and turns off his notifications. He won’t allow you to bother him while he’s working again— but it goes without saying that he’ll be thinking about ways to bother you.

[caker-baker]

If There Was A Crown

It wasn’t everyday one was summoned to the royal court, and definitely not everyday a baker was summoned.

If the baker happened to be in their hero form, they might have understood, but as a regular kingdom citizen, they didn’t understand.

They had dealt with the royals, sure, but not like this, not when they were still halfway covered in flour.

Had they done something wrong? Was their bakery being repossessed? Or worse, demolished?

The hero didn’t like the stares of the people as they approached the dais, a million and one thoughts were racing through their head already, they didn’t need anyone else’s.

Upon the dais was the prince’s throne, and upon that was the prince, who sat almost amused.

“Baker.” He addressed.

The hero kneeled before they spoke. “Your royal highness.”

This seemed to further amuse the prince, who leaned forward in anticipation.

“Do you know why you have been brought here?”

“No, your highness.”

The prince’s eyes shone in amazement, a wide cat like smile forming. “You have been accused as terrorizing the kingdom under the pseudonym ‘Villain’,” before the hero could open their mouth, the prince held up his hand. “These acts include but are not limited to: larceny, arson, and murder. How do you plead?”

The court burst into chatter, louder and louder.

“I-I-” the hero couldn’t breath, their still kneeling self wobbling. “No! Not guilty, your highness.”

The prince almost rolled his eyes, but didn’t, instead choosing to motion to the guards to come forward.

“On what grounds, baker?”

Cold manacles were placed on the hero before they could blink, the whispers of the court members becoming more suffocating by the second.

“On the-” their mouth went dry.

How could they explain this?

They disappeared at odd times, generally the same time as the true villain, so that was incriminating enough; but they couldn’t outright say they were Hero. What if the real villain was here? Then they would know everything.

“The grounds that-”

“Yes, baker?” With another motion from the prince, the hero was hoisted upwards aprubtly, cold manacles on their wrists, and even colder hands on their arms.

The prince hadn’t even bothered to give the hero a chance to explain, he was having fun with this.

The reality of the situation slowly closed in on the hero, who suddenly found their tongue.

“My lord, please, you have to believe me, you can ask any of my loyal customers, any of the neighboring shops, I wouldn’t harm a fly.”

The prince pretended to consider this with his chin rested in his hand.

“And until speaking to them is possible, you will be held prisoner as Villain. That is all.”

So nonchalant, so nonchalantly the prince waved his hand as a dismissal, it made the hero want to scream. But they couldn’t do that, their hands were tied.

Well, chained.

And chained didnt change much, it was over, the hero had already thought this out.

Once they arrived at whatever cell or dungeon the apparently cruel prince had ready for the villain, the hero would begin to find an escape. After that, they couldn’t go back to their bakery, they couldn’t go back to anything, they would have to live as Hero forever.

Something hit their heart, the thought of never going back to the bakery. It felt heavy.

The hero didn’t notice the creaking door being unlocked, nor the wall which they were chained to, their bakery occupied their mind.

Even if they were proven innocent, which, judging by how the prince acted, they wouldn’t be, who would go to an accused villain’s bakery? How would the hero make a living now?

Or will this lead to the chopping block?

The hero shivered and blinked a few times to properly examine their predicament. It was a cell, there was no question about that, but it looked personalized. A bed in the corner, a stack of books beneath it, and a small desk with a chair.

A cell, but a used one, probably from a prisoner with good behavior.

The hero walked to the bars of the cell, at least a foot away from the bars, as the chains didn’t allow any further.

Chains in a cell?

That was strange, but if the prince believed them the villain, it would be reasonable enough.

If the prince deems me a villain, why this cell?

Something was wrong here.

“Everything to your liking, baker?” A voice sneered.

The hero’s eyes lit up, that voice was the prince, the prince was here. Maybe they could prove their innocence.

“Your highness, please, please, I am innocent, whoever accused me is wrong, I-”

“I accused you.” The prince interrupted, so sharp and firm the hero almost though they imagined it.

At the hero’s shocked face, the prince laughed.

“I do enjoy seeing you helpless.” He took off his crown, examining it in his hands. “It’s fitting for a pesky hero.”

Again, the hero felt their body begin to shake, perhaps out of anger.

“What?”

Cold and victorious eyes glanced up from investigating the crown. “You heard me, Hero. Or should I say it differently?” The prince cleared his throat. “I do love watching pesky heroes squirm.”

The hero felt themselves fall, the chains making a clattering sound that rang in their ears, similar to how those words someone else had spoken a week prior rang.

“You,” they began, now eternally grateful for the bars. “Are villain. You’re villain.”

The prince bowed, never taking his eyes off the hero. “In the flesh. And crown.” He smirked at that.

“But-” the hero felt at a loss for everything. At least now the accusation somewhat made sense. “But why? Your kingdom, why terrorize it?”

“You know nothing, pesky little hero.”

The hero heard the creaking door, and suddenly realized bars didn’t do much when the heir to the throne was involved.

Still, through the fear and confusion, the hero found their legs and stood, looking the prince in his eyes. It was bravery, and they would die by that.

Or maybe it was stupidity, the odds were against them.

“The only time I have seen you this close,” the prince began, “is when I managed the upper hand against that wall.”

His steps were slow, his hands even slower. Fingers delicately lifted the hero’s chin, who still looked straight on.

“Do you remember that?” He asked in a whisper, using his thumb to trace over the hero’s bottom lip.

The hero wanted to back away, but the prince had somehow already walked them into a wall. This, to the hero, was exactly like the time the villain managed the upper hand.

“That was nothing like this.” The prince concluded, finally stepping away after disagreeing with the hero’s internal monologue.

As if looking at his handiwork, the prince let his eyes trail up and down the hero.

“Tell me, how does a baker who shakes when they’re scared turn into a skilled acrobatic hero?”

“I don’t owe you anything.” The hero insisted, having pretended their mask was on. “But you owe us, you owe your kingdom’s citizens everything you ever took, including their lives!”

The prince made a tsking sound. “Pesky little heroes thinking they know everything. I have bigger plans for this place, worth much more than a few measly lives.”

“They’re your people!”

He sighed. “Yes, they are, and they will thank me in the future. Well, not the villain, the prince. They will thank the villain in secret.”

The hero saw the crown behind the prince’s back shine. Why was he hiding it?

“What happens when when the villain makes another appearance? Everyone will know it isn’t me, I’m here.”

“I would actually enjoy your input.” The prince said, that same amused shine in his eye. “See, I say you escaped and ban anyone from coming down here, barring me, of course.”

The hero’s horrified face made the prince chuckle.

“Or I have everyone forget. Some baker who disappears regularly, no real roots, no family, no friends, just customers and neighbors. No one will remember you, no one but me. Who cares if one falsely accused baker wastes away? Everyone will move on.”

“And those neighbors and customers?” The hero countered, a sliver of hope still alight in them.

“I suppose you wouldn’t know, but it is surprisingly simple to pay off someone.”

The shaking came back.

“So,” The prince started, eyes watching the small trembles from the baker. “Which will it be? Have everyone forget, or live the rest of your life as a villain?”

“No.” The hero whispered. “Why abuse your power like this?”

The prince was closer to the hero, closer than they liked.

“I suppose if there was a crown on your head, you would find a way to make everything fair, no need for violence, no need to burn something anew.”

Closer still.

“But I will let you in on a secret.”

He was on the hero now, pinning them to the wall with such force the hero felt their fighting reflexes kick in. It didn’t much good though, as the prince slammed the hero against the wall again the minute they moved.

“Until the old man keels over,” The words were whispered into the hero’s ear. “this is all the power I have. This is what I can do.”

“You can hurt people?” The hero whispered back. “Threaten them, kill them?”

The prince stared in shock. “Do you think I’m going to kill you?” He laughed. “Did you not hear any of what I said?”

One hand moved to the hero’s cheek. “No.” He muttered. “No, hero, I won’t be killing you.”

Something heavy fell onto the hero’s head.

“It suits you I think.” The prince spoke, not moving his hand from the hero’s face. “What a pretty royal you would make.”

The crown.

“Is it strange I felt gratified when you addressed me by my formal title?” The prince continued, this time cupping the hero’s other cheek, effectively caging in their face.

“I think you should say it more often. Who knows? After you end up alone, one way or another, you may work your way up the ranks, perhaps even bake for the palace. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“I could get you a better room, if you behave, there are probably a great many things I could do for you.”

This method, this taunting, infuriated the hero, who wanted more than anything to look away, but the prince didn’t seem keen on letting that happen.

“Pesky heroes don’t deserve nice things.” His voice dropped. “But I would make an exception for you.”

“I hate you.” The hero’s voice was just as low as the prince’s.

The prince’s shoulders tensed, but he just shrugged. “Part of the job.”

Finally, after what felt like eternity, the prince’s hands dropped, and the hero was free to lunge at them.

“Oh.” The prince sidestepped. “Pesky might be the wrong word. Feisty, maybe?”

“Keep the crown.” The prince said, slowly closing the creaking door.

Feeling their throat close, the hero finally managed to squeak it out. “And my bakery! What will happen to it?”

“That all depends on you, little hero.”

The prince bowed, and turned.

.

A quick note: Once upon a time I saw something that said “what if the villain was royalty”. I don’t remember where I saw it or who said it, but if you are that person, please let me know so I can credit you!!

[morganaspendragonss]

dancing on the edge of something new

huge thanks to alice ( @reyeslonestar ) for letting me talk this through with her at midnight when it was causing me huge trouble 🥰

five dances in tk and carlos’s life

ao3 | 2.3k | @911fluffweek day 3: getting together // dancing

i.

TK looks over when Carlos slides off the hood of the Camaro, his hand trailing after him until he’s forced to let go. Carlos is smiling almost shyly, shifting from one foot to the other, and TK can’t help but smile back, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Carlos?” he prompts, confusion growing as no explanation is forthcoming. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, of course. I just, uh…” He bites his lip, then takes a decisive step forward and holds out a hand, cocking a brow suggestively. “Wanna dance?”

TK laughs. “Seriously?” he asks, but he’s already sitting up and placing his hand in Carlos’s, allowing him to pull him off the car and to his feet.

“Well”—Carlos shrugs, yanking TK close and smiling at the oof he makes when their chests collide—“it’s how we began, isn’t it? I figured, if we’re starting again, then it feels only right, no?”

TK stares, stuck dumb, unable to do anything but follow Carlos’s lead as his arms slip around his waist, guiding them into a gentle sway. He rests his own hands on Carlos’s chest, the realisation that he gets to do this now—gets to touch Carlos and be with him like this—hitting him all over again. To think he almost threw it all away… Well, none of that matters anymore. What matters is that they’re here, dancing in a field with no music save for the shuffle of their feet in the grass and the occasional bird or cricket, like a pair of lovesick idiots in a romcom.

And he’s never been happier.

He slides his hands up until his arms are resting loosely around Carlos’s shoulders, fingers playing with the stray curls at the nape of his neck. He stares into those familiar brown eyes, so full of warmth and light, Carlos cast in the beautiful glow of the Northern Lights above them, and TK feels an intense feeling take root in his chest. It’s not love—not yet—but it will be.

He can’t imagine not falling in love with Carlos Reyes.

ii.

The club lights strobe around them, bathing the room alternately in lurid colours and strange shadows. The place is packed, the doors practically straining on their hinges, but the only thing TK is aware of is Carlos’s body moving against his own, their movements perfectly in sync with each other.

It’s been a while since they were last about to do this, to come out and just let loose for the night. In fact, TK thinks the last time might have been when they were out with Paul what seems like a lifetime ago; so much has changed since, and TK feels like a completely different person to who he was back then.

He and Carlos have officially been together for a few months now, but it’s like the universe has been working to stop them from actually being able to enjoy it. They’ve managed to squeeze in some dates here and there, but between the shooting, the solar storm, TK’s medical leave, and weeks of opposing shifts, getting a moment to themselves has been difficult.

But now, finally, they have one. And TK is going to milk it for all it’s worth.

He turns slightly in Carlos’s grasp, his head tilting up to catch his lips in a searing kiss. Carlos grips TK’s hips tighter, pulling them flush against his own as he deepens the kiss, and TK gasps, a sharp thrill shooting down his spine.

The night stretches out blissfully in front of them, the knowledge that this isn’t just a fling that will end with the cold light of dawn making it all the sweeter. It’s still a little surreal, even now, but it also feels so damn right.

TK’s heart hammers in time with the music and he sinks into Carlos’s hold, losing himself in his heat.

iii.

It’s not that TK never felt at home at the condo. The opposite in fact; Carlos’s place had been home even before he could officially call it his, and he feels the loss of it keenly. The thing is, though, even after he’d fully moved in, it had been a struggle to think of it as theirs.

It had been home, sure, but it had also been Carlos’s place.

Carlos had found it a little funny, and it had taken several slip-ups on TK’s part and just as many gentle corrections on his for TK to get used to our dining room, and our bedroom, and our house.

And then—well. Just as he’d started to get used to it, it was all gone. Ashes. It hurt, deeply, but TK knew that it was his turn to be the one to lean on, to let Carlos be the one to set the pace. Carlos had lived there for years, after all, and what was TK’s month compared to that?

Really, anywhere that Carlos is would be home, but this—holding the keys to a house they’d picked out together, a house they’d signed the lease for together, a house they’d picked the furnishings for together—feels like coming home. 

He hates that it was the condo burning down that got them to this stage, but TK can’t stop a grin from emerging on his face as he slips his key into the lock.

He finds Carlos in the kitchen, humming and shimmying to a song playing from the speakers. To his credit, TK really does try to bite back his laughter, but he can’t quite manage it, letting out a loud snort which has Carlos stopping in his tracks, flushing a deep red.

“I see the unpacking’s going well,” he says, walking over to the kitchen counter and leaning a hip against it. 

“It was, actually,” Carlos defends, still blushing. “I didn’t realise you’d be back this soon.”

TK shakes his head; as adorable as Carlos’s embarrassment is, he needs to let him know he’s not making fun. “You can relax, babe. You know I always love seeing you move those hips.”

“Mmm, don’t I know it.” Carlos leans in and kisses him, lingering a moment before pulling back, a wide smirk on his face. “How about you help me finish unpacking here and we’ll see about showing you more of that hip action later?”

TK grumbles, but does as he’s told, the two of them falling into a comfortable rhythm as they work to getting their house in order. It’s ended up being the perfect blend of their different styles, which probably shouldn’t work together, but somehow do, and TK loves it here. They both do, he knows—nothing will ever replace what they lost in the fire, but being able to build a home together is beyond special.

He keeps sneaking glances at Carlos as the afternoon goes on—sue him, his boyfriend is built like a Greek god—and TK smiles when he realises Carlos has started dancing again. He probably doesn’t even realise he’s doing it, which makes the whole thing so much better.

TK watches for a while, then walks up to Carlos and taps him on the shoulder. “Mind if I cut in?” he asks, gesturing to the wooden spoons he was twirling around.

There’s a brief moment of confusion, before Carlos’s eyes light up with realisation. He barely wastes a second in tossing the spoons aside (though, it’s more like a careful placement in the correct drawer) and grabs TK by the hand, sending him into a literal spin.

TK laughs, taking a moment to right himself after the sudden movement caused him to stumble inelegantly. Neither of them are in time with the music as they dance around the kitchen, carefully avoiding the boxes still scattered around, but it’s not important. 

For the first time in his life, TK feels fully, completely at home. It’s not a feeling he wants to let go of.

iv.

“I think they were expecting something slower,” TK murmurs, burying a laugh in Carlos’s neck. Their guests are all wearing expressions with varying degrees of shock, and he can’t really blame them—he’s pretty sure the last thing anyone expects to hear during a first dance at a wedding is a country song. “I still can’t believe you even remember it.”

Carlos shrugs. “I still can’t believe you don’t. It is our song, after all.”

TK rolls his eyes, remembering their first conversation on this topic months ago, back when they were still sorting out all the wedding minutiae. 

“‘Our’ song, babe?” he’d said, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “Why, because we danced to it for five minutes before leaving to get off in the bathroom?”

“Exactly,” Carlos had replied, his tone so serious that TK wasn’t sure whether he was joking or not. He’d rolled his eyes and lightly shoved at TK’s shoulder. “No, babe. Because it was the first time we danced together on the night that we met. That’s special, right, even if it did only last five minutes?”

TK hadn’t exactly been able to argue that one, and he has to admit now that it was a pretty good choice. If only to see the way Judd almost choked on his champagne in surprise when the song started.

It’s a little untraditional and, if he’s being honest, TK had never thought that one day he would be getting married in Texas on his new husband’s family ranch, with their first dance being to a ‘cowboy song’, as he’d once called it, much to Carlos’s horror. But he and Carlos have never been ones for tradition, and TK wouldn’t have it any other way.

“It’s perfect,” he admits, his eyes never leaving Carlos’s. He stops the dance, not caring that the song is still playing, and steps closer, pressing their bodies together. Everything else fades into the background as he leans up and kisses Carlos, barely moving when they break apart. “I love you, Husband.”

Carlos’s face lights up in a grin that could rival the sun in its brightness. “I love you too, Husband.”

v.

Music is floating through the door when TK gets home, and it’s enough to alleviate the weight he’s been carrying all day. It’s not that it had been a bad shift per se (though, when your standards for a good day are ‘nobody dies’, your view tends to get a bit skewed) but it had been long and tiring, and he’d missed his family desperately.

Sometimes, he still can’t believe this is really his life. But Ana, now three, has been living with them for a year already, and TK can’t imagine their home without her anymore. She’d been a blessing, coming into their lives after years of fighting to get on adoption registers, right when they were beginning to despair of ever managing it.

They did, though, and now TK gets to come home to scenes like this. 

Scenes like Ana standing on Carlos’s toes as he guides her slowly around the room in a basic dance. TK watches for a moment before getting his phone out and hitting record; he’ll be damned if he misses the opportunity to get this on film.

Carlos, having heard him enter, rolls his eyes when he sees what TK’s doing, but flashes him a quick smile before returning his focus to Ana. She hasn’t noticed TK’s entrance, her face scrunched up in deep concentration as she grips onto Carlos’s hands as tight as she possibly can.

When the music ends, Ana claps her hands and giggles. TK takes the moment to make his presence known, dropping to his knees and holding his arms out. She barrels into him, almost knocking him over, and presses her face into his chest, her tiny hands creating creases in his uniform shirt.

“Hi, sweetheart,” TK murmurs, dropping a kiss in her hair. He gently detaches her from him and manoeuvers them until she’s sitting in his lap. “Looks like you guys were having fun while I was at work.”

She nods enthusiastically. “Papa was teaching me to dance! Abuela showed me photos when I was with her and Abuelo and I wanted to be just like her!”

“Abuela got out the photo albums again, huh?”

Ana nods again. “Of her… Her…” She frowns and looks up at Carlos.

“Her china poblana dresses,” Carlos says softly, smiling as Ana grins and points at him. 

TK laughs and draws his daughter into a hug, rocking them gently, his gaze going up to Carlos. “Well, from what I saw, you were dancing even better than Papa,” he says, smirking as Carlos gasps in mock offence. He looks back down at Ana, tapping on the back of her hand. “You know,” he starts, smiling, “I think I might need some dancing lessons too. Think you can teach me?”

Ana lights up and immediately gets to her feet, as if she’d been waiting for him to ask. She grabs TK’s hand and pulls him up, leading him to where Carlos must have cleared a space for them earlier. The music begins to play again and TK lets his daughter take charge, playfully sticking his tongue out at Carlos when he laughs at TK getting firmly told off for putting his foot in the wrong place.

At some point, Carlos joins the dance, the three of them stepping and bouncing around the front room. Ana’s laughter fills the house, shrieking with delight when Carlos sweeps her from the floor and wraps both her and TK in his arms. TK leans his head on his husband’s shoulder, a hand placed on their daughter’s back, and breathes out slowly, all the exhaustion from earlier forgotten. 

At last, he’s home.

[h2bakugou]

Can I req how hawks, bakugou, denki, kiri and dabi would react to seeing their s/o performing an imaginary concert in the shower? Like singing and doing a lil jig?? (And if you want a/o sees them but isn’t embarrassed they just start singing to them instead) And nothing nsfw just wholesome fluff and they’re like “🥺 wow I luv dem” ok sorry this weirdly specific but it’s been in my head for weeks and only your writing could do it justice. And feel free to make changes if it doesn’t fit your requirements ok bYE

a/n: YESSS PLEASE DFHDJG THIS IS THE ONE THIS IS THE HEADCANON- please this is so amazing thank you for this i love you smooches

headcanon: them reacting to their s/o singing in the shower

aged up 18+ au!!

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: fluff, swearing, mentions of nudity, showering together

;cut for length;

»»————-　★　————-««

keigo takami/hawks

»»————-　★　————-««

Let’s be honest, Hawks is a bit of a perv, but in like a good way? Is there a good way? idk n e way-

He hears the water running and he’s like ‘yes cool bro go talk to them while they shower like you don’t have anything else to be doing’

He loves just talking to you while you’re in the shower. He doesn’t have any dirty intentions unless you instigate but this isn’t that kind of headcanon so let’s proceed with the fluff.

He hears the water running when he steps into your shared home and he’s immediately like tearing off his hero costume until he’s shirtless and in his boxers. The steam is just gonna make him sweat even more, he’ll get dressed after a convo about what’s for dinner.

But then he hears you singing. 

Cute

He can’t help but giggle as he quietly pushes the door open, now making it his goal to see how long he can watch you sing and dance for.

Watching you move and dance around as you massage shampoo into your hair, singing to the music playing over your phone speaker, you were having some sort of concert.

You finally glance over and notice your boyfriend, standing and admiring you in only his underwear.

“My little songbird.” Hawks teases as he walked over toward the shower. You just smile and reach out a hand for him to join you.

Tugging him under the running water you continue to sing and dance, just enjoying yourself.

“Is this what you do while I’m gone all day at work?” Hawks laughed, allowing you to wash his hair.

“Mhm!” You laugh, snapping the waistband of his now soggy underwear against his stomach.

“I love you.” Hawks coos, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You return to singing, this time directing your words to him, trying not to laugh as Hawks joins in, horribly singing off keep just to spite you.

»»————-　★　————-««

katsuki bakugou

»»————-　★　————-««

He hears you singing from your shared bedroom. He’s just scrolling on his phone when he finally hears you, his ears perking up as your voice sings along to the song playing on your phone.

He’s curious. 

Pushing the bathroom door open, he’s just staring as you dance and sing all while washing your hair. Bakugou can’t help but laugh a little, finding your concert rather amusing.

You hear his snickering and turn to face him. He stops and just stares at you.

You waste no time aiming your lyrics at him as you continue to sing, ushering him into the bathroom.

He’s fully dressed when you yank him into the shower, letting the water soak his clothes.

“You havin’ some sorta concert in here?” Bakugou kisses your forehead.

“Of course! Anyone who doesn’t sing in the shower is a liar.” You nudge him.

“Dumbass.” Bakugou just tugs his soaking wet shirt off, tossing it into the sink so it didn’t create a puddle on the floor.

“Sing with me!” You rub some soap over his chest, still humming along to the lyrics of the song.

“Tch.”

“I know you want to, this song is on your gym playlist.” You smirk, returning back to singing along. Bakugou just sighs and mumbles along to the words, his big hands massaging the conditioner into your hair while your hands washed his chest.

When the song ended, you gave him a hug and looked up at him.

“We should make a song together.” You tease him.

“Yeah right.”

“I love you.” You lean up and kiss his lips.

»»————-　★　————-««

denki kaminari

»»————-　★　————-««

He hears you singing and is like ‘bro tis angel is singing? in the shower? my heart is theirs <3′

He’s not even gonna be subtle, he wants to hear you sing so he’s opening the bathroom door and coming in, sitting on the closed toilet, and just admiring you until you notice.

“Jeez! Kami!” You flinch when you finally notice him, your singing coming to an abrupt stop.

“You didn’t tell me you could sing!” Kaminari has wide eyes as he smiles at you, completely mesmerized at how well you were singing and dancing.

“I- It didn’t seem all that important, but thank you.” You try to hide your embarrassment by turning away, washing the shampoo out of your hair.

“Keep singing!” Kaminari stands and moves so he can see your face.

“Kami!” You cover yourself for a brief second before he pulls off his shirt and strips down, joining you in the shower.

“I’ll sing with you.” He adds, preparing to sing along to the song playing.

He’s off-key as he begins to sing, trying to impress you. You can’t help but laugh and finally ease up, lowering your hands as you bring them up to wash his yellow hair.

“Try to harmonize with me.” You offer a bit of advice as you being to sing again, trying to have him follow along. He just watches you for the first few seconds before he finally gets the hang of it, still a little off-key.

Even while he was singing, he couldn’t help but slowly stop, just admiring you. He really loved you.

He cut you off by pressing his lips to yours, apologizing after saying he got carried away.

»»————-　★　————-««

eijiro kirishima

»»————-　★　————-««

Kirishima is like lowkey confused as to why he hears singing at first. He deadass thinks you’ve got a speaker in the bathroom with you. He doesn’t register it’s actually you singing at first.

When he realizes it’s you singing, his heart is racing, he’s blown away. And even more so, he thinks it’s so cute that you’re like performing in the shower.

Like he’s head over heels in love with you already, but this just adds to it. 

“Beautiful.” He mumbles, just gazing at you, not even really registering you were showering.

“Eiji!” You blurt out, throwing your arms over yourself.

“Sorry!” He looks away and shakes his head.

“I heard singing and I didn’t realize it was you but it was and it sounded really beautiful because I’d never heard you sing before!” Kirishima apologizes before slowly turning his head back around.

“Keep singing?” He questions, going to tug his shirt off.

“Fine but you have to wash my back.” You smile, listening to the song to find your place.

Kirishima joins you in the shower, washing your back and listening to you sing. It’s so beautiful, Kirishima begins to think you really are an angel.

“I love you.” Kirishima spins you around to kiss you, pulling you into his arms.

“I love you too.” You rest your arms around his shoulders.

»»————-　★　————-««

dabi

»»————-　★　————-««

You singing is the only surefire way to get this man close to a shower-

He’s intrigued by the angelic singing coming from his bathroom, so of course he goes to investigate.

Pushes the door open a tad just to peek inside, and he’s surprised when he sees you dancing and singing, performing a little imaginary concert while you wash your body.

He’s smiling and he doesn’t realize it.

Dabi lives life in the fast lane and personally, I don’t think he really gets to see and understand the simple things that make life fun and sweet.

So seeing the love of his life singing in the shower, just for a few minutes, Dabi can’t help but fall even more and love. 

It’s so normal, he feels like he’s not a wanted criminal and instead he’s just watching his love do something so simple.

When you notice his spying eyes, you usher him into the bathroom, still singing, this time directing the lyrics to you.

Dabi smirks and quickly strips, jumping into the shower with you.

The song fades out and a slower song comes on. 

You place your arms around his waist and essentially hug him, allowing him to do the same. The two of you sway in an embrace while the song plays, the warm water washing over the two of you.

“I love you.” Dabi mumbles. This moment feels so surreal. The words kinda slip out. He does love you, but he rarely says it.

“I love you too.” You reply, looking up, sliding an arm around his neck, pulling him down into a warm kiss.

It’s sweet and loving. Dabi knows that in this moment, there’s nothing else he could’ve ever asked for.

“You should sing more often.” Dabi comments after pulling away.

Congrats, you’ve unlocked Dabi showering normally because he’ll do it to hear you sing.

»»————-　★　————-««

masterlist

[pokedash55]

ULTRA LONG TIME TWIN HEADCANNONS

@sippin-on-waterfalls your post is ready

From Pokedash and Purplefern

Ooooooookay here we go.

_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_

-Krux perceives time slower than others so he is easily late to events (plus he gets distracted and way into projects so he can easily lose track of time, ironically) so he could end up missing a lot of Elemental Alliance meetings

-Acronix made sure he informed Krux it was time to go (whenever he remembers, anyway) otherwise he’d be uber late all the time. Good thing they always go together

-Acronix is super early all the time because of his powers and he and Griffon Turner’s grandfather got along really well

-All the same, between lack of attention span, focusing on other things, and not caring for the meetings in general, Krux and Acronix miss a LOT of meetings 

-Before alliance meetings Wu is training little Morro and the Twins and the Master of Speed just waltz in the monastery doors an hour early

-Acronix teaches Morro some sick fighting moves (some rather underhanded)

-Krux advises him to never let people get away with harm cause you are the most important thing in your life. (Revenge!)

-Wu be like plz stop encouraging my kid into violence and dishonorable tactics.

-Krux brought refreshments to an EA party exactly once. It was pickled beet tea and nobody liked it. He took it very personally. 

-Back during the war, the love triangle with Misako was actually a love rectangle. Krux had a crush on her too but he literally had no idea how to act on it so his part of the rectangle was staring at her longingly from afar and not saying anything. 

-Yes Acronix teased him immensely about this. And tried to act as a wingman several times but Krux swore if he did he would murder him 

-Pre-series, Misako would do work for the museum a lot, so she ended up working with Sanders Saunders quite often. Despite her relationship to Wu and Garmadon and their “history”, he did like working with her ok

-They both also worked with the Explorer’s Club a lot, and have equal disdain for Cecil Putnam and Clutch Powers 

-Krux hates Cecil’s stuffy rules (even though he couldn’t show it while being Dr Saunders) and Clutch’s….everything

-Krux’s doctorate is real, and he has a doctorate in History and and Master’s degree in Museum Studies 

-He’s the Curator of History at the museum, and the other curator is the curator of natural sciences 

-Acronix is a big nicknames guy. He doesn’t usually call people by their actual names. Only the people he actually cares about or that he super hates. 

-But he also generally despises nicknames given TO him. The only people allowed to call him Nix/Nixie are  his brother and mother (and later Shannon). 

-Krux only calls Acronix "Nix" if he's feeling particularly vulnerable/scared/etc (so like, when being the older twin isn't feeling that fun and he decides to ignore those 3 minutes and be more like the "younger" twin.) So this becomes a lot less as he becomes more arrogant. 

-(Based on how he describes Dareth getting beat up by the Vermillion warrior) Krux likes watching wrestling. It’s a guilty pleasure of his 

-And of course Acronix loves it once he learns about it, so the two watch it together 

-Krux occasionally plays strategy board games. He tried to get Acronix into them but he found them boring. 

-(Sometimes he’ll suck it up and play with him anyway, though.) 

-Both are sass masters

-Both also like science

-But like completely different facets of science. 

-Krux of course likes the more stable and earthy sciences. Biology and geology, ecology. Those elemental science that have always existed but we just haven’t yet understood them

-Krux is also a total history nerd. Things like paleontology and anthropology are also really interesting to him 

-Yes he was a dinosaur kid. (Especially since dinosaurs had just started to be discovered back in his day.) 

-Acronix of course likes advancement and the otherworldly sciences. Technology, Astronomy. Sure we build upon the discoveries of the past but what about creating something new for the future? 

-Acronix does like bioengeneering since it is a new advancement but he knows saying so would make Krux grin with “I told you bio was cool” vibes

-Krux can engulf himself into his work or his schemes for days. As he is very patient. 

-Acronix is less so. He sees time constantly moving forward so sitting idle to “Plan” seems a ridiculous waste of time. 

-He jumps from activities quickly as the novelty of it wears off and he is always on a quest for what's new and what may work, not really what has been confirmed to work

-Krux of course sees this as a fool's errand. We need to respect the knowledge we have and use it and plan with it. 

-But when they are in sync you should be SCARED

-Both thinking in the Present can make them in perfect harmony, Both in fighting and talking.

-Their different planning methods can help eachother get things done. So yes, when they work together you should be scared 

-Krux can get really fixated on an idea, and get into major creative blocks. Acronix helps propose out of the box solutions that keep his ideas moving forwards that he wouldn’t have thought of himself. 

-But as we see they can also be reeeeallly different and fight over the miniscule things.  

-Krux lingers on Grudges easily as he physically cannot not put value to the events of the past.

-Acronix’s main grudge with the alliance came from his ego and arrogance, not his element. I think he feels very internally about wrongs to him in the moment but if he sees nothing really changed a couple of days later he loses interest in holding such a grudge easily

-Each of them have the ability to not be affected by the other’s powers

-Acronix has no patience to listen to anything he doesn’t want to hear. Back when he had his powers he COULD and WOULD just “skip” peoples’ dialogue if he got bored of it. 

-Krux has a bad habit of “freezing” people if he feels like they’re interrupting him. Like, he will freeze people who are trying to get him to stop working on something while he’s trying to get something done, and then get back to them when he feels like it. Everyone has to work on his time. (Annoyingly, this does not affect his brother, which is why Acronix is the only one who can actually get him to stop working on his projects.) 

-Whenever Krux & Acronix would hang out with Chen, Acronix loved messing with Clouse. Clouse reminds him of his brother, but even more stuffy and annoyed somehow, so he just has an instinctual urge to annoy him as much as possible. 

-(Clouse does not appreciate this, but Master Chen says they’re “important” to his plan so Clouse just suffers quietly.) 

-Acronix likes the Master of Speed, but also finds it annoying that he can resist his slo-mo powers by going really fast. (On the bright side, though, this does make him the closest thing to an equal he’ll get for a sparring partner, if Krux doesn’t want to train with him for whatever reason.) 

-Because of his element, Sound is one of the rare people who doesn’t really mind Krux but REALLY dislikes Acronix. Acronix is just so loud all the time and it physically pains him because he is so sensitive to vibrations and volume. Krux is generally pretty quiet so doesn’t bug him as much. 

-Acronix is an Entrepreneur (ESTP)  and Krux is an Architect (INTJ) 

-They have no Feeling whatsoever

-Otherwise, they are complete opposites

-Both of these personality types hate rules, regulations, and micromanaging restricting authority figures (hmm, wonder why they broke away from the alliance…)

-Acronix is arrogant in the way that he doesn’t care about his flaws, because obviously he is awesome and everyone else is just jelly, Krux is arrogant in the way that he hates people pointing out his flaws, because shut up he doesn’t have any 

-Their mother is Polaris, they take after her physically 

-Father is Kronos, they got their powers and ego from him 

-Their father actively encouraged them to have immense pride in their element -- being the former master of time himself 

-Ordered them the sweet matching armor

-He was a samurai back in his day, which is why the Twims wore samurai helmets.

-Between their two loving parents, the Twims were nearly spoiled 

-Krux and Acronix grew up pretty rich, Kronos was pretty much high society and Polaris was too 

-They went to a fairly fancy private school growing up

-But everyone there were snobs so they didn’t get along well with their classmates (what a surprise)

-Their parents died in a skirmish with Serpentine, leading the Twims to join the alliance full of vengeance. 

-Acronix has a battle scar from being grazed by an anacondrai sword on his left pec cause I said so

-Also a lot of misc snake bit scars and a burn scar from that one time (Ray’s got a bad temper and Acronix likes pressing people’s buttons, so that went super well)

-Acronix super cares about his looks so has a ton of, like, haircare and beauty products. Krux has a single bottle of 3-in-1 and a bar of soap and says that that’s sufficient. 

-Back in the day Acronix had a bunch of oils and whatever for his hair, and when he’s in the present he’s got a bunch of fancy shampoos and such.  He’s definitely the vain one of the two twins

_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

A collection of Neurodivergent Twims HCs

-Acronix has ADHD and Krux is autisitc

-Acronix is early, but only to things he remembers. He often forgets dates. And Krux will get involved with something else, and has a warped sense of time. Together, the two miss a lot of EM meetings 

-And when they’re at them, neither of them are good at conversations. Acronix talks a mile a minute and doesn’t let anyone get a word in edgewise. Krux either doesn’t talk to anyone or similarly dominates conversation and doesn’t let anyone else talk. 

-The two also get sent on solo missions alot

-They don’t focus well in a group setting (Acronix generally ignoring the plan for what he prioritizes as the better option and krux simply not being popular with the others and only really battling well beside his brother)

-They are generally strong enough to protect a village by themselves

-The other EM work better with them out of the way since they are “annoying” and no one really likes their arrogance, pride, or entire personhood

-They seem to be happier working only together than with the whole group

-Once during a group charge on a collection of Serpentine races Acronix notices a horde heading in a different direction and follows them impulsive

-All of these things together make them especially unpopular with the other EMs

-Especially with the Master of Ice, who considers their actions disrespectful and often scolds them on their behavior 

-Krux and Acronix can BOTH get hyperfixated on things they are interested in, and can also forget to eat and sleep.

-Acronix struggles with insomnia a lot because his brain doesn’t shut up. Luckily his brother never really sleeps either. They spend a lot of long nights talking about nonsense 

-Acronix tries to use time skip powers to not waste time while sleeping. He skips the night, but he still didn’t get sleep. He crashes after a few days of this and Krux tells him that he’s a moron 

-Acronix has a fidget spinner, which he got for the memes but ended up finding unironically helpful, and gives Krux a fidget cube (which Krux reluctantly accepts and actually does use pretty often.) 

-Before learning what a fidget spinner was he would flip his phone a lot. It was both an easily accessible stim and assurance he knew where it was cause he tended to leave things around at random. 

-Krux used nail-biting as a stim, mostly because it can appear pretty neurotypical 

-Acronix is “annoying” around the ninja during his lil redemption arc, but instead of reacting like the elemental masters, the Ninja actually do research and come to an understanding (especially Zane, who is perceptive, understanding, and has an instantaneous link to the internet). 

-Altogether he’s a little surprised when they actually put effort into tolerating and understanding his differences. Huh. How’s bout that? 

-Jay is also pretty understanding, he’s got a lot of nd cousins and has ADHD himself so it’s kinda just *shrugs*

-Modern dyes and preservatives really trigger Acronix’s ADHD to be even worse than usual. 

-Zane picks up on this, and like the mother hen that he is starts to put in a special effort to keep dyes away from Acronix (or to keep Acronix away from dyes, as the case may be)

-Jay has a similar problem with dyes (which Edna let the Ninja know about, thanks a lot ma ) so Zane works double time to keep them both away from dyes

-Makes special dishes that are “ADHD safe” 

-Neither appreciate it (well Jay does but will complain openly at every chance he gets)

-Acronix got into a lot of trouble with their dad when he was a kid, because he just couldn’t pay attention 

-Has bursts of anger a lot, oftentimes this happens during things like parties or pre-meeting conversations. (which easily leads to him getting a label of “aggressive” or “hotheaded” by the EMs) 

-DEFINITELY struggles with Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria

-Ninjago history is Krux’s special interest 

-Krux freezes people around him when he needs a sec to destim

-Krux is pretty high-functioning, but is on the borderline. He's high-functioning enough to be aware of himself and mask, but not enough to avoid things like shut/melt downs 

-Acronix is fiercely protective of his brother whenever he shuts down. Messing with Krux while he's like that (whether the antagonist is aware or not) is a one way ticket to his wrath as well as physical punishment. 

-Whenever things got too intense at a meeting/party type thing, Acronix would ditch and sneak them both out whenever Krux was heading towards a shut down. Being the awesome supportive twin that he is, he learned to pick up on the signs of one and was certain to prevent them pretty much whenever possible. 

-Acronix failed in his efforts only once (he was kind of sick that day and wasn’t at the top of his game to be keeping a watchful eye on his bro), and Krux kind of ended up time freezing a few of the EMs in the process. It was something the elemental masters (or Krux himself)  did not soon forget or forgive. 

-He'll go nonverbal sometimes, to the minor aggravation of the alliance. Sign language isn't a thing yet so anyone trying to understand him when he's like this are pretty much reliant on Acronix and his twin sense to translate. 

-When their parents died Krux went nonverbal for a little over a month. 

-Krux was pretty delayed in learning to speak, he didn’t say his first word until he was 3 ¼ 

-Even during his redemption arc, Acronix does not tell the Ninja about Krux's autism, from a built in fear that the knowledge would be used against him in possible future battles. (Also because he knows Krux wouldn't want them to know.) 

-Krux doesn't just hate phones because “ugh technology”, he also just hates talking on the phone because it’s super difficult

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OK there are way more that we have but... did you know there is actually a word limit on Tumblr? Heh heh... If you want more Twim goodness you can read our extensive fanfic collection... or maybe we’ll make a part two (That’ll probably consist of Home life pre-war stuff, post-canon AU junk, Vermillion family nonsense, and more random stuff)

[a-purple-lizard]

Could you please do a Kabal x F!Reader

Where the reader hates the fact that he’s in the black dragons but she still loves him. So could you please write something of a love and hate relationship

With smut please 🥺

Swift dragon

Kabal x female reader

[This post is NSFW]

I’m am SO sorry this took so long, I had major writers block with this one. Personally, kabal isn’t my cup of tea, I’ve just never got the appeal to him, but I hope I did him justice.

But seriously, if anybody has any Kabal tips, please tell me! I would greatly appreciate it!

[FINAL WARNING, NSFW BELOW THE LINE]

Cold wind blew through the rugged streets, whistling as it passed through poorly made shacks and campfires. At least a hundred people, including small children and babies, were gathered around the small fires. Their clothes were little more than rags. Suddenly, a woman approached out of the darkness.

She held out her palm, allowing the homeless people of outworld to hastily take the food she has offered them. S/o smiled sadly at the children who attempted to give their food to their parents, only to be rejected. She wished she had enough to feed all of them.

After she ran out of the bread that she handed out, she swiftly climbed up only a nearby rooftop. The air stunk with smoke and human waste. “What’s up s/o? Come to visit me?”

Her heart jolted from her chest, turned around, tackling the man with a hug. He yelped at the sudden contact as s/o peppered his face with kisses. The two turned into a giggling mess as s/o sat up, straddling his thighs. Her smile suddenly melted into bitter resentment when she saw the black dragon uniform. “Babe? What’s wrong?”

“Tell me, kabal, how many children did you steal from today?” She asked coldly, getting off of him. Kabal quickly scrambled to his feet, following her to the edge of the building.

“H-hey! What’s up with that accusation?” He demanded, sitting beside her, his legs dangling off the edge.

“A month ago, half these people lived in small houses. When Kano and his goons started to charge a “protection fee” they were reduced to living out here in the cold.” Her tone held an edge to it. “So tell me kabal, when you were out collecting, how many kids did you see?”

The way kabal grimaced and turned away reminded s/o of a child who knew he was wrong was but too stubborn to admit it. “It's just business, babe. Nothin personal.”

“You’re right, it isn’t personal. Who the hell cares about starving civilians? Not the emperor, not Kano, and sure as hell not you.” Her cold voice growled. “Just business, they’re just numbers to you, specifically check numbers.”

Suddenly, s/o let out a grunt as she was pinned to the ground. Kabal stared down at her, anger in his eyes. “Don’t you put that on me.”

“Oh I’m sorry, is reality ruining your little bad boy with a cause complex?” She yelled, struggling against him, “wake the fuck up, look around, these are real people, like you and me, that you are hurting!”

“Why are you so worried about what I do!? Why can’t you just mind your own damn business!?” He yelled, his grip bruising her wrist.

“Because I love you goddammit!” S/o cried out, kabal froze at her words, grip loosening. The woman below him had tears running down her face, “I love you, more than you know. Watching you burn away your soul like this… it hurts. You’re a good guy, but Kano is corrupting you! And you’re letting him!”

Kabals eyes drifted from her for a second, clouding over with some unfamiliar emotion. The raging storm within his soul was put on pause by a soft hand on his cheek. S/o gave him a weak look. “Please, Kabal, listen. Leave the black dragon, leave Kano.”

“It isn’t that easy.” He mumbled, easing his lower body onto hers. The weight was comforting to s/o as she lifted her head to place a soft kiss into his lips. The man quickly returned it, passionately and desperate. His fingers locked around hers, pressing her down harder beneath him.

Kabals lips broke from hers and latched onto her throat. He hummed as he dragged his mouth across her skin, the rhythmic sound was intoxicating. “No, but I can make it easier.” She whispered.

A startled groan tumbled from his mouth as an knee pressed up between his thighs. S/o could feel the hardness of him through his pants. With agonizingly slow movements, she rubbed her leg up and down. His grip tightened with a growl.

“Is this your way of persuading me?” He grunted, grinding onto her leg. His mouth broke away from her flesh, he looked down atp her, eyes clouded with lust. “Cause it just might work.”

S/o leaned upwards, planting a soft kiss on his lips before pushing him back. The man fell on his back with an oof. Before kabal could even make sense of the action, s/o was atop him.

Placing a hand down onto him, she gently cupped his cheek. He sighed and leaned into it ever so slightly. “Promise me.”

Her thighs clenched around his wait as she steadily grinded into him. He grunted and tried to buck his hips up in pleasure. “I’ll only let you have me, if you promise to leave the black dragon.”

“B-babe- fuck. This is hardly fair, cmon- ah!” S/o slid her hand under her, massaging the hardness between his legs. Kabal seethed and writhed, nails digging into the ground. His eyes rolled back as she unzipped his pants, allowing her fingers to slip in.

Kabal tried to sit up, hand reaching for her breast, only to he pushed back down with her free hand. “Touch me, and I’ll stop.”

Helpless groans and pleas fell from his mouth, turning into moans of pleasure as her hands continued. She rubbed, squeezed and even licked the piece of flesh in her hand, watching each reaction as she did. “Fuck, s/o I’m close.”

Speeding up her movements, he was practically fucking her fist as he arched his back, mouth agape. He was so close only a little more-

Her touch quickly disappeared just as his high was at its brink. The man whined, trying to touch himself, but s/o didint allow him. “S/o, please, cmon.”

“Not until you promise me!” Her hands crashed on either side of his head, staring into his eyes. Her gaze held anger, sadness, regret, love? “You’re better then this, I know you are. Please.”

“I’ll- I’ll only take jobs that don’t hurt civilians, how about that?” He rasped out, at a lost for breath. “I won’t do anymore protection frees, I’ll just do regular old assassination jobs, only for people who deserve it. Bad people.”

S/o frowned, but the heat of her gaze had subsided, she sighed. “I suppose that’s the most I can get out of you at the moment.” Closing her eyes, she rolled on her back beside him. “You better get the most out of me. While I’m still around.”

Despite the threat, Kabal could hear true despair in her tone. She really did love him. Guilt clouded Kabal as he mounted her thighs. Normally there was no slow moments of intamcy, only a deep connection of mutual unspoken passion as they mercilessly merged their body’s. Tonight, that would be different.

S/o flinched in surprise when she felt a soft, pleading kiss flutter on her lips. Her wide eyes stared up as his desperate gaze. There was genuine fear and sadness. “Kabal?”

“Hey, look.” His voice was breathless as he spoke. “You are, the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You have treated me like a human being, which is more then I can say for others. I know, I’m a scum bag, I know I’m everything you’re not. But at the end of the day, you love me, no matter what I do.”

S/o smiled up at him, “I try to hate you, but everytime I try, I just end up loving you more.”

Kabal laughed, giving her a smug look, “guess I’m just that good lookin.” That earned a playful elbow in the back. He laughed once again, “ok, ok, I’ll shut up now. I’ll make you feel good.”

“Yeah?” S/o smiled as Kabal started to unbutton her shirt, exposing cleavage as she wrapped her arms around him.

“Yeah.” His lips connected with hers in a kiss. Hands crept down her body, fingertips tracing her skin, grabbing onto her thighs and separating them. Kabal placed himself between her legs, his pants were still unzipped, his problem was out in the cold air.

Kabal hovered atop her, kiss becoming much more heated as she bit his lip, demanding he give her entrance. He smugly chuckled, holding back a remark as her tongue assaulted his. After a short battle of dominance, s/o was declared the winner as she hastily explored his wet cavern.

Ripping her shirt open and unclipping her bra, sliding it off and throwing it to the side, kabals mouth ripped from her kiss and latched into her breast. S/o released a whiny moan, nails digging into his back as began to lick and suck all over. His tongue traced her skin, searching her the right spot.

Her mouth opened with a gasp as Kabal located a tender scrap of skin and began to abuse it. Biting down in it, only to suck it between his teeth. That was definitely going to leave a Mark.

S/o grinded upwards into his exposed groin. The man moaned slightly, hand reaching down to unzip her pants. His fingers slipped past her panties and into her soaked folds of sensitive flesh. He rubbed and slid his fingers around each crevice, leaving s/o a pleading mess. “Fuck... just fucking do it already.”

“As my girl commands.” He teased breathlessly, positioning himself at her entrance. His fingers took hold of her wrist, pinning them above her head as he entered her at an agonizingly slow pace, allowing himself to stretch out her inner walls. S/o writhed beneath him, clumsy moans dripping from her mouth.

He then proceeded to fuck her brains out. He was FAST like, ridiculously fast. Not superpower fast, but it was clear that he was going to make s/o pay for her teasing.

Hands tangled in hair and nails dug into skin as he drilled into her. She early met his thrust with her own, hips slamming hard enough to leave bruises. Neither of them cared.

Leaning over, his mouth assaulted hers, this time he took complete control of her mouth, invading it as he pleased. The two groaned into the kiss as his thrust became heavier, slower, sloppier.

S/o was left gasping for air as Kabal left her mouth, his saliva decorating her lips. He trailed down kisses from the corner of her mouth to the crook of her neck. His teeth met her flesh, biting and sucking.

They were both getting close already. S/o cried out each time he slammed into her, her face was pure ecstasy. “Kabal! Fuck... I’m-“

“Yeah, me too babe.” He rasped out, grip tightening as his thrust became desperate and rough until finally the knot in s/o’s stomach snapped. The two slammed their faces together, keeping eachother grounded as their release washed over them.

Kabal let go of her wrist, his hands tangling themselves in her hair. One hand drifted down to her side to rub comforting circles in her flesh. His chest steady rose up and down, the rhythmic movement against her made s/o relax her body unde him.

The high started to go down as they broke away. They simply remained still as they caught their breaths. Kabals raspy gulps of air turned into a cocky chuckle, “sombody enjoyed that.”

S/o was too exhausted to playfully slap him, instead she just gave him a look which earned a laugh. “Shut up and take me to wherever your staying. I’m tired.”

“Oh, so we can fuck on the rooftop with pigeons staring at us, but sleeping here? That’s fucking disgusting.” That one gave her the strength to slap him.

[voiceless-terror]

Hey! If your still taking prompts I would love one where the season 1 crew finds out about Mr. Spider. Any scenario is awesome, but if you need ideas- Jon having a panic attack over a spider, or maybe one of the others losing it on Jon over his skepticism and Jon just breaks down, maybe he snaps at Martin particularly hard for a lecture on spiders when it’s a Bad Day. Anyway, thanks, and no pressure! Writing is hardTM

Hi there! I actually tried to incorporate as many of the bits from your prompt as I could- you’ll have to tell me if I succeeded. Hope you like! :)

Jon’s never had his own office before. Just a desk or a cubicle, a study carrel where he could bury his head in a book and avoid prying eyes. But now he has an office- surprisingly spacious, cluttered as it is. It’s nice for privacy. But it has its drawbacks- specifically, a very mundane one.

People knock.

It’s common courtesy, of course. It is polite to knock. Martin’s is tentative, three soft raps against the door. Tim’s is a booming ‘Shave and a Haircut,’ irritating and playful. 

Sasha’s is a brisk knock knock. No time or gesture wasted. Just knock knock. Simple, unassuming. It shouldn’t bother anyone.

After one week, Jon starts leaving his door open. It’s easier.

Today Martin peers around the doorway, a brief nod in Jon’s direction as he lifts his head from the statement on his desk. No smile, no question of how he’s doing. I deserve that, Jon supposes. Yesterday, he’d caught the tail end of Martin’s mumbling about his ‘ridiculous skepticism’ to Tim and promptly blew up, spitting insults over his research methods and incompetence. It was not his finest hour. By the end of it, Martin looked rightfully hurt and upset, and Tim just shook his head in disappointment as Jon barricaded himself in his office, this time closing the door.

Still, Martin brings him tea. Jon doesn’t know what to do with the feeling that stirs in him.

He moves softly, trying to make as little noise as possible as he sets the steaming mug down on the corner of his desk. Jon turns to him, ready to at least provide a thank you and a half-hearted apology when he sees it out of the corner of his eye.

A spider.

Just sitting there, staring at him from its perch inches away from the mug. The basement’s littered with them, unsurprisingly. Still, he can’t stifle the yelp of fear and disgust that tears its way out of his throat. His hands automatically grab at the nearest weapon - a particularly heavy tome- and his arms rear back, ready to strike. He isn’t expecting a strong hand to wrap around his forearm, stopping him in place.

It’s Martin’s hand. He knows it’s Martin’s hand. But that desperate, childish part of his mind that he tries to keep locked away is screaming black-spindly-leg- spider, it’s a spider, it’s a spider-

“Don’t touch me!” It’s a screech, louder than he meant it to be as he wrenches his arm out of the grip, chair hitting the wall with the force of the motion. Martin’s talking and Jon can barely hear because the spider is there, just sitting and staring and watching-

“I’m sorry! You shouldn’t kill it, though. I’ll bring it outside. C’mere.” Martin’s coaxing the thing into his hand, like it’s not monstrous, like it’s fine. “See? Nothing to worry about!”

Nothing to worry about, Martin says. It’s hard to reconcile that with the tightness in his chest, the quickening breaths that don’t seem to get him much air at all. Martin’s giving him a concerned look, edging closer as if to comfort him but that thing’s still in his hand, why is it still in his hand? He flinches, barely aware of the litany he’s muttering under his breath- please please don’t touch me.

There’s more people in the room, now. When did Sasha and Tim arrive? Why are they looking at him? Martin’s mouth moves but Jon hears nothing, just watches with wild eyes as Sasha ushers him out of the room as soon as she sees the spider. But he can still feel it’s crawling legs all over- light now, not strong. Just a teasing torment. He itches at his skin, fingernails digging into the worn sweater as if trying to reach bone. Tim’s moving forward, hands out as if he means to touch- can’t he hear what Jon’s saying? Why won’t they listen?

“...not going to touch you, I promise. But you have to breathe slower...going to pass out.”

He tries to focus on Tim’s breathing, the exaggerated rise and fall of his chest barely visible through his blackening vision. Tim nods encouragingly and Jon’s heartbeat lowers incrementally as he’s finally able to get a few deep breaths in, labored as they are. He doesn’t know how long they sit there for. 

“Good job, boss.” Tim’s smiling but really, there’s nothing to smile about. All Jon feels now is a bone-deep exhaustion; he doesn’t even have the energy to summon embarrassment. He nods at Tim’s hands when they finally approach, letting himself be pulled to his feet though Tim takes most of his weight.

“There’s a cot in the back of document storage,” Martin’s back, worry clear in his voice. The spider’s gone. Maybe Sasha killed it after Martin let it go. She didn’t like them much either. “Might be more comfortable back there.”

“He’s got a cot here, really?” Tim’s voice isn’t directed at him. “We’re going to have a talk about that.” It’s like he’s not in the room. It’s nice, in a detached sort of way. Jon’s not one for talking right now. 

“I’m sorry,” Martin’s apologizing to him, or maybe around him. He doesn’t like causing scenes, Jon thinks. “I didn’t realize it was that bad, or I wouldn’t have-”

“It’s fine,” Sasha’s saying from behind him.  “It’s not like Jon comes with a user manual. We learned that the hard way.”

“Just maybe let him kill the spiders from now on,” Tim says as he deposits Jon on the cot, frowning at his refusal to lie down. He doesn’t need a nap, just a short rest. He might close his eyes. He hasn’t decided yet.

Martin’s still talking. “...And that fight, yesterday. I shouldn’t have said those things, set him off-”

“They were true, and Jon was being awful to you. You know his moods-”

Jon wants to interrupt. Wants to tell Martin he’s sorry, that he shouldn’t have yelled. That he didn’t mean (most of) those things he said, that being called out on his dismissals makes him feel even smaller. That's how he copes, by lashing out and sniping. What comes out instead is slurred, and altogether more revealing than he would have liked.

“I read a book, once.” 

Tim pauses on his way out the door, presumably to get Jon water or a granola bar or something else he didn’t need. “What was that, boss?”

“A book.” His voice gets louder, and Martin and Sasha go silent. It’s nice when they listen. Jon goes on. “I was eight or so, I don’t know. It was a stupid, childish thing, but it was horrible. A-” he stops here, pauses to take another shaky breath “-A Guest for Mr. Spider. From the library of-”

“Jurgen Leitner.” Sasha finishes, staring at him with unblinking, curious eyes. She loves a good story, nosy thing she is. Jon likes that about her when it comes to research, and not other things. He nods. 

“It felt wrong. Violent. I hated it. You would’ve too, if you saw it.” If Martin read it, Jon wonders, briefly, maybe he would hate them too. “And it wasn’t just a book. It should have been- should have been just a stupid, scary little story about a spider and a fly. But it wasn’t.” He doesn’t want to say the specific words. Doesn’t want to speak the book back into existence, as if the very mention would make it manifest. “He was real, in the end. Mr. Spider. He was real, but he didn’t get me. He got- he got someone else.”

Jon doesn’t cry. He thinks he should, but he doesn’t. “I’ve forgotten his name, you know? The one he took. I don’t think I could place him in a crowd, not even if I tried. Not that I could. He’s dead, has to be. He wasn’t a nice person- a bully, really. But he was just a kid. A kid who had the unfortunate luck to have met me.”

He feels oddly calm, even as his three assistants stare on in horror (and fascination, in Sasha’s case. There’s a strange tightness in Tim’s face that Jon can’t quite figure out). He turns his gaze to Martin, because he’s not done yet. He needs him to know why. “The statements, the tapes- I-I don’t know where to begin. It’s like I’m not even talking. It’s like living it. And I can’t do anything about it.” Martin’s face softens to something like sympathy, but he still doesn’t understand. “The follow-up- those are my words. They’re the only words I have control over.” Words have meaning. Words have power. Jon read a monster into existence and it devoured someone whole. What else will he do, given the chance? Given the right words? “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

Martin doesn’t say anything. Jon doesn’t blame him- whatever he was expecting, it certainly wasn’t Jon’s childhood trauma. He’s probably revealed too much.

“That’s…” It’s Tim who’s speaking, his tone unreadable as he draws a hand across his face in sudden exhaustion. “Okay. Take a break, boss. A nap or something. You look like you’re going to collapse.” Jon feels it. “We can talk later. About... all of this. It’s uh, good to know, though. Thanks- thanks for telling us.” The words seem genuine, although his face is oddly hard and serious. Jon nods, finally allowing his eyes to close as he leans into the lumpy, uncomfortable mattress. Someone draws a blanket over him, but he doesn’t know who.

“Sorry. I’ll, ah, kill the spiders from now on. Just in case they’re the bad ones, yeah?”

Martin, then.   

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27700379

[justimajin]

Til Death Do Us Part ♜ Pt.9

➟ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

➟ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut

↳ (5.2k), Arranged Marriage AU

➟ Summary: If someone told you that you’d be marrying the Kim Namjoon, you would think you were being lied to, or worse, that you were hallucinating. However, fate seems to have it’s own ways of making the impossible possible and before you even know it, the title of Mrs. Kim is bestowed onto you. There’s just one problem: you’re not sure if Kim Namjoon is the person he says he is and the truth of your own identity is dangling by the strength of a mere thread.

➟ Warnings: 18+ rating, graphical descriptions of blood and violence, character death, things get a little steamy 👀

gif credit.

➟ Previous Parts: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

➟ Next Update: Tuesday, February 16

Your body lies on the bed, a blanket resting over you as if you were in the midst of a deep slumber. The normally coral hue to your skin has steadily vanished, lips chapped and dark circles already formed beneath your eyes. 

Namjoon paces the room frantically, his arms crossed and gaze never leaving your sleeping form. Seokjin stands in the corner, his eyes sparking in intrigue as Jimin rises from your side with a sigh. 

He shakes his head, as if caught up in disbelief himself. Peering up at Namjoon who immediately appears alert, he hesitantly speaks. 

“I think….I think Y/N’s been poisoned.” 

“What?” 

He gestures towards you, “The symptoms are all lining up….and it doesn’t seem like the normal kind.” He explains, “This one’s stronger, but slower. Like trying to kill someone as painfully as possible instead of just trying to get it over with.” 

Namjoon’s jaw tightens, brows furiously contorting. 

Seokjin shakes his head in dismay, “I guess torturing her wasn’t enough for them....” 

At the mention of your previous experience, Namjoon lets out a deep exhale and rubs his temples. He was ecstatic at finally locating, immediately wanting you to recuperate. 

But this, this just diminishes all the hopes he had with your recovery, tying his hands together completely. 

Seokjin makes brief eye contact with him and gestures him to follow after outside of the room, knowing that simply gazing at your sickly form wouldn’t allow his friend to think logically. 

Once the door closes, Seokjin doesn’t hesitate to indulge Namjoon in his thoughts. “We have to go back.” 

Before Namjoon can retaliate, he continues, “They’ve used a poison Jimin isn’t usually familiar with ‒ that means we’re dealing with something specific here and the one way to find a cure is to go back where the poison was found.” 

“An antidote.” Namjoon annunciates in realization, “It’s worth a try.” 

Seokjin hums, “I’ll go ask Jimin how much time we have.” 

Namjoon nods, continuing to pace around with knitted brows. Seokjin re-emerges after a moment, but the expression on his features isn’t one Namjoon was hoping for. 

“Three hours.” 

The alarming news simply aids to add more weight to Namjoon’s shoulders, but he knows that if there’s any chance in saving your life, he would take it within a heartbeat.

Seokjin keenly eyes him, and he knows exactly what he needs to do. 

***

Going back is on par with welcoming death and destruction towards his gates ‒ and it’s something that both he and Seokjin have the displeasure of facing. 

Seokjin bolts towards a wall, crouching down immediately to avoid the splinter of bullets flying over his head. 

“Is it just me or do they seem rather angrier this time around?” He playfully questions, cocking his gun and positioning it to fire back. A small smile curls on Namjoon’s lips at the latter’s sense of humour during such a dire time, yet he can’t help but counter on his own part. 

“I would be too if I broke in for a second time and made a mess out of their building.” He aims alongside Seokjin, shooting back with twice the force. 

“Well, if they happen to ruin this face of mine, I can’t promise that I won’t do anything.” He hurriedly rushes forward, getting into a more compromising but better position for him to fire back. 

Namjoon shakes his head, acknowledging that his partner was simply trying to ease up the tension augmenting in him, but the steadily growing numbers surrounding them counteract all of his intentions. Although he had trusted Jimin to look after you in hopes of a faster recovery, he can’t help but think how much his absence has rendered them in a disarray. 

Seokjin carefully heads forward with time, opting out to simply striking down the resistance rather than waste anymore of his precious bullets. Namjoon’s eyes light up in recognition when his actions form a clear pathway, and he doesn’t hesitate to sprint forward. 

“It was around here, no?” Seokjin mumbles as his eyes flicker around, exhausted beyond belief but content that the two of them made it through. Namjoon hums, the walls feeling familiar and the passageway striking a recollection from him. 

Together, him and Seokjin quickly thread through the hall and target the room where Namjoon had discovered your cell. Seokjin isn’t entirely sure if they can find something there, but he rather not leave any stone unturned in the midst of their presence in the area again. 

At the sound of rustling, Seokjin places a hand on his shoulder and steadies him back. 

Save for the empty cell in the corner and the bare room, a shadow is cast against the ground, bustling around the area. 

The two of them are in hiding, cautiously watching the burly man’s actions from a bird’s eye view. He suddenly pauses in his tracks, head snapping in their direction. 

His deep voice breaks the silence, “Who’s there?” 

Despite neither of them making a single peep, the man stands his ground, eyeing the corner. Seokjin eventually sighs, raising his gun and slowly coming out of the dark. 

Namjoon follows behind him and Seokjin’s stare is intent, prepared to seek out answers, “Y/N L/N. Do you know of her?” 

His eyes flicker, a gigantic grin spreading across his features, “One of the spies.” He utters right away, “You must be the Kim’s.” 

Seokjin keeps his gaze concentrated as he steps forward in intrigue, interested in their sudden appearance rather than blatantly disgusted. 

Once he stands a couple of metres across from them, a question slips from him, “Why are you here?” 

At that, Seokjin glances at Namjoon from the corner of his eye, holding back his words with the intent of being vague. 

He smirks, before a chuckle escapes him, morphing into a boisterous laugh. It startles the two of them as he lowers his head, the brutish smile not leaving once. 

“She’s dying, isn’t she?” He shakes his head in amusement, “I’m not very surprised, she was always the weakest out of us.” 

His lingering smile causes Namjoon’s pupils to flare, “You should be happy too, no? You’ve just gotten rid of one of our insects.” 

It’s like a sudden flash. One moment Seokjin is aiming his gun at this person with the intent of information in mind, the next Namjoon is pinning him against the wall, voice rough and spiking up. 

“My wife is dying, how could you possibly think I would be happy?!” 

“Namjoon.” 

He huffs, releasing the man immediately and stepping back. Seokjin glances at him in concern, before directing his piercing gaze to the individual that’s fallen onto the ground. 

“Where. is. the. antidote?” He grits out, only for him to laugh in retaliation. 

“As if I’ll ever tell you anything.” 

Seokjin’s eye twitches, “Then I have no use for you.” 

He fires without grimacing, scarlet splattering all over the ground. Stepping away, he gestures Namjoon to follow him. 

The latter stares at him in confusion when he begins surveying your cell, simply baffled at the way his friend paces around and examines the bars carefully. 

After a moment of contemplation, Namjoon speaks up, “What are you doing?” 

Seokjin doesn’t retort, choosing to instead crouch down and crawl into the cell himself. Reaching into the pocket of his suit’s jacket, he yanks out a vial and a swab, carefully rolling it over the ground where Namjoon had first discovered you. 

A sound of exhilaration leaves him, and Namjoon is still left staring in bewilderment as he rises to his feet and stares at the vile with a spark in his eyes. 

“It’s traces of the poison.” He clarifies, “Sure it’s mixed in with some blood, but I figured this would be enough for our chance at reproducing it and creating an antidote instead.” 

Namjoon’s mouth falls agape as Seokjin places the vile away safely with a soft smile. He shakes his head, a chuckle escaping through. 

“Seokjin, you genius.”

His friend sends him a knowing smile to counteract, and they begin to head out of the room, fully aware that they’ve found a potential source to a solution. However the alarming sound of voices results in them halting their steps, becoming one with the surrounding walls instead. 

If the two of them thought it was difficult getting into the building a second time around, there’s a sickening surprise waiting for them. 

Three, Seven, Twelve? Namjoon can’t even begin to count the individuals practically pouring into the room, eyes snapping up to meet Seokjin’s which are also twisted up in disbelief. The thought of trying to get past them barely comes across as a suggestion, but when Seokjin’s eyes glimmer for the briefest of seconds, Namjoon knows there’s only one simple way to counteract. 

Keeping a firm hold on his gun, he leaps for the opportunity when Seokjin begins to sprint. 

Their sudden movement and sound alerts the ears of the dwellers, voices spiking up and heavy footsteps beginning to grow in volume. From the split second that bullets start to fire, the two of them quickly take cover. 

Seokjin heaves, “If I end up dying here today, can you promise me that you and Y/N will name your first child after me?” 

Namjoon takes out his gun, staring at the former perplexed, “Don’t be in such a hurry to plan your own funeral.” He narrows his eyes, attempting to focus on the mass of individuals heading in their direction. 

The question lingers in his mind, making him shake his head. “And what makes you so sure it’ll be a boy?” 

Seokjin shrugs, “If it’s a girl you can still name her after me.” 

Namjoon continues to stare at him flabbergasted, but once the sound of a gun firing hits his ears, he swivels around. 

“Nevermind that, we have company.” Raising his gun, he begins to rapidly fire the weapon as Seokjin does the same, but nonetheless it seems like their efforts are futile from the steadily growing numbers. 

“What do you say?” Namjoon asks in amusement, cocking his head in their direction. 

Seokjin simply smirks in response, before leaving his cover and grabbing the first person he sees. His knee rams into their head, their form slumping onto the ground as he raises his gun at another, shooting them instantly. 

Namjoon soon follows through, aiding him by using as much physical force as possible. However in the midst of the chaos, Seokjin is slammed against a wall, immediately wincing in pain. 

He pushes the individual away, but there’s an angry blotch of red beginning to seep from his suit’s jacket, and that’s when he hears the faintest of clinks resonates against the ground. 

Seokjin’s eyes threaten to pop out of their sockets, a familiar vile with a broken cap landing onto the ground and rolling about. He attempts to swiftly retrieve it right away, but before he has a chance to do so or to inform Namjoon, the man that threw him against the wall slams his foot down with a huge grin. 

“NO!” He curses, resulting in Namjoon whipping his head around in concern, only to see remains of the poison split on the ground. He isn’t even given a chance to think of  a way back to possibly retrieve more, two hands grabbing onto his jacket and threatening to rearrange his perfectly sculpted face. 

Gritting his teeth as he takes his gun out, he doesn’t even hesitate to fire as Namjoon hurriedly dashes over. 

“We have to collect the poison again somehow.” He continues to shoot, mumbling his words as defeat runs through him, “There has to be a way.” 

Seokjin doesn’t get a chance to respond, “You’ll be better off in just letting her die.” 

Namjoon swivels at the sound of the voice, the man grinning. In fact, the closer he looks, the more he can see the exhilaration surfacing on other faces. 

The same man speaks, words becoming more venomous, “We’ll have finally gotten rid of that leech once and for all.” 

Namjoon is truly speechless. Here he was, desperate to find an antidote, lingering drops from splotches of the poison, anything possible that would allow you to continue breathing ‒ all in the midst of being surrounded by individuals you would consider to be a part of your family. 

There’s not even a single morsel of concern in the people in front of him. 

“H-How…” He mumbles, eyes blinking in disbelief, “How can you be so happy to kill a member of your own family?” 

“She was compromised.” The man spits out, as if it should be enough of a justification for their horrid actions, “She deserves to have death invited at her doorstep.” 

It’s simply unfathomable what overcomes Namjoon in that single second, be it anguish, fury, or even disgust at how deep your vengeance and hatred for each other’s families runs. 

He despises how much of a tool you really are, and with how strikingly parallel your routes are, like two sides of the same coin. 

Unable to describe what consumes him in that moment, he ultimately decides it would be best for his actions to speak for themself instead. Seokjin blinks at the abrupt surge of strength he suddenly displays, but opts out in aiding his friend instead of questioning it. 

Namjoon doesn’t remember how many times he’s grimaced or had a wave of pain jolt through his body, his partner having to forcefully drag him away for an escape instead of continuing to fight back. He chooses to follow, fully aware that any moment longer was a minute away from you surviving through the day. 

Although Seokjin races at the prospect of obtaining more of the poison, Namjoon is unsure if it would be enough, if the destroyed remains of the vile he had previously collected was the last of what could have potentially saved you. It sends him into a state of distraught, failure probing into his mind as he slows down.

A feeble arm suddenly shoots out, grasping onto his shoulder and abruptly whisking him into a room. The door is slammed shut and Namjoon blinks, remaining vigilant as tension floods through his form.

The bleak room is completely silent, save for the middle-aged man that quickly turns away from him and begins to rummage through a row of shelves in the corner.

Namjoon’s hand threateningly lingers on his gun, irises locked onto and scrutinizing every action of the man before him. He continues to peer around before Namjoon, searching as if he had lost something. 

His frail hands wrap around a small bottle, carefully inspecting it before he turns. There’s a soft smile curved at the corners of his lips, eyes kind and inviting. 

Namjoon can only stare in puzzlement as the man reaches out for his hand, gently tightening his own fingers around the bottle. He peers up, smile reaching his crinkling eyes as he lightly pats Namjoon’s hand. 

“Take care of her.” He quietly says and that’s when Namjoon’s orbs are darting all over the man’s features. His soft smile, the kind eyes, the way his presence is not hostile nor hateful, simply silent and tender in its presence.

The similarity is striking the more he thinks about it, mind flashing back to the day you became husband and wife. His memory finally allows him to distinctly remember the identity of the man, the very person who had gently brought you down the aisle and the same presence that faithfully watched over you as you agreed to the priest’s vows. 

His hand tightens around the bottle and he firmly nods, noticing a sense of deep relief that fills the elder’s eyes. 

He jolts as the door strikes open, a fumbling and clearly fatigued Seokjin glancing around. At the sight of the man close to Namjoon, he instantly rushes forward, but is stopped when his friend raises a hand in front of him. 

“Let’s go.” 

Seokjin stares at him baffled but when Namjoon raises his hand and showcases the bottle he holds, his eyes light up in recognition and he nods. 

In the process of escaping, Namjoon turns back for the briefest of movements, a faint glimmer of water appearing in the elder man’s eyes. 

Jimin instantly scrambles to his feet. 

“What happened?” 

Seokjin simply shakes his head, fully aware of his own disarranged appearance that involves his jacket splotched with red and teared into shambles. Namjoon is within a similar state, and although Jimin is previously accustomed to the sight, his eyes can’t help but linger at how utterly exhausted and battered the two individuals before him look. 

Namjoon’s orbs hold a glint with them, eyes eagerly darting around to catch a glimpse of the bed you were situated on. A grimace runs through Jimin, and he shifts, revealing the view of your deteriorating state behind him. 

Your skin appears as if someone drained all the life out of you. Instead of the parched appearance you had before, this time sweat has collected against your forehead and lashes, the sight of twisted veins beginning to steadily form against your neck and forearms. 

Namjoon harshly inhales, pupils frantically darting all over you. Jimin is rendered silent, unsure if there’s anything he can say that would aid the former. 

Seokjin beats him to it, showcasing the bottle in hands that has Jimin’s brows perking up. He immediately snatches it, exiting the room within seconds. 

Namjoon collapses onto a chair near your beside, shoulders deflating with defeat. Seokjin walks over and stands by him, gaze raking over the way you continue to let out shallow breaths, colour rapidly depleting from your skin. 

A moment of silence passes by in wait of Jimin’s return, but every minute feels too drawn out, as if time was growing stall and running out of patience. 

You let out a small cough and Namjoon’s head snaps up, rising from the chair. 

Seeming harmless at first, it morphs into a wheeze, as if you were struggling to breath. Namjoon is deduced to simply watching as your chest heaves, unable to do anything. 

Seokjin disappears from the room in search of Jimin, but as he returns, he’s astounded to see his friend’s eyes glossed over right before he turns away. 

The two of them exchange a look before Jimin hastily advances forward, crouching by your bedside and administering whatever he could conjure within the short time person via a syringe. Seokjin aids him by constricting your movements so as to not make the process difficult, but the effects on your body don’t seem to fade even as the antidote makes its way through your system. 

Seokjin turns around with a sigh, placing a comforting hand on Namjoon’s downturned posture. His back is still facing you, his forehead scrunched in his hands as his shoulders shake the slightest. 

As the three of them helplessly stand and pace around the room, a large inhale suddenly slips from your lips and captures everyone’s attention, the slightest tinge of pink beginning to gradually spread over your skin. 

You gaze into the mirror, one hand raising up to gather your dangling locks while the other searches around for a pin. The small token of metal falls within your gasps and you carefully fasten it in, tucking them behind. 

It compliments the ruby red gown you're wearing, the material silky to touch and dropping down to cascade into a long train that spreads onto the ground. It’s paired with your hair briefly tossed into a part, a faint glow of purple sitting at the base of your throat. 

Your hands come to rest by your side, stare roaming around the image that is reflected back at you until you catch sight of the corner, noticing a pair of eyes with crossed arms and furrowed brows watching your every single gesture. 

A small smile cracks on your lips, and you’re already aware of the words he’s aching to spew. 

“You should really be resting.”  

You resume fiddling around with your dress, ensuring it was secure enough. “You already know my answer to that.” 

Namjoon deeply sighs, pushing himself off the wall and striding over to you. You can tell he’s tired of simply observing you, watching for the hints of your skin paling or for a cough to suddenly break out of you in between your reassuring and coaxing words. 

Although you can understand his genuine concern, news of coming across the person that wanted Namjoon dead at a mass banquet reigned heavier on you. You hadn’t hesitated to prepare yourself for the occasion, knowing that it would be a difficult task to have something escape by your perceptive eyes. 

But Namjoon can’t admit defeat, frantically circling around you near the mirror on the table. You immediately swivel around, eyes coming into contact with his right away. 

His hands rest against the edge on either side of you, leaning against your form. 

“What if you feel unwell?” 

You can’t stop the earnest smile that tugs at the corner of your lips, hand reaching out to softly rest against his cheek. 

“We need to figure out what’s going on and I’m not going to let you do that alone.” 

Namjoon’s shoulders slump down and even though you understand to a certain degree, just solely based on how you can still  feel fatigue beneath your lids and your limbs aching despite being able to walk, the thought of encountering the person that nearly tried to kill your husband alongside you is frightening enough on it’s own. 

He shakes his head, an exhale leaving him in defeat. As you laugh at the gesture, his amused eyes snap up to meet yours. 

The laughter suddenly diminishes, hand slowly dropping down the longer your eyes stay connected. There’s a weight in his gaze you recall seeing before, the memory of having him close abruptly arising in your mind and spreading a sweltering tinge of heat to your skin. 

You can tell that his mind is swimming with the same thought, irises darting down to your lips for the briefest of moments. Your body moves on it’s own, his lips hovering so closely that you can feel his warmth breath against your skin. 

Your eyes flutter shut. 

“We know who’s running the gathering! I couldn’t believe tha‒” 

Jimin’s voice dies out as you and Namjoon break apart in an instant. There’s still a rapid hue of red radiating from your skin and Namjoon sheepishly stares at the ground, seemingly pretending that he's just simply standing next to you prior to the intrusion. 

Jimin glances back and forth perplexed between the two of you as Seokjin shows up from behind him. 

“Did I interrupt something…?” 

“N-No!” You clear your throat immediately, waving your hands, “Y-You were saying…?

He stares back at you almost as if not fully convinced and Seokjin quirks up an amused brow at Namjoon, who has decided that staring at the ground while cursing underneath his breath is the right mode of action. 

“Uh, well, as I was saying…” Jimin carefully says, noticing both Namjoon’s and your own attentive eyes shifting back to him, “We managed to figure out the identity of the person leading this gathering, and it’s someone you know very well.” 

Namjoon tilts his head to the side and Seokjin slips him a photograph, his eyes widening. 

“Hoseok?” 

Jimin hums, “Apparently, he’s been keeping a low profile after Taehyung’s demise and associating with lesser known parties from your company, including the man that was after you.” 

Seokjin hands him a picture of the man’s corpse, the very person you had shot, being seen conversing with Hoseok prior to the incident. 

Namjoon peers around at the information with a scoff, glancing up at Jimin, “So you’re thinking that if we can find him, he’ll be able to provide us some answers.” 

“More or less, but perhaps in a nicer way.” Jimin innocently grins, assuming that the shareholder will be kind enough to talk without any added persuasion. 

Namjoon nods as Seokjin collects the evidence, carefully storing it away. Taking your hand, the four of you prepare to infiltrate the banquet. 

***

It’s surprising grandiose for what was proposed as a quick get together. 

A chandelier hangs low from the ceiling, illuminating conversing faces and greeting guests with the faintest of glows. There’s faces among the small groups that you don’t recognize right away, understanding the assumption Jimin gave that many of the individuals present are ones part of the business, but never indulged with outside of the company. It makes all of you on alert, patiently waiting for the man of the hour that has seemed to create an audience without their knowledge. 

As your eyes roam around the crowd with intrigue, you’re taken aback for a moment. There is indeed unfamiliarity with the presence of those around you, but somehow the situation reminds you of the time you were first wedded to Namjoon, innocently presented as his wife to gawking eyes despite the fact that your own were scrutinizing their every trait. 

Your eyes do continue to wander about in search of a person by your husband’s side, but at the same time, it’s different. 

Your eyes glance over at Namjoon, who stands beside you as your hand is looped around his arm, not a single drop of naivety in his expression. 

Eyes firmly set in stone, his jaw is tightened as his sharp gaze is on the brink of memorizing every single individual’s face.

A smile unknowingly rises on your lips, and when your hold on him tightens, Namjoon jostles and diverts his attention to you.

In an instant, his features soften, eyes gazing at you curiously. “Is something wrong?” 

You hastily shake your head, “I was just remembering the gathering we attended after our marriage.” 

A line draws in between his brows until a glimmer of light flickers, a breathtaking smile rising on his lips. 

“When I introduced you to members in my company.” You nod as his eyes scan his surroundings, slowly comprehending the connection you’ve made. 

He diverts his attention to you again, “Were you...nervous? From meeting all those people?” 

“A little.” You admit, “I already knew who they all were and the stories behind their backgrounds.” 

Namjoon hums, “I was mainly occupied with digging up information in those moments...” 

“Did you feel nervous around me?” 

“Um, not quite.” A chuckle leaves your lips and Namjoon’s eyes light up at the sound, curiously gazing at you, “I think to say, I was very taken aback when the heir to the Kim empire had a set of indoor plants he was tending to…” 

A flush creeps onto Namjoon and the laughter slips out of you, raising your hand to cover your mouth. He eventually laughs with you, sheepishly shaking his head in embarrassment. 

“It seems like I left quite the impression on you.” 

He eyes you with a smile and you return it, sight landing back on the crowds of people immersed in conversation. There still isn’t any visibility of the Hoseok and with that, you slump down with a wistful sigh. 

“You know,” Namjoon’s deep voice beckons you, “You look very beautiful tonight.” 

Your eyes widen and you realize his stare is fixated on the jewel that sits on your neck before his eyes flicker up, meeting yours with a tender smile on his lips. 

Despite knowing that Namjoon doesn’t shy away from giving compliments, there’s a heat that spreads over your skin as you abruptly grow bashful. However the moment you connect your gaze with his once again, your breath hitches in your throat. 

There’s something brewing beneath his lids, his gaze feeling heavier than before. You can’t seem to look away, left wondering if he can see it reflected in your eyes. 

You bite down on your bottom lip, a gesture his eyes are quick to follow with. His breathing becomes laboured and you can’t seem to recall if you were the one that shifted closer, but the moment Namjoon flutters his eyes shut and presses forward, there’s no hesitation on your part. 

His lips collide with your own and you have to stifle back the moan that threatens to escape from you. In an instant, his hands are circling around your waist, one of them lifting up to firmly hold the nape of your neck in place. His kisses are a mixture of desperate yet passionate, clouding your mind into a complete daze. 

You’re no longer able to contain the carnal urge that bubbles up, a soft sigh managing to leave your lips. Namjoon abruptly breaks apart from you, his chest heaving. 

Your hand is suddenly grasped as you’re being roughly tugged away, head still swirling with heat. You’re only given the opportunity to register the sound of a door opening before being promptly slammed shut, your back falling right against the cold wood. 

Within seconds, Namjoon’s lips are crashing against yours and this time you have no courtesy holding back the wanton moans that tumble from your mouth. Namjoon hungrily presses against you as your hands loop against his neck, kissing him back with just as much desperation. 

His insatiable hands are roaming down your waist, the heat of his palms ghosting over your thighs. A gasp leaves your lips when he suddenly grunts and lifts you up, your fingers attempting to find secure purchase around his neck before you can topple over. 

His lips are molding against yours in no time, his tongue slipping in with no reservations. You welcome the muscle into the heat of your caverns, mouths nearly battling against each other as if engaged within a ruthless warfare. 

His mouth abruptly breaks apart from you, and before you have the chance to complain from the loss of contact, the scorching heat of his breath is washing over the skin of your neck. Your eyes lull back, your bottom lip becoming battered from your merciless biting. He unexpectedly suckles the juncture behind your ear, drawing out a breathy whine out from you. 

A loud blare bursts through the room, and on the third ring, you tumble into Namjoon’s arms as he reluctantly places you down. 

Namjoon yanks his phone out, his chest rising and falling as if he has been running through a marathon. 

“What?” 

The sharpness in his voice has your eyes peering upwards, attempting to catch your breath. 

“What?” Namjoon suddenly says again, “He’s here?” 

It’s transparent to you ‒ the way Namjoon is failing at steading his breath, eyes having taken upon a carnal appearance, but how he’s trying to think straight, desire-stricken eyes frantically darting around. 

For some reason, it stirs up a painful ache in the pit of your stomach. 

“Okay.” His voice sounds clearer now, accompanied with a hum, “Keep an eye on him, we’re coming.” 

The line is cut off and Namjoon reaches his hand out for you, but it’s hard to ignore the way his eyes can’t seem to leave your form. 

“Y/N?” He breathes out and your daze snaps, grasping onto him. 

The door widens and you hurriedly rush out together. 

[rainsofvioleta]

here's your time to shine: 25 for the violetta ask thing

25: if you were to rewrite season 3, what would you change?

*rubs hands together* seatbelts on please everyone :)

this roxy plotline; we're keeping it, BUT - she doesn't become roxy because she's jealous and impulsive, she becomes roxy because she's feeling incredibly lost - she's quit youmix, antonio's gone, she's broken up with león, and she's got this totally new family dynamic that she doesn't really know how to handle. violetta isn't sure who 'violetta' is anymore, so to become 'roxy' is a relief because there's no pressure or expectation. i'd probably have león figure out it's violetta fairly early on, he wouldn't tell her though, he'd allow her to carry on with the charade because he'd start to understand she's doing it because she's literally having an identity crisis. and yeah okay maybe he's falling in love with her all over again, and I'm picturing a scene where he lets her know that he knows and that it's okay to ask for help because he can see that being both violetta and roxy is starting to get too stressful for her; i think him, fran and cami would probably stage an intervention.

i'd have a deep dive into WHY león acts so jealous all the damn time, this guy's got two years worth of trauma, and needs a lot of reassurance from violetta all the time that she loves him and only him - I'd probably keep that breakup they have in ep 22, but have it be because león acknowledges that how he's acting isn't healthy and he needs distance.

geryyyyy gery gery gery 🙄 as much as i want to completely write her out, i do think she had wasted potential. i would give her an actual backstory, in which we see that she's got a lot of trust issues - my personal hc is she had a friend she was once close (possibly more than friends?) with, who outed her to her parents, who then cut her off - these are all people she should be able to put her faith in and they let her down; violetta happens to look/act like this girl she once knew and gery makes a negative assumption based on that. working this into the show could be difficult without flashbacks, i would maybe have her stalking her ex-"friend"'s social media a lot and even have clement overhear a phone conversation between the two of them. i think her obsession with león would be born out of a subconscious desire to get revenge on violetta whom she associates with this other girl, as opposed to genuine romantic attraction (comphet maybe too?).

diego and fran!!! i really want to see diego's FULL arc, they started season 3 with everyone 100% cool w/ diego no questions asked??? i kinda want him to still be a lil hung up over the events of the past year, people are still a bit suspicious of him but he gains everyone's trust and also fran's attention 👀👀 but slower this time, with some classic tropey "oh look they accidentally ended up in e/o's arms", and the whole nonsense of keeping it from violetta is dragged out for maybe 5 episodes max before fran just blurts it out because they're literally best friends!!

priscila: we see her get 10 years in jail :)

with germán and angie as much as i love the drama and their chemistry i would honestly have preferred the show to have germán just solo parent violetta, angie is there to help but not as a romantic partner to germán...

tl; dr

I'm fixing leonetta's ridiculous miscommunication and jealousy plotlines, GIVING gery a plotline, making diego's arc feel more natural, and putting people in therapy! if you gave me a notebook and two spare hours i could probably write an outline for the whole series but this is all I've got right this second 😗

[appleflavoredkitkats]

What about other ppl in the smp, like Eret, Niki, Jack? Do they go to Las Nevadas? Are Eret and Fundy still friends?

HEYO THANK YOU FOR ASKING MORE ABT THE AU BC I DEEPLY APPRECIATE IT <33 /g

tw: gambling, drinking, self-neglect, slight eating disorder, mentions of past violence

/dsmp /rp

i'd like to this this au is set in a period after wilbur's resurrection and dream's prison escape where the entire smp is like. well, we're fucked— time to get wasted now!

quackity would originally look down upon eret, puffy, h, and punz because of the entire monarchy fiasco, but after knowing how rich eret was, quackity would let them slide. they don't seem to be a threat of power anyway, so why should he care? i also think eret might've helped supplied las nevadas too, maybe just simple materials here and there thanks to fundy's requests.

fundy has talked to eret multiple times whenever he visits. eret is good at stopping themselves from getting too addicted to alcohol or gambling, so they would be sober or healthy enough for fundy to have conversations with. eret has even probably had sleepovers with fundy because eret is still genuinely concerned about his wellbeing, you know? because to eret, it feels odd that fundy doesn't seem as lively as he used to be, even if he is still quite enthusiastic when he works, it still isn't the same.

eret often asks fundy about family. i think that's the main thing they always talk about— family, and found family. eret has found a family with the knights he's hired and giving shelter to all of the ex-members of the eggpire. eret's main concern is fundy, and if he could ever forgive them for missing the adoption. and fundy doesn't really know actually, because he is still quite hurt about it, but he's definitely moved on. he still values eret as a good friend, and eret reciprocates, and i guess that's what matters to him.

but in terms of family, fundy doesn't really know if he wants to label anything as family due to his trust issues. he often vents to eret about these problems, especially in the earlier stages of las nevadas. he's scared that if he ever labels something as family, they'd just leave him anyway, so he prefers not having a family. but eret still insists its important for fundy to have some type of support system, but this is where fundy tends to change the topic, and eret can't do anything but hopelessly nod along.

but there's a time that definitely changed! there's a time eret did hangout with fundy, do a simple sleepover like old times, and they woke up once to quackity and schlatt entering fundy's room with a tray of food. eret asked them what the food was for, especially since this didn't happen last time eret was here, but quackity replies that he kind of got used to it out of habit, especially since fundy doesn't really notice that he skips meals every now and then.

and eret is kind of surprised they care?? in a good way of course, because they're all. oh, fundy HAS found a better family to care for him. quackity and schlatt bids eret a good day before leaving, and eret approaches the tray of food quietly. there's a note placed atop. on the note, there's a to-do list for fundy with simple things like “remember to eat” or “remember to take breaks” or “lessen your cigarette intake”, and on the back, there seems to be a long note left by quackity. eret didn't want to invade fundy's privacy too much, but they did remember glancing at a small note that said “you are loved. take care of yourself, and never forget that” written somewhere on the paper.

NOW FOR NIKI! niki does visit, she visits a LOT, and she loves the upbeat vibes of las nevadas, anything with popping colors and enthusiastic moods are such a turn on for her, and she just loves to stay there for multiple days on end. the syndicate would be often concerned about her wellbeing, but niki ensures she doesn't really get too drunk or gamble too much.

(the drinking statement is debatable because, surprisingly, niki has a high tolerance for alcohol, so she drinks a LOT. where was this when she was having her villain arc?)

she's honestly just happy to be there, and she just likes to dance and groove! there's a thrill in las nevadas she never really experienced much in her life, and she's happy she can basically vibe here without worrying about betrayal or death every five seconds.

on the dance floor, she has danced with a couple of people. the first one she does dance with accidentally is schlatt, who seems to be Very Awkward when it comes to dancing. he honestly wasn't even supposed to be there— niki thinks he might've lost a bet or something? but niki still tried to make do with what she was given.

the most interesting conversations niki has had in her life has got to be the ones she has on the dance floor. when it came to schlatt, he was mumbling a lot, very awkward and tense knowing the state of their relationship during the manberg era, but niki puts that aside. because there's no point on lingering on the past for too long— she's talked to puffy and the syndicate about this far too many times— so she grabs schlatt and twirls him around like nothing has happened. he never really got to apologize, but he did give niki a fun dance, and you know what? it was fun! so that's all that matters.

quackity was the second one she's danced with, and quackity is the opposite of schlatt. he was charming, enthusiastic, extremely extroverted, and niki definitely enjoyed it! but to niki, she knows quackity isn't always this upbeat, or this loud and obnoxiously in your face, so when a slower song plays, she asks quackity if he can just shuffle alongside her slowly and follow her mellow footsteps. he calms, and she calms, and the conversations had dwindled into something more familiar. after a certain while, quackity admits that he's missed this, he's missed being vulnerable, he's missed being genuine, he's missed being soft and laidback, so niki tells him thst he's allowed to be that way for the rest of the dance.

and last person she's danced with was fundy. and fundy, she's definitely talked with before the dance, but she also calls in eret to join them. they boogie to an upbeat rhythm, dancing as if this feeling of euphoria and happiness was something they've experienced all their lives. niki knows that, often, whenever they meet up, there's always something that reminds them of their past faults, so they never got to be the way they were before the wars. so now, niki tries her best to make it different. that fun they had when they pranked tommy in the past, or find foxes together, or build weird statues— she will try her best reincarnate those feelings of pure happiness through stupid dance moves and stupid jokes because she misses it, and she will try her best to fix the friendship so that it'll be same, perfect thing it once was.

jack is pretty complicated, because i don't know much about jack, but i'd say he is one of quackity's... less responsible business partners. knowing jack, fundy and schlatt try their best to not get quackity to jump on his ass because quackity often gets mad at the ridiculous deals and offers jack gives.

i'd say that jack is just... having a pretty rough time. fundy and schlatt denote that he's kind of lonely, and his demeanor is very similar to quackity's wherein he uses irritation and/charm to mask the hurt they experience. and quackity... does soften up to that. he knows what it's like to feel alone and be left alone by people out of nowhere, so quackity decides to give jack another kind of offer: jack transfers ownership of their hotel back to tommy, and quackity will give jack a job offer to work at las nevadas' hotel. in that way, quackity doesn't need to make multiple exchanges with jack's business; he just needs jack to work for him lmao

so yeah, it's kind of a lax job. the hotel isn't the most booked all the time, but jack does enjoy managing the front desk since quackity actually allows him to get mad at shitty customers lmao. jack doesn't stay there 24/7 of course—if he wants to leave, he can just depend on fundy's redstone to do the work—but he does like working there because nobody looks down upon him. he feels like he has something he can do that he can do well, and nobody is looking at him as if he was inferior. sure, quackity and him are still not on the best terms, but jack doesn't feel like he's being belittled at all.

i'd say jack and sam kind of are friends too? because while schlatt, quackity, and fundy have their own thing, sam and jack manage las nevadas more on the sidelines, but they relate at the fact that they just casually do their own thing in las nevadas. it doesn't feel too awful or violent or belittling— it just feels normal.

sometimes, jack would visit the bar right after it closes to just. drink and talk to sam about... well, anything, really. these talks would typically last through the day, and they're kinda just glad they have found someone to talk to about, well, anything. it's hard to find a feeling of normalcy in the dream smp, let alone a feeling of peace and serenity, so even if they find this chill ambiance in a bar or a casino, they both still revel in the feeling of peace. they're happy with it, so they'll do whatever they can to maintain it.

[dreamingofaizawa]

Hate To Love You

Vigilante! Eijiro Kirishima x Fem! Reader

Warnings: ANGST WITH NO HAPPY ENDING, brief mentions of violence and alcohol, soft-ish Bakugo

Word Count: 1.6 k

Author’s Note: Y’all this HURT to write and it’s gonna hurt to read (sorry, not sorry) This huts so bad and tbh I wanted to make it a different (slightly happier) ending but I just NEEDED THE ANGST FOR SOME GODFORSAKEN REASON. Legitimately cried while writing this. It’s not proofread, don’t come at me, I wrote this bs in, like, 30 minutes. Anywho, have fun crying.

Enjoy~

*

*

*

Now that you think about it, he’d been acting weird. For months he’d been changing, slowly, but you of all people should have noticed. At least Bakugo hadn’t either, which only made you feel a tad better. But it didn’t help with the guilt, the feeling that if anyone were to keep him from going down the path of villainy it would have been you. Maybe if you’d noticed sooner, if you’d realized he’d been less enthusiastic about being a hero, if you noticed how he began questioning hero society and its morals then maybe Kirishima would be here, graduating with the rest of class 3-A.

You remember the night he vanished six months ago. You’d fallen asleep in his bed that night, after he cuddled you more aggressively than usual. When you woke up he was gone, a note on his nightstand about how he couldn’t become a hero in this society anymore, how he had to fix it from the other side because from inside it was impossible. ‘You can’t think outside the box if you don’t know what the outside looks like.’ He promised he’d return, promise he’d be back to fix the commission and hero society as a whole. You waited for him to return until even Bakugo had given up.

*

***Seven years later***

*

“He made the most wanted.” Your fingers gripped the fabric of your hero costume tight as you strolled down the street for patrol. The blonde broke the news like it was forbidden to speak, like somehow speaking it would make it too real. It wasn’t all that surprising to you, if you’re being honest to yourself. The vigilante Red Riot is now on Japan’s most wanted list. With a sigh, you nodded.

“Just focus on patrol.” It wasn’t worth the distraction or distress right now. Bakugo looked at you out of the corner of his eye, his shoulders tensing just a little.

“You don’t want to talk about it?” 

“It’s not worth the stress, Bakugo. Just drop it right now.” He gave his own sigh before refocusing. It was odd at first, seeing this softer more cautious side to the normally aggressive blonde. But he knew better than anyone how close you and Kirishima were, and he saw what had happened to you after he left. He was there to witness firsthand as you fell into depression, skipping meals, barely sleeping, and when you did sleep it was because you’d exhausted yourself crying. Bakugo was there for it all, and had dragged you out of that swamp. You stuck by each other’s side after that, bonding over a loss and becoming family like you never knew. You hold each other up when you’re too weak to stand on your own. It’s only natural he worries about you.

You’d been trying to hunt Red Riot down for seven years. Even then, you hadn’t been able to even get a glimpse of him. He’s evaded you for seven long years and now he’s managed to get himself categorized into the country’s worst of the worst. Over the years he’s killed countless villains, corrupt businessmen, politicians, heroes, and even those part of the hero commission. He always left evidence of corruption, along with evidence of smaller connected people and organizations for the ‘true heroes’ to take care of while he hunts his next target. 

But he’s still killed people.

“Oi.” You snapped your head over to Bakugo, who had elbowed you. Taking a look around you, you realized you were already back at the agency. You’d completely zoned out and switched to auto-pilot for the rest of the patrol route. Taking a deep breath you looked at Bakugo.

“What is it?” He gave you a look, the one he always did when he knew exactly what happened no matter how hard you tried to avoid it. Still, he didn’t bring any more attention to it.

“The gala. You have your dress yet?” You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. That gala was stupid, you hated it with a passion. It was supposed to be a celebration for another year of successful hero work, but it was only another cruel reminder that you failed to save the one person you loved the most. This year’s theme was ‘masquerade ball’. At least you could be sad behind your mask.

“Yeah, I have the dress. And the mask.” He hummed, nodded, remaining silent until you split off to the locker rooms.

Two weeks later you stand at the steps of the venue, arm looped with the blonde’s as you take a deep breath and prepare for a night of hidden regret and dread and sorrow. You wouldn’t be dancing, only sitting at your assigned table sipping whatever alcohol you could get your hands on, just as you had for the past seven years. And Bakugo sat with you, as always, making sure you didn’t completely break down in the middle of the event and stayed sober at least until the award ceremony was over. Until he had to wrangle a completely wasted Midoriya out of the bathroom, because even Denki and Sero combined couldn’t match his strength when he was using OFA. So you sat alone. 

A tap on your shoulder had you turning to see who dared to bother you in your brooding, your eyes met with a bulky man in a black suit, deep red dress shirt underneath and a full face mask, the same color as his shirt and encrusted with black gems. Brilliant red eyes danced behind the mask, long black hair tied up neatly in a bun at the back of his head. He held a hand out to you, palm up. When he spoke, there was something familiar about his muffled voice.

“Care to dance?” You don’t know what possessed you to take the stranger’s hand, but you felt drawn to him. As you danced you felt yourself leaning into him, the old victorian waltz music making it all feel more romantic. The hand on your waist moved, pressing into your lower back and tucking you into him further, and then he spoke, making your heart freeze in your chest.

“It’s been so long since I’ve held you. I’ve missed you, baby.” Everything felt slower as you looked back up into those beautiful red eyes, the ones you haven’t seen in such a long time, the ones that used to smile at the thought of a certain Crimson themed hero. Those red eyes that now held so much blood and death and violence. Your tears fell freely, your body only able to barely keep up with the man’s dancing.

He’d changed a lot, he’s thicker, more muscular and his hair...he let it grow out and cut off all the red. There was no doubt in your mind he had scars marring his body. And he’s scarier. He’s a murderer, a criminal. He isn’t your Kirishima anymore. A thick, rough thumb swiped across your cheek, wiping away a few of those pesky tears.

“Kiri…” You choked on your words, hands grabbing his suit jacket tight, not allowing him the chance to leave.

“You left me...Why did you leave?” He heaved a sigh, cupping your face.

“I had to, baby. It was impossible to fix things from the inside, it’s too corrupt.”

“But you didn’t have to kill so many people...You didn’t have to leave me...I cried for you for so long…” All you could do was clutch his suit tighter, sobbing as he looked down at you. It was infuriating. He shouldn’t have left. He didn’t have to leave. His eyes flicked to the side briefly before he let you go and he was ripped from your grasp. All you saw was a blur of blonde and a massive explosion before Kirishima was being blasted to the far wall, the paint and drywall cracking around him. 

Suddenly every equipped pro was on top of him, and he was cuffed within minutes. He didn’t even put up a fight, only smiling a sad smile at you, his mask having been lost in the battle. He’s still as handsome as the day he left. You were frozen in place, watching everything happen in a blur of motion. Suddenly Bakugo was dragging him by the collar, dropping him down to his knees at your feet. The blonde said nothing, only held him down and yanked his hair, making him look up at you.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. This was the only way.” You didn’t believe him. Bakugo, now satisfied, yanked his collar again and tossed him at the others waiting to take him into custody. He came back and tugged you into his chest, but you were just...numb. Your body fell limp and he picked you up effortlessly, carrying you somewhere. You didn’t really care where, you just shut your eyes and curled into his chest, wanting to forget the world. 

Kirishima came back, just as he promised, but he’d come back a different man. And now, he’s going to spend the rest of his life in Tartarus. You don’t visit him, even if you wanted to, Bakugo would try to convince you not to. You didn’t need him to convince you. 

In your third year at UA, Kirishima was the love of your life. Now, he’s nothing but a criminal who shattered your heart, and you wish you’d never fallen in love with him.

You used to love Kirishima with everything you had, and maybe part of you still does.

But you hate it with everything you are and everything you will be.

You hate to have loved him.

[thethirdamell]

The Cruelest Month

Zevran/Amell - WIP / Writing exercise

The Blight was over. Amell was the Warden Commander and Chancellor of Ferelden. He was also blind - mutilated by his father - and had fallen to drink, drugs, and despair. One love of his life had left him, and the other had died.

For a year, he'd had nothing. Then, for one cruel month, he'd had hope. 

1. Champagne Flavored Kisses 

“You can kiss me," Amell had said, and so Zevran did. Amell had been drinking wine, but the stutter in his breath was like the breaking of bubbles at the surface of champagne. For all it seemed his Warden had forgotten how to breathe, he had not forgotten how to kiss. Wintermarch fell before him, a flood of warmth in his lips, in his hands, in his trembling breath. 

How Zevran had missed him. Amell's arms wrapped around his waist beneath his jacket, but it could not have been the cold that made him shiver so. He made a sound - a sort of whimper - like the union of loss and lost - and Zevran didn’t know what to do with it. There was so much in that sound. 

And then all at once, there was no champagne. No bubbles. No light. No air. Nothing but gasps and sobs and snow.

2. Opportunities 

Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps it was the Maker. Perhaps it was simply Leliana, but Zevran had been afforded an opportunity and he did not intend to waste it. Amell wept and Zevran forced himself to listen. To feel the racing of his own heart, and the way Amell’s hands seemed to fist around it and not his back. He was almost too much. Too fast. Too vulnerable.

Amell had been blinded and Zevran didn’t know how or why. Rumor said it was the Crows, and what if the rumors were true? What if the Crows had sent him here to finish the job? The contract on Amell had existed once. Zevran could have taken it. Amell had no way of knowing he hadn't. Nothing beyond his word, and Zevran had already proven his word meant so very little. 

Zevran could have been lying. It was possible. Surely Amell knew it was possible. Yet still, the weeping. Zevran traced over the old scar at the top of Amell's ear. His Warden had pierced it years ago, on nothing but the hope that one day Zevran would give him the earring and it would mean something. And so he had, and it had. "You wish for it to mean something!? Here is what it means!" Zevran had thrown it at him, and Zevran had left him. 

"Amor-" Zevran said gently.

"Don't-" Amell cut him off. Amell was taller than he, and had to bend slightly to embrace him. His hunched shoulders shook with a rickety inhale. "Don't call me that. Don't call me that unless you mean it." 

"... Amor," Zevran said again. Softer. Slower. "Amor." Zevran set his fingers to Amell’s chin, and peeled him off his shoulder. What a mess he was. Face flush, blindfold stained with tears, spit cobwebbed between cracked lips. What a mess Zevran had made him. "Amor."

He meant it. He would mean it. This time, he would mean it. 

3. Condensation

Condensation from the glass ran over Amell’s fingers, the chill white almost warm in winter. Amell tipped the glass back to his lips, and washed away the taste of his tears. Whatever room he was in smelled like a headache. Leliana meant well, but going from huckleberry to vanilla blossoms to cinnamon to some sort of soap was so disorienting he would have lost his sense of smell half way through the night even if he hadn’t been crying. 

Zevran hadn’t wanted to stay for the rest of the First Day Ball. Leliana had found Zevran a room at the palace, and Zevran had pushed the key for said room into his hands before leaving for the night. “In case you would like a more thorough apology,” Zevran had whispered into his ear.

Amell kept a hand in his pocket, turning the brass and all its promises over in his fingers. He hadn’t been with anyone in almost two years. Not in truth. Not without magic, and a bemused bottle of wine while he compelled whatever nobleman or dignitary that wanted a night with the Hero of Ferelden into thinking they’d gotten one.

The first time he’d managed sex after he’d lost his eyes, he’d thrown up afterwards. It had gotten easier, but it had never been the same, and he hadn’t tried or wanted to try since Anders had died. 

“Kid?” Oghren’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“Hm?” Amell asked.

“... Don’t do it.” 

“Do what?” 

“Go balls deep in the elf the second you see him,” Oghren explained. “You gotta play a little hard to get for once.”

“Three years isn’t hard enough?” Amell asked.

“Elf ain’t been back three minutes. Lemme guess, he’s a changed man. Well, lemme tell you something, I was a changed man. Every day, I was a changed man. Every drink, I was a changed man. You know what I didn’t do? Change.”  

“You changed,” Amell argued. Oghren was sober. Oghren had changed more than he had.

“For you,” Oghren reminded him. “Cause I wasn’t about to find you the way I found you when you tried to do you know what you know when because of you know who. Cause I love you.” 

“... Zevran loves me.”

“He tell you that?”

“...”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

4. Love and fear. The most destructive forces on earth.

Fuck it. 

“Excuse me,” Amell caught the hand of the servant that went to refill his wine. “Could you show me to the third floor in the west wing, where the guests are staying?” 

“Yes, Chancellor,” The servant gulped. A woman. She sounded young, but nerves did that to a person, and Amell couldn’t say for certain. “Of course, Chancellor.”

The woman hesitated, as if unsure what to do with him, but ultimately tangled her hands around his bicep and set off. Westward, hopefully. He didn’t need her hands. He could follow the pulse of her heart, but he wasn’t drunk enough to forget how disconcerting most people found that. “Forgive me, Chancellor - aren’t you worried about the scandal?”

“Which one?” Amell asked. There were so many on any given day it was hard to keep up. 

“Of walking with a servant,” The woman explained.

“Only if you’re worried about walking with a mage,” Amell countered.

“But you’re not a mage!” The woman protested. “You’re the Hero of Ferelden.” 

“What’s your name?” Amell asked.

“Nessa,” Nessa said. “... I’m an elf, messere.” 

“Nessa, I’m Amell, and I’m a mage. I promise it’s fine if we walk together.”  

Nessa seemed to accept that. She talked on the walk through the palace, but Amell had had too many drinks to follow along with everything she said and restrained himself to a polite hum whenever it seemed like he should respond. Eventually, Nessa announced, “We’re here, messere.” 

“Thank you,” Amell said. 

“Would you like me to walk you to your room?” Nessa offered.

“No, thank you, Nessa,” Amell waved her off. It wasn’t his room, and he didn’t want Zevran to know he had to have someone walk him to it. “I appreciate your help. I’ll have to repay it someday.” 

Nessa said something and left. Amell’s head was so heavy he felt like he kicked it down the hall to the seventh room on the left. Zevran’s room… Maybe Zevran’s room. Shit. Which left? His left? Someone else’s left? Was this actually the seventh door or was he so drunk he’d lost count? Someone was inside. He could feel their heartbeat, but nothing beyond that. They weren’t a warden or a mage, and Amell couldn’t distinguish between anyone else.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Nessa was gone. Why had he let her go? Why did he have to be so fucking proud? What did he have to be so fucking proud about? There was no one else in the hall, but there were people scattered throughout the rooms. The last thing he needed was to knock on the wrong door and scandalize some foreign dignitary. With his luck, he’d bring half the palace out to check on him. Alistair would hold it over his head for so long he’d never feel the sun again, and Amell liked the sun. It made him feel something. 

The sound of the door opening. 

“I knew you could not resist,” Zevran’s voice. Amell let out the breath he’d been holding and felt for his heartbeat, a hand to Zevran’s chest and whatever fabric he wore atop it. Suede maybe. 

“Why would I want to?” Amell countered.

“Why indeed?” Zevran pulled him inside and shut the door behind them. 

Amell found his jaw, tracing over the memory of black ink on bronze skin before he sought his lips. His kiss was almost enough to bring him back to tears. Oghren was wrong. Amor meant love. Amell knew it meant love. It was enough that it meant love. It didn’t matter that Zevran never said it in the King’s tongue. Amell didn’t even like the King. 

He liked Zevran. He loved Zevran. Amell had loved Zevran as much as Zevran had feared Amell loving him. For one passionate year love and fear had felt like the most destructive forces on Thedas, a force to rival the Archdemon, but in the end love and fear hadn’t destroyed anything but them.

Amell fisted his hands in Zevran’s hair and kissed him harder. Zevran kissed back, cradling his jaw and caressing down his side. It was just a kiss, and then it was just a haze. Flashes of miserable memories Amell buried beneath skilled hands and hot breath and so many fucking buttons. “What is this?” Amell asked while he fought with whatever Zevran was wearing. 

Zevran chuckled against his neck, his hands finding easy purchase beneath his doublet, “You would think it a chastity belt with how you struggle, no?”

… A joke. It was a joke. Amell meant to laugh, but the sound was a harsh hum. 

“Allow me-” Zevran started.

“I should go,” Amell untangled himself from him. 

“Should you, now?” Zevran asked, a familiar evenness in his voice that spoke of anything but, “You are too much, my dear Warden.”

“You mean I’ve had too much,” Amell corrected him with forced levity.

“This as well.” Zevran allotted. “... Very well. Go then.”

Amell patted himself down, checking over his outfit, and whether or not it was still something he could be seen wearing, but Zevran hadn’t gotten much further than he had. He found two undone buttons and fixed them. Because he could fix them. Because buttons were easy as long as he was the one wearing them, and he wasn’t undoing them from the bottom of a bottle. 

Zevran’s hand, tangled around his collar and pulling him back when he turned to go. “... but take the memory of me with you.” Zevran kissed him. Just once, and there was surprisingly little pressure in it. “Another night, yes?”

“Another night.” Amell promised.

5. Thick, wool jackets piled on a leather chair in the corner of a dark bar.

"I'm turning in, Kid," Oghren thumped a fist against his back. "You know the way back to your room?" 

"Hm," Amell took a long pull of blood lotus and waved him off. 

"Lay off the coffin nails, will you?" Oghren said.

"One pull won't kill me." At this rate, nothing could. He was already dead. He’d died so many times he was losing count. In a closet in the Circle. On the Tower of Ishal. On the back of the Archdemon. In his bed. In his bath. Death after death after death, but he kept coming back. 

"You got court tomorrow," Oghren reminded him. 

"I'll be up," Amell promised. 

"Yeah, alright," Oghren said, chair creaking across the floor when he stood. Amell didn't hear him leave, and turned to take in the pulse of his heart. Slightly sped up. Stress. 

"I'm fine, Oghren." Amell lied. There was only so much drinking could do for him, but he didn't plan on overdoing it. He just needed to forget everything Zevran forced him to remember. The Blight. The breakup. The fucking closet. Amell took another pull for the high and the hallucinations that followed it. 

Oghren left. Amell smoked, resting against a pile of thick wool jackets stacked high on the leather couch beside him. They belonged to whoever else was in the parlor with him, but all their heartbeats bled together with the lotus, and he felt alone in the not-dark.

6. Allergic to bullshit

Oghren couldn't sleep. He was itchy as a cuckold, and his throat kept swelling up on him and choking him awake. Coulda been the palace. Coulda been the bed. Coulda been something he ate. Coulda been, but it wasn't. It was the Kid, giving him a full on reaction in the middle of the night. After three years, Oghren was allergic to his bullshit. 

Oghren got up, got a drink of water, and got dressed. He went back downstairs to the parlor, first at a walk, then at a jog, and eventually at a full on sprint, but the Kid was where he left him. Lying on a couch in the smoking parlor, the air around him so thick with blood lotus folks could get high on the fumes.

A few had. Some noble lass was lying on his chest while Amell blew smoke in her face. Another noble fellow sat on the floor, leaning against the couch and smoking his own roll while Amell toyed with his hair. The Kid was fine. Fucked up, but fine. 

He wasn't dead. He wasn't lying in the bath, a bottle of aqua magus shattered on the floor, incense still burning while he overdid it on everything there was to overdo it on. Oghren just had to drag him off the couch and not out of the grave. "Let's go, Kid," Oghren said and didn't sob.

Kid was still breathing. Kid was still dressed. Kid could still walk. Oghren made it back to his room with him, and Amell slumped to the floor as soon as Oghren untangled him from his shoulder. Paranoia made him check his pulse, but the Kid was alright. He was just out. 

Oghren rolled him onto his side and pushed him up against the wall to keep him that way. It would be his sodding luck if the little shit suffocated on his own sick in the middle of the night. Ironic maybe, considering being sick was the only thing that'd saved him a few months ago. Stupid shit. Stupid little shit. 

What the fuck, Kid!? The fuck were you thinking?

I don't know. I'm sorry.

Fuck your sorry, you little shit! You trying to kill yourself?  

I don't know. I don't know. 

Fuck you. Fuck you, Kid. 

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

You stupid fuck. You stupid little fuck. 

"You're alright," Oghren decided.

He was alright. The Kid was alright. His kid was alright.

7. Earl Grey

Fuck. Where was he? Not the parlor. The air wasn’t thick enough. Amell splayed a hand across the cold floor beneath him, a stark contrast to cushioning leather and the few vague memories he had of last night. He was still dressed, but his cape was gone. He must have left it in the parlor, buried in some indistinguishable pile of woolen outerwear. 

Where was he? Amell dragged himself to his knees with the help of the wall beside him, a rising panic in the pit of his stomach and a growing ache in his head. They joined together in his heart, like feral lovers tearing each other apart, and every pulse was agony. Where the fuck was he? Amell clutched his forehead, cursing his lack of creationism and struggling with the magic that pulled on the pulse of those around him.

His hand crawled across the wall until it connected with something. Wood. A post. A bedframe. Rich sheets. Layered. Fine quarters. For a noble or an honored guest. His room? Someone else’s room? Why was he on the floor? Amell stumbled to his feet and sat on the edge of the bed. Probably his room. Maybe he’d made it back or gone back with someone. 

Amell pulled his blindfold off, blinking and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Fuck,” Amell muttered. What time was it? When was court? Had he missed it? Where the fuck was he? 

A Warden’s pulse. Oghren. Alone, some distance from him but closing. He should probably put his blindfold back on. Oghren couldn’t stand his eyes, but his head ached and his forehead itched and he was as sick of the fucking blindfold as he was of everything else. Amell stayed on the bed, stretching the knots from his back until he heard the door to the room open and close.

“Morning, princess. Get your beauty sleep?” Oghren pushed something into his hands. Ceramic. Warm. A cup. Amell sniffed it. Leaves and dirt. Tea. 

“Where am I?” Amell asked.

“My room,” Oghren said, the bed lurching with his weight when he sat somewhere off to the left. 

“What time is it?” 

“Morning.”

“Did I miss court?” 

“No, but you’re gonna.”  

“Oghren-” 

“Get over it,” Another dip in the mattress accompanied by the rustling of sheets as Oghren made himself comfortable. “They will. Drink your damn tea.” 

Amell took an obedient sip. Bergamot. Not that it mattered. He hated tea, no matter the type or how it helped with his hangover. “I’m expected,” Amell reminded him, “I need to go.”

“You’re the Chancellor,” Oghren countered, with a slurp and a satisfied gasp that was wholly unwarranted, considering he was probably drinking the same piss. “You don’t need to do shit. Besides, it’s the King’s court.”

There was that. Alistair would take his absence for an insult. The nobility for his backing of the Queen. There were worse days to be absent. Amell took another drink.

“You can’t go back there, Kid,” Oghren said. “Not over the elf. You’re better than that.”

No he wasn’t.

“Well?” Oghren pressed.

“Well what?” Amell asked.

“Let’s hear it.”

“Hear what?”

“You know what,” Oghren kicked him, but he was too far away to do anything more than push the sole of his shoe into his hip. “Let’s hear it. You talk it out or you drink it out. You want your kid to find you like I found you?”

“I wasn’t-”

“Nuh-uh.” Oghren cut him off. 

Amell sighed, cradling his cup in his lap. He didn’t want to talk it out. He didn’t even want to drink it out. He didn’t want it out at all. He wanted it buried or branded with the rest of his emotions. He should have just let them do it in the tower.

“Kid,” A clink of Oghren setting his drink down. 

“I can’t,” Amell croaked.

“I ain’t asking you to walk on lava here. I’m just asking you to talk.”

“I can’t sleep with him,” Amell clarified.

“Like you two ever did much sleepin’ anyhow,” Oghren snorted.

“I couldn’t get his jacket off.” 

“Can’t believe I’m giving advice on this, but so what? So he keeps the jacket on. Just get your pants off and go about your business like I do with the ladies.”

“He said something. A joke. I just-... I felt like I was back there… in the Circle… I always feel like I’m back there…”

“... You’re not, Kid.”

“I know.”

“Do ya?”

“... no.” A shudder tangled up in his chest. Amell fought it back with tea and shallow breaths and time. “…I never know where I am.”

“... I know.”

“I hate it.”

“I know, Kid.” Oghren shifted again, and his hand fell on Amell's shoulder. “... You’re in Denerim. You’re at the palace. You’re on the second floor in the west wing. You’re in a guest room. You’re with me, Kid. You’re with me.” 

8. Hygge (A quality of coziness and comfortable conviviality that engenders a feeling of contentment)

A wave of stress. The sort of stress you feel in your skin, under your fingernails, paralyzing you more effectively than any spell or poison. The sort of stress that says run, fight, stop, you're dying, you're dying, you’re dying. It was the kind of stress Amell felt whenever he stopped to think about how he felt. How he really felt.

Amell couldn't have feelings. Growing up, feelings were just a thing the Circle could take from you. If you wanted to survive you had to take them first. Nothing could matter. Nothing had mattered. Nothing except Jowan and Anders, but Jowan was Leyvn and Anders was dead and they couldn’t matter now because they were gone.

The Blight had only made it worse. He’d been one of only two surviving Grey Wardens, trying to save a country from civil war and a world from annihilation. Nothing else could matter in the face of that, and after? He was the Warden Commander and Chancellor of Ferelden, trying to resurrect a dead Order and a dead Arling as one of the first mages openly entrusted with a position of nobility since the Shame of Serault.

There was no room for feeling in any of that, but he’d had feelings anyway, and his feelings had died. After everything, how was he supposed to have them again?

Amell finished his tea and held the empty cup in his lap. He didn’t know where he could put it down. So far his assessment of Oghren’s room was limited to the floor and the bed.

“There’s someone at your door,” Amell noted.

The knock came a moment later.

“Could you be more of a creepy fuck?” Oghren took his cup away. Amell wasn’t sure what he did with it. He found his blindfold, tied it back around his eyes, and the sound of the door opening followed.

“Elf,” Oghren noted.

“Oghren,” Zevran’s voice returned.

Amell forced himself to take a steadying breath. He couldn’t break down every time Zevran was around him.

“You start your monthlies yet?” Oghren asked.

“I missed you too, my foul smelling friend,” Zevran returned.

“Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on.”

“You are only slightly more attractive to me than a slime-filled pool of swamp water,” Zevran assured him. “You have my oath.”

“Better be,” Oghren grunted, “Come on in then.”

“Here you have caught me off guard,” His steps were soundless, but Amell felt his pulse when he stepped inside, circling Oghren to stand a short distance from him. “I came only to ask if you knew what room Amell was staying in, and yet I see it is this one. Amor, if you have taken in with the dwarf then I fear you have traveled to an awkward place I dare not follow.”

“He wishes,” Oghren said. “Boss’s room’s across the hall, three down on the left.”

“I should probably get to it,” Amell stood up. “I need to change.”

“Perhaps I could help with one or both of those things?” Zevran offered.

“Don’t you two start with that. Not in here,” Amell imagined a finger wagging accompanied Oghren’s threat, but his blood magic wasn’t quite precise enough to distinguish between the veins in someone’s fingers and their hand. “Go on, get out.”

Amell took a step towards the door, when a hand on his arm stopped him.

“May I?” Zevran asked.

“If you like.”

Zevran escorted him out of Oghren's room and back to his own. He smelled like leather, but the texture of his sleeve was linen. Maybe a vest. Amell ran his hand down to what felt like an armband with some sort of embossment. He couldn’t quite tell what it was by the time they reached his room. Amell let them inside, and stood in the center of it, trying to think of what to say to him.

"Let us dispense with all the awkwardness of last night, shall we?" Zevran saved him. "My words were ill chosen, but I meant no ill will."

"I know."

"Ah,” Zevran cleared his throat. “Of course you know. Why would you not? I-... meant only that if you need help-"

"I don't,” Amell cut him off. Maybe a little too sharply.

"Truly?" Zevran sounded surprised. Amell must have frowned, because when Zevran continued he sounded uncharacteristically soft. "I don't know. How would I know such a thing? I have not been with you. You are blind and I am not and you must tell me."

Amell let go of whatever emotion had been fueling him. Pride, probably. “I will,” He promised, and hoped he meant it, “If I ever do.”

“Good,” A pop, like the anxious cracking of knuckles. “Then I shall be there to give it if you do… I am told the king is holding court today?”

“He is,” Amell didn’t want to talk about Alistair.

“And I am told you should be there?”

“I should.”

“Haha! I do love a good royal scandal. Perhaps we could add to it? The Chancellor of Ferelden, out in public, a handsome fellow on his arm. A lover perhaps?”

“Perhaps.”

Zevran clasped the back of his head, tilting his head down to urge him into a kiss that tasted like mint and spoke of a purposeful morning. Amell tangled one hand in Zevran’s hair and ran the other down his chest, catching on some sort of necklace resting against a loosely laced linen shirt. Leather vest, like he’d guessed, and familiar mixed metal rounds still belted at his waist.

Zevran tugged his doublet free of his belt, and Amell forced himself to break from him before the day went somewhere he couldn’t. “I don’t need help changing, Zev.”

“Are you sure?” Zevran joked, but this time it was easier to handle, “Such a complicated outfit you wear, my dear Warden.”

“Is it?” Amell couldn’t help smiling.

“Why yes! You see, there is…” Zevran floundered for a moment, “A belt?”

“I can’t, Zev,” Amell said, bracing himself for a fight. “Not yet.”

“Fair enough,” Zevran relented, so easily it didn’t seem possible. “I shall wait outside, then.”

“Thank you. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

“A few minutes it is,” Zevran went to the door, but didn’t leave.

“I know you’re still here,” Amell said.

“Nonsense,” Zevran laughed, returning to him for another kiss, and Amell couldn’t help wondering why he’d hesitated. What more he’d wanted to say. “You are alone.”

“Who am I talking to, then?”

“Why yourself, of course! You are so very vain, after all.”

“My mistake.”

“One you will make again, I am sure. Do not take too long.”

Zevran released him, and actually left the second time around. Amell changed into a fresh doublet and trousers, and rejoined him in the hall. Zevran took him to the servant’s quarters, where a second, smaller, First Day celebration was taking place the day after the nobility had had theirs. Whatever room they were in was warm, and slightly crowded, but the furniture had been cleared away to make room for dancing.

Nessa was there, and sounded excited to see him again, as did a handful of others she introduced him to once they realized he wasn’t there to interrupt the festivities but join them. There was no alcohol being served. No incense choking out the room. Just music and laughter, and a comfortable conviviality to it all.

“Can you dance?” Zevran asked.

“Can you lead?” Amell countered.

Zevran’s laugh was light. “I shall be glad of it,” He took his hand, found a space for them, “You have led long enough, no? I think you deserve a rest.” 

9. Crisp

Amell was not Rinna. He was not Taliesin. True, he was many things they were. Cunning. Ruthless. But he was also many things they were not. Forgiving. Gentle. Alive. The palace gardens were frozen over, and so conveniently abandoned. Zevran sat on a bench of ice and stone, Amell's head in his lap, their breath misting in the crisp winter air. 

Zevran threaded his fingers through Amell's hair, wisping a few raven strands free of his ridiculous blindfold. "Why do you wear this?" 

"For the aesthetic," Amell joked.

"I do not suppose I can persuade you to take it off?" Zevran asked, thumbing the edge of the cloth and wondering at what lay beneath it. Eyes, surely. Real or glass, red or some other color, mangled or not. 

"Just the blindfold?" 

"And anything else that you fancy removing, of course, this is a given," Zevran laughed, "Come now, I am serious. What is the purpose?"

"I told you," Amell said.

"No, I do not believe so," Zevran traced one of Amell’s eyebrows, relaxed despite his prying, which seemed a good sign, "Shall I guess? You are concerned for how they look when you cannot?" 

"Something like that.”

"Something like that is not that,” Zevran noted. 

"Tell me about Antiva," Amell deflected. 

"Antiva," Zevran let the conversation go with a wistful sigh, watching the word catch in the cold. "Very well, Antiva. It is a wonderful place, save for all the Antivans. I have been killing rather a lot of them, and the Crows are cross that I have crossed them, as it were." 

"Why have you?" Amell asked.

"Why not?" Zevran laughed. 

“You said you just wanted to escape them,” Amell reminded him. 

"And so I have,” Zevran said. “And yet when I left, I realized it was not enough to be free. I had to do something with my freedom. You remember the orphanage, yes? In Denerim?”  

“I remember.”

“We do not have such things in Antiva. Not such as they are here. The Crows empty them too quickly. We are not so very different men, you and I. I was sold to the Crows. You were given to your Circle. Tell me, Amor, if you could go back, would you not do the same? That day at the tower? All of your templars gathered in one little room… You have such a spell that would serve - a cloud of death. I have seen it.” 

Amell cracked his knuckles, “...We needed the soldiers.” 

“True.” Zevran allotted, “But this was not my question.”

“... you know I would.”

“So I do,” Zevran traced the anxious tension out of Amell’s brow. There was no need for it. Zevran knew the man he’d come back to. “And now you know I would as well.”  

Amell caught his wandering hand, and kissed his fingers and the ring Zevran wore upon them. Amell’s brow furrowed again, in confusion and not confession, and he spun the silver band around his finger. “... Is this the ring I gave you?”

“So it is.”

“... I thought you would have added it to your belt.”

“I considered it, I will not lie.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Who can say?” Zevran shrugged, but the deflection was an old habit, and he’d promised to break them. He traced Amell’s lips, dry against the cold, until a smile curved in them. “... Who needs to say?”

10. Melting snowman

Amell caught Zevran’s hand, still tracing his lips, and wove their fingers together. "What are your plans?"

"My plans?" Zevran repeated with a blithesome laugh, still unchanged after all these years. "Have I given you some indication I make a lot of these?"

"How long are you staying in Ferelden?" Amell revised. "Until the snow melts? Wintersend?"

"Who is to say I am leaving?" Zevran countered. 

Experience. 

"You love adventure," Amell said instead.

"And there is none to be had here?" Zevran asked. "I had thought to offer my services to the crown, and the lovely woman who wears it, as it were. You will put in a good word for me, I am sure?" 

"I'll have to think of a few," Amell joked.

"Tsk,” Zevran flapped his hand free to swat him with it, “So cruel you are. I think I may cry.” 

"Skilled," Amell ventured, trying to remember the man he’d fallen for years ago and wondering how much of him remained. "Dashing. Clever. Charismatic."

"Sexy?" Zevran suggested.

"Obviously," Amell dropped his arm off the bench and squeezed Zevran’s calf when it proved the easiest part of him to reach lying on his thigh. Amell had always liked his legs. "Gallant." 

"Gallant?" Zevran laughed his familiar laugh. "You are aware of the meaning of this word, no? I regret to inform you an assassin is no gallant thing to be, amor." 

"You are," Amell argued. "I remember how you spoke against Knight-Commander for locking the mages in the tower and calling for the Rite of Annulment… you were the only one who did. I think-..." 

"... what is it you think?" 

I think that's when I fell in love with you. 

"I think you're gallant."

11. Bleak

Amell let the words go. He’d said them once, despite his better judgment, and he didn’t trust himself to say them again. For all he said them often enough to his friends, they lacked the weight they carried when he said them to the men who mattered most in his life. They lacked the heartache. Zevran had left. Anders had died. The words were a curse, a hex, an affliction he wouldn’t speak again without hearing them spoken to him first. 

His recticience changed nothing. His feelings were all still there, unspoken, but his love felt less unrequited if he gave nothing to requite. It wasn’t. This time it wasn’t, but Zevran hadn’t said it first, and the thought that he might not say it back too bleak to bear, so it was better not to say at all. 

12. You’ve got to break a few eggs to make an omelet

You’ve got to break a few eggs to make an omelet. Felsi understood that. Girl broke damn near a dozen trying to cook one. Kid understood it too, but with the Elf back it was like he forgot. Spent a whole week at the Palace flitting and farting around the heavy stuff - so scared to talk it out he figured he’d smoke it out instead. Kid was fucking it up, and Oghren could tell, and that was saying something.

Oghren couldn’t tell whim from wham on the best of days, but that was what the Kid was doing. Whim-whamming it up. Elf wasn’t gonna put up with that shit. Elf barely put up with the Kid’s shit the first time around. Add in the smoke, and the drink, and the dust, and the Elf was out. Oghren could smell it. That sovereign was as good as got, but Oghren didn’t really want it. He had enough coin. Kid took care of him, even if the Kid never took care of himself.

Oghren thought the Kid’s kid would snap him out of it, and he had. Kid had gotten better for a bit, but soon as the Elf showed up, he went sliding right back. Elf hadn’t even left him yet, but it was like the Kid could tell he was gonna and was just trying to speed it up. Oghren didn’t know what to do about it. Kid was the one who’d helped him get back with Felsi, but Oghren didn’t know how to help the Kid get back with the Elf when it seemed like he’d rather get back with the drugs, ‘cept to take the drugs away. 

“Alright Kid,” Oghren snatched the roll from the Kid’s fingers one evening, and tossed the burning lotus into his drink. Kid shouldn’t have been mixing lotus and aquae lucidius anyway. “You gotta stop.”

“... Did you just throw my smoke in my drink?” Amell asked.

“Aye, and don’t you go drinking it anyway. Sick of seeing you in this longue. Why don’t you go fuck around with the elf?”

“I told you - I can’t fuck him.”

“So don’t fuck him. Shouldn’t be fucking yourself instead.”

“It was just one smoke, Oghren, and that drink costs a sovereign”

“And I’m good as gold for it. Fixing to make one off you anyway you keep this shit up.” 

“I’m not keeping anything up.”

“Yeah, I got that that’s the problem. Why don’t you go fix it?”

“I can’t.”

“Not in here you can’t.”

“Oghren-...” Kid went hunting for his drink, and Oghren slid it out of reach. Took damn near everything in him not to slide it right into his mouth, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. He’d lost too many days to drink, but the Kid had almost lost them all, and Oghren hadn’t noticed.

He’d dragged the Kid out of the Deep Roads and called it a day. Went back to drinking like it was nothing. Watched the Kid go back to blood magic like it was nothing. Knew - sodding knew in his rotting guts - that the Kid wasn’t alright, but he hadn’t done anything about it. Why would he? The Kid was never alright, and Oghren wasn’t all that right either, but he was a damn shade better than the Kid. 

Took finding him in the bath to finally figure it out, and Oghren wasn’t gonna find him there again. 

“Go to your room, Kid,” Oghren said. 

“Give me my drink.”

“Go to your room.”

“Give me my drink and I will.”

“You ain’t getting it unless you magic it out of my hands, and we both know how that went down last time.” 

“I missed last time.”

“Don’t care if you miss or not, you still ain’t getting it. You don’t want it bad enough.”

“You have no idea how badly I want it.”

“Fuck you, Kid, I’m the only one who knows how bad you want it, and I’m the only one who can keep you from getting it. You know damn well why your magic doesn’t work on me.”

“Just give me the drink, Oghren.”

“Go to bed, Kid. Take the Elf with you, why don’t you?”

Kid didn’t call it. Slammed his chair back and stormed outta the lounge without another word.  Oghren stayed and stared at the drink. Aquae Lucidius was ambrosial quality booze. One whiff was enough to burn the hair back into his nose. It was liquid gold - and it was going to waste - and that was fine with him. 

One sovereign down. One more to lose.

[kareofbears]

plainly in truth, chapter 2/5

“Without you around, it’s sorta like stuff is just kinda…bleh.“

—

Or: hiding, confiding, and misguiding.

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

Yusuke wasn’t too sure if what he was doing was of the right mind, but his heart is definitely in the right place.

There’s a lapse in time between Jails and hitting the road. Everyone is out soaking in the last of Sendai; Ryuji and Akira (and by extension, Sophia) are on a quest to buy any last minute supplies that they might need while the girls and Morgana are taking in the sights that they didn’t quite manage to explore as much as they’d like.

Well, the girls who like crowds and sightseeing are on a quest, at least.

Futaba and Yusuke are in the trailer by their own volition—he didn’t need to see anything else that wasn’t a timeless statue, and he learned early in his life that if you pace your spendings, you can then use that money to spend in the future. Quite the contrary, Futaba has had a little too much excitement these past few days and is more than happy to hide away in her top bunk with only her laptop charger peeking out from the bottom of her fleece blanket.

(A cartoon rendition of the Sendai temple is printed onto the fleece. Apparently Haru had yet to see Futaba purchase anything ‘tourist-y’ and action figures of various anime characters don’t seem to count.)

He tugs on her laptop cord. “Hello.”

“...What?” she grunts, voice slightly muffled. Through the thin fabric, he can see the illumination from her screen.

“I need help reacting to something.”

“And you decided to ask me?” she deadpans. “The literal shut-in?”

“The previous shut-in,” he corrects. “You haven’t been a shut-in in nearly a year. A marvelous feat, if I do say so myself.”

“Yeah, and this is my way of celebrating.” The lump on the bed seems to curl further in on itself. “Begone. Do a painting or something. This is my me time. The equivalent of guzzling down a boat load of Arginade. There’s barely any time to be by myself considering the whole group is treating this RV like a pimped out party bus, so shoo.”

J-pop starts playing from inside the blanket fort, and even Yusuke knows a dismissal when he hears one. That won’t stop him, though.

He tugs again, harder. “That is the reason I’m asking you now. I can’t have this be heard by prying ears.”

Had there been a cat on the bunk bed, its ears would have twitched. “Is this…?”

“Yes,” he nods sagely. “It’s a secret.”

Futaba’s head pops out, eyes wide and nearly glowing in excitement. If there was one thing that she liked more than recovering her energy, it's uncovering every nook and cranny of people’s lives, whether they want it or not.

“Inari, you should’ve said something!” She throws the blanket off herself, snatches her laptop in her arms and jumps down. Slamming it down on the booth, she throws herself on top of the smooth faux leather. “Tell me everything. The deets, the specs, all down to the last dirty drop of tea.”

He slides in to join her, albeit much slower. “Before you tell me that I misled you, I want to make it clear: I don’t know what the secret is.”

“What!” she slaps her forehead, groaning. “Yusuke, why would you do me like that? That’s false advertising to the max, and I do not appreciate you tricking me.”

“There wasn’t a trace of trickery. What I’m about to say really does have to do with a secret, but I need your help with how to deal with it.”

“I’m gonna level with you here pal,” she puts a hand on his wrist. “I’m not the right person for this, but I’d be darned if I let you walk away without telling me anything. So let’s hear it! I’m ready for some juicy goss. Oh! Can I guess? Is it about Haru?”

He frowns. “No. Is there something about Haru?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I was asking you!” she says, patting her hands rapidly on the table. “Come on, just spill the beans already.”

“There are no ‘beans’ to spill yet, and besides, that sounds like a waste of perfectly good food.” He leans back against the plush cushion. Only a pinch of guilt arises in him as he says it. “It’s about Ryuji.”

“Ooo, Skull himself. Gotta admit, I wasn’t expecting him.”

“It relieves me that you said that. I share the same sentiment—it wasn’t until I had run into him the night before when I had started to truly suspect something. And what I found was…” he trails off.

Her lips pull downwards. “That bad?”

“It was worrying, to say the least.”

She sighs. Most of the energy in her seemed to have filed out in the presence of a more serious topic. “Dang. I knew it was fishy when he left, but he’s always been able to just hash things out on his own.” Her expression changes as an idea pops into her head, and it morphs into one he recognizes. “Does—?”

“No. Akira doesn’t know, apparently.”

Futaba splutters, and he has to resist the urge to nod his head at her reaction. “He—Akira—wait, what? He doesn’t know? Oh, it must be bad bad.”

“My thoughts exactly. Initially, I had thought that whatever this was, it was manageable. Like that time he had spent his month’s allowance on a claw machine to win Makoto that light-up buchimaru.” Idly, he touches her keyboard lightly, appreciating the kaleidoscope of colors that emanate from it. “You know how I feel. We’re the Phantom Thieves; we can’t allow anyone to suffer alone, even if the one we’re helping is a Phantom Thief himself.”

Futaba raises an eyebrow. “And how do you want to help him?” she asks. “By talking to him? Let’s be real, you and I have the lowest social stat in this group. Combined, we can maybe reach the nerd student council president, and the guy who can and should handle this doesn’t even know about it!” Biting down on her lip, “Should we tell Akira?”

“Absolutely not. That was the one thing he had requested, and we cannot go against it. By extension, I don’t think we should tell anyone else.” A thought comes to him. “Wait, he mentioned that Ann knows of his situation.”

“Great! Someone who knows how to deal with people’s problems and isn’t us. What are we waiting for?” She reaches for her phone, and Yusuke proceeds to smack her hand out of the way. “Ow?”

“Don’t call her!” he hisses. “Ryuji said that she’s, and I quote, ‘part of the problem’. We can’t have her knowing that we know something.”

“Ann is?” Futaba exclaims, shoving her glasses up her nose. “This is getting too deep. We don’t even know anything yet, and it’s really starting to feel like we’re part of some conspiracy.”

“That’s right, we don’t know anything, and it is our largest road block.” Yusuke crosses his arms. “We don’t know what happened between Ryuji and Ann, or if something even occurred between Ryuji and Ann. What if they had an argument? What if they’re fighting, and it becomes irreparable between them? What if it begins affecting our Jail runs?”

“You really gave this some thought, huh?”

“But of course. I must nurture the few friends that I have managed to treasure.” He glances outside and sees the crowds clambering to see their tourist spot. “We may be different from most teenagers, but I don’t believe we’re immune to the nature of cliques or dramas or even insecurities.”

“God, what a good friend you are, it’s bugging me,” Futaba accuses. “So what the heck, Mr. Philanthropist? We’re stuck between a rock and our friend group here. This mission was doomed before you even dragged me out from my hideout,” she says, eyes drifting away to stare longingly back at her bunk bed.

“Stop making that expression. There’s a reason why I talked to you about this.” He leans forward. “What I’m asking is, to be frank, unfavorable, but I really do believe that it’s worth it to do this.”

She looks at him, and it only takes her a few seconds for realization to set in. Her jaw drops. “Oh Inari, that’s vile.”

“If you’re uncomfortable with it—”

“I didn’t say I was uncomfortable with it,” she cuts in. The grin on her face is wide; a woman in her element. “I just thought you’re the one who’d be all against this kind of thing.”

Futaba pulls her laptop towards her. “Sit back and observe the master at work.”

He watches as her fingers breeze through the keyboard, eyes inscrutable as light reflects off of her glasses. “So you can do it?”

“I’ve hacked into the Diet Building’s security cameras on a dare back when I was twelve,” she snorts. “This is Mario Kart Baby Park with the railings up.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“It means—” With a flourish, she hits a key before glancing up at him, smug. “That this will be very easy. I’m thinking we can start with their text messages and work our way up to the big stuff.”

“Oh, right. You can go through our phones,” he grimaces. “You’ve stopped doing that, yes?”

“Of course I have! By the way, did you figure out what courses you wanted next term? I saw your advisor was bugging you about it, you should really email her back.”

“Yes, I’ve finally decided on sculpting as opposed to visual photography since it lets me focus on the anatomy of...” he pauses. “Wait—”

“Okay, looks like I got his text messages with Ann, so let’s all focus on this now!” she says loudly. “Scooch over, let’s go through ‘em.”

He does, and she moves to sit next to him. Yusuke peers at her screen. “Nothing out of the ordinary. There is a significant drop in the frequency of his replies, but that’s been the case for me as well.”

“Same here.” She continues scrolling up rapidly, so fast he wonders how she can keep up with herself. “Memes, memes, lots of ‘where you at’ texts, more memes…”

Something catches his eye. “Hold. Go down slightly, I think that link might be interesting.”

“‘How to treat knee pain: 11 steps with pictures’?” she reads aloud. “His knee is acting up again?”

“What’s peculiar is that I haven’t seen any sign of it.” He squints at Ryuji’s response to it—generic gratitude. “Even in Jails, he runs around without a care in the world.”

“What’s even weirder is that Ann is actually sending Ryuji wikihow links on how to treat his knee,” she snorts. “Let’s put a pin in this one and move on, Ann’s chat is chalking up to be a dead end.”

Rubbing her hands together, she straightens up like a professor in front of a lecture hall on the first day of classes. “Now Yusuke, when you’re looking to crack someone open like a tasty, moist omelette, there are two things that you must look into: their email and their bank account.”

After some clicking, Ryuji’s email pops up. “Email is obvious, since this pretty much tracks anything big. Delivery shipments, subscriptions to websites, acceptance letters. It’s all here in a neat little bow, ready for us to read.”

“‘Manga’s are 20% off for this weekend only,” he reads. “‘Anime convention next weekend’, ‘Pizza coupons’.”

“Ugh, he’s so boring! Next!” Clicking sounds through the RV, emphasizing how much they were snooping through their friend’s private life. “Bank account, show us your wisdom.”

“My word,” Yusuke gasps when the tab opens up. “That’s quite a lot of funds.”

“Inari, four thousand yen is definitely not a lot of money. How much do you have in yours?”

“I don’t have an account,” he admits. “I was on my way to the bank to open one, but I ran out of train fare. By the time I had gotten there, it was already closed. Quite rude, considering that it was only two o’clock.”

She levels him with a look. “Was it a Sunday when you did all this?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Never mind,” she shakes her head. “Okay, so nothing conclusive or even embarrassing. That means that whatever this is, he really doesn’t want anyone knowing about it.”

Futaba hops out of the booth and starts rummaging through everyone’s luggage. “That means we unlock the secret, classic, never goes out of style method of snooping—” with an expression of triumph, she showcases Ryuji’s backpack to him. “Going through their stuff IRL.”

Yusuke winces. “Don’t you think we might be going too far?”

“Hey, what’s with the cold feet? Where was your ‘justice’ from before?”

“I’m all for justice,” he watches her unzip the backpack, recoiling. “But even this seems a little excessive.”

“Look, we already went through his email, his bank account, his text messages. At this point, it’s kind of weird if we don’t find anything. Like—” she throws a pair of shorts behind her as she rummages. “What kind of teenage boy doesn’t have anything to hide? And also, it’d be kinda messed up to go through his stuff and come up empty-handed. If we didn’t find anything—” she pulls out several t-shirts and a crowbar and places them on the ground next to her. “Then we’d just be a bunch of snoops.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he reluctantly agrees. “Above all else, we need to find out what’s happened in his life to make him so upset.”

“Exactly. Oh man, wouldn’t it be crazy if we just found some porn mags or something? Retro to the max, but I can totally see him as the kind of guy to lug something like that along. Unless it’s of Akira.” She makes a face. “Ew. Funny thought is no longer funny.”

“Karma, if you will.”

“Shut it. Oh ho ho, what do we have here?”

“You found something?”

“It’s some fancy looking letter.” Futaba flops herself on the ground. She clears her throat. “'Sakamoto Ryuji. This letter is to inform you that…'” she stops all of a sudden.

“Futaba?” he probes.

“Um,” she blinks, and laughs nervously. “Um?”

He reaches over, and she doesn’t resist when it slips out of her hands. Skimming through the letter, only his eyes dare to move. When he finishes, he lets out a breath. “Oh no.”

“We shouldn't've read that,” she whispers, a perfect summation of what he was feeling. “We really should not have read that.”

—

There’s something to be said about the quayside in Sendai, in the way that it’s almost exactly like Tokyo.

Sure, the buildings here are definitely shorter—gone are the towering structures back home, and instead they’re replaced with shorter structures with cute local designs and colorful patio restaurants. The people here are different, too. Maybe it’s something to do with the water here, in how it’s cleaner and how you can actually see some fish down in the canals if you know where to look. Don’t even get him started in the air; jeez, do they infuse the oxygen here with something? He hasn’t stopped taking deep breaths ever since they got here.

But despite all of those discrepancies, the feeling of Akira’s hand in his is just like being home.

“And it’s actually really interesting,” he hears vaguely. “Because back in Leblanc, there used to be a couple issues about the temperature and stuff, but in my hometown there’s…Ryuji? Are you even listening to me?“

Akira’s telling him something. A story about Morgana? And Ryuji’s sure it’s very interesting, but he’s too focused on the way that sunlight hits his cheekbones.

“I’m listening,” he lies. “Keep going. This is just my listening face, I promise.”

“Sure, sure,” Akira agrees easily. “That’s just your listening face, rather than me and my wicked good looks, right? I totally believe you.” He wiggles his fingers. “Give.”

Ryuji offers him the caramel ice cream cone in his other hand, letting him bite into it like some kind of psychopath. “Done?” he asks, shifting the tote bag tucked into the crook of his elbow, careful not to rattle the eggs inside. Akira bravely offered to carry the groceries, but he had obviously refused.

“Mmm. That’s good stuff.”

“Right? I read about the ice cream here when I was younger, and they were really hyping it up on the ad.” He takes a lick, grinning when the taste hits his tongue. “And on a summer day like this? Unbeatable. It’s really reminding me of last summer when we hung out everyday in your room eating crap, taking naps, and playing games.” It also helped that hanging out with his crush was a daily thing, he thought.

“And I got to hangout with my crush a lot too, so that’s always a plus,” Akira adds.

Ryuji stops, and Akira turns around to give him a weird look. “What?”

“You get me,” he says in awe.

“I sure hope so,” he tugs him forward, and they continue their walk, their shoes rhythmically landing on the wood in unison. A comfortable silence takes over, but that’s no good. Ryuji wants to hear him talk.

“So imagine you get ten million yen,” he starts. “What do you do with it?”

It’s not the first time he’s asked this. They discuss it often, eagerly like the dreaming boys they both are. Akira considers it and Ryuji loves that about him. It doesn’t matter how stupid his questions are—he will always answer them with as if it were a serious question.

“For starters, Yusuke’s getting a place as soon as possible.”

“Duh,” he snorts. “Apparently, his roommate brought someone back to hook up with them. Poor guy got so traumatized he slept over at Haru’s.”

“We should be glad that he didn’t ask them for poses,” Akira laughs. “Next, I’m making sure that Sojiro has enough for retirement.”

“Obviously. Rest in peace Leblanc—you make fire coffee, but no one’s there to drink it.”

“And then I’m making sure your mom has the funds for retirement for sure.”

“I love you,” he sighs.

“I know.” Akira starts swinging their hands back and forth. “Then with the rest, I’ll buy us some new shoes for when we start training again together, and whatever’s left we can split it up with the rest of the Thieves and they can do what they want with it.”

“I bet Ann would go on a shopping spree in France,” he says.

“Haru would probably donate hers.”

“Makoto’s is going straight into university. I can see her going in to get a Masters with that kind of money.”

Ryuji refuses to let his expression fall. “That’s her. Big bookworm with a capital B.” Stop talking about this, stop talking about this. “How about you, Sophia? Any clue what you’ll do with a boatful of moolah?”

A harmonic beep rings through the air and Akira passes her over to him. “I would invest in cryptocurrency and turn ten million into one hundred million,” she says cheerfully. “Then I would take that hundred million and turn it into one billion yen.”

Ryuji coughs, sliding her into his back pocket. “You know what? That’s my bad. I should’ve expected that, honestly.”

Akira plucks the remainder of their ice cream cone from his hand and throws it in his mouth, munching. Wordlessly, he takes out a pack of wet-wipes from his pockets and hands it to Ryuji.

“Thanks.” Reluctantly dropping his hand, he thoroughly cleans through his sticky fingers. “You didn’t ask me what I was gonna do with my money.”

He nods in a go ahead way.

“After I give most of it to my mom, I was just gonna give the rest to you.” Ryuji kicks a stray pebble. It skirts off the edge of the boardwalk. There’s a tug on his arm. “Yeah?”

Akira covers his mouth with a hand, before making an incomprehensible garble of noise.

“Huh? My bad, I didn’t catch that.”

A few seconds of vigorous chewing, he swallows. “I said,” Akira says, eyes glimmering the way it does when he gets really excited. “I was going to do the exact same thing.”

“Dude!” Ryuji throws his arm around his shoulders, tugging him in close. “You understand me like no one else does. What the eff!”

“I’m glad,” he says softly. Wrapping his arm around him, Ryuji blinks at the unexpected hug. “It’s nice that we're on the same wavelength.”

Suspicion tingles across Ryuji’s skin. “Hold up.” Pulling away, he squints his eyes at him. “No.”

Akira immediately looks to the side. “What?” he says, defensive. “It’s nothing.”

“No freaking way.”

“I think I saw a cool arcade back there, it has cool prizes that I think you’d like, and—“

“Kurusu Akira,” he says sternly, grabbing his face between his hands. “Don’t tell me that you’re jealous.”

“I’m not!” he insists, pushing his glasses higher on his nose. “I’m not, you know I’m not that type of guy.”

“But?” Ryuji prompts.

“But…” he hesitates. “I’d be happy for you, if you find that it’s easier to talk to other people that aren’t me.” Akira straightens up, pulling out of Ryuji’s grasp but inspects his hand like it were something to be studied. How strange it was to see his long, elegant fingers grasp his brutish, blistered ones. “I’m relieved that I didn’t leave you alone. I just...miss being your go-to, I think.”

“Akira.” He says slowly. “My man. The love of my fucking life. You are never not gonna be my go-to. You’re my go-one.” Rapping his knuckles against Akira’s temple carefully, “Your hometown is messing with you up here, making you say weird shit like that.”

“I know, I know.” Running his index finger down his wrist, Ryuji can feel how cold he is. “You knew what you were getting into when you started dating an overthinker.”

“As a chronic underthinker, no, I did not.” He kisses Akira’s palm. “But it works out, so it’s all good.”

Turning them both around, Ryuji starts walking. “I know this is super duper impossible for a guy like you, but I’m gonna have to ask you for a favor.”

“Anything.”

“You have got, to the best of your ability,” he bumps into Akira’s shoulder. “Stop stressing out.”

He frowns. “It’s my job to stress out.”

“It’s our job to stress out,” he corrects. “You and me. Founding Thieves. We share the burden, bro. We got into this together, we’re getting out of it together. That includes you worrying about our relationship outside the ‘Verse, and extend it all the way to what dingy hometown you took the bullet train from.”

“I’ll try,” he says doubtfully. “You’re kind of enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean? No way I can enjoy the most perfect person on the planet be a little jealous over his boyfriend getting attention, what kind of asshole would I be?” And before Akira can say anything, “I know, not jealous, but I’ll take what I can get.”

“I love you.”

“I know,” he flashes a peace sign.

“I know you know.” A group of middle schoolers pass them, chattering about nothing and pointing out random things on the quay, all enjoying their summer vacation. “You know that you can tell me anything, right?” he asks suddenly.

Unable to help himself, he ruffles Akira’s hair, pitch black and hot to the touch. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

“I don’t?”

Gray eyes look into his brown ones, earnest and trusting. Just like that, the light feeling in Ryuji’s chest vanishes. “No,” he responds slowly. “You don’t.”

“Good,” Akira nods, and sees where they were heading towards. “Oh, you took that seriously?”

“You bet your crisp ass I did,” he says, pushing the glass door open. The arcade is bright, neon, and littered with claw machines. Add that to the list of similarities from Tokyo. “I don’t fuck around with arcades. I’m in the top hundred players in the Gun Gale in Shinjuku.”

“Was that with Shinya or without?”

“Not important.” He surveys the area. “There it is. Can you grab us some change? I’ll pay you back.”

Akira waves his hand, walking towards the coin machine. “Don’t. What kind of a boyfriend would I be if I let you pay for our dates?”

“A hot one!” he yells. When he turns the corner, Ryuji collapses into a bright red racing chair. “Fuck,” he hisses, heart beating too damn fast for it to be normal. “Chill out, Sakamoto, jesus.”

It only gets worse when a familiar beep rings out. “Ryuji, your heart rate is at 160. Is everything alright?”

“Sophia!” he wheezes out, relieved. “Can you—will—” he stops, scrunching his eyes closed. “I’m having a panic attack, I think.”

“Searching for how to treat panic attacks,” she says immediately, and he sags into the cool plastic gratefully. “Deep breaths will help, slowly to the count of ten.”

His heart is beating so hard that he can barely hear the jingles and the whirrs of the machines around him. “Count out loud. Hurry, before he gets back.”

She does, and he grips the side of the chair as he focuses on breathing. The attack passes by faster than he hoped it would. “Thank god,” he breathes. “Thank you.”

“No prob,” she says, before hesitating. “Akira—”

“Will not know about this,” he cuts her off, rubbing his hand over his face. “I’ll tell him eventually, don’t worry, et cetera. I know all this. Ann’s been hounding me non-freakin’-stop. Just don’t tell him, Soph. Please.”

Before she can say anything, Akira comes back, pockets full of change and that signature small smile resting on his lips.

—

The bright side about missing out on Sapporo’s snow festival is having its tourism as its lowest point when you visit it in the summer.

Even the shopping district just outside Susikino isn’t very crowded; there’s the usual street vendors and shops with bright pastries and cute clothes. But even having it right beside the Sapporo Tower, it’s still nothing uncomfortable. At least, it’s not uncomfortable when you get to observe the environment through a phone lens.

“This is nice, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve had much of an opportunity to talk to you yet, which is quite rude of me.”

“No prob,” Sophia replies easily. She was swaying from Haru’s neck, hanging by a silicone phone holder that she had bought from a convenience store. Futaba had guffawed when she saw it, but Sophia’s happy about the purchase. It’s fun, and it lets her people watch from the perspective of one of her friends. “I have been meaning to talk to everyone one by one as to better understand each of you.”

“Oh, good! What better use of a nice chat while doing some shopping along the way?” Haru chirps, thumbing through a rack of out-of-season clearance sweaters as they pass. “I have to admit, I’m not the best when it comes to fashion and whatnot. Most of the time, I ask Ann-chan to accompany me.”

“I can try my best! Online websites are constantly updating in order to provide their readers with the newest trends.” Idly, she takes a peek. “Wide-legged pants are back in style.”

“That’s a relief,” she sighs. “I never pulled off skinny jeans too well. Long, flowy skirts have always been my thing. It just gives off such a nice aesthetic, doesn’t it?”

Sophia smiles. “I think you’d look good in anything. Have you considered going punk? You’d look very dope and intimidating with a black streak in your hair and a leather jacket.”

“Now that I can agree with, but that’s more Mako-chan’s style, I’m afraid.” She pauses. “Actually, I bet Mako-chan would actually like that. Sometimes I feel as though she isn’t willing to branch out of her circle of clothes past a pair of Oxfords and a deep-coloured sweater. A push might be what she needs.”

She considers this. “Is it possible to buy clothes for her? That can be a possible ‘push’, quote unquote.”

“Hmm, I don’t think so. She would never let us do such a thing.”

“One moment.” Pulling out a few files from inside her memory storage, she clears her throat. “According to my data analysis, Niijima Makoto has high difficulty straying away from well-mannered behaviours. Do you think that includes saying no to gifts given to her? That can be advantageous.”

Haru stops walking and pulls the phone up so that they’re at eye-level. “Sophia-chan,” she beams. “I have a feeling we’re going to be very good friends.”

They continue walking down the street when Haru gasps suddenly. “You literally can’t shop, can you?”

“Of course I can. I can get anything in the world for you,” she says proudly. “Anything.”

“Alright, we’ll have to test that later, but I mean you can’t use what you buy,” she frowns, eyes troubled. “Your sweater is adorable, but you’re forced to wear it everyday, right? Can you even do your hair differently? Is it possible for you to pin it, or even let it down?”

Sophia finds it endearing that she would let such a thing bother her. She doesn’t even have a social insurance number, but Haru’s worried about hair clips. “No, but I quite like it the way it is. It doesn’t get in the way when I do my work, and in the Metaverse, it gets completely hidden as to let me do my fighting,” she explains, karate chopping in her screen. “But I can understand the human desire for change.”

“Would you like that?” Haru asks gently. “To change? Um, change out of your clothes, and change mentally. Either one.”

“Change mentally, of course! I’d love to understand my friends better and understand how to help them. It’s a vast mountain of knowledge, but I’d want nothing more than to decode the mystery of the human heart,” she says eagerly. “But for clothes...I’m not sure. I haven’t tried it. I’m pretty sure I can’t try it.”

“That settles it,” Haru looks both ways before crossing the street, jogging slightly.

Sophia perks up. “If you’re heading somewhere specific, I can give you directions.”

“No need.” She has an intense, hungry look on her face, not unlike the one she had when the new axe Akira bought had finally arrived at their RV. “We’re just about here.”

They stop in front of a store, and she can barely read the sign from the phone’s angle. “‘Case in Point’?”

Haru pushes the glass door open, greeting the cashier. “It’s a phone modifier shop.”

There’s no effort to explain anything else, but Sophia can confidently add ‘anticipation’ onto her growing list of experienced feelings.

—

“Out of curiosity—” Haru begins as they exit the modifier store, the cashier still bug-eyed from the tip she had left at his counter. “Can you see everything inside Akira-kun’s phone?”

“Yes,” she replies. The environment that she lives in, and more specifically, Akira’s phone, is now a bright, perfectly polished shade of rose gold with a mint outline. A far cry from the matte black that it was before. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” Her voice is sweet as sugar. “Out of curiosity once again, is there anything interesting? Anything worth noting?”

She jumps as Sophia’s voice suddenly morphs into Akira’s without warning. “Nice try,” the phone plays. “But no.”

And just as quick, Sophia comes back to the phone. “Sorry about leaving,” she says. “Akira had asked me to play that clip if someone ever, and I quote, ‘tried me.’”

Haru giggles. “Just like Akira-kun to be so thorough. Impressive as always, leader.” She peers down at her watch. “I suppose it’s about time to head back, isn’t it?”

“We still have eight minutes to spare.”

“We do. Perhaps we should take a stroll around the park?”

“Cool,” she says. “Wanna ask Futaba and Yusuke if they want to come with?”

“Sure?” Haru blinks. “That’s very specific.”

“On your two o’clock,” she points out. “In front of the book store.”

They watch as Futaba and Yusuke stand across the street from them. Futaba is aggressively pointing her finger at the books on display, then slapping her fist against her palm like she was devising a war strategy. Yusuke shakes his head wildly, comically putting his hands in his pockets and revealing that there was nothing inside. She sighs and walks away, tugging along a dejected boy behind her.

“Aren’t you going to ask them?”

“In a moment.” Haru takes them to the front of the store. “This isn’t a bookstore, I don’t think. What’s it called Sophia?”

After a quick search: “‘Sapporo’s School Supply Store’,” she says. “The alliteration makes it fun to say.”

“Indeed it does.” Peering into the store, Haru makes an introspective noise. “Now isn’t this interesting?” she hums. “Do you mind if I make one more purchase?”

“Not at all,” Sophia says, thrilled to add another point she had learned: If Haru wants something, there’s nothing that will get in her way.

—

“So,” Makoto starts, and Ryuji has to hold back a groan. He knows that tone. He’s memorized that tone. All the second years can feel her tone from a mile away. Hell, Ann probably took an instinctive step back just now. “Have you started to think about university?”

“Nope,” he says, wiping the sweat off his brow as they jog around the corner of Odori park. Back before he had left for his hometown, Akira and Ryuji would be up at dawn to train. Lately though, he’s been using any free time he has that isn’t planning for, prepping for, or actively doing a Jail run to sleep in the RV. And hey, he has no beef with Makoto, and it’s not like she can’t keep up with his training (she can most definitely kick his ass in hand-to hand), but she has a tendency to push when it comes to this sort of stuff. “Not a single thought towards it. It’s been pretty good, actually.”

“I can tell,” she agrees. “It’s almost like you blocked my number.”

“I did not!”

“So you actively choose not to answer any of my texts?”

“Ugh, don’t set me up like that,” he winces. “You know I’m stupid enough to fall for shit like that everytime.”

“Hold on.”

Ryuji grunts as he feels a hold on his shirt, forcing him to stop. “Ew, don’t touch my back, it’s Nigeria there.”

“First of all, it’s Niagara.” She spins him around. He’s only a little taller than her, but something about her always seems to tower over him. “Second, do you know why I keep pushing all of you to go to university?”

“Because you hate us?” he mumbles.

Makoto glares at him. “Try again.”

“...Because you don’t hate us?”

“Because I don’t hate you,” she repeats. “You’re all rowdy and wild and sometimes I don’t understand the jokes you make—”

“You’re just mad ‘cause you fell for a deez nuts joke.”

“But I do, inexplicably, love all of you,” she pushes on, and that shuts him up. “I know what you’re all capable of. Amazing things! I understand you all believe that I’m the be-all end-all, and I appreciate your compliments, but there are some things that only Ann can do, or Akira, or Yusuke.”

Makoto continues running, and he reluctantly follows suit. “And you. You can achieve things that I can’t even dream of, Ryuji.”

He resists the urge to yawn. “Thanks for the pep talk, Niijima.” Looking left, the gelato is looking real good. “Wanna get something to eat? I’m starving.”

“You aren’t very good at hiding secrets, Ryuji.”

Now that grabbed his attention. “Whoa, whoa, whoa there, prez!” Speeding past her, he holds out a hand to make her stop. “What do you mean by that?”

She raises a brow. “Nothing in particular, but your reaction is showing me that I should have meant something by it.”

He gnaws on the inside of his cheek roughly. “Okay, but why did that come into your brain? Why do you think I have some kinda secret?”

“I live with a prosecutor everyday of my life, of course I know when something’s afoot.” Pushing her hair back, she squints up at him. “You’ve been more...jumpy lately, yet somehow more laid-back than usual. I wanted to talk to Akira about this—”

Blood pours into his mouth when he accidentally bites too hard. “You talked to Akira?!” he half yells, red dribbling from the corner of his lips.

“Oh my god!”

“Fuck,” he clamps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry. Bit too hard.”

“N-no! Don’t apologize!” she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a napkin, pulling him to a stone ledge. “Sit and take this so you don’t bleed all over yourself. I’ll be back.”

He doesn’t bother speaking, only nods as she turns around. When she comes back, she’s holding a water bottle. “Here.”

Taking it gratefully, he takes deep gulps before spitting it out. “Why the hell does this taste like the beach?” he splutters.

“I didn’t say to drink it! It’s salt water to get rid of infections!”

“Why would you do that to me?!”

“Because I thought you knew to do that from the second-year health class!” she shoots back. “Gargle it and spit. Near the gutter, mind you, it’s rude to spit in front of kids. They might get the wrong idea.”

As if kids are gonna see him and think that there’s something worth remembering. He sips, sloshing it around his mouth before gently letting it dribble into the grated sewer. “Blegh.”

“You’re welcome. Keep at it. And while you’re doing that,” she sits next to him, shoulder to shoulder. “Do you want to tell me what’s been making you anxious?”

He pauses. “Anxious?”

Makoto gives him a stern look. “‘Experiencing worry, unease, or nervousness, typically about an imminent event or something with an uncertain outcome.’ It was covered in your midterm.”

“Ah, right,” he mutters. Gripping the fabric of his shirt, his heart is beating too quick for it to be normal. Then again, when was the last time it wasn't? “You think I’m anxious?”

“I’m not sure. Keep gurgling,” Makoto chides.

He does, the salt water still red whenever he spat, and she continues. “All I know is when my anxiety gets really bad, I chew on my lip. Sae used to chide me when we were younger, but you know, she got busy,” she shrugs, as if he didn’t know how much it pained her to lose her only family member to a career of protecting the wrong people. “When I mentioned it to Akira, he took it upon himself to check up on me regularly during exam weeks.”

To prove her point, she takes her lower lip and flips it out for him to see—white teeth marks, but old scars instead of anything fresh. Letting go, her expression is smug. “He hasn’t felt the need to check in for a while now.”

Spitting, water finally running clear, he grins. “Good for you. I’m glad to hear that, dude.”

“Thank you, but that wasn’t the point. My point was that I was only able to get better because I told someone about it. Someone I trusted.” Makoto turns to him, her gaze serious. “I know that’s what Akira is to you. Habits like these are harmless at first, but they can turn into something else more dangerous. I won’t stand for that. My own justice won’t stand for that.”

Ryuji opens his mouth, before closing it. I’ll tell Akira, he wants to say. How many times does he have to repeat that line before he starts believing it himself? “Okay,” he says, because it’s the only thing he can say without hating himself even more.

“Okay.” She pats his knee before standing. “I can get us some gelato.” She stretches, wincing as her joints crack into place. “If you’re feeling up to it, start your cool down. Unless you wanna keep training?”

“I’m good. Felt enough blood rush for the day.”

She goes to the ice cream stand, and he stares up at the blue sky.

Makoto’s right, because of fucking course she is. She’s right, he knows she’s right. But she doesn’t get it. To her, Akira’s a friend. A guy who helped her out and changed her life, yeah. If he hadn’t met her when she did, maybe she would’ve become a scummy adult who didn’t look up from market pricing and hedge funds.

But Ryuji? Ryuji would be dead without Akira. That’s a fact and a half.

To Makoto, Akira’s a friend. To Ryuji, he’s Akira, and you can’t be on a higher pedestal in his mind than that.

—

It was Yusuke who took the first step.

“Ann,” he greets cordially. “How do you do?”

She gives him a weird look. “Kinda trying to focus here,” she says, gesturing at the scene in front of them. They, Morgana, and Sophia were in the B team as they watched the rest of them try and get rid of the remaining Shadows in Mariko’s Jail, tersely attentive and waiting on Joker’s word in case they needed a last minute switch. The Jail was environmentally brutal; the ice underneath the soles of their shoes makes them skid more often than they’d like. It almost makes the fights seem quicker, one notch faster than usual.

Yusuke pays her dismissal no mind. “I, myself, am learning many new things lately. Can the same be said about you?”

In the corner of his eye, Futaba pauses typing on her laptop to face palm.

“Are you...” Ann says after a brief pause. “Is this a threat? Are you threatening me?”

“No—”

“Panther!” Akira’s clear voice rings out.

Ann dashes forward without question, high-fiving Morgana as they trade spots.

Futaba marches forward, glaring at Yusuke like he was crazy. “You dolt!” she hisses. “What was that supposed to be? I said be slick and cool, not act like a fool!”

“While I admire the rhyme scheme, I don’t understand what you want from me. That was as ‘slick and cool’ as I’m capable of,” he furrows his brow. “I even opened with a question that seemed as though the conversation would be a normal one, but then used that to transition into what I actually wanted to discuss.”

“Stop looking so proud of yourself and—”

“Fox!”

“Back in a moment,” he says before he’s gone, Makoto taking his place, leather uniform still smoldering from when she took a fire move head-on.

“What was that about?” Haru asks, swinging her axe like a picnic basket.

“Nothing, Noir,” Futaba sighs, plopping back into place where Ann had stood. Carmen had kindly left a warm patch of concrete in her wake. “Just Inari became a big ole’ dumb-dumb.”

“I see,” she hums. “So this has nothing to do with what you two have been conspiring about lately?”

Her eyes shot wide open. “Con...conspiring?” she stutters out. “What do you mean by—”

A particularly loud scream rips into the air, and everyone turns their heads to see Captain Kidd slam his hook into the ground, purple arms erupting from the snow and wiping out a huge chunk of Shadows all in one go.

“Hot damn,” Futaba says, directing her focus back to her laptop and making sure Ryuji has enough health to keep going.

“He’s strong,” Haru observes, all playfulness gone.

“Too strong.” After Futaba gives everyone on the main team a good amount of health, something on her screen makes her pause. “Huh…?”

“Noir.”

Haru turns around to see Makoto waiting for her. “I need to discuss something with you.”

“Of course,” she steps closer to her and drops her voice. “Is everything alright?”

“I’d bring this up with Joker, but I don’t want to bother him if I’m not sure if there’s anything wrong yet,” Makoto pushes her mask up. “But have you noticed Skull's been acting strange lately?”

“Mona!”

He swaps with Ann, her pigtails covered in snow. “Ugh,” she grimaces as she shakes it out. “I could try and melt it, but it’ll just drip down my back and freeze later on, and I do not want that.”

“Panther, I’d like your input as well, if you don’t mind,” Makoto says.

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I was just talking to Noir about this, but did you notice anything strange about the way Skull’s acting lately?”

Ann takes a step back. “Well, what—No—I mean, that’s your opinion, I think!” she exclaims. “To me, Skull's acting is completely normal. He’s normal—actually, scratch that, he’s better than usual. Nothing about him is wrong, I think, and that’s pretty outstanding and impressive once you consider that he’s the one with the life-long injury. Not that that has to do with anything!” Ann yells. “I just wanted to point out how far he’s come, and how much he’s kicking ass right now. Actually,” her voice shifts to a stage whisper. “Don’t mention this because I don’t wanna cause drama, but Fox has been a little weird.”

“Weird how?” Makoto whispers back, looking extremely lost.

“Just earlier, he asked me how I was.”

“...I’m not following.”

“No, Panther-chan has a point,” Haru breaks in. “I can’t say for certain, but I have a strong feeling that Fox and—” she points at Futaba conspicuously. “Are up to something.”

“Sophie and Fox?” Ann breathes.

“Panther!”

“Damn, again? That’s what we get for going into an ice Jail,” she grumbles, swapping with Yusuke.

Haru sighs. “Panther-chan isn’t the best with context clues, is she?”

“Hello ladies,” Yusuke greets. “What were we discussing?”

Makoto gives him a suspicious look. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

His jaw drops, bewildered, but before he can say anything, Futaba waves him over. “Get your fox butt over here!”

“I...Alright,” he says, resigned.

“Look at them,” Makoto nods at the pair. “I think you’re onto something.”

“I think so too, but I don’t want to be too hasty. After all, the two of them are such good friends now; it would be unfair to assume negative outcomes without evidence, or at least confront them first,” Haru says nonchalantly.

She understands immediately. “You have evidence?”

“Something of the sort.”

“Noir!”

“Duty calls,” she gives her a thumbs up, before Ann comes back once again.

“I can’t wait for us to go to a really hot place again,” she kicks the snow with her heels. “Then I’ll be comfortably in the B team because all the Shadows have fire resistance to the max.”

“Oh good, she’s back,” Yusuke’s expression is one of relief.

“Fox—” Futaba warns without looking up from her laptop.

“Come here. There is something we would like to discuss with you.” Whether or not it was intentional, he rests his hand on the handle of his katana.

“Okay but before we start, I just wanna ask—what are you doing with Sophie?” Ann accuses. “It’s fine to be friends with her, but you have to be careful. She’s really susceptible to what we say right now, and if you try anything funny—”

“What are you even saying?” he says, offended. “I barely even talk to her!”

They all glance at Sophia, who had been standing perfectly still and silent. She gives them a wave. They all awkwardly wave back.

Makoto places a hand on Ann’s shoulder. “Panther, Noir meant Fox and Oracle.” Ann flushes red as she continues. “And while we’re all here, I wanted to bring this up with you as well. Have you all noticed something strange with Skull?” Futaba stops typing. “I’m not sure how to explain it, but I think he’s extremely anxious about something. You all know that I’m an overthinker, so I might have the wrong idea but…” she trails off.

Futaba glances at Yusuke. Yusuke glances at Ann. Ann helplessly glances at Ryuji, still fighting alongside Akira and the others.

“I know nobody asked me,” they all jump a foot in the air when Sophia speaks beside them. “But I can at least confirm for suresies that there is something strange with Skull.”

“Which is…?” Makoto prods.

“I don’t know the specifics.” Ann, Yusuke, and Futaba let out a breath. “But he did have a panic attack recently.”

“I knew it!” Makoto snaps her fingers. “He’s had signs of being anxious, but I wasn’t too sure about it.”

“Queen!”

She runs out, and Ryuji comes in, looking exhausted but pleased. “Hey y’all, what were we talking about?”

It was dead silent before Sophia steps forward. “Look what I can do!” she exclaims, changing the expression on her screen to be an emoji with a flower.

“Whoa!” His eyes bug out, and they all sigh in relief. “That’s awesome! Can you do more?”

“That’s super cool Sophie, but,” Futaba looks at Ryuji, skeptical. “Don’t you feel weak right now? Your health is way down.”

“Oh, I didn’t even notice,” he rubs the back of his neck. “Sophie, you mind?”

“Not at all.” She calls for Pithos and green sparkles fall on him. “Better?”

“Thanks, I owe you one.”

“Skull!”

“When the king calls, his knight answers,” he salutes, sprinting out as Makoto comes back in.

“So,” she glares at the rest of them. “What do the rest of you know?”

Ann groans. “Even if I did know something, I probably wouldn’t be able to tell you.”

“Wait,” Futaba points an accusing finger at her. “What do you know?”

“What do I know? What do you know? And for that matter, what does he,” Ann points at Yusuke. “Know? Noir said you guys are doing secret stuff together!”

“That’s preposterous,” he scoffs. “If it was secret, she wouldn’t have known.”

“That’s the dumbest argument I’ve ever heard.”

“How is it dumb?” he asks. “You can’t possibly think that just because Futaba and I are doing ‘secret stuff’ that it has anything to do with Skull’s situation!”

There was a pause. “Are those two connected?” Sophia asks. Futaba buries her face in her hands.

“That was...not the question I expected,” Yusuke answers weakly.

“Sophie!”

“God, I wish Joker would call for Inari instead,” Futaba groans.

Rushing out, Sophia high-fives Ryuji on the way. “Guess who’s back, motherfuckers?”

In an effort to bury their conversation, they all begin cheering overenthusiastically, Yusuke clapping politely. Bewildered, Ryuji instinctively gives them a thumbs up. “Thanks guys. Usually, my jokes don’t really land, but that made me real happy.”

“Uh, Skull,” Futaba raises an eyebrow. “How do you keep losing health? I didn’t even notice you taking a hit.”

“I’m low again? Damn, I didn’t even notice,” he groans loudly. “Queen, can you—”

“I’m on it.”

Just as Johanna heals him, Akira calls out once again: “Skull!”

“Joker really does rely on you, doesn’t he?” Yusuke observes.

Ryuji laughs. If they didn’t know any better, they would think it sounded a little nervous. “Well, gotta jet!”

High-fiving Makoto, he runs out. She stares at the remaining members of the B team. “You all know something,” she accuses. “And I understand if you’re all being loyal to him by keeping what you know close to your hearts. But remember this:” she takes a step forward, and they all take an unconscious step back, Futaba scooting from where she sat on the ground. “There comes a point where it’s actually more important to keep a person safe and healthy than to uphold a potentially dangerous secret.”

They all digest her words for a second, and flinch when a flash of blue flame appears, taking Akira’s Persona away.

“Finally.” He stretches his shoulders, satisfied. “That took awhile. Good work everyone, let’s keep going.”

Making their trek deeper into the Jail, Futaba half-jogs, half-speed walks to Ryuji. “Your health again,” she chides. “Seriously. I know I like to play around, but I always have my eye on you guys when you’re fighting. I literally have not seen you take a hit, but you’re getting drained like milk in a sink.”

He shrugs, unperturbed. “Whatever. You see my hits today, though? They were tough.”

“Yeah,” she agrees reluctantly. “But your health is still low. I’ll call Joker about that.”

Before she can turn, he grabs her wrist. “Nope,” he says. “I’ll ask Panther. Thanks though!”

Ryuji goes to Ann, and he can feel everyone’s eyes on him, watching him, surveying his every move.

All eyes except for the one that really matters.

[rpbetter]

I often see multis post that they want to make a new muse, at the same time as they're backed up on threads and asks, and they get their followers to "enable" them to make that muse in the post replies. What is your take on this? Is it a they-can-do-what-they-want situation, or is it reasonable to be annoyed when I see this? Or both?

Hey, Anon!

Both.

I mean, as usual, this is my opinion of an opinion-based matter. This isn't an equation that has an objectively right to wrong scale, it isn't actually hurting any living person or thing. But...it is incredibly annoying and can be hurtful.

They can totally do what they want, and much of the nature of genuine creativity is exactly that - the allowance of doing whatever you so desire. It's something I support rather adamantly, but it's also something I support trying our best to do responsibly and without being hurtful to anyone in a hobby that involves more than ourselves.

This isn't deciding to write another fic when you've not finished the previous four or five that others were interested in, or never finishing any of your original fiction, but continually starting new projects. While others might be enjoying those things as well, you didn't agree to interact with them. They're audience members, not participants.

When others are participants in a hobby that has to work both ways, it's different. Your actions do affect other, real human beings.

So, I totally feel like you've a right to be annoyed every time you see that happening. I do. I tend to unfollow people who do that repeatedly, as we're not pursuing the hobby in the same way. I'll argue all day that someone has a right to their, sometimes literally, eighty-plus muses they never develop or stick to, but that doesn't mean I want to engage with them as a writing partner.

For those of us who want long-term writing partners with the same, well-developed muses, this kind of thing just is annoying. As is everything else that comes with it.

As in...

They're constantly posting "talk me out of adding x" as code for "talk me into writing x."

No one actually wants to be talked out of it, which was probably more obvious to everyone else here than it was me for a little while lmao I tend to take things rather literally. This was, as one can imagine, not appreciated! Telling someone in total earnestness, "I really don't think that's a good choice. You're always saying how overwhelmed you are and just dropped multiple threads yesterday, so adding another muse is going to make you feel worse eventually. Don't do it! :)" is so not what they were looking for. As was evident by the return meltdown over how they could do what they wanted, like I said they couldn't or had any authority over what they're doing with their time.

It's an obnoxious bit of pandering for a foregone conclusion.

Have you ever seen anyone who posts that sort of thing not pick up that muse? I haven't. I've only seen muns who are legitimately on the fence about it asking others in private conversations or testing out the muse decide against it. The thing that makes this incredibly irritating is the attention-seeking and need to validate something they must know isn't a great choice, otherwise, they'd just do it. They're aware that they're behind on drafts, asks, and other things - aware that this is maybe a dick move when they owe everyone already. So, they're seeking "permission" with full knowledge that multiple mutuals are going to hop on that post with encouragement, even some of the ones being messed over by this choice.

It puts people in a bad situation.

Some of those people genuinely don't care, they just want to interact with any muse, and I'm going to be awful and say it - they don't care about totally interchangeable muses and have them themselves. That's fine, this isn't a problem for them. It is for the mutuals who are hoping that maybe if their writing partner gets into this new muse, they'll get a reply to their threads with that energy, or that they'll stick to this one and they can have consistent interactions with them. It is for the mutuals who feel pressured to respond positively because they fear not responding at all will make them seem like bad rpers.

One more thing playing into the counter logic excuse for shitty behavior of "it's just a hobby" is one more thing too many, and it does exactly that.

No one wants to be accused of being remotely too invested in RP anymore, of taking it too seriously, or having any emotional investment in muses, stories, or muns. Not accepting every choice someone makes that negatively impacts you with a grin on your face while you dump confetti on them for it just isn't a comfortable option for a lot of muns anymore. Honesty isn't a comfortable option. While the other option isn't either, it seems better than that mutual noticing you're the only writing partner who didn't hop onto that post with support any of the multiple times they reblogged it. It's only a hobby in which everyone can do what they want until what one wants clashes. Then, you're getting a callout for being addicted to RP.

And the way it tends to clash most is in having expectations of others. Ones that would be totally normal in any other hobby requiring interaction with other people.

Like not overburdening yourself at the expense not only of yourself but those on your "team." That's what is being done when someone knows they cannot keep up with themselves, but continues to add to the situation with new muses.

Not only are you no longer getting responses already while they're intending to add even more to their overflowing plate, you'll be dropped again when they have to "fresh start" their blog because they're burned out.

I have to put that in quotations because I don't know how it's a fresh start when you keep everything but the blog layout the same. All the muses and all the behaviors, including adding a new one despite not having the time or interest necessary to do so, is inevitably maintaining the problems that led to burnout. Dropping every thread, changing the URL, a new blog layout, new aesthetics, isn't fixing the issue even if it temporarily reinvigorates the mun.

The mun is definitely doing things that are not helpful to them, it's stressful and upsetting to experience burnout, but it's at least that mun's choice. Both to do it and to become defensive over fixing it, thus, never fixing it. It isn't anyone else's choice to be repeatedly dropped or ignored, though...unless they just keep sticking around for it.

Again, we're supposed to respect everyone's choices. That's fine when it really works that way, when it is truly everyone. But it's not an acceptable decision to see a multimuse of twenty or more muses and say that's your limit, that you've experienced too many muns who are serial muse-adders not being able to keep up with themselves, so you don't interact with these blogs. If one feels that way, they had better not put it in their rules or ever be upfront about this as a reason, when one is demanded, for not following back or interacting.

It's not acceptable to see a writing partner adding another muse after they've owed you for months, just wiped their inbox, and keep expressing being overwhelmed/behind and become annoyed. Let alone dropping them or explaining to them why you are doing so.

The only "acceptable" course of action is hoping that they totally forget you exist so you can quietly slip away.

I don't feel like that's especially fair or mature. It certainly isn't helping the communication problem we absolutely do have here in the RPC when only one party is allowed to communicate without fear of being labeled, rather ironically, as a bad RP partner.

While this problem seems to be most prevalent in more casual RPers, it's certainly not isolated there. I feel like it's necessary to say that I've had muns I both interacted with and were simply on my dash alike who were not on that more casual side who went from being multis to being muse collectors. Once they hit over fifteen of them or so, they stopped even bothering to try to refrain from picking up at least one muse from every new piece of media they consumed or were inspired by.

It was more annoying because they had been capable of writing truly unique characters they stuck to, and even if they were, with full and upfront admission before interaction, slower to respond, those responses were well worth any wait for the quality of writing and storytelling going on. That's so much worse than someone who was always at a lower skill level as a writer, didn't have a good grasp on characterization, and wasn't especially dedicated to anything. It's depressing and disappointing, but it's also not what you think you're getting into when trying to carefully pick who to write with. Like everyone else, my time to enjoy this hobby is far from twenty-four-seven as well. It's important to me to try to choose muns I'll work out with well so that neither of us is wasting the other's time. And that's what it feels like - the investment of time was a waste because their hobby became adding infinite muses, or rather, the idea of muses.

So, yes, while it is fully everyone's right to write what and how they want to (even if it amounts to not writing at all), it'd be nice if we were all as committed to doing so in a way that was adult enough to respect commitments we've made to each other as we are, as a RPC, to losing our minds when someone merely drops the words "commitments" or "respect."

For the inevitable muse-collectors running across this:

Fiction is inspiring! That doesn't mean you needn't be inspired by anything, just that picking up or creating a whole other muse might not be the best way to follow this inspiration.

If you're considering another muse, but you find yourself already behind and/or overwhelmed? Try one of these instead:

create a plot based on it! Write up the idea and put it in your wanted plots/wishlist tag. Bring it up to partners you think might be interested in it as well, or seek out a crossover from that fandom

make it a new verse for an existing muse! This is as close as you get to creating a new muse without actually doing so, and in many ways, it takes even more creativity. How is your muse different in this AU than they are in canon, how are they the same? In the ways that they are the same, what similar events but done in a way that is natural/logical to this universe have happened to maintain that? Get really creative!

for either/both of these, make some moodboards and aesthetics with that energy while you're waiting on someone to take you up on these new things. Answer some HC asks or tag games using your new verse, or write an independent HC for the verse or plot

talk to writing partners who already love that muse about their new verse/your desired plot! No, not pressuring talk, just normal conversation between friends, but maybe they will be interested in starting a thread

simply be inspired to include some aspect of what you liked in an existent thread. A particular scene you could pull ideas from, the overall mood of a film, or the way something was written in a book - include that in your replies somehow! RP is creative writing, be creative

There are so many, honestly more organic, directions to take inspiration than bluntly adding a new muse. Especially when you're already overburdened, not holding up your end of replies, and/or not able to portray each muse as their own character properly.

Sometimes, it's not just not a great idea to add a whole new muse, and that's alright. There seems to be a serious problem with fomo going on with this whole issue, too. You're not going to miss out if you do not immediately add this character to your multi, and you're never going to fully keep up with what is trending anyway. Do it because you still want to write this muse in four months instead, they're obviously not going anywhere if that's the case, and they'll be a better developed, interesting portrayal for that.

And people do have a right to be annoyed when they feel sidelined by you seeing a shiny object and repeatedly pandering for validation in dropping them for it. Particularly if you're a mun who, further, expects everyone to be just as interested in every new muse you make as the last. As in, you're annoyed when you keep creating muses no one is falling over themselves to interact with, guilting, shaming, or outright demanding that this new muse is interacted with before they have access to the previous ones.

They don't have a right to be mean you to, but they have a right to be annoyed and to drop you. They even have a right to politely decline explaining this to you if they feel unsafe, or to politely explain it to you before they move on.

Absolutely everyone's right to pursue RP and every facet of it as they so please, but no one else has to like what you're doing.

If this response grates on some of you out there? Consider the other options you have, how you might be making others feel, and that it's actually completely okay to tell yourself no. You won't perish if you tell yourself no to taking on a new muse when you, honestly, should not! It'll be okay! Maybe, you just need to evaluate if there is another muse, or more than one, you should remove before adding one. Maybe, you just need some time to reorganize how you reply before you add this one. "No" when told to yourself can simply mean "no, not right now, it isn't a good time/situation."

[vg-sanctuary]

Bug Fables: The Everlasting Sapling

Moonsprout Games - Switch, PlayStation 4, Xbox One, PC - 2019

I don't like the core gameplay of 99% of all RPGs, but the ones I do like have been some of my favorite games I've ever played. case in point, Bug Fables: The Everlasting Sapling, a modern interpretation of the classic Paper Mario formula and an ideal example of indie developers adding to the legacy of a cult classic. its main feature is turn-based combat with action commands, like old Paper Mario or the Mario & Luigi series, and strategy in its intentional design and small health and damage numbers that goes way beyond "spam damage and heal every third turn, use mana items as needed". (in case you want to be 100% blind for your playthrough, past the Keep Reading link are some very minor spoilers: an item a specific cook can make after a side quest, some basic enemies, environments that are about halfway through the game, and the names of some medals.)

“wow, vg-sanctuary posting about a game that's not even two years old at time of writing? and it's an RPG? are you not a retro/legacy blog anymore? who are you and what have you done with the writer?” I still am a retro/legacy blog, mostly, just this time I thought I'd share something that its developers still get money from, and whose developers aren't mega corporations. and I just beat it, enjoyed it, and really felt like writing about it because it still doesn't have the popularity it deserves even after that puppet guy on YouTube talked about it. not that this post is going to reach any significant number of people, but still. I'll write about some more indie games sometime in the future. (and indeed I am writing about another RPG and you better believe it has a lot to talk about.)

anyway, Bug Fables starts with a brash little bee called Vi and a polite and honorable beetle named Kabbu wandering into an explorer's guild and not having a partner to join the guild with. they reluctantly decide they're going to fight together because companionship is a requirement for this guild, foiling off each other and sometimes off their third friend Leif, a blue moth they find in a cave, for the whole game. every character has a distinct personality and all the party members get some valuable character development through a side quest, which I really liked, but I'm no connoisseur of RPG stories. while I'm on story, people that come here looking for a well-made world will get what they want from the many optional lore books hidden around the world.

the plot becomes more complex and compelling as the game continues, though it generally lets gameplay take the spotlight. which is great, because the gameplay is also mostly great. about a third of it is doing puzzles on the overworld using the abilities of each character to move forward a la the Mario & Luigi series. they generally make use of whatever your newest overworld ability is, and some areas early on have inaccessible things you have to come back to, sort of like a Metroidvania except it isn't required to do this for progression. some puzzles take longer they could because they involve using Kabbu's horn to repeatedly fling an ice block many times over a distance. it's never egregious, but it could have been faster if the guy would use his arms. this is a minor caveat and not a majority of the game.

a lot of people probably don't know how the combat for this or Paper Mario works, and it's really important to Bug Fables, so I'll explain that here. it's turn based, which is typical, but basic attacks and skills need you to time a button press to do as much damage as possible. you can also time a button press when an enemy attacks to take less damage. Paper Mario and Bug Fables also both have medals instead of other equipment that give characters higher max HP or a new skill, for example. you have limited medal points and stronger medals require more points.

this is going to sound like a lot, but any RPG's combat will sound like a lot if you try to detail it in a single paragraph. the game introduces these things slower than I am here. in Bug Fables specifically, the character standing in the front of the group does one extra damage but is more likely to be attacked, and you can pass turns from one character to another in exchange for that character dealing one less damage (which is a lot because basic attacks only deal two damage by default). certain enemies can only be hit by certain attacks; some enemies fly, so Kabbu can't hit them until Vi knocks them down with her beemerang. not a typo, beemerang. and many of Bug Fables' status effects have upsides -- being paralyzed reduces damage taken everything by one, poison has many medals that make it a good thing, and being asleep heals the sleeping character every turn. there are others that are straight up bad things, though, and usually don't come until later. all of this adds up to even small encounters having strategic depth, which is great, and if you don't feel like small encounters you can just avoid them. skills that would typically be relegated to one character, like healing and support skills all going to one, are instead split between party members to make decisions more difficult in a good way. there's also a lovely medal that instantly kills any enemy the game deems too easy for you, sort of like in Earthbound.

I figure I spent more time doing housekeeping like cooking (simple A+B=C or A-becomes-B crafting), buying items, and arranging medals in Bug Fables than in any other RPG, which is because it was designed that way. by the way, cooking recipes start hidden, but a foodie at each restaurant will share some strong ones for free, which is a big help early on. anyone who's played The World Ends with You (i.e. me) will be spoiled by its excellent quality of life: no consumable items and you instantly heal to full after every encounter. it makes items seem like a ridiculous formality that RPGs only still have because they've had them for years, but in Bug Fables any item that isn't simple healing -- a lot of them aren't simple healing -- has great strategic use, and the exact way you spend your medal points can determine whether you win or lose any fight, especially bosses. for example, one character having one extra damage for two turns when they typically only do two is pretty important, especially when they use an attack that does multiple hits, and having it in item form saves valuable medal points and skill points. part of that time was kind of a waste, though, because I generally had one set of medals I use for multiple enemies and one I use for single enemies like bosses. being able to save loadouts would have helped a lot. I would like to compliment Bug Fables on allowing you to restart any boss with different medals without having to repeat cutscenes, and commend it for letting you do-over your level up bonuses late in the game when it starts to matter.

it's not like spending a lot of time on strategizing before fights is strictly mandatory. I was mostly playing on hard mode where enemies have more health and more difficult attacks, and mostly with a medal called Hard Hits that makes all enemies deal one extra damage in exchange for extra money after each fight. it can be less difficult if you'd like, but it's never mindless; even if you're doing a strategy that manages 20 or 30 damage (again, a lot in this game) in a single turn, it takes effort to choose your medals to do so much damage and actually play the strategy out in combat. the combat strategy is the best part of Bug Fables, and it makes each fight almost like a puzzle. I've typed some form of "strategy" six times so far, which is fair because it's the best part of Bug Fables. don't let it put you off, though, it's RPG combat strategy, not chess-like or RTS or something, so if you've enjoyed any other turn-based RPG it should be easy to get used to.

it's also worth mentioning the ample side content. each chapter of the game unlocks a handful of side quests, some about trading, some about combat, and almost as many bonus bosses as main bosses. you're allowed to fight them fairly early on, and a few become available after the final boss that are actually a bit harder than it in classic Paper Mario fashion. basically, if you like Bug Fables, there's a lot of it to play. there's even a trading card minigame because of course there is. it's fairly fleshed out, too, and unlike the one in Chocobo Tales the animations between turns don't take six years. the reward for the whole card side quest isn't something that's important for combat, so you can skip it if you don't like it; I didn't especially like it so I think that was a great decision on the developers' part.

rewards for some of the other side content, though, are so good it's kind of a wonder they can be completely skipped. it doesn't make the game harder to not have those skills or medals, but they are some of the best in the game and undeniably really useful. they make great side quest rewards in that sense, but it's important to know for the people that usually wouldn't do side content. I don't know if that's a common kind of player, but just in case. (this game's 100% achievement has been earned by a sky-high 5.9% of players on Steam. usually it's more like 2% or less. the point is none of the extra content is overly obtuse.)

I will complain about the forced stealth sections though. and be astounded that they fixed the main issue with them in the last stealth section. these are minor caveats and take well under an hour total unless you're really, really, really bad at sneaking, but they bothered me when I got to them. I mean, I understand why they're in the game, I understand why Zelda has them, but I didn't really like them. the main issue for all but the last stealth section is that there's no vision cone or other indication that "if you stand here they will see you" or even an opportunity to recover from mistakes which are incredibly important for playable stealth. the last stealth section does have a vision cone and does have an opportunity to recover from mistakes, which is a great step up. I would like to use even more italics to remind you that these sections total less than an hour of gameplay. Zelda: Breath of the Wild's forced-ish stealth was much worse than this.

I don't know where else to put it, so I'll add here that the soundtrack is great and the graphics are perfectly Gamecube-y and the sprites capture the cuteness of Paper Mario really well, even though they're, you know, bugs. each environment is distinct and themed well, and each one’s music matches well. I really wish I knew how to talk about music because there are a lot of different songs in this game that work well for what they go with. boss music sounds intense and boss-y and appropriate for each boss you're fighting, the not-music hits just right, and everything else feels good. some songs use Nintendo 64 MIDI instruments, which I loved. and the bee boss music has a synth that sounds like bees buzzing.

anyone that likes RPGs -- and even some people that don't -- will probably enjoy the story and strategy that make up the excellent Bug Fables. it goes beyond being a homage to Paper Mario and becomes its own thing entirely, though its roots are obvious from the art style. not that this takes away from it -- Paper Mario is a great legacy, and this manages to be even better. for all its little bad things there are a dozen great ones. I admit I haven't played the classic Paper Mario games, but this made me want more -- I guess I'll have to go back while I hope for Moonsprout Games to continue forward.