#first-hand victim of the system? check.

[trifargo]

reasons why atlus can’t kill akechi yet:

1. the potential comedy and justice moral debate we could have from tagging him with zenkichi as work buddies

2. back to no 1

[lalal-99]

Professionally Pretty Baby {l.f.}

Felix x afab!reader | trope: established relationship | smut | wordcount: 1.5k

Synopsis: When Felix is insecure about running the catwalk for the first time, you decide to distract him. By forcing him to narrate compliments from Twitter while you go to town on him.

Warnings: explicit content | dni if your under 18

Smut Tags: Smut | Explicit Sexual Content | Porn with some Plot | Fluff | Teasing | Edging (Felix rec.) | Oral (Felix rec.) | Body Worship | Implied Praise Kink | Slight Breeding Kink towards the end | Felix is slightly insecure and anxious

Note: This is so heavily inspired by our favourite Prince Felix walking the Louis Vuitton runway. Also by this Seungmin story by @skzms It's been quite a week, alright...

Taglist: @skzho @bubblelixie @flakywig @itsallaboutkey @avyskai @mekuiikore @changbiddies0325 @knowleeknow @sensitiveandhungry @svintsandghosts @poutypoutybin @hyunjinswifeee @sunlitwilderness

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Please don't flag as mature or repost this story - Thank You!

“Lee Felix has been g— God!— gifted a once in a life— lifetime face card.”

“Read another one, baby!”

“I don’t know this man, but he truly belongs…” Felix throws his head back and you pull away. He understands your threat, so after a deep, shaky breath, he finishes the sentence. “… belongs on the runway.”

And you continue.

That’s how the past twenty minutes have been going. With Felix, narrating your Twitter feed to you while you have him in your mouth. Sucking. Licking. Like the god-damn goddess you are.

You were playing with him the whole after party. In secrecy, hidden away while stealing heated kisses in unsupervised backrooms. Groping him through his jeans which he was filling out in no time. You’ve even given his ass a few squeezes when no one was looking, riling him up as much as possible. A welcome ego-booster after he was on edge the whole morning. Anxious about his first runway show.

It started with Felix tossing and turning all night, not getting a whiff of sleep. He couldn’t eat breakfast, his nerves running so high he thought he’d throw up. On the way to the show, your hand was placed on his thigh, urging his leg to stop bouncing in quick tremors. And even as he was getting dressed—honoured by being the leading model to close the show—he was so pale.

Nothing you did seemed to help Felix relax, two of his fingers constantly at his neck to check his pulse. You had never seen him more concerned in your life.

Turns out, all the worrying was for nothing.

As you watched him strut the runway as though he was born to do it, pride and arousal took over your frame. If it weren’t for all the innocent bystanders, you would have jumped Felix the moment he returned backstage. It was then that you decided to reward him with your unfiltered attention once you got him to yourself.

By the time you entered your hotel room, he was so hard already, it was difficult to get him out of his tight denim pants. All the more are you enjoying him now, like a pretty present you had to unpack before being able to play with.

“Another one.”

You swirl your tongue around his tip, making him whimper as he involuntarily scrolls further down the feed.

“He looks so good, I want to suck him dry.”

That’s the comment that gave you the idea. You remember reading it on the way to the after party, his hand resting on your thigh while he looked out the limousine’s window. A dangerous smirk appeared on your lips as you tongued the inside of your cheek. Felix ever the oblivious victim of your arousal.

“How about you just keep ‘em coming. Gives me more freedom to do this,” you explain as you cup his balls in your hand. It sends a shutter right through his shape, ending in a pink sheen on both his cheeks. Not so pale anymore, is he?

“Korea’s favourite prince.”

You hum around him in agreement, and he groans at the vibration.

“The most cuntiest walk to ever be walked.”

You’re deep-throating him now, fingers digging into his thighs and leaving red marks.

“Please, baby. I can’t keep reading these. I need to concentrate on you,” Felix whines, free hand coming to your head, guiding you.

But this isn’t the deal. He’s supposed to let go of any and every doubt he has. About his looks, his abilities to present the clothes as intended, his way of walking. Call it reverse psychology, but if his girlfriend worshiping his dick while he reads through tweets calling him ‘handsome’, ‘perfect’ and ‘god’ doesn’t do it… nothing would.

“I can’t even look you in the eyes while reading these.”

With that he throws your phone to the side, hips bucking into your grip. You’re jerking him in gentle, maddening strokes as you come up to sit in his lap. He’s completely naked while you’re still in your dress. Only your boobs roam free for an even prettier view from where he’s been sitting. Over you, leaning back against the headrest of the hotel couch.

As you come eye-to-eye, his hands reach around you, groping your ass. Your skirt slides further up your thighs, revealing what’s beneath. Or rather, what isn’t.

When Felix realises you’ve been going commando all evening, he licks his lips, moaning. “You’re unreal.”

“No, you’re unreal,” you correct him, pressing your lips against his neck. Since his head is still rolled against the backrest, you have free access to any part of his throat. Your tongue darts out to lick over his pulse-point. “I mean, I already knew you were pretty. My pretty baby. But now…”

The speed of your strokes picks up and Felix squeezes your cheeks harder. He’s close, you can tell from the twitch in his cock and his constant need to swallow. With glazed eyes he watches as you position him at your entrance, your wetness wrapping around his head.

“You’re my professionally pretty baby.”

As the words reach his brain, you slide onto him, your folds swallowing him whole. Immediately, he starts guiding your hips around himself, but you swat them away. Instead, you steer them to where your dress bunches up. Between the display of your tits and your pussy, engulfing him in a delicious hug.

He doesn’t know where to look, eyes ping-ponging between your most grabable areas. All of which he’s not allowed to grab. Or caress or tease or simply touch. A true tragedy if he’s ever seen one.

Felix only realises that you’ve picked up your phone again when you push it into his hands. “Go on. Earn it!”

And he’s trying so hard. “Lee Felix is what angels think they look like when they’re entering heaven.” You squeeze him, earning a shaky breath. “I’d survive off of drinking nothing but him.” You agree with a nod, leaning back to tilt the angle. You’re holding yourself up with your arms on his thighs, giving him the best view he could ask for. “Put— Fuck!— Put your babies inside me, sir.”

“Who wrote that one?” you question much to his surprise.

“What?”

“Tell me who wrote the last one.”

You watch as he focuses his gaze onto the small display as though it is planets away. “It’s— It was—” Shaking his head, he snaps out of his haze momentarily, only to look up at you once he realises. “You?”

Smiling at him, you notice the flash inside his irises, telling you exactly what those words do to him. The tightening of his abs doesn’t go by you either. The mere thought of getting you pregnant gets him going so much, you’re thrown onto the couch not seconds later. As he plunges back inside you with all his force, you clench around him, spurring him on.

“Come inside me, baby. I know you want to,” you whisper into his ear as he shudders with his approaching release. He knows you’re on birth control. But even just the trajectory of you carrying his children has him going in overdrive. It doesn’t take much more to have him paint your walls snow white like the colour of his bleached locks. “Fill me up. Breed me, baby.”

Later when you’re laying in bed, breathless from the countless of orgasms he thanked you with, Felix can’t help wondering. “Did you actually mean it?”

“That you’re the absolute epitome of male prettiness?” you joke. “Of course!”

Since you met Felix, you were constantly amazed by his effortless and natural beauty. How anyone could not see that, even the boy himself, is a true mystery to you.

“That’s not what I meant,” he rolls his eyes, flips so he can look at you. For the last few minutes, he has laid on your stomach while you played with his blonde strands. “I mean the whole putting babies in you thing. Would you actually want to have my children someday?”

“You’re serious?” He nods, timid. “Baby, do you remember when I said I’d kill to have Tom Holland’s children?” He’s laughing this time, shaking his head at your delusional joke. “Well, I’d kill Tom Holland to have yours.”

Your words make him blush as he hides his face in your belly. You’re snickering along with him, body trembling in amusement, when you feel a kiss press to your stomach.

“Okay, okay. That’s good to know for the future.” Your amusement dies down when you feel his hand creep up your naked thigh, tickling the skin. Soft kisses are planted around your belly button before he wanders down your body. “For now, how about we play with the fantasy a little. What do you say?”

But you don’t answer. Before you can even open your mouth, he has his on you, playing with your swollen clit as though he hasn’t done so for hours. And soon enough Felix has you right back where he wants you. Withering away below him, thanked over and over again for the love you continue to gift him with.

Masterlist Leave your thoughts

[marcsburnerphone]

wish I wasn't so hurt

Captain John price x f!reader

Summary:being johns’ wife has been full of security and safety and you never thought he’d be the one to taint that.

Warnings: angst,(hurt/comfort, 141 task force loves you, price is full of guilt, reader is struggling to process her feelings

Part two!! Find part one here - Part 1

—----------

The cafe was quiet and warm when you entered, a few couples here and there were tucked away in booths chatting mindlessly. There was a dull ache spread throughout your chest and head from crying, ordering your coffee You couldn't help but notice the look of sympathy that sat on the barista's face.

You found a booth somewhere in the corner and dug your phone out of your purse and powered it on after having shut it off to stop the continuous buzzing it’d been doing in the car. To say the least it almost overheated and you couldn’t get to the silence button fast enough.

4 missed calls.

2 voicemails.

“I’m sorry.” 

“I’m so sorry, please forgive me.” 

“I have lost my mind, I know.” 

“Where are you my love?”

“Please just talk to me, or text either please.”

“I know I was wrong, it wasn’t my intention.” 

“Fuck em.” This one was from Simon and it made you giggle. 

A part of you wanted to message john and let him know you're okay to ease his mind, yet you didn’t instead you tucked your phone in the back pocket of your jeans. Maybe being this upset wasn't reasonable but the way he dismissed you with such harsh words intending to scare you, it was hard to get past.

Had you pushed too far? If you would have just left this could've been avoided, the anger that was spreading in your heart, the trouble of processing how to feel or move forward from this. To be fair John had never done anything to scare you or make you feel unsafe after all these years, even when he came home with blood still on his boots his eyes and voice were nothing but tender and loving. This is where you found trouble, how could he have changed so fast? How had he been so cold?

—--------

Back on base he was suffering, his heart ached with shame and remorse. How could he speak to you in such a way? Often he fell victim to his anger but this time so did you. He checked his phone continuously since you left here and it’d become clear to him you'd stopped somewhere before going home. He just wished he knew where.

The bowl of food hadn't been picked up from where your shaking hands had left it, the thought itself made him nauseous. He was fearful for the first time in a long while, for someone with so much control the thought of you leaving had him ready to crumble to the floor and maybe that's what he deserves.

The Men that were usually rowdy and causing commotion had fallen silent in his presence as he went for a cup of tea in the common area.

Price didn’t understand the blessing he held in the palm of his hands, to find someone as loving and caring as you was a once in a lifetime thing especially with the career he possessed. Bloody hands that get to go home to welcoming warm ones, a soldiers’ wish.  

—------------

You sat around trying to pinpoint where the confusion in how to feel was but hopelessly gave up and decided it was time to head home. The chilly air outside made you shiver on the way to your car. The drive home was draining, music filled the silence followed by the wisp of the heater. You'd sleep in the yard to avoid anything john if you weren't so scared of the dark. 

 As your car arrived on the familiar gravely ground to your home, a deep sigh escaped you. Clutching your keys you headed to the door and jumped at the voice that came through the camera thing. 

“Love please I’m sorry, where were you? I was worried?” The frantic yet somewhat calm voice of your husband came through. You thought of replying, yet you didn’t.

You walked inside, locking the door behind you and reset the alarm system. Your feet carried you mindlessly upstairs and to your bed, sleep came easy yet painfully that night but nevertheless any sleep was good sleep.

—-----------

John had never experienced your complete silence and couldn't take it. He decided he'd leave base early in the morning in hopes to resolve this with you, he wasn't even cleared to leave base but he couldn't really 100% be here if the idea of you hurting on your own was weighing on his mind.

—------------

Back at home was exactly that, you were wrong, any sleep wasn’t good sleep, the bed that you’ve slept in many nights without John had somehow felt emptier. Your head was pounding from a lack of sleep and crying, you waited for the ibuprofen you'd taken to kick in and just laid silently in bed . After a while you became lost in thought and missed the sound of tires on gravel but the slam of the door snapped you out of it. 

Like a child you acted like you were sleeping instead of running out of bed into his arms like you normally would. His heavy boots climbed the stairs into your bedroom, you were sure he noticed your breathing pattern was one of an awake person but couldn’t find a reason to care.

“Darling.” He whispers and you feel the dent of his weight crease on the bed.

“I don’t want to see you right now John.” But you had wanted to see him, you were just scared this time you’d see him differently.

“Please, my love, talk to me.” It was a plea as his hand went to your thigh rubbing small circles into your soft skin.

“No.” Tears began to well in your eyes again, thankfully you chose to lay facing the window. 

At that he raised from where he was sitting and rounded the bed kneeling beside your head, it broke his heart to see your puffy eyes and fresh tears streaking your beautiful face. His hand raised to caress your face and you stubbornly pulled away.

Instead of that he placed his forehead on yours not minding the way his rickety knees would ache tomorrow. 

“You scared me.” You whispered, voice quivering with emotion. 

“I know, I’m so sorry. I’d never hurt you willingly a day in my life. I just- I don’t know what came over me.” He kissed your forehead and then the tears that he was causing. 

“No you don’t understand John.” You flipped your body the other way, suddenly feeling overwhelmed in his presence.

He wasn’t going to leave you too hurt although you wished he would. There was just enough room on the bed for him to lay beside you. He formed his body to yours holding you firmly.

 At this you sobbed, the weight of your cries was devastating, as his body shook with yours he pulled you tighter to him. 

“Your my wife and my equal I was beyond wrong I- I’m ashamed of my behavior you didn’t deserve that nor it will never happen again I promise i’ll never be the man that makes you hurt please forgive me.” he whispered into your hair soothing your erratic breathing back to somewhat stable.

“John.” you said between hiccups.

“Yes my darling.” he didn't like when you called him by his name but at least you were speaking to him.

“Im tired.” he was fucking hurting inside.

“Then sleep.” he nuzzled his nose deeper into the scent of your shampoo, you just nodded your head and let your eyes close, exhaustion showed no mercy as you immediately fell into a deep slumber.

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

the love on part 1 was amazing thankyou all from the bottom of my heart.

feedback and reposts are deeply appreciated;)

There will be a part 3;)

[ratedfleur]

i'm happy that u saw it. anyways, here the two ideas that I sent (which didn't reach u ☹️ fuck u tumblr)

GP! Reader and Bully! Karina

- reader is a scholar on a prestigious in whick Karina’s family owns. And Karina having the influence and power, she always plays on rhe weak which are the scholar. She decided to make Reader her new victim, but little did she know, something will happen that will make the tables turn

GP! Reader x Model! Wonyoung

- Reader is a CEO of a well-known brand and Wonyoung has been dying to be one of the models to endorse it. And Reader saw this opportunity to make a deal in which Wonyoung can't decline

THERE YOU GO! I was having this huge stress bcs of school (ph edu system sucks) and ideas of my ults like this would come to my mind. I knew I had to send it to you since you're really great in writing and you are able to get the idea easily. I was occasionally checking tumblr for ur updates and I was really worried, hopefully, this ideas would reach you 🙏

- 💙

i'm super into the first idea like ... scholar!y/n and bully!karina just makes so much sense ?! i just see it happen so smoothly once you step foot into the university, you would've caught karina's attention when she saw you in the office as she was getting off the hook of the head mistress– her mother.

seeing that there was a new goody two shoes in town, karina made sure that you would be in every step of the way that she walked. karina always liked to corner you whenever you were sent on errands by the professors– the teaching personel always liked to send you on their errands because you were quick on your feet.

while you were sent on errands, karina always made sure to give you a little something or an obstacle of some sorts. minjeong, aeri, and yizhuo were always there when you ran your errands, their sick smile would be on their faces as they bothered you as you went to wherever the professor sent you. ever since you arrived, your new found friends warned you of a certain group in the university grounds that you should avoid at all times; karina, minjeong, aeri, and yizhuo. but you couldn't avoid them with how often they would follow you around, even after school hours.

it took a month before karina became the one who always tormented you around campus– yes, around campus. she would follow you around as if she was your little minion but she'd make snarky remarks from behind you, teasing you about your dirty hello kitty backpack, pulling on your cutesy ponytail that you decorated with a bow, and even in the lunch room where she'd always trip you over, making you land on your food tray on the ground. 

it only took a few more silly teasing from karina and her friends before you handled things your way. 

one day, your new appearance in school made brows raise as you walked through the halls with your head held up high, uniform all wrinkled up with a few buttons undone, you had made your makeup all messy and dark– nothing like the old y/n would've done. even karina raised her brows when she saw you with her own eyes after yizhuo told her all about your new image.

karina was making her way out of detention when suddenly a hand pulled her wrist, making her curse as she faced whoever dared to tug on her hand. her brows raise when she sees you standing in front of her, you both share an intense staring contest as karina stares you down. she scoffs, "you think you're something else now that you had a little makeover huh?" karina smirks at you.

she was about to speak once more until you slapped her cheek which made karina see red as you forcefully pulled her into the nearest janitor's closet, forcing her on your knees as you reached for something under your skirt. karina was busy spewing random words as she got up, bullying you about the move that you just pulled not until your hand revealed a long and thick cock as your other hand forcefully pushed her down on her knees as you forced your cock into her mouth.

 karina gagged as her nose reached your pubes as you pulled her head up and down your cock, her hands and nails frantically scratch your upper thighs as she tried to get off of your cock. "look who's the loser now, huh? you're the loser now, karina yoo. look at you all over my cock like whore." you smiled as you stared karina down as her eyes teared up, her makeup was getting ruined with how hard you were handling her mouth. snot, tears, and saliva was covering her face as you fucked her mouth, you didn't care if karina was crying as she gagged all over you, what matters is that karina would learn her lesson to not mess with you any longer.

📝: omg sorry this took so long ueue i hope this makes up for it though! and truly, the ph edu system really does sucks ass talaga! (╥﹏╥) i really hated studying under that education system huhu kayanin, 💙 anon!!

[vastderp]

I Had A Baby Brother

My brother was found dead last tuesday in his apartment.

He died anywhere from Sunday to Monday, and his landlord got worried and checked up on him and found him on the floor with one hand over his face. There was an open jug of methanol nearby. My sister thinks he drank it, I pray he didn't. It was an ugly, fucked up death.

He was in declining health this past decade because he was a paraplegic and uncontrolled diabetic. There are systems in place to help with low income people in his condition, but they were barred from him as he was a convicted felon.

He went from learning to walk again in the physical therapy pool to drinking a gallon of vodka per day, growing more hostile and bitter as the pain got worse, until his body just gave out. He drove away his friends, he drove away his family, and then he hit the floor and never got up.

I was meant to view the body with my sister and her grown kids, but the funeral home couldn't tell us where his body had been sent, and stopped answering the phone on friday before memorial day weekend, and then we had to wait for someone to follow up on my sister's dozens of phone messages, which they finally did, to try and make their little profit.

My sister, who has been handling all of this along with my niece, selected a different funeral home for the cremation because the first one was disgraceful with my mother's death in 2007, and they're disgraceful all over again with my brother's now.

At one point today they finally established contact, and asked how my sister wanted to handle the arrangements for her "father". O how casual the not giving a fuck goes! Dude pressed to make a sale even after she told him how unhappy we were with their work.

All this to say that I have a car full of inherited possessions, unused medical gear, and the shitty fucked up remnants of my brother's shrine to Mom.

Good old Mom may have died almost 20 years ago, but her gentle, loving mission to smother her only son to death (and probably into eternity) is finally successful. Of all of us, I've often wondered who got it worst: The golden child, the scapegoat, or the parentalized invisible middle kid. Now that one of us has effectively committed suicide, I guess it's for the scapegoat and me to hash out who gets second place. My mother crippled him long before his car accident, in one long and winding but uninterrupted line of consequences from his birth to death. I consider it a murder-suicide. Which was which? They were both the killer, and both the victim. Enmeshment is a motherfucker.

I'm super bitter, really fucking sad, and incredibly proud of what's left of my family for how they're coming together now. (Except my dad, who is in another state, petting his dogs, because I don't think he can really deal with this shit).

So what's left? To go put some cologne on his corpse when they finally let us go view what's left of him. He always liked to smell nice and he probably doesn't right now.

They'll cremate him, and give us a ridiculously heavy cardboard box of ashes that we'll have to carry out, knowing it's all that's left of a lifetime of struggling and pain. Probably we're gonna mix his ashes with Mom's, and make that lifetime of enmeshment official.

I hope if they go to the same afterlife, he kicks her in the cooter. I hope she kicks him back. I hope they can see each other with eyes unclouded by trauma, and forgive each other for the choices they both made. I hope they forgive me for still being mad at them both for not being stronger. I hope I will forgive myself for a lifetime of resentment and blame. I sure got enough time for that.

Jason was funny, weird, secretly really smart but never made a point of it. He was stylish. He was a broken man who could have made better choices and didn't, who was happily fed poison until he couldn't live without it, who was basically his own whole ass Pink Floyd song. His violence sent me running into a better life. His death sent me trudging back into a damaged family with gaping holes like torn out teeth, into the arms of my sister, and we reconciled. There's just us two left now, and it's our job to make something beautiful come out of this jerry springer childhood we shared. We're doing our best.

Dozens of catheters still in the package. Leakproof bed padding in a plaid pattern. Gallons of creams, antacids, fiber supplements by the jar, pressure sore ointments, fungus treatment creams, lidocaine pads, antibiotics, antipsychotics, a hash pipe or two.

An entire apartment hoarded with moist towelettes, pressure garments, and cleaning supplies. An entire life choked with mental damages and crying relatives. I put on CeeLoo Green's "Robin Williams" and sobbed until my face felt burned. It helped.

All the usable/safe to give away medical equipment is being distributed to the other impoverished disabled people in his apartment complex, who will hopefully put it to good use. I got his old manual wheelchair because sometimes I can't walk. I'm terrified of becoming more like him, so back to phsycial therapy I go.

The rest?

The memories, the pity, the jug of methanol that I pray he never actually drank, the stain he left on his floor after a lifetime of compulsive tidiness, the shrine to the woman he killed who also killed him? All these things I will keep with me forever. I will honor him. He could have been so much more, for so much longer. He had a whole story I'll never know. He contained incredible kindness and generosity, and also a rage so deep it was fatal. He was only 41.

If you can spare a couple bucks for the gofundme my niece set up, it'd really help make the financial side of this horseshit a little more bearable while we do all the shit that comes with a death. Thank you for taking the time to read this post, for your sympathies, and for reading my fucked up family trauma dump. Rest assured there will be more.

Dear god, will there ever be more.

Send help. Send pizza. Send sad hip hop. Hail Atlantis. Hail Jai.

[bibibbon]

I made a huge mistake in going to the MHA subreddit. The braindead takes on 427 have me convinced I'm stuck in a parallel universe where we're reading a completely different story:

"It's great seeing Deku play therapist with the LOV, but all it seems to have done is make things worse!" A) Izuku shouldn't be having to play therapist to begin with, considering he's a 16 year old kid. B) most of the LOV don't see anything they did as wrong, so idk what the fuck Izuku can do about that. Also, WHY AREN'T PEOPLE HELPING IZUKU WITH HIS OWN GODDAMN FEELINGS?!

Apparently Bakugou killed Kurogiri, and there's absolutely ZERO reaction to it both in and out of universe. So of fucking course Izuku is a murderer, but not their precious Bakugou 🥱.

"I feel like Hori's really underrated as a writer!" Horikoshi doesn't know Show Don't Tell, how to actually develop characters, and how to craft actual stakes in the narrative from a hole in the ground. Also, MHA is one of the most popular mangas worldwide, so you're not even using underrated right.

"I feel like Horikoshi sees our discussions and then implements them in the story!" This I can kind of agree with, considering how much y'all hate Izuku and worship Bakugou. But on the other hand, I really doubt Horikoshi thinks the MHA subreddit is as important as you think it is.

"Bakugou's totally going to ask Izuku to start their own hero agency together at the end!" Jesus fucking Christ, just say you hate Izuku. How would that be a great ending for him? He not only has to see the source of his low self esteem and borderline suicidal feelings achieving the dream he'll now never have, but you want them to WORK together?!

@nutzgunray-lvt 👋

Well a lot of the time looking into Reddit is always a mistake unless you're asking a very niche question and you get an answer from 9 years ago or something.

I feel like a lot of people whether that be in universe or in fandom forget that izuku is a 16 year old child soldier. Izuku is more than a decade younger than a lot of the villains in the leauge. He is a child who has been exploited by the system and abused. We have seen in 425 izuku try and talk to someone but simply get brushed aside and while I don't blame shoto or ochako for doing that as they probably didn't mean it and are traumatised themselves it kinda of shows how much this has effected izuku. Also this doesn't help BECAUSE HORI GAVE US NO FLIPPING INTROPSECTION ON IZUKU'S BIT AGAIN!! Also Iam not sure if it's just me but Izuku's eye bags are heavily prominent in this chapter especially when he is talking to spinner.

The fandom especially the lov stans side of it love babayifying the actions of the leauge and hyper fixating on the humane soft side they may have while completely ignoring the horrible actions they commited. I talk about this better in one of @palesweetscherryblossom asks

I still can't believe that bk may of killed kurogiri. I don't even know when that happend and I checked the wiki but it says that kurogiris status is unconfirmed so I will be waiting until the last chapter to fully acknowledge if kurogiri is dead or not. However this brings up the point that the fandoms is being quite hypocritical if they're calling izuku a murder but not bakugo. They both killed people but for some reason it's izuku thats put into public light and bashing instead of all the other characters that have killed in the series including villains.

Yeah sometimes it feels like hori is looking at discussions of his series and implementing ideas but I think that goes more for his Japanese fans than us to be honest because after all they're his target demographic. I remember when I first joined Tumblr one of my earliest posts talked about how horikoshi's writing decisions were heavily influenced by his fans which may or may not be true.

At this point IAM convinced that izuku isn't getting a proper happy ending. Every time I think it can't get worse it does. Just by your comment of them starting an agency together haunts me just like the possibility that bk may become the number one hero

[m1d-45]

opportunity arisen

-> warnings: minor spoilers for the first sumeru archon quest(like very minor, mostly names and titles of things), set during the imposter au, you’re technically on the run

-> lowercase intended!

part 2 >>

if tighnari hears that the akademiya is looking for somebody with an uncanny resemblance to his god, he’s immediately asking the rangers bring them immediately to him and not to alert any other authority.

who knows what the akademiya is up to? knowing them and all the messes they’re involved with, it’s clear there has to be something going on behind the scenes. he’s not about to let an innocent get caught in the crossfire. he already has a plan for if a ranger brings you in: where you’ll stay, how he’ll act if a sage comes by, what he’ll do if the akademiya tries to search the village.

but if he finds you?

he’s checking the lampposts on the road to gandharva ville when he hears you off the side of the main road. he hears you, in what sounds like distress, rushing to draw his weapon- but no, now that he’s closer.. that’s definitely laughter.

tighnari lessens the tension on his bowstring, but still keeps the arrow nocked as he approaches. ferns part to allow him through, and he startles at the sight of you. sun streams down through the leaves, illuminating a group of fungi around you. his fingers falter on the string in shock, “hello?”

you turn, fear immediately coloring your face. you try to stand- only to stumble, tripping over your own feet, and he ditches his weapon to step forward around the fungi and catch you with a gloved hand on your shoulder.

“what’s wrong? did you pack enough water? did you eat an amanita mushroom?” his head is already running the familiar track of common cures for poisonous mushrooms, planning the shortest and safest route through the forest back to gandharva ville. “here, come with me, i’ll-“

you jerk away and he nearly falls trying to keep you upright, finally noticing the fear in your eyes. dirt streaks your skin and the mask you wear is ragged and torn, alongside the rest of your clothes. you’re a mess, ragged around the edges, and he feels like the forest air dropped a few degrees.

“d- i don’t- please, i don’t mean any harm i swear!”

two options flash through his mind.

one: you’re lying. you’re a threat running from the law, hoping to persuade him into giving you his resources. evidence is a bit scant, but it’s a possibility he has to consider.

or two: you’ve been wrongfully accused of something, a victim of the—admittedly quite biased—justice system in sumeru city. evidence consists entirely of your behavior: he’s not sure anybody could emulate the panic in your eyes quite that well.

either way, you’re hurt.

either way, he needs to do something.

“hey, you’re okay. i’m not gonna hurt you, and i’m not accusing you of anything.” his eyes flick over your form, checking for anything that could keep you from walking; you’re leaning heavily on your left foot, it seems, the right almost hovering above the ground with how little weight is on it. “but you’re hurt, and you’re not going to get far from whatever you’re running from-“ you flinch “-with a hurt leg, alright?”

you don’t want to agree, that much is obvious. your eyes shift away from him, you lean away subtly even as he’s fairly certain he’s the only thing keeping you standing. the fungi crowd you, almost forming a shield between you and him, and he wonders how long you’ve been out here that you manage to befriend actual fungi.

“all… alright. …thank you.”

the careful and hesitant speech reminded him of collei, somewhat, when she’d first arrived. the conparison makes his heart hurt.

he slings your right arm over his shoulder and keeps it there with one of his, the other moving around your waist to hold you against him. warmth floods into his skin where you make contact… are you perhaps running a fever? it had been raining more frequently recently, and considering the state of your clothes..

as you walk, he does his best to keep an eye out for any tall roots or protruding rocks on your path, but it’s like they don’t exist. whenever he sees one that looks worrisome and considers steering you away, it seems to shrink as he gets closer. any bugs or insects fluttering around also seemed to vanish as soon as you get close, mosquitos surprisingly nowhere to be found.

he wonders if it’s a result of his vision, but quickly dismissed it. he always sees bugs around, even with his best repellents.. do you have a vision, he wonders? he didn’t see one on your person, but given the value of such an object, it makes sense you would keep it hidden when on the run.

he wonders what you’re running from.

he hopes you’ll tell him.

when you arrive at gandharva ville he feels you tense, your arm tightening slightly around his neck, and he makes a note of it. thankfully, collei wasn’t on her bed—her eleazar had been growing awful these past few weeks, putting her under his care more frequently than he would have preferred—so the medicinal room was empty.

he guides you to sit on the bed, mentally tallying up everything he has to do as he collects medicinal supplies from around the room.

he doubts you’ve had a good meal for a while, and the rivers in sumeru arent as clean as they look all the time. mushroom spores or some from a fungi can quickly contaminate a water source, so food and water are an immediate need.

also, find out what you had eaten prior, if anything. mushrooms were serious business, and if your symptoms were caused by one of those instead of malnutrition, that would need to be addressed swiftly.

he pulls over a chair with his free hand and dumps the supplies on the nightstand, reaching for your injured foot and pulling it into his lap. “so, what are you running from?”

you tense, then start to scramble for a response. your eyes search your lap like it holds the answer, lining up what he assumes is, at best, a half-truth in your mind. he can easily assume you don’t want to talk about it, and carefully sets about treating your ankle while he waits.

“the sages,” you finally say. “they… think i did something i didn’t.”

he can see the need to clarify, to rush and reassure him that you didn’t, and he feels it as an ache in his chest. he’s watching the way you curl in on yourself at the question, gripping the sheets tightly and looking away. clearly, this is a sore subject, and he understands as he digests your response.

the sages?

the akademiya did this to you?

his ears flick in irritation, though he’s careful not to squeeze your ankle too tight. it’s definitely sprained, and he doesn’t want to make it worse. every little detail on you stands out more, from the dirty bandages around your arm to the ripped clothes, torn in such a way that was too precise for any thorn.

he hasn’t said anything. he thinks your shoulders have risen even higher.

“i’m not going to turn you in, if that’s what youre worried about.” your grip on the blankets loosens. “for monitoring the akasha all the time, they can be quite.. dense.”

a flicker of a smile crosses your face, but it fades fast. he watches emotion after emotion cross, slowly twisting your features further into sadness. he waits for a few moments for you to say whatever is on your mind, giving you time to collect your thoughts, but nothing comes.

he finally decides to break the silence, folding his hands over the finished bandage. “what is it?”

your eyes meet his. “you.. you’re helping me.”

your voice is rough around the edges, dry and hoarse, and he makes a mental note to give you some medicine for what has to be a sore throat. despite being in a rainforest, there aren’t that many clean sources of water.

“i am.”

“you’ll get in trouble with the sages.”

he barks a laugh, surprised. “oh, don’t worry about that. i’m far too important to the akademiya for them to discipline me with any level of permanence, and nobody here is going to rat you out either. besides, who’s to say they’ll even look here for you?”

there’s an implication to his words that you don’t quite catch, and he sets your leg back on the floor.

“don’t worry about it, alright? at least for now.”

when he asks you to take off your scrap of a shirt, you barely hesitate.

after treating the numerous wounds across your person—he does his best to keep a neutral expression, but you can see the disdain on his face as clear as day—he gives you clothes from another forest ranger. they’re a little small, something he apologizes for, but you don’t mind. you’re in a bed, with clean clothes, even if you yourself aren’t. a week- a month ago, even, this would just be a fever dream. he lets you rest, bringing cold water—a blessing with the humidity of the forest—and a soup. though you don’t particularly like it, the inescapable bitterness of medicine ruining whatever he put in, it’s warm and so much better than zaytun peaches that you drink all of it.

when he stands, you half-expect him to start questioning you on the specifics, but all he does is take the empty bowl and spoon from you to set it elsewhere before sitting right back down at your bedside.

“thanks.”

“not a problem at-.. all…” he frowns, and you wonder for a moment if you did something wrong. “i don’t think i’ve ever properly introduced myself.”

it’s such a non-issue a laugh bubbles out of you, sounding more like a cough. “n-no need, i already know you.”

“oh?” too late, you catch your words. whoops. “well, then consider it a formality.” his hand extends, and he smiles when your shake it. “i’m tighnari, forest watcher of the avidya forest. what’s your name?”

you hesitate before answering. he has a feeling it’s a fake name, but repeats it anyway.

“it’s my pleasure to make your acquaintance. i hope that i can be of help to you during your stay here, and i promise that i will do everything i can to ensure your safety.”

you smile.

[victimeyez]

For the drabbles thing, has there ever been a moment when Caius has worried that Tommy is dead, either because he or one of their clients took things too far? Im curious to know what his reaction would be, and if he would care at all about losing him.

AHHH thank you so much for the ask! This was fun to write. Nearly losing Tommy made Caius realize for the first time just how much he cared.

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

Stay

Part of Professional//Victim

See tags for content warnings

____________________________________________________________

Things had been going good.Over a year in, and Tommy was a hit. They had enough requests for him to book out the next year, at least. 

So Caius did what he promised himself he would never do: he got sloppy. 

He managed to get Tommy in the car, sprawling him across the back.

“Give me your arm, come on.”

Tommy was breathing shallowly, and his face was ghostly pale in the dim light of the streetlamp nearby. 

Caius frantically checked his pockets for his phone, finding it tucked in the last one he checked. He unlocked it with shaking hands and got into his speed dial with a few quick presses, sandwiching it between his ear and shoulder as he fumbled with his first aid kit. The one time he leaves it in the car, goddamnit. 

Sam answered just before it went to voicemail, his voice drowsy. 

“Caius? What time is it?”

“Two AM, rise and shine.” He tried to keep the panic from his voice. He found Tommy’s wrist and turned out his arm. His blood looked black in the light, spewing shockingly fast from the gash parting his ivory skin.

“Sam, Tommy’s hurt bad, they definitely got an artery. I’m working on a tourniquet – what do I do?”

“Fuck,” Sam responded, his voice slightly clearer. 

“-Where is the bleed? How big? How deep?”

“Arm, I don’t know, I don’t know,” Caius rushed, pulling the roll of gauze out and struggling to find where it started for a second before he started to wrap it around Tommy’s arm.

“Give me something to work with here, what’s going on?”

Tommy moaned in pain when Caius bound it tightly, startling slightly out of his stupor. 

“Tommy? Stay with me buddy, stay with me. Sam, you’re going to have to meet me.”

“Jeez, okay, where are you right now?”

The bandage was darkening fast while he prepared the tourniquet. Which step was first again? He couldn’t remember anything, his head was reeling in a blind panic. 

He paused long enough to send his location to Sam before pinching the phone back against his shoulder.

“I’m here, pick the best halfway point and send it back to me right now, go NOW.”

He could hear rustling on the phone, hopefully the sound of Sam heading his way. 

“Give me thirty seconds and I’ll send it and head out. But hey, if you lose this one, don’t beat yourself up about it, it happens. I knew a guy who-”

“NO,” Caius snarled, and he realized he was scared. There were a few beats of silence, and his phone pinged. He tied off the tourniquet and dropped his phone into his hand, rounding the car to rip the driver’s door open and jump inside.

ASSHOLE DOCTOR (SAM) HAS PINGED YOU A LOCATION.

It couldn’t load fast enough. He was pulling out of the driveway before he knew where he was heading. 

“It’s forty minutes out,” Sam told him gently, his voice distant as the call transferred to his own car’s system. At least he was on the way. 

“Be there in twenty.”

Caius hung up the phone, his wheels skidding in the street as he pulled out of the driveway.

“Tommy, baby, talk to me, you’ve gotta stay awake.”

From the back seat, Tommy groaned weakly.

Caius flipped the heaters on, only slowing briefly at a red light before peeling out. He was already sweating, but Tommy had felt so cold. 

“Keep talking, I gotta know you’re okay. What’s your favorite movie?”

Tommy took a shuddering breath.

“I don’t feel so good…”

His voice was so small, Caiuscould barely hear him over the blast of the heaters.

“What uh, what do you want for dinner? Once I get you fixed up. Anything you want.”

Tommy coughed raspily, dry heaving before he fell still again.

“TOMMY.”

“Coney. From home.”

“Home?”

Tommy took a shuddering breath. 

“Motor city, baby,” Tommy mumbled sleepily. Caius laughed, too loud, too jarring. 

“Tell me, tell me about Detroit.”

There was no response. Caius turned music on, whatever was playing, and turned it up loud. 

“YOU GOTTA STAY AWAKE,” he shouted over the music, and saw Tommy stir uncomfortably.

His phone told him they’d be going straight down the highway for the next 24 miles. He worked the gas pedal slowly to the ground, grateful for the clear roads. 

He skidded to a halt in the empty parking lot of Wheeler’s Dealers Emporium. His heart was beating out of his chest like he had run the whole way. He threw open Tommy’s door and pulled his legs, drawing him closer to get a look at him. 

“Stay with me. Tommy? Come on, little longer.”

Tommy made no response. 

He could hear a car pulling into the lot behind him, fast. 

He held his face, shining his cell phone light at his eyes. Tugging one lid open, his eyes were rolled back. In the light, his lips were so blue.

Caius kissed him. 

He didn’t know why, he hadn’t kissed him before. CPR didn’t work for blood loss, did it? He looked down and saw where that inky blackness had seeped into the jacket he’d wrapped around him. 

He grabbed his arm right over the cut and squeezed. 

The pain brought Tommy back to life, gasping for breath. Caius kissed him like warming his lips would save him, but honestly, he was just so relieved he wasn’t gone. 

Tommy went limp in his arms. 

Then Sam was there too, putting a hand on his shoulder. Caius moved out of the way, and Sam snagged the scissors from the first aid, cutting away the clothing obscuring the wound. 

“Tommy buddy, talk to me, you hanging in there?”

Caius sat in the back seat, holding Tommy up in his lap.  “Please, Tommy. Stay.”

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

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Thank you all so much for reading, I cannot tell you what it means to me.

[defectivehero]

Hi recently found your blog it’s so good! But was wondering if you could one where the hero lost there glasses in a fight maybe or just at home and the villain sees them idk take your pick possibly m x m? Ty even if not have a good day!

your wish is my command! (not really, but this is a great idea and you asked very nicely!) here you go, hope you have a great day <3

The hero has grown accustomed to working late night hours at the agency. He's grown used to being the last person in the office, to shutting the lights off and locking the door behind him once he leaves. The hero always feels guilty leaving right at his scheduled time, especially when his job can determine if a person lives as a bystander to a horrible event or dies as a victim. He begins to stay later and later into the night, and it becomes increasingly hard for him to tear himself away from the agency and his hero mask.

This overtime habit is how the hero finds himself hunched over his desk with rather painful crooked posture as he compulsively checks his computer for messages. His agency is one of the first to adopt a sophisticated messaging system that converts audio from emergency calls to text, which are sent as alerts straight to their inbox. The idea sounded morbid at first—the hero didn't want to equate life-saving to checking his email. But the system grew on him. It's convenient and easy to use, drastically improving the agency’s response time.

He squints at the screen in front of him, rubbing his eyes roughly when his vision begins to blur. He's tired.

Perhaps the hero’s exhaustion is the reason why he fails to notice a figure standing in the corner of the room, watching him. “Your eyesight is terrible.” The hero hears, stiffening in his seat and turning around to find his enemy, the villain, lurking in the shadows. It takes him a few moments to process the statement.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” the hero then huffs, blinking a few times as he realizes his eyes feel incredibly dry. His close-up vision is passable, so he's still able to do his job. His distance vision, on the other hand...

The hero has worn glasses since fourth grade. He experimented with contacts but eventually went back to wearing glasses. He's spent an ungodly amount of time in his life wiping his glasses clean with a cloth or pushing his frames further up his nose.

“I’m serious,” the villain sighs. “How can you even see out of these?” At that, the villain steps forward and holds out his hand, revealing a pair of glasses. The hero immediately recognizes the telltale blue gleam that distinguishes his glasses, and reaches out to his enemy. He almost expects the villain not to hand them over, so when the glasses hit the hero's palm, he raises his eyebrows.

"Thank you," the hero feels the need to say, when the silence stretches on to a painful tension. When he puts on his glasses, the blurriness around his vision clears and he can see the words displayed on his screen in sharp, clean strokes. The hero then stares at the villain, several questions on the tip of his tongue. How did the villain remember the hero had lost his glasses? Did he go back to retrieve them? And if so... why?

"It took me a few days to realize why you hadn't shown your face since our fight," the villain answers, as if reading his mind. The hero has to wonder how he grew so predictable. "After that, it didn't take long for me to remember that blow I dealt you—rather powerful, if I do say so myself—and the ensuing clatter of your glasses falling to the ground. So... I went back to the rooftop and grabbed them."

That answers the hero's first two questions. He is still left with the most important query of all: why?

The villain seems to telepathically understand this question too. He takes a slow breath in and ambles around the office in a carefree manner that makes it seem as if he owns the space.

"A win is more enjoyable if it's a complete victory," the villain drawls, tapping his fingers along a nearby desk. The hero has to wonder if his enemy has his power activated—if charred fingerprints will be left as remnants (as tangible evidence) of their encounter. "That means no cheap advantages or hinderances."

Ah. The villain wanted a fair fight—one unimpeded by the hero's poor vision. He supposes he can understand that. The villain is honorable above all else. The hero knows this about his enemy, has grown to accept it. Perhaps he should've intuited that motivation before bothering to ask.

The villain is still lingering, as if waiting for something. The hero's patience only lasts a few minutes. “Well, was there another reason for your visit, or…?” The hero asks, looking at him with sharpened vision. His glasses now provide him with a glimpse of the nuance written in the villain's form—the minuscule pull to his lips, the faded scars tangled around his hands. The hero is suddenly thankful to have his glasses again—but for entirely different reasons than before.

“That was it,” the villain says, his gaze turning scrutinizing. "Why are you in such a rush? Got a hot date?" The latter statement is spoken with a surprising amount of venom.

The hero raises his eyebrows. "A date?" He hums casually, his heart racing in his chest. He didn't expect the conversation to take such a sharp turn into such a convoluted and confusing subject. "At this hour? Of course not."

Something settles in the villain's expression. "Right," he says, something close to relief coloring his tone. "Then, I'll be seeing you." He remarks, turning on his heel and walking out the door. The hero watches him leave, a multitude of different emotions battling in his chest.

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[hannahssimblr]

At the house, I am conscious of the mess. Nobody has made an effort to clean up properly for weeks, and now dishes and miscellaneous bits of rubbish litter every available surface. The bins are full. Tangles of chargers and cables pile up on the table, and water damage has well and truly set in on the oak flooring under our feet. The same patch of floor that Evie’s hair is dripping on now, but while it’s too late to save it, she might as well add to it. 

“Wow, this is a beautiful house,” she says, and I have to check her face to see if she’s taking the piss out of me. She looks genuinely charmed. I frown.  

“I’ll get you a towel downstairs.”

As we descend to the living room, I find myself holding my breath. It seems even dirtier than the kitchen there, and I wonder how and when this happened, how it is even possible. Yet here we are, and it is. I pray there are clean towels, at least let there be clean towels…

Oh, thank God. 

I hand her one from the hot press. It is old and scratchy, and likely a victim of my mother, back when she used to dye her hair at home, evidenced by the big, bleached patches all over it, but at least it’s clean. I show her the bathroom. 

“Feel free to take a shower if you want to. The water is hot.” As it constantly is, because I turned it on at the beginning of the summer and found the system so complex that I never risked turning it off again. I’ll be hearing about it when my dad gets the bill, but that’s an issue for September. 

Evie peeks in. “You don’t want to go first?”

“No, go ahead.”

As soon as I hear the hum of the shower, I pounce into action and tear into my bedroom. I yank all the dirty clothes off the floor and fire them into my already heaving hamper, then kick a pair of shoes under the bed, followed by a mucky football and some art magazine Jen thought I’d like, but I never read.

There are chocolate wrappers on the floor. What kind of creature am I? Was I sitting on the floor at some point, feasting on a family packet of dairy milk bars, or did these just fall out of my pockets? I rush around, picking them all up, then reach the wastepaper basket to find it full. I curse under my breath and yank the bag out, tying it in a hasty knot, then carry it and the two handfuls of coffee mugs strewn about the place up to the kitchen. There is nowhere for them to go, so I shove the mugs into the sink and toss the bag on the floor. 

She’s showering for ages. Good. 

Next, I tackle the bed, straightening out the duvet and pillows, which are, mercifully, clean. I could tongue-kiss the past version of myself that ran them through the wash two days before. To make extra sure, I give them a good, long sniff. They still smell like detergent. The clean clothes from that same wash go from the armchair to the wardrobe, and books on the bedside table. The tennis racquets… they’ll be fine, leaning against the wall. When I step back and examine my work, I determine that it’s barely passable, but time is surely running out, and she can’t shower forever. The dust on the floor can stay another day. 

Lastly, I toss my sweaty clothes onto the pile and peel off my sodden shorts. Once I have changed into something clean, I carry all the laundry out and heave it into the washing machine, right by the door of the bathroom. Evie hums tunelessly in the shower, and for a moment or two, I stand and listen. I wonder whose shower gel she is using, and shiver inexplicably at the idea of her choosing mine. 

I arrange myself in a casual position when she comes back into the room, hanging out on the end of the bed. She’s rosy from the hot water, and her hair lies flat against her head, so straight and fine that her ears poke out the sides. 

“You don’t have to wear the same wet t-shirt,” I inform her. “I can put your clothes in the dryer.”

She pulls at the hem and looks down at those two, damp, triangular patches. “It’s okay,” she shrugs. “They’ll dry on me.”

“You can leave all your wet stuff on the floor. I’ll sort them out after my shower and I’ll just find you something else to wear.”

“But I won’t fit in your clothes.”

“You’ll fit in a t-shirt, won’t you?” I saunter over to my wardrobe and lift a t-shirt from the stack. It’s old, and has a hole in the armpit, hence it’s permanent relegation to the beach house wardrobe, but like everything else in this house in its current state, it will suffice. 

“Thanks,” she says. I leave her to change and head for the shower. 

“What are you looking at?”

She jumps and turns around. I’ve caught her nosing around and looking at my notice board. She points at it. “Your ticket to a music festival.”

I hesitate, trying to gauge whether Claire has blabbed to her about what I said or not. “Oh yeah, are you coming?”

“I don’t know.”

“You should. All of us are heading up to it.” I pull a pair of socks out of a drawer and plonk myself onto the bed to put them on. 

She sits with me. “I’m not sure. It’s kind of a bit complicated.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” she hesitates before deciding to divulge. “Kelly and Claire are in a big fight about it. Claire wants to go, and Kelly doesn’t want to, even though it’s Claire’s eighteenth birthday the same weekend. It’s… it’s all a bit silly if I’m honest.”

I frown. “She doesn’t want to celebrate her friends’ birthday in a fun way?”

“No, it’s more than that. It’s that she doesn’t want to hang out with Shane for the whole weekend. She’d be too embarrassed to. She’s weird about that kind of thing.”

I should proceed with caution. I say, “sounds a little selfish to me.”

“Kelly’s a complicated person. I think she means well, she just… isn’t great at expressing herself. She gets angry at people instead of telling them how she feels in a normal way.”

I could talk a lot of shit about Kelly Healy, but I‘ll save it. I know that teenage girls’ friendships are strange and nuanced in ways my brain will never fully comprehend. Things never seem to be simple enough to just end the friendship. It must drag on for eternity until one of them is irreparably damaged in its wake. “So what, she’s forbidden you both from going to the festival?”

“She hasn’t said that we’re forbidden.”

“But you’re not going because you think she’ll be angry with you.”

“Pretty much.”

“So what about Claire? It’s her birthday.”

She groans. “I know. I hate this. I hate when people are fighting, and I feel like I’m in the middle of it. I don’t know what the right decision is.”

Tell me about it. “The thing that you want to do more, that’s the right decision.”

“I knew you’d say something like that.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Something wise.”

I laugh. If only I could take my own advice. 

She heaves out a sigh and slumps over her knees. “I can’t talk to either of them about it. Kelly is impossible, and Claire hasn’t been around. I’ve barely seen her at all since they fought. I don’t even know where she’s been.”

I blink. “Oh, she’s been here.”

“What?”

“Yeah! I thought you knew. She’s been coming here every day for ages.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“And did she tell you why?”

“No, I didn’t ask. I thought it was just to hang out with Shane.”

“With Shane?” She straightens to look into my face and I grin.

“Yeah, they’ve been hanging out.”

“Go ’way.”

“I don’t know exactly what’s happening, but they hang out a lot, go for walks together and watch TV in the living room. I usually just leave them alone, but…” I tap my nose.

“Oh, I knew it!” She throws herself back on to her elbows and shakes her head. “I wonder what this is going to mean for Kelly.”

“Kelly can grow up. She doesn’t have a say.”

“Ugh. I know. It’s just impossible not to worry about it.”

“Evie, how often do you let that girl live inside your head? Forget about it. Let Shane and Claire deal with her.”

“Okay, I’ll try.”

It’s not lost on me, the juxtaposition between this conversation and the one I had with Alison this morning. These two girls are only a year apart in age, and yet somehow their lives oppose so diametrically. Am I the same boy with them both, or have I somehow split in two? How can I be worrying about Alison and all that she’s been through, while hours later coaching Evie through friend drama? I know the turmoil and stress is real for her. I can tell by the things her face is doing, how she nibbles on her lip, the way her brow furrows, but I am comforted by it, by how simple it is. Maybe it would be good for my soul to spend more time with Evie. 

Regardless, I move on from this specific theme and bring the conversation back to where it began. “And as for the festival, I think you should come.”

“Hm.”

“Will you?” She doesn’t answer, so I assume she hasn’t heard me. I nudge her. “I want you to come. Will you come?”

“You want me to?” She echoes, like she doesn’t exactly believe it.

“I do.”

“Okay then.”

Perhaps someone else would find it worthwhile to read into the fact that she seems to want to do everything that I do, but I’m not really that bothered. I’m just glad that she agreed for the sake of herself. I suspect it may be a rarity for her. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

Corresponding LG Chapter [2]

[thebeast-dennis-etcetera]

Coming to the Rescue

Prompt: Yours and Gibbs’ daughter calls you from a party asking to be picked up.

“If you had just listened to me when I told you to get off on Jefferson, we could’ve been here faster,” you stated as you arrived at the crime scene and Jethro put the car in park.

“You told me to after I had passed the exit!”

“Well if you weren’t driving 100 miles per hour, you could’ve made the exit!”

You both got out of the car, putting on your NCIS jackets as the cold evening wind sent a chill through you and walked over to where Tony and Ziva were standing.

“Took a wrong turn boss?”

Jethro gave him a death glare which made him shut up real quick and give us the rundown on the scene before us.

“Uh, looks like a hit and run boss. Single witness saw a black sedan hit a trash can and take off. They didn’t even realize there was victim until they went to look. Ran her fingerprints through the system. Name is Staff Sergeant Leandra Meer out of Arlington.”

Pulling your camera out, you began snapping photos of the crime including the trampled trash can and tire marks in the grass and sidewalk. Not long after, Ducky and Jimmy pulled up and began examining the body.

“Jet. Come over here a sec,” you called to your husband as he was speaking with one of the Deputies. Finishing up his conversation, he walked over to you and you pointed at the tire tracks.

“These are the only tire tracks the suspect left. Nothing on the street, nothing that indicates that they tried to brake. And judging by the direction of the tracks, the driver should have hit that bench by the sidewalk but swerved out of the way before hitting our Staff Sergeant and the trash can.”

“They intentionally hit her,” he gathered as his phone began ringing. You nodded in agreement as he answered the call.

“Hey hun. Everything alright?”

Judging from his choice of words and tone, you knew he was talking with your daughter. Worry immediately spread through you as you wondered why she was calling when she hated talking on the phone. She texted everything, even to Jethro’s outdated phone which always annoyed him.

“Yeah, we’re coming. Just stay outside and text your mother the address.”

Fearing the worst, you bombarded him with questions. “What happened? Is she ok? Where is she?”

“She’s at some high school party. She wants us to pick her up. I guess her friends left her there.”

High school party? She’s suppose to be at her friends house studying for a test, that’s what she told the two of you. But then again, that’s probably one of the most used excuses for teenagers when they’re trying to sneak out. You really should’ve seen it coming.

“Well let’s go. Ziva and Tony can handle this for the time being,” you rushed.

While Jethro filled the team in, you handed your camera over to Ziva and quickly hopped into the car, Jethro getting in right behind you and speeding off. You gave him directions to the address she gave you, making sure not a single turn was missed. When he pulled up to the house, there were a couple of people standing around on the lawn outside, drinking and talking.

Jethro spotted your daughter first, sitting on the grass with some guys arm draped around her and he jumped out of the car before you could get your seatbelt off.

“You, get lost,” he ordered to the kid who made a face.

“Who are you grandpa?”

Jethro basically picked the kid up by the collar with one hand and flashed his badge with the other. “I’m the guy that’s gonna put your ass in jail for underage drinking if you don’t listen.”

He pushed the kid back who stumbled a bit before grumbling to himself and going back into the house. Your daughter got up and gave you a hug before Jethro pulled her towards him.

“Are you alright? Did anyone hurt you?” He questioned her while checking her head, arms and body.

“No dad, I’m fine.”

He pulled her in for a hug and then took his jacket off to put over her shoulders.

“Hey old man! My boy here says you’re trying to ruin this party!”

We looked over to see a kid no older than 23 walking over, chest puffed out and head held high. Oh great. Here we go.

“Jethro, just leave it,” I urged, but he wasn’t listening.

“Yeah maybe I am. You running this little get together?”

“So what if I am? I’m allowed to host whatever the hell I want on my own property.”

“Not when it includes underage drinking you can’t. Now either you can shut it down or I’ll get the local police involved.”

The kid got closer and tried intimidating Jethro but failed. When that didn’t work, he went to punch him but Jethro blocked it easily and put the kid face down in the ground, with his arm twisted behind his back.

“Do something stupid like that again and I’ll put you in cuffs,” your husband warned.

“Alright! Alright! Just let go of my arm, you’re gonna break it!”

He let him up and walked back over to us, pulling our daughter under his arm and had her get in the backseat of the car.

You stopped him as he shut the door.

“Nice moves old man,” you teased, making him chuckle. A quick peck on the lips and you both got in the car, driving back to NCIS for a long talk.

[gghostwriter]

Yours Truly, Romeo

Chapter 6 __ Fortune’s Fool

Spencer Reid x FOC

Summary: Washington, DC - A string of grizzly murders and obsessive love letters causes Olivia and Spencer’s paths to intertwine. With a serial killer proclaiming his undying devotion to her and the thick tension surrounding her and her agent turned bodyguard, Olivia’s life is writing out like a contemporary love story that she, as a successful writer, could see herself publishing.

a/n: I’m not a doctor or a nurse so for any medical or hospital procedure errors, I apologize

previous chapter || series masterlist || next chapter

“Women may fall when there’s no strength in men.” - Act 2, Scene 3. Romeo & Juliet by William Shakespeare

The popcorn white ceiling was the first thing Spencer registered. Blinking the drowsiness away, he shifted his focus to his left and to his right noting the machine at his side keeping track of his steady heart rate. A beating that was now spiking higher and higher, alerting the medical personnel stationed on his floor, as the last events flashed in his mind. 

A female nurse wearing a light blue scrub entered as his legs sluggishly swung to the side of the bed. “Agent Reid! Please get back on the bed. We’ll notify your colleague that you’re awake. Lie back down,” she said in a no nonsense manner. 

Spencer ignored her orders, opting to stay seated. “It’s Dr. Reid. Can I have my medical chart?”

“Well then, Dr. Reid, lie back down and I’ll give you the chart,” she negotiated back, clearly used to dealing with stubborn patients. Too bad for her, none of them were as determined and as stubborn as Spencer.

Disregarding her negotiation, he stretched his palm out for the clipboard hanging on the bottom of his bed. The nurse sighed to herself as she caved and handed it over.

“Blunt force trauma to the head—possible light concussion,” Spencer read out loud. “Midazolam found in the system, injected via the neck.”

He looked up from the chart, noting the time at present. Midazolam was a drug that renders the taker unconscious for at least an hour and a half. His last recollection was hearing Olivia scream his name—that jolted another memory—she had also shouted the attacker’s name. Quickly dropping the chart on his lap, he reached out to rip off the tubes and wires attached to his chest and arms.

“Dr. Reid!” The nurse intervened. “You can’t do that! You need to stay in the hospital for observation—the drug can cause vomiting and headaches and we still need to rule out concussion!”

He stared back at her, turmoil wafting off of him in waves. “I know the signs of a concussion and I don’t have it. I can recall the prior events before losing consciousness, there’s no pressure in my head, and I don’t feel sluggish. See for yourself, shine a light in my eyes and check my pupil dilation—I need to be discharged, quickly.”

“Let me call for the doctor and your partner. We’ll discuss the discharge after the assessment. Please don’t remove anything,” she bargained as she rushed out the room for the nearby physician. 

He sat there impatiently waiting for the door to swing open again. The ticking of the wall clock taunting him. Every single second wasted within his confines was a second against saving Olivia from the clutches of her attacker. His synapses flooding his agitated mind with statistics—the probability of the unsub sexually assaulting her was very high and with resistance from the victim or disturbance from outside forces, there was an 89% chance of murder after.

He looked over at the neatly folded pile of clothes placed on the visitation chair and struggled to get to it. His credentials still safely secured in his pants pocket but his gun missing from the its holster. Eyebrows furrowing as he tried to remember ever drawing it out at Olivia’s residence but drawing up blank. Morgan probably took it for safe keeping, he thought. 

“Dr Reid, I heard you’ve been causing quite a disturbance from Nurse Annie,” a robust looking male doctor said with a smile as Spencer had finished putting on his pants. The button down had to wait as the wires were still connected. 

“Not a disturbance, just stating the facts I show no signs of a possible concussion. The anesthesia injected is on its way out of my system so there is no need for me to stay for an observation.” 

The doctor shined a light into his eyes, checking for pupil dilation and tracking of his eyes. “Well, it looks like you’re correct. Now, I’d discharge you if, and only if, you take it easy out there, Doctor. You may experience nausea, vomiting, dizziness, or drowsiness as your body flushes out the toxin.”

Spencer nodded once to play compliance to the physician’s order. He was lying, he knew, but given that he is a doctor too—albeit not a medical one, his knowledge of his limits and gravity of the situation, his own second opinion trumps the other.

“Alright. I’ll have the nurses process your papers,” the doctor said once he finished detaching Spencer from the machine and promptly exited the room.

———

“Oracle of Quantico. Speak if you deign to hear truth.” 

“Sugar, I need you to work me a little magic and look up the name Elijah in Random House’s company records.” Morgan quipped as the jet hit a bit of turbulence on its way to Maryland. 

“Anything for you, my chocolate thunder,” she breathed out, keyboard noises heard in the background. “Okay, there’s two Elijah’s working in the company—what are the odds of that. One works in the legal department and the other from the creative department as senior illustrator.” 

Hotch slightly tilted his head to the side, remembering Hollie’s interview. “Focus on the senior illustrator.”

“Okay,” she drawn out the syllables. “Full name is Elijah Martin Williams. Age 30. Father is deceased but Mother is still alive, currently living in Texas. No records in the system, he’s squeaky clean. His last known address is at Washington, DC—”

The dark skinned profiler turned to the 187 genius. “Reid, you sure he’s our guy?” 

Spencer lightly scoffed, taking Morgan’s clarification as an insult to his eidetic memory, albeit his consciousness during that time was fading into blackness. “I know what I heard, Morgan,” he turned to the phone to address Garcia. “Can you look into any connections he could have to Maryland?”

“Oh boy genius, I’m way ahead of you. He was born and raised in Adamstown, Maryland. His childhood home had already been sold to a lovely family of four but his grandfather did own a farm lot that he passed down to his father and it looks like it’s been left untouched and vacant ever since he died—didn’t even process the deed papers yet to change ownership.” 

“That must be why we never found a connection when going through the basics on her co-workers. Thanks, baby girl.” Morgan then turned to Reid to give him an update on the last few hours. “You know, the unsub sent in a letter to the station that’s how we got to you so quickly. A mistake on his part, if you ask me.” 

“What did the letter say?” 

The profiler riffled through the clipped papers on file. “Here it is. Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man. Fly hence and leave me. Think upon these gone—”

Spencer continued on from memory. “Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth, put not another sin upon my head by urging me to fury. O be gone! Yeah, yeah it’s a line that Romeo says to Paris when he enters the tombs where Juliet lays to rest. Basically saying that he has nothing else to live for and advising his adversary to let him through or else he’ll be force to sin, to take measures and kill him.” 

“Paris, huh?” Morgan’s eyes widened, a tell-tale sign that he will be revisiting that information later. “Is that why he nicknamed you that in his other letter?”

His eyebrows furrowed in intrigue. “W-what? What other letter?” 

“Something you want to share with me, lover boy?” He teased as he slid a copy of the letter across the table. 

He ran his fingers through his hair, distressed as to where the conversation was heading and his voice going up an octave. “Nothing! No—there’s nothing to share, Morgan!” 

The long time friend and seasoned FBI profiler stared at him with such intensity as if trying to figure with buttons to push to get the boy genius to tell the truth. “Kid, you can tell me anything. You know that right?” 

Spencer cleared his throat before subtly eyeing Hotch across the jet, reading through the extensive information regarding the unsub that Garcia sent through. “Did you ever feel a connection with a victim from past cases? I mean—did you ever wanted to ask them out after? I know there’s a logical explanation to the connection but how can you tell if it’s real or just transference?” 

“Look Reid, you can think and try to understand it all with that big brain of yours but the truth is, you can’t. The only way to know is if you take a risk. Ask her out when all of this is over.”

He pressed his lips together, forming a tight smile—a usual tell for Spencer. “Al-alright. I’ll think about it.” 

———

The whole team had been briefed and immediately packed into the two government issued vehicles provided by the local police force. The destination—Adamstown, Maryland. 

The abandoned and derelict ranch lay on a 25 acre land. Situated in the middle of the property was the main house and to the farther left was a dilapidated red barn big enough to house a number of cows and horses. The atmosphere was tense as the unit exited their vehicles, equipped with their loaded rifles attached to their belts and kevlar vests snug to their chests. 

“Rossi and JJ, you're with me at the barn house,” Hotch instructed, eyes roving at the dark and vast premises of the land before landing on his team members. “Reid, Morgan, and Prentiss, you three take the main house. The unsub doesn’t know we know who he is and that we know where he’s hiding. Use it to our advantage.” 

They all nodded in agreement before dispersing to their assigned locations. 

[em-dash-press]

8 Tips for Writing Crime Fiction

People love a good whodunit. It’s why there are so many crime fiction subgenres: detective fiction, courtroom fiction, thrillers, cozy mysteries, historical mysteries, and more. 

If you want to try your hand at a story centralized around a crime, you might wonder if you need detective experience or a lifetime in the actual crime world to make a great short story or novel.

Check out these tips to find out what you need to get started.

Tips for Writing Crime Fiction Stories

1. Read Crime Novels or Short Stories

When someone wants to become great at sports, they find a coach. When they want to start a new career path, they go to school or find a mentor.

If you want to write crime fiction and you’ve never tried it before, treat yourself to some new reading material. You can browse the latest crime novels or short story collections to see what readers can’t get enough of. As you read with the intention of studying the work through your writer’s eyes, you’ll learn how to pull a crime story together.

Pay attention to how the authors build tension, introduce new facts and pull characters together through the primary criminal act in the plot. Note whatever interests you or makes you excited to read the next page.

2. Pick Your Conflict

While you can have multiple types of conflict in a successful story, you should pick a primary conflict as your crime fiction plot device. The crime itself could kick off your story and push everything forward, or it could be what makes your story fall apart on purpose.

Will you write an interpersonal detective story or involve the criminals themselves? Maybe your narrative will center on a victim’s loved one who becomes your protagonist. Your primary conflict will shape your plot and help you create the best protagonist to carry your story.

3. Create Your Crime First

It’s not impossible to write a crime story without detailing the crime itself before you start writing—but it’s much easier. It’s especially important if you’re planning to write a novel because there are so many elements that rely on things like:

Who does the crime?

What is the crime?

When does it happen?

Why does it happen?

Where does it happen?

What’s the motivation for doing this crime (if any)?

What are the repercussions of this crime (for all of your involved characters and their world)?

You’ll spin everything out from the crime, so start by picking an illegal event you want to write about. If you need help, read newspaper articles or browse true crime documentary descriptions to make a list of possibilities.

4. Save Your Most Helpful Research Sources

The realism of crime fiction plays a significant role in interesting your readers. You’ll need to research so much when you know what your plot will hold and what crime it involves.

You might spend weeks, months, or even years reading about things like:

How your protagonist’s world works before the crime and how the crime changes it

How DNA profiling does and doesn’t work

How first responders and cops handle crime scenes

How people are treated by the media when they or their loved one are hurt in a crime

How the legal proceedings afterward work for your protagonist

Once you know how the framework of each element works, you can create plot twists by causing slight breaks in the systems. I highly recommend saving pictures, links, and detailed notes in digital documents like a Google Doc or spreadsheet. You can also use the resources listed here to find other ways to visually save your research.

5. Give Your Antagonist a Motivation

Many crimes happen because people plan them to their advantage. A robber steals money because they have overwhelming medical debt. A killer murders someone who hurt them in the past.

The motivations won’t always be morally right, but they have to exist. Make sure your antagonist has one before and after the crime occurs. How does the event change their motivations or goals? That’s essential to know to keep them grounded within their own realm of reasoning.

If you’re writing a crime that wasn’t intentional, there has to be a motivation carrying your antagonist forward in the aftermath. What’s making them make their decisions regarding how they cover up the crime or distance themselves from it?

Tips to Take Care of Yourself While Writing Crime Fiction

1. Check In With Yourself

It’s so easy to bury your emotional well-being while writing a dark story. You might want to finish it on time or get through a particularly gruesome part of the plot, but pushing your emotional state to the side will only lead to burnout or worse.

Check in with your emotions to see what you need throughout your writing process. Sit quietly by yourself and ask what emotions are present. Let them speak above your story’s needs or your other responsibilities. Then see if those emotions have been lingering for the last week or two. Journaling can help with this, but you can also record your thoughts in the Notes app on your phone or a spare piece of paper by your laptop.

You might need to step away from your work for a bit or write a more laid-back story to give your mind a break. Maybe a good cry will release the pent-up emotions from your hours of research into how cruel humans can become.

Writing about darkness doesn’t mean you have to be trapped in that darkness for however long it takes to write the story.

Take care of yourself first. You’re more important than any story.

If your mind ever starts to feel overwhelmed while you’re writing a story with heavy thematic elements or violent events, please get help. I highly recommend the sliding-scale therapy available through OpenPath (sessions can become as little as $30/hour). You can access licensed therapists in your area, arrange in-person or virtual appointments, and make each session fit within your budget.

2. Take Breaks

Pausing your creative writing for the day or even the week could be what your mind needs. Research shows regular breaks make people more productive because they utilize other areas of our minds and help us return with fresh energy.

It’s also important to take breaks for your emotional well-being. You may not feel as sucked into your antagonist’s (or protagonist’s) violent, dehumanized state of mind by walking away from your manuscript. Talk with someone you love, watch your favorite show, or go to that farmer’s market you’re always talking about.

It’s easier not to get caught up in negativity when you retain control over it through things like breaks.

3. Don’t Sweat Your Search History

Cops won’t show up at your door if you’re googling which artery pumps the most blood and how long it would take to bleed out if that artery opened. That’s not how the internet works.

There are very few odds that police will need your search history while trying to solve a crime one day. However, if it makes you uncomfortable, look into a VPN and use incognito mode (if you’re on Chrome. Firefox users can use Private Browsing.).

You can also avoid specific internet searches by watching true crime documentaries on a similar crime or reading books about similar cases. Do whatever makes you feel comfortable, especially if you’re writing a long-form manuscript that could take months or years to complete.

-----

If you’re interested in writing crime fiction, these are a few ways you can get started. Remember, you don’t have to write a perfect first draft. That’s impossible. All you need to do is start creating your world and use tips like these when you need help along the way.

[shadesoflsk]

MILLION DOLLAR BLOODLINE — Traición

Dealing with the case in hand, you come across with some valuable clues. Check my million dollar bloodline masterlist for general warnings.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

pairing: Vampire/Agent Leon x Fem Detective reader

warnings: Sexism (from the press again) few mentions of gore and death, fucked up government, scent (First glimpes of Leon's vampire qualities yay)

author's note: hi... I'm writing this with one eye closed... exhaustion is taking over me and it may show in this chapter. as always, if you see any mistake, you don't. don't even perceive them. thank you so much and love yall.

“Thank God a man stepped in!”

A new headline, a new story being told. It’s rather frustrating to know that no matter what, reality would be twisted to the journalists’ desire and let the only person who actually cares about the case burn in the flames of depiction and hatred just for the ‘sin’ of being a woman. 

The same shameless and brutal words are printed in a bright red that resembles the fresh blood of those leaders of the city. In many readers’ eyes and minds, they were expecting to finally see a man taking the case and bringing ‘success’ even though it’s doomed to fail.

No one grieves more than someone who has lost everything—but your right to fight is still running deep in your veins. With a grunt, you throw the newspaper on your desk, almost spilling the black coffee you were previously drinking. 

It’s been less than a day since the candidate was found dead. The cause of death? Suicide which was, in a way, surprising. From the number of politicians who have “left this cruel world,” Mr Clark's scene of the crime gave enough proof that you were facing a real self-homicide case. 

In front of you lay countless folders and confidential documents that the police department has collected from the first victim to the last one. The only obvious connection all of the victims shared was that all of them were Tier A individuals. People who wouldn’t disappear to find ‘the real meaning’ of life and would surely not kill themselves without a murder weapon. 

So, even a rookie detective could surmise that most of those crimes were the smokescreen of something way bigger brewing in the shadows of the city. A city whose beliefs and faith in the government are so cracked now that not even the most nationalist citizens could find peace in their hometown.

A sigh leaves your lips, one that shows the tiredness in your system and heart. Sometimes, the feeling of walking in circles clouds your judgment and overall sanity. In hindsight, a detective ought to be a rightful and morally white person who would walk on fire just for the sake of truth and justice. But each time your eyes land on the atrocious clues you have gathered, the desire to throw away everything gets harder to bear.

Next to the pile of documents and boxes, on your desktop, is a photo frame which shows a younger version of yourself. Beaming pearly white smile with shiny eyes that could blind the camera itself, saying that you were happy was an understatement, you were delighted.

Truthfully speaking, you were naive. You loved to tell everyone you were going to be different, the exception of the rule, the one and only, justice bringer. But in reality, the sole fact you didn’t feel sympathy for those rich people tells you that maybe you weren’t so different. 

Or were you?

Fighting between your drowsiness and the obligation to continue working on this case, you grab the envelope Leon previously gave you. A yawn gets stuck in your throat, not allowing any sign of exhaustion to show in your face right now. 

The first thing that greets you is a document you quite don’t understand at first. The black words are blurry, proof of how much you need to sleep. A body can’t function without resting but you can’t function if work is due. Soft slaps around your face and a long-needed sip of the black caffeine liquid will do for now. 

“Life Insurance…” Your lips work on their own as you read the title, written in black ink. The font style proves the authenticity of the document. Dated July 1979, the legal paper started with the log of a woman’s name and age. 

Patricia Clark Powell, 28. American, caucasian. Marital status: Married. Children: 2. Now this is something. 

Reading each word carefully, leaving no detail off the table, a rather big number got your attention. After a long overview of this woman’s life details, you come across a table that shows the life insurance payout.

The main and only beneficiary was Robert Clark, he'd inherit the absurd and grotesque amount of 5 million dollars. 

But the catch here was that the only requirement to claim the insurance was the death certificate of the insured party, meaning that Patricia had to pass away.

You set aside the document for now. Your fingers graze over the corner of the paper to turn it.

A picture, no, several pictures come into your vision. All of them are colored and clear as water. The shoot is not perfect, as if someone was hiding while taking those photos.

The camera is positioned on a table. Hence the awkward angle it shows, nonetheless the main focus is on two people sitting down. 

The table, the walls, and overall decorations are an obvious giveaway of the place they were in. An expensive and pretentious restaurant that only the rich can afford. A stroke to their damned egos knowing that they could buy and eat a whole cow if they wanted to. Not before wiping any crumbs with a one thousand-dollar check.

You squint your eyes and even lean forward to try and inspect in great detail each part of the picture—detective skills kicking in, you may say.

The man on the right has a neatly trimmed mustache, and bushy eyebrows that match his hair color, black. He's wearing a navy blue suit with a gray tie. Very office-like and rather different from his counterpart next to him who wears a hoodie and a cigarette between his lips. The angle showing the faintest details of a tattoo on his right hand, which holds the cigarette. 

Flipping through the pictures, you see many more of them but just from different positions. Yet the main highlight is the now obvious identity of the man who exposes himself to the camera's lenses. 

Robert Clark. 

The last document is a newspaper headline. “CRIMINAL FUGITIVES” it reads and shows several mugshots of criminals who escaped prison over these last five years. Under the pictures, a text box includes some characteristics of the ex-prisoners. Your attention falls on a specific name. 

The picture shows a man with brown hair and brown eyes, a stubble growing on his jaw and cheeks. Why was he convicted? Organized crime and contract killing, a hitman in other words. The text described the man as a 5’9 male with no moles and no notorious scars. 

But a tattoo on his right hand.

Before you can even process everything you have read and seen, the ring of a phone breaks the solemn silence that has set in your office. Sliding to where the phone was, you pick up the call.

And before you could even utter a word, someone started the conversation first.

“Hey there, Sherlock.” A man’s voice greets you. Deep but smooth tone, easy to distinguish. 

“Mr. Kennedy.” You reply, brushing off the nickname he just gave you. “What a timing.”

“Why is that?” Playing dumb, Leon shoots his question. 

“I just finished reading the documents you gave me.” A seed of confusion is planted in your statement as you try to make up your mind with the information you just registered. “Where did you get all of this?” You say pressing the speaker closer to your mouth, whispering the words.

“Feeling curious, aren’t we?” Mock oozes from his tone, but there is a hint of genuine playfulness in his speech, as if delighted to be the one providing the confidential information. “You know… As much as I want to tell you, I just can’t.”

“Why?”

“Oh? Am I being questioned?” If you were next to him, you’d see the smirk that has formed on his face. And if you indeed were, a slap would be planted on his cheek, for sure. 

Leon continues being a puzzle you couldn’t solve. From the first (and only) moment you met him, his odd and shared disdain for the rich baffled you. You can’t seem to break through the world inside his head.

“Does it feel like I'm questioning you?”

“Kinda.”

“Forget it.” You shrug, leaving the topic as it is. There’s no point in trying to make Leon spit the truth. At least, not now. “But this is truly a key piece to this investigation.”

“That I know,” Leon replies. “But as I told you yesterday, don’t do anything stupid.” 

Silence fills the call as you take in what Leon said, or rather, repeated. 

“Oh?” Bitterly, you retort. “So you think I’ll do something stupid? It’s funny, all of my male colleagues always told me that.”

“I didn’t mean it like tha—”

“Oh course you didn’t.” Sarcasm was dripping from your words. “Nobody does.” You add with an exhausted sigh coming out from your lips.

“No, but I truly didn’t mean it.” He finally finishes his sentence as your pause allows him to interrupt you. 

“Look, sorry… I’ve dealt with these people ever since I remember and It’s just so… fucked up.” He adds. “You’re better than those dickhead detectives. I assure you.”

Now that you think about it, you may have overreacted. But then again, it wasn’t your fault. Being surrounded by people who discriminate and minimize every hardship you face, built a hard shell no one could break through. 

Instead of sticking to the awkward topic and Leon’s reassuring words, you decide to change the direction of this exchange. 

“Why did you call, Leon?” You ask, a tear forming in your eye due to the lack of sleep and the imminent yawn that threatens to escape from your mouth. 

The polite and tactful pattern was broken as soon as his name slipped from your lips. No agent nor Mr. Kennedy. For now, he is just Leon. 

Carrying a hint of embarrassment given his previous poor choice of words, he replies to your question.

“Mr. Clark’s wife is holding a funeral for him. I was going to tell you in case you wanted to go.”

His words catch your attention, the funeral could be the perfect opportunity to secretly investigate Patricia. In hindsight, a hunch tells you she isn’t involved—at least directly— in the candidate’s death. But it could give you some clues you may have overlooked.

“Are you going?”

“I might.”

You absentmindedly nod, acknowledging his answer. 

“Got it…” You play with the phone’s cord. “I’ll see you there, I guess.”

The chapel shimmers with almost blinding lights. Even though the nature of a funeral is dull and gloomy, the contrast is obvious. The whole setting is the perfect opportunity to show off, once again, the money that was being spent on it. The air is filled with raw indifference and overall pure narcissism. 

The lack of mourning and tears throw you off, especially when you feel like an outsider, you don’t belong here. Besides the fact that, of course, no matter how much you worked you could never afford the type of brand every individual was wearing—there is this feeling you can’t brush off. 

Your eyes travel over the room, searching for the wife now a widow. It is easy to get distracted by the mingling of certain guests and hushed laughs. Time and place… you thought.

What is supposed to be a thousand agonies and a sea of sorrow turns out to be the perfect act of grief. Let God be the judge of these people who surround themselves in the miseries of others. 

Amidst your judgment of everyone in the room, your task of finding Mrs Clark comes to an abrupt stop as a figure you recognize makes its appearance. Now wearing a dark blue suit, Leon’s frame is unmistakable. 

He’s next to a woman, brunette hair that reaches her back. A black fascinator is perfectly placed on her head, a wave of cringiness washes over you for the choice of fashion she went with. That must be Patricia Clark.

Confident but subtle, the cackling sounds of your high heels mix with the hushed chit-chat of those in the room. At last, it comes to a stop as you find yourself behind the widow and Leon who had previously acknowledged your presence. 

And for a moment, your eyes lock with the agent’s who wears an expression that could only be described as an attempt to warn you about something. But for now, you drift your attention towards the task at hand.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Clark.” You extend your hand while you introduce yourself. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” 

Manners, of course. You couldn’t feel sorry, especially now that you know that besides being an empty-headed politician, Robert Clark was an almost-murderer. 

However, you regret the fact that you chose the polite way of approaching as soon as your hand reached the air instead of the brunette-haired woman’s hand. Then, you realized this wouldn’t be as easy as you had thought.

A bemused expression forms in your face but it fades rather quickly as you remember your objective here. Taken aback, you pull your hand away before bringing them both behind your back. 

Leon doesn’t seem surprised by the blatant uncordial treatment Mrs. Clark just gave you. A sneer is present in his face as if he were saying ‘I told you so.’

“Don’t take it personal, darling.” Her voice tone reeks of arrogance and a know-it-all feeling. “I’ve been here for God knows how long. My hand may as well fall off if I keep shaking hands.”

There was no reason to feel amused by the whole interaction, you have dealt with these types of people before. But, the coldness and tactlessness of her words throw you off.

“I understand.” You feign agreement as if the fact that her husband is fucking dead is merely a minor detail. “But please, allow me to share my condolences. A woman as young as yourself shouldn’t be experiencing this.”

You resort to false praise words. There’s nothing else these fuckheads love more than people licking their shoe soles and acting like they are the only people living in the world. 

“It’s indeed difficult.” The woman brings her hand to her eyes, wiping the nonexistent tears that were supposed to be there. “My husband preferred to shoot himself instead of continuing being the man of the house.”

What a bitch.

Glancing at Leon, you find him crouching down in front of an infant. Given his brown hair, he must be one of the two Mr. and Mrs. Clark's children. 

“Is that your son?” You ask. 

“Yes…” An exasperated sigh again. As if she doesn't want to be here. In a sense, it is comprehensible but her overall personality wouldn't allow you to feel an ounce of sympathy. 

“How's he dealing with everything?” And after that question, you believe Mrs. Clark will snap at you any time now.

“Like every other kid would.” She replies, sparing not even a glance toward her own child. “He prefers her nanny anyway.”

Mentally cursing the mother, your lips tug a forced smile, one that doesn't reach your eyes but symbolizes the end of this meaningless conversation.

Your eyes travel until they land on Leon and the kid. The little one's eyes seem wet with tears that he so bravely holds back. 

Talking to children and elderly people was always the most difficult part of this job. Ever since you took it, those were your soft spot and Achilles’ ankle.

Leon notices your hesitation and motions you to join him. Scooting a bit, he gives you some space for you to crouch down too.

Greetings haven't been exchanged yet, instead of a hello, Leon welcomes you with a name.

“Lucas.” He whispers as you lower yourself to be at eye level with the infant. 

You nod. 

Lucas looks no older than 5 years old. A mop of brunette curly hair adorns his head. 

“Hi Lucas…” You give the little boy a gentle and warm smile. He blinks some tears that fall from his cheeks to the ground. 

There's no response, which it's okay. Unlike his mother's behavior, you know this innocent human is actually grieving. 

You take your time as tiny hiccups and soft sobs keep Lucas from forming actual sentences. 

“Lucas, this my friend.” It was Leon’s turn to speak. His usual chatty tone was replaced by an almost fatherly voice. “You told me you like making friends, didn't you?”

You watch as the little one slowly nods and wipes away the tears that keep rolling down his face. But this time, his sobs are coming to a stop.

“Are you daddy's friend?” He finally asks. However, the question was one you didn't expect. 

“Yes.” You lie, as a detective you are used to telling white and not so white lies just for the sake of finding a bigger truth. But lying to a child wasn't something you were looking for. 

“Okay…” Lucas responds and looks at both of you and Leon. A flick of light between the living hell of those pretentious people who act like they care.

“Daddy must be proud to see how strong you're right now.” Leon speaks once again and you witness how he ruffles Lucas’ hair in an attempt to cheer him up. 

“You think so?” Lucas’ voice, for one, is higher than just a whisper. And for the first time, you notice how he's missing one of his teeth. “Daddy always told me to be as strong as him every time he went to the doctor.”

The word doctor set both of you and Leon off. According to Robert Clark's medical history, he was a healthy individual. No illness and not even allergies. 

“Doctor? Was your daddy sick?”

“Weren't you daddy's friend? You should know…” You didn't expect to be outsmarted by a kid.

“Your daddy didn't want us to worry.” Second lie on the day, you're keeping count. “That's why he never told us.”

A pause lingers in the air as you reply to the child. It takes a while before he can answer your question as if conditioned not to talk about his father's doctor visits.

“He sometimes went to the doctor,” Lucas explains after a few seconds of reluctance. “He told me not to tell mommy or nanny. Maybe he didn't want them to worry too.”

“Was your daddy sick?” Leon asks in the same gentle tone he has kept throughout the conversation.

“Dunno…” Lucas pouts. “Doctor was also daddy’s friend.”

The kid’s naivety is providing you with more information than his mother could give you. Of course, his guileless wouldn’t serve any purpose legally speaking. But, it can give you some insight into Mr Clark’s background and motive.

And once again, you don’t have time to process the information as the rumbling of a stomach guides your attention toward Lucas.

“Sir?” Lucas’ eyes meet Leon’s blue ones. “Mommy said she’s busy… But I’m hungry.”

Leon offers Lucas a kind smile.

“Tell you what, kiddo. There’s a coffee shop near here, I’ll buy you something to eat.”

Lucas’ eyes seem to get brighter at the prospect of eating, it leads you to think how long has it been since he last ate something. 

When you are turning your back to follow Leon out of the chapel—because there was no way would stay there for a second longer— you feel a tiny hand wrapping around your sleeve. 

“Miss.” A pause and a deep breath. “Do you think daddy’s in heaven?”

“...”

“Yes, he is.” The third and last lie.

You tag along with Leon, both of you walking down the street until you reach a coffee shop. No words are exchanged and a rather awkward silence sets between both of you. 

Your mind is somewhere else while your body works on its own. You don’t even notice when Leon asks you something, too worried about the case, too scared something bigger than you may eat you whole if you keep poking your nose where it doesn’t belong. 

However, as stubborn as you could be, justice needs to prevail. 

While biting the inside of your cheeks, Leon’s words bring you back from your trance. “Hey? I asked you if you wanted something.” 

You come to notice that you have already walked towards the cash register. Both the cashier and Leon’s eyes fall on you. 

“An Americano.”

You come up with the quickest answer you could think of. You watch Leon take out his wallet and pay with cash. 

Eventually, both of your orders plus Lucas’ are called and you decide to take a break albeit your attempt at telling Leon there was no time to lose. 

“So… any luck with Mrs. Newly Widow?” Leon asks as he takes a bite of his sandwich. 

“Nope.” You stir your coffee and blow some air. “Didn’t know she would be so difficult to deal with.”

“Well, she’s no more difficult than you.” He replies jokingly with a feeble smirk on his face. 

“Oh, you’re funny. How many times have you used that one with other people?” You retort, the sarcastic answer flying so gracefully out of your lips as if you have been ready for one of his remarks. 

“See! That’s what I’m talking about.” He gestures at you. “I’m trying to be friends with you but you push me away.”

Silence dawns upon both of you as you exhale. Although Leon has been nothing but respectful—in his own way— the fear of looking polite and weak with a colleague is still very much present. 

Dropping the act of being cold and emotionless isn’t something that you are looking for nor planning to do. Not until you could show the world that you are, in fact, as capable as any other man. 

“Look, Leon,” You speak in a calm tone. “I don’t make friends, not in this field and especially not with men.” 

As you say so, you reach for a sugar packet. No americano tastes good without sugar.

“Sorry.” You add. 

There is nothing to feel sorry about. Your feelings and boundaries shouldn’t depend on someone else. Yet, a part of you couldn’t help but regret your bold choice of words.

“Hey, nothing to apologize for.” And even though he was the one who suggested the whole friendship thing, he is also the one who is soothing the waters. “I know men in general can be a pain in the ass.”

That causes a huff to slip out of your mouth. “Trying to win points?”

“Not really.” He says while chewing on his sandwich. “Besides, you’re too smart for that.”

You chuckle, finally ripping the material of the sugar packet. “Finally we agree on something.”

Drumming his fingers against the hard wooden material both of your gaze into the distance, not adding anything else to the conversation. The aroma of coffee fills the area where you are sitting with Leon. 

“Lucas, Mr. Clark’s kid… you were good with him.” It slips off your tongue rather easily. A tinge of sincerity washes over your statement. 

And you can observe how Leon’s face went from a resting and soft expression to a stunned one. However, after your previous comments, the awkward and uneasy feeling shifted into an amiable one. 

“Was I?” Almost incredulous and even insecure. A slight trace of a vulnerable side you haven’t seen nor expected. “Thanks.”

Judging by his expression, Leon either had a soft spot for kids just like you or there’s something else you don’t know. Most agents show themselves as cold-hearted creatures who give no shit about anyone but themselves or their missions. 

But it’s none of your business.

“What Lucas told us, about the doctor. Do you think it may be related to the case?” You ask, back to your normal and professional self.

“I believe it can help us to investigate further,” Leon replies. “but I fail to see how this doctor could be of any help in this case.” 

“Maybe not on this one…” You murmur not even noticing the words that fell from your lips.

“What do you mean?” Leon notes your slight behavior change. Clearing your throat, you shake your head dismissing your previous words. 

“Nothing.” For now, the missing civilians’ case doesn’t need to be exposed. You fear the government is behind it and the one you’re currently investigating. You don’t need Leon to follow each step you take, especially given his association with the nation’s leaders.

Taking one last sip of your drink, you raise your wrist and read the time. Going back to the chapel wouldn’t bring you more information. Not when everyone seemed more focused on their conversations rather than helping.

Searching through your wallet, you pull a 10 dollar bill and place it on the table, next to your empty cup of coffee.

“What is that?”

“For my coffee.” You respond, getting up from the chair and looking back at Leon. “I don’t like owing to people.”

“You don’t have to, you know?” Leon chuckles and shakes his head. “It’s on me.”

“Well…” You reply. “Then make sure to give it back to me one day.”

Ephesians 6:10-18

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might. Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil. For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm. Stand therefore, having fastened on the belt of truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness

Leon’s hands are clean, metaphorically speaking. But his mind is not.

He wasn’t directly involved in the numerous deaths of politicians and CEOs. He just provided the right amount of information for them to kill each other. Playing God amongst them, in a way only he could recognize and embrace.

Death has rejected him but he brings that destiny upon those who sought to destroy the peace settled in the city and therefore nation. That’s the role he accepted once the curse of immortality ran deeply in his veins. 

It all started with hints he would drop in the middle of conversations. Twisted words that would seed doubts among elitists. Alliances were broken easily, that he needn’t worry about. But some partnerships were harder to break, sly statements would get him anywhere.

So, direct accusations were made. Obviously, under a fake name or rather an anonymous identity which would prompt people to feel paranoid even in their own homes. It took less than a week for lesser pawns to be found dead or disappear under odd circumstances. Of course, those who own the city would leave no trace of their crimes—so even for him, a federal agent, it was impossible to reach them without his mission being discovered. 

So, as soon as he was assigned to help you in this mysterious case, he was delighted. He’d play his pieces right and boom, he’d wriggle his way into the elite that control the city with their tainted and bloody hands and root out the evil.

However, he wouldn’t have thought that his “eternal suffering” disease would act the first moment he saw you. 

Ever since he was transformed, the adaptation path was rough and difficult to deal with. Nonetheless, he made a promise to never act upon his instincts, no matter how unbearable they could get.  

When he first saw Mr. Clark’s body, it wasn’t surprising. He knew he would choose the path of dying instead of facing his crimes and past. They’re all like that. Cowards, good for nothing, worthless, usel—

A sugary and pleasant aroma flooded his senses which immediately put him at ease amid the gruesome scenario lying underneath his frame. 

It wasn’t coming from the dead bastard, that he knew. So what is it? The smell was getting even more prominent each second that passed. It made him dig his short fingernails into the palm of his hand, forming tiny half-moons on the thin skin. 

His senses were never that heightened nor his body was that sensible to even the softest of draughts. 

And his body worked on his own as soon as the doorknob tweaked, he turned around and acted as if his work was the only thing on his mind.

As if his eternal life wasn’t about to change forever. When forever only meant pain and sorrow, at least for Leon.

[sunflowerhae]

Ch. 6 Wattpad Fanfiction

“Love is the opening door, love is what we came here for, no one could offer you more..do you know what I mean? Have your eyes really seen,” you silently hummed the lyrics under your breath while cutting your brownies for your neighbor. To be honest, at first you weren’t sure why you needed him to like you. Jaemin - ever the wannabe therapist - suggested it might be a psychological response of needing strangers validation, due to your job. Giselle offered the idea that maybe you want more friends in your apartment complex. Both ideas, you have to admit, are sound arguments - and probably have a lot of truth behind them.

Once you really had time to think about why you need your neighbor to like you, however, you discovered it’s sadly much more embarrassing.

He’s cute.

And that’s really saying something, seeing as you only saw his eyes. In those two seconds the both of you locked eyes, a blush found its way onto your cheeks, and you were at a loss for words. Maybe that’s why you subconsciously found yourself cutting the brownies into heart shapes. Maybe that’s why you threw in some strawberries (also in hearts), why you double checked your appearance before stepping out the door, and why the blush once again finds its way to your face as you knock on his wooden door, anxiously praying that he really was just having a bad day initially and doesn’t have some personal vendetta against you.

God, you really need to get laid. You weren’t sure what was wrong with you recently. It’s like a title wave of ovulation symptoms passed through your system and you’ve been a walking love machine - waiting to find a lone victim to poor your adoration on. And almost like someone splashed cold water on your face, you suddenly find the situation you’re in at the moment completely ridiculous. Heart shaped brownies? Blushing cheeks? Walking love machine? What wattpad fanfiction did you just stumble into?

Just as you found it in you to laugh at yourself and turn to walk away, you hear the swinging of a door opening and feel a blast of cold air knock on the side of your body facing your neighbors door. Turning your body back around, you find yourself face to face with your now unmasked neighbor.

And God help you, he’s even hotter than before. Moles line his cheek like constellations in the sky. He has lush and full lips, puckered open just slightly enough to give him an air of innocence that drives you mad. And your favorite feature - his eyes - stare wide at you in curiosity and wonder, like the last possible thing he could have expected would be you at his door, but that he can’t wait to hear the reason why you’re there. He wore a huge, oversized black jacket with the hoodie pulled up and clear glasses wrapped around his face, paired with grey sweats and slippers. He looked like cuddling personified, to be quite frank. And it took you a solid minute to even join Earth long enough to realize you knocked on his door and stood there staring at him in silence. You felt like an idiot, and mentally kicked yourself before getting out, “sorry, hi! I’m your new neighbor, y/n. I know we briefly met the day I moved in, but it was so hectic we didn’t really get to talk. I just wanted to come over and introduce myself and give you a gift to say thank you for dealing with me moving in, and just to say hi and introduce myself!” You finished your ramble by practically shoving the container in his hands, and waited for him to say something..anything..back.

After a beat and a half of him just staring at you with an unreadable expression, he literally shook his head and a small smile appeared, along with an outstretched hand your way, “Thanks for the brownies, y/n!” You both shook hands, then stood again in silence. Should you leave? Should you invite him for dinner like you originally planned? You can’t even look him in the eyes, your own finding solace in just about any place other than his face.

“Sorry, what was your name again?” You finally settled on asking.

“Oh! Sorry, I’m ha-“

“Haechan?” A voice called out from behind you, and you both look to find one of the most beautiful girls you’ve ever seen walking up behind you, a confused expression written on her face.

“Rin, hey” Haechan answered back, and you looked over at him, just to see him nervously scratching the back of his neck while looking between the two girls in front of him.

“Uhh, y/n, this is Karina. Karina, this is my new neighbor, y/n.” At the word “neighbor” Karina’s eyes went wide in almost shock, and she quickly bowed to you. You bowed back with a smile, before turning back to haechan.

“I won’t bother you anymore, but enjoy the brownies!” You rushed out, not letting anyone say a word before practically running back to the safety of your apartment, foregoing a brief thought to look back at the scene you just left.

Behind the closed doors of your apartment, you lay outstretched on the couch; Nala resting on your stomach and your phone tucked between your ear and the pillow.

“He has a girlfriend, selle,” you pouted, sad that your brief crush was interrupted by reality.

“Are you sure it was his girlfriend? Maybe they’re just friends.” Giselle had always been a rock for you, keeping you from flying away in the confines of your own imagination. Regardless of whatever amazing thing was happening in her life, she never lost time for her friends - you only hoped you could be there for her half the amount she was for you.

“Nah, you should have seen how they looked at each other. Plus he was hella awkward when she came up. I hope they don’t fight because of me..” you trailed off, getting distracted by the stressful thought of causing issues in your new neighbors relationship.

“Well it’s for the best, you shouldn’t be trying to get with your neighbor. That’s how you get kicked out of buildings,” you sighed, knowing how right she was.

“I know, he was just so cute.”

On the other side of the wall, Haechan was slightly freaking out. When he got to the door after the initial knock, he didn’t even bother checking to see who it was, expecting Karina to show up any minute. Needless to say, he was NOT expecting you on the other side. So you can imagine his surprise when he opens his door and his dream girl is standing in front of him, smiling and holding what looked like a container full of sweets. To him, it sounded like the start of many dreams he’s had, and for a good minute haechan was convinced he had been asleep. God does he wish he was, for now he believes - no, KNOWS - he just made a complete and utter fool of himself.

“I could barely hold a conversation, rin. I just stood there like an idiot - she had to ask me for my own name,” he mumbled out sadly, his head buried in his hands while he sits slumped on the couch. Karina sighed from her spot on the floor, books already skewed out in front of her as she silently waiting for him to finish pouting so they could study like planned.

“You didn’t make a fool of yourself, haechan. You just think you did because she’s hot. But really, she’s just a normal girl - and a sweet one, seemingly - so I doubt she’s reading into your reactions as much as you are.”

Haechan lifted his head with a sigh, sliding off the couch and down into the floor next to Karina, “yeah, you’re probably right. I just still can’t believe she’s right there. I mean, you’ve been in my apartment. I have her poster in my bedroom, rin. It still doesn’t feel real at all to me.” Karina patted Haechan’s back uncomfortably, not knowing how to console him, which made Haechan chuckle. He loved his friend, but he knew her strengths - and this definitely wasn’t it.

“It’s okay. I guess it was as fine as it could be. Let’s forget about it for now and just focus on our notes.” Karina hummed, happy that Haechan was moving on. She started talking about their chemistry notes, but honestly, Haechan zoned out. He was too focused on the brownies that laid in their now open container next to him. He focused on the fact that she made them into heart, for him. Not for some boy he thought she was dating. No, she took time to make them into a heart shape with him in mind. She tweeted about them, and was “manifesting” something about him. Y/L/N Y/N thought about him. And he couldn’t help but just smile in awe at that. He felt his cheeks go warm as it settled in him that he just met you. He just had a conversation with you. You know his name. And as he bites into a brownie, and a godly, goey, consistency flows past his tongue, haechan can’t help but think they’re even sweeter because you made them.

GG! (Good Game!) 👾

Notes: Haechan visual! Just imagine him standing in his doorway looking at you like this bro ur cooked. yay first written and boy is it long. And also not proofread! So if there’s any mistakes then womp womp

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[ownedbythescribe]

Tighnari | Ephialtes

ıllı Synopsis: Nightmares can impact a person’s state of mind. It often terrorize us even in the waking world. For the calm and collected Tighnari, how would he face the night terrors that displayed his greatest fears?

ıllı Genre: Reverse Comfort, Romance, Slight Angst

ıllı Notes: Gender Neutral Reader

ıllı Warning: Use of pet names

ıllı A/N: I’m sorry it took this long to finish and publish this one. Work had been hectic these days, and it was difficult to adjust to new places. Still, I’m glad I finally finished this! Oh, and goodluck to those who will be pulling for this patch!

Dreams are images and stories the mind creates when people sleep. They are manifestations of the unconscious desires, fears, and wishes for the present.

For the people of Sumeru, they prided themselves on the fact that they did not dream and treated it as a sign of maturity— leaving behind traces of their childish selves. However, that notion changed when the Dendro Archon was saved by the infamous Traveler from the clutches of the scheming Sages. The all-knowing leaders of the Akademiya were far too ambitious that they forgot the true meaning of wisdom. They were forced to vacate their positions and repent for their sins of locking up their god to act in her stead and abusing the Akasha System. With them gone, the young goddess decided to halt the operation of the Akasha to prevent similar incidents in the future and let the people of Sumeru seek true knowledge and wisdom by themselves.

Like a newly born fowl, the people of Sumeru had difficulty finding their footing at the loss of a convenient tool. It took time to adjust to the changes established in the nation. Students started to extensively utilize the library, gathering tons of books back to their tables to search for notable information for their theses. Merchants and buyers were no different, but fortunate as it is, public libraries were readily available for their perusal.

The Nation of Wisdom changed not only in its government and economy, but also with dreams. Their sleep was now accompanied by dreams. In the vivid world of their mind, they could envision ideas they could not in the waking world. Adults who found themselves exhausted at the end of the day found solace in their rest. However, not all dreams were rose-colored. Those who did not escape the clutches of nightmare were plunged into the darkness where they come face-to-face with their trepidation.

Forest Watcher Tighnari was one of its victims.

“Tighnari! Look out!” The fennec fox heard from behind. Before he could process what was happening, a hand shoved him to the ground followed by an agonizing scream. His eyes turned to the person who pushed him away and saw your electrified figure. The pain was evident in your eyes as you desperately tried to keep your consciousness up. However, your vision slowly darkened, and you lost feeling in your arms and legs.

“(Y/N)!” Tighnari called, catching your body in his arms. He could feel the electricity bite him, but he did not care. He shouted your name once more, but it fell on deaf ears. Patches of scorched skin littered your body, and his hands shook in fear. This scene was all too familiar.

‘T-This… Is this what happened back in Pardis Dhyai?’ He thought to himself. His dual-toned orbs quickly glanced around. Dead Fatui soldiers could be seen ahead, but the glass-stained dome of Pardis Dhyai and the Padisarahs around confirmed his assumption.

Tighnari bit his lips in dread and reached out to check for your pulse. It was weak. His heart constricted at the sight of your fallen body. Losing you was and would never be an option. Immediately, he took out his first aid kid and started working on your injuries. Weakly opening your eyes, you gently held his left cheek.

“I… I’m sorry, ‘Nari. I think… this is it for…me.” Tighnari lost it. He clutched your hand and assured you that he would treat you. That you two would be home in no time, safe and sound. A small smile made its way to your lips before your hold debilitated. He sought to save you, but it was too late.

‘No… No! No! Please no!’

The Forest Watcher woke up with a start, huffing out as he searched for your figure beside him. There you were, sleeping soundly as the night went on. He let out a shaky relieved sigh before settling back into bed and pulling you closer to his chest. His hands were clammy, but having you in his arms was enough to calm him down. Feeling the heat, you opened your eyes and noticed the uneasy look on your lover’s face.

“‘Nari…? Are you all right?” You rasped, holding his right cheek in worry. His ears twitched at your voice but opted to nuzzle in your warmth. He simply continued his ministrations. Unable to fully understand his actions, you let him be.

“I’m all right. Sleep some more, Little Lotus. I’ll always be here.” He muttered. Eventually, you drifted back to sleep with the help of the sound of steady heartbeat. Tighnari smiled and kissed the crown of your head.

You were here. Alive in his arms.

The following day, you were met with a finicky Tighnari who accompanied you on patrols and fussed over the smallest of injuries. It was unlike him to be overprotective, but it felt like a switch had been flipped for him to act as such. You did not know where it stemmed from, so you let the fennec fox worry but not without assuring him that your injuries were nothing to be upset with. Nonetheless, he still applied ointments to the scratches and light wounds on your arms and shin.

“Thanks, Love. It really doesn’t hurt, but let’s go home and help out Collei with her homework. I could tell you left her a challenging one.” You teased. He sighed and let a small smile paint his lips. Dragging him home, you swiftly called out to the young lady that you would help her out with the task Tighnari assigned for the day.

Days later, you met up with a junior from your Darshan who was curious about the Forest Ranger’s responsibilities. It seemed like she had been having difficulties deciding whether she should continue with her current course or shift to another. It had been a lengthy discussion, and at one point, she even considered joining the Adventurer’s Guild instead. You urged her to take a three-day immersion with the guild, rangers, and research facility of the other Darshan she had been contemplating shifting to.

Tighnari heard about it and was curious about what you would do if you were in her position. You pondered about it.

“If I’m in the Adventurer’s Guild, I’ll be able to meet new people along the way. I get to travel far and wide despite the dangerous missions I may receive. Not to mention, Cyno told me that they hold interesting events every now and then. If I recall correctly, he said that they’re holding the King of Invocation event this year. Isn’t that interesting? ‘Nari, do you— Why do you look like a constipated Kaveh?” You raised an eyebrow in concern. His ears were up, his tail was raised, his forehead was scrunched up, and the frown on his lips was like that of Kaveh’s whenever he was frustrated with Alhaitham.

“Being a Forest Ranger is better. I’m sure you’ve seen that. We get to interact with nature, help out people who traverse the forest, protect the fauna and flora of Sumeru, and even research interesting stuff from the desert.” He chided. You tilted your head in confusion.

“Uh-huh… Where is this coming from?”

“I’m not yet done. The Forest Rangers also get to eat fresh fruits and vegetables. That’s with the consideration of overconsumption in line too. Also, we—“ You figured he must have misunderstood your answer that you would shift to being an adventurer instead. Holding his hand, you asked him to sit down for a while.

“I’m not considering it, Love. Being a Forest Ranger with you here is a blessing for me. Why would I ask for more? So you don’t have to feel queasy about it.” You replied. Tighnari was silent for a moment before apologizing.

Shaking your head, you took out a scroll from your hand and laid it on his lap. It was a layout of the giant ruin guard in Mount Devantaka. Strangely enough, a cyan Aranara appeared before you and gladly assisted you around. You got to see the flourishing plants underground and even explore the insides of the magnificent structure residing in the mountain.

“I still can’t believe an Aranara appeared before you. When will it be my turn?” He pouted. You laughed and patted his head.

“Maybe next time, ‘Nari. Maybe.”

The following weeks had been uneventful for the both of you. Wake up, eat breakfast, shower, go on patrol, come home, cook, shower, and sleep again. This mundane cycle along with occasional visits from Cyno and Kaveh repeated itself like a Samsara. It soon changed when the scholars from the Akademiya nominated your lover as Amurta’s representative for the InterDarshan Competition.

Tighnari was reluctant to accept such proposition as he seemed to see no benefit from it aside from spending time with his friends, but you pointed out that it could serve as a catalyst to spread the word about the seminar on Sumeru’s fauna you two had cooked up days prior. You presumed that people might have already gotten bored of the usual talk on plants, so why not tackle the discourse on animals considering that there were quite a number of people interested in keeping pets around the city. They just lacked the information on how to properly take care of them.

“I guess you’re right. Well then, I’ll participate in the games, but I honestly don’t expect to win. Just spreading the word about our upcoming seminar is enough. Maybe you could invite Candace and Dehya to our talk too?” He urged. Your eyes lit up at the idea and immediately planned the date go personally travel to Aaru Village.

“Oh, I should bring some cookies for them! Dehya had been bugging me about it.” You grinned. Tighnari shook his head and kissed the crown of your head. You were too adorable for him.

“Sure, Little Lotus. Let’s go to sleep?” He asked. You nodded your head and pulled him to bed. He curled his tail around you and not even five minutes have passed, you were out like light. The warmth he exuded comforted you, a reminder that he would always be there. That he loved you to bits.

Tighnari’s eyes lingered a bit longer on your relaxed figure. His thoughts made him question what he did to be this lucky to have you as his partner. When he was still a student, entering into a relationship did not cross his mind. He was simply focused on the goal of graduating. His parents would ask him here and there, but it was extremely rare. Only when he spent time with you in your final year did he find love.

“You don’t know how grateful I am to have you, (Y/N). You make every day worth it.” He whispered, sleep finally creeping into his mind.

‘I can’t envision a world without you in it.’

Time ticked slowly that night. Seconds turned to minutes before they turned to hours. Tighnari had been in a relaxed state, unknowing of the night terror ready to visit him. His dream that night started off normal with you and him visiting Vimara Village to inspect a leyline problem around it. Nothing seemed to be wrong until you met up with Alhaitham in Port Ormos for a special package from the desert.

You appeared normal to him, holding the same soft smile he admired, but Alhaitham had a different look. He suspected something was wrong when the man clad in green dipped down and whispered in your ear. It was too quiet for him to pick up, but based on the reaction on your face, it was something serious. You nervously gazed at Tighnari’s dual-toned eyes, gulping down the nervousness and grabbing his hand to pull him to a secluded area.

“I… Tighnari, I— I’m sorry. I think we should break up.” You finally revealed. The Forest Watcher was stomped. He calmly demanded the reason for it.

“Care to tell me the reason, Little Lotus? Why are you suddenly pulling this stunt?” His voice lightly cracked at the end of it. Tears trailed down your cheeks.

“I just don’t see the future I wanted with you anymore. I’ve grown tired and—“

“And you think that future is now with Alhaitham? Is that what you mean to say, (Y/N)?” A dangerous glint in his eyes shone, and your voice hitched at the intense gaze. The words you wished to voice died in your lips, but courage allowed you to at least respond with a weak nod.

Tighnari was stunned. He did not expect to see the person he loved for nearly five years slowly drift away from his arms and move to a new person. He did not know where it went wrong. He did not recognize the signs. Heck, it felt like his reality was distorted by his fears.

“I’m sorry.”

“(Y/N), don’t—!” He reached out, only to wake up in the real world. Sweat rolled down his forehead as he breathed out heavily. His hair stuck to his forehead, so he pushed them back before glancing at you. His mind was still transfixed at the dream he witnessed, too surreal for his heart.

‘I… They’re not going to leave me, right? They promised me, and I vowed the same. But what if they were already suffocating without me knowing? What if—‘ His thoughts raged on for the night. Unconsciously, he kept a tight hold on your hand. Sleep evaded him, and even when he felt exhausted, he feared closing his eyes. He presumed that if he were to fall into a dream state again, he would truly lose you.

Soon, the sun came and met the horizon, lighting the room you two shared. A stray light hit your face, and you were forced to wake up. You thought Tighnari would still be asleep, but there he was, looking disheartened and worried. You groggily sat up and asked what was wrong. The fennec fox reluctantly looked at you before nuzzling his head to your neck.

“A nightmare. A very bad one.” He muttered. It was distressing to see him act like a hurt kit, so you gently combed through his hair and assured him that it was just a dream, a figment. He wanted to believe it, he really did, but somewhere deep in his heart, he had doubts.

“I’ll go get us some warm milk. Stay here for a moment, okay, Love?” You incited, but your lover remained firm with his grip, so, with no choice, you slowly dragged him with you to the kitchen. He littered feather kisses on your neck while his tail wrapped itself around your shin. It tickled you, causing bouts of chuckles to erupt from your lips. Tighnari smiled hearing your laughter. It was music to his ears.

After drinking the warm milk you prepared and eating a light breakfast, you two went out on patrol. There were a few rangers you had to send to the desert to help out with the Akademiya’s plan regarding the educational establishments to be placed in Aaru Village. They were there along with Kshahrewar graduates to help identify the best locations to build the school and library. After receiving the reports, you had to deliver them personally to Alhaitham (he was about to step down in two days, so everybody in position was doing the best they could to use his assistance).

The fennec fox felt conflicted. He remembered his dream again, but he could not let his irrationality get the best of him. The Acting Grand Sage was still his friend, and he knew that Alhaitham would never do such a thing. Reluctantly, he came along with you.

“I presume everything is going well in the desert? If that’s so, we should be able to start the construction soon. Have you and Tighnari contacted Kaveh about this?” The gray-head asked. You glanced back at Tighnari who seemed distracted.

“Tighnari? Is there something wrong?” You asked. As if pulled out of his stupor, the Forest Watcher stammered an answer and asked Alhaitham to repeat his question. Not minding, he asked if they contacted Kaveh to help with the construction.

“I sent him a mail two days ago. I’m still waiting for his response considering that he went to the desert a week before we could confirm the list of rangers we could dispatch to the desert. We’ll get back to you once we get his answer. Is there anything else we need to remember for this project?” He inquired. You watched the Forest Watcher’s behavior intently. He still seemed distracted and worried about something. It would not be good to have him like this, and if you were, to be honest, it felt like if you did not ask him what the problem was, he would drift away. Some place far from your grasp.

So, after your talk with Alhaitham, you pulled Tighnari back to Ghandarva Ville. And as if the gods were on your side, you spotted Collei and Amir not far from the hut. You asked them to take charge for a moment while you tended to your lover. They raised an eyebrow at your words, but you told them that the Forest Watcher had not been feeling well.

“Is Master all right, (Y/N)? He’s not… sick is he?” Collei asked. You smiled and patted her head.

“He’s not, but I think he’s mentally exhausted. I’ll leave the rest of the tasks to you two. If you need help, don’t hesitate to call me. I’ll go. You hear me?” They nodded. With a nod, you returned to Tighnari who was in a daze again.

“Let’s go inside, ‘Nari. I’ll prepare the incense to help out with your anxiety. If… If you’re all right with it, please tell me what is troubling you.” You urged.

You had the Forest Watcher sit down and talk to you about his problems. He was hesitant, saying that it was stupid and ridiculous, but you assured him that you would listen to his concern no matter what.

“It’s… really just a stupid nightmare. It’s not even worth mentioning.” He replied.

“Love, you would not feel this distracted if it was just that. Plus, you know that I’m your partner. I share whatever burdens you have.” You retorted, placing your right hand on his cheek. He unconsciously held it closer to him before finally elaborating on the content of dreams. A small smile erupted from your face, happy that he was willing to open up.

As you listened intently to his dream, you could see just how insecure and fearful it made him. The thought of you leaving him like that perturbed him. So as gently as possible, you placed a soft kiss on his lips, cheeks, and forehead before nudging your nose into his.

“Thank you for telling me your fears, ‘Nari. I really appreciate the trust you have given me. It must have been scary, but know this, Love. There’s no way I’ll ever leave you. You’re stuck with me for eternity. Not like I’ll let you leave. Tighnari, you have my heart and being. I am all yours, and there is nobody in this world I would love except you. After all, whose sass did I love to bits? Whose smart and beauty did I revere? Nothing but yours. These dreams of yours? They could go to hell for all I care. I love you, Tighnari. Don’t ever forget that.” You voiced, adoration decorating your face. Tighnari almost teared up at your words. He could not believe that you were truly his as he was yours. Your kindness and patience knew no bounds, and he was grateful for it.

“Thank you, Little Lotus, for loving me and staying with me. I could not ask for anyone better than you. I love you too.” He muttered, embracing your figure against him. You smiled and kissed his nose once again.

“Next time, don’t hide things like this from me, all right? I’ll worry.” He smiled and nodded. He forgot that communication was the key to a healthy relationship. You were a great listener and would never think of even the smallest fear he had as stupid. He was right to love you with all of his being.

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