#can you tell I can’t draw guns and didn’t bother looking for reference

[tinithebini]

Two guys for the price of one! What a deal! (one of them is severely traumatized and burdened with the impossible weight of the apocalypse) ((actually they both are, very badly))

[thatninjacat27]

For The Record

-part of a short post apocalyptic future au where almost everyone is dead and sonic is living day to day. Sonic isn’t living happily.

-This was originally going to be a small animation using the audio for that tiktok ‘for the record this is self destructive’. But I don’t really have time to draw it. I also don’t know if this would count as a song fic.

-Warnings: references to being an alcoholic, some mentions about a leg getting torn off, this is a suicide mission, it’s a bit sad. (I can’t think of anything else at the moment)

(Link above and below is just the same)

Tails walked by the multitudes of empty bottles of liquor. The piles grew in size with each passing day that Sonic stayed in Eggman’s underground bunker. He needed to go to the workshop where Sonic no doubt attempting to build a weapon.

The fox got to the open door. He could see his brother messing around with cables and having another open bottle on the table nearby, easily within the blue hedgehog grasp if he so reached. Making a decision, Tails flew towards Sonic and stayed suspended in the air behind him.

“For the record, this is self-destructive.”, Tails said he looked from behind Sonic’s shoulder to see his progress on building the weapon to kill Shadow. It looked almost close to completion.

“For the record, I’m aware of that.”, the blue hedgehog said without missing a beat. Sonic didn’t bother to look at Tails. He instead continued what he was doing and then wrote some notes on the schematics and blueprints of what looked to be a gun model.

The fox just sighed. “This wouldn’t bring anyone back, you know. This plan you have is downright suicidal. You can’t defeat Shadow in his new Super form with this gun.”, Tails tried to reason. The plan Sonic had was insane, stupid, and he was basically begging to die. He didn’t even have a backup plan in case things went south in place yet, and there wasn’t a thought about what happens if and after he somehow succeeded in this endeavor. 

“Gee Tails, I didn’t know you had so little faith in me.”, Sonic rolled his eyes. He put on a welder’s mask and began to blowtorch parts of the gun. 

“That’s not it, Sonic, and you know it. I just don’t want to see you to get hurt again. The violence that Shadow is capable of now. Your prosthetic leg is a prime example of this. Remember what he did. You guys were fighting and he tore it clean off.” The fox shuddered at the thought, while Sonic slightly trembled. The blue hedgehog had to put down his tools due to his shaking. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake this close to the end.

“It didn’t matter that he loved you. Shadow was really trying to kill you that time. It was thanks to Eggman that you even made it out alive.”, Tails continued as Sonic begun to get his body under control. “Your “former”boyfriend became a monster who has taken over the world and is more obsessed about possessing you and hur-“

“Tails,”, Sonic interrupted. He really didn’t want to hear any of this anymore. “You know what you can do to help me out around here buddy instead of trying to talk me out of this?”

“What?”, Tails asked. 

“How about you tell me where the firing pin for this particular model is and actually be helpful right now.”, the older sibling coldly recommended. 

The fox was taken back by the harshness in Sonic’s tone. He looked at the blue hedgehog’s back with sad eyes. If Tails continued to press this conversation, they wouldn’t get out of it without it evolving into a shouting contest. Sonic felt the gaze of those eyes, burning holes through his back.

“Okay.”, the fox said softly. It was softer than a whisper and difficult to hear. He sounded so dejected that it made the blue hedgehog feel guilty about his treatment towards his younger sibling. But when Sonic turned around, there was no one there.

The blue hedgehog knew he shouldn’t have felt disappointed in Tails’s disappearance or guilty about what he had said to his little brother. After all, these little encounters happened all the time after his final companion, Eggman, died from illness. But he still did. This really cemented the fact that Sonic was slowly growing crazy from being constantly alone. There was just no one else here in this bunker but him and his thoughts.

[slasherscream]

Hi I don’t know if you write for Thomas Hewitt or Vincent Sinclair but if you do you could you please make some headcanons about them and the other slashers like if they got into a fight with their s/o and how it would go, what it would be about, and how they would make up with their s/o please? It’s totally fine if you don’t want to. But if you do then thank you so much!

fighting with the slashers 

A/N: i do write for vincent (on a related note i also write for bo and maybe lester i haven’t tried him out yet)!

vincent sinclair 

You didn’t stay put when Vincent told you to and you got hurt. 

You hadn’t planned to leave. Until the sun started to go down and no one came back to the house to check up on you the way they so often do when there are visitors in town.

You are Ambrose’s second best kept secret. Alive because Vincent took one look at you and couldn’t bare to hurt you. And though Bo gripes about you he couldn’t tell Vincent no. Not when Bo saw the way Vincent held you behind him, head lowered but shoulders set, ready to actually fight him on something for once in their lives. 

So you’re kept in the house when there are people around. Other than not being able to leave it’s your only real rule. Vincent wants you to have no part in the more grisly aspects of the town and Bo and Lester honor his wish.

But the town is dead silent and no one has come to check on you. Most times Lester even comes to stay with you like some sort of babysitter. It used to irritate you, despite your fondness for the youngest brother. Now without him there your hands shake, and your eyes wander, and your ears burn as if pumping extra blood there will make you hear better. But there’s nothing to be heard. No screams. No cries. No Bo shouting. No guns going off. 

So you leave the house, searching for one of them. Instead you’re found by a survivor and held hostage in front of the twins. 

You all stand still for a long while, the victim not knowing what to do and the boys unable to move due to the knife digging into your neck, already drawing blood. 

Lester had been the one to save you, sneaking up behind your captor and stabbing them. You ran to Vincent on shaking legs and he gathered you into his arms, moving to take you back home. You could hear the screams of the man who’d almost killed you ringing through the streets behind you and shivered.

Vincent had cleaned your cut in silence and somehow had managed to barely touch you. Before you could blink he’d shut himself into his workshop and you were left alone until Bo came home and chewed you out.

You kept yourself busy cleaning and then prepared for bed, knowing it would be awhile before Vincent would come and join you. The sleep didn’t come easy as you were still shaken up, but eventually it came. 

You woke in the middle of the night to an empty bed and realized that if you didn’t go to get him Vincent wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight. 

You walk drowsily through Ambrose’s underbelly, the smoldering heat not doing you any favors, until you arrive at Vincent’s workshop where he’s hunched over his desk, unmoving. 

Not wanting to startle him you call his name quietly and you see his head tilt in acknowledgement but he doesn’t turn to look at you. 

Slowly you move until your front is resting against his back, even slower your arms encircle him and you kiss his shoulder, feeling guilty at the tension laying dormant in them. “I’m sorry, Vince. I was just worried about you so... so I left the house. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry I didn’t listen. I won’t do it again.”

He turns and there’s a pause, and then he moves his hands, fluid but slow. They’re shaking despite how strong you know they are. He tells you how he can’t lose you. How he loves you. He asks you to promise him that next time you’ll listen and you do, and you mean it. 

It’s only then that he pulls you into his lap and holds you tightly. You think he’s crying behind his mask but you just hold him back equally as tight and whisper I’m sorry against his steady pulse. 

pelle

He doesn’t like the company you keep. 

He has a plan. He has a plan to take you away from this strange, uncaring world that doesn’t deserve you. That doesn’t love you or care about you. If he sticks to the plan everything will be so easy. 

But sometimes Pelle loves you too much to bite his tongue. 

He can see it clearly, your perfect future where he takes care of you, and his family takes care of you, and you let them do it, and you’re happier for it; but you don’t live in that perfect future, you live in the frigid, imperfect present.

Here you stay up late in the night to help a friend finish a term paper when last week they didn’t even call when you were sick. You gave a classmate your umbrella to borrow a month ago, and today you come back shaking from the rain because they never bothered to return it.

A thousand little kindnesses that the world outside the Hårga spit on. 

He knows that all these moments of careless apathy towards you will only strengthen the draw you’ll feel when you finally meet his family.

You have the heart of a Hårga and he knows that you’ll feel that connection.

Still, the way the outside world, the way your friends and family slight you at every turn, makes his blood run hot. He’s never felt anger like this before. It is all consuming and yet he must stomach it alone.

And so his tongue is careless sometimes. He asks in tones that he shouldn’t use with you “you’re going out with them again?” and “but didn’t they-?” and still he is angry. The words do not ease the feelings because they do not fix the problem. 

Pelle must lead you into the arms of his family and their way of life. He cannot push you. But he doesn’t know how not to take care of you. 

He wants to beat away the leeches and moths that cling to your light and whisk you away to home where the sun will warm you with its love.

Your fights are gentle, and so you might never refer to them as fights when people ask you if you ever argue with Pelle. 

There is no yelling, or balled fists, or the animal sensation of fight or flight. He leads you to sit down with him and holds your face in his hands. Unthinkingly you mimic the gesture and he smiles at you lovingly. One kiss and he tells you that he doesn’t like your friends. Another and he says that you deserve better, deserve the world. 

You try to get a word in edgewise, to deny the claims he makes, to tell him that they really do care about you, but the words are smothered by his soft lips. He kisses you until your brain goes somewhere loved and numb. He slips your coat off of your shoulders and pulls you close. He keeps you there until you forget that you had anywhere to be besides his arms. 

You and Pelle don’t fight. 

chucky and tiffany 

Tiffany is used to Chucky being a piece of shit. You are not.

Upside to fighting with Chucky is that Tiffany is immediately on your side, even if you’re in the wrong (I’m joking it’s always Chucky’s fault.)

Downside is that the whole house is now up in fucking chaos. 

chucky: tiff where are my fucking keys?

tiffany: in hell! why don’t you go and grab them?

You appreciate her fighting spirit but she’s really going in on y’all’s man. 

Which is not to say that Chucky doesn’t deserve it. Because he does deserve it, but you know from personal experience that being on Tiffany’s bad side is scary.

Why are you and Chucky fighting? Chucky is an insensitive asshole, and even the toughest skin isn’t bullet proof. 

The aftermath of whatever Chucky did is a lot of sullen silence from you; the sounds of a knife chopping a little too loudly in the kitchen from Tiff; and loud bits of huffing and puffing from Chucky as he stomps around the house. 

At first he thinks he can just wait out your anger until you start missing him. It used to work with Tiffany all the time!

But this relationship involves three people. You’re not so quick to get desperately lonely, especially if Tiffany isn’t the partner you’re fighting with. Do you miss Chucky? Sure. Do you miss him enough to let him be an asshole just to get some cuddle time in on the couch? As if! Tiffany is the better cuddler anyway. 

The man child is going to have to say sorry and mean it. 

Of course this means that your relationship is going be sans-Chucky for at least a week.

Tiffany reaches the breaking point before Chucky does. Obviously more in-tune with your feelings she can tell how much the fight is getting to you and no one messes with her sweetheart! Not even Chucky.

You’re going to hear her delicately clearing her throat, look up from your phone, and find Tiffany holding Chucky at fucking knife point. 

tiffany: do you have anything to say, chucky?

chucky, trying to decide if he’ll let tiffany kill him just to prove a point: ....

tiffany: i’ll start with your dick-

chucky: i’m sorry! are you fucking hAPPY?!

You’re gonna be like no!!! I do not accept the apology you gave me under extreme duress! At which point you turn over in bed and pull the covers over your head.

You’ll hear rapid-fire whispering and then the bed dips behind you. A knee presses into your back, and kisses are pressed carelessly to where your head should be beneath the covers. Then, finally, the quietest “I didn’t mean it, doll.” as he pulls the blanket back in order to look at your face. 

You’re stopped dead by the softness on his face. By the softness he let’s you see, even if it’s only for a moment. It might not be the words I’m sorry but it sounds like them. It sounds like an I miss you, as well.

When you drop your phone and throw your arms around his neck, touching him for the first time in a week, Chucky sighs in relief. 

Not ten seconds passes before Tiffany has thrown herself over the both of you, suffocating you in her loving embrace. Just like that, balance is restored in the Lee Ray-Valentine household. For now. 

[writing-in-april]

The Melody Lives On

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Seeing Spencer after so long apart makes past feelings come to the surface again.

A/N: Hey heyy 🥰 this is my third fic for my 1250 follower celebration!! It was based on a request that @imagining-in-the-margins passed along to me- if you want to see a photo of the original request it’ll be on the follower celebration Masterlist! It’s got vague references to the prison arc and is also inspired by Grey’s Anatomy 🥰 Thank you to @lexieshuntingsstuff for getting me back to realizing how much I love Grey’s 😊 Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy, and requests are open!

Warnings: Nothing I guess- unless vague references to the prison arc bother you

Main Masterlist Word Count: 2.2k

“Dr. Y/L/N to conference room A please. Dr. Y/L/N to conference room A please. ” Came through the intercom. I was sitting in the hospital cafeteria munching on crackers while reading a book that I honestly wasn’t paying that much attention to because of how dead tired I was. I couldn’t stifle the groan that escaped me, I didn’t want my first break in what seemed like forever to be cut short.

Besides the fact that my bones and muscles ached I willed my body to move out of my chair despite it’s very prominent protests. There was a line of attending that led outside the conference room, I guess I had been the only one they had forgotten to get the memo out too.

Karev then came up behind me with just as much of a quizzical look on his face as mine and the rest of the attendings- I guess no one knew why we were here.

The only hint that the rest of us got to what was going on inside was when Arizona left the room and said it was some sort of FBI interrogation before she scurried off back towards peds.

As the line dwindled down to just me and Karev with Meredith in the room my mind started to wander to the person that I knew that happened to be in the FBI. Well- I guess I didn’t know him anymore, it had been a decade plus since I had seen him.

Of course said person that I happened to be thinking about happened to be in the room.

As soon as I saw his fluffy hair memories came flooding back. He looked so different now, more mature. But, I could clearly tell who it was; it was Spencer.

We had met just as I had been starting my first year of college. At first I had assumed he was the same, a freshman. Then I had learned that he was actually already on his second PHD- which had been in mathematics if my memory serves me well.

I had admittedly gawked at him at first like so many had done to him as well when they found out about his vast valleys of intellect that seemed to go on forever. When I had asked him to tutor me in my own mathematics course it was for the sole reason of bumping up the grade I had let slip. That was until I had gotten to know the sweet boy who was almost a man, though his baby face definitely did try to fight that fact. Guilt had immediately cropped up within me once I realized how much of a fool I was to not want to get to know him deeper than just the ‘child prodigy’ that everyone knew him as. He was one of the nicest people I had ever had the pleasure to come across, plus his bountiful knowledge made conversations with him extremely riveting to say the least. I remember apologizing to him profusely that first night, that was the first time I had gotten the chance to see the true extent of how sweet his kind eyes could be.

What had first been a simple somewhat feigned friendship to get a good tutor turned into the closest friendship that I had ever had. That close friendship had eventually turned into a romantic relationship one that in my opinion rivaled any of the great classic love stories.

Unfortunately, fate is rarely kind to lovers and what had once been sweet turned sour. It wasn’t any one of our faults, I knew that. But, my blossoming career as a surgeon led me to get an internship in Seattle while Spencer was led to the front steps of the FBI.

Every time I thought back on it I bitterly laughed at the irony of us both being led to Washington, though they were different ones that were on the other sides of the country. I had no animosity towards Spencer and the last time I saw him neither did he. But, the memories stung painfully when looking back on them. They stung even worse when I was faced with the sight of the man who had stolen my heart more than a decade ago and had yet to give it back.

His hair had grown out since I had last seen him, it now curled more around his ears and was much fluffier. The color of his soft curls would make anyone obsessed, mousy brown that shined a little bit of a burnt caramel when the tops of his curls hit the light. He had taken to letting his curls run wild which I had always liked to see when he would wash his hair of the gel he used to religiously put in.

A new addition along with his curls was the scruff he had begun to let grow out a little. When I knew him growing out his scruff a little would’ve been a completely foreign concept to young Spencer. I remember him always complaining about how scratchy it felt when he even let it grow out a little. The scruff also used to seem jarring on his younger face, looking out of place on his boyish face. Now his face definitely suited the scruff.

He had changed a lot indeed, but underneath it all I could still see the Spencer I knew. His eyes held a darkness now that matched well with the fluffy curls and scruff. The darkness that deepened his eyes was attractive for sure, but I wondered what had made the sweet boy become so dark. There was a part of me that wanted to know this Spencer as well, even with the darkness, despite the fact that I hadn’t really known him in so long.

His eyes had been piercing right into my own as I took the sight of him in. Those dark eyes felt like they were reaching right into my soul and hooking their claws in deep to draw me right back into him. Though I can’t say I minded much, being drawn back into Spencer’s warmth sounded like something we may both need.

“Dr.?” One of the men that was in the room with Spencer spoke up to get my attention. They must have been talking while the both of us had zoned out looking at each other.

The older man that spoke to me looked like he may have been a bit too old to work for the FBI. If I didn’t know that Spencer worked for them I would’ve thought Arizona had been pulling our legs when she told us what this was for because Instead of acknowledging the other man I turned back to face Spencer and spoke softly,”It’s good to see you, Spencer.”

“You too.” His voice croaked and was hoarse when he replied. His coworkers looked extremely confused with what was happening, especially the woman with blonde hair that was eyeing me up and down. Though in her position I didn’t blame her, I’m assuming nothing had ever been shared with his coworkers ever since he had joined the FBI about someone that had been in his life all those years ago.

The group of us stood at an awkward standstill for a minute, I was unsure if I was supposed to say anything. I fidgeted a bit uncomfortable with a bunch of eyes fixated directly on me before Spencer decided to speak up to break the tension, “Um- well Y/N- there was a suspect that came here a few weeks ago to possibly find some people that would um- be suitable victims for him.”

I pushed my reminiscing thoughts of Spencer out of my mind just so I could properly answer their questions before hopefully snagging a minute away with him to talk. I wouldn’t lie, seeing him after all these years made my feelings flicker in a way I hadn’t felt in so long. And, it was really nice to hear him say my first name again. He was really the only one to ever make those butterflies in my stomach swell and sparks fly. I had even resigned myself to never feel those wonderful feelings of blossoming love again.

But, perhaps fate had decided to give us a second chance, realizing it had been too cruel to us by pulling us apart.

When the questions ended, which unfortunately I had really been no help to them- the only people that would’ve been able to help with the victims were probably Meredith or maybe Bailey who had been in contact with the poor people who had ended up as victims.

I moved to shuffle out of the room, though I purposefully lingered in hopes of Spencer pulling me aside to speak privately. I didn’t want to do it myself, he was on an important job after all.

My heart skipped a beat when I felt his fingers tentatively wrap his fingers around my wrist. Even from just a soft touch it was evident that his hands were not the same hands that I remembered. They were the same shape, his fingers were just as long and nimble and his palms were just as all encompassing, but there was something different in the way they felt. They felt rougher, covered in more calluses then I would think possible on him. The hands I remembered were baby soft as if they had been untouched by the world. Maybe the calluses were just from him handling the gun I saw strapped to his side, or maybe it was the same thing that had made the rest of him harder.

Even though he was an obviously harder- more damaged man compared to the one I knew I still wanted those callused hands to stroke my cheek again.

The yearning to be with him again had already flickered into a roaring fire just from seeing him with my eyes again and with one soft touch. I didn’t care in the slightest how much the world had changed him. The world had battered and bruised him, probably quite literally from my guess. I wanted to get to know this Spencer, even with the bruises he still filled my stomach full of butterflies and sparked my feelings into a roaring fire exactly like he had done so before.

I turned to face him, a little nervous that he’d tell me that he never wanted to see me again despite the fact that I knew he’d never say that to me no matter how much of a changed man he was.

“Do you want to get a coffee while I’m in town, maybe so we can- um catch up after your shift?” His voice was so soft, almost meek, giving me a little taste of what Spencer had been like and who he still was at his core.

“Yeah I’d like that, Spencer, just have one more surgery and then I’m yours.” His two coworkers that he had come with were giving us both looks like they’d be interrogating Spencer on the ride back. Yeah he definitely had never said anything about me judging by their looks I now cared to look at. I couldn’t blame him, the memories had been painful to look back on myself. But, seeing him now made them tinge with a little bit of sweetness instead of growing more bitter with time.

I pulled out my phone that was in my white jacket pocket and asked, “what’s your number?”

I had his old number memorized by heart easily even after all these years. It was as if I had taken a small portion of Spencer’s eidetic memory just so I could hold onto a number that after over ten years is surely not usable. He gave me his new number with a distinctly D.C area code with a sweet smile on his face. As I left the room to scoot over to the surgery I was due to perform I was sparkling with anticipation- I could almost taste the coffee already.

As I started my last surgery of my long shift, someone turned on the music playlist that I always had on a loop during my surgeries. A song that reminded me of Spencer was the first one that came on the shuffle. It wasn’t one that reminded me of the Spencer I once knew, but the new version of Spencer I had just met.

I focused in on the task at hand just as I always did. Cutting with pristine precision, I worked quickly but diligently. I wanted to get out of here as soon as possible, but I wouldn’t skimp on my work. In the back of my mind I was still giddy like the schoolgirl I had been when I had first met Spencer. I couldn’t wait to get that coffee with him- I wondered if he still liked a gallon of sugar with it. Our first song had ended, but the melody lived on- maybe the melody was strong enough to start another.

—-

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

All Works:

@shotarosleftpinky @oreogutz @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg

Spencer Reid/CM:

@calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes

[excitedlysuffering]

Green With Envy

It’s past 2am and my eyes hurt so it’s unedited for now sorry y’all😅

Original Request (from Wattpad account): What makes the boys jealous, if possible?

Guest stars: Sasori and Sai!

Masterlist     

Naruto~

Oh, this boy… he’s too oblivious sometimes he doesn’t even know to be jealous. He was at a hot spring with friends once and someone says, “(Y/N) is so hot…” Naruto just grinned and said, “Yeah, she really is.”

But that doesn’t mean he won’t protect your honor. If someone says something a little too… risque like ‘Yeah, I’d tap that’ for example, get ready for more Narutos than you can count all charging you with a Rasengan.

He will not stand other guys cozying up to you. He’s the one who should be blessed with your hugs and cuddles. Won’t hesitate to cause a scene and yell to the entire world that he loves you and won’t let any other guy make a pass at you.

“Naruto, you didn’t need to go that far! You blasted him through three walls!” He’s endearing, really.

Sasuke~

Is jealousy an Uchiha thing or just a Sasuke thing? One of life’s many mysteries. Anywho, unlike Naruto, the second your name is brought up in conversation, he goes on guard and he’s listening closely.

If anything is said that he deems inappropriate, whether it be disparaging or otherwise, Sasuke had better be held back or he just might punch you into next week.

“Sasuke, calm down! He just said I had good taste in clothes!”

Even though he can easily get jealous, he knows the importance of freedom and he trusts you. He won’t come guns blazing (or sword slashing rather) and drag you away unless you need it of course.

The last thing he wants is for you to feel like you’re dating your dad or something. He’s very blunt and if he becomes uneasy with the way another male is talking to you, he’ll let said male know. Maybe after scowling with his Sharingan activated, however.

Neji~

Neji doesn’t really get jealous per se, more like offended on your behalf. Because of his upbringing, which taught him manners and the utmost respect, he really can’t understand talking about girls like they’re objects? Will never refer to a woman as ‘hot’ or anything like that.

If someone even dares speak of you like that, (even if you’re not necessarily together yet) he will fight them, and they will experience the 64 palms technique.

He especially hates people in your personal space. He really does trust you, just not others. Is not afraid to embarrass someone on your behalf. Half the time his glare is enough to scare them off, but some people are just clueless. (They wake up in the hospital)

“Neji! You can’t just throw me over your shoulder and leave! And that guy looked like he had seen a ghost?!” Needless to say, even cool, calm, and collected Neji has his limits.

Shikamaru~

Shika is too laid back to get jealous over little things. Somewhat like Neji, he doesn’t get jealous. He might feel threatened on your behalf, but never jealous. He can trust you with his life why shouldn’t he trust you with your relationship?

However, if someone is clearly harassing you or just generally making you uncomfortable, he will not hesitate to step in and make them leave. He won’t resort to physical violence (too much work), but he will intimidate them or put his genius to use and play some kind of trick on them.

He honestly has endless patience and at the same time no patience? Patience with you if you’re having a pleasant conversation with someone, but will go from 0-100 (or 50, really, anything more is a lot of effort) real quick.

“Shika, that guy thought he was really paralyzed, thanks to your shadow possession!” Being jealous is a waste of time, but clever revenge is always a treat for Shika.

Kiba~

So. Jealous. So. Easily. Kiba is naturally animalistic (in the best way) and just like a dog, can be very possessive. If explicitly asked, he will try to tone down his jealous fits, but will still be protective. If he does have free reign, however, oh boy…

No chill at all, whatsoever. Whether it’s absolutely destroying the object of his rage or just simply making out with you right there. No matter how annoyed he may get, he respects you with every fiber of his being and would never tell you to change or try to control you. He wouldn’t ever embarrass you (unless Kiba and Akamaru pummeling a room full of guys is embarrassing).

Just let him FIND OUT someone is making you feel the slightest bit of unease. One second, they’re chatting you up and then BAM! There’s a flash of white and a huge dog ready to maul them.

“Kiba, what do you mean they all looked at me for too long?! We walked in the door, of course, they turned to look!”

Gaara~

Gaara is a bit of a conundrum, but in a way that makes sense? Like, he doesn’t feel the need to get jealous of guys because when you leave, he’s going to be kissing you goodnight, and he’s the one who gets to spoil you.

However, he will get jealous of little things. Oh, you’ve spent a good amount of time playing with an animal/pet? Be prepared to walk in on Gaara giving them a stern lecture on stealing you from them. Gaara knows he has any potential suitors beat, but tiny adorable animals and children? In his mind, he can never be too cautious.

He gets a little pouty but that can easily be cured with cuddles, sometimes with that evil little pet that stole your affections from him. He can never stay jealous for long, he views it as an unproductive waste of time. He could be actively trying to get your attention, but instead, he’s going to be sulking in a corner? Yeah, no.

“Gaara! Stop scolding my cat, that’s not doing anything!”

Sai~

On the rare occasion that this cinnamon roll gets jealous, he’s confused and shocked. Like just imagine the surprised Pikachu face and that’s him. He knows what jealousy is, he can identify it just fine, but he doesn’t know why he’s jealous.

You aren’t doing anything, all you did was laugh at someone else’s jokes, but still… do you find them funnier than him? Are you going to leave him because he’s not that funny?! Cue the slow onset into insanity… Poor Sai is losing his mind to paranoia and made-up scenarios.

Will most certainly drag you away (gently) from whoever is taking your attention and leave. He doesn’t even bother with a fake smile, they don’t deserve it. He’ll explain to you calmly even though he’s panicking on the inside. Once he is back to normal he’ll show you his nearest artwork.

“What the-! Sai, you can’t just draw caricatures on people’s car!” You don’t even want to know how he figures out which car is theirs...

Kakashi~

Too cocky to be jealous. He has the right to be though because one glance at him without his face mask can cause instant pregnancy. Anywho, he knows you love him and some guy trying to hit on you like some high school douche isn’t going to change that.

He does like to intervene, however, just to flex like ‘yeah, I’m the boyfriend, now get lost’.

He’s not big on PDA, so he won’t start kissing you to ward off strangers, but he will wrap on arm around you or hold your hand and ask who your ‘friend’ is.

When there’s that one stubborn person who won’t take a hint, Kakashi doesn’t mind rocking someone’s world or getting kicked out, he needed to perfect that one offense technique anyways. He’s pretty laid back though, so it has to be somewhat drastic for this though, plus he knows you can handle yourself.

“A thousand years of death?! Isn’t it weird to be poking old men in the butt?!

~Akatsuki~

Pein~

Pfft. Who does he have to be jealous of? He’s a god among mortals, after all. To him, you’re a goddess and as such you belong with someone like him, not the peasants around you.

But on the offhand chance that someone doesn’t heed his godly status, he will not hesitate to pull you into his side and yell ‘Almighty Push’ and totally obliterate that loser. (A/N: Holy crap I think that needs to be a one-shot cuz, wow, Pein being all protective is making me swoon?)

If it’s not a big deal, he’ll easily let you take care of it. If you’re strong enough to catch Pein’s attention, you’re more than strong enough to deal with some lowlife. That doesn’t mean, however, that they won’t feel his wrath too.

If you ever want to witness a true royal rumble, dare someone to mess with Pein’s S/O. It’d be an epic tag team match (slaughter, really) for the ages. One would d be surprised how quick he can lose his cool when it comes to you.

“Pein, that’s the fifth time this month! Kakuzu is going to murder me if I ask for money to fix this wall!”

Deidara~

Need I even say it? Jealous boy all the way. You’re his favorite masterpiece so why should let an uncultured swine who doesn’t even understand your worth touch you? Rhetorical question, he wouldn’t.

He is not above fighting or placing a bomb on someone who gives you one too many glances. He’d make sure they knew it wasn’t art, they weren’t good enough for that, before blowing the offender up.

No one and he means no one gets to talk bad about his S/O. If someone insults you in his presence they might as well as swallowed one of his explosives and trusted him not to blow them up.

Will one 100% hide you from view if you look too appealing. He thinks you look ravishing, but he’s the only one who should be able to think that, in his opinion. Don’t worry, no one’s ever gotten close enough to harass you with Dei around. His one-eyed scowl is a great deterrent.

“Deidara! You blew up my favorite restaurant! He didn’t even say anything to me!”

Sasori~

Would rather die before admitting he was jealous. As adamant about not being jealous as he is about art being eternal. That’s not to say that he won’t take action though. He will use chakra strings to make the perpetrator walk away, meanwhile making them bump into literally everything in the general vicinity.

The two of you don’t leave the base all that often so it’s unusual to see an envious Sasori action, but it’s a real treat when it happens. After he deals with whatever idiot crossed him, he’ll be a bit more affectionate that day/night.

Not huge things, but instead of working on puppets all night, he’d be more apt to hold you that night. Average people hitting on you make him insecure because he realizes he’s not that great at normal relationships but he still doesn’t want to lose you. That feeds into his jealousy and he figures the only way to get rid of it is to make sure those other guys can’t offer anything he doesn’t have.

“Sasori! If you wanted a hug, you could’ve said that instead of treating that guy like a ball inside of a pinball machine!”

[firstofficerwiggles]

Chapter 2: Adventures in Space Babysitting

Link to Chpt. 1, Chpt. 3

Pairing: The Mandalorian x female reader

Rating: T

Warnings: Mild swearing, sexual arousal, references to sexual relationships, canonical violence

Word Count:~5600

Summary: Caretaker reader is settling into her job and she realizes she has a crush on Mando. Some fluff, action, and little angst in this chapter.

Author’s Note: Welcome to Chpt. 2! I haven’t really written anything with angst before so I hope you think that part went okay. Thanks for reading!

The little green body launches itself up onto your bed yet again waking you in the early hours of the morning. The child snuggles up close to your chest and you can’t help but rub his little back with soothing motions. You have tried to get the child on a routine these past few weeks, and this seems to be the one pattern he’s most pleased to follow every day. The first time he showed up in your bed you thought Mando had placed him there as a subtle hint that it was your turn to be on child duty. However, when you heard Mando frantically looking for the toddler that first morning, you knew the little one had managed to sneak his way over to you all on his own. Neither you nor Mando know much about the child’s life before Mando rescued him, but it seems to you that it must have been difficult, because he appears to be starved for affection and he seeks it out every chance he gets. You’ve always been a cuddler yourself though so you are happy to oblige him and honestly although it means you don’t get to sleep as much as you used to, you love your early morning snuggles with him. Besides, it helps keep your mind off how much you’d like to snuggle Mando.

This silly crush on Mando has hit you out of nowhere and you feel like a complete fool for even acknowledging it. You suppose it can’t be helped to a certain extent, as he has to be hands down the nicest man in the entire galaxy, implausible as it may seem. He’s a gun-for-hire, rough and tough bounty hunter, covered in armor and weapons, and yet he has been nothing but thoughtful and respectful towards you. When you first spoke to him about establishing a better schedule for the child and working on some developmental milestones, he listened carefully and encouraged you to do what you felt was best. Other men you’ve known in the past would have questioned your recommendations or only half-listened to you dismissively. But Mando asked thoughtful questions that showed you he valued your opinions and then he was sure to comment on how well things were going after you began implementing the changes. You couldn’t remember the last time an employer gave you a compliment on your work, and it was just nice.

Then there was the first time he brought back a bounty to the ship. He’d been gone for about two days and when he returned, he was dragging a large alien man behind him. While you tried not to be overly curious, you couldn’t help but watch him as he manhandled the guy into the carbonite freezer. You were impressed with his strength, but it also made you feel a little bit wary as he next strode over towards you and the child. Your cautiousness melted away quickly though as Mando placed a bag of berries on the crate sitting next to you, mentioning that he noticed how much you seemed to enjoy them and thought you’d like to have some more. The thought of him noticing such a detail and then taking the time to stop and buy the berries for you made you want to swoon. You told yourself you were being ridiculous and that it was clearly just an overreaction to someone finally being nice to you.

The child is starting to get squirmy and you know that means he’ll be looking for breakfast soon. You listen carefully for Mando and realize that he must either be still asleep or up in the cockpit. Either way, you doubt he’s eaten any breakfast yet as he seems to prefer your cooking over his own. You toss back your covers and get yourself ready for the day. You decide to make eggs this morning, the little one’s favorite food that isn’t sugar-based. You are just finishing cutting up some fruit to go with the eggs, when you hear Mando’s boots behind you.

“MMM, smells good.” He says sounding still a bit sleepy. “I’m starving.”

You turn around with a plate all ready for him and a cup of caf, telling him “Lucky for you, I knew you would be.”

“Thank you, I don’t know how I survived without you,” Mando replies. Your heart sings at his words and you quickly turn back to the food so he can’t see the goofy smile breaking out on your face.

“Mostly on ration bars it seems.” You noticed he had quite the stash of them when you were first on board. Fortunately, you’ve convinced him to try to get a greater variety of food whenever possible.

“Well, my taste buds thank you too.” He carries his breakfast into his bunk where he can eat in privacy. At first, you felt sad for him always having to eat by himself, but you realize he must be so used to it that it probably doesn’t bother him. Nonetheless, it hasn’t stopped you from thinking up ideas for a shared meal sometime in the future, maybe when he knows you better and his trust in you is stronger.

After breakfast, you’re getting the child ready for a day out on the town. Mando is dropping off several bounties today which means you’ll be able to stretch your legs off the ship and visit the market in Batuu. As the ship lands, Mando is already back in the hull quickly reviewing all of the safety protocols for leaving the ship. He does this each time and at first it was rather annoying, it’s not like you’re an idiot, but then you realized he does it because he simply cares that much about the child’s and your wellbeing. While his protectiveness towards the child is completely logical, you still can’t get over how much it extends to you too. You’ve been responsible for yourself for so long; it never occurred to you that another adult would care so much about protecting you.

“Before I forget, I found a holster for you.” Mando is holding out a leather belt for you. “You shouldn’t keep the blaster in a bag; you can’t get to it fast enough.”

“Oh, thank you.” You say politely, although you’re hoping that just once he’ll fail to remind you to take the blaster along. You know he said you have to take it with you every time you leave the ship, but you still feel uncomfortable carrying it around. At least when you could shove it into your bag, you could pretend you didn’t have it, but now, it’ll be right there on your hip, much harder to ignore. Your fingers fumble with buckling the holster; knowing that he’s watching you intently makes you nervous. Mando steps closer to help you, softly brushing your hands away. Maker, he’s so close to you and each time his hands brush against your waist as he secures the holster you need to remind yourself to breathe.

“There you go.” Mando finishes but lets his hand linger for a moment on your hip. You feel his thumb brush back and forth just a bit before he sharply pulls away as if realizing what he was doing. You slip the blaster into the new holster, and he gives you a nod, “Looks good.”

You feel your face heat up as you realize he’s staring at your hips and you distract yourself by making sure the child is ready to go, “Ready to explore?” you ask him, and you hear a happy coo in response from the pram.

You follow Mando down the ramp of the ship, glad to be out in the fresh air and sunshine. Shopping for supplies never seemed like anything interesting in the past, but now that you get to visit different markets on new worlds you’ve never seen before, each little shopping trip feels like a new experience. The colorful stalls filled with all types of wares beckon you to explore and discover some exotic fruit or an old book that you might never see anywhere else.

Oh, speaking of books, “I thought I might try to find a few children’s books for the child, if that’s ok?” you ask Mando.

“Are you trying to teach him to read? Is he ready for that?” Mando sounds curious, but not skeptical in any way.

“No, not yet, but I know he likes hearing stories,” you explain, “and I’m not sure how much more I can keep inventing ones to tell him.”

“Have you just been making those stories up yourself?” He nods in approval, seemingly impressed. “You have a good imagination.”

“Oh, um, thank you.” You’re caught off guard there for a moment, as you hadn’t realized he’d paid much attention to the stories you tell the little one.

“Yeah, I liked the one you told him about the magic frog. It was funny.” He surprises you again. Not only was he listening, he remembers the silly story you made up, and he liked it.

“Thanks,” you say again, stunned by his comment, but it’s his next suggestion that totally floors you.

“You should write them down, make your own book.”

“Make my own book?” The idea would never have occurred to you.

“Why not? Maybe you can even get the kid to draw pictures for it. You can get him some coloring pencils too.” Mando turns and hands you some extra credits. “I need to take care of some business, now, but you two will be safe here. Meet me by the fountain in 30 minutes. Do not be late.” He punctuates that last statement with a point of his index finger and then turns to go.

You watch him head towards a cantina and then just stare down at the credits in your palm. How is he so nice but then also kind of scary? And why does it make you ‘feel’ things? You shake your head at your own silliness and then look down at the little guy and say, “Well, let’s go find you something to color with.”

Perusing the stalls, you find plenty of items to fill up your bags and empty your wallet. You discover a great notebook with plenty of space for writing and pictures. The more you think of the idea of creating your own little book with the child, the more excited you get. You find a few children’s books too, so that you can be sure to keep the little one entertained when he��s tired of drawing. Cognizant of the time, you start to head to the fountain in the center of the market, Mando’s designated meeting spot, when you smell a delectable aroma. The baby smells it too and immediately begins whining and reaching out his little hands. You head to the source of the scent to see several types of kebabs at a nearby stand. You still have some credits and are preparing to order but the little one is too impatient and before you know it, two kebabs are floating to the pram.

“Hey! You have to pay for those!” The man behind the stand yells at you.

“I was; I mean I am,” you quickly tell him, “I’m sorry, he’s just so sneaky and fast sometimes.” You offer him a smile, hoping to smooth things over. What’s more, you pray the man thinks the child just grabbed the food and that he didn’t notice anything magical about it. “How much are they?”

The man looks you over for a moment and then his demeanor changes, “Well, for you, mama, I’m sure we can work out a little deal.” He leers at you.

“That’s ok,” you say uncomfortable at the look in his eye, and you let your smile drop from your face, “I’ll just pay the regular price.”

“Ah, c’mon, there’s nothing like a little discount among friends.” He steps out from behind his stall to stand right in front of you. He reaches out and brushes a hand down your arm, “You’d like to be my friend, wouldn’t you?”

You take a step back and say, “I’d just like to pay you for the food.”

“We can call it even, if you give me a little kiss.” This gross creep moves closer to you again, this time leaning down.

“I have credits.” You tell him, attempting to sound firm while you start to step back again, but he anticipates your move and reaches out to grab your wrist pulling you up against his body. You push on his chest, trying to pull away when you hear the sound of a blaster priming and then a raspy modulated voice says, “Let her go.”

The man drops your arm instantly and you can finally back away from him. You’re very grateful to see Mando with his weapon pointed directly at the man’s head. The man holds his hands up, “We were just having a friendly little chat.”

“Didn’t look friendly to me.” Mando deadpans, but he holsters his blaster now that it’s clear you’re safe. He comes over to you, placing a hand on the small of your back and turns you to walk away with him.

“Hey! She still needs to pay me for the food,” the man protests.

“What did he want for the food?” Mando asks you.

“A kiss,” you reply sardonically.

Mando shrugs, then turns back to the stall, approaches the man quickly and then just head-butts him hard with his helmet. The creep lets out a loud yell of pain and collapses to the ground.

“There you go, a kiss from a Mandalorian.” Mando drawls, before turning and striding back over to you.

Oh damn! That was the hottest thing you’ve ever seen and you feel your body flood with desire. Ok, so maybe that was a blatant show of male posturing, and as an educated, modern woman, you probably shouldn’t be so aroused right now. But some primeval part of your brain has taken over, and the only thought you have is how great a protector Mando is and how much you want him to protect you. You can’t even say anything to him right now because you’re just replaying the moment over in your head. It isn’t until you realize that Mando is saying your name, repeating it, that you finally snap back to reality and remember to thank him.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Mando is saying, “Are you ok?” He asks you slowly to make sure you’ve understood him. It’s possible he’s already asked you that but you were too swept up in your cavewoman thoughts.

“Oh, yes, yes, I’m fine,” you reassure him, “That creep just made me uncomfortable, but he didn’t hurt me. But, thank you again.”

“You’re sure?” Mando asks, a bit doubtful. What are you supposed to tell him? That your dazed look is because you’re turned on by him right now. Super inappropriate, having a major crush on your boss! You take a deep breath and remind yourself yet again that Mando is your employer.

“Really, I’m fine, thank you.” You’re pleased that you managed to get that out in a normal sounding voice. Mando considers you for a moment.

“Why didn’t you pull your blaster on him?” He wants to know.

“I don’t know,” you tell him truthfully, “I guess I’m just not used to reacting that way.”

“Hmm, we’ll need to work on that.” He seems satisfied at that and starts walking back towards the Crest. You force your feet to follow him, telling yourself to pull it together.

“Is that really considered a kiss from a Mandalorian?” You can’t help your stupid mouth from blurting out your question.

He laughs, surprising you because it’s the first time you’ve heard it. “Technically, yes, we call it a Keldabe Kiss.” He chuckles again and then says, “But there is a much softer version too between lovers.”

Ok, you almost become a puddle hearing him say the word ‘lovers’, and thankfully he’s still amused by your question that he doesn’t seem to notice your mouth dropping open and your feet stumbling a little. Instead, all he says is “Let’s get back to the ship, kid’s got the right idea, I could use something to eat.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later, Mando powers up the engines and you figure you’re off to the next planet, but instead he keeps the ship in the atmosphere, taking you away from the town. He lands in a clearing near a forest, and says, “This will be a good spot to practice.”

“Practice?” You’re confused.

“Yeah, I told you we’re going to work on your reaction to threats.” He says this in a matter-of-fact voice, “Plus, I know you said you could shoot, but I want to see how you handle that blaster.”

Sighing internally, you put the holster back on and collect the blaster from the weapons locker before following him down the ramp. The baby toddles down the ramp too, curious to see what’s happening.

“Alright, Miss Top-Marks-in-Shooting, let’s see you hit that tree.” Mando’s tone is rather chipper as he points out a large tree directly across from where you’re both standing. It’s a very easy target; he must think you exaggerated your skills.

You draw the weapon smoothly and shoot, just as you were trained to do, hitting the tree with ease. You fire four shoots in a small cluster pattern, to show that you are capable of accuracy.

Mando nods his head once, “Ok, now hit those five trees in rapid succession.” He points to a line of smaller trees further away to your left. You turn and successfully hit all five in what you consider to be a decent pace.

“Not bad, but see if you can go faster.” He instructs you. You try again, hopefully quicker this time. He nods when you look back at him and then points out a new target. You both keep repeating this pattern and he offers some critiques as you shoot, but generally, he seems satisfied.

“You did well,” Mando tells you after a bit, “You ever hit a moving target?”

“Uh, no.” You look at him cautiously, wondering what he has in mind. Your eyes must show how anxious that makes you, because he says, “We’ll work on that another time.”

You can’t help but let out a small sigh of relief. You figure practice time must be over for now, but then he says, “Let’s work on that reaction time for when someone is in your face. Just let me tell the kid first.”

Mando walks over to the little one who has been sitting on the ramp watching you shoot. “Ok, kiddo, this is just pretend. You understand? No one will get hurt, so no powers, ok?” The baby coos up at him and Mando nods.

“Gotta make sure he doesn’t try to fling one of us into a tree.” He says to your bemused expression. Mando returns to face you and steps close until he’s practically touching you. Your heartrate immediately picks up and your body starts to feel hot.

“I want you to draw your weapon on me, but do not shoot me,” he says definitively.

“What? No, I can’t do that, Mando,” you tell him in protest.

He reaches out lightning fast, grabs your wrist, and hauls you up against him in a similar manner to the jerk in the marketplace. Your positioning might be the same, yet this time you don’t feel creeped out, no, instead you like it, your traitorous body even pushes you a little closer to him.

“Draw your weapon on me. I’m a threat to you.” Mando tells you in a gravelly voice. Stars above! You have to bite your lip hard to keep from moaning. What is wrong with me? You realize he’s not going to let you go until you draw the blaster and so you finally comply with his order.

Mando releases you with small chuckle, as he says, “Ok, let’s try that again only not in slow motion.”

“Wait, wait, I’m not ready.” You’re panting like you just ran a race.

“That’s the whole point,” he replies, “Threats don’t just wait until you’re ready to shoot them.” You could swear he’s smirking at you under that helmet.

“No, I mean, give me a second to imagine I’m being threatened,” you are trying to buy yourself time before he decides to touch you again. “I need to visualize it.”

“Are you saying I’m not threatening enough?” Mando sounds skeptical and maybe a little insulted.

“No, I mean, of course, you are, you’re very threatening and wanted men everywhere should fear you, but I don’t fear you because I know you’ll never hurt me,” you explain to him in attempt to cover up the fact that you’re so damn attracted to him right now.

“You’re right; I would never do anything to hurt you.” He nods in agreement. “But wanted men everywhere should fear me, huh?” He sounds amused by that.

“Yes, yes, you’re very scary.” You tell him, rolling your eyes slightly.

“Ok, so pretend I’m someone you do fear.” He advances toward you. This time you think of Lieutenant Sauckel, an odious man from Imperial Intelligence that you despised. When Mando grabs you again, you imagine Sauckel’s black eyes and yellow teeth and draw your blaster as Mando pulls you to his chest.

“That was better, but still too slow.” He makes you try over and over, and each time you picture another terrible Imperial officer, Commander Brack, Major Frick, Junior Lieutenant Hess, and then finally Ensign Kerrick Hoven, the man who broke your heart and betrayed you. Imagining Kerrick’s smug face appears to do the trick, because it’s the fastest you’ve drawn the blaster yet, and you manage to wrench your arm away from Mando for the first time.

“Good!” Mando praises you enthusiastically, “That was really good.”

“Thanks.” You’re pleased to hear his words of encouragement, but your voice doesn’t show it. Picturing Kerrick again is enough to send you into darker emotions and you feel anger and sadness swirl in your stomach. Your face must give away your unhappy thoughts, because Mando suggests you stop for the day.

You stow your blaster in the holster and then head over to the child who’s been thoroughly entertained watching you both pretend fight. You reach down to pick him up and hold him close to your chest in a hug. There’s just something about his sweet little presence that makes you feel better. You’re smiling again when you pull away and head back into the ship. Mando follows you up the ramp and he’s quiet but you can feel him watching you as you stow the blaster in the weapons locker and remove the holster from your waist.

“Everything alright?” He asks you.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. I-, Thank you for taking the time to work with me on that. To practice, I mean. I know you’re very busy.” It really does mean a lot to you that he took time out of his schedule for you and you feel your heart swell as you think about his protective nature.

“You’re welcome,” he says, his voice a little softer, “Your safety is important to me. Plus, you need to be able to help keep the child safe too.”

“Yes, of course,” you nod in agreement.

“It’s helpful that you’re a good shot.” He praises you again, and this time you smile at his words.

“Thank you,” you reply sincerely. While you haven’t seen him shoot, you know he’s clearly an expert and it really does mean a lot to hear him praise your skill.

You turn back to the child, “I think it’s playtime now, what do you say, buddy?” He chirps in agreement and you head over to his small stash of toys and place him on the floor so he can start pulling out his favorites. Before you clamber down to join him, you feel Mando’s hand cup your arm just above the elbow. You turn back towards him with an inquisitive look. He just seems to stare at you for a moment, still holding your arm before telling you, “I’ll going to get us on our way to the next planet.”

“Ok, we’ll be alright down here. I’ll bring you up some dinner later.” You give him another smile and a quick nod.

“Good,” is all that he says and then he gives your arm a little squeeze before heading to the cockpit and you can’t help but feel a little fluttering in your stomach at that touch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of your afternoon passes swiftly as you and the child take his plushies on a heroic quest across the metal wonderland (the hull) to the black cliffs of mystery (a stack of crates) where you must find the golden treasure (a box of cookies). It’s a much more enjoyable game of pretend seeing as you’re not imagining Imps threatening you. It puts you in a cheerful mood and you’re still grinning to yourself when you bring Mando his dinner tray. You feel a pang of regret for him that he’s missed out on the fun afternoon with you and the child and it’s compounded by the thought of him eating his dinner alone too.

“Mando?”

“Yeah?”

You want to ask if there’s any way you could keep him company while he eats, promising to face away from him the entire time, but it feels too pushy to ask him for that. Besides, you’re probably just projecting your own feelings onto him. He’s likely much more comfortable knowing that you and the child are safely shut away from him downstairs and there’s no way he can break his creed while he eats. So, you just tell him, “I hope you enjoy your food.”

When you head back downstairs, you’re mentally kicking yourself for getting too attached. Your job is to take care of the child and make sure his needs are met. It’s nice of you to take care of Mando a little too, but he doesn’t need you to keep him company or worry about him being lonely. I’m being pathetic. You turn your attention back to your little green charge and decide it’s time to give him a bath and get him ready for bed. Still though as much as you try, you can’t stop your thoughts from wondering back to Mando. It’s hard to forget what it felt like pulled up against his chest while you were practicing your self-defense. And you may have replayed the whole head-butt scene in your head a dozen times. Stars! Am I really so desperate that I’m falling for the first man who’s nice to me? You try again to push images of Mando out of your head and focus on the baby. It works until he’s sound asleep in his little hammock and you don’t have a distraction any more. Maybe you can just grab your holopad and read up in the cockpit. That way you can satisfy your need to be close to Mando but also keep from bothering him. You make your way up the ladder, making sure it’s ok to enter the cockpit in case he still has the helmet off, before flopping down in the passenger seat on Mando’s right. You sit there and fiddle with the holopad trying to find a story that will entice you enough to keep your eyes on it, instead of tossing glances at the armored man sitting next to you. Turns out it doesn’t matter though because Mando feels like chatting.

“Kid get to sleep ok?” he asks you.

“Yes, he was pretty sleepy after his bath,” you reply.

“Probably tired after that epic adventure you went on too,” he huffs out a laugh, “I heard you doing all the voices for the toys.”

“Oh, yeah,” you’re a little embarrassed by that as you know you can be pretty goofy when you’re pretending with the child, “He really seems to like it though.”

“Sure he does, I could hear him giggling too.” Mando confirms for you. “I’m glad he’s having this time to be a child. I don’t know much about his past, but I don’t think he’s had a lot of fun in his life.”

“Well, I’ll try to make sure he does something fun every day.” You already love the little one so much, anything you can do to make him happy brings you joy too.

“Who were you picturing when we were practicing your reaction time?” Mando changes the subject abruptly.

You take a moment to process his question, and then tell him, “Just some Imperial officers from my past.” You shrug, “I figured that would be good motivation to draw a blaster.”

He seems to consider you for a moment, and then asks, “What about the last time? Who was that?”

“Oh,” you try to let out a little laugh to ease the discomfort welling up in you, “That was the man who broke my heart.”

“An Imperial officer?” Mando sounds surprised at that.

“He wasn’t an Imperial officer when I first knew him. He was in the graduating class before mine. We dated when we were in school together and we stayed in contact after he graduated. He’s the one who convinced me to do the exams for the ‘research group’.” You make quotation marks with your hands when you say those last two words.

“He mislead you?” Mando asks.

“No, he didn’t know what it really was then either. He had only just heard about it and was trying to get a job there and convinced me that it would be great for the two of us to work together.” You pause there not sure if you really want to keep telling Mando this story.

He’s curious though, as he asks, “What happened when you both found out you were working for Imp Intelligence?”

“We were both shocked and we turned to each other for comfort. It was intense, because I still had old feelings for him, and at the time, I believed he was the only one who understood how I had been deceived because he was right there with me. For a while, it felt tragically romantic, like we were two people clinging to each other in the midst of a terrible situation.”

“So, how did he break your heart?” Mando questions softly.

“I didn’t realize how one-sided our love affair had become. I thought he shared my horror for the Empire and their actions, but little did I know, he was buying into the Empire’s message more each day. As I was trying to disrupt the intelligence, Kerrick was weaseling his way closer to the officers, trying to spend time with them or impress them with his work. They awarded him the rank of Ensign when he turned me in for sabotage.” You can’t help the tear that manages to sneak out and slide down your cheek. You look out to the stars as they swirl by you in hyperspace.

“What was his name? His full name?” Mando asks.

“Kerrick Hoven, why?”

He ignores the question and asks, “Is he still alive?”

“As far as I know, yes.” You’re not sure why that matters to him.

Mando just makes a little hmm noise and then says, “No wonder you drew your blaster so quickly.”

“Well, that’s my sad story of heartbreak. How about you, Mando? You have a heartbreak story of your own?” Now that you’ve bared your sad past to him, you’re curious to hear about his.

“No.” Is all that he says.

“No? Nothing?” You push back a little; he must have something to share.

“Not really. Never get too attached or involved with a woman.” He punctuates this with a shrug.

“What about when you were a bit younger? No love affairs?” You can’t stop yourself from being curious about his romantic past; you just want to know a little something about it.

“I’ve had lovers, but nothing long-term or serious.” he states, “Relationships don’t really go with being a bounty hunter.” He sounds rather blasé about his love life or lack of one, as if he doesn’t spend any time thinking about it at all.

You feel your heart drop at that and all of your fantasies about the two of you being together someday seem exceedingly ridiculous right now. Of course he isn’t a man who gets into relationships, and if you became his lover, it would probably be a short-lived fling that would burn itself out once the novelty of new passion was gone. You feel foolish and tired. The fun of hearing about Mando’s love life has dissipated completely for you. So you change the topic and ask, “Where are we headed to next?”

“Bespin” Mando says. “It’s a mining planet with a city high up in the clouds in the upper atmosphere.”

You listen politely as he tells you some other facts about the planet. It sounds interesting enough, but you’re not really paying that close attention as you’re still somewhat wrapped up in your emotional reaction to his dismissal of relationships. You take a deep breath to center your thoughts and then focus in on his words, telling yourself that this is for the best, that you need to let your stupid crush die and just do your job. If you can’t do that, you’ll just set yourself up for another heartbreak, and what will that get you?

----------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading! Link to Chapter 3, Lust Actually. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters.

Tag list: @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11​ @theravenreads​ @nicotinebirds​ @boomtownboy​ @nova646 @sleepwithacommunist @mackycat11 @som3thingcr3ative

[spices-and-cherries]

Rampage (Chapter 3)

JAMES BOND X READER

Chapter 3 is finally out! Is it rough? Yes. Is it months late? Yes. Do I care? No. Why? Because I’m having fun writing it! This chapter does feel a little rushed even though I tried to draw it out. I dunno. Is he too ooc?

I did not reference race, gender, sexuality, or physical appearance. If I missed something, please let me know so I can change it!

Warnings: violence, death, car chase, car accident, alcohol, angst

Masterlist:

Chapter 3: Parcel

James had been too preoccupied to bother following the movements of the remaining men, but he had heard whispers a year ago about a club being formed with some very similar faces affiliated with it. 

What if Keery's husband hadn't died afterall? And this was some sort of sick and twisted revenge plan? 

For the first time in a long while, James had genuinely no idea what to do.

"Hey." A hand waved in front of his face. "Hey!" He blinked as his eyes focused on the woman in front of him. "Are you okay?" He runs a hand through his hair. 

"That paper could be the key to save someone's life. Just... Let me look at it and I'll give it back. I promise."

After a long pause, she holds the paper out in front of her. Taking it, he quickly reads it. Like he thought, it was a receipt involving some sort of business deal with The End Club. Arms trading?

"How did this get into the hands of Slane?"

"That's what I want to figure out too." The woman snatches the paper back. 

"What's your connection to them?"

"...Why should I tell you?"

"Depending on what's going on here, I can help you."

"It's a secret." She turned and started for the door.

"Judging by the fact that you have a gun and sneaking about a place like this, you're out for blood, but the thing is, you don't really know how to shoot, do you?"

"...I don't see how it's any of your business!" She stopped, her back turned to him and her fists clenched. 

"Well, if we were to run into each other, which we undoubtedly will, I don't exactly want to be shot on accident in the crosshairs." He walked towards her. "You help me by telling me everything I need to know and I'll make sure your bullet hits the mark."

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"Because I have a strong feeling we're looking for the same people."

-----

"I know a place where we can get a booth." The girl - Violet - pulled out of her parking spot, apparently dead-set on getting a drink. He, for once, could very much do without. Drinking vodka martini's were just the distraction he very much did not need at the moment. But he needed information and was now working on someone else's time. Maybe the drinks will chase the worry away.

Had they hurt you? Did you get fed? Had they taken advantage of you? Were you injured? 

A finger snapped in front of his face. 

"Wake up! We're here!" When he got out of the car, the cold air hit him right in the face. It brought him out of his little spell - or at least enough to make him think coherently. 

"...Vodka martini. Don't care how."

"And a chocolate martini, please."

"A what, miss?"

"Make that two vodka martini's." He butt in, ordering for her. 

"What the hell?"

"I should be asking you that."

"What? Chocolate martinis are good."

"And for children."

"...So what will it be?" Asked the waiter, looking confused.

"Just get me a martini." Violet sighed, glaring at James before going back to the menu. "Could you please add mozzarella sticks to that?" The waiter nodded and rushed away. She clasped her hands and looked him straight in the eye. "So. What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

"...My father used to work for a meat company." She leaned back in her seat and put her hands in her lap. "At one point, when I was really little, the company was taken over by a new owner and they renamed the place to End Club Meats & Co. My father - being one of the engineers or whatever - was one of the people they kept around. I guess his type are hard to come around. As the years went by, he seemed to be home less and less until one day, some men knocked on our door and informed us that he had died in a work accident." She paused when the drinks were set on the table. "A few years ago, I was contacted by one of his coworkers who claimed that there was more to it than that. Apparently, he'd been called to the head office and never came out. I've been trying to find out who did it and why ever since."

"And Slane?"

"I found his name somewhere and thought he was connected somehow. I was trying to find out how when you found me."

"What are you going to do now?

"Uh, trace the receipts back to who was involved and kill them. Of course, that's easier said than done considering I have no idea what I'm doing." James briefly wondered how she hadn't been killed in her sleep already.  

"Are you familiar with the name Stone? He's a henchman of sorts."

"...No? I don't believe so. Now, can you please tell me what any of this has to do with you? I'd like to know my protector a little more." There was an edge of sarcasm in her voice that he simply didn't feel like humoring. 

"I work for her Majesty as an agent, meaning-"

"You're a copper. Got it. Move on." He really didn't like her tone.

"Meaning, that I go after people in the underground who are like Slane and worse. A few years ago, I had to track down this man named Keery. His drug trafficking organization had a headquarters in France, disguised as a very large butcher warehouse." A look of realization dawned on Violet's face. "Keery died with many of his subordinates, but I seemed to have overlooked one."

"So the missing person you were talking about is the one you... forgot?"

"No, not exactly." He took a sip of his drink. The burn cleared his mind a little. "My life expectancy is, statistically speaking, low and..." James paused, realizing that he was talking more about himself than he normally would. It felt wrong.

"And...?"

"And it's the same for those close to me." It felt wrong, but he found it liberating at the same time. 

"So something happened?" Violet's voice became soft.

"Yes." James rubbed his face with his hands, suddenly feeling a wave of exhaustion. 

"So let me guess, the End Club is run by someone who wants to take revenge on you by taking this... person away? And now you need to find them?"

"Yes." 

"...Normally I wouldn't do this, I still can't tell if you're lying or not, but let me take you back to my place. We can come up with a plan and get some rest..." James looked up at her incredulously. "What? I got this far - you're not getting rid of me until all this is over. Besides, I have my own bone to pick..."

-----

"- And that's the couch where you'll be sleeping. I'll be right back - I need to get you something to sleep in..." She disappeared into her room. After several minutes of muffled cussing and the sounds of things falling over, she came out. "I hope this is okay. It's all I got." She tossed a bundle of clothes at him. It was a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt. 

"Thanks." 

"No prob-" She was interrupted by a beeping noise at the door. 

"Ms. Dunby, there's a parcel for you downstairs."

"Shit. Okay, I'll be back. I forgot that I had something coming." She hurried to put some shoes on and rushed out the door. At first, James thought nothing of it, but when he checked the time, realization dawned on him. It's almost two in the morning. Who would be getting a parcel at this time of the night?

Grabbing his gun, he ran out into the hallway and hopped three stairs at a time in the stairwell. Violet wasn't in the lobby. He hears a car door slam out on the street. He caught a glimpse of Violet's face pressed against the window of an expensive black car just as it drove away.

Without a second thought, he ran out into the street and, seeing Violet’s old camry, he punched the window to let himself in. After making quick work of hotwiring the vehicle, it came to life. 

Tires screeching, he chased the black car through tight alleyways and around sharp turns, when suddenly they were on a main road with surprisingly little traffic. 

He stepped on the gas. 

In seconds he was within feet of the vehicle. The driver tried to swerve in an effort to out maneuver him, but James didn't have the energy for playing the race game. 

In a burst of speed, he ran his car into the back of the black car - hard - and pushed it so it scrapped against the guardrails along the side of the road, sparks flying. They came to a bumpy stop when they plowed into a lamppost. 

He clambered out as soon as he could, stumbling over a scrap of junk, and made his way - gun out - to the wrecked car. The driver seemed to be dead, but he couldn't-

"RAGHH!" A big figure slammed open the car door and leapt on him. He flew to the ground with what felt like a ton right on top of him. His gun spun away, leaving him defenseless. A fist slammed into his face. Not having a lot of room to move, James jabbed the man's neck as hard as he could. It gave him a few moments to get the man off of him and identify his attacker.

It, with some stroke of luck, was Stone. The very man he was looking for.

Stone got up, spat, and then threw himself into his stomach - forcing him back down to the ground. The two of them rolled around on the asphalt. One second his face was being ground into the road and another he'd be holding Stone in a choke hold. 

"Where did you take them?" James growls, kneeing Stone in the gut. 

"Who the fuck are you talking about?" Stone's big hand slammed James's face into the ground. His ears were ringing.

"(Y/N)!"

"Huh. You must be James Bond." Stone smiled, but it was wiped away with James's elbow. James managed to roll away and get back up.

"In the flesh." 

"Well, I'm afraid to say that I won't tell you shit." Stone barreled into him again, but this time James was ready and managed to keep his feet grounded. He kneed Stone again and again - slowly letting his frustration loose. 

"Then I'm afraid I'll have to make you." Stone's grip on him tightened as he knocked James's feet out. 

"Not like this, you won't." After a couple hard punches, Stone gripped his neck. His hands scrambled, trying to get Stone off of him. He was beginning to see double. "I'm starting to feel sorry for ya." Stone laughed. "Don't worry - your partner is just fine. They're getting fed - but that was as of yesterday."

A shot rings out, the grip on his neck leaves, and Stone's shoulder is bleeding. But James doesn't notice.

All he can see is red.

What a big man. A scary looking man. He was the big scary looking man that took you. Where are you? Why won't Stone tell him where you are?

His fists are burning.

And then suddenly Stone is under him, saying something. He watches as his nose slowly crumples, as his teeth were turning red, as his eyes became glossy, as -

"James!" Hands are on his shoulder, nails digging in. He growls as his fist seamlessly gets ready to strike. A clammy hand wraps around his wrist. "JAMES!" Violet is looking at him with frantic eyes. "He's already dead, so stop it!" He looks back down. Stone's face was almost unrecognizable.

Had he done that?

-----

Whoops. Angsty Bond feels... Anyway, this is the first series I’ve written in a long while and the first I’ve ever written for Bond, so feel free to give me some feedback! Just be nice about it - I’m sensitive. Also! I'm in the middle of reading Layercake. When I’m done I’ll watch the movie - so look out for some headcanons on our nameless protagonist in the near future! If y’all have any ideas, feel free to send them my way!

- Simpy

[imaginedisish]

Devil’s Advocate (Tenet) Neil x Reader

Chapter 3: North American Scum

A/N: Hi guys! Here is chapter 3!!! I feel like it could have been better, but I really started feeling it at the end (and I think you can tell) Enjoy ahhh!! (and yes, the title of this is one big LCD Sound System Reference :))

Summary: You and Neil are sent on your first mission, but things get incredibly messy, as they always do. 

Warnings: Guns, gun wounds, death, cursing, angst, and that’s about it!

Word Count: 5,765... If anyone wants to teach ya girl how to do the “read more” thing that would be fantastic...

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2

Sunlight pours through the small crack in the curtains. Your stomach is pressed up against the mattress. You shift around underneath the sheets, but an arm is wrapped around your body, keeping you in place. You inhale deeply, and the smell of his cologne fills your lungs.

Neil. You keep your eyes shut, reveling in his touch. He rustles a bit, and you feel yourself being pulled in closer to his chest. You maneuver onto your side, allowing him to bring your chest up against his. 

His lips brush against your left ear. 

He has to be awake, You think to yourself. A light kiss presses softly against your ear, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks. There is absolutely no way he’s still asleep. 

“(Y/N)?” Neil whispers, as if to ask if you were still next to him. 

Your eyes flutter open. “Good morning,” You mutter. Your voice is hoarse from a full night of sleep, the first full night of sleep you had gotten in what felt like ages. 

The light catches Neil’s blue eyes, causing them to sparkle and glow in the rays of sun. His blonde hair was a ruffled mess. Still, he’s undeniably attractive. It didn’t matter how unkempt he appeared to be, there was still something about him; something about him that made your heart pound out of your chest, something about him that made it impossible and yet easier to breathe all at the same time. His presences was overwhelming and yet so calming. 

He clears his throat. “Did you sleep well?” He asks, his arms still pulling you tightly against his chest. 

Besides all the other times we’ve shared a bed, You think to yourself before saying, “That was probably the best sleep I’ve gotten in years.” 

You remember that just yesterday he had said you two were “friends.” 

But friends don’t do these kinds of things. 

Neil smiles back at you, his nose less than a centimeter away from yours. “I’m glad,” He responds. You can feel his breath on your lips. 

The last thing you want to do is get up. You silently hope that Neil won’t move. Eventually, the time would come to do the very thing you came here to do, unfortunately. But for now, you wanted to enjoy laying in bed with Neil, regardless of what it meant for him. 

You watch as Neil sighs and furrows his brows. There’s something on his mind, and it’s very clearly bothering him. You always hated seeing him like this, and you couldn’t let it go unnoticed. 

“Neil?” You ask. “Are you alright?”

He smiles sheepishly. “I’m fine, don’t worry about it,” Neil reassures, but you know there’s something wrong.

“If there’s something on your mind, you can always talk to me,” You say, bringing your left hand to rest on the side of his upper thigh. 

You’re shocked to feel his exposed skin and not his boxers. They had scrunched up into his crotch. 

You retract your hand immediately, feeling as though you had overstepped some unspoken boundary. “I-I’m sorry about that.” Your voice is distraught and shaky in the wake of your embarrassment.

“No,” Neil says. His voice is calm and a smile reappears on his face. “It felt nice.” You nod, allowing your hand to travel back to where it was. 

You decide to start over and try again. “But really Neil, you can always talk to me, about anything,” You pause, choosing to go the confrontational route. “I know something is wrong with you. I can just tell.”

Neil’s arm tightens around you. You didn’t think it could be possible to get closer to him, and yet suddenly you were. “Well, last night…” Neil trails off. You can feel his heart beat grow louder in his chest. “I was going to talk to you about something.”

“Well, what is it?” You ask. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the moment Neil would tell you how he felt about you. 

Neil inhales sharply through his nose. “(Y/N), it’s just that-,”

The sound of Neil’s phone roughly vibrating against the bedside table next to him cuts him off. He lets go of you and turns over to pick up the phone. You stuff your face into your pillow in absolute agony. 

Another moment stolen, You think. 

“Shit,” He mutters under his breath. “Hello?” He answers the call. “Already?” There’s a pause. “What do you mean it’s half past twelve?” Another pause. “I’m sorry we must’ve slept through the alarm I-,” Whoever is on the other line interrupts him immediately. “Alright, thanks. We’ll start getting ready now.”

You lift your face off of the pillow. Neil hangs up and puts the phone back onto the nightstand. 

“It’s time already?” You ask. You feel your anxiety growing in the pit of your stomach. You know what’s coming next. You can feel it on the tip of your tongue. You can feel the uncertainty. You can already hear the gunshots, the screams, the cries for help. 

Neil turns back over towards you, his arm wrapping tightly around your body yet again. “Yeah, it’s time,” He says, pressing a kiss against your forehead. His lips are warm and soft, reassuring even. But you didn’t want to go, not yet. Being with Neil was too good. For the first time in a long time, you were finally feeling normal. You had finally felt safe. And now, as you always did, you were going to risk it all.

I can’t do this, You think to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. 

“Neil,” You feel yourself tremble a bit, “I-I can’t d-do this,” You stutter, tripping over your words at the mere thought of getting out of bed. 

“I’m so sorry, love,” Neil says, pulling you closer to him. “But I don’t think we have a choice.”

A choice? You hated the idea that anyone had a lack of “choice,” especially when it came to the organization. You hated the idea that nothing could be changed or altered to make something better. What’s happened, happened. And yet, you believed none of that. 

Of course I have a choice. I’m an autonomous woman with agency and independence. You think to yourself. “And what the fuck is stopping me from saying no, Neil?” Your sudden fury causes him to jump back a bit. His grip on you loosens. 

Neil’s shocked expression takes you aback. “I didn’t mean to make you-,”

You cut him off, feeling guilty for jumping down his throat so abruptly. “No, it’s not your fault Neil. It’s me,” You roll onto your back and Neil’s arms slide off of you. “This is so overwhelming. I’m a mess.” 

Neil shifts closer to you. He’s laying on his side. He brings his hand across your body and onto your shoulder, drawing light circles with his index finger. You sigh, his touch leaving goosebumps on your exposed skin. “It’s going to be okay, I promise,” He says. He lets you sit in silence for a few minutes. He somehow knows it's exactly what you need. 

He always does. 

You look over to the alarm clock on your bedside table. 

12:34

“We should probably get up now,” You say apprehensively. 

Neil nods, lifting his hand from your shoulder. He presses a kiss against your cheek before hopping off the bed. “Just for good measure,” He says with a wink. 

Neil had been stealing kisses from you far more recently than he had in the past, and you certainly recognized it. You weren’t complaining, but it was confusing. You weren’t sure what he wanted. You knew there was at least a slight chance that Neil saw you as more than a friend. That was a natural occurrence of life. After all, you had fallen for him. 

Who’s to say he couldn’t fall for you too. You immediately shake the thought off. Thinking like this could ruin the mission. You were too distracted for your own good. Now was not the time to be wondering how Neil felt about you, regardless of how puzzling the situation was. 

Neil had shuffled off into the bathroom. You could hear the shower turn on and the glass door of the shower close behind Neil. You stifle any further thoughts in the back of your head, and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You walk over to your duffle bag and begin to rummage through your clothes. You were always incredibly indecisive when it came to what to wear. 

After a few minutes, you finally decide on a pair of baggy, black menswear dress pants, similar to the ones you were still wearing. You grab an oversized white t-shirt to go with it. You pull your black high top converse out of the bag as well, letting them fall to the floor. 

The door to the bathroom opens, and Neil comes out with just a fuzzy white towel wrapped around his waist. You stare too far down for far too long, and Neil is quick to notice. 

“If you’re going to look at me like that, you should really buy me dinner first,” He jokes. He walks over to you and stops when he reaches his suitcase. 

You feel the heat rising to your cheeks and you smirk a bit. “I-I just didn’t expect you to be-,”

“To be what? Practically naked?”

“Well, yes, to be honest,” You say, your smirk turning into a wide smile. Neil smiles back, and nudges you playfully with his elbow. You shut your eyes and shake your head. “I’m getting in the shower now.”

Neil chuckles as you walk away. “Can I have the same show you got? It’s only fair!” 

How you wished he wasn’t just kidding around with you. 

You step into the bathroom and shut the door behind you. 

The shower is incredibly refreshing. The hot water almost puts you to sleep again, but it’s a welcomed feeling. Things seemed peaceful. But there’s always a calm before the storm. 

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door. 

“(Y/N)?” Neil calls. 

His voice catches you off guard. You almost slip on the water below. “Yeah?” You call back, catching yourself and regaining your balance. 

“I think I left my boxers in there,” He says. Your face reddens as you predict his next words. “Is it alright if I pop in and grab them? I won’t peak, I promise!” You hear his muffled chuckle through the door. 

You swallow hard. “Yeah, sure I don’t mind,” You say back. Your heart races in your chest. The glass of the shower door was completely fogged up, and Neil wouldn’t see a thing, or at least he probably wouldn’t. But part of you of wanted him to…

Your thoughts are interrupted as the door creeks open, and Neil enters the bathroom. There’s some shuffling around and you can hear Neil moving some things. 

“Where the bloody hell did they go?” Neil whispers to himself. A giggle escapes your lips. “What’s so funny about this, love?” Neil’s sarcastic tone only makes you laugh more. 

“I mean where could they have possibly-,” You say, cutting yourself off as you look up to see Neil’s boxers hanging over the top of the shower. “How did they even end up there?”

Neil chuckles now too. “I must’ve put them up there with my pants. I didn’t think I’d have time to iron my clothes, so I just threw everything over the top to get some steam on it,” He explains between laughs. Of course he was worried about how wrinkly his clothes would be, You think to yourself, letting another giggle out. 

The shape of Neil’s body becomes more prominent as he walks over towards the shower. You feel yourself growing nervous upon the realization that Neil can most likely see a better outline of what you look like too. His hand grabs the boxers and he yanks them down. 

“I promised no peaking, so I’ll get out of your hair now,” Neil laughs and you watch as he walks over to the door. You almost wanted to tell him to stay. 

Almost. 

Before you can say a word, Neil opens the door and steps back out. Flustered beyond belief, you force yourself to finish the shower. 

You brush your teeth and put your stringy, wet hair in a clip to at least make it look presentable. You grab your clothes and slip them on, tucking your t-shirt into your pants and lacing a black, square buckle belt through your belt loops. 

You take a look at yourself in the mirror and you can’t help but feel at least a tiny bit proud of what you were able to accomplish in such a short time, that is, until you open the door. 

Neil is standing on the other side of the room, his left arm holding his weight up as he leans against the window, looking down at the city streets below. His grey suit jacket hangs below his hips and fits him perfectly. His white dress shirt is crisp, and a little green scarf serves as his neck tie. His pants are the exact same color as the suit jacket, and at the bottom are a pair of black dress shoes. He didn’t bother to gel his hair back, but it looked better when he let it be a little messy. When he gelled it he looked too uptight, too posh, too much like a tory. 

You still remember the day Neil had taught you that word. You didn’t have a clue about British politics, and despite Neil’s well-off appearance, he was always adamant about not being a tory. 

“But you’re as posh as anything Neil,” You said, breathing absurdly hard in between laughs. 

Neil shakes his head erratically. “I’m posh in a cool, secret agent way!” He exclaims in his defense. “I’m not a tory, come on! I shouldn’t have ever taught you that word. You’re just going to hang it over my head forever.” He sighs dramatically, shoving his head in his hands for extra effect. 

You rest your hand on his shoulder, reassuring him sardonically. “Oh Neil, fine. You’re not a tory.” 

The rest of the flashback, the playful banter and the stolen, sneaky touches are quickly shut down by the buzzing of Neil’s phone. He breaks his stare from the streets below and picks it up, carefully reading the message he just received. 

“It’s time, they gave us the location,” He says, still looking down at the message. You freeze instantly, as if you’ve become paralyzed. “(Y/N)?” Neil calls, walking over to you. He places his hands on your shoulders. 

“I just,” You trail off, searching for the right words. “I just thought I’d have more time to prepare, I guess.” 

Neil loosens his hold on your shoulders and wraps his arms all the way around you, pulling you tightly into his chest. “I know love, I know,” He whispers. You take a deep breath. 

Maybe I could do this, You force yourself to think. I have to. 

You untangle yourself from Neil and walk over to the chair to put your converse on. Neil studies you from afar, seemingly watching your every move. You don’t feel uncomfortable at all. You know he’s watching you to make sure you’re okay. Normally you wouldn’t want Neil to worry about you so much, but now his worry was welcomed. It made you feel safe. It made you feel validated. He truly wanted nothing but the best for you, and he made that abundantly clear. 

You finish tying your shoes and stand up, lightly brushing away the creases in your pants. You grab your long, tweed, dark grey trench coat and throw it over your shoulders. You grab the pistol at the bottom of your suit case, and slip it into the inside pocket on the right side of the coat.

“I’m ready,” You say, looking over at Neil. 

Neil nods, and walks back over to you. “Are you sure?”

You nod back. “No, but that’s okay.”

————

You and Neil make it down to the parking garage, but the Porsche is nowhere to be seen. Neil pulls out a set of keys from his pocket and presses a button. 

“Can’t repeat the same ride twice,” Neil jokes as the lights of a black BMW flash in your face, just as the Porsche had done last night. You let a small smile break your furrowed brows and tightened face as you get into the car. Neil puts the keys into the ignition and drives off. 

Neil explains the mission to you on the way there. The plan was to continue posing as Ophelia and Atlas Ryan, two newlyweds traveling the world together. 

“But you’re from London,” You retort, posing a potential problem about the cover. 

“You’re not,” Neil grins back at you. “Besides, who says I can’t show you around a bit?” 

You grin back at him, finally accepting the plan. 

“So we’ll be pretending to shop in this clothing store,” Neil starts, but you quickly interrupt him, knowing exactly what’s coming next.

“What’s it a front for?” Anxiety sits in your stomach like a rock. You couldn’t help but blurt out the question. 

Neil swallows harshly. “There’s a Turnstile in the back,” He says, keeping his eyes on the road. “And some inverted weapons, although some may be an understatement.”

Of course there’s a fucking Turnstile, You think to yourself.  You grip the handle on the side of the door as the GPS shouts directions. 

Suddenly, the bombs in Neil’s suitcase all make sense now. 

“And we have to stick a bomb…” You trail off, flabbergasted by the danger of the mission. 

“We have to stick a bomb somewhere inside the store, and detonate it the second we leave,” Neil finishes your thought. 

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down, but it doesn’t work very well. You look back to the GPS on the screen, searching for your ETA. 

1:35PM. 

That’s when you look down at your phone and realize that it’s already that time. Neil slides into an open parking spot a few doors down from the store. 

He looks over at you once last time. 

“Are you sure you can do this? Because maybe I could find a way to do this by mys-,”

“No,” You state firmly, refusing to let Neil finish. “We’re in this together.” You put a hand on his thigh and look longingly into his eyes. “I’d never leave you, Neil.” Your eyes flicker down to his lips. 

Neil smiles, and you can feel your heart burst in your chest. He grabs you and pulls you against him in a tight embrace. It wasn’t exactly what you were aiming for, but it most definitely wasn’t a miss. He lets go and you nod at each other subtly. 

It was time. 

Neil opens his door and hops out. You go to open your door, but Neil quickly walks over to your side, opening it for you. He grins, knowing that you aren’t allowed to complain. You were married now, after all. Neil grabs your hand, and helps you out of the car. 

You walk along the street past a few cars before finally finding an opening to get onto the sidewalk. You and Neil stop in front of the boutique.

Through the Looking Glass

A far too perfect name, You think to yourself.

Neil’s hand is still holding yours. He squeezes tightly, and you squeeze back. 

Neil takes the first step and opens the door. A bell rings. The white walls of the store are decorated with fairy lights and some posters. 

“Good afternoon! Welcome in,” A tall, black haired woman says cheerfully from the behind the register. “Is there anything I could help you find today?"

Shit, You think to yourself. Her questions were simple. They were completely normal questions, and yet you were frozen again. 

“We’re just taking a look around. It’s only my wife’s second time here in London,” Neil starts, developing a story, a reason to be here. “She came to meet my parents a few years ago, but she never really got the London experience, you know?”

The woman nods from behind the counter. “That’s wonderful!” She says ecstatically. You were amazed at Neil’s ability to keep his cool. You could tell he had her convinced. It was like a superpower or something. “Well, if you need anything at all, let me know!” 

“Thank you so much,” You say, finally having the courage to participate in the conversation. 

You and Neil begin to shift through racks, picking a top or skirt out every few pieces or so. You carried a few fake conversations: where to eat dinner, where to go next, what landmark to see first. Neil casually slips the bomb in your pocket in the midst of discussion.

Finally, after collecting a few pieces, you and Neil head back over to the woman behind the register. 

“Do you think I could try these on in the fitting room?” You ask politely, a smile spreading across your face. 

The woman smiles back. “Of course, right this way!” She leads you and Neil over to the back of the store and into a smaller room. There’s a row of doors connected to cubicles on the right side, and a set of pink tufted armchairs along the left. There’s a few doors along the wall ahead, and that’s where you assume the turnstile and weapons are kept. She unlocks one of the rooms, and guides you inside. “Thank you so much,” You say pleasantly, trying to keep your cool despite how terribly you want to start trembling. You head into the room and shut the door behind you. 

There’s a long mirror in front of you, and a small, tufted white armchair in the corner. The bomb would fit best behind the armchair, and could go relatively unnoticed. You decide that you should actually give some semblance of a fashion show before placing the bomb. Otherwise, you might blow your cover. 

You carefully place your coat on the armchair, making sure that your gun isn’t exposed. You grab your first outfit, a navy blue turtleneck sweater and a plaid skirt. You slip into the clothes and open the door. 

Neil’s gaze immediately settles on your exposed legs. “Wow,” He mumbles, looking you up and down. 

You smile widely and blush. “Oh stop it,” You playfully say back, forgetting all about the mission for a split second. 

“You look fantastic, really, (Y/N).” At first, you want to revel in his comment, but your eyes widen, quickly realizing what Neil had just done. 

“Atlas, I don’t think that’s my name,” You whisper, hoping the women behind the counter hadn’t heard Neil call you by your name instead of Ophelia. 

Neil gulps, and a slight smile appears on his face. “Ophelia darling,” He says louder this time, “You look incredible.”

You try to keep the show going, and you smile back. “Well then I guess I’ll just have to get this outfit, won’t I?” You say back, glancing over at the woman behind the counter. Her eyes were locked on yours, and she quickly breaks her stare. She grabs the phone on the counter and dials a number.

“Atlas,” You whisper, getting closer to Neil. “I think we’re a bit fucked.” 

Neil turns around quietly, and watches the woman on the phone. She looks like she knows what she’s doing. 

She looks like she knows who you are. 

“What should we do?” You ask, whispering even softer now. 

Neil remains in the chair, and turns back to face you. “Put on the next outfit. I’ll keep an eye out.” You nod, and head back into the room. 

You take off the skirt, and grab the light beige menswear dress pants off their hanger. You put them on, one leg at a time, trying to listen to what was going on outside the room. You slip the navy sweater off and grab a turtleneck in a darker shade of beige to put on. 

You step outside, and luckily, Neil is sitting exactly where he was sitting before. 

“I like that one a lot too,” He says, looking you up and down just as he did before. “I meant what I said before, you really do look fan-,”

Neil is cut off by the opening of one of the doors. A tall, brown haired man steps out of the door and walks over to the woman by the counter. You keep your smile on your face in an attempt to salvage whatever is left of the mission. Neil does the same. 

“You know, we should probably get going now if we want to make it to our lunch reservations,” You say as the idea pops into your head. This was your way out. 

Neil grins at your cleverness. “Oh wow, I can’t believe it’s time already. Still feels like the day just started!” 

“Time flies when you’re having fun, my love,” You say as you head back into the room. 

You’re overdoing it, dumbass! You mentally yell at yourself. You knew your cover was blown. You take the clothes off, and go to put yours back on. In all your shuffling and panic, you forget one crucial thing. 

The bomb is in the pocket of your pants. 

The second you take your pants off the armchair, the bomb falls out and crashes to the floor. It slides under the door all the way to Neil’s feet. 

“Shit,” You hear Neil curse. 

BANG!

A gunshot rings out in the store. 

You grab your gun from the pocket of your trench coat, force your pants on and run out of the room. 

The man is collapsed on the floor and Neil’s gun is aimed at the woman. You cock your gun and aim as well. 

“I should’ve fucking known from the start,” The woman says, shaking her head. “North American scum, you’re all the same. Slimey little-,”

“Shut the fuck up!” You shout. “You’re going to call whoever you just called, and tell them that you don’t need any further assistance, do you understand?”

She cackles. “No. Why the bloody hell would I do that? There’s at least twenty men on their way down here.” Before you can respond, she reaches for something behind the counter. 

BANG!

You feel a wetness in your right shoulder. It’s an odd, numbing sort of feeling. Everything appears to be fuzzy for a split second. You can’t hear properly, you can’t see properly, it’s like static on a television set. 

BANG!

Everything begins to come back as Neil rushes over to you. He crouches down. You hadn’t even realize that you had fallen over. You look down to your right shoulder, and notice the blood pooling underneath your shirt. You take a deep breath, knowing that this wasn’t the end. You had to push through the mission.

“(Y/N)?” There’s nothing but panic in his eyes. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” You say, standing up. Neil grabs your arm, helping you. “I mean it, I’m okay. I can do this.” 

Another man bursts into the store through one of the back doors. He brandishes a gun. You hold your pistol up and shoot. 

BANG! 

You hit him in the center of his chest, but the knock back causes you to fall to the ground. “Sh-shit,” You mumble. The pain is too intense for you to say more than that. You take a few deep breaths, trying hard to put yourself back together. 

Another man enters the room, and he grabs the bomb off the floor. 

“We need to go, I can’t have you here like this,” Neil says. He kneels down next to you and scoops you up in his arms. He frees his right hand ever so slightly, aims his gun at the man, shoots, and misses. 

Then, the man aims his gun towards you and Neil. 

There’s another bang, followed by the sound of shattering glass echoing in the store and down the street. 

“N-no, we can’t go. I’ll just shoot with my left hand, I can do it.” But before you could protest any more, Neil had already ran out of the boutique and towards the car. He secures you in the BMW, only for you to unbuckle and attempt to get out. 

But it’s too late. Neil slides in, turns the ignition, and presses down on the gas. 

“No!” You scream. You turn around and watch the boutique disappear behind you. “Neil! What the fuck?” You look over to him. His eyes are locked on the road. 

“What? You wanted to stay back there and die?” He asks, anger growing in his voice. 

“If it meant the mission succeeded and you got to live, then yes, I would have happily died,” You say, turning behind to see if anyone was on your tail. 

Sure enough, three black SUVs were following close behind. Neil looks into the rearview mirror. 

“Shit,” He curses, pressing his foot down onto the gas pedal as hard as he possibly can. He weaves through traffic, turning down a few streets rather erratically before finally hitting the highway. 

“We need to get to the safe house,” Neil explains. “TP said he had the directions to one programmed in the car before we got it. It should be the only directions in the system.” 

You nod, reaching over to the screen and selecting the navigation app. There’s one pre-programmed destination. You click the destination, and the directions load in immediately. 

“I’m going to get them off our ass, okay?” You say, opening your window and grabbing your gun. 

Neil frantically looks over to you, and then back at the road. “What? No! Get the fuck back inside!” He commands, but you ignore him and unbuckle. You carefully slide out the window and sit down on the thin edge. 

You aim your gun at the windshield of the closest SUV and fire. The windshield barely dents. It’s bulletproof. 

“Get inside!” Neil shouts again, shifting lanes quickly and strategically. 

You ignore him again, and aim towards the SUV’s forward right tire. You shoot, and the tire deflates immediately. The car looses control and crashes into the center divider.

“Fuck yeah!” The exhilaration is like a high. You forgot what it felt like to be back in the field and actually doing well at your job.

The other SUVs are close behind, and you aim once again, this time of the back left wheel of one of the vehicles. You pull the trigger, sending the car off into the grass, crashing against a tree on the side of the road. 

“Be careful, alright?” Neil shouts his reminder, hoping that it will have some effect on you. 

There’s one SUV left. Just as you take aim, a man lets himself out of the passenger window and sits in the same position as you. You take a deep breath, and switch your aim to the man instead of the tire. 

“Hey fuckass!” You scream, diverting his attention from the wheels of the BMW to you. “Over here!” You shout. 

“(Y/N)!” Neil shouts angrily. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

BANG!

“(Y/N)!” Neil screams, making sure that you’re still right next to him. 

You take a deep breath. “I-I’m fine. He missed,” You say, but you’re not entirely sure that he did. The burning pain on the right side of your stomach tells you otherwise. 

The man goes to aim towards you again, but before he can shoot, you pull the trigger, hitting him directly in the head. He topples out of the car, giving you the space to shoot the back wheels of the car. The SUV spins out into a nearby street light. 

You slump back into the car, and close the window. Neil takes a quick glance into the rearview mirror to make sure no new SUVs appeared,

“Are they gone?” You ask, silently hoping that Neil would say yes. 

“Yeah, for now,” Neil says, shifting his focus over to you. “Holy fuck, (Y/N), you said he missed!” Neil exclaims. “This is exactly why I fucking took you back to the car in the first place.”

You shake your head. “I didn’t ask you to do that. That was your choice. I make my own choices,” You pause, trying to catch your breath. “I’m an adult, you know. I’m not some kid for you to babysit.” 

You look down at your side, and notice that you’re bleeding out onto the seat. “Oh sh-shit.”

Neil’s gaze focuses off the road and onto your wound for a quick second. “Jesus Christ what the fuck happened, (Y/N)? What did you do?” 

“I saved the mission, what did you do?” You say, frustration heavy in your voice. “I didn’t ask for you to save me. If we just stayed in the boutique another second we could’ve blown the whole place up and-,” 

But you can’t finish. An immense stabbing pain pulses strongly at your side. Your eyes begin to well up. There’s so much pain that you can’t even scream. 

Neil is too focused on the road again to notice what’s happening with you. “Don’t blame this on me! What did you expect me to do? Leave you there? Fuck no,” Neil doesn’t realize that you’re dipping in and out of consciousness. “You don’t understand how much I care about you. You don’t understand what my life would be like if you died. It would be hell (Y/N), absolute hell.” 

Neil stops his rant and looks over to you. “Oh God, I’m so sorry,” Neil’s voice is filled with worry. “Say something (Y/N), or at least try to stay awake.”

You’ve already lost so much blood. It was too hard to concentrate on what Neil was saying, you were too concerned with simply keeping your eyes open.

“N-Neil, a-am I going to make it?” You whimper earnestly. In truth, you were thankful for what Neil had done, you had just been beyond angry that your first mission back was a failure. 

Neil nods, and places a hand on your thigh. “You’re not going anywhere, I promise. I’ve got you,” Neil says. He pushes the gas pedal into the floor. “Just stay awake for me, please.”

But you can’t. Your eyes shut, and suddenly the world goes dark. 

>>>>Chapter 4

tags: 

@kmcedric11​ @annasdani​ @mellifluous-cosmos​

[justimajin]

Til Death Do Us Part ♜ Pt.8

➟ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

➟ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut

↳ (4.5k), 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, depictions of physical torture, character death

gif credit.

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

➟ Next Update: Tuesday, February 9 

The sound of heavy steps echo into the air, footsteps gliding against the surface of the ground. 

He frantically swings the door open, eyes darting back and forth. Seokjin is seated on a chair with his orbs glued to the screen in front of him as Jimin leans forward, attempting to scrutinize the details displayed before him. 

Namjoon lets out a huff, racing over and attempting to catch his breath, “Any luck?” 

Jimin looks up and shakes his head, only for Namjoon to deeply sigh in retaliation. He rubs a hand against his temples, brows contorted. 

“I don’t understand.” Seokjin proclaims, drawing his attention. “Where could she have possibly gone?” 

“You don’t think‒” Jimin instantly bites back his words, not wanting to pull into question the integrity of Namjoon’s decision in regards to you. 

Namjoon shakes his head, “There has to be something….” He paces over to the screen Seokjin was observing, “Did you find any clues in her correspondence?”  

“There’s not much I can tell you.” Seokjin lets out a sound of dismay, “Y/N actually seemed to be covering up for herself, and she didn’t leak any important information out.” 

Namjoon leans back, resting his weight on the sole of his feet. The situation in the most basic form for him, is utterly baffling. He isn’t able to comprehend why you would disappear so suddenly, what your intention or motive behind it was, or the worst of thoughts, if the reasoning has something to do with him. 

That’s when his eyes widen, a mere flash that captures his entire attention. 

His feet automatically propel him forward, halting right beside one particular screen in the far corner. Namjoon slowly crouches down with narrowed eyes as Jimin turns around, beckoning to Seokjin right away. 

“I think I might have found the answer.” It doesn’t take another second for Seokjin to immediately rise from his seat, inspecting the monitor Namjoon is referring to. 

“It’s been turned on…” He mumbles, craning his head right and left as he examines it. 

As if reacting to him, it flickers for a split second, before remaining active and showcasing details that have his eyes widening. 

“I usually keep an eye out for anyone trying to trace us….” Lifting his head, Seokjin’s brows are knitted together, “and this computer looks like it was turned on by mistake.” 

At the sight of Namjoon’s puzzlement, he continues, “My best bet is that with Y/N delaying her activities and coming up with excuses, the L/N’s weren’t convinced and attempted to figure out her location without her knowledge.” 

Namjoon looks up in alarm, glancing in between Jimin and Seokjin. 

“How could they have reached Y/N then?” Jimin ponders, “Sure, her location must have been traced, but there’s no way that explains how she just disappeared.” 

“Unless they were keeping a close eye on her.” Namjoon suddenly glances at Jimin, “Are we so sure that this place is safe?” 

Something sparks in the latter’s irises, his form instantly revolving towards the door. 

Seokjin turns to him, crossing his arms. 

“Any idea if this is linked to whoever was after you?” 

He shakes his head, “This is personal. Y/N hasn’t been in contact for a while and her latest mission…” There’s a glint in his eyes, lips pressing together, “Well, we can just say it didn’t go as planned.” 

He rather not delve deep into the details of what conspired during the time you didn’t know he was aware of your identity, deciding to leave out the pieces of information that involved what you were being ordered to do. 

Seokjin quirks up an intrigued brow at the vagueness in his tone, but remains silent nonetheless. 

Jimin returns, out of breath with rounded eyes. 

“It might interest you to know that the floor above us has a broken window.” He quickly says, “But it’s not one that you can easily break into.” 

“Someone knew.” Seokjin immediately whispers, facing Jimin who shares his look of realization, “Someone knew on the inside and got to Y/N once they confirmed her location.”  

Jimin hums, eyes connecting with Namjoon’s. “This also means we’re not as safe as we would have hoped.” 

He nearly curses at himself, the whole catastrophe of needing to escape casting a thick veil over his eyes. However, he knows the current circumstance won’t allow for him to mull over his misfortune, rather it simply brings attention to what he needs to do at the moment. 

“We need to figure out where Y/N is.” Seokjin nods, “It doesn’t matter to me how you do it, just find her.” 

The latter doesn’t make a move to respond or coax him, instead he observes the screen and types frantically on the keyboard. Namjoon watches him from behind, his fists tightening. 

He can only pray that through this nest of a mayhem, you’re somehow alright. 

A deep groan escapes your lips. 

Sweat drips down from your temples as your head lulls to the side, lids wearily blinking. A strained cough leaves your mouth and you squeeze your eyes shut, attempting to focus your vision.

Once the room ceases to spin, the first thing that greets your pupils is the distorted sight of metal bars.

You bolt upright, scrambling towards them and wrapping your hands around the icy alloy. Peering around wild-eyed, a sudden jolt tugs you backwards and you can only stare in horror at the chain of metal that constrains you from behind. 

“You’re finally awake.” 

You swivel around, a man standing before you. 

Irises immediately enlarging, your breath hitches in your throat. You’re not sure if you should run, scream or stagger away, but as his footsteps begin to grow louder, all you can muster is barely concealing the need to cower behind the bars. 

He crouches down, staring directly at you. 

A smile curls at the corner of his lips. 

“It’s been a while, Y/N.” 

Your terrified gaze is locked onto his, “I heard you’ve been compromised.” His eyes narrow, “Do you recall what happens to spies that willingly expose their identity?” 

There’s a dead silence lingering in the air and he raises himself up, walking away from you. Lurching forward, your grasp on the metal bars tighten as you spill out the first thought in your mind. 

“I-I wasn’t compromised!” 

He turns around, a proud look radiating in his eyes, “You’re telling me Kim Namjoon doesn’t know who you really are?” 

You furiously shake your head, voice quivering, “My husband doesn’t know anything!” 

Although your actions and pressing need to prove yourself is evident, your words seem to spell out a different message. 

“Oh, so it’s your husband now?” 

Your stomach instantly sinks, mind becoming numb. Furiously blinking, you fumble around for a coherent response. 

He states the obvious, “You’ve been compromised, Y/N, and now we’ll need to target the Kim family in some other way.” 

You swallow hard, already knowing the implications behind those words. 

You’ve failed, meaning that they will need to send someone in that can successfully infiltrate this time around to replace you, perhaps with a different link that you can only assume would be Namjoon’s sister. 

But in doing so, they’ll need to dispose of you. 

The sound of metal startles you, and you suck in a deep breath. 

Eyes squeezing shut, you can only pray that you’ll somehow make it through the night. 

Namjoon can’t decide between if he’s extremely fortunate or downright out of luck. 

Extremely fortunate because Seokjin actually found you, managing just enough to trace back to your responder in time and securing a location that the latter is confident will lead to you. 

But downright out of luck, because you’re situated in a place that he truthfully has been wanting to avoid. 

It’s one of the central buildings the L/N’s have left, and the perfect place to shoot on sight if discovered. 

Trespassing into the area is similar to walking on a trail of blazing hot stones, but thankfully the three of them are able to successfully infiltrate. He acclaims Seokjin’s firm belief that you’re being stowed away underground ‒ a place that suggests to them otherwise not to get involved or bother searching areas aside from it. 

Seokjin speaks in a fast-paced ramble, whispering to them about an entryway. “The door shouldn’t be visible if you walked along the corridor, but there should be something that we can access th‒” 

He swiftly sinks down to the ground, a bullet glinting right over his head and creating a chip against the wall. 

“There they are!” A voice angrily shouts as a sigh slips out of him. 

“Ah, what a magnificent time to have some company.” Seokjin wistfully mutters, pulling out a gun from his suit’s jacket in an instant. Cocking the trigger back, he rapidly fires in the direction of the voice, barely flinching as more bullets whiz by him. 

Another gun joins him in the crossfire, eyeing him with a smirk, “You don’t think it would be especially considerate of them if they could assist us too?” 

Seokjin returns Jimin’s smile and promptly ceases his firing for a moment. A man suddenly charges towards them, but he’s immediately knocked over and pushed against a wall. 

Namjoon glares at him, tightly holding onto his hands before roughly shoving him closer to it.

Jimin aims his gun, cutting to the chase, “There’s a floor underneath us that we need access to.” 

It’s not an inquiry, rather a demand. The man appears petrified, shakingly gesturing towards one certain hall the three had passed by earlier. 

Seokjin’s eyes light up in recognition, and he inches closer, sending a nod in confirmation to the two. Namjoon makes eye contact with Jimin and in an instant, the man is released and thrown to the side. 

He carefully maneuvers to the implied hall as Jimin resumes his gunfire, a series of staircases being revealed once Seokjin pushes against the door. Upon getting a signal from Jimin, he dives in with the former. 

Seokjin immediately clasps a hand against his nose, hovering over it. Namjoon scrunches up his nose, failing to disregard the putrid smell leaking into the area. 

A large door obstructs their pathway, and Seokjin moves forward in haste to see if he can tap into it. However, Namjoon simply jabs his shoulder into the heavy metal, widening it enough for them to pass through. 

“Let’s go.” He mumbles. 

If he assumed the scent at the entrance was foul enough, he wasn’t prepared to experience the route through the passageway. Layers and layers of mold stick to the walls, growing expeditiously all the way over to the dampness that forms near the ceiling. Rather than being part of the building, his natural instinct is to assume the appearance to be akin to a sewage way, and it’s something he tries not to dwell on as he makes his way through it. 

“Hey Namjoon...” 

After moments of simply treading and trying to get through the ill space, Seokjin calls out to him from behind. His voice is oddly hesitant, but curious, “I tried not to pry into it too much, but how are we certain that we can trust Y/N?” 

It’s a question that he has many reassuring answers for, but as his mind spins, there’s one particular instance that he hasn’t been able to shake from his thoughts. He recalls the time he had pieced together what led to Taehyung and Eunjoo’s demise, and it was something that in the sincerest way, shook him to the core.

The memory is far too vivid, rendering him unable to forget the way it seemed like you were being endlessly tortured throughout the night. It was as if the nightmares were haunting you, drowning you within their terrors, all while you were pleading for it to be over. 

At the mere thought of it, chills run down his spine. He wonders if the memory somehow even plagues him to a certain degree, your suffering almost attributing as if it were his own. 

Life spreads through his orbs again, his lips moving to state the firm words. 

“Because she’s a tool.” He breathes, “Just like I am.”

Seokjin simply stares at him in silence, a sigh slipping from his lips. 

“Of course you had to go ahead and fall for a L/N.” 

Moving forward, he brushes past Namjoon who unabashedly smiles at the hint of amusement in his voice. As Seokjin advances, his gaze latches onto the door before him and he pulls against the handle.  

“It’s locked.” He exhales in frustration, a sound of dismay leaving Namjoon. He darts his gaze around, the sight of mold stricken walls clouding his view. Suddenly freezing, he slowly treads forward, his surveying eyes latching onto a large metal container above him. 

It’s like Seokjin can read his mind right away, roughly pushing against the material until it completely crumbles and collapses onto the ground. 

A lopsided grin surfaces on him, “Do you think you can get through?” 

Namjoon nods and Seokjin crouches down, aiding him as he hauls himself up into it. He manages to crawl through the narrow vent, wincing at the sharp pieces of metal that tear through his jacket, before wrapping his hands firmly around it and propelling himself forward. 

Metal crashes onto the ground as Namjoon nearly topples down, but he’s quick to dust himself off and chuckles at Seokjin’s astonished expression on the other side of the door. 

Leaning closer, he quietly yet hastily speaks, “I’ll find Y/N, try to keep them off my trail and figure out if you can get this door unlocked too.” He pushes against it roughly again, but to no avail does it open. 

Seokjin nods in confirmation, but there’s a slight twinkle in his eyes as he takes out his gun. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m definitely not going to let Jimin have all the fun to himself.” 

The corner of his mouth lips up and Seokjin flashes him a smile. After bidding him good luck, Namjoon begins to increasingly quicken his pace, plunging into the centre of the mayhem. 

***

His chest is rapidly heaving, a sheen of sweat steadily building up on his temples and a hue of red colouring his skin. The gun in his hands stays firm within his hold, as if simply letting it go would cost him his life. His back is pressed against a wall, eyes sweeping back and forth, carefully surveying every inch of the area. 

He’s earnestly lost count, memory becoming fuzzy at the amount of times he encountered resistance in the midst of his sprinting, having either to forcefully create a path or a trail of blood in his wake. The liquid has splattered and exploded all over his suit, and save for the gun he grips, his entire attire is messy and tousled. 

But hope sparks within him in the search for light, carefully inching closer without revealing or compromising his position. Slightly leaning over, his scrutinizing eyes come to an immediate halt, breath hitching in his throat. 

In the far corner of the room, there is a small cell. And in that cell, is you. 

Although relief immediately cascades through Namjoon from your faint appearance, his orbs roam around and it’s only then does he realize the condition you’re in. 

Your form is slumped against the metal bars, resembling a limp doll whose strings have been pulled far too much than anything. Bruises litter the length of your arms, the scent of freshly spilled blood wafting through the air. Dried pools of the liquid stick to the ground beneath you, and shallow breath escapes you by the minute, barely hanging onto any thread of strength. 

His throat tightens and even though he desperately wants to look away, he forces himself not to. 

Death would have been a better option. 

The thought hauntingly echoes in his mind, and it’s only when the sound of heavy footsteps against the tiled ground that he breaks out of it, head snapping ahead and attempting to capture a glance of who did this to you. 

“So are you going to tell me, or not?” He taps against the bars for your attention, but you barely move. He crouches down, showcasing the gun within his grasp, “Your insight is important to us, Y/N.” 

Namjoon knits his brows together. It’s almost like a warning ‒ uncannily somewhat similar to a teacher scolding his student after they’ve misbehaved. 

Suddenly, his eyes widen as a thought flashes through his mind. 

You’re thankfully still alive, but why? Why even have the need to keep you like this, dangling on the slim chance of survival instead of ending it all? 

The answer is confirmed for him when the man taps against your bars again, this time more aggressive. “Tell me, Y/N.” 

They need information about him from you, but you’ve refused to cooperate. 

Another shallow breath leaves your lips and you crane your head to the side, as if not even wanting to spare him a glance. The increasing frustration on your capturer’s expression is evident enough, but the action seems to break his late fine strand of patience as he rises to his heels, cocking the trigger back on his gun. 

Namjoon’s eyes shoot up in alarm when your arm is tugged and the gun is pointed against your temples, swiftly moving forward without another thought. 

His gun is raised and there’s a forceful tone in his voice that screams of rage, “Take your aim off of her.” 

The man swivels, clearly taken aback with the sudden intrusion ‒ but Namjoon sees it so transparently. The way his mouth drops down with astonishment, the way his eyes light up in recognition and the way the gun still points towards you, recognition forming into resentment.  

He chuckles, like Namjoon’s actions were a joke to him. Peering down at you in amusement, he grins.

“You’re protecting her? The Kim Namjoon?” He laughs again, stating the fact as if Namjoon is completely oblivious, “This pesky snitch is a spy created by the L/N’s.”

Namjoon’s eyes trail down, coming straight into contact with your own. They’re filled with utter relief and somber gratitude, your orbs practically brimming at the sight of him as he feels his chest tightening all over again. 

He grits his teeth, not moving the slightest, “I won’t ask again.” 

The man before him furrows his brows, displeased with his response. Before he can shift his aim over to Namjoon, the latter barely hesitates in plunging a bullet into his arm. 

A scream leaves his lips and Namjoon charges forward, slamming his elbow straight into the wound he’s created. The man continues to grimace in pain, but his hands abruptly shoot out, wrapping around Namjoon’s neck. 

Namjoon gasps, the gun in his hands slipping out from his hold. He’s pinned to the ground, the man’s strength being a compelling force against his air supply. 

The sound of chains jingling alerts him right away as he chokes, his teeth gritting as he sharply jabs his knee into the man’s abdomen, resulting in him wincing and freeing Namjoon’s throat. He barely takes a moment to recover, grasping onto his gun instantly and taking aim. 

One bullet. Two bullets. Three bullets. Namjoon can’t remember how many times he’s fired, the faint blur of blood spilling and metal piercing into the man’s skin barely hindering his cold hardened gaze. The man eventually collapses onto the ground, lifeless as crimson continues to drip out and coat the steel floor. 

Namjoon remains frozen in place, chest rising and falling. 

The clatter of metal results in him snapping his head up, dark gaze falling onto your horror stricken one in a matter of minutes. He begins to walk closer to you and for a moment, you can’t help but stagger back, heart racing so fast that you feel like it might burst. 

He breaks the silence with a hushed whisper, “You know, no matter how you look at it….we’re very alike.” 

A cracked smile surfaces on his lips as he passes by you, rummaging through the table opposite to your cell. 

You swallow hard, continuing to listen. 

“Our families, they’ll never allow us to live for ourselves.” Swiveling around, he paces towards your cell, “Slaves, tools.....I can’t even come up with a kinder word to describe it.” 

He chuckles, but it comes out too strained as he crouches near your cell, slotting the metal piece in.

“But one thing that won’t ever change,” The metallic frame reels open, “is that you will always be my wife.” 

His hand reaches out, a warm tone residing within his eyes. You can’t tell if it’s the way he gestures towards you, or the way your heart keeps feeling like it might rupture any moment, but you crawl and staggers towards him in a frenzy, tears bursting from your eyes as once you topple over into his arms. 

He embraces you with a sigh of relief and you believe the action is exactly how you feel in that moment ‒ content and utterly relieved. You don’t recall how long it’s been since you’ve been in his arms, harsh sobs escaping you that he doesn’t immediately coax, instead allowing you to alleviate yourself.

It’s not until you break apart that Namjoon swipes away the remaining water with his thumbs, smiling at you softly as you attempt to calm down. He carefully holds your hand, rising up to his feet as he attempts to help you up. 

You clasp onto his suit right away, pulling him down anxiously. Namjoon stares at you in confusion, but the words that tumble out of your lips are enough to stir terror in his orbs. 

“I-I can’t move….” You whisper and that’s when he notices. The way you remained on the ground as you were being interrogated, the way you inevitably staggered as you desperately tried to crawl to him, the way your legs are soaked with red, long gashes marked all over your skin. 

Namjoon can’t explain how petrified he is, how you simply choose to look away, distinctly aware of the pain and the horrifying appearance they’ve taken on. 

He doesn’t respond or make a comment on them, instead choosing to simply lean over and putting his neck within your reach. After a moment of struggle, you loop your arms around and he presses a hand against your back and knees, effortlessly lifting you. 

You remain silent as Namjoon carefully guides you back to the path he had taken, being mindful of your immobile legs as he walks through the narrow ends. He soon reaches the door that he and Seokjin had gotten stuck on, and the latter is present with Jimin, their rumpled appearance being on par with Namjoon’s. 

Unlike him, Seokjin and Jimin seem flabbergasted with your appearance, “What happened?” 

Namjoon simply shakes his head as you remain quiet, gesturing towards Jimin, “How is it up there?” 

“There’s still plenty of them,” He breathes, “We can cover for you.” 

Namjoon nods and the two of them stand in front of him, pulling out their guns and cocking back the triggers. You notice Namjoon stiffens and his hold on you suddenly tightens, but you realize why exactly once you make it from underground and get back onto the ground floor. 

Bullets are flying left and right, the sound of shouting threatening to tear your ears in half. Seokjin quickly gestures to a pathway, and Namjoon follows through, frantically sprinting. 

In an instant he crouches down at the sight of someone, covering the two of you up. A hiss leaves your lips and he leans in closer, concern twisted in his features. 

“Y/N?” He whispers and you shake your head, bringing a hand to your temples. It’s almost like your head is burning, a painful blazing sensation radiating and pulsing through from all corners. It blurs your vision for a brief moment, drawing out unconscious tears. 

“M-My head, I‒ ah.” You wince again and Namjoon presses the back of his hand against your forehead, expression contorting into a mixture of worry and confusion at the scorching temperature. 

His hand instantly drops at the sound of a voice, but it disappears just as quickly and he peers around, noticing the coast is clear. Hauling you up again, he rushes through the pathway, heading out the building in time. 

After finally meeting up with Seokjin and Jimin, Namjoon takes you back to the house. Seokjin ponders over your absence and you reveal the knowledge of how you were suddenly cornered by a handful of servants, something that draws concern to his eyes and that he attempts to diffuse right away. Jimin takes it upon himself to treat your wounds as you hiss and wince in retaliation, sending you apologetic smiles in the midst of the process.

He gladly informs you that your wounds don’t appear to be too severe, but that it would take time for you to fully recuperate from the injuries. There’s still a faint throbbing that lingers in your head, but you starting to think the constant agony your body has gone through is resulting in your body demanding for some rest. 

You’re seated on the edge of the bed as Jimin departs, long strips of gauzes wrapped around your arms and legs. Namjoon, who has been idling by the door during the process, instantly walks over to you once you’re finished being tended to. 

He sits right next to you, hand reaching out on instinct to intertwine with yours. A smile arises at the corner of your lips from the gesture, but you notice his gaze is fixated on the tight bindings on your limbs, and you’re compelled to coax his concerns. 

“Namjoon, I‒” You don’t get the chance to continue, his lips brushing against yours in an instant. 

You practically melt into his embrace, his lips fervently but delicately moving against yours with haste. As your lips part, a content sigh leaves him, evoking small butterflies to flutter and dance around within your chest. 

His hand presses against the small of your back and you steady yourself, your hands resting against him. It’s only when his head tilts that you can feel the gratifying warmth of his skin, a blissful ray casting over you. 

It intensifies; his mouth probing more and growing bolder as you let him, desiring nothing more. But that’s when the searing pang shoots through you, clouding your vision and snatching you away from the ecstasy. 

Namjoon is suddenly pushed back with a shove, lips swollen and eyes captured in a daze. 

A splatter of red coats the white floors. 

Namjoon’s confused gaze is all over you, pupils dilating and frantic. Your scarlet hands shakingly hover over your mouth as a rapid cluster of wheezing coughs thrum through your ribcage. 

He reaches out for you, but it’s too late as your feeble body suddenly crashes onto the ground and all he can do is desperately cry out your name.

[fantastic-rambles]

Fandom: Sk8 the Infinity

Characters: Shindo Ainosuke (Adam), Kikuchi Tadashi (Snake), Shindo Ainosuke’s Aunts

Warnings: Emotional Manipulation, References to Abuse, Yandere Tadashi, Graphic Violence, Non-Sexual Bondage, Murder/Minor Character Death, Blood, Gore, Crying, Vomiting, etc. Tread carefully!

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: (AU - Canon Divergence) Tadashi is tired of Ainosuke's aunts and their manipulations, so he decides to take matters into his own hands, whether Ainosuke wants it or not. [TadaAi Week 2021 | Day 2: Separation/Ties]

“Ainosuke-sama. Your presence is requested in the drawing room.”

Tadashi cuts off the call before Ainosuke can reply, and he’s left staring at his phone in bewilderment. The only people who would call him to the drawing room would be his aunts, but it’s the middle of the night. And usually, Tadashi would come to fetch him in person.

Still, he can’t resist the habits that have been ingrained in him since he was four: when his aunts call for him, he attends, regardless of what he’s doing. Whether he was just sitting in the garden, in a lesson with his tutors, or even at one of his equestrian classes, when the call came, someone would come to fetch him and bring him inside. The only place where he could be certain that he wouldn’t be interrupted was when he was in school.

Thus, confused, he nevertheless begins the walk down to the drawing room, frowning as he draws closer. There are small noises that he can’t identify: muffled, high-pitched voices that he can’t understand, a rustle and the sound of something tearing. And when he steps into the room, it feels as if the axis of the world has tilted, and he’s stepped into a dream… or a nightmare.

His aunts are seated around the table as they usually are, and when he enters the room, three pairs of eyes turn to look at him, just like always. But they aren’t eyes filled with their usual confidence and self-assurance. They’re wide, desperate, and terrified. Each of them is tied to her chair with coarse rope, their mouths stuffed with cloth, and Hanako and Masako are covered in plastic sheeting that wraps around their necks like a barber’s cape. More rustling draws his attention to Kanako, and Tadashi behind her, securing a third sheet around the woman with the harsh rip of more tape. And then his assistant straightens up, tugging at the lapels of his jacket before looking at Ainosuke. And he doesn’t recognize those eyes, either: they’re as flat as always, but they’re also cold. So cold that it makes Ainosuke shiver and take an involuntary step back.

“Tadashi?”

His voice sounds strange to his ears, thin and distant.

“Tadashi? What are you doing?”

Hanako is trying to say something through her gag, frantic words that break apart into unintelligible noise. Masako is struggling against her bonds, the rope twisting the silk of her nightgown and leaving red welts around her wrists. Kanako is lunging forward, dragging her chair forward in a soft scrape of wood on wood, but Ainosuke can’t look away from the man who’s brought them all here. So he sees when Tadashi reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out something that shines dark and metallic in the moonlight coming through the window, pressing it to Kanako’s head. And the woman freezes instantly, her pleading eyes staring at Ainosuke, begging for him to stop whatever is happening.

Bending over, Tadashi pulls out the cloth from her mouth, dropping the soaked fabric into her lap, where it squelches against the plastic.

“Ainosuke!” she gasps, her voice high with terror. “Do something! Call the police! Call--”

“Shut up.”

She’s cut off by a cold voice that none of them recognize, her head snapping sideways when the gun is slammed against her head. A gun. Where the hell had Tadashi gotten a gun? Kanako whimpers as blood courses down her face while the barrel is shoved against the back of her head again.

“The only words I want to hear out of your mouth are apologies to Ainosuke-sama. Anything else, and I’ll pull the trigger. If you don’t do a good job, I’ll pull the trigger.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Kanako is babbling, tears drawing tracks through the blood.

“Ainosuke, you know we love you, right? We just--”

And she flinches at the sound of a small click, the cocking of the gun.

“NO! Nonono, I'm sorry. I'll do it. I'm sorry, Ainosuke. We hurt you, and I regret it. I didn't mean to. I just wanted to raise you into an outstanding man. And you've done us so proud, Ainosuke. We just tried our best to--"

With a bang, Kanako suddenly slumps forward, and her sisters' screams can be heard through their gags while they jerk against the ropes and Ainosuke stares, wide-eyed with shock. Kanako doesn't move while blood drips from her head, pattering against the plastic like rain. She just sits, silent and still, and he just watches with a sick sense of horror.

But then Tadashi is moving, crossing the room, and he can't help but follow the other man's silent progress. The moonlight illuminates a splash of something on his face, wet and dark, but Tadashi hasn't even bothered to try to wipe it away. And then he stops behind Masako, and Ainosuke's legs can no longer support his weight. He crumbles to his knees, his throat working frantically to force words out.

"Tadashi... stop. Please," he begs, watching his youngest aunt cringe and shiver. "What do you want? We'll give it to you, anything. We won't tell the police what happened. I promise. It's not too late. You can still stop. Just stop. Please. Don't... don't kill her. Don't kill them."

Tadashi doesn't even seem to hear him as he bends over to pull the gag out of Masako's mouth. The woman is sobbing helplessly, her face tear-stained and her breath coming in short, choking gasps. Even the gun pressed to her head can't suppress her panic, and neither can Tadashi's chilling voice.

"Your turn."

But there's no sound in the room except for Masako's crying and Hanako's muffled shouts, and then Tadashi sighs with apparent impatience. A gloved hand wraps around Masako's slender throat, and Ainosuke just stares as the fingers tighten, digging into soft flesh. And the cries are suddenly cut off, and Masako struggles in Tadashi’s grip, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly until he finally lets go. And then she slumps forward, coughing, only for Tadashi’s hand to fist in her hair and drag her head up, forcing her to look over at Ainosuke.

“Your turn,” he repeats.

“Tadashi...”

“Ainosuke. Ainosuke, dear. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. We were wrong. What we did was wrong.” Masako’s voice is hoarse and shaky, and every word seems to cause her pain, but she forces them out anyways, tears still falling down her face. “We hurt you badly. We ruined your childhood. We were selfish, thinking of ourselves and the family. Not thinking about you.”

“No. No, that’s not true, auntie. You raised me. All of you,” Ainosuke protests, his mouth dry. And it’s true: without them, he couldn’t have become the man he was today. They’d loved him, and they’d taught him everything he knew, everything he needed to succeed. It was true that their love sometimes hurt, but he’d always known that it was only because they cared.

“Keep going,” says the voice of the executioner, and both of them flinch.

“Kikuchi-kun is right, Ainosuke. We should apologize. We need to apologize. It was all our fault. Everything. All of it. Please, Kikuchi-kun. Let us go. We won’t say anything. We’ll make it up however we can. Let us start over, please. I never wanted to do it; it was always them. Hanako and--”

Ainosuke sees her eyes widen and then try to push their way out of their sockets, and a mark appears on her forehead with something dark trickling out of it before Tadashi lets go and Masako’s head falls forward limply. He hadn’t even heard the shot, and a sour taste grows in the back of his throat before he collapses forward himself, his hands resting on the floor as he vomits onto the ground, belatedly realizing that it’s been covered with more of the plastic sheeting. His stomach heaves, bringing up more of his dinner in a slimy mess, and he realizes that he’s crying too, hot tears falling over his cheeks.

What’s going on? Why is Tadashi doing this? What have any of them done to deserve this... this senseless, ruthless execution? He chokes and cries until there’s nothing left for him to bring up, and his throat is raw and disgusting when he finally looks up, knowing what he’ll see. Tadashi’s standing right behind Hanako, his expression impassive as he looks down on his master with his hand resting on the back of the couch.

“Tadashi,” Ainosuke chokes out past the taste of acid on his tongue. “Please...”

Once again, Tadashi removes the gag from the woman’s mouth before nudging her with his gun. Hanako’s always been the strongest of her sisters, the matriarch of the family, and it breaks Ainosuke’s heart to see her shaking with sobs, looking between the corpses surrounding them.

“Kanako... Masako...” she whispers, her voice filled with so much grief that it seems likely to drive Ainosuke mad. But then her eyes harden, and she tilts her head back to spit at Tadashi, her saliva striking him on the cheek and mingling with Kanako’s blood.

“You won’t intimidate me, servant. What do you know about nobility, when you sneak into our rooms in the middle of the night and force us here at gunpoint? When you coerce us to lie with our lives in the balance? Go ahead and kill me! Show Ainosuke that we were right to separate him from your foul influence! Watch, Ainosuke! This is how the lower-class creatures live!”

“Tadashi! Auntie!” Ainosuke cries out, even as Tadashi says, “As you wish.”

And a third shot rings out, echoing in his ears.

He doesn’t know how long he’s knelt there with vomit soaking into his pants, staring at the ground because it’s better than looking up. He doesn’t even realize that Tadashi has moved until the older man is kneeling right next to him, and then Ainosuke is scrambling away in a wild panic until he’s backed himself against the wall. He still doesn’t understand, but it’s his turn next: it must be. Tadashi’s too smart to leave any witnesses to the crime, and he’s clearly thought it through to ensure that any mess is easy to clean up and hide. He’s probably got a perfect plan for disposing of the bodies, too, in a way that they won’t ever be found. Maybe even for Tadashi to disappear as well.

There’s something dark lying on the ground between them, and Ainosuke’s watery eyes are drawn toward it, and he flinches when he recognizes the gun with Tadashi’s hand lying on top of it. But the hand retreats, leaving the weapon behind, and he looks up at the man he thought he knew but he clearly didn’t, sitting in seiza in front of him.

“If you wish to take revenge, Ainosuke-sama, I won’t stop you.”

The coldness is gone, but Tadashi’s voice is as flat and colorless as it’s always been since their separation. Glassy-eyed with shock, Ainosuke stares at him, afraid of a trick. But as the silence stretches between them and Tadashi doesn't move a muscle, Ainosuke lunges forward to grab the gun and whips back just as quickly, the weapon heavy in his hands as he points it at the other man. And Tadashi just sits there.

His finger creaks on the trigger as he remembers his aunts, the women who gave up their own futures to ensure that he would be successful at everything he put his mind to. Who taught him how to navigate the messy world of human relations and politics. Who ensured that he learned how to prioritize, that he understood his role as the scion of a family of status. Who loved him.

And Tadashi had killed them all. Heartlessly, with the same efficiency with which he handled everything else.

"Why?" he asks, his hands shaking. "Why, Tadashi?"

"Because you deserve to be free."

What does that even mean? He wants to pull the trigger, to end Tadashi's life just as easily as Tadashi ended his aunts', but no matter how much he tries, it's as if he's frozen. But Tadashi just waits patiently, looking up at him calmly, until the gun finally falls from his hands, thunking on the floor.

And then Tadashi is sweeping him into his arms, hugging him, and Ainosuke's tears flow freely as he hugs his family's murderer back, desperate for warmth. It's wrong. It's so wrong that he can't even find the words to describe just how fucked up this whole situation is. But he can't kill Tadashi, even after all this.

"It's okay, Ainosuke-sama. It's because you're kind. But you're safe, I promise. I'll be here for you. I'll teach you."

The words are soft and reassuring, words that don't match what Tadashi has just done, but Ainosuke still clings to him helplessly, hating himself and hating Tadashi. Then, Tadashi stands up, hefting Ainosuke in his arms before starting to carry him back to his room.

He helps Ainosuke change out of his soiled clothes and gets him a glass of water, helping him to drink before tucking him into bed, as if his master is a child again. Then he leaves, murmuring something about cleaning up the mess. And Ainosuke lies in bed, staring at the ceiling and praying that it was all a nightmare, that it'll go away when he wakes up in the morning.

[Part 2]

[deltas-writing-corner]

Courtship: Invitation

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland (Malleus x GN!reader)

Warnings: mentions of blood | depictions of firearms/firearm handling | mentions of hunting

Previous chapter | Next Chapter

AO3 version

Slight revisions and full version posted on: 5/4/2021

“Here,” Sam hands you a thick envelope. “Your pay, as usual.”

 You trust Sam not to go behind your back and the mutual agreement set between you two, but you make sure to grab and stop him from walking away with all your produce just yet. You need to count the money he's handed over and ensure every last madol is where it should be. Thankfully, it is, but there are a few extra bills you know aren’t supposed to be in there.

 You remove the extra money and hand it back to him. “You gave me too much.”

 He pushes your hand back and shakes his head. “Consider this my holiday gift for you.”

 You give him an incredulous look. “You sure? Because if you come back here next week telling me I owe you money I’m going to sick the wolves on you.”

 Your threat is met with a hearty laugh from the shopkeeper. “Have I ever done you wrong, my friend?”

 “Yes, you have actually.”

 “Haha, good times indeed!” He casually waves at you as he hauls away your vegetables on a large wooden cart. “Happy holidays!”

 You have half a mind to remind him that the holiday season is over. Instead, you decide that it’s best to just turn around and walk away. The money is in your hands and your produce is in his care and that's all there is to it. This season's harvest is now officially concluded and you can start prepping for the spring. After a long-deserved rest, of course. The few extra madols give you just a little more than what was needed to put down for a brand new generator for the dorm. You have a model already picked out ahead of time. All that's left is to order and wait for it to come in.

 "Well?" Benji floats up to you as soon as you enter the front door. "Do we have enough?"

 You proudly wave the envelope in the air. "We have enough and then some!"

 Your housemates cheer and pull you into a group hug. Frankie takes the envelope from you and heads out, most likely heading to the safe you’ve hidden from Grim so he can put all the money together and deposit it at the nearest bank. Once the ghosts come down from their brief celebratory high, you excuse yourself and head to the backyard where Malleus is waiting for you.

 "I'm back!" you happily announce your arrival.

 "Welcome back," he smiles up at you. "Did you get your payment?"

 "I did!" you nod. "Frankie's taking it to the bank, so I should be able to get that new generator before sunset."

 "That's good. It'll be one less problem for you to worry about."

 "You can say that again," you sigh. "Thanks for your help today. I'm surprised we managed to pick and clean everything up before noon!"

 You situate yourself next to Malleus, who's sitting down on the low porch. Gunter's pups have been following him since breakfast and you don't think they'll be off his heels for some time. It's been like this since they were born. One might even be able to say that they like him more than they do you. Malleus doesn't show it or verbally express it, but you can tell he enjoys their attachment to him. He allows them to jump all over him and drench him in wet kisses without much of a fuss. Who knows, when they grow older they just might start following and taking orders from him rather than you. Maybe he won't need Sebek and Silver to follow him anymore if they stick around?

 You can imagine Sebek being incredibly offended that a bunch of wild wolves took his job.

 Malleus looks at you. "Have you given them names yet?"

 "The pups?" you ask for clarification. "I've been meaning to, but my head can’t think of any. If you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them."

 Malleus mulls over your offer. He picks up one pup at a time, trying to think of an appropriate name to give them. After about 10 minutes his shoulders go slack and he looks back over to you with disappointment. "I'm afraid I'm drawing a blank as well."

 "Well, you gave it a shot," you clap your hand on his shoulder. "Tell you what. Once we get that new generator, we can sit down and do a bit of name-brainstorming over some tea."

 "Yes, that sounds lovely," he smiles again, and you start to realize that he has a damn good smile. "When do you want to get together?"

 "Sometime next week. With the extra money Sam gave me I can get the generator in faster!"

 Malleus seems momentarily excited, but it quickly dies as he suddenly realizes something. "Can we meet the week after next? I have something important coming up."

 "Sure," you say. "What's happening next week?"

 "It's…" he hesitates. "It's my birthday next week."

 Your eyes pop wide open. "Oh shit, for real?"

 "Indeed."

 One of the pups desperately tries to jump up onto the porch, but his stubby legs and meager strength aren't enough to push him over the edge. As you reach down and help him up, you ask, "How come I'm only hearing about your birthday now?"

 Malleus carefully lifts the other pups onto the porch as well. "You never asked me."

 "No kidding", you snort. "To be honest, I thought that maybe you didn't celebrate it anymore since you're hundreds of years old. Don't birthdays lose their novelty after a few centuries?"

 "They do,” he agrees  “I haven't had a grandiose party since I was about your age."

 "Wow," your eyebrows lift in shock. "That's just rude."

 He suddenly looks so terrified. "I didn't mean it-"

 "I'm kidding!" you quickly reassure him. "Lighten up Tsunotarou! I'm not going to shoot you for poking a bit of fun at me."

 "So you say," he grumbles.

 "I'm not!" you defensively shrill. "If you're talking about the time I shot at those sea worms, I had every right to! No way in hell was I gonna be intimidated into giving my dorm up. Not now. Not ever."

 Those "sea worms" you're referring to are Jade and Floyd Leech from Octavinelle. During exams week, Ace Deuce and Grim as well as many other students who made a deal with Azul for his infamous study guides practically kissed the very ground you walked on in order to convince you to rescue them from their dubious contracts. Initially, you refused their request no matter how much they pleaded or bothered you. It wasn't until Jade and Floyd caught onto this bit of information (it’s hard to ignore a dozen students following you around like a bunch of chicks) that they began to set their sights on you. The two tried to squeeze you into a deal that would release everyone who signed a contract with Azul for his infamous cheat sheet, so long as you could keep up your end of the bargain. 

 It was clearly too good to be true or fair. Nevertheless, you decided to at least listen and attempt to negotiate some sort of proposal that would make both sides happy, if only to have your intruded space restored to normal. Unfortunately, Azul wouldn't settle for anything less than your dorm, which you refused to hand over despite Grim's OK to put it up for grabs. Jade and Floyd insisted you agree to the terms for the sake of your friends and fellow schoolmates, but you bluntly told them something that, to this day, never fails to make Malleus giggle even when he's in a foul mood.

  "You're not getting my fucking dorm! Not now! Not ever!"

 Unfortunately, Jade and Floyd began to follow you around too and even went as far as to visit your dorm during unconventional hours, on a regular basis. Their insistent arguments began to turn into veiled threats, and you aren't the type of person to take them all too well. Malleus remembers visiting you one day only to find you out on the roof, your hunting rifle in hand, keeping a vigilant eye out towards the gates for the Leech twins to make their expected visit. Malleus knew that your weapon is a dangerous one when used correctly, but he did not expect as much power behind it as it had until you shot a couple of live rounds near the merfolk's feet.

 His ears still ring thinking about that powerful discharge.

 "Where is your rifle?" he asks. "Also, where is your falcon?"

 "Twilight? She's still upstairs in her cage." You make a vague gesture towards the second floor.

 Twilight is a falcon that you found during one of your hunting trips, having suffered a nasty injury to her wing. You have some experience with falconry so you immediately recognized her mannerism as that of a hunting falcon as well as her breed, an Aplomado. You tried to find her original handler while you nursed her back to health, but unfortunately, no one came forward to claim her and you decided to keep her. You and her bonded very easily, so rehabilitating and training her to take commands from you was a breeze. While you expected her to maybe leave your side once she was able to properly fly again, she remains determined to stick with you.

 You stand up and turn towards the back door. "I should probably wake her up before she gets mad at me.”

 "I'll watch over these while you do that," Malleus grabs one of the pups who topples over another and refuses to get off of them.

 "Thanks!" You bend down and give him a quick one-armed hug from behind. "You're the best!"

 As you're about to head back into your home, you stop at the door and turn back around. "Are you sure you want me to bring my rifle?"

 "Do you not want to bring it out?"

 "I don't mind bringing it. It's just, not everyone likes to be around guns."

 Malleus nods in understanding. "Well, I'm not like everyone," he playfully remarks.

 "No, you're not," you smile. "I'll be right back then."

 "Take your time," he assures you.

"Rise and shine pretty bird!"

 You lift the dark sheet off of her cage so she can bask in the morning light. Twilight was busy preening herself, but now that you're in her sight she begins to happily screech and shuffles closer to the door, eagerly awaiting for you to open it so she can jump on you.

 You quickly slip on your handling gloves and help her transfer from her perch to your hand. Her sharp talons tightly grip around the sides of your fingers, but the thick leather prevents them from piercing your raw flesh. You snap your fingers a couple of times to get her attention focused solely on you. When she maintains steady eye contact with you, you reach into your pocket and present your other gloved palm to her. In it are some bacon bits you managed to snag from the leftovers of this morning's breakfast. She eagerly pecks and munches down the small meal.

 "It still isn't the best time to go hunting, but how's about I let you out anyways and you can stretch your wings for a bit?"

 She expands her wings and flaps them a few times, a sign that she's eager to take you up on your offer. You haven't taken her out to hunt for about a month, mainly because you were gone half of the time. The winters here are especially harsh, even with a bunch of fire faeries keeping the campus somewhat warmer. The pickings are also dry since most of the wildlife on the island are sticking close to their burrows to stay warm and wait out the season.

 You've been itching to head out into the forest recently, but winter is usually a bad hunting season for you. Luckily, you've met and befriended a few of the locals on the island who live off the bounty of the land as you do. They tend to look out for one another and offer help during difficult times, and the barren winter is no exception. You make a mental reminder to reach out and ask where some of the best hunting spots on the island are once this generator fiasco is all taken care of.

 "Now, you wouldn't happen to know where my rifle is, do you?" you ask her. When she goes to nibble a piece of your hair, you know that she has no clue.

 As you're about to head down to the foyer (you often leave it there), a sudden squeaking noise catches both Twilight and your attention. There, at the other end of the hall, a beady-eyed Jerboa bounces up and down in a steady rhythm in an attempt to grab your attention.

 Scarabia wasn't entirely traumatizing. You met Gizmo, the Jerboa before you, during one of the exhausting desert marches, nearly dead from severe dehydration. The little guy brought you a bit of comfort throughout the entire ordeal. He also was able to bring you the enchanted envelope Malleus gave you before he went back home for the winter break. It immediately sends any letter you place inside it to him once you set it on fire. How else could you have contacted him after your phone was conveniently confiscated after your first escape attempt?

 "Good morning, little guy," you smile down at him. "You wouldn't happen to know where my gun is, do you?"

 It seems he does, as he turns and begins to race down the adjacent hall. He stops every so often to look back at you, making sure you're still keeping up with him. Eventually, he stops in front of a door to one of several lounging areas. This one, in particular, is more the ghosts' lounge than anyone else's. It's filled with all sorts of memorabilia and photos from the dorm's heyday. The ghosts have shared a few stories about the shenanigans they got in when they were both alive and students at NRC. Interestingly enough, the dorm was a sort of "halfway home" for students undergoing the difficult process that is switching to another dorm. The idea was to separate the student from those of their originally assigned dorm so they can better learn and adopt the characteristics of the dorm they wish to transfer into.

 Soon enough, the dorm began to house more and more people. A common feeling amongst the residents of the past was a feeling of displacement or disconnection towards the other formal dorms and the ideals they upheld. While not approved by the headmaster, the residents began to form a sort of pseudo dorm with its own set of principles as well as assigning a dorm leader and vice leader just as the others did. Nothing was ever written in stone, but the ghosts vouched that the main “characteristics” amongst Ramshackle’s past residents was a desire to establish camaraderie with those around them, no matter their background or origins.

 Listening and learning what the Ramshackle once meant to them and so many others hit home for you. You lived near a small rural town, surrounded by people who were willing to share their resources with their neighbors and even the occasional stranger simply because it was a kind thing to do for one another. The students of NRC are willing to put their heads together, sure, but there almost always has to be some sort of catch that benefits the individual.

 Living with students like that is stressful as hell. Somedays you just skip school entirely, having already gone through the many woes and few wonders of high school back in your world. You have zero patience to deal with people who only view each other (and subsequently you) as inferior or a mere stepping stone to trample over. Ace and Deuce are your friends and have proven that they are "exceptions" so to speak. However, they're still just a couple of kids. No matter how well you three communicate and work well with each other, there's just a natural disconnection you feel with them that not even magic can fix. 

 It makes your close connection with Malleus, someone who's centuries older than you, incredibly ironic. You've essentially had your life figured out back home, and in some strange serendipitous way, so does Malleus. He's going to become king of his home country immediately after or sometime after he graduates, while you were going to continue living that nice rural lifestyle you lived back home, alongside your 3 aunts and many cousins. At least, once Crowley finds a way to send you back.

 Maybe that's why his confession felt so much more confusing and intensely when it happened. Everything seemed so linear before he uttered those three words to you. Now, it feels like the clear and concise timeline you've had pictured in your head for months is just one big blob of scribbles and nonsense.

  "Am I doing something wrong?" you desperately ask Frankie. "Because it feels like I made some huge mistake and now it's coming back to bite me in the ass right now."

  "Of course you haven't done anything wrong," he rubs your shoulder reassuringly.

  "Then why does it feel like everything around me is slowly falling apart?" You're sobbing at this point. The cigar you took from him earlier is now abandoned, snuffed out in the ashtray. "Why does it feel like  I'm  falling apart?"

  "Nu-uh," he shakes his head and gives you a stern look. "We're not gonna do none of that. Do you hear me? None."

  "Then what the hell do I need to do?!" you shriek. "Frankie, I'm fucking losing it here. I'm one more backhanded dismissal away from kicking Crowley's teeth in. I swear, if one more overblot happens, so help me. I can't deal with someone else's problems when I can't even get a full night of rest anymore!"

  "You've done nothing wrong, you hear me?" he reaffirms. "I get it, I do. Right now, life is handing you a bad hand and you don't have the people you usually rely on for support. I've been there kiddo. We all have. We may not be like your aunts or your loud-ass cousins,"

  A smile finally cracks on your face. He's using your own words you've used to describe your younger family members. You love the little tykes, but they can be a handful sometimes. 

  Damn, you miss them, your aunts too. They're all that you have left after a messy custody battle with your parents. This garden. Your rifle. Hell, even your insistence at taking over many of the household chores have all been your desperate attempts of finding some sort of familiarity in this new and strange world. 

  "But remember, those in Ramshackle stick together and help each other out when they're in a pinch. We'll handle all the little stuff, the cooking, the cleaning, the occasional clogged pipe," he scoffs, annoyed just thinking about the pipes clogging up again. They've been doing it a lot lately and everyone in the house is incredibly over it. "Right now, your only priority is yourself. Okay?"

  It takes you a moment to really take in his words, but eventually, you nod in understanding. "Alright," you affirm out loud.

  He squeezes your shoulder. "Good."

  A sharp and muffled whistle pulls your attention away. Johnny's voice is a little hard to make out, but you're able to make out "generator working" and "warm coffee".

  "C'mon," Frankie holds open the glass door and ushers you outside. "I don't know about you, but I could use a cup of coffee."

  "I could use two," you sigh.

  He gives one last squeeze around your shoulder. For a moment, it feels like you're back home. You feel a little better too. A little bit more secure.

 As you enter the room, you see that Benji, and Johnny are gathered for the usual late morning/early afternoon poker matches. 

 "Hey, prefect," Benji, the first one to notice your entrance, greets. "Need something?"

 "Have you seen my rifle?" you look around the room for any immediate sign of it. "It's been a while since I used it and I've completely lost track of it."

 "Should be under one of the floorboards here," Johnny, who is playing busy rearranging his cards, says. "If not, try the floorboards in the living room."

 You thank him and begin carefully stepping and tapping your foot against the wooden floorboards, trying to find and search one of many secret spaces made back in Ramshackle's glory days. Nothing dangerous (you hope) was ever hidden. It was mainly used by the students who lived here during its heyday to hide bottles of alcohol and cigarettes. You know, the typical items a bunch of teenage outcasts would keep around.

 There was actually a bottle of some rare and expensive wine that was left behind as the number of residents began to dwindle. You and the ghosts are waiting for the right occasion to crack it open and enjoy the vintage-like a bunch of fiends. Grim won't be having any. Hell no.

 Twilight has temporarily detached herself from your side and perches comfortably on Benji's shoulder. Her talons dig into his white spectral body, but he doesn't wince or show any sign that he's in any pain. She nibbles on his worn scarf to pass the time until you call her. Gizmo busies himself by helping you find all the secret spaces. He finds one and begins jumping over it more enthusiastically. When you pry the wooden slat up, you perk up as the familiar scent of old gunpowder fills your nose.

 "There you are!" you practically sing when you lift the board and see your trusty gun. "And here I was thinking Benji lost you."

 "I heard that!" he shouts, deeply offended.

 "I know," you reply. "Glad to know that your hearing hasn't gone out yet. Had me worried for a while, gramps."

 Johnny erupts in a symphony of loud laughter. While community and mutual respect were a value shared between Ramshackle residents, a bit of teasing and the occasional prank is always welcomed. It's a great way to keep morale up. It's also satisfying to say a remark that makes everyone laugh or have a prank go as planned. So long as no one got hurt, it's all fair game between you all.

 You lift the heavy rifle out of the space and do a routine check. The internal magazine is empty and when you probe the back of the chamber with your pinky you don't feel a loaded round inside. You flip the safety on and off and pull the trigger a few times to make sure the mechanisms are working correctly. You also do a quick count of your ammunition. While guns do exist in this world, coming across bullets is much harder than it is in your world. This is mainly due to the reliance on magically sourced bullets that help reduce the use of resources. Their rarity makes them expensive, and the few blacksmiths who do make them usually don't sell to anyone unless they feel the buyer is a genuine enthusiast of their craft. The buyer also needs to have a license to own them, which you thankfully earned after a few safety lessons and a short exam.

 Lucky for you, the one and only smith on the island who makes bullets was more than happy to provide you with some bullets at an affordable price after you allowed him to ogle your rifle for a few hours. It's an old model, supposedly used by your great grandfather after he was enlisted into the army. When the war ended and he was sent back home, he customized it so it can be used for hunting deers instead of people. Your first aunt Gia was always handling it. Whether she was taking it apart and putting it back together or out in the backyard doing some recreational target practice. 

 She always looked strong yet elegant carrying it around, not that she isn’t without it. During your first year living with her, you tried to imitate her, slinging some large stick you found out in the woods to try to exude the same energy she did. When your second aunt Lucia moved in with your cousins after her divorce, she was quick to reprimand you and confiscate any of the newly found branches you brought back home and waved around as an imaginary rifle. Your aunt Gia eventually began to teach you how to properly and safely handle her firearm. By the time your third aunt Marisol moved in after graduating from university, you were one hell of a sharpshooter and a damn good hunter.

 With the rifle now deemed safe to take to Malleus, you sling it over your shoulder and make your way out of the room. You whistle the signal for Twilight to return to your side and she immediately heeds your command. Her obedience earns her a few more bits of bacon. Gizmo also wishes for some compensation for helping you locate your rifle. You make a quick trip to the kitchen and give him a few raisins to snack on. He's the only one who eats raisins in the dorm, so you don't skimp out on him.

 Blossom does try to snag a few for himself, but a threatening screech from Twilight scares the gluttonous fawn away. That deer sure loves to eat.

"I'm back, again!" you announce as you reclose the back door behind you.

 "Welcome back, again," Malleus regreets you. "And a good morning to you, Twilight."

 Twilight also loves Malleus. She eagerly shifts her feet, desperately wanting to fly onto his arm and properly say hello. You let her transfer onto him once he slips on the safety glove you provide. After a few minutes of giving her loving neck scratches and trying to stop her from nipping at Malleus's ears (she likes them a lot and, now that you’re thinking about it, you do too), you take her back and help send her off into the air for some much needed soaring time. 

 "I see you brought your weapon," Malleus looks at your rifle with an examining eye.

 "I did," you bring it around and into your arms. "Now, why did you want me to bring it again?"

 "No reason in particular," he admits. "I just...I'm quite used to seeing you with it. You're never without it unless you're attending classes."

 A proud smirk finds its way onto your face no matter how hard you try to hide it. "I'll take that as a compliment."

 A potentially stupid idea pops up in your head. "Do you want me to teach you how it works?"

 "Truly?" Malleus looks extremely shocked at your offer. "You dislike it greatly when another person touches it."

 "I dislike it when people who don't know the first thing about gun safety touch my gun," you correct. "But count yourself lucky, because I know everything there is to know about this one right here!"

 "Very well,” he gives a conceding nod. “Have at it."

 This is the most excited you've ever been since waking up in the floating coffin all those months ago. While you aren't the biggest gun enthusiast out there (you only ever use it for hunting), you do like it when people show interest to learn about your hobbies. Ace and Deuce are teenagers, so it's no surprise that they don't exactly find the long and grueling labor that goes into gardening all that exciting. Your firearm is nothing more than a toy in their minds, though Deuce is a bit more serious than Ace is when it comes to safety.

 Speaking of gun safety. "Now, I don't mean to nag but it's important to remember that, under no circumstances, are you to ever point a gun at anyone. Loaded or unloaded."

 Malleus makes a face of confusion. "Then how come you pointed and shot at the Leech twins?"

 "Hey," you put your hands up in defense. "I wasn't shooting at them. I shot at the ground and it just so happens that their feet were near my line of shot."

 "Ah, I see," he chuckles at your convenient excuse. "So shooting near an individual is ok, so long as the bullet doesn't hit them."

 "Exactly," you wink at him. "But seriously, don't point it at or near anyone. And don't look down the barrel. Lilia nearly gave me a heart attack when I caught him doing just that."

 He closes his eyes and gives a deep nod like you just bestowed upon him a great piece of wisdom. "Duly noted."

 "Next is the magazine," you turn and pull back the bolt handle to show him the empty magazine hidden underneath the bolt itself. "This is where you put the bullets. The magazine holds up to 4 bullets, 5 if you keep one loaded in the chamber. Since my gun is an older model, you can’t pop in an external magazine. Unless you're in a desperate situation, it's best to"

 You look up to make sure Malleus is following along with your explanation. Maybe he is, but it's hard to tell when his eyes completely ignore the rifle you have set between the two of you and instead keeps his eyes focused solely on you. Your throat immediately dries up and you feel your heart begin to beat just a bit faster after it skips a beat. The look he's giving you is the same one he gave you at Scarabia, a content, and dazed smile. There's a hint of melancholy in his expression, evident by how the inner corners of his eyebrows turn upward. 

 He looks so at peace, yet so sad.

 "What's wrong?" you ask, though you know full well what's making him feel that way he does.

 He shakes his head in denial. The visual sadness goes away once he settles. "Nevermind me. Keep talking, please."

 "R-Right," you stutter. "Where was I again?"

 "You said your gun is an older model."

 "Right," you remember. "Since the model is old, it's best not to reload too quickly, otherwise you risk jamming the gun and in some cases, you might break a mechanism."

 You feel a faint vibration underneath your leg. Thinking it's your phone (now set back to vibration mode) you start to pat down your clothes to try and find the device. Surprisingly, it actually came from Malleus's phone. It keeps pulsing in fixed intervals, likely from someone calling him. He quickly pulls it out and clicks on the red reticle, sending the caller to voicemail without batting an eyelash. You couldn't see who was calling, but you swear their name started with an 'S'. Could it be Silver or Sebek calling? You hope it's not Sebek because once Malleus starts to manually decline his calls, the next person he usually rings up is-

 You feel another vibration, this time it's coming from your phone that you apparently left in your back pocket. Lo and behold, it's Sebek that's calling you. You show your screen to Malleus, who makes a dramatically loud sigh of exhaustion. Sebek...While he's well-intentioned and has his charming points, he can be a bit of a handful...

 Ok, that's too nice a way of putting it. Really, as passionate as he is, he can be a bit annoying to deal with sometimes. You're trying to be polite as you can be with him because you've been told that Faes offended easily and you're not going to be that asshole. Though, you’ll be the first to admit that he’s such an easy and fun target to joke around with. Blame the ghosts, their behavior is gradually rubbing off on you.

 His protectiveness and the deep admiration he has towards Malleus is a little quirky, even cute at times. It reminded you of a child vehemently protecting their parent from their lover, not that you and Malleus are dating or anything. 

 Why did that last part feel weird to say in your head?

 "Go ahead and answer," Malleus concedes. "I’m not entirely in the mood to listen to his shouting in the middle of the day."

 "Oh, his heart would break if he heard you," you place a hand over your fake-pained heart. "You are such a cruel man, Great and Benevolent Malleus!"

 The two of you erupt into a brief fit of laughter. After calming yourself down, you answer the phone. "Hello, you've reached the Ramshackle dormitory." 

 You have to turn away and cup your free hand around your mouth so the phone doesn't pick up Malleus's uncontrollable giggles.

  "Human!”  he shouts into the phone and you have to pull it back to alleviate your overwhelmed eardrum. “  If you would kindly put Lord Malleus on the phone, I would greatly appreciate it."

 You look over to Malleus, but Sebek was loud enough that you don’t have to mouth anything to him. He gestures for you to hand the phone over to him, but you put your hand up to tell him to give you a moment.

 "If you want to talk to Malleus, press two,” you blankly say. “Those are the rules."

  "Human! I don’t have time for your terrible jokes!"

 Malleus then gestures for you to hand over your phone. "Do as they say, Sebek," he calmly commands.

 Your hands slap against your mouth to cover the loud and ugly screech you make when you hear the loud dial noise come right after. 

 The two talk for a while. It’s mainly Malleus listening to whatever Sebek is passionately rambling about while giving the occasional hum and idle acknowledgments. At one point during the call, he looks over to you and frowns. You mouth “what’s wrong?” but he shakes his head and looks away. Once he hangs up, he lets out a very stressful sigh and slumps a bit. He’s upset.

 “Hey,” you move your rifle and scoot closer to him, giving him a gentle shoulder bump once you’re near. “Talk to me. What did Sebek say?”

 “It’s nothing important,” he continues to dismiss. “Just a trivial matter.”

 “ Malleus,” your voice becomes stern. “C’mon, talk to me.”

 He tends to downplay his troubles since he thinks they pale in comparison to the many other aspects going on in his life (being royalty can’t be easy). When it was clear that you were more than just an acquaintance, Lilia gave you a bit of advice about Fae behavior so you can better communicate with Malleus and get him to open up to you. Faes cannot lie, but they can give half-truths, and, depending on how powerful one is, they can tell white lies. It took a bit of work, but eventually, you gained enough of Malleus' trust as well as reassured him that you won't up and abandon him for simply voicing his opinions or feelings, even if you might disagree with him.

 “You first,” he says insistently.

 Also by the advice\of Lilia, you have a bit of an ongoing exchange with Malleus. For every instance he bears his inner thoughts and feelings to you, you have to tell him something about yourself that others don’t know about. 

 Have all your facts been embarrassing admittances? Yes, they have.

  “No offense, but aren’t Fae notorious for being a bit...y’know?”

  “Mischievous?” Lilia snickers.

  “Right,” you cross your arms in an attempt to provide yourself with a bit of comfort. Lilia’s casual demeanor surely isn’t helping you. “Telling Malleus all my innermost secrets is surely going to come back and bite me in the future.”

  “Well, in most circumstances you wouldn’t be wrong.” Suddenly his playful voice becomes firm and actually assuring for once. “However, there is no need for concern. I can say with certainty that whatever you tell Malleus, no matter how embarrassing or incriminating it is, will forever remain with him and him alone.”

  The old Fae pats you on the head, despite being taller than him. “He cares deeply about, truly.”

 That fuzzy feeling in your chest returns. Your hands have an itch to fidget with something to try and distract yourself. It ends up being a strand of your hair that gets blown in your face after an especially chilly gust of wind dishevels it. That’s when a small bulb lights up in your head.

 “I hate the winter,” you admit. “The long nights throw me off and I have terrible luck running into wild game when I head out into the field. Really, it's cold weather that I hate in general.”

 “Interesting,” Malleus clearly takes in and files away this new fact he’s learned in his head. “This likely isn’t a surprise, but I enjoy this time of the year.”

 “What's winter in the Valley of Thorns like?”

 Malleus, shocked at hearing your sudden interest in his home, begins to paint as detailed a picture as he can about the kingdom during the colder seasons. Greenery is a bit sparse given the Valley’s more mountainous terrain, but he insists that the thorn bushes you can find in nearly every corner of the land are beautiful in their own right. No matter the season, there’s always some amount of fog that dilutes the rays of the sun, so a day without one is often seen as a sign of good fortune by the people. Modern machinery is all but nonexistent as well, so there are no buildings, pollution, or lights to obscure the starry sky at night.

 “Now it just sounds like I’m back home,” you let out a sad reminiscent sigh.

 “What about your home? What is it like?”

 “About the same as yours, except we got plenty of sunlight and we had lush forests instead of rocky cliffs. There was a small town about half an hour out, but most of the businesses there have been around since the ’50s.” You notice his confusion as your terminology, but a brief explanation of your world’s calendar clears it up.

 “It sounds charming,” he says. “I’d love to visit it one day, should the opportunity present itself.”

 “There’s an ice cream shop down the main avenue,” you mention, knowing how much he enjoys the cold treat. “The owners even change their selections every other day, but the rainbow sherbet is the best one they have!”

 “Is that so?” he chuckles at your enthusiasm. 

 A sharp screech cuts your conversation into an abrupt close. That was without a doubt a signal from Twilight, letting you know that someone is walking up the pathway to the dorm. You aren’t expecting anyone, and Frankie is likely just arriving in town by now. You remember how Malleus seemed dejected after his call with Sebek.

 Just as you connect the dots, Malleus stands up, brushing off any dirt and debris from his clothes. “I apologize, but I must head out now.”

 “Already?” you ask with playful sadness. The fuzz in your chest dissipates into a dull ache. Weird.

 “I need to go over my guest list for my birthday once more. Lilia insisted I send out handwritten invitations to immerse myself into the festivities.”

 “That sounds about right.” After standing up yourself and insisting you’ll walk him out, you ask, “So when can I expect my invitation to come in?”

 “You want to come? Even after,” he immediately stops himself from speaking.

 Does he really think he messed up that badly with you?

 “I do want to go,” you firmly tell him. “Even after everything that’s happened.”

 There’s a brief silence between you two before he says, “You don’t have to force yourself.”

 “I’m not,” you reassure him.

 “So you say.”

 “Malleus,” you sigh. “If there’s anyone scared about our friendship dissolving because of what happened, it’s me. I’m the one that’s keeping you in suspense, even now.”

 The truth hurts, but no amount of shared laughs and the occasional antics between the two of you is going to magically dissolve the damage present. You’ve hurt him, and in a way, it’s hurting you as well. Life isn’t as linear as it was, but sulking and bringing the people around you down is a terribly selfish thing to do, especially towards someone you care a great deal about. You weren’t raised like that. You were taught to appreciate the little things and watch out for those around you. Not for personal gain, but because it was simply a kind thing to do.

 This feeling of insecurity came before the winter break. Being around so many people whose ideals and actions clash with yours often succeeds at making you think that you’re the one in wrong, that you’re the helpless and naive one. That’s far from the truth. The community you’ve built with the ghost trio and the natives on Sage’s Island is proof that your values are shared with others. 

 It’s just like Frankie said, life is just serving you a bad hand right now. You can prevail and return to the better days. The better days when you and Malleus were the best of friends. But why does your heart hurt when you think about his confession for the umpteenth time? What’s making you so hesitant? More importantly, why couldn’t you tell him “yes”, yet you also knew you couldn’t tell him “no”?

 As you watch Malleus and Sebek depart from your front door, making their way down the steps towards the front gates, you hastily announce that you’ll be back and begin running towards them.

 You need to make things right. 

Malleus noticed the way your hands sought something out to fidget with when you were feeling...he doesn’t know what that was. You weren’t feeling uncomfortable as far as he could tell. 

 Were you perhaps...flustered? 

 No, that can’t be it. You don’t think of him that way, he’s sure of now. When he quickly reassesses his behavior, he didn’t do anything that would warrant you to become nervous, other than look at you with a far too amorous gaze while you explained the ins and outs of your firearm. He couldn't help himself. Seeing you so passionate and animated, even if it's over something he has no knowledge or a particular interest in, made his heart flutter as well as ache yet again.

 They fidget with the nearest object when they feel uncomfortable. Remember that.

 “What was that, Lord Malleus?” 

 Sebek’s booming voice catches him off guard a bit, but he quickly recovers as if nothing disturbed him at all. “It’s nothing, just thinking aloud.”

 “I see. In any case,” he quickly changes the subject. “The materials needed to write and send the invitation letters are all ready. Sir Lilia insists that you write each one on your own, but I am more than capable and willing to offer my assistance should you need it!”

 “That’s quite alright. There aren’t a great many I need to send anyways,” Malleus gracefully rejects Sebek’s eager offer. 

 There really aren’t that many people who will be attending, just the residents of Diasomnia and that’s it. He initially had plans to invite you, but he’s caught between a rock and a hard place. You’ve expressed your desire to come, but he can’t help but feel that it’s only out of pity.

 He doesn’t want that from you. At this point, he just wants things to return to how they once were before he opened his mouth and began to spew a bunch of one-sided nonsense. He just wants your friendship, pure and untainted like before.

 Perhaps he’s destined to never have a friend after all.

 “Malleus!” your distant voice calls out to him, causing him to stop in his tracks and turn around to search for you.

 He doesn’t understand how you do it, but just hearing you call his name utterly burns away all the muddled thoughts circulating within his head. He is exceptional when it comes to defensive magic, yet whatever spell you manage to cast on him that makes him so taken by you, it exceeds even his own magical prowess.

 But you don’t have any magic. Not even a speck courses through your veins. You’re just an average human. His nearly crippling infatuation is entirely his own doing.

 "Oh, thank goodness you haven't made it past the front gates yet," you heaved out. Did you run all the way here? Did he forget something? He quickly pats his front pocket and feels a hard lump, his phone. It’s the only personal item he brought.

 "Human," Sebek's voice sounds annoyed at your sudden presence. "What do you need from- AH!"

 Sebek's scream hurts Malleus's ear, but the slight and momentary ring means little when you've wrapped your arms over his shoulders and pull him into a tight embrace. He immediately melts into your arms, smothering his face against the crook of your neck and taking in your scent like a desperate man. Despite the sweat you and he worked up from hours of labor, you still smell so nice, like fresh cotton and assorted herbs. It's unique. It's comforting. 

 It's you.

 "One week," you whisper in his ear. "Give me one week. I'll have an answer for you then."

 He pulls back and looks at you like you’ve grown a second head. "Pardon?"

 "I've hurt you, badly." you look down in shame. "I still am, but I'm going to make it up to you. I promise"

 "A promise made with a Fae is a dangerous thing, especially when you don't uphold your end of the deal," he says with a warning tone. "One week. Are you sure that's enough time?"

 "It is," you say with certainty.

 You're not one to lie or bite off more than you can stomach. You know when you've been beaten, that's why you called for his help over the break. His interpretation of trust differs greatly from yours, and it's not given to many, Fae or not. 

 "Very well,” he yields. “I will trust you to keep to your oath.”

 “Thank you,” you squeeze him closer against you. “And I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright. Just please, don't break my heart any further," he whispers pleadingly into your ear.

Apologies are dangerous words to say to a Fae, even a bit demeaning to some. The same with words of thanks, which you often say to him regularly. Malleus has developed a habit of accepting them out of courtesy. It's an aspect of his culture that you struggle to adjust to since it's interpreted differently in human society. You've also told him something he finds humorous, how your aunts constantly enforced you (in your words “beat it into you”) to say "please", "thank you", and “sorry”, as they didn't want others to think they were living in a crude household. It's incredibly ironic considering you tend to swear every other sentence.

 You explained that "Thank you"s are acknowledgments of the efforts one makes for another, no matter how small or grandiose the gesture is. Apologies are acknowledgments that one has wronged another and wishes to make amends.

 It sounds like common sense, but he understands now what you mean when you tell him "It's the little things that matter most". His heart was hurt when you couldn’t tell him “yes” or even a simple “no”. He's still suffering from the aftermath of his confession, even as he signs off on the last of the invitations for his birthday party, his mind failing to commit to the enthusiastically written words. You've acknowledged that you see his pain and that you recognize that you're its source. Despite having other troubles of your own, you've made it clear that he's now been pushed up your long to-do list and that he's now your main priority.

 It brings much-needed relief to his pained heart, though just a bit.

 He waits until Sebek is gone before he rummages around his desk for a beige-colored envelope, the one he enchanted and gave to you so you can speak to him over the break (he preferred this method over text messages). It still has your SOS letter in it, written with your now aged and darkened blood.

  Malleus. I'm sorry for the smell, but it's all I have on hand. I'm in Scarabia's dorm and they're not letting me leave. I've been here for a few days to help the vice dorm leader with some sort of internal affair, but I think he did something to me that's making it impossible to refuse him anymore. I tried to bail, but they caught me and now they're locking me up and keeping a close eye on me.

  If I may be a bit bold, I'm fucking scared out of my mind. I know it's rude of me to make demands without proper compensation, but I think I need some help. I don't want to cause a big fuss, so if you can could you come alone? If you can't that's fine. I'm sure I can pull through until the break ends.

  I hope you're doing well. Again, sorry for the smell.

 He makes a few more creases in the paper due to gripping it so harshly. He remembers opening it the first time and nearly ripping it in half because of how utterly livid he was. Your fresh blood also didn't help at the time. You didn't state what your current condition was when you drafted the letter and his mind immediately thought of you being injured and that was the reason you wrote it in your blood.

 The time between him sneaking past his castle's security once he received your letter to arriving on Sage's Island via his own magic (curse the dark mirror for being inactive during the winter) is a bit of a blur. All he can remember is that he was just so worried for you, a magicless human against an entire dorm of wizards in training. Even someone with subpar control over their magic can do you a great deal of damage.

 If sneaking out of his home without telling a soul, potentially causing one of the largest search hunts to commence had someone noticed and reported to his grandmother, doesn't prove how much you mean to him, he doesn't know what will.

 One week. If it takes you one more week for you to realize this, then he will wait.

 He trusts you, just as you trusted him when you sent him that letter.

 He grabs his quill and dips the tip into a jar of ink, writing something quick and straightforward on a spare piece of parchment.

  "Please come to my party. It would mean the world to me."

 After the ink dries, he folds it and places it in the envelope, sealing it with wax bearing the crest of his family. He needs not utter a single incantation to have it erupt in a blaze of green fire. He waits. One minute. Two. Suddenly, a spark of blue fire erupts on his desk before dissipating, leaving behind the same envelope he burned minus a wax seal.

 He opens it.

  "Of course I will!"

[thewatermelloncat]

Choosing Families

Summary: After a fight with her family, Reader who is a close friend of Finn Shelby’s, finds herself out in the rain with only one place in mind to go.

Author’s Note: Set at any point you like within the seasons.

Warnings: None

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The streets are next to empty with few men sheltering from the rain under their coats. Some laugh at their misfortune, others spit curses at their bad luck while they just try and make it home from the factories. A clap of thunder rolls overhead and a few of them hit the ground in an old habit picked up from France.

Narrowly you avoid tripping over one of them, not paying attention to where you are going. Taking pity on him you prepare to reach down and help him up, but other men haul him back to his feet before you can extend your hand. Choosing not to interfere you continue past them, brushing your sopping hair from your face.

Perhaps you had chosen to leave the house at one of the worst times possible, in the dead of night and under the fall of rain. Though it’s not that you planned to leave; your feet did funny things when you were angry. An argument with your parents had turned bad quickly and before you knew it you were out the door. It wasn’t until you were halfway down the street that you thought it would be best to turn back. But it was too late and your feet continued forward.

Lights reflect in puddles on the gravel, illuminating the way to the Garrison across the street. With a shiver you cross your arms, wishing that you had on a coat. The lure of the overlapping voices and clinking glasses draw your eyes as you walk past. Longingly, you wonder if you’d be allowed inside. But part of it feels hopeless: some bars don’t serve unaccompanied females, and it’s not like you had any money on you anyway.

Still, maybe you could slip inside for a bit of warmth. The crowd at the Garrison know you well from your frequent visits with the Shelby family. Surely, they’d let you inside. But then you remember something Finn had told you: that you were welcome at the Shelby household at any time.

Part of you had always been wary of the offer but now you wanted to test the limit of your friendship with the youngest Shelby and take him up on his promise. Besides, you had nowhere better to go.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It was a short walk from the Garrison with the Shelby household already in sight. You swallow deeply in anticipation as you hop up the few steps to the front door before knocking on the weathered wood. From inside you hear muffled footsteps rush and then come to a stop on the other side of the door. With a quick turn of the handle the door is swung open to reveal Tommy pointing a gun in your face.

“Bloody hell!” you yelp as you stumble backward, jumping back down the stairs from the door.

Tommy breathes out a sigh of relief as he holsters the gun, seeing that you aren’t a threat.

Suddenly you feel uncomfortable. Of course, you shouldn’t have shown up in the dead of night when that’s when the shady people come knocking.

“Who is it?” you faintly hear Polly’s voice from inside.

“It’s just y/n” Tommy steps back to look at her from where she is assumably around the corner in the betting shop.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come this late” you hang your head looking down at your shoes in the dirt. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

Tommy ignores you in favour of listening to Polly, “bring her in.”

Before you can turn away from the house Tommy steps outside and takes you by the shoulders. “Come inside” he welcomes, gently guiding you into the house. By the time the door has been shut behind you, Polly has joined you in the kitchen.

“What are you doing out in the rain?” she asks. “Without a coat, no less.”

“I uh…” you falter a little as you try and string words together. “I didn’t actually plan on leaving the house.”

“Come on, never mind that” Polly moves on for the moment, taking your hand and pulling you through the house. “Ada’s not around but we’ll go find you one of her dresses and get you warmed up.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

For all their reputation as cutthroat criminals, the Shelby family is very hospitable. After taking you into Ada’s room Polly had thrown you a towel and a dress before turning her back to give you privacy as you changed.

“It’s your family again isn’t it?” she says from behind you.

You’d heard on many accounts the family saying that Polly is very good at reading people. It comes as no surprise that they were all correct. “Yes” is all you tell her.

“Was it your choice to leave or did they decide for you?” she asks and for anything you’re grateful that she is being direct and not tiptoeing around it.

“I chose, but I hadn’t planned it before my feet were out the door.”

“Happens to the best of us free spirits, doesn’t it?” she muses as you finish doing up the last button on the dress.

“That would be a nice thing to hope.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The old wooden chair isn’t the most comfortable thing you’ve sat on but it is nice in front of the fire.

“Here, take this, love” Polly draws you out of your thoughts as she hands you a steaming mug of tea.

“Thank you” you say quietly before the door opens.

The voices of Arthur and John bickering about something cut off when John registers you sitting by the fire place wrapped up in the blanket Polly had found for you. “Look what the cat dragged in” he teases, no doubt in reference to your wet hair.

“Enough” Polly commands. “She’s had a rough night. Be nice.”

Instantly John’s playful expression drops and he and Arthur quieten down, becoming more subdued to match the mood.

“You know if there is anyone who needs dealing with, you can tell us” Arthur offers as he had a few times before. You’d always turned him down but before you can turn him down again Tommy comes down the stairs with Finn trailing behind him.

“Y/n?” Finn double takes despite Tommy having already told him you were here.

You only smile slightly at him in greeting as Tommy makes his way to his brothers across the room. “Was an agreement met?” he asks, keeping his voice low for the sake of you and Finn in the room.

Out of the corner of your eye you watch Arthur gesture for Tommy to lean in before whispering a few things in his ear while he listens patiently. Keeping his expression blank Tommy straightens up before turning to his Aunt. “Pol, we’re going to need you on this one” he says before he and the older boys file from the kitchen into the betting shop.

Polly sighs a little, not seeming surprised by the outcome. Though before she leaves, she turns to Finn. “If this goes late make sure to set her up in Ada’s room so she has somewhere to sleep.”

And with that she disappears shutting the doors to the betting shop behind her.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The room suddenly feels empty with all the adults gone. Finn had pulled up a chair next to you after his Aunt had left, but for the moment he says nothing. Though the silence allows you to sip away at the warm cup of tea clutched between your hands, listening to the crackling fire in front of you.

“Do you want to talk about anything?” It always amazes you how different Finn is from his brothers, who would all demand an answer instead.

“I don’t know what to say” you admit. “I don’t really remember what happened.”

“But it was bad wasn’t it?” Finn checks rather than asks. “Tommy said that you hadn’t planned on leaving the house.”

You hum quietly in confirmation instead of finding proper words.

“And that he nearly shot you” Finn adds, smiling at you.

You can’t help but laugh at the memory. But the smile on your face doesn’t last long before it drops.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” Finn’s smile drops as well.

“No” you’re quick to answer. “I’m sorry, it’s just” – you cut yourself off with a scoff before continuing. “It’s just ironic that I’m over here and it’s the exact place that my parents don’t want me to be.”

“There are worse places around” Finns smirks.

“I know, Finn. I know” you repeat before you break away with a yawn.

“You must be tired” Finn acknowledges.

You sigh out a long breath.

“Come on, we’ll set you up in Ada’s room” he says standing up.

Without much energy to argue you follow him up the stairs.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“I can change the sheets if you like” Finn offers, stopping in the doorway of Ada’s room as you walk inside.

“It’s fine” you dismiss, kicking off your shoes before placing them down below the foot of the bed.

“If you need anything, just ask someone” Finn tells you. “Tommy or Arthur will probably be up till the morning” he seems to say more to himself.

“I’ll be fine, Finn” you repeat, sitting down on the bed. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight” he seems to murmur on instinct, turning around from the door before pausing and turning back. “Y/n?” he asks nervously but doesn’t wait for a reply, “you know we can’t choose our families.”

“I know, Finn” you smile at him warmly. “You can’t choose your family any more than I can choose mine.”

[little-red-toyota]

Final good bye to the fandom

TW//Trauma, triggers, nsfw, sexual themes, rape, domestic abuse e.g.

This is gonna be a long ass post…

It has taken me a while to get emotionally strong enough to do this, as I will have to think back at some traumatic events from my past to address some of these things. That's why I waited until I got home from vacation with my family, as it will seriously affect my mood and mental health, and I want to be near my doctor and therapist, just in case.

And also, I know that the majority of those reading this will invalidate me and tell me I am making things up to clear my name. So, I literally have to torment myself to write a blog post people will just brush off as bogus anyway. But I will do it now that I am in safe surroundings. Then it will be off my chest, and I can finally move on. If people will continue stirring up the past, it will be their problem, not mine.

I think I should write one last blog post where I address everything. I have left the TTTE-fandom, but I will write that one as my final goodbye to the fandom. I just have to find out everything I've been accused of so I can properly address them all in order. I might leave out details of my life that is too hard for me to open up about. I know most of you will just invalidate me anyway.

1. The Stepney fic and glorifying rape.

2. My mafia-AU.

3. The Darin incident.

4. Being a pedophile. (Where do they get this from anyway??)

5. Running the NSFW-blog.

6. Drawing penises/boobs on trains. Drawing age-regression art.

Is there more?

Ah... yes! Faking my own suicide, of course!

7. "Faking" being suicidal.

8. Having the audacity to survive and go on living.

9. "Making up" my past trauma to justify writing fics to cope with it.

10. Being a nazi for being interested in WW2 history and for being Norwegian and having so-called nazi-letters in my last name (actual letters of the Norwegian alphabet).

11. Putting a white-supremacist flag (the actual flag of Norway) on my porch on family birthdays and our national day.

12. Being a danger to my daughter.

Anything else that needs to be addressed? What else am I being accused of? Send me a dm and I will add it to the post.

 Okay, I will bump the Stepney fic down a bit as it is the most traumatic thing for me to address, I will save that one for last.

2 and 3. The dark au/mafia au where I gave some TTTE characters some rather dark and unpleasant character traits, and the whole incident with Darin and the pedo-Salty was addressed in this blog post written by my husband last year, so I am not opening that can of worms again: https://little-red-toyota.tumblr.com/post/623743183795470336/in-light-of-recent-events

Even the thing about Toby cheating on Henrietta is addressed there.

As for the au, I never fully explored it as I started losing interest in TTTE around the same time. I found other things to enjoy and TTTE faded into the background and the au was dropped before I even wrote any stories, apart from the one about Toby and Henrietta.

Some people claim, like this lovely individual, that most of the characters were rapists and pedos. No, not most. Only one of each. And I did not write more than one story about rape and suicide. Where does this person even get that from? Someone who told someone who had heard from someone who might have heard….?

Don't spread rumors unless you are sure that they are true.

Anyway, it's all addressed in that blog post in that link. I don't see how this mafia au is any worse than other dark post-apocalyptic or violent aus. It mostly was about the diesel mafia and their illegal businesses, not about sex, even if it did occur now and then. I find the substance abuse in it to be more problematic tbh…  

 4. Being a pedophile.

I don't even know how to defend myself against this one, as I don't even know why people think I am pedophile. They only throw the accusation out with no backing evidence, so I have no idea where it comes from or what it is that makes people think I am one.

Apart from one claim that I had faved "porn" alongside "strangers'" baby photos on DA. I addressed that earlier though. As DeviantArt doesn't sort what you click "like" on, it all ends up in the same folder unless you actively go through it and sort it into categories, which I don't bother most of the time. It also doesn't say WHEN it was added to your faves. So, I can have faved an artistic nude on Saturday, and then faved my friend's family photo on Thursday. It's not like I actively search for porn, get all steamed up and then look at pictures of children. WTF.

The few children I have faved are not from complete strangers, but long-term friends of mine. Yes, it is possible to have friends on the same website. I have actually met a lot of my RL friends through DeviantArt. I posted photos of my daughter when she was a baby, they would fave it and congratulate me. So, I did the same when they had a baby. As simple as that. Nothing weird or perverted about it. Due to people doxxing me last year however, I deleted the photos of me, my husband and my daughter from DeviantArt, so it's no longer there.

Porn isn't allowed on DeviantArt anyway. The nudes there are so-called artistic nudes, and for the most part I use them as pose-references when I draw as it is easier to draw a pose using a nude base and then dress them up once you got the pose right.

"The very naked" centaurs I have faved. Well, I like the mythological creature Centaur. And as far as I know… they do not wear clothes, so how are they NOT nude? Look it up, it's a horse body with a human torso instead of horse head. I don't see them as sexual, but what do I know? Maybe YOU do?

I have no sexual interest in children whatsoever.

 5. Running the NSFW-blog on Tumblr and Twitter.

Yes. I was one of six people modding that blog. ONE of six, so I refuse to take the full blame here.

MerciResolution has openly admitted to being the founder, and she recruited me and some others to modify as the confession load became too heavy for one person to handle alone.

The original blog on Tumblr worked as follows: People would anonymously send a confession to our askbox, we would add a picture (sometimes photoshopped) to the text and post it on the blog. Always tagged as NSFW and with proper trigger warnings if necessary! The blog itself was also marked as explicit, so it didn't appear in searches and such.

For us, this blog was nothing but a joke. We did it for shits and giggles. If anyone took it seriously and thought we got off to the stuff that was posted, we apologize for that, but to us it was just for laughs. And we DID laugh a lot, you guys should have seen the weird shit people sent us sometimes!

We had fun and we never thought anyone would take it seriously, so we never thought of writing "joke" in the description or anything. It never occurred to us that it could be anything but a joke.

We also made a Twitter account for it, also locked for minors. But it was quickly hacked, and someone changed the password so we could no longer access it. We made another account and forgot about the old one…

After a while, the original mods started losing interest and the blog (both on Tumblr and Twitter) became less active. That's when a person I had known for years, and wrongfully trusted, came forward and wanted to take over ownership. So, the ownership was handed over to Russalita/Charlie.

That turned out to be huge mistake!

Me and the other mods had more or less forgotten that the blogs existed, when suddenly someone started bashing me and getting up in my arms over it. I got seriously confused as I hadn't been active on it in almost a year. But as it turned out, Russalita had removed the mature filters and made the accounts open for all the see. Even minors.

And as people knew I was one of the mods, they fired their guns at me. I can see why though, so I'm not pointing any fingers here.

I tried contacting her by phone, asking her to lock the accounts again, but she gave me a less than polite response, hung up and then blocked my number…

So, I decided to try to shut the blogs down on my own, trying the old passwords. It worked on the Tumblr-account, and I managed to password protect it, for some reason it couldn't be fully deleted. But the Twitter account had gotten its password changed by Russalita. I was however able to get a new password by logging into the e-mail we had used to create it. I deleted the Twitter blog fully. It can't be re-activated even if we wanted to. It's gone.

But it turns out the old, hacked one is still up and now open for everyone. And this one poses a huge problem as we have no way of getting into it to delete it. Only thing we have been able to do so far is reporting it and hope it will be removed by Twitter. So I only have one thing to say about it: report it.

I am no longer running any NSFW TTTE blog anywhere, nor do I have interest in doing so. So, if you come across one, claiming to be me or any of the other mods, it is false.

 6. Drawing penises/boobs on trains. Drawing age-regression art.

People seem to believe I have drawn genitals on trains. I have never done such. Any art on the NSFW-blog with genitalia on the trains were sent in by confessors and was not drawn by me. Most of them seems to have been drawn by someone who goes by the name "The Lance".

I HAVE drawn things for the NSFW blog, but there were no genitalia in those drawings. I drew Frank of Arlesdale looking grossed out by (I don't know what the part is named in English, but it is connected to the brakes of the engine) that stick-like thing on his bufferbeam being wet from whatever the confessor did to him. I drew an over-exaggerated comical pic of a horrified Peter Sam getting his face licked by his driver, who had an enormous tongue. I also did a couple of manips. Mostly maniping engine faces on humans, like the one where Gordon's face is on a less than fit guy flailing his shirt around, and the Arlesdale smallies' faces on a movie poster from Magic Mike. One with Mr.Conductor in a giant bun while Pinchy is applying ketchup on him, for a confession about eating him, I think?  I've done some more, but I forgot what it was, I only know I loved making them comical rather than erotic, as I saw the blog as a joke overall.

I HAVE also drawn aheago faces on engines because it looks hilarious. Though I have only drawn them on my OCs and the NRS engines, not TTTE characters.

Point is I have never drawn genitalia on trains. Ever. And I likely never will. It's not THAT much fun drawing NSFW stuff.

I see from this screenshot that a certain MK-Instrumentalist claim that all my personal art is age-regression art and infantilism…

Whose art have you been looking at? Because it's definitely not mine. I have drawn a couple of baby/chibi diesels… But claiming that all of my 700 or so artworks are depicting infantilism and age-regression stuff? I suggest people go have a look for themselves. I haven't drawn that. That MK-guy has been desperately trying to cancel me for ages for reasons only himself know. I don't even know the guy, and he doesn't know me, yet he wants to see me beheaded. Go figure.

I was for a long time bothered by some age-regressor on Tumblr who just wouldn't leave me alone with their weird asks, who tried to force themselves on me and some other artists here. They claim age-regression isn't a fetish, but the shit they sent to my askbox certainly looked like a fetish to me.

I don't want anything to do with that stuff. It weirds me out.

And no. I have never drawn pedophilia or rape art either. This guy can't even make up his mind on which one to accuse me of.

 7 and 8. Faking suicide and having the audacity to survive and go on living.

As many know, after the intense shitstorm against me last summer, thanks to Darin, I attempted suicide. I didn't succeed as my husband came home early. I was gone for a few days but returned when a young boy reached out to me for help as he was being groomed and didn't know who else to turn to.

Recently I saw a screenshot where someone claimed me to have faked suicide, and that I just came back after a few days when everything had died down.

Wow.

I am truly sorry I survived.

I don't remember much from those days to be honest, but as the load became too heavy and the bullying too intense, piling up on 30 years of old trauma… I decided to end it. I must warn you guys who might get triggered now; there are detailed descriptions of a suicide attempt. Proceed with caution. People told me I was a bad mother among other things, having had those same thoughts myself (according to my husband, I am a good mom) and people just confirming them, I thought that my daughter would be better off growing up without me. I could have chosen a more effective suicide method, but I was afraid my daughter would be the first to find me, so I wanted it to be clean and look like I was just sleeping. That way it could be explained as natural causes.

So, I decided to overdose on pills. I downed all pills I could find in the house that had a warning triangle on it (strong pain meds etc.) and then went to my computer to delete my online existence, especially the personal data.

As a former paramedic, I should have known better. Because after half an hour, my body started reacting. But not the way I had hoped and wanted. I started retching and almost vomiting. That's when my husband came home from work and found me. He immediately saw the empty packages and knowing my past suicidal tendencies, he reacted instinctively. He put his fingers down my throat and had me puke everything up, then he called an ambulance and had me admitted to the hospital.

I don't remember anything from the days I spent there. But I have been told they emptied my stomach and gave me lots of fluids. I was then assigned a psychiatrist which I am still seeing today.

I was gone for those days because I was in hospital, not because I was pulling some kind of trick and pretending to have ended myself.

So… I am sorry I "faked" my suicide.

I'm sorry my husband saved me. I am sorry the medics and doctors succeeded in saving my life.

I am sorry I survived and proceeded to live on. If I ever make another attempt, I promise to do better.

Why are you guys so persistent in trying to push people to suicide anyway? Do you get a kick out of it? Why do people have to be pushed to that point before you care?

What did we tell our daughter? Simply that I got sick and had to go to the hospital. She took that well.

I've seen a lot of people wonder why I am still around. Why shouldn't I? Does my daughter deserve to lose her mother over some online crap she doesn't even know about? I owe her to live and watch her grow up, to help her with her homework and whatever else a parent needs to do. I also owe my husband to stay by his side, like I promised him the day we got married. Even if I do not wish to live.

I'm sorry I survived, guys. Really, I am.

 9. "Making up" my past trauma to justify writing fics to cope with it. And 1. The Stepney fic and glorifying rape.

 First… why would anyone make up trauma? It's not like it's a competition to have the worst life, is it?

Sadly, I don't have to make up anything. My life HAS been rocky up until the birth of my daughter. I have been through so much trauma I couldn't even fathom it myself before my therapist listed it all up to me. Until then, I had just been casually talking to her about it, like I would talk about the weather. I didn't cry or get in touch with my emotions even once while telling everything, because I was taught from an early age to never complain, to suck it up and go on. So, no matter what people did to me, I would just smile and go on, even if it killed me inside. I did not want to show any sign of weakness, because then they would attack me. A habit I developed through years of being bullied in school. Never show feelings, just pretend nothing could hurt you, then they would eventually grow tired of it and stop.

Except they never did. They kept going through all my years at school. To such an extent, my boyfriend didn't dare to show himself hanging out with me out of fear of being bullied himself… And as we grew older, he would start cheating on me too. And I kept smiling…

My next boyfriend was a bit older than me, and while that didn't bother me, as we were both well over legal age, it bothered him. We only lasted one year before he bailed out and ditched me out of the blue via an sms.

The next guy… was the one who scarred me for life. Both physically and mentally. A charmer at first of course, until I was trapped. He was unemployed, so he moved in with me, and I paid for everything from food to phone bills. All while he was dating several women behind my back, calling various pay-phone services and in general acted like a manwhore. As I worked as an electrician (also being subject to massive bullying and sexual harassment at work), he would be jealous of all my co-workers and if I ever came home late or worked overtime, he accused me of cheating and was extremely violent about it. He would also isolate me from my friends and family, making me think I couldn't get any other than him. If any of my male friends (almost all my friends are male…) came over, he would give me such hell afterwards, it was easier just to tell them it was a bad time to visit. And after a while, they stopped asking. This guy also demanded sex. Every single day. If I refused, he would punish me, mostly by flogging me with lampcords, belts or whatever else he had at hand. My back is a criss cross map of old, faded scars even now nearly 20 years later. I would have shown you a photo, but I am so self-concious about my body after all the bullying, I hardly even show my face in photos. Maybe one day… but I certainly need more therapy before being able to show naked skin to strangers, even if it's just my back. So I had non-consensual sex with him more often than consensual. It has taken me hours in therapy to even take the word in my mouth and call it by its proper name: rape. I was raped, almost every single day for little over a year, before I found the strength to break out of the relationship and finally throw him out of my house. It all ended when I found some revealing texts on his cellphone, which he was extremely protective of… Texts that revealed that he had engaged in a relationship with a 12 year old girl, and it had been going on for a while. Not only was he cheating on me, but he was a pedophile too. Needless to say, I didn't even let him pack his stuff before I fetched my shotgun and chased him out of the house. I don't know where I got the courage and strength from… but I was furious.

I thought I had gotten rid of him, but no. He started stalking me in public. Hiding behind shelves when I was shopping, his car following mine everywhere I went. I received weird letters in the mail with cut-out letters from newspapers, glued together. On top of all, his creepy, old uncle called me with some rather disgusting suggestions and tried to come on to me really hard. I had to change my phone number, and after coming home to my house and finding out someone had entered my home using a key, only to empty the drawer of my night table, I also had to change the locks of my doors as he had clearly copied the key.

He didn't stop until I got the police involved.

So, when I finally met the guy who would become my husband (or rather, we found out we were made for each other, we had known each other since we were 11 years old), I had major trust issues towards men especially and it took him endless patience and love to break me out of that shell.

But the trauma doesn't stop… or start there.

In the year 2000, on January 4th, I would experience something that made me unable to even look at a train for over 10 years. The Åsta accident (google it). I was a volunteer in the Norwegian Red Cross then, and a paramedic in training. Back then, you were allowed to start training the year you would turn 16. So, I was still 15 when I witnessed the most traumatic event of my life. The day started out calm, we were stocking up the ambulance after delivering a patient to the hospital when we got a call with the code "500", which means "catastrophe". Normally when we get that code it is a rehearsal… so we drove towards the coordinates with the thoughts that this was just an exercise, nothing real… we didn't prepare ourselves mentally… And we ended up in the closest thing to hell I have ever been… The sight of the burning trains, the smells, the sounds, the screaming… I still wake up by nightmares to this day. Though the moment that haunts me the most is when the screaming stopped… because we all knew why… I don't want to go into details, but 19 people died that day. But we also saved 67 people. I try to hold on to that thought. The age limit for starting paramedic training was raised after this, as I wasn't the only one who was too young for an accident of that scale. Today it is 18. A memorial stone has been placed on the site, but I still haven't been able to bring myself to visit it, even if we drive past the site every year on our way to visit family further north in the country. I needed hours of therapy to even be able to ride a train after this. To have gotten to the point where I now volunteer at a heritage railway and is in training to become a driver, is a HUGE step for me. My next goal is to visit the site of the accident.

On to next trauma… A previous employer, a rather large electric company in Norway, whom I worked for 8 years. The first five years were great, we were a close-knit bunch of electricians, and we had a great relationship with the bosses and higher-ups. Our labor union was strong.

It all started changing in 2009 when we got new leaders… and those decided to get rid of everyone who were a member of the union. One by one, they started harassing workers in various ways, trying to get them to quit. In Norway, they need a legal reason to fire you, it's not enough to not like someone. There has to be a good reason to fire someone e.g. theft, neglecting work… Since they didn't have any reasons to fire us, they started making our work lives gradually harder and harder until we would break and find another job. Sadly, one of my co-workers couldn't stand the pressure… He bid us all farewell as normal one Friday and hung himself the following day.. But as I was a girl in a male-dominated profession, I had been taught at an early stage to ignore anything that would hurt me emotionally, just arch my neck and plow through. I kept doing that, despite starting to feel more and more mental and physical pains… even my co-workers pointed out how I was being mistreated before I acknowledged it myself. I tried to tell my boss, but he reacted by treating me worse. So, I went to his boss… and that's when things went to hell. Instead of doing his job and listen, he started harassing me too. He deemed my over-weight a problem, and he started demanding I gave him detailed lists of what I ate and how much I worked out… Completely illegal of course, but by this point I was broken down to the point I thought I was useless and couldn't get another job… so I accepted. He started accusing me of lying about my exercise, so I started training at the gym in the basement at work instead. One day, while I was there, he locked the doors and turned the lights off. There were no windows, no cellphone reception and hardly anyone walking by in that part of the building… I sat there in the pitch dark for 3 hours before I was let back out. I still get badly triggered by narrow, dark rooms and rooms with no windows. To such an extent, I jumped out of a small window on the second floor of a gym when I was in boot camp. I was allowed to train downstairs in the bigger gym with windows on all walls after that incident…

The harassment at work went on for years until I finally snapped, ended up at the hospital and got into therapy for the first time. I don't want to go into depth about what more happened, I just can't… I can't bring myself to write it all. Luckily, I had gotten more education while working, so when I graduated, another company called and gave me an offer I just couldn't refuse. So, I quit my job and never looked back, even if the traumas I suffered there still haunts me to this day.

Sadly, even after switching jobs, now getting a safe job with sane leaders… I started to relax, and that's when all my past trauma came washing over me. And one day, on while driving to work, I had my first serious panic attack. It started as this feeling I used to have at the old company; getting sick to my stomach and having the sense of someone being out to get me… then it developed to breathing problems… and I had to pull the car over. I broke into tears, struggling to breathe, stumbling out of the car to read the logo on its side just to reassure my body and brain that I worked for a different company now and there was no reason for panic. I called my boss and let him know, because he also was a "refugee" from that other company, so he knew what me and several others had gone through. He managed to talk me down enough for me to come to the office to talk to him. That helped.

I got back into therapy. A better therapist this time. But sadly, it got apparent that I could no longer work as an electrician as there was too many triggers. I was diagnosed with PTSD, severe depression, and social anxiety. I'm still working on these and get better slowly.

I have been in therapy for a long time now, and it was my therapist that suggested I wrote fics to cope and "write it out". I tried to make up my own characters for this, but never felt any connection. I was by this time in the TTTE fandom and had met people with similar trauma and pasts like myself, and I started roleplaying with some of them. Me and a girl from UK then agreed to try to rp/co-write a fic to cope with our trauma. We both found it easier to write about pre-established characters we had a connection to, even if it was an au that made it barely recognizable from the original source material. Only the names and some minor things were similar.

That fic was Stepney's Virginity Gets Lost.

Do we regret writing it? No. It helped us write out our traumas and helped us overcome some mental obstacles in out therapy process. Our therapists cheering us on, because we finally managed to break through the hard shell surrounding us. We both cried for the first time in years while writing it, some of it through roleplay, because some parts were extremely graphic and brutal and very mentally exhausting. We had to take long breaks between each writing session, so the fic wasn't written in just a weekend. But we got a lot of darkness out of our minds by writing all this. And we were definitely NOT aroused by it, like this pervert here claims.

It's when you dare to touch and feel the difficult and dark emotions, you can finally move along in the grieving process.

Should it have been posted online?

In retrospect, no. But at the time, we thought it might help other trauma victims, as we also found reading about other people's experiences and fictions touching painful subjects helpful to ourselves. So, we posted it, never expecting it to cause such a controversy 3 years later. In fact, we had more or less forgotten about it until it came back to bit us in the ass. Or rather, bite ME in the ass, as I am getting the full blame alone.

Also, despite what people claim, it was not posted openly for children to read. It was tagged properly and hidden behind mature content walls. If a minor chooses to break that wall, that's not the author's fault. It's the same as watching a movie with an age restriction way above your age, not the filmmaker's fault.

I think MerciResolution puts it nicely here:

"If your problem lies with you KNOWINGLY entering adult spaces when you’re a minor, ignoring all mature warnings that are literally SCREAMING at you “hey, this is what you’re getting into. Are you sure you want to proceed?”

That’s ENTIRELY on you. YOU are the fucking problem.

We’re marking mature things as best as we properly can. If you decide to ignore them, that’s your own damn fault. We’re not your fucking babysitters."

Also, I never posted the story on Wattpad, so if anyone has done that, it's not me. I posted the story on Fanfiction.net, DeviantArt and AO3, that's all. If it's posted anywhere else, it's not done by me.

I had honestly moved on from it when people pulled me back into it.

Other people who have done questionable shit in that fandom are easily forgiven because "they have moved on" or "changed". Yet, nobody believes I can move on or change…?

I had moved on; my interests had changed. But people won't let me, so here I am… Having to defend some crap I did years ago. A fic I no longer have any interest in.

I'm not even interested in TTTE anymore. I have moved on with my own book project now and I would like to focus on that.

So, deleting my TTTE content, whether it was the SFW or NSFW stuff, didn't cost me a penny. It actually felt like a relief. The only downside with it is that people now can't read it and make up their own opinion about it, but will solely believe in what others say, and those things are often seriously bent out of shape and blown out of proportions to such an extent it's barely recognizable.

If people claim that Arry and Bert rape Stepney in the fic, they have never seen it or read it. That's not what happens. That's just an assumption made by looking at the title and knowing there is a rape/torture scene in it. But I'm not gonna tell who the victim is or who performed it, because this is the only way I am able to tell who has actually read the fic or not, who is just trying to spread bullshit and who is actually telling the truth. The person in that screenshot, has no idea what he's talking about.

Does SVGL romanticize rape and abuse?

No, not in the least. It's described as the horrible, heinous acts it is and is in no way meant to be cute or romantic and definitely NOT something anyone should get off to. If anyone finds it sexy, that's their problem, not the authors'. If anything, SVGL might romanticize suicide, because one of the characters isn't able to cope with his trauma and chooses to end their life. Which is something I considered doing myself when I was in the darkest pit of depression. So, I apologize for maybe romanticizing suicide. The following chapters describe how friends and family handle the loss and grief.

It also describes a toxic relationship, where one of the parts struggles to get out of it. They eventually manage to break free, but it is not easy. This can easily be translated to my previously mentioned relationship, as it was my way of writing out my experience about how hard it is to break out of a relation when your partner has broken you down to the point where you no longer believe in yourself and your self-worth.

The last chapters start to gradually become brighter, as both our lives started getting better too. But we never really wrote the end because we both lost interest in writing TTTE content by that time and just left it hanging.

I'm not the only one who has written NSFW TTTE fanfics out there. But it seems like violence and murder is more acceptable than sexual things? I do wonder how brutally mutilating children's show characters are more tolerable than sexually abusing them. Neither should be okay.

Some content creators hide behind "it was a joke". I have been told that such topics that SVGL touches upon shouldn't be joked about… so I didn't do that, and yet it was wrong? So how should such topics be treated? Be hidden like it's a shame, like in the old days when rape victims were told to suck things up and keep it to themselves? When those subject to abuse didn't dare to speak up because people would judge them?

I think it is important to talk about these subjects and why they are so problematic. Victims shouldn't have to hide their trauma; they should be allowed to talk openly about it without fearing judgement.

Some of you claim that writing isn't a good way to cope… You're trying to dictate how trauma victims deal with their trauma, and that's a dangerous path to walk down. Nobody handles trauma the same way. You might have your thoughts on how you would react, but you'll never know until trauma hits you… and you might not react the way you had expected or planned. Trauma messes with your head and you won't be able to think clearly. It makes you do thinks you normally wouldn't have done and can make you act out of character. So, do not judge people without having been in the same situation yourself. Ever.

Someone wrote that I have "more problems that just a rape".

Read that again.

Just a rape.

This person does not know how damaging a rape can be. And if you made it this far in this post, you know I didn't only go through one, but several. Not just by my ex, but also being ambushed while I was walking home from a party, and later; a co-worker forcing himself onto me at a building site. I can't go into depth about them all, I just can't.

Just a rape…

"Just" the feeling of not being in control of your own body and your own decisions. "Just" being robbed off your dignity and self-worth. "Just" having someone intrude into your private zone, tear your clothes off and claim your body against your will. "Just" feeling how your life force leave you as you realize that fighting against it won't help you, and you silently give up and just lay down waiting for it all to be over. "Just" spending hours in the shower, scrubbing your skin until you bleed because you can't wash the filth away and you keep feeling dirty no matter how much you clean yourself. "Just" waking up at night, after having relived the scene again in a nightmare. "Just" looking over your shoulder wherever you walk because you heard something or thought you saw something or simply because someone is walking behind you. "Just" the fact that you'll never feel comfortable walking alone at night again or have someone walk behind you. "Just" never being able to relax because your body constantly think you're in grave danger. "Just" a rape…

That's such a neck-beard thing to say. Someone who clearly think of other people's bodies as property or things. Not taking into consideration that we are living, breathing individuals with feelings. And that having another person violate us isn't something we like or that we'll easily get over. We want to choose who we give ourselves to, nobody should be forced. We didn't ask to be raped. We didn't want it. We didn't like it.

Rape is trauma.

Yes, we should have chosen other characters for the story, but we did what we did, and it cannot be undone now. So, if the only thing I will be remembered for in the fandom is that ONE fic, instead of all my other content, that's what it will be. That's what people chose to. I'm moving on.

10. Being a nazi for being interested in WW2 history and for being Norwegian and having so-called nazi-letters in my last name (actual letters of the Norwegian alphabet).

*sigh*

This is something that could only happen in America, isn't it?

Some people don't bother educating themselves. The "nazi-letters" you guys are talking about is actually part of the Norwegian alphabet and has nothing to do with Nazism or white-supremacy to do at all. The Norwegian alphabet has 29 letters, the three extra is æ,ø,å or in capital letters: Æ,Ø,Å.

We can't help it if some morons over in the US abuse these letters as symbol of their twisted mindset.

Yes, my name contains one of those letters. It is my name… and I didn't choose it. It is a common Norwegian name.

As for me being a Nazi?

Those who knows me knows that I am as far from a Nazi as one can get. I despise Nazism with all my heart.

But the reason some people choose to believe so… was that some guy who has no hobbies or life went through every single fave I've made on DeviantArt since I joined the site in 2006, which is well over 20000 faves. And he found a few Nazi-characters from a web series I was following about ten years ago. I am very interested in history and especially WW2-history, so I found that particular web-series interesting and faved some artwork related to it. What this guy failed to notice is that I also faved the Allied characters… That's ALL there is to that story.

I has also faved a pic someone made of Joseph Goebbels (I think it was?) as a Pixar Car. That's not because I have any nazi-sympathies, but I simply found the concept of turning historical persons, both good and bad, into Cars as an interesting project. I would have faved any other historical Carsified person as well.

As for me being a Norwegian and have a natural pale complexion, that's not something I can help. That's nothing I choose. And it doesn't make me racist or Nazi. Period.

11. Putting a white-supremacist flag (the actual flag of Norway) on my porch on family birthdays and our national day.

Again. Get educated.

This flag… is the actual flag of my country. The Kingdom of Norway.

There is nothing Nazi about it. It is not a symbol of white-supremacy. IT IS THE FLAG OF NORWAY.

During WW2 it was even illegal, so people would paint it everywhere in a protest against the Nazi-occpation and the SS. We even decorated our Christmas trees with it, and that is a tradition that has followed us into the modern day.

Again, if some idiots in the US choose to use it as a symbol for their disgusting logic, it is not Norway or the Norwegians' fault.

12. Being a danger to my daughter.

I need people to elaborate here.

What exactly do you think I do to my daughter? What is the cause of your concern here?

The fact that I have made NSFW content? How is that harmful to her as long as I keep it away from her? You DO realize that even authors, pornstars and moviemakers have children and that they can be good parents, right?

Do you think I read pornographic content for her as bedtime stories? Or show her porn instead of kids TV? How sick are you guys, really…?

Some people even wanted CPS to take my child away from me… Have a look at these screenshots…

You want a happy, healthy, innocent child to be taken away from a stable, safe home with loving parents just because you don't like the content the mother made? You want her to be placed in foster care, where there is no guarantee that she will have a happy upbringing rather than have her stay with her parents who love her and care for her, for reasons she'll never understand and wasn't even aware of?

"Think of the children!" a lot of you say when it comes to my content. May I ask why this doesn't apply to my daughter?

Why do some of you go as far as to wishing her dead or wanting her to be removed from the home she feels safe and loved in? How is that thinking of the children?

As for the douchebag in that screenshot. You claim that if your mother did something like that you would want nothing to do with her… I have a question: Do you know EVERYTHING your mother do? Does she include you in each aspect of her life? Even her sexual life? No?

How do you know she doesn't do thing you don't approve of when you're not around? She could be a rabid pornmag reader for all you know. But stuff like that is something adults hide from their kids. So, you wouldn't know, unless you go snooping around in her business.

Everyone is entitled to privacy. What I and my husband do when our kid is not around is our business, not hers, and certainly not yours.

Porn and parenting are to be kept separate from each other. Period.

And we do.

There is absolutely no reason to be worried about my daughter. She is a happy, healthy child in a safe, stable home with family that loves her and cares for her. Not just me and my husband, but also grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins.

If you want to remove her from that over a stupid fanfic behind a mature content wall, you're the deranged person, not me.

 This is all I have to say about all this and my time in the TTTE fandom. I have left by my own, free will. Yes, I am aware that many people don't want me there. That's fine. I don't want to be there.

I am a bit disappointed in those people who just blindly unfollowed me and unfriended me without any questions asked, just followed the leader. Big users tend to dictate who and what is worth following in that fandom. They will even protect real predators, but I'm not going to open that can of worms now. I'm done with the fandom.

Some of those people, I have been talking to regularly, even supported when they faced hardships in the fandom themselves. But when I got in trouble, they ditched me without a word…

If anything, this whole ordeal showed me who to trust and not, and who were true to their word when it came to how deep our friendship was. True friends at least give you the chance to explain before they drop you. I hold no ill feelings to those who did, at least they asked me before judging.

And those who still stayed with me, are the ones who truly know me and who I really am.

Some of the worst libels posted about me might be reported to the police, but I haven't made up my mind yet. I am not mentally strong at the moment, so I don't know if I have the strength to legally follow it all up. I will ask the cops at work for advice on the matter.

All I ask for now is some peace.

You don't have to like me. You don't have to follow me. You don't have to like my content. Feel free to invalidate me, I know a lot of you will.

But please, stop bullying me and my family.

Please stop sending me horrid messages and death threats.

Please stop doxxing me and calling me.

Please leave my family alone. If you don't care about me, at least care about them.

Please just ignore me. I have already left the fandom, there is no reason to keep hunting me.

I just want to move on and go on with my life and the content I am currently working on. After years in therapy, my life has gotten better, and I want to move on.

Please let me.

[nabigeshonidol]

Backup

Persona 5 strikers spoilers under the cut! Mention and usage of Evokers are present here so just a heads up. 

The group was resting up at Zenkichi’s safe house after narrowly escaping the police. A hard frown was on the idols lips as she ran the events of the last few hours over again in her head. One minute they were relaxing and the next they were running for their lives like fugitives. Thankfully they were able to slip out the back so the only face the police knew was Akira’s. She wasn’t paying attention to the other’s chatter until Ann spoke up. “You’ve been quiet for awhile Rise-chan, is something bothering you?”

Rise looked up at the mention of her name. “I was just thinking... if we only have to worry about the police then it’s a manageable situation. However... if they get involved then that’s when I get worried.” 

At the mention of another group outside of the police, all chatter stopped. Rise didn’t need to look to know that all eyes were on her. As far as the police knew, they were mysterious criminals with unknown powers. The chances of the Shadow Operatives getting dragged into this were slim... if she was right. Though if the police did go to the Shadow Operatives, things would get a lot worse. Unless... 

“Who are you referring to?” Akira spoke up, breaking Rise’s train of thought. “Why would you be worried if they get involved?” 

Rise ran a hand through her hair, trying to find the best way to put this into words. She could tell that she’s increased the tension in this room by bringing it up. However, it couldn’t be avoided. “You know how I’m the navigator for the Seekers of Truth?” There were various sounds of agreement coming from the group. A quiet sigh came from her lips. She technically wasn’t supposed to bring this up. However, there was no way around it. “There’s an even older group of Persona users than us. I’m one of their auxiliary members. Which wouldn’t normally be a problem... except they are a part of the government.”

Sounds of shock echoed through the safe house. Rise glanced to where the door was and motioned for everyone to keep it down. They were still wanted fugitives after all. “They only know who Joker is. I didn’t tell them anything involving personal details except that you are all trustworthy Persona users. If they get involved there’s no way to hide from them, Fuuka-chan’s navigation skills are much stronger than mine.”

“So what do yo suggest we do? Turn ourselves in isn’t an option. Especially when Akane-chan is in danger.” Makoto crossed her arms, this new group sounded dangerous if they were included in this hunt. She watched the group with a frown on her face. Everyone was shuffling around with a degree of uncertainty. Given the present situation, she didn’t blame them. Though Rise still commanded most of the attention.

“It’s a race to see who can get in contact with them first. If we do, then there’s no worry. Mitsuru-sama is a very capable woman. The only problem for us is getting in contact with her.” Rise slid the backpack off of her back and moved it to her chest as she walked towards the back of the safehouse where there was a bit of room. She knelt down and placed the backpack on the ground and continued to rummage around.

“Don’t you have their number since you are a part of them? Why not call them?” Ryuji spoke up with a hard frown on his face. This wasn’t supposed to happen, they were supposed to take care of the corrupted adults not the other way around. 

“The police could be looking for that and it would give away our position. I could throw something together to jam any tracking, but that might take too long.” Futaba glanced over at Rise from behind her laptop.

“If they didn’t pre-emptively contact them, then you’ll be fine.” Rise said before finding the object she was looking for. Thin fingers wrapped around the cold, metal object as she brought the item towards her chest. Her heartrate increased as she kept her back turned to them. Each breath came quicker and quicker as she swallowed and turned to face them. Wrapped in her fingers was a silver gun.

“Rise-chan! Let’s talk about this!” Ryuji was the first to notice the gun and he jumped out of his seat. They were just talking about how to contact this other group of Persona users. A gun seemed like the last thing that will help them out. He knew that wasn’t one of the toy guns they carried around for usage in the Metaverse. 

Though it seemed like his words fell on deft ears as she brought the gun to her forehead. The others followed Ryuji’s action and jumped out of their seats. 

“Rise-chan!” “Put the gun down! We’ll get through this!” “Dying won’t solve anything!” “Please! Don’t do this!”

The group pleaded with Rise to put the gun down, yet she paid them no mind. Her eyes were shut as both hands were wrapped around the handle of the gun. Her heart felt like it was going to rip itself out of her chest. 

One.       Two.             Three.

                             CLICK!

The sound of the gun echoed through the safehouse as Rise’s head shot back from the force of the gun. However, no blood appeared. Rather blue fragments formed from right behind Rise, slowly forming into a solid mass behind Rise. It felt like an eternity for the Phantom Thieves, when in reality it was mere seconds before Kouzeon came into view. The gun still kept in Rise’s hands as Kouzeon lowered the visor over Rise’s eyes.

“WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED?!” Ryuji screamed, before Ann jumped on his back and muffled his voice. He felt like he was about to loose her, that she was going to sacrifice herself for their sake. He remembered the conversation they had after Shido’s palace exploded. Was this the same feelings she had back then?

The room went silent for a few moments as they waited to see if anyone heard them. When no one came knocking on the door, everyone looked back to Rise. They knew her power was different from their own. Yet to see her Persona manifest in the real world... that was something else. 

“I told you, I’m an auxiliary member of that group. Which means I have access to their equipment and this Evoker allows me to summon in the real world. It’s a lot harder for me to do than in the Metaverse or TV World, but I can still do it. Now Futaba I need your help, Fuuka-chan is probably out of my reach. But with your support, I can find her.” Rise handed the Evoker to one of Kouzeon’s free arms, leaving both of her hands free. 

“I can’t do that.” Shock and fear was still present within Futaba’s voice. 

Rise could understand why, Futaba saw so much death. She remembered freaking out the first time she saw someone summon with an Evoker. Thankfully, Rise didn’t need Futaba’s Persona to manifest to do this. She reached her arms out. “Don’t worry about it, you don’t need to summon your Persona. Just give me your hands and I’ll help guide you through this.” 

Futaba nodded her head and walked over to Rise slowly. Her entire body was still shaking from the experience. Though moments after joining hands with Rise did Futaba stop shaking. The two Navigators remained like that for about half an hour before Kouzeon retreated back into Rise’s heart. A tired but triumphant smile was on her lips. “We are good, they won’t come looking for us. Mitsuru-sama is also looking into ways that she can support us without drawing attention. Which leaves just the police to focus on.”

“Okay that’s good to know.” Akira nodded looking between the teams two Navigators with a relieved smile on his face. Though before they switched topics he looked Rise directly in the eyes. “Next time you need to summon like that, let us know please.”

“I can, sorry for scaring you.” A sheepish smile was on the idols lips as she rubbed the back of her neck. 

[staranon95]

what friends are for

a red hood au drabble

Matt doesn’t mind being known as the ‘tech guy’ of the crew. He doesn’t. He likes technology. Technology is easy to understand. It’s easy to work with, for the most part, and it doesn’t try to kill him. Well, at least not purposefully. If he dies from electrocution, then it’s probably his own damn fault.

Working with technology usually keeps him away from the nasty business on the streets. Usually, he can walk down the street and not be bothered by someone who has a grudge with him because those people wouldn’t know him if they saw him. They only know him through the Trojan viruses he infects their computers and security systems with.

He’s not a fighter. He doesn’t want to be. He wouldn’t know how to get out of a hold. He can handle a gun only minutely, and he knows and accepts the fact that he’s a damsel in distress whenever someone grabs him. He’s all fine with this.

What he’s less fine with is dealing with this current ‘Red’ situation. As if the moniker Red makes it any easier to determine who this person really is. Gavin has a theory that it’s actually someone who’s been dead for five years—Alfredo Diaz. He was once an acquaintance of the Fakes, but then . . .

Well . . .

Mistakes happen.

That’s what Matt refers to them as. You can’t carry forward in a job like this with the guilt of someone’s death on your hands. Otherwise you might as well run up the white flag and call it quits.

But Alfredo was the one that made them all ask: was this all worth it?

And now it seems he’s returned. But for what purpose? Why pretend being dead all these years? Why the cat and mouse games?

So Matt goes digging as he usually does with puzzles like these. He likes watching murder mystery shows because it’s fun putting the pieces together in his head and making the correct guess ten minutes in and watch everyone else flip out when he’s guessed right.

So he starts at the beginning. The crime scene.

Arson investigation. Case closed. Three dead. Four in hospital. Blah, blah, blah

Ah, here we go.

Diaz, Alfredo, 20.

Damn, he was so young.

Not like Matt was any older.

They found his DNA at the scene, and some of the bodies had been burned to the point of being unrecognizable. So it’s entirely possible that they could’ve been mistaken about who truly died that nigh.

But then how could he have gotten away?

So Matt looks to the hospital records of that night. Who was brought in? None of the Fakes. They have their own doctors on payroll for that. The four brought in were just common thugs of a different crew they’d been tangling with back in the day. And all four has since been arrested. One of them had the charges dropped against them with the other three landing in jail, with two of them still there to this day.

Returning to the question at hand: how did Alfredo survive if all the evidence clearly said he didn’t? Was someone using their dead friend’s identity for their own gains? And if so, why?

A rapid and sharp knocking at his door draws Matt away from his computers. He looks through the peephole and sees Trevor on the other side. He sets about unlocking the door and letting him inside.

Trevor is usually well composed. He dresses smartly like Geoff used to back in the day before Geoff said, “Trevor, you’re the man of the house now,” and promptly left without another word. But this Trevor is frazzled Trevor. His hair has been ruffled. Running his hands through it has been a nervous tick of his since Matt has known the guy.

“What is it?”

“Have you found anything?” Trevor asks. Another thing about frazzled Trevor is that he is painfully direct. No time for pleasantries. No time for ‘hey, I haven’t seen you in two weeks! How’s it going!’

“On Red?”

“Yeah.”

“Nothing that stands out. I was just looking through the old crime scene reports. I honestly think this guy is just fucking with us. Probably picked up his ID and looked to see what history ‘fredo had with us.”

“Gavin was so sure, though.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I have a soundbite to do some sound analysis shit on it. If you can get this guy talking clearly and record it for me, then maybe I can work some magic. Or better yet! Some DNA would be nice?”

Trevor paces the length of Matt’s living room, and it’s now that Matt is seeing the wear and tear on him. He should’ve thought that this was eating Trevor up more than he was letting on.

Matt sighs and moves to the kitchen to fill some glasses with water and bring them to the coffee table. He sets them down and sits on the couch.

“Trev, you need to tell me what’s going on, man.”

He walks the length of the room twice more before sinking into Matt’s recliner, holding his head in his hands. It’s a solid minute before he moves for one of the glasses and another two before he speaks.

“I don’t like thinking about that night,” he says.

“Neither do I. You’re not alone in that.”

“I don’t want to get my hopes up either, you know?”

“I think it’s natural if you do. It’s . . . it’s odd. That’s for sure.”

“Like.” Trevor pauses, runs a finger over his lower lip. “He could be back. He could be trying to come home and I.” He breaks off and leans back into the recliner, folding his hands behind his head. When he gets uncomfortable, he avoids eye contact, he fidgets. Matt gives him all the time he needs because, while he knows he’s not exactly able to show it, this is weighing heavily on Trevor.

“I don’t know what to do here,” Trevor says. “Geoff says we’ve got this. That we don’t need him to draw this Red guy out, but I have no fucking idea what I’m doing.”

“You know Geoff is probably taking this as hard as you are. He’s the one who brought you and Alfredo on.”

“Yeah, I know that. I just wish he had more to say than ‘you’ve got this’ when clearly I don’t.” Trevor huffs and goes boneless in the recliner.

Matt pulls out his phone and opens Uber Eats. He scrolls through to find a place he knows Trevor will eat from. He places the order and reaches for the remote to his TV.

“I’ve been on a Yu-Gi-Oh binge lately,” he says.

“Yeah? What season?”

“Season two.”

“Oh, the Marik stuff.”

“Yeah and Kaiba’s about to be a real bitch to Ishizu. Food will be here in like thirty minutes.”

Matt stands to at least shut his computers down for the night. It’s been a while since Trevor has crashed here and he wants to be there for his friend. Trevor needs this. Red can wait another day.

[whirlybirdwhat]

flowers (still blooming)

Ace doesn’t know what his mother looks like. Makino met a woman twelve years ago. 

(There are flowers in Rouge's hair.)

Read on AO3 for better quality!

--

Makino runs a bar – this is common knowledge to anyone who has ever visited Foosha.

She’s always behind the counter or at serving drinks, all with a kind smile and a laugh at hijinks. No one misbehaves, and there’s a shiny new gun behind the counter for any unwanted visitors.

(Rumor has it a pirate taught her how to shoot.)

She a barmaid and a bar tender and a bar owner – anything really. The Party Bar is her pride and joy.

And left over from her mother, a generation previous, it is her information hub as well.

People come in from all sorts of places for the taste of beers delivered directly by Vice Admiral hands and homebrews from the other side of the island. With them they bring stories, and tales, and wanted posters, secrets about criminals Makino has never known and praise for villains she never wants to meet. Alcohol loosens lips, and it’s an easy task to ask the right questions to get the right answers.

Makino’s smart. She knows the power she holds with all the information locked tight in her brain. She sends letters to Garp, sometimes, to warn about an upcoming raid on some poor island, and smiles at the news of the Hero of the Navy saving yet another place.

(She calls Shanks sometimes, to hear his voice, and to tell him that some upstart is planning on challenging him, to tell him that the Marines are planning some ambush but its only rookies, really, to tell him that she misses him and Luffy isn’t in Foosha much now a days, so can’t he come visit?

He doesn’t. But that’s okay.)

Wanted posters find their way onto the Party Bar’s walls, for one reason or another. A nice young man who tipped well, off to becoming a pirate, or a couple of scoundrels smacked down by Garp the Fist himself. Shanks is there, serious faced over a hefty bounty, with the rest of the crew smiling alongside him.

(A spot is reserved on the other wall for the bounty of three young to-be pirates – she can’t wait to see how high their bounties soar.)

It’s not often Makino looks through them, but then she meets Ace, whose face is so similar to one she has known before – one who smiled at her and gave her a hug when her mother didn’t bother paying attention to her.

Makino visit’s Luffy’s brothers, and cries, just a little bit, when she gets home.

Luffy is so happy but someone dear is gone.

-

Garp keeps secrets when he wants to but Makino knows how to get them out of him. A drop of knowledge here, a drink there, a smile, a private place with no prying ears, and the mention of grandsons is all it takes for the tears to well up in his eyes and for the words to spill out.

Ace, his first grandson’s name is, adopted or not, Portgas D. Ace –

All the information Makino wanted, really, but Garp keeps on talking –

Gol D. Ace, son of the Pirate King –

And Makino’s heart shatters.

(Like any bar, the Party Bar receives its fair share of unruly customers, those with cruel words on their tongues and hatred for people they have never met.

The Son of the King? They say, referring to the only king that ever really mattered. Hope he doesn’t exist! Should kill 'em if he does, sins of the father, right? Drown him at birth, noose around the neck, whatever works! Kid will turn out to be just as bad as his bastard father!)

Ace has demons in his eyes. Makino knows why.

-

Ace proudly calls himself Portgas D. Ace, so Makino has hope, and she loves this boy because he is Ace, the one who Luffy calls brother and the one who makes Luffy less lonely, and because Ace is a child and deserves love no matter what she thinks.

She works past the lump in her heart, when she gets home from that conversation from Garp, and opens the chest in her room.

(Tears drip from her eyes and the Party Bar is closed for the day, but that doesn’t matter.

Whatever has, in the face of this bloodline?)

-

Makino was seven when the woman came into town. She was the most beautiful woman Makino had ever seen, gliding into port with hair the color of morning skies and a dash of freckles across her cheek. A flower rose in her hair, vibrant and beautiful, and her smile changed her face into something different, something Makino wished she had. She was pregnant but didn’t stumble under the weight of her still small belly, and instead stood tall and imposing, almost as tall as Garp.

Portgas D. Rouge came into port like a storm and exited like a whisper

“Child,” she had said to the only one at port that day, Makino, playing in the waves. “Where is everyone?”

“At the bar,” Makino told her blindly, because Foosha was small and had no need for anyone to be wary of strangers.

(The era of pirates was beginning today after all.)

“The Pirate King is being executed – everyone’s watching it.”

It was strange, how people’s faces broke at the strangest things.

“My name is Rouge,” the woman introduced herself. “Will you take me to the bar?”

“Sure.” And Makino did.

(She grabbed Makino’s outstretched hand when Makino lead her to the bar, and didn’t let go when they were inside. Makino didn’t mind (her mother never held her hand anymore). Eventually, the woman, Rouge, lifted her up and placed her on her hip, so she could see the Pirate King.

(He looked big, up on that stage. Who could ever kill him?)

They stood in the back of the bar as Roger shouted his last words – You want my treasure? You can have it! I left everything I gathered together in one place. Now you'll just have to find it! – and an era was born with the death of one man.

Rouge cried when it happened, and Makino didn’t know why. She was smiling though, still smiling that beautiful smile she gave Makino, so she figured it was alright even as tears dripped from her face onto Makino’s hair.

She clung tighter to Rouge, hoping to give her some comfort.

(Hoping she could make this woman happy again.)

It worked, as they left the bar where people were cheering, screaming, at the death of a King. Rouge smiled and her tears mixed with the salt spray from the beach, as she and Makino played in the sand.

Rouge stayed for a week, playing with Makino and giving her more attention than anyone else ever did. She left a flower in her hair when she left, whispered secrets of men and women Makino had never known, and kissed her forehead when Makino went to sleep on her shoulder.

Makino loved her, didn’t you know?

(She left, and never came back.)

-

Makino knows the path to the bandit den like the back of her hand by now. She makes journeys up there in the middle of the week, when the bar is quiet, to give boys a well-cooked meal and some bandits some booze. Its tradition, at this point.

This isn’t her usual day, so it’s a miracle the boys are even at the bandit den (she had heard from an excited Luffy that they were hiding out in a tree house now.) They cheer at her presence and the meal she brought while Dadan gives her a curious look.

They are covered in bruises, a blessing from Garp before he visited Makino, but are still running around, screeching and wrestling in the mud.

Makino doesn’t mind, and in a quiet moment, takes Ace away to talk to him.

“Ace,” She starts, kneeling down to be at his level. “Garp told me about your parents.”

Ace locks up, body freezing as his eyes go wide. There’s terror in them, and Makino feels her heart break. His mouth opens and shuts, words not coming out, but that’s okay.

Makino knows his question.

“I don’t care, Ace, I still love you.”

His eyes well up and he bites his lip, like he can’t bear to believe it. He’s trying to stay strong, and Makino can’t help but wonder at how similar he is to his mother.

(The freckles are a spitting image of Rouge, and Makino can’t help but wonder what he would look like if he had his mother’s hair.)

Ace sniffles and she draws him in. He’s too flustered to fight back, to unused to hugs to hug back, but that’s why Makino drew him away from everyone else.

Her shoulder grows wet from his tears as she gently brushes his hair back. “Shh. It’s okay, Ace. It’s okay.” When he grows quiet, eyes dried up, just a little, she says what she truly came up here to do.

“I have a present for you.”

He lifts his head up, face curious. “More clothes?”

“No, silly.” She laughs and then laughs again at the redness of his face. “Do you know what your mother looked like?”

Ace shakes his head, stilling. “No. Shitty Gramps told me stories though…”

And by the tone in his voice, it’s probably stories of his birth – not the ones Rouge told Makino on Foosha’s beaches twelve years ago.  She’s going to have to fix that.

Makino pulls the old and faded paper out of her pocket. “Here”

Ace takes one look at the poster and promptly breaks again

-

Two weeks after Rouge left Foosha, the News Coos brings another round of papers. Everyone scrambles for one, eager to hear what has happened since the Pirate King fell, but Makino is lucky enough to grab her mother’s copy.

Her reading isn’t the best now, but she likes looking at the wanted posters that come with them. There are so many new pirates now

The wanted poster that falls out is a new one, an updated one, with a face Makino hasn’t seen on a wanted poster before - but has seen in reality, cupped in her hands and counted the freckles of a stranger’s face

‘SEA STORM’ PORTGAS D. ROUGE - WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE: 1.5 BILLION BERRIES

Rouge... the pregnant woman who laughed and dance with Makino as if she was her own child. is wanted? is a pirate? Why?

Makino can’t fathom it and worries for the woman who she had known for a week.

She hopes she’s alive

She hopes she comes back

(She asks Garp about the woman, once, and some strange happenings run across his face, like worry and concern and anger all at once. He curses then interrogates Makino about everything she knows about the woman, which she tells him, trembling. Her mother scolds her for being dishonest but Garp thanks her, tells her she’s keeping her safe. That Rouge will be safe.

Makino is thankful.)

Raids start for the pirate Kings son the next week. Makino stays at home, afraid and hidden as soldiers interrogate every woman on the isle, how long they been there, if any people visited port before the capture of the king.

She hopes Rouge, regnant and tall and bold, escapes it.

Her bounty comes in again with a New Coo a year later, when raids have died down, and Makino is sure she’s alive.

1.7 billion, and she’s smiling.

Rouge survived. Makino can’t wait to see her again.

(That is the last picture she ever gets of Rouge. It’s not put up with the others when Makino takes over the bar at 16. It’s much too precious for that. instead, she hides it in her chest of precious things in her room, taking care to make sure the paper doesn’t crumble or fray. It’s a treasure she doesn’t admit to having, and dream she doesn’t say to the world but keeps close to her heart.)

Makino sees ace and knows Rouge didn’t survive for that woman, who played with her when no one else would, would never abandon her child willingly.

-

The wanted poster is faded but the picture is still clear through meticulous care.  a woman stares out from in, angled away from the camera but with her face fully visible. her hair flows in the morning light of the picture, pink against the sea in the background, and freckles dash across her face. she’s closed mouth but smiling eye amused but with one eyebrow raised. A hibiscus, pink and blooming, is nestled in her hair. Her skin is warm and glowing and she looks like an older Ace.

Its Rouge, queen of the seas.

Its Rouge, Aces mother.

In the wanted poster he takes gently from Makino, he sees his mother for the first time.

“Mom?” he croaks out, voice shaky and so, so hopeful. Makino hums, and settles in, guiding Ace to sit next to her as they stare at the wanted poster.

“Yes. When I was girl she visited this island... you look just like her, you know? I knew it was her the moment I saw you.”

“What... what was she like?” Aces voice is soft and hopeful as he traces the bounty number, so unbelievably high for someone he has never heard of.

Makino smiles. “She was kind, so unbelievably kind, to me at least. Just wandered into Foosha one day and took my hand – I think she was pregnant with you at the time, isn’t that fun?”

Ace gives a tiny smile, eyes wide and big as he stares at her. He hangs onto every word, trying to show that he isn’t lest she decides not to tell it, which she never would, but it’s endearing all the same.

“But to others,” Makino continues, “She was the storm at sea. Sea Storm Rouge, the papers called her, a legend known by the burning flower in her hair. She would appear like a maelstrom at sea, suddenly there before you could blink and taking down ships at a speed no one could rival save for a select few. She would free slaves from nobles in the same breath she took off with all their loot. She took nothing lying down.”

Sabo and Luffy sneak in to their tiny clearing and find their place next to Ace, knowing there’s a story to be told and not willing to miss it. She laughs at their curious expressions, and continues wither her tale of the woman she might have called mother as Ace pulls his brothers in close.

“She told me once of how she stared a sea king the size of an island down because he was bothering her morning meal…”

-

Rouge leaves in the quiet moments of dawn, when the sun is only barely rising and all is quiet save for the fishermen already out in the waters.

She takes Makino with her, out to the shore, taking her by the hand and leading her out as the girl rubbed sleep from her eyes.

There’s sadness in Rouge, Makino notes as they leave, passing by houses and towards the abandon beach half a mile from Foosha.

She doesn’t like the sadness there, but she senses it’s not her job to get rid of it – it’s the selfish kind of sadness, the kind that comes with loving some great.

(Makino’s young, but all the children of this world know that feeling.)

They watch the sunrise together in front of Rouge’s small ship, and lean into each other. Rouge’s hand braids Makino’s hair as she plays with the sword handle at the woman’s hip.

“Rouge,” She asks, quiet. It’s not the time for loudness. “Why are you leaving?”

Why are you leaving me?

(Makino’s mother runs the Party Bar and doesn’t leave time for anyone else. Her father isn’t around and the closest she has is Garp and Woopslap, and it should be enough, but it isn’t. Not next to this stranger who has told her of legends and let her hold her hand and dance under the stars. It’s not enough to the raging storm of Rouge’s love.)

Rouge smiles, face softening as she finishes tying off Makino’s braid. “I have to, to keep those I love safe. If I fight, I can win, but others won’t. And I won’t hurt them for their selflessness.”

“But what if its selfishness?”

What if I want you here for me?

Rouge rests a hand on her stomach and one on Makino’s head, and the world seems to still. There’s a pressure from Rouge, one that seems to make the light from the sun flicker under the force from it. It relents, after a moment, but Makino feels safe.

Secure.

Rouge loves her.

“Then you must live with that selfishness, like I do mine.” Her voice is soft. Makino takes the words and keeps them in her heart. It’s hers.

The sun is half over the horizon now. Rouge gets up, and lifts Makino from the railing where they sit to put her on the sandy ground. They are both barefoot, now, having run in the sand half an hour before, and their toes sink into sand as water runs over their toes.

It’s a peaceful kind of ending.

Rouge kneels, soaking her pants in the shore to look Makino in her eyes. She pulls the flower out of her hair, still immaculately pristine and beautiful, and places it behind Makino’s ear. “A gift,” she says, and kisses Makino on the forehead, “so you don’t forget me, alright?”

Makino nods and knows she never will.

No one but Makino knows the Maelstrom of the Grand Line was on Dawn Island, but as Rouge sails off into the raising son, one child left behind and one yet to be born, she finds that’s quite alright.

She was there, and that was enough.

(Never, her selfish heart whispers, never enough.)

-

Ace is the only one still awake by the time Makino tells the last of her few tales. He’s tired, clearly, resting heavily on Sabo as Luffy rests in his lap, but he keeps on blinking his eyes open. The sun is setting now, and Makino must really be going, but she has one last thing to show him.

“Come on,” She says, pulling Ace up and leaving his brothers to collapse on each other. “I have another gift for you.”

Ace looks at the wanted poster still held so gently in his hands, and follows into the woods.

There’s a field on the west side of the island, the cliffside above the shore half a mile from Foosha. Its filled with beautiful hibiscuses the shades of vibrant pink.

Ace had seen it before, on his ventures.

But now, Makino shows him the truth.

“Your mother gave me her flower, one of them at least, that was in that poster. It started wilting after a few days, so I found a way to replant the seeds and pressed the original… they quickly spread over the valley…”

The sun makes them burn like fire, and Makino sees the love of a mother reflected in Ace’s eyes.

Saltwater falls down her cheeks as she sees Ace take a flower like it is the most precious thing in the world (like Makino had treated the flower Rouge gave her) and place it in his hair. It’s just long enough in the step that it nestles gently in his hair, and he smiles, so happily, like she hasn’t seen him do unless he’s with his brothers.

Tears mirror hers on his cheeks and suddenly she’s staring at Rouge on the day she met her.

He gives her a flower next, and they walk under the setting sun to Dadan’s hut with Rouge’s love intertwined in their hair.

-

Makino is a bartender, which means she keeps information, and it means she inherited the place where she met a woman who changed her life.

She sees Ace off on the same shore she saw Rouge off, and cries and waves with joy in every moment. He sails into the sun, brilliant and bold, as flowers float around the waiting crowd, and she’s so, so happy.

She is a bartender so she gets the wanted posters two months later first: information is key, after all.

The poster is put up on the reserved wall, a place of pride for three two boys.

Fire Fist Ace, it declares, Captain of the Spades Pirates WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE!

The picture on it is a smiling boy on fire, freckled and smiling. His hat has two charms around it and a wreath of beads is around his neck, a gift from his bandit mother. Expected, for a runaway pirate.

Intertwined in the hat and in his hair, however, are brilliant pink hibiscuses – a tribute to a woman forgotten by the world.

(The rumors Makino hears tell of a boy who doesn’t care what you do to him, but if you harm his crew or the flowers on his ship and hat, there will be hell to pay from a boy made of fire.)

Makino thinks Rouge would be proud.

-

“Rouge? What are you going to name your baby?”

“Ann if it’s a girl. I would name her Makino, but I think the one I know is great enough!”

“Sesesese! And if it���s a boy?”

“Then Ace! That’s the name his father loved – it’s a good name, don’t you think? I love him already.”

“Can I be his big sister?”

“Of course.”

-

(Makino is a bartender, and that mean Makino has connections.

She asks Shanks to fill Ace’s grave with pink hibiscuses, and for Rayleigh to give Luffy a bouquet of them to give to the cracks in the Earth at Marineford.

It’s not nearly enough, but she will be selfish, just this once, and will cry about it.)

-

She names her child Ann and calls her my little sea storm, my little flower. 

She knows Rouge would be proud.