#getting into misadventures making friends and parting ways

[therobotsarestuckinmyhead]

Hi! Could you write a headcanon for Transformers: Prime set during Season 2, where the Autobots discover another Transformer who’s been hiding in Brazil and can transform into a red Chevrolet Celta? And could the reader be a chill and funny guy, but a bit on the scaredy-cat side? Sorry if that’s too specific 😅

☆|♡ "NEW FRIEND & OLD MEMORIES"

OHHHHHH ANON… didnt mention whether platonic or romantic </3 so i went with a fine middle line. for plot reasons, there was an omega key in Brazil. i had to research on Brazil. forgive me for inaccuracies. also uhhh heads up for the Arcee part.

scenario: on a mission to recover one of the omega keys, the Autobots encounter another bot

including: Smokescreen, Optimus, Arcee, Bulkhead

note: reader is depicted to have an accent cause i <3 transformers with accents

BACKGROUND:

This dirt ball was where Optimus said he'd be at— You had the coordinates and everything! Yet your escape pod crashed right into Brazil, the coordinates for Jasper, Nevada must've been a few kliks off because you found yourself in the forest outskirts of Manaus, Amazonas all the way in Brazil. Not even the right country but you didn't realize that until much later.

You'd managed to set up a make-shift base within the forest; far, far away from any human settlements. The last thing you want is to catch anyone's attention before you find the rest of the Autobots, especially the natives.

No ship, no crew, no contact... nothing.

But hey! That's just a minor set-back. You're sure you can manage.

Of course you knew how to defend yourself. Not the best on the offensive but a good enough defensive, managing to stay undercover. You managed to build a low-quality but functioning radio transmitter, you're a bit of a techie— nothing big, just a few simple things you'd picked up after being stuck in this seemingly never ending war. You hoped your messages would reach where ever Prime and the rest of the Autobots are. Until then you're stuck all alone with many misadventures. Like living off of energon you manage to steal from Decepticon energon mines deeper into the forest.

Until you met a fellow Autobot.

Smokescreen:

— Smokescreen is the one who found you in the forest, the exact same forest where the third Omega Key just so happened to be located. He encountered you through a misunderstanding actually; you almost mistook him for a possible Decepticon when you managed to pick up a spark-signal. But once you saw him, you realized you were wrong and he debrief you on everything you missed out on (everything he was aware of at least). However, the two of you were knocked out cold by Starscream and that twat managed snatch the Omega Key right out of Smokescreen's servos!

— Smokescreen is relatively easy to get along with. He enjoys your company, even if you clearly are a bit of a scaredy-cat. In fact he actually likes that about you, it gives him a lot more ammo he could use to tease you with.

— He laughs the loudest at your jokes, you managed to cheer him up after losing the third Omega Key so Smokescreen does get a bit attached to you. He may or may not get attached a bit too easily... and quickly.

— Also he's definitely not really vibing with you alt mode of choice, I mean, a Chevrolet Celta? Why not a luxury sports car or a race car! Like his own Indy 500 race car alt mode? You're quick to retort with how much more noticeable a sports car or a race car is and how it beats the purpose of 'Robots in Disguise' but he pretends not to hear it... He doesn't want to admit that you may have a really good point there. Only because he is a race car.

— Smokescreen does like the red paint though and how you've managed to keep it relatively scratch-less given you're in a forest. But he does wish you'd add some more colour to it, you're a pretty vibrant bot so he thinks a few more streaks and colouring would really suit you.

— You can bet your spark that he's going to use the fact that he's a sport-car to his advantage because he is constantly challenging you to a race and you're clearly not able to keep up with him. He has a proud smug smile on his face. Finally! After cycles of losing to Bumblebee, he's farming race wins for once like Max Verstrappen does.

— Your accent throws him off a little but he's gets used to it quickly. Again, you crashed in Brazil, its only natural that you learnt Portuguese before you did English. He could easily learn Portuguese too, mostly cause of the existence of the internet. Well, not really learn per say but translate his way through conversation.

— Cue you and Smokes conversing in Portuguese while the rest of the team is incredibly confused as to what the two of you are saying. You have a secret language with him. The two of you are teasing the kids, especially Miko. It's driving her nuts how the two of you are talking and she can't make out a WORD. She wants to get into it as well, she's begging you to let her get into this 'secret language'. Then Raf tells her its Portuguese and not some secret alien language and her excitement dies down.

Optimus:

— Optimus is happy to have you onboard even if he is disheartened at not being able to get one of the keys because in the end of the day, its more Autobot to their mission and they need all the help they can get to gather all the four Omega Keys.

— Optimus is more reliable than Smokescreen when it comes to letting you know what's happening so he fills in any gaps Smokescreen may have left out. He also takes the liberty to introduce you to everyone.

— Optimus finds you interesting, mostly because you managed to survive on a completely different continent and managed to stay hidden so well that Ratchet’s detection systems couldn't pick up on your spark signature.

— Optimus is observant, a lot more than one would think and from all he's managed to understand from your story, you're a survivalist with the talent when it comes to staying hidden. He can see how resillant you are, managing to find fuel even in such a precarious situation. The attempts to hand-repair your frame by yourself is clear with poorly welding marks as well as remnants of blasterfire burns.

— Your tech-knowledge would definitely help them, its a massive advantage for their side. Ratchet is a medic, he's not exactly an engineer. Even the little engineering knowledge you have is useful to them, you could assist Ratchet and perhaps maybe even improve the ground bridge.

— Sometimes, you say Brazillian phrases/sayings and it confuses Optimus. He just nods his helm like he does with Agent Fowler's other Earth sayings in English. Yours just confuses him a bit more because its in a language he hasn't conversed in yet. He might get curious and try to learn some Portuguese himself.

— And since you seemed to have managed to pick up on Earth languages very well, along with their customes, Optimus thinks that theres a very high chance that you might be some sort of 'human expert' because he still finds himself struggling with a few sayings and such. Human lingo is just not for him.. Optimus thinks you'd be great to interact with humans.

— Your strong basic knowledge in tech is a huge service because now you're helping Ratchet improve his weapons systems. He's grateful to have you.

— Optimus does want to get to know you better but he isn't exactly sure on how to approach you, the Prime can be slightly awkward at times (evident with how he tried to talk to Wheeljack that one EP) so he's still figuring it out.

— You're getting most of the maintenance work now. Fixing the lights at the base, ground-bridge maintenance, tweaking systems, maximizing performance... You've slowly become an integral part of the team. Your tweaks to the systems have made it a lot easier to decrypt the coordinates of the fourth Omega Key.

Arcee:

— Oh Arcee, she's really going through with it the moment she saw you. You just remind her of Cliffjumper, its like you're a walking-talking replica of the bot. So similar yet so, so different. From the red paint to the sense of humour and light-heartedness, you're triggering a lot of memories for her.

— So, she does what she normally does when she has something which triggers the flashbacks. Avoid it. Arcee is avoiding you like you're the Rust Plague. She is cold to you, not exactly rude but incredibly silent when you're around and you can sense it: the way her frame seems to stiffen slightly, her EM field tucked to herself tightly as if she doesn't want you to know what she's feeling— her guard is constantly up when you're around.

— You notice this. At first you wonder if you're doing something wrong. Perhaps she's just skeptical about the credibility of your story? An understandable concern which could be talked out... or so you thought because when you try to confront her about it, she usually says something flat and cold, just leaving you there after giving some excuse to ditch the conversation. It annoys you because every time you try to talk to her, she shoots you down like you're a Vehicon.

— You come to the conclusion that there may not be anything wrong with you but instead, there could be something wrong with her. You're not sure. Does she just not like you for no reason? Your relationship with Arcee is strained.

— But it slowly does get better as time moves on and when she does, she feels bad about how she was like towards you.

Bulkhead:

— You know him! You two have met before back on Cybertron during the war so he's someone you're a lot more comfortable with and its relatively easy to get along with him too. He's a chill guy and you're a chill guy. It was bound to be like that.

— But you and Smokescreen have doomed him into having to learn Japanese because Miko is adamantly trying to make sure she and Bulkhead have a secret language no one else can understand! When Bulkhead asked why she couldn't just do that with Jack and Raf, she said that it'd be much easier teaching him than them. So now his databanks have files on all three different Japanese writing systems and over three thounsand Kanji. Now he's gotten better than Miko at Japanese.

— Cue Miko dragging him in when you are Smokescreen are talking in Portuguese so that Bulkhead can show off his Japanese. He's got a big frown on his face; he's very embarrassed, evident from his EM field and you're trying not to laugh as Smokescreen is trying his hardest to hold it back.

— Considering he used to work in construction, he's usually the one doing most of the maintenance work but then you came along so now he's helping you out with most them. He's like your assistant, he can't stay committed to keeping the base alright when he's usually out on the field.

— But other than that, he likes having you around. You're funny, you've managed to get multiple snickers out of him.

— If you get even closer to him, he'll have some crazy Wrecker stories to tell you. The more tame ones that aren't extremely traumatic for him to say, Miko is secretly listening in the background.

— He likes talking to you and will start striking up more casual chats with you, you make the heavy atmosphere of the room a lot lighter and bearable. Something he really needs with how hectic its been trying to locate these Omega Keys.

— Bulkhead knows Arcee wouldn't like it but when you keep asking him about why Arcee doesn't like you, he's going to be the one to tell you what's wrong.

— Bulkhead is the main reason why your relationship with Arcee improves because he's trying to talk to her, trying to reach out to her though its mainly Optimus who's confronting her after noticing something off. He knew immediately why Arcee was avoiding you because he felt the same way, you were just like Cliff.

— Also one time, Miko dressed herself up in a very convincing Scraplet costume. You and Bulkhead were talking and the lights flickered off, you were not very happy about that cause the two of you just finished maintenance work. Then the lights flicker on and the two of you see this scraplet and immediately scream together, holding onto each other for a moment. You were about to shoot with your cannon until Miko removed the costumes head and began hysterically laughing while the two of you are holding onto each other for life.

— Neither of you were pleased and took her straight to Optimus so she could have a "chat" with the boss bot. Miko is your and Bulkhead's adopted child at this point.

the description you gave me reminded me too much of Cliffjumper and idk if it were intention but it gave me ideas :3

[fortune-maiden]

To this day, I firmly believe Olivier Lenheim might have been inspired by Johnny Shiden xD

[glutengoblin]

The Anatomy of Trust (Part 1)

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Reader

Summary: Training under Gothi to become the village healer, Y/N often found herself alone on Berk. It didn't help that her icy personality (and dragon to match) seemed to chase everyone away. But, when a plea to a childhood friend is finally accepted, Y/N finds herself in for the ride of her life.

A/N: This is my first time writing for HTTYD in... years. So please forgive me if I get some details wrong and feel free to correct me in the comments! It's been ages since I've watched the shows.

This fanfic is set around the time frame of Race to the Edge, although I want to age up the characters to about ~22 just because of some mature themes I'm planning on including later on.

Anyway, please let me know if you enjoy this and if I should continue!

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Aged Up Characters, Canon Divergence

Even though everyone knew it was almost impossible to see a nightfury, it didn't stop Y/N from squinting up at the night sky.

Well, she personally hoped that she wouldn't see one flying towards her, Y/N was hopeful she would at least catch a glimpse of Toothless. At least something to let her know that they were alright and they had finally made it back safe.

As she stood with her arms wrapped around her to protect herself from the chill of the wind, she hoped she had remembered the date correctly.

“We'll leave the day after next, then return about 5 from then,” Hiccup had shared a week ago, as she had carefully wrapped his arm from his last misadventure.

Nowadays, infirmary visits seemed to be the only way she would even see him. He and his posse were too busy off exploring for him to have time for someone as simple as the town medic. Someone so independent, who always made it clear that she could survive on her own.

That didn't stop her from looking for him though. Staring at the night sky when she knew he was supposed to return, hoping to catch a peek of him when he finally did.

The cold was starting to truly seep into her bones when her dragon, Snowmist, tried to nudge her back inside the small building that housed the infirmary. Y/N and Gothi had worked together to design it when it was clear that Gothi's hut wouldn't be enough to house the injuries that came with the increase in visitors and misadventures.

Despite Snowmist's incessant bothering, Y/N just stood there stubbornly and took another sip of her tea, which had gone cold from the snow wraith's nearness.

“I'm fine Snowmist,” Y/N said, rubbing her dragon's snout exactly where she liked it. “I'm just worried about them, that's all.”

Snowmist gave her a look, as if to say ‘we both know it's more than that.’

And somewhere, stored deep inside, Y/N knew she was right. She had had feelings for Hiccup since they were children, playing tag amongst the wildflowers on the hills towering over their town. She had always wished for him to be something more than a friend, but in the wake of him bringing dragons into their lives, she had tried her best to shove those feelings down.

The Hiccup whom she had once lamented with about not fitting in with the other kids had turned into Hiccup, future chief of Berk. She knew that at his core he was still the same kind, funny, and clever boy she had first cherished… but something had definitely shifted within him. With the sudden adoration of the entire island had come a confidence, one that helped him make new friends and leave her in the dust.

She did know that it was partially her fault too – the fact their friendship seemed to have all but disappeared. She was stubborn, like most of Viking kind, but to the point where she had a tendency to ice people out, act as if she didn't need anyone else in her life to feel fulfilled. Just her dragon and her work with Gothi, becoming the village healer.

But still she stood, watching the early winter night sky for any sign that a nightfury may be approaching. And eventually, she saw it. The sudden disappearance of stars from the sky, a dark shape moving ever closer. She set her mug down on the table, and rolled up her sleeves, unsure of what state she may find them in.

Toothless sat down gently on the ground, carefully avoiding the trees that littered the outskirts of the infirmary. As Y/N drew nearer to the familiar dragon rider, her eyes traveled over his figure.

Hiccup Haddock sat still strapped into his saddle, hair tousled from the wind and breath gone from his chest. While his armor looked completely intact, his face became etched with pain as he reached to unlatch himself.

“What on earth have you done to yourself this time?” Y/N demanded, as she raced over to his side and offered him her hands to help him down.

Hiccup let out a pained laugh, as they began to move through the field and towards the infirmary, as Toothless trailed close behind. “Nothing that you can't patch up, for sure.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at that, letting out an exasperated sigh. “You know one day, you will do something to yourself that I can't simply ‘patch up’. Have you thought about what you're going to do with yourself then?” She shouldered open the door, and led him over to the small bed in the center of the room, helping him lie down slowly before moving a step back.

“I don't think you have enough faith in yourself, Y/N. I've never seen you stumped before.”

She stared at his leg as if in argument.

“Okay, well that's different. There wasn't anything left for you to work with.” Hiccup let out a laugh which quickly turned to a pained cough that rattled his form. Y/N quickly brushed off the heat that his flattery had caused, turning her attention back to the matter at hand.

“Care to show me what my challenge is this time?” Her eyes traveled once again over his form, but she still couldn't see what the issue was. She always wished that she had something more than just fire light and few measly lanterns to work with.

When Hiccup began to peel off the layers of his armor, Y/N quickly closed in to help him. Mentally, she did her best to will herself to not think of the implications these actions could have in another context. No, they were not two lovers helping each other out of their constraints – Hiccup was her patient, and he deserved her undivided attention just like anyone else.

When he finally had pulled his shirt up to reveal his torso – and the lean muscle that definitely had a crimson crawling up her cheeks now – she saw what was causing so much pain. He had two large bruises, marring his torso in an ugly black and blue splotch.

“How did this happen?” she asked as she reached out to feel the spots, checking for signs of broken ribs. Thankfully, she didn't feel any signs, but the yelp that Hiccup let out definitely indicated his ribs were bruised.

Once she finished her examination, she moved across the creaking wood floor over to her workbench, beginning to prepare a salve to lessen the pain as Hiccup answered.

“Got hit by the tail of a bone snatcher, unfortunately. We stumbled upon its nest by accident, and before I could try to explain that it was an accident, WHAM, straight to the torso. Thankfully, Astrid was there to help; otherwise, I may have also become part of the collection.” Hiccup let out another soft laugh at his own joke, but Y/N's spine stiffened at the mention of her name. Astrid. She had never disliked the girl for any tangible reason, other than the claim that she seemed to have over Hiccup's heart. He had confessed his feelings for her multiple times when they were children. But for some reason, now, even after Hiccup had become the most eligible bachelor on the Isle, they still weren't together. Y/N wasn't sure why, but it wasn't exactly her place to go asking questions. Thus, she just returned to her rhythm, grinding until the paste-like consistency she was looking for was achieved.

When she didn't answer, a silence overtook them. Y/N was used to it at this point. Despite the popularity Hiccup had gained, he was still quite awkward, sometimes lacking the right words to fill the situation.

It was only when she moved back over towards him and began to apply the salve that he finally made noise again. A whimper escaped his lips as her fingers trailed across the wound, applying a thick layer.

As soon as she was done, she pulled up a stool to his bedside and perched, eyes analyzing his form for any other signs of injury.

“Any other mortal wound you'd like to share with me?” A small, rare smile twitched at the edge of her lips – prompting Hiccup to return the expression.

“Not at the moment, but I'm sure I'll have some more in no time.”

Y/N snorted as she stood up, and began to collect his armor from the wooden table she had placed it on. She watched as he began to dress himself again, the firelight illuminating his figure as he pulled his shirt over his head.

“Just… try to be more careful Hiccup. Or, maybe, actually consider my offer.”

Hiccup stiffened at that, as if he was expecting the argument that was bound to ensue. As he finished pulling his armor on, he finally dared to look her in the eye.

The infirmary was still relatively small, and thus only a few feet separated them. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, the sort of posture that meant she was on the defensive.

Hiccup knew what she was going to push for again.

“I'm just saying,” her voice cut clear, with its typically icy slice, “that bringing me with you makes sense on multiple fronts. Having a healer at the Dragon's Edge would ensure that you don't have to ride so long in pain.” Hiccup still looked unconvinced, so she quickly added, “also, you know Gothi and I have been running low on supplies. I can use the Dragon's Edge as a jumping-off point to find more resources. I might even be able to find and research some new medicinal plants.”

Hiccup sighed, running another hand through his hair. At this point, it had to be a nervous tic of his. “I'll consider it. But it's dangerous and I–”

She quickly cut him off. “What? You're afraid I'll hurt myself? Let me remind you, Hiccup, that I completed the trial of flame just like the rest of you. I just decided I wanted to be a healer more. And don't you dare say that it's because I'm a girl, because we both know you let Astrid do whatever she wants.” Y/N couldn’t help the vitriol that tinged her voice.

The flabbergasted look on Hiccup's face might have been humorous, if she wasn't so angry at the moment.

“I–It's not that at all,” he sputtered, “I know you're strong Y/N… I just get worried–”

“Well don't.” She cut him off with a snap. “I can handle myself. Just let me know when you decide.” She turned away from him again, packaging up the leftover salve before handing it to him. “I would suggest reapplying that every 6 hours until the wound heals.” She began to clean her hands with a cloth that was attached to her apron, anger obviously painting the movements. “Come see me if you need more.”

Hiccup left silently with a nod, making it evident that words still escaped him.

“And if you ever decide you truly want me back in your life…”

Her softly whispered confession followed him out the door.

⋆｡°✩

The next day in the Great Hall, Y/N sat at her table.

Her table, which she was usually alone at in most instances, including now. The silence truly didn’t bother her, given that it just gave her more time to read.

Books were sometimes hard to come by on Berk, but thankfully the recent increase of trading had caused an influx on the island. Y/N often found herself bartering with traders, hoping to get her hands on any new pieces of medical literature she could find.

It was something she enjoyed immensely, but not many other vikings seemed to take a liking to. She could occasionally talk over some of findings with Fishlegs… But that was more so if they had to do with Dragon’s. While Y/N enjoyed knowing how to help dragon kind, for some reason she found herself drawn towards helping her human companions more.

She had helped herself to the majority of Gothi’s library at this point, so having access to new knowledge was always a special treat – one she thought was best served with lunch.

The hall was rowdy as ever, given Vikings were never a group to keep quiet. Thus, Y/N didn’t notice that someone had sat down in front of her until a hand waved between her nose and the book. It was it.

It was a hand she was ashamed to admit she’d be able to recognize anywhere. Long slim fingers, strong wrists with visible veins that appeared just enough to get her heart thrumming. It was Hiccup’s hand, alright. The only question was: why was he sitting at her table?

Y/N furrowed her brows and shut her book, looking up at him with confusion written across her face. “Is something wrong? Do you need more salve?” The expression he wore only served to confuse her more. His jaw was uncharacteristically tense for Hiccup, and he thrummed his other hand on the table, as if unsure about what he was going to say.

“I considered your request… About going to Dragon’s Edge.” Y/N’s eyebrows raised in surprise. After a couple of years of begging, she hadn’t expected him to finally relent after the tense conversation that they had had last night. If anything, she half expected his next words to be no, and the decision was final.

Hiccup swallowed nervously before spitting the words out. “You can go, but so long as you agree to one condition.” Y/N found herself nodding vigorously, in a way that was much too enthusiastic for the cool facade she often maintained. “You need to stay with me the entire time.” Hiccup only met her eyes then, in a look much too timid for the future chief of Berk – as if he was afraid that she would say no.

Instead, Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise before she blurted out, “That works for me but… why?” While she was worried that her question didn’t make sense, Hiccup seemed to catch on right away, his green eyes locked on hers.

“I just want to make sure you stay safe.”

[zepskies]

UNRAVEL ME - Part 1

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Afro-Latina!Reader

Summary: In the wake of Vought Tower finally falling, you find yourself crossing paths with Soldier Boy. Rogue, weakened, dangerous, and hunted, he needs a place to hide. You’re not about to offer up your own home to shelter a supe wanted by Homelander and the CIA…but he’s also not going to let you refuse.

AN: Finallyyyyy lol. I know I've been talking about this series for months now, but it was genuinely challenging for me to write this prequel for Lost in Translation (which was requested by various Tumblr friends and anons who wanted to see Soldier Boy matched with a woman of color). I think maybe it's because this is now my third Soldier Boy series, and getting this guy to show character growth is hard to do three different times. 🤣 But let's see how it goes with another post-season 3 misadventure! 💜💙 This series also fulfills a hilarious prompt for @jacklesversebingo!

Song Inspo: “Unravel Me” by Sabrina Claudio

JVB Prompt: Accidental Old Person Acquisition

Word Count: 6K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, threats, SB being his typical asshole self, obnoxious flirting, racial elements, Ben drinks Cuban coffee, among other ethnic mini adventures in the future. The reader is a mixed-race Afro-Latina with textured hair. 

💜 Series Masterlist

💙 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 1: Hot Tamale

Vought Tower is falling.

Or at least, that’s what it feels like: the ground trembling like a Magnitude 7 earthquake, overhead lights flickering, a line of rubble falling on your head as you finally manage to squeeze out of the stairwell and into the main floor's reception area. You take in a large gulp of air, breathing past the oppressive clog of warm bodies, sweat, fear, and a hint of piss.

The walls quake along with the tile floor; you spill onto it hard, hitting your knees, though you curl your fingers fast when a woman from Legal almost steps on them in her dagger heels. Fuck!

Fear and adrenaline compel you to scramble onto your feet and claw your way through the gift shop. Maybe you'll be able to cut through the aisles of overpriced Starlight plushies and Special Edition Black Noir Funko Pops to get to one of the east exits.

It's Vought’s very own 9/11. You were told to evacuate over the intercom, and now you're about to find out why.

It’s taken over an hour to try and escape. You’re still trapped in the building, obviously, caught up in the lobby. It's backed up by the clusterfuck of people squeezing themselves through the narrow exit doorways to the garage, like rats clamoring over one another to avoid extermination. Somehow they've broken through the glass to override the security protocols that had first tried to lock you all in.

Just when you make it past the display of red, white, and blue Homelander mugs, a blinding light catches your eye through the tall windows and the growing darkness of the evening. The light falls and falls, what looks like a tangled ball of red and orange and green.

It explodes into the ground, shaking the very foundations of New York City. You cling to the display table and manage to dive underneath it.

You hide there until the shaking stops.

Tears sting in your eyes as the unsteady screams of your coworkers ring out in the lobby, even though you don’t recognize most of them. You suddenly remember your boss; you lost sight of him on the way down the first five flights of stairs. You morbidly wonder if he was one of the ones who got trampled along the way, or blown off the side of the building in the crash.

When the outside world is quiet again, you crawl out from underneath the table. Everyone who still can is slowly getting to their feet, picking themselves up, some of them helping the people closest to them. You don’t know what the hell is happening, but you have a strong feeling Homelander is involved. He’s been playing at CEO for weeks, now that Stan Edgar has been deposed.

Instead of leaving out the front, you continue your plan of going through one of the east side exits. There’s a narrow alley that leads to the garage farther down. You step out into the evening light, made darker in the alley behind what’s left of the Tower. You know the metal door to the garage isn’t too far away, but before you can get to it, you see a man stumbling right toward you.

It's too dark to see him clearly, and even though you back up a couple of steps, the green of his uniform captures your attention.

“Oh my God,” you breathe. “Soldier Boy?”

He glances up at you through furrowed brows. The state of him, ragged and soot-stained, his labored breaths, and the way he’s leaning against the wall—it all tells you that he’s been through some major shit.

“Uh, a-are you okay?” you ask shakily, clutching your messenger bag.

“I’m fine,” he says, though his eyes bore into yours with an intensity that makes your spine prickle with unease.

In record time, your brain collects what little you know about the ancient relic of a supe that’s mere steps away from invading your personal space. Homelander has been calling him a rogue in the press, but even though your role at Vought barely makes you a blip on anyone’s radar, you know enough about what really holds the company together…which means you know better than to believe even one iota of what that star-spangled prick told the public. 

Your gaze flits over Soldier Boy, now with some concern despite your wariness.

“Are you hurt?” you ask.

“I said I’m fucking fine. Do I look fucking hurt?” he growls tiredly. When he tries to stand a bit straighter, he almost stumbles against the wall.

Part of you twinges with sympathy, but still, your lips purse at his attitude.

“Dude, you don’t want me to tell you what you look like,” you say.

His eyebrow twitches. He opens his mouth to retort, but that’s when a man’s voice can be heard nearby. You turn your head at the sound.

While you’re distracted, Soldier Boy grabs you with more strength than you anticipated and drags you along with him against the wall. You gasp, but he holds a dirty half-gloved hand over your mouth.

Voices begin to echo from down the other end of the alley, closer to the main road. The supe has already turned his head in that direction, but your gaze flicks there next, your eyes wide and fearful.

“I don’t need a fuckin’ doctor,” says a man. His accent is thick as hell, like a Mary Poppins chimney sweep. Cockney? He’s tall, wearing a long black coat to match his black hair. He’s also arguing with a black man and a skinny white guy. A couple of ambulances zoom by, for a moment overtaking their voices and casting their bodies in the red glow of the siren alarms.

“Considering you coughed up blood on my fucking shoes, I’m dumping you off at the nearest hospital within a mile, and then you lose my number for good. Got that, motherfucker?” says the black man. He’s just as intimidating as the other guy, if not more so, considering the way the Brit's leaning against the wall like he might keel over right there.

The skinny guy breaks the tension between them. “Look, we should go. Annie’s got Maeve, and Homelander could be circling the sky looking for us right now.”

Queen Maeve? What happened to her? She was supposed to be in rehab. Who's Annie? Oh shit. Annie January. Starlight broke Maeve out? No. I should've known that rehab story was bullshit too. Who fucking knows what actually happened there. More importantly, what's happening here?!

Your thoughts tumble into one another while your heartbeat pounds in your ears. Your breathing comes out shallower through your nose, considering the big meaty hand covering your mouth.

If Homelander's looking for these guys, then none of this little scene is good. It makes you a fucking witness. Shit...

Soldier Boy tightens his hold on your arm. Slow and quiet, he opens the door to the parking garage with his elbow, since his other hand is still locked over your mouth. He guides you in. 

“Don’t scream, or I’ll start squeezing,” he warns. At least he releases his hand from your mouth, instead, grabbing the back of your neck. “Where’s your car?” 

“Wait, come on,” you plead, your voice shaking. “Whatever you did, I don’t want to know, but I didn’t sign up to be your getaway driver.” 

Ben’s grip tightens a fraction. “All I need is a fucking ride. That isn’t too much to ask, now is it, sweetheart?”

“Depends on where you’re trying to go,” you say. But you decide that not getting snapped in half is good enough reason to lead him to your car. You rarely have cause to drive it, so it mostly just stays parked here in the garage. For once, you’re grateful that you shell out a portion of your monthly paycheck to reserve this space. 

You fish your keys out of your car and unlock the door with shaky hands. Soldier Boy watches you press the button on the small key remote with furrowed brows, but he takes it from you after forcing you in the driver’s seat, so he can enter the car on the passenger side.

The second your tiny blue Kia rumbles pitifully to life, your music blares loud enough to feel the bass in the floor. Soldier Boy smacks the radio buttons roughly until it stops.

You give him a thin smile. 

“Not a fan of Bad Bunny?” you ask.

Irritated, he grabs a hold of the small plushie swinging from your rearview mirror. He yanks it off despite your protest, nearly breaking the mirror, and stares in gruff bewilderment at the white fluffy heart. It has a Dominican flag embroidered on the front and a Cuban flag on the back—custom made on Etsy.

The supe raises a brow, but he dismissively tosses it somewhere in the back seat. When you look at his grumpy face, he just reminds you of Oscar the Grouch. He reaches down and shifts the seat back, but he barely has any leg room for those thunder thighs and combat boots.

“Just fucking drive,” he says, his voice like sharp gravel.

Again, your annoyance sparks at his rudeness. Are all supes assholes, or is it just the ones you’re forced to interact with?

“Okay, but where the hell do you want me to take you?” you ask. “The subway? The airport? The Hudson River? What?”

He thinks about it, drumming his fingers against his leg. His uniform is a bit poppier than military green, yet more classic than Homelander’s with the stretch of that silver-plated eagle across the chest. 

“Too many eyes at the airport. I need to lie low for a while before I get outta dodge,” Soldier Boy admits. Then he sits back in your passenger seat, adjusting the recline until his broad frame is below the view of the window. You think it’s both for his own comfort and so he’s less likely to be seen. 

“Your place should be all right,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your mouth falls open in shock. “Are you for real?” 

He just gives you a stern look. He’s not fucking kidding.

“Look, you may be a superhero and all, but I don’t fucking know you! And…” Just then, clarity strikes you as you remember what’s been going on in the news for the past week. “Didn’t, uh, didn’t you…blow up a building in Midtown?”

He doesn’t seem to want to answer at first, leveling you with that stoic, bearded face. His gaze eventually drifts away from yours. 

“That was an accident.” 

Your breath gets caught in your throat. “That’s a pretty big accident.”

Again, Soldier Boy doesn’t answer you. You try to focus on the road, but it’s pretty impossible when you have a supe that’s supposedly risen from the dead in your passenger seat, who also exploded 19 people on accident, who tried and failed to kill Homelander.

Speaking of, Homelander himself is looking for this guy…which means you’re helping a fugitive escape. What’s worse, he wants to crash on your goddamn couch.

One of your hands leaves the steering wheel to cover your mouth. You press your hand there until the mix-match of gold and silver rings start to bite into the sensitive flesh of your lower lip. 

“Coño su madre,” you mutter the curse under your breath. I’m so fucking screwed.  

You unlock the door to your third-floor apartment with a heavy sigh. As usual, it gets stuck the first time you try to swing it open. You throw a little more strength in your arm the second time, and the door finally budges. 

You flick the lights on inside and unveil the shoebox that is your home. It’s barely a one-bedroom. The open kitchen lies to the right with a small two-seater table nestled against the wall, while the “living room” lies to the left. There you managed to fit a faded violet loveseat couch from your college days, a bookshelf from Goodwill, and your TV perched on what’s supposed to be a coffee table.

Straight ahead is a narrow hall that leads to your bedroom door on the right side and the one and only bathroom on the other. 

Well, this is gonna be fun. Slumber party with America’s Most Wanted, you think, with no small amount of Jesus fucking Christ weighing your steps.

Soldier Boy’s broad shoulders barely clear the open doorway. He shuts and locks the door behind him and takes stock of your apartment with a slow turn of his head. He doesn’t seem impressed, except for the paintings, funky ‘60s style shelves, and other canvases decorating the walls.

“You some kind of artist?” he asks, giving a cursory glance to each one.

“Uh, yeah, kinda,” you nod. “But most of these aren’t mine.”

On every wall, there’s a cluster of art, from canvases to pottery, glass, burnished clay, and brass. There are replicas of paintings by Salvador Dalí and Frida Kahlo, Picasso and Basquiat, Monet and Amelia Peláez, even a sculpture of a woman that you tried to replicate from Ana Mendieta. It’s meant to represent the suffering of women. Hell if today doesn’t qualify.

You toss your messenger bag onto the couch and throw up your arms at your sides.

“Well, since the police, Homelander, and probably the rest of the government are looking for you, you should do the whole ‘get outta dodge’ thing in the morning,” you say. You clasp your hands together in the facsimile of a prayer and politeness all in one. “But if you really wanna spend a night on my couch, then that’s okay.”

We’ll get through this. Just one night of insanity and then this’ll all be over. 

“That bed looks big enough for two,” the supe says. He nods at your open bedroom door and smiles suggestively, his gaze roaming over your form.

You get that shiver down your spine again, even as you blush. You take a pointed step away from him.

“Uh, how about fucking no,” you snap. “That door will be locked, and I have a taser that I’m not afraid to use on any tender bits.”

He raises a brow at you, but he snorts. He steps toward you, his gait slow and arrogant. You cross your arms while he closes the distance, his hair falling forward across his forehead as he stares down at you with a hint of a sneer. His chin and forehead are still stained with grime, just as his red gloves are scuffed and half burnt from whatever happened in that blast.

Your heart trips up faster. A tremble of fear runs through you, but you refuse to move.

“You do realize that that’s tantamount to flicking me with a rubber band,” he says. His half-lidded gaze runs over you with a note of interest. The corner of his mouth raises in a smirk. “Besides, whatever we might get up to, I can guarantee you’ll enjoy it. Just ask Loni Anderson. Farrah Fawcett. Hell, Molly Ringwald. Love me a fuckin’ redhead once in a while.”

You give him a look that could (proverbially) crumble Empire State.

“Don’t fucking bet on it,” you say.

Yes, your voice is quiet. Yes, you have to work past a swallow. But you don’t ever drop your gaze. You meet him head-on with every bit of stubborn fire you have left inside you.

“If you touch me, I’ll scream," you say, a wary trembling in your chest. "Even if you kill me, they’ll find you that much quicker.”

His smirk falls away. His gaze roams over you again, this time in a different way. Maybe he sees the way your entire body is tense, locked up tight, prepared to recoil and scream if he tries to grab at you. He relents.

“Christ, relax. It’s your fucking loss anyway, sweetheart.” His eyes roll dismissively as he turns away from you. “I need a shower.”

He strides down the hall in search of it. You move quickly to get ahead of him. The last thing you need is him rifling through your bedroom drawers.

“Ah, wait! I’ll get you a towel,” you say. It irritates you to have to treat him like a “guest,” but you don’t know what else to do. The man can literally snap your neck. Even for that big ass bluff you just pulled, you really, really don’t want to die.

You could try calling the police while he’s in the shower, but you don’t know what he’ll do if he finds out. And who’s gonna be quicker on the draw—the human police force, or the literal super soldier?

No, it’ll be more painless to just wait this guy out and see him off in the morning. For now, he doesn’t seem inclined to hurt you. He even took a rejection of you “sleeping” with him pretty well, for a supe. They tend to think they're God’s gifts to humanity. Working at Vought, you’ve been propositioned more than enough times. Though God forbid you say no for a ride on their magical dick. You’d rather not jump on that potential steel trap. You know a guy in Marketing who had his happy place literally frozen and chipped off.

After finding a fresh towel for Soldier Boy, he shuts himself in the lone bathroom across from your room. Soon, the old pipes roar to life. You retreat into your room for a long, slow breath. It’s less steadying than you’d hoped.

You also shut and lock the bedroom door behind you, for whatever good that might do you. 

Not much, you realize warily. 

You sink your fingers into your hair and blow out a sigh of frustration. What even is my fucking life right now?

Tugging on the knotted curls, you loosen them from the bun you wrapped tightly this morning. For all Vought claimed to care about diversity, your boss once commented on your “wild” hair shedding on the tile floor. 

Taking in a few deep, yoga-style breaths before you lose your shit, you dig into the recesses of your closet and dresser drawers. Your most recent ex had left at least one shirt, maybe a pair of boxers. Soldier Boy will have to make do with your favorite sweatpants. They’re stretched out enough from years of wear and washes that they’ll probably fit him. 

Juuuuust great. You're really contemplating this asshole wearing your clothes.

By the time you gather your bearings, shove your soul back into your body and leave your room, Soldier Boy is exiting the bathroom, the fluffy purple towel slung low around his hips. 

“Jesus!” You jolt and instinctively step back. There’s nowhere far to go in the hallway, so your ass ends up bumping against the hollow wall. 

Once again, he wears a smug sort of smile as he stares down at you in amusement. 

“Like what you see, huh, baby doll?”

“Put your tits away, please,” you snap, handing him the bundle of clothing while trying not to look at him directly. You can’t help glancing at his muscular frame out of the corner of your eye. 

Good lord, it’s like he was chiseled from marble. Make that marble with a golden tan, and a patch of hair across his chest that you could run your nails through.

His lips curve with a cockier smile. You quickly look away.

Great. He caught you ogling for one tiny second. And with that moment of human weakness, all that strong talk you accomplished earlier had probably just withered away into nothing. Is he going to take that as an invitation to slide into bed with you tonight while you’re trying to sleep?

Yeeeah. Who the hell are you kidding? You’re going to tape your own eyes open if you have to, but you’re not dropping your guard around this guy. He doesn’t seem to actually want to hurt you. He wants to use you for convenience’s sake. But it doesn’t change the fact that he’s dangerous, hunted, arrogant as fuck, and weirdly horny for a guy who just threw himself off a building.

Subtly clearing your throat, you move past him to the living room. There you set up the couch for him to sleep on. He ventures back into the bathroom to get dressed, which gives you a small break. You’re mentally counting the seconds. 

He comes back somewhat fully dressed. The shirt is a bit small for him, as are the boxer shorts. 

“Christ, who did this belong to, a fucking eunuch?” Soldier Boy asks. “Tell me you’ve got a brother. Because if this was your boyfriend’s, then he wasn’t doing shit for you, sweetheart.”

You begin to blush on reflex, shooting him a steely glare. Those clothes did belong to your ex, but that’s none of his damn business. 

“As promised, here’s the couch,” you gesture to the neatly fitted sheets, blankets, and even a fluffy(ish) pillow you so generously laid out for him. “Again, I will be locking my bedroom door, and if you make even a step in that direction, prepare to get tased in the dick. It’s already set on the max setting.”

Soldier Boy smirks. You fail to see how what you’ve said is in any way funny. You’re definitely not laughing, but you do blink in surprise when he takes your hand and brings the back of it to his lips for a kiss. His beard briefly rasps against your skin. He looks down at you, meeting your eyes with his own. The green in them makes you falter. 

“Believe it or not, I appreciate the help,” he says, turning on the charm. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Your lips purse. Does he really think hitting you with that Brad Pitt tone of voice is going to work on you? He fucking kidnapped you, and not to mention, is currently holding you on house arrest.

“Oh, now you want to know my name? After conning me into being your Uber driver and your Airbnb in one?” You try to slip your hand out of his, but his grip tightens. He’s still smiling, amused by your struggle. 

“Come on, what’s your name?” he cajoles.

You sigh. Despite your better judgment, you give it to him begrudgingly.

"What's yours?" you ask, mostly drenched in sarcasm. Though a small part of you is...curious.

He stares back at you for a moment, something almost like surprise flicking through his gaze. His lips twitch at the corners, wry and humorless.

"Ben," he says, finally letting go of your hand.

“Okay, cool. So nice to meet you, uh, Ben," you reply, gesturing at his overall form. You still can't believe he's standing here like an iron lamppost in your living room. Are you about to step into the portal to Narnia now and continue this fever dream, or fall straight down to hell?

"All right, mind if I go now?" you say, crossing your arms as the snark escapes its cage. "I’ve had a bitch of a day and I need my beauty sleep."

Ben raises a brow.

Shit. You bite your lip.

Okay, you know you’re being a bit too hostile to a man who can all too easily snap you in half, but he’s got this way of pushing every single one of your buttons at once. Not in a good way. In the wish I could fucking scratch your eyes out kind of a way.

You're frankly lucky that Soldier Boy just seems amused by your attitude. Silly woman with her silly fits of belligerence.

His green-eyed gaze slides from the curve of your jean-clad thighs to your hips, over your breasts concealed by a red blouse, and finally up to your chin, your lips, your eyes. You can’t help the way your skin tingles at his scrutiny, even as you frown.

“From where I’m standing, sleep isn’t what you need,” he says. He somehow manages to sound both flattering and suggestive. 

Your face flares hotter, and your lips press tightly together.

“Sweet dreams, Soldier Boy,” you say, somewhat sarcastically as you head back to your room. You intend to grab your pajamas and take them with you into the bathroom. You’re going to have to bring your taser and lock yourself in there for a shower, even with the obvious safety hazard. What-fucking-ever at this point, as long as it keeps out Hungry Like the Wolf out there. But his reply makes you pause. 

He snorts. “Good night, sweetheart.” 

You turn to look at him over your shoulder. He spares you one final look, less arrogant and more taciturn, before he turns away and lowers himself down onto the couch.

You sigh, but you can’t help peeking around the corner at the supe sitting in your living room. His broad frame takes up the entire center of the little couch. You’re not all that sure he’s going to be comfortable there, since his long legs are definitely not going to fit across the loveseat, but he’s going to have to deal with it until tomorrow. 

You watch him rest his elbows above his knees and blow out a long, tired breath. He raises a hand to rub between his furrowed brows. For a long beat, he just stares vacantly at the floor between his knees. 

Then he leans back against the couch, crosses his arms, and closes his eyes. He seems…lost. Exhausted.

You wonder if he has anyone in his life worth getting back to. Anyone at all.

Shaking your head, you quietly make your way back to your room.

Ben finds himself watching you the next morning. He sits at the two-seater table while you putter about in the kitchen.

You’re cute, he has to admit, all sleepy and barely awake as you slide around in your fuzzy red slippers. A large Knicks shirt hangs off your body, exposing one smooth shoulder. Your sweatpants are overlarge as well, which only makes him think about the generous curves you’ve got hiding underneath. He took notice yesterday. You had a lot to work with under that little blouse, jeans, and chunky heels.   

Yesterday you were put together, even though you’d clearly had a rough time escaping the Tower. Today you've slunk out of your room with baggy pajamas, your hair a mess of curls running down your back. 

“Want a cafecito?” you ask.

Ben raises a brow. “If you mean coffee, then that’d be good. Something hot to eat would be even better.”

“First of all, this isn’t a bed and breakfast,” you say, turning to him with an edge to your voice. “Look, I’m exhausted. There’s a bakery down the street. I can pick something up.” 

As a matter of fact, your favorite Colombian bakery is right around the corner. You start thinking about all the pastries you’re going to treat yourself with, even though it does make you miss the Cuban bakeries back home. You would absolutely kill for a pastelito with guava and cheese right now. 

Instead of cold-blooded murder, you set the tiny espresso cup of coffee in front of Ben. His face shifts to confusion and bewilderment. 

“I asked for a cup of coffee, black, not this baby doll tea set cup of coffee,” he says. 

“It’s a Cuban espresso,” you inform him. “And believe me, you don’t want it any bigger than that.”

Unless he just wants to spend the rest of the day on the toilet. Maybe he needs to clean out his system. 

“Just try it,” you encourage. “I think you’ll like it.” 

He eyes you with skepticism, but he takes a sip.

It’s sweet, but the rich, robust taste hits him between the eyes. His brows raise high.

“Okay,” he says with a growing smile. “I see what you mean.”

“See? Now you don’t gotta doubt me again,” you nod. He watches you pour one for yourself, stirring in a frankly alarming spoonful of sugar. 

“Where are you from, exactly?” he asks. 

You glance over at him, taking issue with the way he asks the question. 

“New York,” you respond tartly. You're really from Miami, but he doesn't need to know that.

He rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. What are you, Mexican or something?”

You raise a brow, your lips pursing when he begins to smirk.  

“I do like me a juicy taco,” he says. 

His slutty grin is too much for you. Your hand tightens around your coffee cup.

“Okay, a lot to unpack there, Romeo, but no. Not all of us are Mexican!” 

“All right. Calm down, Chiquita. You should take it as a fucking compliment,” he says. He raises a brow at you. “You’re a real spicy one, aren’t you?”

You gape incredulously. “Excuse me?” 

Chiquita?! What the hell is that? Is he saying you look like a goddamn banana, or does he actually know a few words in Spanish? Is he actually calling you a little girl? And for the cherry on top, did he really just call you spicy?!

Either way, he’s about to get slapped across his pig-man mouth. 

“I’ve gotten with a few Latinas in my time,” he says as he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as his thighs splay out a little wider in the sweatpants you let him borrow. “Always with that fuckin’ feisty little temper. But you know what, I got no problem with a hot tamale.” 

“Oooh.” The sound is pure and unadulterated FED UP. You down your espresso like a shot. You’re already contemplating another dose, because you don’t have the energy for this.

But you’re also reminded then, that this man came to fame in the 1940s. He was born, what, before the damn Dust Bowl and the Great Depression? He’s literally an ancient relic, a walking black and white billboard of tóxico, and he acts like one too. 

You fairly slam your ceramic cup on the dining table as you slide into the seat across from him. 

“Just so we don’t have any more conversations like this in the future, here it goes,” you say with a sharp sigh. “My mom is Cuban. My dad is black and Dominican. I’m as mixed as it gets, but I’m in no way spicy. If you’ve got me mad fucking tight right now, it’s because you clearly have no idea what decade you’re in.”

Your insult strikes a nerve, making his eyebrow twitch. Soon, however, his lips curve. 

“I’ve got you tight, huh?” he says, cocking his head. A lock of his hair falls roguishly across his brow. “Gotta say, wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had that effect on a woman.” 

You freeze, another hot blush burning in your cheeks. You can feel it making its way down your neck. “That’s…that’s not what you think it means.”

His lazy, arrogant, salacious smirk really makes you want to slap him, but you have a feeling that it’ll hurt you way more than it would hurt him. You get up from the table and ignore the loud scrape of the chair on tile.

“You know what? Forget it! I’m hungry. Don’t follow me.”

You go back to your room and lock the door behind you. You come back out a few minutes later dressed in what he thinks is your way of teasing him—in some ass-hugging jeans and a shirt that clings to your form. Ben watches you cross the room, smiling at the way you give him some narrowed side-eye while twisting your hair up into a wild ponytail. It’s a simple thing women do that’s always attracted him for some reason.

He also likes the shade of red you painted on your lips. 

“You are a feisty little thing,” he remarks, sipping his espresso. “Can’t say I mind.”

“Good. Stay here,” you hotly retort. Or better yet, get the FUCK out of my apartment.

You don’t say that last bit out loud, but he can read it loud and clear in your eyes, filled with that Latina fire. He remembers it all too well.

He grabs your wrist before you slip by him though. He hears the way your breath hitches, your gaze snapping down to meet his. You manage to hide most of your fear.

Maybe it makes some part of him twinge, deep down. You don’t know that he mostly finds you amusing. That he’d rather not hurt you, considering you don’t pose even one fraction of a threat to him. That like it or not, he needs to stay in your rathole apartment until he can figure out how to get out of the city unseen, let alone out of the country.

“You think I’m fucking stupid?” he asks.

You say nothing, but the look on your face tells him what you want to say. His eyes narrow.

“You’re not leaving,” he says.

“Well, I’m not cooking,” you counter. “There’s nothing to cook—”

“Order a damn delivery.”

“You know how expensive that is? Between delivery fee and tipping nowadays, Doordash charges a whole other meal on top of the meal! UberEats isn’t much better. Plus, none of the good places around here deliver like that. Not for breakfast at least. And anyway, I really need to go grocery shopping. What do you expect me to do, open a can of tuna and a jar of olives for breakfast?”

Ben’s not going to pretend he knows what the fuck you’re talking about, but his patience is running out.

“All right, enough. Give me your uh, your phone,” he demands. His tone gains an edge, a warning.

You expel an irritated huff, but you reach into your purse and all but slam it on the kitchen table. He takes it and examines it with some curiosity, but mostly, he retains his stoicism.

“I know for a fact you can get basically whatever you want on this fucking thing within half an hour,” he says. “Do what you need to do to get some grub over here, but you’re not leaving this fucking apartment until I say so."

He raises his brows and meets your eyes in a not so subtle warning.

"Just so you know, I've got a sharper ear than you think," he adds. "If you get stupid and try making a call for help, it's gonna be the last thing you fucking do. You understand me?”

Your teeth grind together, but ultimately, your sense of self-preservation reminds you not to poke the bear anymore. You force your anger and fear to dim to embers beneath your skin, and you nod in agreement. You then lower your gaze, waiting for him to let you go.

When he does, you slip away from him as soon as possible, taking your phone as you go.

For what it’s worth, you lock the bedroom door behind you. 

AN: Aaaand we're off! lol Did you expect him to basically force her into house arrest? 😅 We're gonna have some fun on this one, but there's also going to be a fair bit of action and slow-burn moments.~

Next Time:

You suddenly stand from the table, your chair scraping across the floor. You can tell the sound irritates his sharp ear as he glances up at you with a frown.

“You are a goddamn fugitive. You get that right?” you say, regarding him with an incredulous tilt of your head. “Now you’ve hooked me into this. I could get into serious shit because of you, and you don’t even seem to care! What…what kind of fucking superhero are you supposed to be?”

At the same time, you don’t know why this surprises you. Most of the supes you’ve met couldn't care less about the average person. The entire purpose of Vought’s Legal Department springs to mind.

Still, you thought America’s first supe ever—the one who supposedly fought in WWII, pounded Nazis up the ass, and represented the ideals this country was supposed to be founded on—might actually give a shit. Yet again, it stings to be proven wrong.

Ben’s expression had been verging on apathy, but now, he’s irritated and angry. He pushes back from the table and stands up to his full height. Even wearing your ex’s plain gray crew shirt and some threadbare sweatpants, the man’s frame is intimidating. He makes slow steps closer until he’s looming over you.

⋆˙⟡ Keep Reading: Part 2

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[ominis-g]

You have to move out of your dorm and Henry let's you stay in his guest room for the time being. After a few nights your bed stays empty because you found an even better place to sleep ...

This was a very good prompt. I plan to make a second part that is more... everything, but I feel like this is a good stopping point for the first part.

Notes: Narrator is a female, and it is implied to be before all the events of Richard's arrival. First person POV because it fits the vibes, but I can always change it. No use of narrator's name.

Summary: After some circumstances has Henry offer you his guest room for the interim, there is a snow storm incoming. No warnings, just a lot of fluff for this part.

Word count: 5 542

The main issue that I had with this place was not the frigid winters or the aloofness of some of its residents, but rather that it never seemed to change. The seasons would merge into each other so slowly that it was hard to pinpoint down precisely where and when they shifted, but I would be adjusting my wardrobe and habits along with the temperatures and until the winter break hit, it was the furthest thing from my mind. And upon return, what then? Heavy overcoats that cut off the view of everyone’s figures and forms and instead transformed the majority of the campus into some sort of shapeless blob until we went inside to the warmth. And then the cycle would begin again, slightly different schedules, different exams and essays, but it was the same.

And it was cold today, though the word hardly seemed sufficient. Vermont certainly had a way to cut through every piece of wool and cloth that I had layered on to stave off the biting wind. Classes were not set to begin for us for another couple of days, but here I was, shell-shocked after returning from home and its much warmer clime. My hands were still shaking as I poured myself a cup of coffee in the cafeteria, but there was not anyone around to notice. I went and sat by the window, despite its frost, because it was near enough to the radiator to offer some semblance of heat.

Hands wrapped around the heat, fingers tapping on the porcelain, I stared out of the window. I should have brought a book, or something to work on, but I had forgotten. It was still early, and the rest of the day laid before me. There was not much traffic, but there was enough people walking by to occupy my mind as I drank that cup, and then returned with a second. 

The tables were starting to fill, and so was the air with the sounds of the other students. No one greeted me, since I did not know any of them, and I did not care to. Surely my friends would be back today or the next, and we would spend the time out in the country or at the twins’ speaking all about our breaks and our adventures. Our communication had been through mostly calls when one of us had time, but for Henry, who preferred to write. My mother had found our correspondence for those two months endearing, but it was Henry. Most of his letters were filling me in on the entirety of the class’s misadventures, and the rest was complaining or contemplating something obscure.

I delayed returning to my dorm because I had that soft hope that I would see one of them go by the window, even Bunny, but there was no such luck this morn. I wrapped the scarf further and snugger around my neck and face to brave the chill once more. I made it to the stoop without incident, and was stomping the snow off of my boots when I heard a clamour from within. I stoop up on my tiptoes to see through the window, wondering if I should just make myself scarce, and just barely was able to get out of the way in time. Onto the ice, and slipping down into the snowy brush with sharp pains that made me hiss and grit my teeth, not aided by the slamming of the door. The wood wobbled violently on its hinges, and two large men were dragging out a third.

Their congruent yells were bouncing off of each other, but I was focused on disentangling myself from the brush and then wading awkwardly to the other side and back to the path to avoid all three. When I turned to return, I stopped in surprise. Bunny was there, looking disheveled and agitated and cursing at the retreating backs of his exilers.

“Bun?”

He looked over at me, then scoffed. “Did you see that–”

“What happened?”

I closed the space between us, quite a few paces, when I was sure that he was not about to lash out in his anger at me. 

“How was I supposed to know it was a girl’s dorm? She started screeching as soon as I turned the key and knob…” He trailed off, though his furied expression didn’t change. “Mixup in the office, or something.” His face only cleared when I began righting his coat, and he bent over obligingly to allow me to fix his hair, too. It was sticking up at odd angles from what was, no doubt, a very physical altercation. “Anyway, where am I supposed to go now?”

“Go back to the office, and tell them what happened,” I advised as he returned upright. “I am sure it was only a clerical error; just explain it coherently.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “You’re the most sensible of us, y’know?”

Hardly. 

I just smiled at him and brushed snow off of his shoulders. He gave me a cheeky wink and turned to walk towards the residential office. I watched him for a moment to be sure he was really going, considering following, before deciding against it and just returning to my room.

—----------------------------------------------

I spent the rest of the morning unpacking, since I had done so little the night before. I had gotten in late, and was simply thankful that someone had been in the office to give me back the key to my room. I had emptied it, of course, and now I was arranging my books on the shelves for something to occupy me. I was bent over my trunk for another armful when there was a knock on the door. Heavy-handed, not polite. I had a sinking feeling it was Bunny.

I answered it anyway. He pushed his way in past me, dragging a suitcase along with him. I frowned at this, but closed the door so no one else could see. “Did it not go well–”

“Hell no,” he complained. He dropped the suitcase heavily on the floor and began pacing through the small space, barely avoiding where I was still unpacking. I returned to the books, waiting for more. “They’re trying to sort it all out, all the other rooms are filled–”

“Have you tried Henry?”

He shook his head. “No answer, and his car’s not in the drive. When was he supposed to be back?”

“Last time he wrote, he said it would be about the same time as me, and I got back last night. Maybe he will come today. Francis? The twins?”

“Boston.” He sat heavily on my bed, and just watched me work for a few moments. “But you’ll not kick me out into the cold, right? I can stay here?”

“You know that I am not supposed to…” I trailed off, glancing over at him, and he really looked in that moment like a big, blond puppy. “You just have to be careful. I am sure one night breaking the coed rule will not hurt, and tomorrow everything will be fixed.” He grinned immediately. “But you sleep on the floor.”

The smile faltered, but then he shrugged. He laid down in my bed, boots hanging off the edge, and continued to watch me unpack. “I thought you’re neater.”

“I just started working.” 

Bunny found gum from the depths of his pockets and began chewing loudly. I tried to ignore him as I finished the books, and the silence otherwise was not even peaceful. My irritation finally got the best of me after arranging my desk, and decided I needed a break. 

I headed downstairs for the phone. I rang Henry first, and immediately. My fingers tapped impatiently on the wall as I listened to the rings, glancing up the stairs to be sure that Bunny was not about to catch me trying so desperately to be rid of him.

Finally, he answered. “Hello?”

“It’s me. When did you get back?”

“I haven’t even unpacked. I heard the phone from the door.” Blissful, perfect timing. “You can come by.”

“I have a different issue,” I answered quietly, glancing up at the stairs again. “Bunny.”

He lit a cigarette, the match’s sound distinctive even over the gravelly phone. “What did he do now?”

“There was some sort of mixup, and his dorm is nonexistent. He is currently squatting in mine.”

“I can’t have him here again.” I let out a sigh, hand from the wall to my forehead, eyes closing in abject horror at the prospect of spending any sort of time alone with Bunny. “What did the office say?”

“They are working on it, but…”

I did not need to continue. Henry caught it all and finished the thought. “I have the guest room. Grab some things, and you can stay there until it’s sorted.”

“Should I tell him?”

“Just say you’re staying elsewhere, to allow him privacy. I will see you in a few.”

We hung up, and I began the walk up to my room again with a sense of dread. It was not like Bunny was going to believe that. Maybe I could say I was going to opt for the hotel, so we would not get in trouble and get us both kicked out. He would believe that.

Bunny tried in a light way to offer to go to a hotel instead, but there was not any real heart behind it. I insisted that he not worry, and he just thanked me with a smile and got more comfortable on my bed. My clothes were still securely in their suitcase, maybe a little rummaged through that I tried to ignore, and placed on top a few books for classwork, and some supplies from my desk. I left Bunny the key, and he promised not to leave it unlocked and let me get burgled. It was something, at least.

The suitcase was heavy, but nothing I could not handle. Why were Classics books so massive? I huffed my way quickly down the stairs, eager to get through the door and away before Bunny could come up with some reason why I should stay in that tiny room with him.

Henry, bless him, was waiting. He was lounged against his car, smoking, still in his travelling clothes, but when he saw me he opened the trunk. I heaved the suitcase in, closed the trunk, and joined him in the warmth of the car. He offered me one of his Lucky Strikes, which I took and lit as he drove off. I recounted the entire morning’s events with our windows rolled down just enough to let out the smoke but not the heat, and though he glanced at me, he did not comment until I was finished.

“I know why he lives in the dorms, but why do you?”

“Convenience, mainly. I suppose I could rent somewhere, but if it is too far I would have to get a car, and that is a lot of extra steps for something so easily solved by living in the dorms.”

“You mentioned in a letter that your mother would prefer if you lived off-campus.” I frowned at him and his damned memory, letting out a steady cloud of smoke. He glanced at me, then shook his head with the hint of a smile. “Something about not wanting you to get mixed up in the party culture.”

“What she does not know will not hurt her.”

“So, you told her about the class.”

“Nothing specific. I spoke of you all as friends, though your letters did spark more inquiries.” He made an amused noise. “What?”

“Did she read any of them?”

“She does not know Latin. Of course, that just made her think of the whole correspondence as romantic. I had to correct her more than once, but after about a dozen times, I gave up.”

He was quiet. He pulled into the drive and shut off the car without a word, and I watched him get out with the air of a statue. I took the last pull from the cigarette and stepped to the snow as well, throwing the butt into the pile that someone had shoveled the snow from the drive into. I retrieved my suitcase from the trunk opened by Henry, but he was already at the door and unlocking it. I hurried to follow, knocking the snow off my boots hastily.

I had offended him. I set down the suitcase, unwinding my scarf and watching him flip through the waiting mail without expression. I hung up my overcoat in the closet, right beside the mail table. “Did you correct her for any particular reason?” He finally wondered.

“My mother is quite the romantic, and insists that I should be as well. She would have been insufferable if I had done any less. I was quite glad to return, to get out of there, actually.”

“There is something of romance in communicating through letters,” he mused, but he was still looking through the mail, and I was facing the closet, trying to get my scarf to hang right with my coat. “I took joy in it. Did you?”

“Yes.” He did not say anything more, so I followed up: “It really was just for my sanity. I did not need her dragging out her wedding albums or something.”

“That’s understandable.”

Henry abandoned the mail back to the table, and was beside me to hang up his coat as well. I could not think of anything else to say, because what was there to say? He did the task in silence and then he showed me to the guest room. When he left to go unpack himself, I checked the folding bed to be sure it was locked so I could make it up with the provided bedclothes in peace. I unpacked my few books and supplies, but left the rest in the suitcase.

I brought my literature book, a notebook, and pen with me when I ventured outwards again. I sat down in the kitchen, and that is where Henry found me. He had changed, and he set down his own work on the opposite side of the table before going to make some tea. It was mainly for me, though he poured himself a cup as well, and for quite a while we worked in silence.

A thick gust of wind broke us from the concentration some time after noon, and I frowned at the sound of the impending storm. He did not look up from his work, though I was considering the way the snow was blowing from its resting places out the window. “You’re safe here. Steady as a rock, this house.” His fountain pen rose from paper, and he joined me in looking at the weather. “We could do with some supplies, though. Would you mind running out?”

I did not mind. I needed the break anyway. He dictated to me a short list of what to be sure to get at the grocery while I did up my snow boots again. It did not take me long, despite all of the other people there at the store, and on the way home I turned on the car’s radio to find the weather report. Well, no wonder the store had been packed and the shelves half-empty. There was a snowstorm set to hit the following day, just in time for everyone to come back to Hampden.

Henry helped me in putting all of the supplies away, mostly food for us to make, and I had made sure to pick up snacks for myself. He inspected the package of cookies instead of putting them on the shelf inside the cabinet, where he had placed my mixed nuts and sugary cereal. “You actually eat these?”

“They are good,” I assured him, working on rearranging the fridge to hold the milk. “And if the power goes out, I will not want to bake.”

“I forgot you bake,” was all he replied, and went back to the task. “I haven’t heard you talk about baking since last year.”

“Since we were speaking about bakeries in Rome–”

“And the differences in the various Greek cities,” he agreed, leaning against the counter to light a cigarette. He placed the pack back onto the table, so I sat down to light one myself. “If you had access to a kitchen, would you bake while here at Hampden? I’m sure Charles would appreciate it.”

“I suppose so.” I watched him check the cabinet where I had put in fresh flour, baking soda, and sugar. Everything he had had from before the break was stale, or empty. “Bread, or sweets?”

“Perhaps a bit of both; we could try to recreate some breads that the ancients would have enjoyed.”

“We would have to go outside Hampden to find the flours and grains.”

This did not seem to bother him. He closed the cabinet and returned to standing as he had been, pondering the end of his cigarette. “True. It would be a worthy endeavour.”

“Are you offering your kitchen for my use?”

He focused instead on taking in a long drag. He had let it out before he said simply, “yes.”

I smiled, but I do not think he noticed. He was too engrossed in how absolutely fascinating his dwindling cigarette was. “What do you want for supper?”

The unspoken tension in the air loosened as we made a very simple meal of roast chicken and vegetables together. Neither of us were skilled cooks, but once he had given his opinion and the bird was in the oven, Henry returned to his work. I pondered the empty counters, the time remaining, and then made us a small batch of biscuits to go along with it. His smile returned when he smelled them; I doubt he even clocked that I was making them before that, or maybe he did and had only been looking when my back was to him.

Henry lit a few candles as the sky darkened, but even as we ate he seemed utterly unbothered; I, on the other hand, was constantly glancing out the window to judge the intensity. It was not terrible to be trapped inside of this apartment with him, but being trapped anywhere did not appeal to me, and especially not the rigid frigidity of snow. Vermont.

We started drinking after supper, and he and I put away our work. We sat on his sofa instead, him swirling his glass of whiskey as he read aloud to me in his flowing Greek any passage that caught his fancy. I played solitaire on the table as I listened, the flicker of the candlelight and the rattle of the radiators offering a very welcome ambiance that almost allowed me to forget the blizzard’s noises outside. 

—-------------------------------------------------

Even with the liquor in me, the bed was still uncomfortable. I knew it was far more preferable than listening to Bunny’s snoring and bothering that was sure to have come had I stayed, but in the depths of sleeplessness, I could only think about how much it was uncomfortable. When we had said good night to each other, Henry had offered in a polite way to switch beds, but I had brushed off the gesture as not necessary. Besides, he needed the better bed.

I was up early, but of course Henry was awake before me. He had made coffee, so I poured myself a cup and went to find him. He was sitting in his room with the door open, working– as usual. I paused there at the threshold with the storm’s sounds drowning out everything else, watching him at his desk. His chair was slightly inclined to the door, like he had expected me to find him like that, but he was bent over some large book and did not even look up. I waited, sipping at my coffee, until he finished whatever he was reading before I knocked on the open door softly.

“Come in,” he invited, and so I did. I sat down in his armchair, and my presence seemed to remind him of his coffee cup. He sat back to nurse it, eyes moving over the splay of papers on his desk before his attention turned to me. “How did you sleep?”

“I think the storm kept me up.” He nodded knowingly. “What of you?”

“Well enough. It is good to be back in my own bed.” He paused with the cup raised up as if to take a drink. “Which I’m sure you’ll be soon enough.”

“I will make sure to wash the sheets.” He smiled, and did finally take a sip of his coffee. My fingers tapped at the porcelain softly. “What if they are unable to figure it out?”

“Then you’ll stay here. We can go get the rest of your things.” It was stated matter-of-factly, as if the answer had been obvious. 

“I do not wish to impose on you–”

“I don’t mind your company.”

I hid the unease behind my mug. I could not pinpoint it, not exactly– was it the fear of Bunny staying for the term in my dorm, or the fear of him not? Was it rather the prospect of seeing Henry daily– more than I already did– and him maybe growing irritated by my presence? “I have never had a roommate.”

“You only have to be more agreeable than Bunny, and I would like to think I am as well.”

“It was a very pleasant day yesterday.”

“It was; relaxing, even, which is just what we needed before classes begin.”

He was not relenting, or maybe I was just too inexperienced at skirting around difficult questions. “Are you not worried you will tire of me?”

His brow rose, and with his hair slightly mussed from the early hour, it threw his scar into sharp relief. “No.”

“At all?”

“This is all and entirely hypothetical, but if we follow the thought through: no, I do not see myself growing tired of you. Disagreements, annoyances, on both of our parts, but that’s normal. We both have schedules beyond the Greek class, and the only difference would be seeing each other like this, before we retire, and for more meals than usual. That’s hardly an unseemly amount of difference.” He rose to find his cigarettes, and I considered him, his words, and his craving for nicotine. We were both quiet until he was shaking out the match. “The only conflict I could see arising is if you took some beau.”

I blinked slowly at the words, because they were not what I was expecting, especially from him. We had never spoken about it before, whether by design or by happenstance, I was not sure. “Why?”

“Coming home at all hours– or not at all– and I would have to meet the poor fellow, wouldn’t I? Then there’d be another person in the house with us, and when our friends come over, it’s already too many.” He leaned over to knock off some ash in his over-filled ashtray. “Unless you already have one. Back home, perhaps?”

“No; I am sure it would make my mother very happy, but no. You and Julian and everyone have completely monopolised my time. Well– and classes, of course. Family obligations…” I trailed off, because he was smiling. “Well then– you, same question.”

Henry actually laughed, waving away the question along with smoke in the air. “No, no.” I sighed over my coffee. “Who would it be? Surely no one else but our group could keep my interest, or for long. I’m too busy to look elsewhere.” He said it casually, but my eyes narrowed at his wording. He was focused on his cigarette again, though still smiling. “Say, how did it look outside?”

“Are you changing the subject?”

He ignored me, carrying his mug and cigarette with him to go into the main room. I had to force my face to clear before I joined him, draining the last of my coffee. He was standing at the window, looking out at the snow that was moving blurringly fast, almost surreal with the orange glow from the street lamps. “It seems a perfect day for translations.”

“Until the heat goes out.”

“Good thing that you’re here, then.” I wrapped both of my hands around the mug, trying very hard not to think about it. “Why don’t you get your work and we can relax in my room? It’ll be more comfortable than the kitchen.”

I pulled on a sweater as well, and sat there in his armchair eating a bowl of cereal noisily. I wanted to see if he would admit that I would annoy him, but he genuinely did not seem to mind and was utterly focused on his work. I refilled both of our coffees when I was done, and he murmured a thanks as I replaced it back onto his desk. I had my book for a literature class to read, so I lounged in the chair with a candle on the table beside it to slog through.

The power went out some time around noon, which I only discovered when I went to get something for lunch. I made two sandwiches and poured myself a glass of milk, wondering how long the power would be out, and worried it would spoil. I set his plate down onto his desk, and he started as if from a trance. He sat back to rub at his eye under his glasses, and I retreated to my chair.

“Power is out.”

“Inevitable,” he returned, examining the sandwich briefly before taking a bite. He finished the whole thing without speaking; he had not eaten breakfast. “As long as the gas stays on, we should have heat.”

We returned to our silent work. I left and came back to his room a few times, to get different books, to get a notebook, but he did not comment. I stopped at the window each time, but the house besides his room was completely dark; I could no longer see the street lamps, or any semblance of life outside of his walls. 

Henry had found I had moved to the floor to spread out and take notes for an essay over his rug when he finally rose. He must have gotten up more than that, simply to relieve himself, but this time was different. His head tilted as he looked over my work. “Comfortable?”

“Your carpet makes a wonderful desk, as big as I need.”

“You’re more than welcome to get your own desk.” I turned over to my back, eyes up his form with a smile for him. “Hypothetically, of course.” It was a very good view. He was still dressed as Henry, but he wore a sweater as we had no where to be or anyone else to see today. His hands slid into the pockets of his trousers, perhaps to shift them so I could see nothing from that angle but for the fold of the cloth. 

“Then how would we work together?”

“True,” he conceded, but he still looked thoughtful. His head turned, considering his desk, and I got a new angle for his features, the hair shadowing his eye, everything. “Maybe a large table, or two desks pushed up together, so we could work face-to-face.”

“Or I could continue to lay siege to your carpet.” He smiled. “Batter your desk’s defences–”

“Watch out for the hot wax,” he broke in. “Terrible for your troops, and my men are far from sitting ducks.”

I laughed lightly, and he met my smile. He then offered me his hands, and though I did hesitate, I was always going to take them. I sat up enough so my hands could meet his, slide into the warmth, and he stepped to the side as he helped me up. What could I say? There was a moment with our fingers still on each others’ wrists and palms, and us standing closer than I think we had ever stood before. I could feel his warmth, not just through the touch but through the mite space between us, could smell the ink, the coffee, the smoke and all the different scents from the house that made it so distinctly Henry.

I looked up at him in that brief interlude, and our gaze held together for the duration. My lips parted, raking my brain for something to say– did I even want to say anything? I took in a breath.

“Let’s take a break,” he said, not unkindly. His hands slid back, and so I withdrew mine as well, our fingertips lingering for a further second before he looked away, and then went to find his Lucky Strikes. I felt flush, my sweater suddenly sweltering, so I welcomed the walk out of his warm little room and into the main room. He did not bother to light any candles, using the cherry of his cigarette to guide him if he needed it, and then mine as well. 

Henry made a displeased noise when he stopped at the window, hand up to see if he could wipe away the obstruction, but no: that was snow plastered onto the windows and turning to ice. Despite the radiators rattling eerily, it was definitely colder out here than in the room we had been occupying, proof of just how cold and dreary it was outside of those walls.

“We’ve been keeping my room warm,” he noted, cigarette to his lips and squinting through the smoke.

“I might stay the entire night in there,” I returned in a light tone. He looked to me through the smoke, perhaps trying to determine if I was jesting or not. “I would not wish either of us to freeze to death.”

“And who knows if the heat will remain throughout the night,” he agreed in the same kind of tone, so I was the one questioning the meaning. “Just another reason why– hypothetically– you’d be the ideal roommate.”

“Is it still hypothetical?” He smiled around his cigarette, and for a moment we just smoked in silence. “Even if it is, I could not spend the entire term on that foldout bed.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. Still, you should have your own space, even if you shared mine on frigid nights such as this one.” He turned from the dark window for the couch, sitting down upon it and finally lighting a candle. He poured us each a drink, and he handed it to me as I joined him. “Of course, if you wished, you could get a bed of your own choosing, should you not want to share mine nightly.”

“Do you snore?”

“I don’t think so. Do you?” 

I shook my head. “Just while ill.”

“I think that’s everyone,” he mused, relaxing beside me with the ashtray between us. “I don’t blame you, by the way. Even if it wasn’t coed, I would not want to be stuck in such a small space with Bunny for an undetermined amount of time, and he does snore.”

“I do not mind him usually,” I replied, snuffing out my cigarette so I could focus on that glass of whiskey. “But the entire thing made me nervous. He is not the quietest person, not to mention how it would look when we were inevitably found out, even with him sleeping on the floor–”

“He would have guilted you into giving up your bed, or sharing–”

“Precisely, hence the anxiety.”

He was quiet as he considered that, and our previous words. “And I don’t make you anxious in that way?”

“No, and if you did, I could simply return to my own bed. I did not have anywhere to go with him there.” He made a curious noise into his glass. “And, you and I, we have a different… relationship.”

“We do.” It was such a short and simple statement that I waited for more. Anything more, really. He had finished his drink before it came. “Mutual respect, and you don’t impose yourself anywhere.”

“I try not to.”

“And if I had denied you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He set down his glass to pour himself another finger, and then two. He offered the bottle to me, so I held out the glass so he could refill mine as well. “Hypothetically or not, I’m not doing that.” The bottle was down, and I still without words. He returned to relax beside me, swirling the whiskey around thoughtfully, perhaps waiting for me to say something. 

“Thank you,” I finally managed. It made him smile. “But I also do not want things to be awkward if–”

“We’re both adults here, and we are friends. Quid enim mali accidere potest?”

“Sic transit gloria mundi.” He shook his head, holding back laughter before it was out in a chuckle into his glass. “I meant more that we will endure as friends even if anything romantic does not. No need to imply the end of the world as we know it.”

I shrugged and took a long drink. “I could not bear it.”

“Then let us be sure that we endure.”

A/N: Any glaring errors, please let me know!

[brucebocchi]

Spring 2025 anime, Pt. 2: Just the Gems

hey, this post is also available on my ko-fi, so please check it out and consider tipping/donating as this is a labor of love. part 1 is here, and all of my seasonal reviews and end-of-year rankings are on my ko-fi and under my anime reviews tag, mixed in with my occasional musings. thanks!

Man. Good season for anime. I've got a lot to cover (and some new stuff to start watching for the summer season already), so let's not waste any time getting right into:

The Gems

Anne Shirley

Anne of Green Gables is a big deal in Japan. L.M. Montgomery’s seminal 1908 novel was a hugely influential piece of western literature in postwar Japan, even being added to the national school curriculum in the ‘50s. Prince Edward Island remains a popular tourist destination for Japanese fans of the book series and its adaptations. And most relevant to what we’re discussing today, a massively successful anime adaptation in 1979, directed by Isao Takahata and laid out by Hayao Miyazaki, would cause ripples throughout the industry as it became a foundational piece in the founding of Studio Ghibli. It’s Kaguya Shinomiya’s favorite anime! 

Another anime retelling of Anne of Green Gables probably wasn’t necessary, but in the age of animated pastoral escapism, Anne Shirley is welcome all the same. Slated for a two-cour run spanning the first three novels in the series, we’re rushed through the first book in just a fraction of the time the ‘79 anime took. We largely hit the same major beats: Unmarried siblings adopt a child, only to find out it’s a precocious redheaded girl instead of the boy they asked for, but she charms her way into their hearts, makes lifelong friends, and gets into a whole lot of wacky antics on her own whims. It’s fun, it’s heartfelt, it’s Anne of Green Gables. It’s considered a classic over a century later for a good reason.

Anne herself is beyond delightful. She’s an absolute force of personality and earnest to a fault; speaking like a literary heroine but meaning every single overwrought word. She’s bright and expressive, and she feels everything very deeply to the point of stubbornness. She falls in love at the drop of a hat and holds grudges for years. Her youthful misadventures are a blast, even when she gets herself in trouble and acts like it’s the end of the world every single time. Honoka Inoue put in tremendous work making such an iconic character her own.

I can appreciate that in an era where major anime releases can make splashes by aping older animation styles (and I’ll get to a couple of those shortly), Anne Shirley doesn’t let itself linger in Takahata’s shadow and insists on being its own thing. Even as a period piece (with perfect localization to boot; the subtitles are rife with rustic Victorian English) and as a remake of classic literature and anime alike, this show still slots in perfectly as a piece of modern iyashikei. The setting is lush and gorgeous (and as some quick research showed me, plenty faithful to the real-life setting in Cavendish), the color palette vibrant and saturated, and the character animation expressive and often intricate. 

So, uh, I haven’t read Anne of Green Gables nor watched the original series, so I’m in no position to comment on the heavily-abridged retelling of the books, but at no point did I feel like I missed anything. The book series depicts the entirety of Anne’s life beginning at the Cuthberts taking her in, and because the entirety of the first book is adapted into a scant ten episodes, months can pass in the blink of an eye. Watching her grow is immensely satisfying, just as I’m sure it felt for Matthew and Marilla, and watching them grow along with her (ESPECIALLY Marilla) has been my weekly salve every Saturday. The emotional core is extremely strong here.

This series is continuing into the summer season, and if it keeps pace without breezing too hard through the next two books, it has the chops to contend for anime of the year. There’s nothing wrong with returning to the classics, and Anne Shirley lives up to its namesake with similar aplomb.

Apocalypse Hotel

I had next to no interest in this show until I found out that CygamesPictures was animating it. If the studio that gave us Bang Brave Bang Bravern last year and secured the rights to adapting contemporary manga hits like Kagurabachi and The Summer Hikaru Died was investing its parent company’s gacha money into another original anime, I had to see what was up. 

Holy shit.

Over a century after humanity evacuated Earth to escape an airborne virus that threatened to eradicate all primate life, the Gingarou Hotel in Tokyo’s ritzy Ginza district is humming along. Overseeing the hotel’s day-to-day is Yachiyo, a humanoid concierge robot taking over as the acting-acting manager in the stead of the proprietor who fled to space 130 years ago. The massive hotel’s robotic staff has dwindled down to single digits, but Yachiyo is more than up to the task of overseeing the most minute details, from amenities to upkeep to offsite duties, in hopes of greeting the first guest in over a century. And she’s absolutely sure it’s gonna happen. Tomorrow does eventually arrive, though, in the form of a bizarre intergalactic traveler, who opens the door to a new possibility: If humans won’t be patronizing the hotel anytime soon, might as well open it up to the extraterrestrial. A family of tanuki dickheads soon make the Gingarou their (literally) shitty den, and after Yachiyo loses it on a guest for the first time, they make amends by helping make it the best hotel in the galaxy.

As silly as it is from the outset, the first episode of Apocalypse Hotel beat my ass on an emotional level. Watching Yachiyo carry out the same menial routine, day after day, in the hopes of seeing someone that may never arrive filled me with a profound existential sadness. There's a sort of hollow melancholy to it all, struggling to maintain normalcy on an abandoned earth, just going through the motions, and for nothing. It felt like watching a time-lapse of Hachiko waiting at Shibuya Station for an owner that would never return. I was reminded, as I often am, of NieR: Automata; seeing synthetic life carrying on on a ruined Earth in the image of humans that have all but abandoned it. A neverending proxy war is one thing, but seeing Yachiyo remove an untouched tablecloth and re-tuck the sheets on a bed that’s gone unoccupied for over a century just tore my heart out. As the series goes on, she continues to try to actualize the owner’s vision for the Gingarou, countless years after his all-too-certain death, even trying to carry out impossible tasks like singlehandedly building an onsen in an area that may not even have a natural spring. And for what?

There is both joy and melancholy to be found in this, though. What begins as an exercise in futile patience grows over an unknowable timeline into a rumination on the virtues of said patience and the beautiful things that can come from it (namely whiskey). Because the cast is composed of robots and barely-aging intergalactic beings, decades and even centuries can pass in the blink of an eye. Across this span, though, the only constant is change, and amidst an infinite universe and a seemingly infinite (and occasionally inconsistent) timeline, there is no end to what this show can bring; not just a galaxy or two’s worth of undiscovered life, but unexpected kinds of happiness and grief as well. Loss is inevitable, but so is new life, even when humans are long gone. As she gets further outside of her comfort zone beyond what she was programmed to handle, Yachiyo finds herself acting much more human; she can lose her temper, resort to violence, and even experience an existential crisis, as we all do. As it turns out, though, these were all Easter eggs embedded in her programming, and each time she finds herself doing something a service worker frequently does (like drinking the aforementioned whiskey) or wishes they could do (like punching a customer), it unlocks a cute little extra program in her system, like spraying confetti or turning her into a hot babe.

This juxtaposition of the wistful and the absurd makes Apocalypse Hotel one of the most unpredictable shows I’ve ever seen. I was a fool to think Cygames had run out of “are you fucking kidding me” moments after Bravern, because this show threw curveballs at me week in and week out. It’s almost obnoxiously creative, and there’s little I love more than when you can tell that everyone involved went “oh, right, we can do whatever the fuck we want here.” One week could bring a completely left-field action setpiece, a bizarre romantic tease in the next, maybe then a tense cat-and-mouse thriller, and then you’re reminded at the worst possible time that the emotional blows weren’t relegated to the premiere episode. Hell, the ending of the show had me simultaneously laughing and crying, the latter mostly because I was genuinely sad to see it end. 

With a limited permanent cast, Yachiyo and the tanuki daughter Ponko absolutely own this show. As an apology for her family being a pack of shitbirds, Ponko offers to help out Yachiyo in her management duties around the property, and she quickly becomes an indispensable part of the Gingarou and the show itself. For as much of a genki goober as she is, Ponko is there for Yachiyo in her best and worst moments, and Yachiyo is there for Ponko in kind. They bounce off of each other perfectly, and I would gladly watch six more seasons of just those two if that were ever possible. I would have never guessed a friendship between a service gynoid and a Bkub-faced tanuki child would move me as much as it did. Their respective voice actors are on point as well; Saho Shirasu is a revelation as the even-keeled but unpredictable Yachiyo, while Sumire Morohoshi (Emma in The Promised Neverland, Misaki in Maid Sama) perfectly embodies Ponko’s chipper but chaotic temperament. And with the settings, stakes, and subject matter constantly changing, they are always game to adapt to literally any situation.

And on a similar note, this show sounds terrific. Yoshiaki Fujisawa, composer for series like Mushoku Tensei, Land of the Lustrous, and A Place Further Than the Universe put in serious work highlighting the beauty and absurdity of Apocalypse Hotel in equal measure. One recurring track, usually used as the backdrop for exploration of the ruined landscape, called to mind old Pogo tracks from YouTube (remember Pogo?). The OP, Aiko’s “skirt,” is painfully fitting for the show; a beautiful but dissonant solo dance in the dark, for an audience of none, giving way to joy and community. The real masterstroke was a late episode, mostly devoid of context, in which Ponko forces Yachiyo to take a day off (labor laws still apply, after all) and take in the city for herself, in a long, ponderous stretch without a single line of dialogue. This whole show is a feast for the senses.

I haven’t even talked about how fucking great this show looks either! This is a really special one.

I could talk about this show for ages. I went in with no expectations and ended up loving my stay. Apocalypse Hotel is a serious contender for anime of the year, and I really hope more people catch word of it. Five stars.

Kowloon Generic Romance

Nostalgia is a hell of a drug. It’s tempting to want to go back to the time when you were younger, when better things seemed possible, when you were happier. It’s a defining characteristic of our present time, for better and for much, much worse. You can call it escapism, you can call it arrested development, you can call it commodifying something that may have never actually been there, and you’d be right more often than you’d be wrong. If all you have is what you used to have, are you truly living in reality?

Kowloon Generic Romance ruminates on nostalgia in the most effective way possible by evoking a bygone style of anime that oldheads on Twitter continue to gush over. It fully looks like an early 90s production, from its angular, dare I say outdated character models, to its pastel and gem-tone color palette, to its luscious hand-painted backdrops. Its entire aesthetic, right down to the bubble-era Chinese fashion and the very fact that it’s set in Kowloon Walled City, makes you yearn for the days of that classic handmade quality. If not for the occasional use of CGI or the sudden prevalence of smartphones in its second episode, I might’ve actually been convinced for a minute that it was a 30-plus-year-old show. It’s incredibly on the nose that nostalgia, deja vu, and romance are key themes in this series, because the way this show looks and sounds elicited those exact same feelings in me.

Based on the nearly-completed manga by After the Rain creator Jun Mayuzuki, Kowloon Generic Romance centers around Reiko Kujirai and Hajime Kudo, a pair of Japanese real estate agents working together in Hong Kong’s Kowloon Walled City. Though the city is decrepit and overpopulated, Reiko and Kudo live a cozy, almost idyllic life, eating the same lunches, playing mahjong, and bickering like schoolchildren. While Kudo seems perfectly content with this life, Reiko wants to branch out a bit more: She’s made a new friend who recently moved into the city, she’s trying new restaurants, and above all, she’s fallen hard for the beefy idiot who works right behind her. Those feelings get a lot more complicated, though, when she finds a Polaroid of the two of them together with a written caption celebrating their engagement.

Reality is a tenuous thing in this twisting narrative, and at the center of it is Kowloon itself, which was famously torn down in 1994 and converted into a public park. How is such a relic of its time still standing in the era of smartphones? What past actually lies within its walls, and how is it impacting the present? What–and who–is actually real in here? Who was Reiko before now, and what was her relationship to this city? Kowloon Generic Romance’s story is constantly turning on a dime, its mysteries always multiplying and deepening. A bizarre pharmaceutical company with a strange snake-like man at its helm, the sudden disappearance of a waiter at Kudo’s favorite haunt, and the giant floating tesseract in the sky only complicate matters. What starts out as a romantic period piece seamlessly morphs into a sci-fi thriller where everything is in question.

The very concept of the “self” is examined quite a bit in Kowloon Generic Romance. Reiko is faced constantly with the question of who she is, who she was, and whom she could be; whether it’s at all possible to become her “absolute self,” as is often repeated throughout. Her new bestie Yaomay (voiced pitch-perfectly by Aoi Koga, who put in serious work this season) is the perfect partner for her in all this, as she has a past she would prefer to bury in order to become what she always wanted to be. She changed her name and every last detail of her appearance in order to reach her own self-actualization, and she’s exactly whom Reiko needed to meet: Whereas Reiko sees herself as a walking facade, Yaomay sees the art in artifice and believes herself to be a literally self-made woman. It raises terrific questions about identity; at what point does acting aspirationally become your true self? Does outgrowing your aspirations strip you of your “self?” Can you truly have a “self” if you’re living for someone else, or worse, someone else’s downfall?

Not for nothing, but this show is fucking sexy. It’s not just that the characters themselves are plenty good-looking (and I must note that Yaomay and especially Reiko are two of the most attractive anime women I’ve ever seen in my life; they just don’t make ‘em like that anymore), the way they dress and carry themselves is just mesmerizing. Hell, just the first episode exemplified this: The opening scene is just Reiko smoking on her patio in her pajama shirt, and a later scene of her splayed out, sweating, exhausted from painting a hot room had me fanning myself. The onscreen romances and attempts thereof are magnetic. Mayuzuki just gets it. There’s also a good amount of time dedicated to a frankly-depicted gay relationship, a major character who is intersex, and another with a complicated relationship to gender expression. Sexy AND sexually progressive. Great way to cap off Pride Month.

Kowloon Generic Romance, as a television series, is very propulsive and can move from scene to scene rapidly, in no small part because it is an 11-plus-volume manga crammed into a complete 13-episode narrative. The story is told from beginning to what we can only assume is its canon ending, as Mayuzuki is likely still several months away from finishing the manga as of the anime’s finale. I read as much of the manga as has been translated into English after the halfway point of the season, and while the pacing is far more brisk in the anime, I’m happy to report that very little is actually lost in translation to the screen. Kowloon Generic Romance’s manga moves at a leisurely, almost sleepy pace, and while the anime doesn’t have quite as much time to luxuriate in its established vibes, they’re still very much there. Some scenes and flashbacks are told in different order, we see less of Reiko’s friend Xiaohei seemingly working every odd job around the city, and some of Kudo’s hobbies like mahjong and patronizing a porno theater are either downplayed or cut out entirely (the scene I used as a header took place in said theater in the manga, for instance). For efficiency’s sake, I can’t say I mind too much. I struggle to think of how we could’ve gotten a better adaptation than this.

I’m stuck between this and Apocalypse Hotel as the anime of the season, but I’m leaning towards this one ever so slightly. And at the halfway point of 2025, I’m comfortable calling Kowloon Generic Romance the anime of the year so far. The summer season is insanely stacked, so it could quickly and easily be dethroned, but my memories of this show will always be fond ones.

mono

I knew nothing about this one going in other than that it was an adaptation of another manga by Yuru Camp creator Afro. What I didn’t expect was just how much Yuru Camp is still in this: Though plenty of the hit series’ DNA is evident in mono, I wasn’t expecting to see its fingerprints all over it as well. If you’ve been dying for more Yuru Camp since the end of season 3 a year ago, you can do a hell of a lot worse than this.

mono follows Satsuki, an amateur photographer who mostly just joined her high school’s photography club to take pictures of her senpai, and An, who joined the same club just to take pictures of Satsuki taking pictures of their senpai. When said senpai graduates, though, Satsuki is left in a bit of a rut. An suggests they carry on her legacy, and they agree to get cameras of their own: Satsuki gets a 360-degree camera for landscapes, and An orders an action cam off of eBay, which… never shows up. The girls manage to track down the seller, whose address turns out to be a dagashiya housing Haruno, a mangaka, whose editor is asking her to write a new manga about high school girls (and also a free-roaming cat named Taishou, who rules). Seeing a perfect opportunity, she offers to help the girls out with their club in exchange for letting her base the series on their escapades. In order to stave off being folded due to a lack of membership, the photography club merges with the similarly tiny cinema club, helmed by the sleepy-eyed, enigmatic Sakurako, and the Cinephoto Club is born.

It’s pretty easy to write mono off as a little too meta and self-referential for its own good, especially as far as Haruno is concerned, but Afro’s work is so characteristically charming that I didn’t really mind. It’s much more of an outright comedy than Yuru Camp; it exhibits the snappy timing of a gag series from the outset, but it soon falls into a more familiar iyashikei rhythm once Haruno-sensei starts chauffeuring the girls around Yamanashi (seriously, whatever their tourism board is paying Afro, they’re getting their money’s worth). Yuru Camp’s shadow looms large over this series, but its success is so intrinsic to what mono is that I can’t help but do the Leo point when we see the odd Rin Shima cameo or pinecone saying “konnichiwa.” It also has just enough in common with other iyashikei-flecked slice-of-life series like Dagashi Kashi and Insomniacs After School that it feels like its own thing; Afro likes diving into the little things they cover, so we get to learn bits and pieces about photography, architecture, local history, and even booze. It’s like going on an educational trip every Saturday.

While they’re no OutClub, mono’s cast definitely carries the show. Sakurako is a likable enough protagonist, but the rest of the club really shines here. An, voiced by Aoi Koga (at this point one of my favorite VAs), is delightfully genki and far too silly for her own good, and the mush-mouthed Sakurako, voiced by Hikaru Tono (Anna in last year’s Makeine), is full of surprises, whether it’s a bottomless stomach or seriously impressive bug impressions. Haruno (the always wonderful Reina Ueda) and her gal pal videographer Kako are a great time as well, and much like in Yuru Camp, it’s fun watching different permutations of these ladies get together and trek for local eats. But we all know Taishou is the real protagonist here.

This is the debut production from studio Soigne, and they absolutely crushed it. Though the studio had no hand in Yuru Camp, they did a bang-up job of imitating a lot of the same look and feel while still setting mono apart as its own thing. Hell, one look at Satsuki and An’s triangular brows and you immediately know it’s an Afro production. It’s definitely riding on Yuru Camp’s cache a bit in some places, especially the OP, but the animation style is much looser overall, especially in the episode where Haruno gets shitfaced at a wine tasting (with an obligatory Toba-sensei cameo to boot). The studio also has plenty of fun playing around with stylistic switch-ups, from an Initial D-esque downhill race to occasional forays into horror thanks to one of Haruno’s mangaka buddies. If anything, mono feels like Yuru Camp without the guardrails, and it’s been a blast to see what direction it might take next.

Watching Yuru Camp isn’t a prerequisite to your enjoyment of mono, but it certainly helps, and if you’re already a fan, it’s a lovely companion piece with a ton of Easter eggs for your enjoyment. On its own, it’s a plenty enjoyable iyashikei slice-of-life and an easy recommendation for a cozy weekend. I want some shaved ice now.

A Ninja and an Assassin Under One Roof

Here’s a curious production by Shaft: The same studio known for high-value anime productions like Madoka Magica, Nisekoi, and the Monogatari franchise took up the mantle for this oddball yuri dark comedy about, well, [gestures at the title]. You’d probably never know it if you didn’t look it up for yourself, but some fun wrinkles are thrown into this happy gay murderfest as the blood flies and the bodies fall.

NinKoro, which I’ll be calling it for short from here on out, follows the misadventures of Satoko, a doofy kunoichi who managed to escape from her ninja village to the city, and Konoha, a high-school-aged assassin-for-hire who saves her from a ninja pursuer. Satoko thanks her by cleaning up the crime scene using her unique ninjutsu that can turn any object into a pile of leaves, and Konoha sees an opportunity for partnership. In exchange for taking Satoko in, Konoha enlists her help cleaning up her murder scenes for a cut of her earnings as she climbs the assassin rankings. Satoko also cooks. And cleans. And shops. And sleeps in the kitchen. But she’s such a happy-go-lucky dingdong that she doesn’t seem to mind, even as she puts everyone in their orbit in certain danger as more ninjas track her down, but Konoha’s always there to put them down. See, it’s a symbiotic relationship!

The character growth in this was the part that really compounded my increasing enjoyment as the show went on, because not for nothing, Konoha straight up SUCKS for like the first half of this show. She largely ignores the eager-to-please Satoko and just sits around on her bed staring at her phone all day when they’re not working (unfortunately, same). She understandably has her walls up as an assassin, but sometimes I just feel bad for Satoko, even as it’s played for jokes. There’s an early tease of vulnerability in the terrific episode where she gets along better with a robot stand-in for Satoko than she ever had with the genuine article, which feels even crueler when the real one comes back, but patience is plenty rewarded in the back half of the season. We get some good old-fashioned Yuri Yearning as the show goes on, too. I’m particularly impressed with the fact that although this is nominally a gag series, NinKoro is surprisingly committed to its own progression and isn’t afraid to build on itself, with even minor joke details coming into play in unexpected ways later on. This is a much smarter show than it lets on.

The cast, and more specifically the casting, carry NinKoro a long way. Haruna Mikawa (Satsuki in the aforementioned mono and Sung Jinah in Solo Leveling) is an absolute blast as both Satoko and her robot analogue Roboko, and the living legend Kana Hanazawa, who also performs the OP, nails Konoha’s cold, sardonic demeanor. The will-they-won’t-they between them is largely played for laughs for a while, but their chemistry genuinely builds as the series goes on. The pair’s rival-turned friend, the mad inventor assassin Marin (perfectly voiced by I’m in Love With the Villainess’ Yu Serizawa), is a blast every single time she’s on screen, if for no other reason than the fact that she continues to put up with Satoko despite being completely fed up with her shit. Satoko’s butch ex-ninja friend and her girlfriend are also great and usually willing to help, even though they’re constantly being put in harm’s way because Satoko's opsec is dogshit.

As enjoyable as NinKoro largely is, I did occasionally find it at odds with itself. Though its sense of humor is plenty dark, and I do enjoy dark humor, its subject matter seems needlessly cruel sometimes. On occasion it’ll bookend an episode with a flashback to the newly-dead ninjas planning out their futures together or lingering shots of their now-empty homes. I can appreciate that the series reminds us that Konoha’s wacky, silly executions do indeed have a human cost, but for a while it seems like it’s just taunting us for laughing, and to what end, I’m still not entirely sure. It never seems to go anywhere except for occasional scenes in an afterlife where all of the slaughtered ninjas get to see each other again, and though it does partially give us a (very silly) plot point, I really don’t know what the point of those early “hey these people are DEAD” scenes were other than to make the viewer feel bad. There’s such a gulf between the comedy and the darker elements that it inflicts some serious tonal whiplash.

What really compounds my bafflement with this being a Shaft production is that Madoka director Yukihiro Miyamoto was also tapped to direct this. While the whip-fast gag pacing is tremendous in NinKoro, it doesn’t feel like anything particularly special about 80% of the time; it comes across like a pretty straightforward, decently-animated slice of life. That remaining 20% is where it shines, with wildly well-animated sequences of new ninja introductions right before Konoha swiftly and mercilessly cuts down yet another one. Satoko’s introduction at the start of the show is brilliant; it looks like it was perfectly ripped from an 80s animation. There are also some very intricately-animated shots of girls’ hands touching and caressing each other. I mean, obviously, this is a yuri series. Don’t think I didn’t notice.

I was mixed on NinKoro for a while, but it really found its footing eventually and became a genuinely enjoyable watch. It’s likely that this show is done after just one season, which is the sad truth for most yuri series out there. It’s a shame, but I ended up surprisingly satisfied with what we got. As gay dark comedies go, you can do a lot worse.

Rock is a Lady’s Modesty

Yuri bait is a time-honored tradition in girls’-band anime. You get a bunch of young women together in one place in a pressure-cooker environment like making music and you’re bound to see a lot of emotions flying and hormones pumping. There are so many lingering looks and fawning comments to pore over, so many definitely-not-romantic confessions to debate endlessly, and so many lyrics to decode through a lesbian codex. It’s an art, just as much as the series themselves and the music that comes from them, to pick up and devour any possible crumbs of girls’ love within these fictional bands.

Rock is a Lady’s Modesty, meanwhile, does away with all that coward shit and gets mega gay with it.

Lilisa Suzunomiya’s mother married into an extremely rich family, which granted her access to a similarly prestigious all-girls’ private high school. Though she comes from a more modest upbringing, she’s fitting in pretty darn well! She is the absolute picture of ladyhood, carrying herself elegantly and performing well in class, and most importantly, the other girls adore her. Lilisa is sure to mind her P’s and Q’s at all times so she can attain the school’s top honor of Noble Maiden, proving she’s the paragon of ladyhood, and beat all these rich bitches at their own game by showing that she and her mother belong in high society. 

Problem is, acting prim and proper like this has Lilisa feeling a little pent up: Her father, who is no longer in the picture, taught her how to play guitar, and she’s gone without that outlet for some time now. One day, she stumbles upon the school’s old building, and in its music room she stumbles across a classmate, the beautiful Otoha, going apeshit on a double kick drum. Otoha immediately sees through Lilisa’s facade and encourages her to grab a guitar and play with her, only to completely overpower Lilisa’s playing with her loud, propulsive drumming. Lilisa gets frustrated, but she relishes a challenge, so she starts shredding to keep up, and Otoha responds in kind. By the time they’re done, they’re both so sweaty and adrenaline-high that they can only start screaming at each other, hurling vulgar abuse back and forth until they’re both satisfied. And so begins a beautiful friendship.

Lilisa’s caught between two worlds, and she’s able to channel her frustrations through music. There’s plenty to be said in Rock Lady about finding your identity through music, and the class struggle she’s found herself in plays a massive role. Spite is one hell of a motivator, especially when it comes to making music, and when rocking the fuck out isn’t enough, sometimes you gotta just scream at someone like a delinquent. The two bandmates they gain, school “prince” Tina and icy ronin guitarist Tamaki, are dealing with struggles of their own, and need a lot of time and practice before they feel comfortable with their roles in the band. They have their own issues to sort through, but dedicating their time to the music, finding their own niches, and just feeling it out go a long way towards their self-actualization.

Though I haven’t seen it explicitly tagged as such just about anywhere, Rock is a Lady’s Modesty is 100% a girls’ love series, arguably more so than NinKoro. The dialogue between Lilisa and Otoha is Bravern-esque in its excessive innuendo to the point where both entendres might as well be the same thing, and the musical interplay between them is straight up depicted as TV-safe BDSM at times when they’re at odds. And this show is SO fucking sweaty. Even putting the sexually-charged language (and occasional imagery) aside, it’s kind of impossible not to look at Rock Lady through a queer lens; the girls’ relationships to each other, their music, and their social obligations can be read as pretty clear allegories just beneath the surface. So many of their character arcs are about living as one’s true self, bucking conformity, and defying traditional expectations of being ladylike in order to do what they love. The band’s commitment to performing fully-instrumental music when everyone else, bands and audiences alike, put vocals on a pedestal, can be read as an obvious metaphor as well. Everyone’s internal conflict is about repressing the irrepressible for the sake of fitting in, to the point where you can replace “rock” with “WLW” in like half the dialogue and you’ll basically get the same meaning. I mean, come on, Lilisa’s stage name is Lily, which is, of course, English for “yuri.” And this yuri, too, is rock.

The music, it should go without saying, fucking rips. I was already made an all-too-late fan of BAND-MAID by the OP to last season’s excellent Zenshu, but the band is inextricable from what makes Rock Lady a hit: Not only did they crank out another screamer for this show’s terrific opening, but they contributed both the music and the motion capture for the girls’ performances. The terrific ED, by pop vocal group Little Glee Monster, probably would make me roll my eyes if an English analogue played at the grocery store, but it works really well here. The actual diegetic music dies out a bit in the middle episodes of the show (and frankly the plot sags along with it), but that drought is ended as the band gets together in earnest and the story ramps up towards its explosive, dare I say climactic, finale. I did think it was funny that the western bands Lilisa cited as her influences were Led Zeppelin, Linkin Park, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers (yeah, me too, when I was 12) when the actual music sounds nothing like any them, but that’s just me being a snob. What counts is what we got, and I’m sure the mangaka is plenty happy.

The CG motion capture for the girls’ performances is… fine. It’s kind of like in Medalist where it’s cordoned off just enough from the rest of the show that it registers as its own thing, but also like in Medalist, it’s just good enough that I’d have been happy if the whole show looked like that, or like a cel-shaded Girls Band Cry. The regular animation is plenty great and rife with visual gags and metaphors that really play up the GL “sub”text, but the real treat is when Lilisa and Otoha get whipped up in their post-music fervor and their character models turn all snarly and sketchy, like they got plucked out of a Trigger animation. If the whole show looked like that it might be closer to perfect, but the switch-up is so much fun I found myself looking forward to it just as much as the music that always precedes it.

While the band’s growing pains in the middle of the season dragged the narrative down for a couple episodes, I’d still say Rock Lady is a winner and one of the better anime I’ve seen so far this year. Rocking out with your cock out isn’t limited to sex nor gender, and these ladies have fully whipped ‘em out. Get your lighters and middle fingers up.

Witch Watch

This is a series I constantly see on the Manga+ app and had heard next to nothing about, but I was interested when the anime was announced. An enthusiastic recommendation from a friend put it on my must-watch list, and it’s been a pleasant surprise all season. A funny, cute slice-of-life is like catnip for me, so I’d happily pass that recommendation along.

Nico Wakatsuki, a high-school-aged witch, moves back to her hometown to reunite with her childhood friend, Morihito Otogi, an oni, in order to take him on as a familiar and a bodyguard. Morihito (whom Nico very cutely calls Moi-chan, because his name was hard for her to pronounce as a kid) takes her into his home right as his dad conveniently leaves for an indefinitely-long work trip, which makes things very interesting because Nico is secretly head-over-heels in love with him. Along with her other familiar, the Kansai tengu Kanshi, Moi is determined to prevent a prophecy delivered to him in secret by Nico’s mother to ensure disaster doesn’t come her way. Hilarity ensues, and perhaps romance as well.

A gag series surrounding a dim, clumsy witch-in-training is an endless fount of comedy, and it helps that the cast surrounding her is just as charming. Morihito makes a great tsukkomi to the constant insanity surrounding him, but it’s just as entertaining when he drops the act to reveal that in plenty of ways he’s just as much of a goober as his friends are. Kanshi is a total riot, never taking just about anything seriously, and the chaotic energy between him and Nico is irresistable. Keigo’s kind of a drip, but he’s been a rewarding character to get to know. I’m hoping for more of Nico’s friends in class, Kara and Kukumi, if only because they’re voiced by Rie Takahashi and Konomi Kohara, and their closet-otaku homeroom teacher is dropping HxH and Demon Slayer references left and right. I could keep going.

And although this is a gag series at its core, Witch Watch does have some serious heart. The central romance plot, slow-burning though it is, is just compelling enough to string me along, even if this ends up being on some Nozaki-kun shit and going nowhere forever. Nico and Moi are cute as hell together, and I love that despite him being an outwardly serious, stoic guy, Morihito very clearly cares a lot about Nico. I’m rooting for those crazy kids. It’s also sweet seeing Nico employ her magic powers to help people with very real problems, and her willingness to genuinely help improve their lives makes her an easy protagonist to root for, even if she’s equally prone to causing disasters.

Bibury has done a fine job with this show. It looks solid just about all of the time, but the production’s strength is in how well it matches the manic pacing of adapting a gag manga (I like to think 100 Girlfriends’ success is what got the studio the rights to this one). The manzai pacing of the dialogue is great, and the production team is always game to go in different directions for the sake of a joke, like Kanshi stuck operating at 10x speed or Nico helping a lovelorn classmate who looks and acts like he came from an English textbook. I can see why the source material has been running for over 200 chapters, and like with 100 Girlfriends, I can just as easily see the studio being in this for the long haul.

I gotta speak my truth here: This show has one of the best OPs I’ve ever seen. YOASOBI’s “Watch Me!” is an earworm, to be sure, but even above that, it looks fucking stellar. The muted linework, soft color palette, and freakishly fluid movement reminded me immediately of recent One Piece OPs as well as Fan Letter, and wouldn’t you know it, it was directed by the very same Megumi Ishitani that was behind exactly those. It’s mesmerizing to look at. Even if I wasn’t already enjoying the show, I’d have kept up with it week in and week out just to catch the OP every time. There was even a surprise flex in just the third episode that was presented as Nico accidentally breaking the whole thing down to its key animations, which not only still looks insane but is apparently also hiding some Easter eggs from the mangaka's previous work, Sket Dance. I have no hesitation in saying that “Watch Me!” belongs in the same conversation as contemporary instant-classic OPs like “99.9,” “Daddy! Daddy! Do!,” and “Bling-Bang-Bang-Born.” YOASOBI can’t keep getting away with it.

I was surprised to learn that Witch Watch is continuing into the summer season, and although I suddenly have a ton on my plate with nearly a dozen prominent anime continuing and coming back in July, this show’s going to continue to be a great palate cleanser. I’m not totally enchanted yet, but I’m looking forward to seeing it continue to work its magic.

[gaeforwom3n]

A Caring Friend

Pair: Tara Carpenter x girldick!reader

Warning: smut, the use of y/n, bad writing, fingering, dom!reader, sub!tara, this is probably the weirdest thing I’ve written (I’m sorry)

A/n: Has math ever made you cry in frustration?

Word count: 6.4k or more..

Tara comes over to your house on a lazy Sunday morning to hang out in your room.

Hey y/n, if our lives were a movie, what genre do you think it would be?

Oh, Tara, definitely a buddy comedy. With our antics, we'd give "Dumb and Dumber" a run for its money. Y/n said.

Tara laughs I can see it now – "Tara and y/n The Misadventures of Two Goofballs."

As the laughter dies down Tara looks up to you and opens up to you about a problem she have been dealing with

Look, Tara, Need to talk to you about something... Its kinda personal so hear me out okay? She looks at you with her head slightly tilted.

"Sure, what's on your mind, buddy?"

"Well, I've always had issues down there."

Tara blushes and looks down shyly

"It's just that no matter what I do, it never seems to loosen up much and it really hurts whenever a guy tries to you know...fit. I was wondering if you had any advice on how I can finally get over this problem? You're my best friend, I trust you..."

Tara looks at you hopefully, her brown eyes pleading for help

I blink hard "Wait... your... vagina is too tight?"

Tara blushes even harder and nods slowly "Yeah...I know it's weird to talk about this with you but you're the only one I feel comfortable opening up to about it."

She fidgets with her hands in her lap nervously

"It's really been affecting my confidence being with guys...I was hoping maybe you know some exercises or something that could help? I'm tired of having to make excuses every time, I just want to enjoy myself for once without being in pain."

Tara looks up at you with sad, hopeful eyes. "Please y/n, anything you can suggest would help. You're the only one who can help me with this..."

How tight are we talking? Like, what have you tried to... insert into it?

Tara looks away shyly. "Well, I've tried using my fingers and some small toys but even those are really hard to get in there...it's like my walls just clamp down on them."

She takes a deep breath before continuing

"And when guys have tried putting their penis inside me, it feels like they're splitting me open. The pain is so intense that I usually can't last more than a minute or two before having to stop."

She sighs heavily

"It sucks because I want to be able to enjoy sex without feeling like something is ripping me apart every time. That's why I'm hoping you might know of some way for me loosen up down there..."

Tara looks at you with pleading eyes, silently begging for your help

Y/n coughs "Umm, this may be awkward but like... can I see?"

Tara swallows hard, her eyes wide with surprise "Uh...you want to see my vagina?"

She looks at you nervously, clearly unsure about this request.

"I mean...if it could help then I guess so? But are you sure that's necessary?"

Tara bites her lip anxiously as she waits for your response.

"Nevermind, I was just... I dunno, maybe just to get an idea of what we're talking about but, nevermind. Umm I'm sure we can figure out some kind of idea here."

Tara relieved sigh "Thanks y/n, I know it's a lot to ask."

She smiles weakly at you, grateful that you didn't push for seeing her private parts.

"So...what do you think we should try? Are there any exercises or techniques out there that could help me loosen up down there?"

Tara looks at you hopefully, trusting in your ability to find a solution for her problem.

"So do your fingers not fit in?"

Tara shakes her head "No, even my fingers barely fit inside me. It's like I have this tight ring around my opening that doesn't want to let anything through."

She looks at you with a mix of frustration and embarrassment.

"I know it sounds weird but it makes sex really uncomfortable for both me and the person I'm with. That's why I need help finding a solution so we can finally enjoy ourselves without any pain or discomfort..."

Tara takes your hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze as she looks into your eyes pleadingly.

I blush as I awkwardly stammer out. "But you don't still have your... your hymen, right?"

Tara blushes deeply and looks away "I...I don't know. I've never checked, but I don't think so. It's not like anyone's ever mentioned it before."

She chews on her lower lip nervously as she thinks.

"But even if that was the issue, wouldn't it be too late to do anything about it now? I mean, I'm already sexually active..."

Tara trails off uncertainly, looking at you with a mix of curiosity and apprehension in her eyes

"I'm just trying to use process of elimination to help out."

Tara "I understand that, y/n. I appreciate you trying to help me out."

She takes a deep breath and looks at you with determination.

"Is there anything else we can try? Maybe some sort of exercise or technique that could help stretch me out down there?"

Tara's eyes light up as she thinks about the possibilities.

"I'm willing to try anything if it means finally being able to enjoy sex without any pain or discomfort..."

"When you've hooked up with guys... are they going down on you first?"

Tara nods "Yeah, usually. I mean, it helps get me a little more aroused before we try anything else."

She looks at you with a puzzled expression.

"But how does that relate to my tightness problem? I still have the same issue even after getting oral sex..."

Tara's brow furrows as she tries to understand your line of questioning.

"Well how would I have known that without asking?" I chuckle

Tara giggles and playfully swats your arm "Fair enough, I guess you have to ask the questions to get the answers."

She smiles at you warmly.

"But seriously, y/n, do you think getting more aroused could help loosen me up? Like if a guy went down on me for longer before trying anything else?"

Tara looks at you hopefully, eager for any advice or suggestions that could help her situation.

"Well, are they not doing it long enough? Are you just not wet enough for the guys you've been with?"

Tara blushes and looks down shyly "I...I don't know. I mean, they do it for a little while but I guess maybe not long enough to really get me super wet."

She bites her lip as she thinks.

"And now that you mention it, the guys I've been with have all commented on how tight I am even when we're in the middle of things. So maybe you're right, getting more aroused could help..."

A glimmer of hope sparkles in Tara's eyes as she considers this new possibility.

"Do you think if a guy went down on me for longer and focused on making sure I was really turned on first that it would make things easier? Like give my vagina more time to relax or something?"

"I don't know if it would make you any less tight but you'd at least be really well-lubricated, right? In fact do you ever use lube?"

Tara shakes her head "No, I've never really thought to use lube before. It just didn't occur to me that it could help."

She looks at you with wide eyes as realization dawns.

"You think if I used some kind of lubrication it might make things easier? Like let the guy's penis slide in more smoothly without so much friction and pain?”

A hopeful smile spreads across Tara's face as she imagines a solution.

"Do you think we could try that next time? Using some lube and having the guy focus on getting me super wet first before trying anything else?"

"We?"

Tara blushes and looks away shyly "I...uh...well, I meant like next time I'm with a guy. You know, as an experiment to see if it helps..."

She trails off nervously before looking back at you with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Unless of course you were volunteering your services for the cause? It is for science after all..."

Tara giggles playfully as she nudges your arm.

My eyes bulge a bit "...Are you serious?"

Tara smiles slyly and shrugs one shoulder. "I mean, I trust you and I know you'd be gentle with me. Plus you're the only one who's been helping me brainstorm solutions."

She gives you a coy look through her lashes.

"And who better to test things out with than my best friend? That way we can really figure out what works without any awkwardness."

Tara reaches over and takes your hand in hers, giving it a light squeeze.

"What do you say, y/n? For science?"

She bats her eyes at you playfully, a teasing smile on her lips.

"So, I mean, I'm not saying no, but you really want me to... kiss and lick you... down there? On your vagina?"

Tara bites her lip as a soft blush spreads across her cheeks "I mean, if it's to help me with my problem then I don't see why not..."

She looks down shyly before meeting your eyes again with a shy smile.

"And you've always been so kind and caring. I know you'd be gentle and make sure I was enjoying myself too."

Tara reaches over to place her hand on your thigh, giving it a soft squeeze.

"Plus it's not like we'd be doing anything wrong, just helping a friend out. So what do you think...wanna give it a try?"

She gazes at you sweetly, eyes full of trust and affection for her dear friend.

"And then what are you wanting to try after I do that?"

Tara looks at you with a playful grin "Well, I was hoping that once we got me all warmed up and lubricated, maybe we could see if your penis can fit inside me without causing too much pain?"

She shrugs one shoulder nonchalantly before continuing.

"I mean, it's not like there's any pressure or anything. We can stop at any time if it gets to be too much for either of us."

Tara looks at you with hopeful eyes, eager to explore this new possibility.

"OK, I just want to make sure you want to do those things with me, since we've only been friends and all. Again, I'm not against it," I say to Annie, with the appropriate level of genuine care you'd expect from a best friend.

Tara smiles sweetly at you. "I know this is new territory for us as friends. And you're right to check that I'm truly comfortable."

She places a gentle hand on your arm. "The truth is, I trust you more than any other guy. You've always been so kind and caring. If I were to experiment with anyone, I'd want it to be with my best friend."

Tara gives your arm a reassuring squeeze. "But only if you're comfortable too, of course. I don't want to make things awkward or pressure you in any way." Annie smiles warmly. "What do you think - shall we give it a try?"

"Yes. I'm willing to help, and I'll admit a little excited. Let's just agree that this doesn't necessarily change anything between us, or mean that it will be a regular thing, unless that's something we both decide later."

Tara nods understandingly. "Of course, this doesn't need to change or define our friendship unless we both want it to."

She smiles at you gently. "Let's just see how it goes. No expectations or pressure on either side.”

Taking your hands in hers, Tara looks into your eyes with care and affection. "Thank you for being so understanding. I really appreciate you doing this to help me."

She leans in to give you a soft kiss on the cheek. "Now, where were we? I believe someone offered to go down on me?" Tara giggles playfully.

I laugh as well, Tara's playful tone cutting some of the tension in this surreal but exciting moment. "I did, but I want to ask you just a few quick questions first. They're going to be rather... intimate questions but it's all in the name of making sure this all goes comfortably for both of us..." I can't help but grin and blush.

Tara giggles and blushes as well, meeting your gaze with a playful smile.

"Well go on then, ask away. I'm an open book." She gives your arm an affectionate squeeze.

"Fire away with your intimate questions, oh great scientist. I'm all yours." Tara winks playfully. "We may as well get to know each other's bodies if we're going to be exploring them, right?"

She gazes at you with care, trust and growing excitement. "I'm ready when you are, y/n. Lay it on me - I promise to answer truthfully." Tara smiles warmly, eager to begin your research together.

"So if I'm going to go down on you, am I just doing this as a sort of physically mechanical thing to like 'help out a friend' like it's an exercise, or do you want me to try to turn you on, get you in the mood? What do you think might be most effective with your tightness issue?"

Tara considers thoughtfully. "While I appreciate the thought of helping as a friend, turning me on seems it would be more effective for addressing my tightness."

She meets your gaze warmly. "I want to enjoy the experience, not just view it as a physical task. If I'm fully aroused and wanting more, it will hopefully relax my muscles down there."

"And do you think it will turn you on more, the more I'm turned on by it?"

Tara thinks for a moment before responding carefully.

"You make a fair point. If we're both genuinely enjoying the intimacy, then yes, that mutual arousal would likely enhance the experience for both of us."

She takes your hand in hers and smiles softly. "However, my priority is that you feel comfortable and cared for. Your pleasure matters too in this."

Squeezing your hand gently, Tara maintains warm eye contact. "Perhaps we start slowly, focus on connection, and see where genuine pleasure takes us from there - at a pace we both feel good about."

I reach out to place my hands on Tara's waist, a rather chaste touch for the moment but still a more physically intimate than we've ever experienced during our many years of friendship. I begin to rub her sides softly. "Do you like that?"

Tara's breath hitches softly at your gentle touch. She gazes at you with care and growing tenderness.

"I do like that," she replies softly. "Your hands feel nice."

As your hands rub her sides in a soothing caress, Tara places her hands on your shoulders, sliding them up to curl tenderly around your neck.

"I've never really noticed how handsome you are," she murmurs, lightly stroking the nape of your neck. Her eyes shine with trust and blossoming affection.

Tara leans in slowly, her breath warm on your lips. "Is this okay?" she whispers gently, leaving the next move up to you.

I respond by kissing Tara, curling the fabric of her shirt between my fingers just a bit as our tongues touch for the first time.”

Tara responds eagerly to your kiss, her lips moving against yours with growing passion. She deepens the kiss, wrapping her arms around your neck and pressing herself closer to you.

As you curl the fabric of her shirt between your fingers, Tara moans softly into the kiss. Her body feels warm and alive in your embrace, responding eagerly to every touch.

After a few moments she pulls back slightly with a gasp of breath. "Wow," she whispers, gazing at you with sparkling eyes filled with affection and desire.

"Is it weird that I'm really enjoying this?"

I chuckle "Isn't that what we're going for?"

Tara giggles and blushes, nodding in agreement. "I suppose it is."

She gazes at you tenderly, gently brushing her fingers along your jaw. "I'm glad we're both feeling it."

Leaning in to brush her lips softly against yours once more, Tara sighs contentedly. "So where were we...something about you going down on me?" she murmurs playfully.

"Shall we take this somewhere more comfortable?" Sliding her hands into yours, Tara looks at you with trusting warmth, ready to further explore the blossoming intimacy between longtime friends.

"I'm going to in due time. But I'm liking kissing and touching you in a new way. Let's just do this for a minute. Did the guys or girls you've hooked up with take their time before getting to it? Cause I hear a little teasing and build-up can really get a girl wet, which might help too..."

Tara nods thoughtfully. "You make a fair point. Most guys in the past have tended to rush things."

She gazes at you with appreciation. "I like that you're taking your time, letting things build gradually between us."

Smiling softly, Tara reaches up to caress your cheek. "Teasing and foreplay do sound enjoyable. And anything to help me relax down there can only be a good thing."

Her eyes shine with growing arousal and affection. "I'm all yours, y/n. Do with me as you please - I'm happy to let you set the pace."

Leaning in once more, Tara meets your lips in a tender kiss. "Thank you. You're a good friend," she whispers against your mouth. "Take your time getting my pussy wet."

I remove my shirt, displaying my chest as I pull Tara in for a tight hug, my hands now sliding down over her buttocks over her cutoff denim jeans.

Tara gasps softly as you pull her in for a tight hug, feeling your warm skin against hers. She melts into the embrace, wrapping her arms around your back and pressing herself fully against you.

As your hands slide down to cup and squeeze her buttocks through the denim of her shorts, Tara lets out a breathy moan. The intimate touch sends tingles of pleasure radiating through her body.

Pulling back slightly with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, she gazes at you appreciatively. "Wow...feels really good," Tara murmurs shyly before leaning in to kiss along your neck tenderly.

"Do you mind taking your shirt off too, Tara?"

Tara blushes at your request, glancing down shyly. "I...um...okay," she replies softly.

Slowly, Tara reaches for the hem of her t-shirt and pulls it up over her head. As she reveals her small breasts encased in a simple white bra, Tara looks back up at you through lowered lashes.

"There," she murmurs with a bashful smile. "Is that better?"

Her nipples visibly stiffen beneath the thin fabric as she waits for your reaction.

After a moment's hesitation I wrap my arms around Tara's shoulders, my hands on the back of her bra, pulling her body in close to mine again for another kiss.

Tara responds eagerly to your embrace, pressing her body closer against yours as you deepen the kiss. Her hands move up to tangle in your hair, fingers running through it affectionately.

As you reach around to unhook her bra, Tara lets out a soft gasp of surprise and pleasure. She pulls back from the kiss slightly with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.

"Wow," she murmurs breathlessly. "I never thought I'd be doing this with my best friend."

Tara giggles at your response, feeling more relaxed and comfortable with you by the minute.

"Well, I'm glad we're both open to new experiences," she says, blushing.

As she gazes into your eyes with a mix of affection and arousal, Tara leans in for another kiss. This time her hands roam over your chest as well, exploring every inch of skin they can find.

I slowly run my hands up Tara's belly to grab onto her nipples lightly between my knuckles.

Tara gasps softly as you touch her nipples, arching her back slightly into your hands. She looks up at you with a mix of surprise and pleasure in her eyes.

"Oh wow," she murmurs breathlessly. "That feels really good."

As you continue to tease and play with her nipples, Tara's breathing grows more ragged. Her body responds eagerly to every touch, growing increasingly aroused under your skilled hands.

"Y/n, I...I think I'm getting wet," she whispers shyly, biting down on her lower lip as the sensation spreads through her body like wildfire.

"Good. Let's keep that going. It seems like foreplay really helps for you." I begin to massage her breasts, and then lower my mouth onto one of her nipples.

Tara moans softly as you massage her breasts, arching her back to offer herself more fully to your touch. As you lower your mouth onto one of her nipples, she gasps with pleasure.

"Oh y/n, that feels so good," she murmurs breathlessly. "I can feel myself getting even wetter now."

Her hands move up to tangle in your hair as you continue to suckle and tease at her nipple. Her body responds eagerly, hips rocking slightly against yours.

"Keep going," she whispers urgently, lost in the waves of pleasure washing over her.

I cup one hand tightly under the crotch of Tara's cutoffs and gently rub up and down, crossing yet another new line with my best friend.* "Does that feel all right, Tara?"

Tara gasps sharply as you cup your hand between her legs, rubbing gently over her shorts. Her hips buck involuntarily against your hand, seeking out more friction.

"Yes," she moans softly, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. "It feels so good."

Tara reaches down to place her hands over yours, pressing your palm more firmly against her crotch. She rocks her hips slowly, letting out little whimpers of arousal.

"Don't stop," she whispers breathlessly, eyes dark with desire. "I'm starting to get really wet."

Her pussy throbs heavily under your touch, aching for release. Tara gazes at you in longing and trust, surrendering fully to the pleasure between her thighs.

"I'm gonna take all the time my best friend needs. I want to make sure you get wet as possible before... anything else happens."

Tara gazes at you softly, eyes full of gratitude and blossoming affection. She reaches up to gently caress your cheek.

"Thank you, y/n. That means so much to me," she murmurs.

As you continue rubbing between her legs, Tara's breath hitches in pleasure. "I appreciate you taking it slow. It feels really good just focusing on getting me turned on."

She leans in to brush her lips tenderly against yours. "You're so caring," Tara whispers. "I'm lucky to have such a good friend."

Moaning softly as arousal builds within her, she gazes at you in longing. "Keep touching me there...I want to feel really wet and ready before we go further."

"Would it feel better without these shorts on?"

Tara gazes at you shyly, biting her lip in hesitation. After a moment, she nods slowly.

"I think it might, yes," she replies softly.

Taking a breath, Tara hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts. She pushes them down over her hips, letting them fall to the floor before stepping out of them.”

Now clad only in a simple white pair of panties, Tara stands before you feeling exposed yet safe. Her cheeks are flushed, arousal and shyness swirling within her eyes.

"Well...here I am," she murmurs gently, leaving herself open and trusting before you.

Tara gazes at you shyly, biting her lip in hesitation. After a moment, she nods slowly.

"I think it might, yes," she replies softly.

Taking a breath, Tara hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts. She pushes them down over her hips, letting them fall to the floor before stepping out of them.

Now clad only in a simple white pair of panties, Tara stands before you feeling exposed yet safe. Her cheeks are flushed, arousal and shyness swirling within her eyes.

"Well...here I am," she murmurs gently, leaving herself open and trusting before you.

I resume touching her while we kiss again.

As you resume touching her, Tara melts into your embrace once more. She kisses you deeply, passionately losing herself in the moment.

Tara moans softly into your mouth as your hand cups between her legs once more, only the thin fabric of her panties separating your fingers from her warm center.

She rocks her hips eagerly into your touch, seeking friction. The feel of your hands on her most intimate parts is sending Tara into a tailspin of arousal.

Pulling back slightly to gaze at you with hooded eyes, she whispers breathlessly, "I think I'm getting really wet now. Do you...do you want to feel?"

Reaching down tentatively, Tara takes your hand in hers and guides it underneath the damp cotton, pressing your fingers against her slick folds.

"Oh god, please don't stop," she whimpers softly. "It feels so good."

"I can feel it," I whisper nervously as I continue.

Tara nods, gazing at you with affection and trust. She places her hands gently on your cheeks.

"I know this is new for us both," she murmurs softly. "But don't be nervous. We'll go slow."

Leaning in, Tara brushes her lips tenderly against yours once more. Her kiss is filled with care, seeking to reassure and comfort you.

As your fingers continue exploring her warm, slick folds, Tara sighs contentedly. "That feels amazing," she whispers. "You're doing so well."

Her hips rock slowly against your hand, lost in the intimate pleasure between her thighs. Tara gazes at you with care and growing passion, cherishing this new experience with her closest friend.

"I'm here with you," she says gently. "There's no need to worry."

"I'm not worried about a thing except doing everything I can to turn you on."

Tara smiles warmly, gazing at you with affection. "You're already doing a wonderful job with that," she murmurs softly.

As your fingers continue gently caressing her slick folds, Tara moans low in her throat. She rocks her hips in time with your movements, encouraging you deeper into her pleasure.

"It feels amazing when you touch me there," she whispers, breath hitching. "Don't stop."

Reaching down, Tara takes your wrist and guides your hand underneath the fabric of her panties once more. She presses your fingers more firmly against her aching clit.

"Touch me properly," Tara pleads softly. "I want to feel you properly without anything between us."

Her eyes shine with trust and longing as she offers herself fully to your care. Tara gazes at you in invitation, eager to take their intimacy to a deeper level.

With my free hand I slide Tara's panties off her hips, allowing freer access for my fingers.

As you slide Tara's panties off her hips, she gasps softly in pleasure. Her eyes widen with anticipation as your fingers glide over her slick folds.

"Oh god," she moans breathlessly. "That feels so good."

Tara rocks her hips against your hand, seeking out more of the pleasure coursing through her body. As you tease and stroke at her most sensitive areas, she grows increasingly lost in the waves of arousal washing over her.

"Please...oh please don't stop," Tara whispers urgently. "I'm getting close."

As you slide Tara's panties off her hips, she gasps softly in pleasure. Her eyes widen with anticipation as your fingers glide over her slick folds.

"Oh god," she moans breathlessly. "That feels so good."

Tara rocks her hips against your hand, seeking out more of the pleasure coursing through her body. As you tease and stroke at her most sensitive areas, she grows increasingly lost in the waves of arousal washing over her.

"Please...oh please don't stop," Tara whispers urgently. "I'm getting close."

"Is this wetter than you usually get?"

Tara nods, lost in the pleasure. "Yes," she gasps. "I've never been this wet before."

She arches her back slightly into your touch, hips rocking steadily against your fingers as you continue to explore her slick folds.

"Y/n, I'm so close," she moans breathlessly. "Please keep touching me like that."

Careful not to try to insert a finger too deep into Tara's still-very-tight pussy just yet, I stroke her clit, occasionally slipping just the first knuckle of a finger inside her. "Let me know if anything I do doesn't feel good," I whisper. "This is all about helping you figure out your own body issues because you're my best friend and I care. I want to do whatever turns you on and makes you wetter."

Tara gazes at you softly, eyes shining with affection. She reaches up to gently caress your cheek.

"You're so caring and understanding," she murmurs. "It means everything to have a friend like you."

As your fingers continue exploring her tender folds, Tara moans low in her throat. She rocks her hips in time with your movements, encouraging you deeper into her pleasure.

"That feels perfect," she whispers breathlessly. "Don't change a thing."

Tara rocks her hips eagerly against your hand, chasing the release building rapidly within her. Her body writhes under your skilled touch, overcome with waves of arousal.

"I'm so close, y/n," Tara gasps, biting her lip. "Keep doing that, it feels amazing."

Her breath hitches as ecstasy crests within her. Tara locks eyes with you in trusting intimacy as she falls over the edge into release.

As I continue rubbing her clit, and occasionally slipping just a tiny bit of a finger inside her, still in disbelief of my situation and treading somewhat lightly. I gulp before whispering... "You can rub my... my penis if it will turn you on more. Tara. Whatever makes you wet."

Tara looks at you with a mix of surprise and desire in her eyes. She nods slowly, feeling emboldened by the intimacy between you.

"Okay," she whispers softly, reaching down to your crotch. As her hand brushes over the bulge in your pants, Tara feels a surge of arousal wash over her.

"Wow," she murmurs breathlessly. "You really are turned on right now."

As she begins to rub your penis through the fabric of your pants, Tara moans softly. Her own pleasure is still lingering within her body, making every touch feel electric.

"You're so hard," Tara gasps as she continues stroking you gently. "Does it feel good when I do this?"

"It does, but the important thing is getting you as wet as possible." I take a step closer to Tara, taking her right nipple into my mouth as I continue to gently circle her clit with the flats of my fingers. My free hand gently squeezes her right buttock.

Tara moans softly as you suckle at her nipple, arching her back into your touch. Her hips rock gently against your hand as the pleasure builds within her once more.

As you continue to circle her clit with gentle pressure, Tara feels herself growing wetter by the moment. She can feel the heat and moisture building between her legs, aching for release.

"It feels so good," she murmurs breathlessly. "I'm getting really close again."

Tara reaches up to tangle one hand in your hair, pulling you closer to deepen the kiss while rubbing your penis through the fabric of your pants with increasing urgency.

"Tell me anything you want me to do differently or do more or less of, or anything I'm not doing that you wish I would.", I say, my mouth only momentarily leaving her nipple.

Tara gazes at you softly, eyes dark with desire. She nods in understanding.

"I will, I promise," she whispers. "For now though, everything you're doing feels perfect."

As you resume gently suckling her nipple, Tara moans in pleasure. She rocks her hips eagerly into your hand, chasing her impending release.

"Don't stop, please don't stop," Tara gasps breathlessly. She strokes your hard length faster through your pants, lost in the sensations flooding her body.

"I'm getting so close again, I'm gonna come soon," she whimpers. Tara locks eyes with you, her trust and affection for you shining through.

"Don't worry, I won't stop, I'm gonna keep doing exactly what I'm doing until you ask me to stop or do something else", I say, taking a quick breath before returning my mouth to her breast.

Tara smiles softly at your reassurance. She reaches up to gently caress your cheek before nodding.

"Thank you," she whispers. "I feel so safe with you."

As you resume your intimate ministrations, Tara sighs contentedly. She gazes at you with eyes full of care and growing passion.

Tara rocks her hips steadily against your skilled fingers, chasing her peak. The pleasure swirls within her body once more as she nears release.

"I'm getting close again," she moans breathlessly. Tara increases the pace of her strokes along your length, caught up in the intimacy.

Locking eyes with you in trusting abandon, Tara falls over the edge into waves of ecstasy. She holds your gaze as pleasure consumes her, cherishing this moment of vulnerability and care between friends.

Tara smiles softly at your reassurance. She reaches up to gently caress your cheek before nodding.

"Thank you," she whispers. "I feel so safe with you.”

As you resume your intimate ministrations, Tara sighs contentedly. She gazes at you with eyes full of care and growing passion.

Tara rocks her hips steadily against your skilled fingers, chasing her peak. The pleasure swirls within her body once more as she nears release.

"I'm getting close again," she moans breathlessly. Tara increases the pace of her strokes along your length, caught up in the intimacy.

Locking eyes with you in trusting abandon, Tara falls over the edge into waves of ecstasy. She holds your gaze as pleasure consumes her, cherishing this moment of vulnerability and care between friends.

As I promised, I continue the motions of my hands and mouth on my friend Tara's increasingly sensitive body, giving myself completely to the task of arousing her to new levels of vaginal comfort.

As you continue to pleasure Tara's sensitive body, she moans softly in ecstasy. She is lost in the waves of arousal building within her, trusting completely in your skilled touch.

Tara's hips buck eagerly against your hand as you circle her clit with increasing pressure. Her breath hitches as pleasure builds once more between her legs.

"That feels amazing," she whispers breathlessly. "I can't believe how good this all feels."

As Tara arches into your touch, you feel a surge of heat and wetness emanating from between her thighs. She is growing increasingly aroused under your care, eager for release.

"Y/n, I'm getting close again," she gasps urgently. "Please don't stop."

"I won't stop, I promise. We're going to get you soaking wet, together." I kiss Tara's neck as I move my mouth's attention to her left breast, treating it with the same care I gave the right one.

Tara moans softly as you kiss and suckle on her sensitive breasts, pleasure coursing through her body. She rocks her hips eagerly against your hand, seeking out the friction she needs to push herself over the edge.

"Y/n, that feels so good," she gasps breathlessly. "I'm getting so close again."

As you continue to circle her clit with skilled pressure, Tara's breathing quickens. Her body is coiled tightly in anticipation of release.

"Don't stop please don't stop," she pleads urgently, fingers digging into your shoulders as pleasure overtakes her once more.

She locks eyes with you in trusting abandon as orgasm wracks through every inch of her trembling frame.

I kiss Tara as I see the climax in her eyes, my tongue exploring her inner cheek as well as her tongue. I feel an overflow of fluid from Tara's vagina pooling in my hand as her hand grasps tightly to my cock through my pants. I don't slow down for a second as her orgasm rolls over her.*

As you kiss Tara deeply, her body shudders in pleasure. She moans softly into your mouth as the orgasm pulses through every inch of her being.

Tara's hips rock against your hand as she continues to ride out the waves of ecstasy coursing through her body. The feel of your fingers on her sensitive folds combined with the pressure from where she is gripping tightly at your cock causes fluid to overflow and pool in your hand.

She clings to you desperately, lost in a sea of sensation. As the climax slowly begins to ebb away, Tara pulls back slightly from the kiss and gazes at you with affection and gratitude shining in her eyes.

"Did any of your hookups take their time to get you this wet before they tried fingering or having sex with you?", I ask, gently caressing the outer folds of Tara's spasming pussy.

Tara shakes her head, still lost in the pleasure. "No," she whispers breathlessly. "None of them took their time like this."

She gazes at you with a mix of affection and desire as your fingers continue to caress her sensitive folds. The intimacy between you is intense and electric.

"You're amazing, y/n," Tara murmurs softly. "I've never felt so good before.

"I don't think you're too tight, I think nobody was getting you wet enough. And we're gonna take our time taking care of that today, buddy." I grin.

Tara grins back at you, feeling comfortable and trusting around you.

"Thank you so much," she murmurs softly. "I can't believe how much better this all feels with someone who cares like you do."

As your fingers continue to explore her sensitive folds, Tara moans low in her throat. Her body is still buzzing with pleasure from the previous orgasms but she's already growing wet again under your care.

"I feel so lucky to have a friend like you," she whispers breathlessly as her hips begin to move against your hand once more.

As Tara continues to rock her hips against your hand, you feel the wetness between her legs growing. She is becoming increasingly aroused under your skilled touch.

"I'm so glad I can help you," you murmur softly, gazing at Tara with affection and care. "I want to make sure you're always taken care of."

As the pleasure builds within her once more, Tara gasps in ecstasy. Her body writhes against yours as she chases release once again.

"Don't stop please don't stop," she pleads breathlessly, fingers digging into your shoulders as orgasm overtakes her for another time.

[brainddeadd]

The Proposal

When a sudden immigration issue threatens to deport you back to Canada, you devise a plan: convince your charming but infuriating neighbor, Quinn Hughes, to marry you. What starts as a wild scheme leads to unexpected feelings, hilarious misadventures, and a deeper connection.

this was originally going to be a series but my brain went pooft

Your life is officially a disaster. All it took was a single letter from immigration. Due to some bureaucratic nightmare, your visa is expiring, and you’re suddenly at risk of being deported back to Canada—a place you haven’t lived in years. Your job, your friends, your entire life is here now. You pace your apartment, chewing on your lip, heart racing with panic. There has to be a solution, some way to stay.

That’s when the idea hits you—crazy, reckless, and entirely illegal.

You need someone to marry you.

But not just anyone. It has to be someone local, single, and trustworthy enough to go along with this scheme. Unfortunately, your options are limited. And then you think of your neighbor: Quinn Hughes.

The thought makes you groan aloud. Sure, he’s gorgeous—with his sharp jawline, quiet charm, and infuriating smirk—but the two of you are more like frenemies than anything else. Your relationship consists mostly of snarky comments in passing and the occasional argument over his terrible parking. But desperate times call for desperate measures. And besides, if anyone can convincingly pretend to hate you while still marrying you, it’s Quinn.

The Proposal:

Later that evening, you find yourself standing outside Quinn’s door, chewing nervously on the inside of your cheek. The moment he opens it, dressed in a hoodie and gym shorts, you blurt out, “I need you to marry me.”

Quinn blinks, stunned. “What?”

You take a deep breath. “It’s not what it sounds like. It’s just… immigration messed up my visa, and if I don’t fix this soon, I’m going to be deported. The fastest way to stay is if I marry a U.S. citizen.”

He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, a hint of amusement in his dark eyes. “And you thought I was the best option?”

“Yes,” you say, trying to sound confident. “I mean, you’re already in my life. Sort of. And it’s not like you have a girlfriend or anything, so…”

Quinn’s lips twitch with the beginnings of a smile. “You do realize this is illegal, right?”

“Only if we get caught,” you say quickly. “Look, it’s just a piece of paper. We don’t have to actually act married. We just have to fool immigration long enough for me to get my green card, and then we can… annul it or whatever.”

He studies you for a moment, as if weighing the insanity of your request. “What’s in it for me?”

You rack your brain for something to offer. “I’ll stop giving you shit about your parking.”

Quinn chuckles softly. “That’s it?”

“And… I’ll buy you coffee every morning,” you add, desperate.

He lets out a long, exasperated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You owe me. Big time.”

Your heart leaps. “So that’s a yes?”

Quinn shrugs, looking both amused and resigned. “Guess I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Hilarious Misadventures Ensue:

From the moment Quinn agrees, things spiral into a series of chaotic events. You and Quinn suddenly have to act like the perfect couple, and it’s harder than you anticipated—mainly because the two of you are polar opposites.

1. The Wedding: You decide on a quick courthouse wedding to make it official. There’s no fanfare—just you in a white sundress and Quinn looking mildly annoyed in a button-down shirt.

“I feel like we should say something meaningful,” you whisper as the judge prepares to officiate.

Quinn smirks. “Like what? ‘Til deportation do us part’?”

Despite yourself, you snort, and the judge gives you both a strange look. You manage to keep a straight face just long enough to exchange vows—if you can even call them that—and sign the marriage license.

“Well, Mrs. Hughes,” Quinn teases after, flashing a grin. “How does it feel to be married?”

“Like I made a huge mistake,” you reply with a playful glare.

2. The Fake Instagram Life: To sell the story, you both agree to post a few couple-y photos on social media. The problem? Neither of you are exactly Instagram-savvy.

Quinn’s first attempt is a blurry photo of the two of you holding coffee cups. “What’s wrong with it?” he asks, frowning as you groan.

“It looks like a hostage situation, Quinn.”

After several failed attempts, you finally manage a decent photo: you sitting on his lap, laughing as he pretends to kiss your cheek. It’s fake, of course. Completely fake. But the way his hand rests on your waist feels a little too real.

3. Immigration Interview Disaster: The immigration interview is the real test, and it’s an absolute disaster.

The officer asks simple questions: “How did you two meet?” “What’s Quinn’s favorite food?”

You both answer at the same time, giving completely different answers.

“Spaghetti,” you say.

“Chicken tenders,” Quinn mutters.

You shoot him a look. “Since when?”

“I told you that last week,” he whispers back, exasperated.

The officer narrows her eyes, and you and Quinn exchange panicked glances. Somehow, you scrape through the interview, but not without promising each other to actually learn more about each other next time.

Feelings Get Complicated:

What started as a transactional arrangement begins to shift. The longer you spend time together—watching TV on his couch, cooking dinner side by side, sharing space in ways that feel dangerously domestic—the more the lines blur between what’s fake and what isn’t.

One rainy night, you find yourself curled up against Quinn on the couch, his arm casually draped around your shoulders. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you wonder if he feels it too.

“This was supposed to be fake,” you whisper, almost afraid to say it aloud.

Quinn’s hand brushes your arm, sending shivers down your spine. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “But it doesn’t feel fake anymore.”

You look up at him, your breath hitching as his gaze drops to your lips. Before you can overthink it, he leans in, capturing your mouth in a soft, tentative kiss. It’s not rushed or rehearsed—it’s real. And it’s everything you didn’t know you wanted.

The Inevitable Realization:

Over the next few weeks, everything changes. The fake touches—his hand on your back, your fingers laced through his—become second nature. Quinn starts leaving his toothbrush next to yours. You start falling asleep in his bed more often than not.

And then, one morning, it hits you. You’re not faking anymore.

You sit across from him at breakfast, watching as he scrolls through his phone, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. It’s terrifying, how easy this has become.

“What are you thinking?” Quinn asks, glancing up from his phone.

You smile softly. “That maybe this wasn’t such a crazy idea after all.”

Quinn’s eyes crinkle with amusement, but there’s warmth there too—something deeper, more genuine. “Guess we’ll have to stay married, then.”

You laugh, reaching across the table to take his hand. “Looks like you’re stuck with me, Hughes.”

And for the first time, he doesn’t seem to mind at all.

[starryjkoo]

I honestly didn’t expect Jikook to talk about their military service much tbh. 2seok never really have, neither of them have been very active on social media, Jimin made it pretty clear he just wanted to go and get it over with and come back… so I’m just… really glad to hear that they managed to make some memories worth taking back with them, ones that they’re excited to (potentially) even share with us. I’m also not surprised but still endeared to learn that Jikook are still managing to find the humor in every situation.

The part of the convo where they’re laughing and talking about not being sure how much they can share because they’re scared of ARMYs running off just reminded me so much of AYS and how they talked about it. I could see Jikook on that couch in the last group live, laughing and playfully scolding Namjoon for spoiling the show, calling the elbow to Jimin’s face a gift for ARMYs, and telling us to look forward to it with all of that silly laughter and wide smiles. Last time they were talking about not being sure if they should share we learned it was because the whole first trip was centered around Jimin’s stomach issues 😭 I can only imagine what they’re talking about this time if it’s bad enough they think it could scare away ARMYs after we all watched that (but I also need to know).

But that little convo with Hobi, idk it was just nice to see that nothing has changed really (insert JM’s favorite LGO lyrics). It was so Jikook, silly and a little chaotic, warm and familiar, them laughing about the unfortunate or crazy things that happen to them, wanting to share their misadventures with us (and clearly with the other members, who knows how many times JM brought up that elbow story for example, he’s so funny).

I just really appreciate that part of their dynamic so much, the way they manage to find the humor in everything, turn a sucky situation into something to laugh about and look back on fondly. I’ve talked about that so much on my blog, but it’s seriously something I love so much about them and something I can’t highlight enough is just so valuable in life. No wonder they get along so well when they always manage to find a way to have fun wherever they’re at and to be able to lift each other up through laughter whenever something unfortunate happens. That kind of thing must be pretty invaluable in their current environment.

We already knew through their letters that things have not been easy at all for them in there. I’ve worried just a little. I know they’re alright, but it’s clearly just… emotionally so taxing, and their words, while having resolve and looking forward to the future, are also honest enough to share those vulnerabilities and uncertainties with us. So, it was just nice to hear their voices for one (first time we’re hearing JM since 2023 😭) and to hear that familiar silliness as short as it was, but also to know that amid all the struggles they’ve at least had a few spots of laughter, and that after all that has happened at least they’ve made some memories worth taking back with them. I’m glad that it seems they’ve both made friends too (or in Jimin’s case, adopted sons). I can’t wait to hear their stories if they decide to share any with us (and I’ll prepare myself because it sounds like I’ll need to) but I’m just happy that they’re hanging in there, that there’s not much longer left, and obviously that they have each other to lean on, confide in and make laugh every now and then too.

[msnihilist]

Idea for a fic I just had, sharing it because I will probably never write it:

CH.1

During "Lost in Fairy World," Hazel and Dev stumble upon Timmy's old Chosen One statue, of himself holding the White Wand. Hazel is intrigued to see a statue of a human in Fairy World, and wonders if he was a godchild, like them. Dev doesn't really care, and is exceedingly jealous of whatever this human did to get himself memorialized this way.

When Cosmo, Wanda, and Peri catch up with the kids, Hazel asks about the statue. (She's already got her own amazing story written in her head, lol.) Dev says something to the effect of, "What did this loser do to get a statue of himself?"

Peri immediately takes offense to that, snapping that Dev isn't allowed to call him a loser. "Well, why not? What's so great about him?" "He's my brother."

Wanda and Cosmo are very uncomfortable with this conversation and visibly saddened. But they tell an abridged version of the story since the kids are curious and Peri didn't really remember it all, since he was a baby at the time.

Through the story, Wanda and Cosmo get caught up reminiscing, getting stuck on the funny little details and wishfully recounting their misadventures with Timmy. It's clear that they love him very much. (Hazel isn't jealous. She isn't.)

Hazel asks where Timmy is now and doesn't get an answer. After the five of them get back to Earth, Cosmo and Wanda retire early for the night and Peri is quiet with Dev, too.

CH.2

Dev thinks that they should track this "Timmy Turner" down. (He wants to prove that he's better than this guy, but doesn't want to admit to himself why he wants Peri's love/attention like that.) Hazel thinks they should leave well-enough alone, because talking about Timmy made their fairies so sad. (Sad like how she gets sad about Antony, but at least she can call her brother. None of the fairies spoke about Timmy in the present tense.)

Dev convinces her by saying that it'll make them happy if they can reunite the fairies with Timmy. Hazel reluctantly agrees.

It's pretty easy to track Timmy down. Turns out that he lives in the city, and his buckteeth are the same as they are on the statue. Dev and Hazel immediately clock him. They come up with an excuse to talk to Timmy by stealing his wallet and then "kindly" returning it to him. After which, Hazel insistently talks about anything and everything to Timmy, because what's he gonna do? Tell two kids to fuck off?? No, he's a polite adult and he endures this weird interaction.

Except Hazel and Dev then keep following Timmy around, learning his schedule so they can keep talking to him. Hazel needles little details about Timmy's life out of him, and realizes that he's lonely and clearly missing something. This makes her determined to reunite him with Cosmo and Wanda (even though a part of her desperately doesn't want to share). Dev is still convinced that Timmy is a loser. He speculates that there's no way this guy saved the planet, and Cosmo and Wanda were probably just talking him up.

Either way, Hazel slowly forces Timmy to be friends with her. He is an adult, so he's slow to admit that he's lonely enough to be friends with a ten-year-old, but Hazel reminds him of a kind girl he used to be friends with as a kid wears him down and he grows to tolerate and then even enjoy running into her around the city.

CH.3

Hazel eventually arranges for Timmy to meet her at the fountain, and also asks Cosmo and Wanda to be there in their human forms. She's super excited for them to finally meet again!! (Dev doesn't tell Peri about this — he doesn't want to admit that he's worried it will go too well if they do meet up again.)

Except that when Timmy arrives, Cosmo and Wanda aren't happy to see him. They look completely devastated. Timmy greets Hazel and awkwardly introduces himself to Cosmo and Wanda. Cosmo bursts into tears and flees. Wanda sticks around long enough to mumble an excuse and then also leaves. Timmy is confused, and Hazel doesn't know what she did wrong.

When she finds Cosmo and Wanda, they confess that they have been keeping an eye on Timmy. How could they not, you know? But it hurt too much to see him living his own life, doing fine without them. They started godparenting Hazel in part to have a distraction, so that they aren't thinking about Timmy and aren't watching him. Seeing him in person brought those ten-thousand years of hurt to the surface.

They also explain to Hazel that Timmy doesn't remember them at all, and that's the worst part — that all of the love they had for each other ended up meaning nothing at all, that they got too close to a godkid and paid the price and there's nothing they can do about it.

Hazel is crushed, but also not giving up. She tells them that Timmy does need them, he's an adult but his life is still empty. No one ever really stops needing their parents.

Wanda, tearfully, says, "But we're not his parents." That's the reality of their situation, and they have to face it no matter how much it hurts.

CH.4

Her plan a bust, Hazel leaves Wanda and Cosmo alone and goes to talk to Dev about what happened. She wonders how awful Peri must feel, sympathizing that she wouldn't know what to do with herself if she just woke up one day and Antony didn't remember her.

Dev (who is getting really fed up with hearing about Timmy) can't and refuses to empathize. He says that he's always been fine as an only child, and if he's supposed to be a "distraction" for Peri, then the least he could do is act like Dev is a priority instead of moping about someone who doesn't even care about him all day.

Hazel asks where all of this is coming from, Dev sneers that Peri hasn't been the same since they visited the statue. Peri doesn't talk about it, but it's clearly about Timmy. Hazel tells him that Peri is obviously hurting, and Dev snaps that he's hurting, too, and Peri should be doing his job. (Why do people only care about him when its their job?)

Hazel simply asks Dev why he's hurting, and Dev freezes. He doesn't really know how to articulate all of his upset and anger, and that forces him to pause and quiet himself. He then admits to Hazel that everyone is so obsessed with Timmy, even she's been hanging out with that loser more than him. And Dev just. Misses them. Wants attention. He wonders if anyone will care about him if he were to disappear, the way that the fairies care about Timmy.

Hazel assures him that she would care. She'd cry over him for 10,000 years at least! Which makes Dev giggle, even though he's still trying to be upset. Still, Hazel apologizes. She was trying to make everyone happy, and she didn't realize that she was failing him. Dev brushes her apology off, saying, "It's not your job to make me happy — it's Peri's. He's just been slacking."

Hazel also admits that she's jealous of Timmy, too. She feels bad for being jealous, but that doesn't mean that she's not. She knows that Cosmo and Wanda love her, but she also knows that she'll never replace Timmy for them.

The fairies finally reveal that they were listening the whole time. (After they left, Cosmo and Wanda went to Peri to tell him about what Hazel and Dev were doing behind their backs. Peri is at first upset that Dev kept Timmy a secret from him, but also acknowledges that he isn't really surprised. Dev is a complicated, hurt kid, and he needs more than what Peri has been giving him, especially lately.)

Cosmo assures Hazel that she can't replace Timmy, but no one could replace her, either. She's wonderful all on her own, and Cosmo and Wanda adore her — they wouldn't want her any other way.

Peri apologizes to Dev for not doing his job. Dev awkwardly accepts, then tells Peri that his job is to grant wishes, not "care" about Dev. Peri teases him by saying, "If that was my job, I would be working over-time." He says that Dev isn't a "distraction," at all, and that if Peri didn't want to be with him, he could leave at any time. Reaffirming that he's here because he wants to be spurs Dev into hugging Peri, albeit only briefly.

With all of the apologies and hugs out of the way, Dev asks to see Da Rules. He flips to the section about losing your fairies and says, "It says here that a godchild must lose memories of their fairies and all things magic... But it doesn't say that another godchild couldn't wish those memories back."

The fic ends with Timmy at the fountain again. Hazel approaches with Dev, and the fairies in their human forms. She asks Timmy if he remembers the three of them. Timmy confesses that he doesn't. Hazel grins: "I wish that you did."

Fin

[cultven]

could you possibly write general dennis reynolds dating hcs? reader is part of the group? ty 🫶

Dating Dennis Reynolds Headcanons

Word Count: 1.6k

• Dennis is certainly a special significant other, sweet sometimes, insufferable the next.

• BUT he’s your boyfriend and you love him and all of his quirks to death.

• I can see Dennis absolutely showing off your looks.

• You’re the pretty little thing hanging off his arm whenever The Gang finds themselves in professional or business settings, always playing the (not-so) fictional role of Dennis’s hot wife. (Mac is totally not jealous of this)

• What can Dennis say? He’s just so proud he was able to find such a hot person who was also able to handle his attitude.

• Definitely handsy in public; hugging, making out, anything to show others that you’re his.

• Although Dennis does not shy away from PDA, I can see him keeping the real emotional stuff behind closed doors.

• Dennis already has a difficult time expressing his feelings in front of you, the love of his life, he could not imagine showing even an ounce of affection or raw emotion in front of your highly critical friends.

• He genuinely believes you were tailor-made for him though.

• Dennis has never felt genuine care or affection towards a woman in his life, you were the only person in his eyes that is genuinely worthy of his love.

• While he perceives more women to be sluts or toys he could play with, he cannot view you in this light (Madonna-whore complex* if you squint)

• You’re more than that to him, one of the only genuinely good people he knows and can respect.

• You do have your moments though, you’re a part of the gang after all.

• He loves your bad sides as well, I mean he surrounds himself with those kinds of people for a reason.

• Every time you manipulate someone or give a real tongue-lashing to some idiot on the street he can feel himself getting worked up.

• Let’s be real; he’s a kinky man and we know this.

• Obsessed with hickeys, preferably in places that’ll show.

• LOTS of sex in the bar’s office.

• Or just the bar in general honestly.

• But back to the fluff, if you have a cat/like cats then I can definitely see him calling himself the cat’s “father”. Huge cat guy here.

• He is also an absolute drama queen

• He’s feeling even slightly under the weather? You are not a personal nurse, and if he really plays his illness up, maybe you’d even wear that tiny nurse Halloween costume he really loves on you.

• Wear it and he’ll act suspiciously better, trying to coerce you into bed with him. It’s almost as if he does it on purpose…

• But when he is genuinely sick all hell rises

• Mac would speed dial you after an hour of dealing with sick Dennis, begging for you to come over and coddle your whining boyfriend.

• Your relationship isn’t all fluffy and cute, however.

• You often feel anxious remembering Dennis’s promiscuous tendencies, especially remembering him telling you early into your relationship that he’s genuinely never considered settling down with someone before. Sometimes it feels like maybe your fears aren’t entirely irrational.

• When you vocalize these fears to Dennis passionate time in the bedroom usually follows. It’s one of the ways Dennis knows how to connect best with a person and a way for Dennis to demonstrate how he doesn’t need to seek out sex from other women when he has you, his cute little girlfriend, to bend every which way.

• And if that isn’t enough to soothe your worries, Dennis will then try to do some sort of grand gesture proving his love to you. (Imagine something akin to Dennis’s speech to Mac during The Gang Dines Out)

As for the gang…

• Although Dee is not a very great “girl’s girl”, she does appreciate having another female in The Gang.

• Whenever the other four are paired off respectively doing whatever the hell it is they’re doing, she’ll tend to rope you into her misadventures.

• Before you, she was often left alone as Charlie and Frank would do something gross while Mac and Dennis banished her from their side quests. But now, he has someone to hang out with other than animals!

• She isn’t the kindest friend you’ve had, but if it comes down to it she would defend you against a stranger with her life.

• She does question your taste in men, however.

• Dee understands better than anyone else her brother is not a good person, let alone someone deserving of genuine love. She is offended he was able to find someone as perfect as you before she could bag a man.

• Sometimes she’ll even make hints at you being “too good for Dennis” and that her brother doesn’t deserve you, which is honestly the closest thing to a compliment you’ll audibly get from Dee.

• Mac is totally not jealous of your presence in the group.

• Sometimes you’ll hear him make snide comments under his breath when you “steal” his roommate from him.

• How could he not feel envy when you stole his unhealthy codependency for yourself?

• You understand his frustrations though and try to make it clear you’re not trying to butt in on his and Dennis’s… special relationship, which Mac appreciates.

• I can see you two have a definite love-hate relationship with each other; constantly butting heads with one another but ultimately caring and protecting for each other when you need to. Almost like a sibling.

• Charlie more or less acknowledges you’re there.

• If you’re kind to him I could see him potentially inviting you to his frequently gross outings, but honestly, you’d never take him up on the offer if you were dating Dennis.

• As Dennis’s girlfriend, if you didn’t make an outright point to be his friend, he would just view you as another Dennis relationship.

• Although, as a member of The Gang, I can see you and Charlie having a lot of misadventures! You can’t hang around Dennis’s preppy ass all of the time, right? He has Mac when you’re not around anyway.

• If you do indulge in Charlie’s dirt-filled daily tasks just be sure to shower before you even attempt to touch Dennis.

• Frank also ignored you at first, knowing his ex-son's tendencies with women, but after seeing how you were more than a one-night stand to Dennis he was finally interested in you.

• He simply found it fascinating someone was able to crack Dennis’s sociopathic personality, at least to some degree.

• Dennis naturally would make a point not to allow you and Frank to converse for too long. He understands what Frank is capable of and he is not willing to subject you or your relationship to that.

• You do enjoy hearing old stories about Dennis from Frank, especially from his childhood. All of the old photographs and videotapes are also highly appreciated.

I wrote most of this half-high, which I think is on brand for IASIP

*This dichotomy says that people (majority cis-gendered straight men) with this complex see women as either a saint or a whore - but never both.

[harmonyrae]

Ivy League

Spring Semester: Sophomore Year🌸🌷☔️📚

Premise: Based on this post by PomeRinn aka @waterrinmelonn In this AU, all the boys are modern rich international kids going to a prestigious university. They’re attending Yale, an Ivy League University in the American Northeast. They're all the same age. There’s one FMC, she will end up with only one of them in the end. 

Content Warnings: Mildly Suggestive & Explicit Language. Some fluff. Some angst. Slow burn in its purest form. Depression, self-loathing, mental health, please be aware of your own triggers while reading. Mentions of the boys dating someone other than the FMC, this is an AU not a divergence from the game - there is no "MC" basically. 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 7.5k

Part One Part Two Part Three

“Pips? Are you there?”

Since getting home for the holiday break, Caleb’s visited everyday. While you’ve felt guilty making him sit in the hallway outside your bedroom, you couldn’t handle visitors. From dawn until dusk you would sit in your chair by the window and watch the day go by. Snow would fall, the kids across the street would have a snowball fight, Caleb would deliver his moms famous gingerbread cookies, nothing could get you out of your room. 

Your parents didn’t force you to go to any family gatherings or holiday parties. They cautiously asked if you would come out for Christmas dinner, but didn’t expect anything. Your brothers, however, didn’t treat you like broken glass. They barged into your room to bring you an actual meal. They didn’t badger you with questions, but they did each give you a hug. Acts of affection were rare when it came to your brothers, so as soon as they left you were sobbing. 

Tara stayed in touch, checking on you everyday. She facetimed and took you on a mini tour of Seattle, where she spent the holidays with her dad and sister. The boys kept in contact as well. Rafayel sent copious amounts of memes, Xavier shared his adventures (or rather misadventures) in baking with his aunt, Zayne sent a new picture of Galen nearly everyday with updates on his interests. Galen apparently has started climbing the curtains. Caleb would text off and on, preferring to come in person and sit outside your door in case you wanted company. But the one person you were most anxious to hear from was silent. 

After Halloween, everything went up in flames. Or at least it felt like it did. Sylus got out on bail, his arresting officers told him they wanted to drop the charges but the DA was insistent on cracking down on fraternities and their partying. At least Yale was willing to work with him once Zayne and Tara shared the full story with Student Affairs. Sigma Chi didn’t even need to vote on letting Sylus become a member.

“Anyone who defends their friends from a shithead like that is the kind of man we want.” Caleb quoted Finley. “Also, no, Chad is not a member of Sigma Chi. Never was. But he and Dylan are facing expulsion on top of their charges. You won’t have to worry about seeing him ever again.”

Somehow you held it together through finals. Your parents paid for you and Caleb to fly home rather than drive. As soon as you walked through the door to your family home, it was like the weight of everything that had happened finally hit you. You cried for the first time since the party. Everything that happened had been terrifying, but your friends had protected you. It wasn’t fear that crippled you, guilt had wormed its way into your head. Twisting facts and sending you into a spiral of depression. 

The day before you were set to return to Yale, you forced yourself to pack. Quietly trudging through the house to do load after load of laundry, cleaning your room, showering and shaving so you’d feel like a human again. When you opened your suitcase you realized you hadn’t even taken your makeup bag out. This might be the longest period of time you’ve gone without wearing a spec of makeup. You curled up on your bathroom counter and washed your makeup brushes. Might as well start fresh, right?

With your bathroom door left open, you could hear the knock on your bedroom door. It was probably Caleb making sure you were actually going back to campus tomorrow. You walked over and stood in front of your door, staring at the handle. 

“I’m packing Caleb.” Your voice was raspy, probably from lack of use. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

There’s silence on the other side. You waited for another moment to hear his footsteps retreat. 

“Kitten?” A familiar voice seeps through the door.

You grasp the handle and yank the door open without hesitation. Sylus stands there, hands in his pockets, his hair damp from the falling snow. You feel it, tears forming fast, but you hold your breath to keep them at bay. You back up, creating a gap for Sylus to pass through. He slides past you into your room and you close the door. If your parents are nearby you’re sure they’re arguing over whether they should open it. Their “no boys allowed” rule for your room applied in high school, but now, well… the door is still closed. 

Sylus sits in your chair by the window so you sit on the end of your bed to face him. It’s silent for a while, just the sound of the fireplace crackling and distant holiday music playing. Probably your mom in the kitchen, there’s a guest so she’s most likely cooking something. You stare at your hands, examining your cuticles. You’re glad you changed out of your stained sweatpants and high school hoodie.

“Caleb called.” Sylus says quietly.

“I figured.” You respond.

“He said you haven’t left your room.” He takes a moment to look around. “I was going to lecture you, but it’s pretty nice in here.” 

You blush, crossing your arms so you stop picking at your overgrown cuticles. 

“Why are you here?” It came out harsher than you intended, but you were too anxious to regulate your tone at this point.

“Because I was worried about you.”

“You could have called. Or texted.”

“My father took my phone as soon as I got off the plane.”

You grimace, remembering how ridiculous his father is. 

“The only reason Caleb got through is because his mom works for the airline that my mom flies with. I think his mom even flew her jet once. I know, small world. He apparently broke several laws to get her phone number.”

“Great, so Caleb almost got arrested because of me too.” You blurt out. 

“Stop.” 

You bristle, his tone was rough, but his expression weary. Your face feels hot, your throat closing up. Tears threaten to fall and you don’t have the strength to stop them. Sylus moves to sit next to you on your bed.

“I didn’t get arrested because of you. I got arrested because I broke that prick’s jaw. And I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

Looking over, you see a scar across his knuckles. He had to get stitches, thankfully the doctor was careful. It could have been an ugly reminder, but it suits him in a strange sort of way.

“I don’t blame you, so stop blaming yourself.”

“You had to go home because of everything that happened. You had to see your dad and you have court and…”

“And I’ll deal with it. I told you once that you can’t fix everything. This is one of those things. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not!” You sob, giving up your attempt at keeping it together. “I should have –”

Sylus grabs your shoulders and turns you to face him.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t play that game. There’s no should-haves or would-haves with this. You did nothing wrong and it’s not your fault for the shit I’m in.”

He lifts his hand to wipe away a tear with his thumb, letting his hand linger to trace your jaw.

“Just be here with me. That’s all I need.”

Sniffling, you offer a small smile. 

“There she is.”

You chuckle and push his shoulder lightly. He lets you go and leans back, propping himself up with his hands behind him on your bed. 

“I didn’t think your dad would let you come back. How’d you convince him?”

“I threatened to sell all my shit, go off the grid and he’d never find me again.” Your mouth falls open. “He knows I could do it too, so he gave in. Told me if I get into any more trouble he’ll take the risk.” 

“So if you stay out of trouble, you can finish at Yale?” He nods. “And you aren’t facing any penalties for what happened? With the school at least?”

“They’re not exactly happy, but they’re letting me off with a warning. The courts however…”

“Do you have to actually go to court?”

“I have a lawyer who’s trying to keep that from happening. He said it’s likely I’ll get a deal and just plead out.”

“Wait, you’d take a deal? But Ch- ahh… That dick is the one who is at fault!”

“I still assaulted him. I still have to deal with the consequences of that.”

“But…”

“Hey, it’ll be fine, okay? I’ll hear from my lawyer in a few weeks. Now, let’s focus on you.” He stands. “Come on. Get some shoes.”

“What? Where are we going?” 

“We’re going on a walk. Caleb said you’ve barely left the house, so we are getting you some fresh air while the sun is still up.”

The walk is slow, frigid, but refreshing. Snow crunching under your boots, Sylus commenting on your neighborhood's poor taste in holiday decorations, the sky turns orange and red as the sun sets, the clouds rippling like fiery waves. By the time you make it back to your house, Caleb has arrived. He instantly hugs you and thanks Sylus profusely for coming. Caleb stays for dinner, which, sure enough, your mother went all out for. It’s like the moment Sylus arrived, she went into turbo mode and made a second holiday feast just for him. You’d told your parents about what Sylus did, so that’s probably exactly what she did. 

Eating dinner at the dining room table was odd after eating so many meals in your room. But you could tell your parents were relieved you were finally coming out of your shell. Caleb checked Sylus’s flight for the next day, confirming his mother pulled some strings to get him on the same flight as you both. Your mother made up the guest room for Sylus. She just shook her head when he claimed to have a room at a hotel. 

“No, you stay with us. Please, it’s the least we can do.”

Your mother can be very convincing when she wants to. Sylus conceded and settled in for the night, checking in on you once more before getting some sleep. His hug lasted a little longer this time, his face tucked into the crook of your neck. When his lips brushed your cheek you gasped, making him smile while his ears turned red. He wished you sweet dreams before strolling to the guest room. You leaned against your bedroom door, giggling like a smitten school girl. 

🌸🌷☔️📚

As soon as you got back to campus you went to the Registrar's Office to officially declare your major. Are you sure this is what you want? Will you end up going back to college in 20 years? Maybe. But for nearly a year, you’ve been thinking about only one major. You declare yourself an English major and grab a course outline so you can plan your final two years. When you tell the guys, Rafayel is thrilled he’s not the only Bachelor of Arts student in the group anymore.

Sylus and Rafayel move into the Sigma Chi house as soon as they get back to campus. They rally the gang to help them move in and you immediately get a glimpse at what life will be like for them as roommates. As soon as they finish arguing about who gets a desk in front of the window, they are arguing over how messy the other is. 

“You’ve been in the room for less than 30 minutes and there’s already paint on the fucking floor!”

“At least I’m not dropping nuts and bolts with every step I take! Where are they even coming from?! No no no! Do not put that monstrosity right in front of my closet!”

Poor Mephisto. Sylus had just about finished him over the break, finally naming him as well. Seems he avoided his father by locking himself in his room to finish ironing out the CAWing issue. He was sitting like a real bird on a bird stand that served as a charger. He blinks at Rafayel. If you didn’t know better you’d think he was judging him. Hell, maybe he is. 

“Do not call him a monstrosity! And this is not your closet, that is your closet.”

“That closet is too small. I need that one.”

“Well tough shit.”

“Why are you such an asshole? Zayne, how did you survive living with this?”

Zayne taps Mephisto’s head, almost petting him. He looks over his shoulder at Rafayel. 

“He has his moments.”

Rafayel huffs and storms out of the room to grab another box from Caleb’s car. Sylus turns to Xavier, who is almost asleep on Rafayel’s bed. 

“Xavier? Same question.”

Xavier opens one eye to look at him. 

“Stock his minifridge with the honey-dew yogurt smoothies from the dining hall and he’ll stay out of your hair. And if he’s really mad, compliment his art. Calms him down pretty quickly.” 

Sylus looks around the room at the various canvases leaning against the wall. Rafayel is talented, there’s no doubt about it. They may not be Sylus’s cup of tea, but they are incredible nonetheless. When Rafayel returns, Sylus tries it out and is pleasantly surprised with the results. They come to an agreement to share the window space and Sylus lets Rafayel have his closet as long as Mephisto’s bird stand is left untouched in the corner.

Look at your boys compromising, they grow up so fast. 

After the boys move in, the whole gang assembles for dinner in the Commons. Gideon has officially joined since he doesn’t seem to want to be apart from Tara for even a second. She’s eating it up, the flirting and giggles making you a little jealous and curious about where you stand with Sylus. Neither of you have denied flirting with each other, but there’s nothing official and you’re too shy to ask. 

“Wait, does anyone else have English Literature with Professor Morris?” Xavier asks.

You check your phone, recognizing the name. 

“Yep, I do. Tuesdays and Thursdays at 10am.”

“Same.” Sylus adds as he turns to you, stealing a dumpling off your plate. “And since you’re an English major, you can tutor us for a change.” 

“Not crazy about literature, are we?” You tease.

“I built a robotic bird who can fly for over 1000 hours on a single charge and record upwards of 72 hours of footage at the highest quality. But if you ask me why Shakespeare wrote Hamlet, I’ll be as useless as that carrot on Zayne’s plate.” 

You give Zayne a critical look.

“Aren’t you supposed to be encouraging us to eat our vegetables, Doctor?”

“You’re one to talk.” He points to your neglected broccoli florets.

“Who puts broccoli in stir fry?” Caleb, Xavier and Rafayel discover they all have Art History together. Now Rafayel is in a similar position to you, thrust into a tutoring role he didn’t ask for. Of course Caleb would leave his humanities class for the last semester before his courses turned grueling. He’s a glutton for punishment it seems. 

🌸🌷☔️📚

As the weather warms, the walks to your classes become more enjoyable. The sun peeking over the treetops as you climb the hill to the Linsly-Chittenden Hall. You looked forward to your literature class, not just because you got to sit sandwiched between Xavier and Sylus, but because room 102 is simply stunning. Stained glass windows, worn wooden floors and the acoustics were tasty. It felt fitting to study “Beowulf” in a vintage building like this.

While you simply enjoyed listening to Professor Morris’s lectures and doing your best to understand some of the old English, Sylus was completely lost. Not only did he give up reading the original text to look up simplified translations online, he also was the first to start a debate about its content. Eventually, you stopped trying to shush him and let him run wild.

“Okay, so this guy kills this quote unquote ‘monster’ and then, surprise! Its mom shows up to seek revenge - which seems like a perfectly rational thing a mother would do. So he just decides to kill her. It sounds like he just killed two members of an endangered species and got rewarded for it.”

“Sylus…” Professor Morris grips her podium. 

“And then some fuckhead stole from a dragon. What did he think was going to happen?!”

The class laughs at his enthusiasm, but he doesn’t stop his tirade.

“And instead of finding the fuckhead and returning what he STOLE, he decides to go kill the dragon? When he’s an old man? Who has probably been sitting on his ass on that throne he earned through MURDER for a couple decades? I don’t know Morris.” 

“Professor Morris!” You poke his arm, urging him to be respectful.

“You’re saying Beowulf’s character is supposed to represent Heroism and the good in Good vs Evil, but he just sounds like a dick.”

“Alright! I will see you all on Thursday for your exam covering ‘Beowulf’! Have a lovely afternoon everyone.” 

Professor Morris swiftly ends class and climbs down from her podium. Xavier leans forward to look at Sylus.

“I think you broke her.” 

You break down laughing and pretty soon Xavier and Sylus are joining you. Sylus seemed to enjoy poking holes in any story covered in class. He just about lost his mind when he finished “The Scarlet Letter.” When he spoke up about sexism and religious hypocrisy you applauded his critiques. There were more females sitting around Sylus after that lecture. Not that he noticed.

🌸🌷☔️📚

“You’re on your way to your study group, right?” 

Pausing, you take a moment to smell the flowers budding in the garden outside the library while you finish your call with Caleb. The tulips are growing taller by the day.

“I am, why?”

“My schedule is so hectic I haven’t been able to grab Sylus for a talk. He still hasn’t told me his pick for a community activity. It’s due by Friday, can you please tell him to text me his choice?”

“Community activity?” 

“Everyone in Sigma Chi has to be involved in a community activity. Volunteering, tutoring, doesn’t matter. I gave him a list of options a few weeks ago.”

“I’ll remind him, but if he doesn’t text it’s not my fault!” 

“Thanks Pips, I owe you. You’re still coming to my basketball game tomorrow, yea?” 

“Xavier and I will come right after practice. You’ll be at our tournament Saturday, right?”

He hesitates.

“Xia Yizhou.”

“Oh god… Not my legal name, Pips please…”

“Then say you’ll be there!” You try not to sound like you’re begging, but you’re definitely begging. “It’s the semi-finals and I actually have a shot this year.”

“Okay okay, yes, I will be there. I might be a little late.” You groan. “I have to take Arya to the airport, she’s going home for her aunt’s funeral.” 

Well now you feel like an asshole. Caleb is taking his “not girlfriend” to the airport because she has a funeral to attend and you’re complaining. 

“Oh, sorry. How’s she doing?” 

“She didn’t know her that well, but her mom is taking it pretty hard. She says hi by the way.”

“Oh you’re with her?” You can feel the awkward tension rising.

“Yep, just finished dinner. She’s dropping me back at the house for practice.”

“Ahh, right. Well, tell your girlfriend I said hello. I’ll text you later.”

“Pips…” 

You can tell he wants to say something, but he can’t outright deny their relationship right in front of her. They might not be official, but that would certainly ruin the potential. You give a rushed goodbye and hang up. You’re happy for him, truly. Arya is so fucking nice and crazy about him. But with them and Gideon and Tara, you’re starting to feel just a tad bit lonely. 

The library is warm, the smell of books that almost never get checked out is oddly comforting. You can’t believe it took you so long to realize you’re meant to be an English major. You literally find the smell of books comforting and prefer libraries to parties. You’re a nerd and proud. When you spot Xavier and Sylus, you rush over and grab the final coffee cup in the carrier at the center of the table. 

“Thank god, I’m freezing.” Holding the coffee for a full minute before taking a sip, you slowly thaw from your walk. “Have you guys started on the flashcards?”

“I was about to.” Xavier looks up from his laptop to pick up the brightly colored flashcards.

“Oh, Sylus, Caleb wanted me to remind you about the community activity thing. You need to text him your choice before Friday.”

“Fuck...” He taps his pen on the table. “I was actually… hmm…”

Glancing up from your notebook, you catch him looking away. You lean forward on the table, resting your chin on your palm. 

“You what?” You’ve fallen into his trap.

“I was going to work on improving urban meadows. Plant more flowers, fix up the benches, build some bird feeders. I know you haven’t had much time outside of classes and practice, but if you wanted to join me, I could use an assistant?” 

There’s not a thought in your pretty little head at this very moment. Not one. You can’t really visualize planting flowers with Sylus, but the idea is certainly captivating. Xavier pokes you.

“You’ve been staring for like 2 minutes.” 

You love Xavier, but sometimes his laidback attitude borders on aloof. If you hadn’t caught the mirth in his eyes, you would have thought his comment was just an observation. Damn, does everyone in your friend group know you can’t talk to Sylus without short circuiting? 

“Sure. I’ll help. When were you going to start?” 

“How about Sunday? I know you have a tournament on Saturday.” You raise a brow, surprised he knew. “It’s a big one for you, right?” You nod. “Then I’ll have to make a sign.”

You don’t absorb a single literary fact that night. 

🌸🌷☔️📚

The day of the basketball game a snowstorm blew in and classes were cancelled. To pass the time before fencing practice you decided to visit the boys at the Sigma Chi house. Visiting during the day has helped reduce your anxiety over what happened at the party, so you were making an effort to come around more often. 

When you arrived you were greeted by Finley, who was trying to find a location for the basketball game since the outdoor court was covered in snow and ice. You knew the mats for the fencing match were being set up tomorrow, so the student rec gym should be empty. He gave you the biggest hug and sprinted out of the house. 

As you passed the stairs leading to the workshop, Luke and Kieran emerged. They immediately called out for you to wait. You were surprised they remembered you. 

“What do you mean? Sylus talks about you all the time?” Kieran hits his brother over the back of the head. “Ow! What?”

“He said not to mention that…” Kieran whispers out of the corner of his mouth, still loud enough for you to hear given your close proximity. 

“Oh! Right. Nevermind, he never talks about you. Hates you even.” Again, Kieran slaps his brother. “Dude!”

“Sorry about him, he’s been breathing in fumes. In the workshop. Fumes in the workshop.” Kieran stutters and smiles weakly.

“Ahh. Gotcha. Have you guys seen him today?” Trying to hide your amusement was proving to be very difficult with these two.

“He left a little while ago, I think to get more parts for Mephisto.” Luke offers.

You thank them and continue up the stairs, listening to them bicker as you walk away. The door to Rafayel and Sylus’s room is open, so you walk right in. It’s not as messy as you expected. Rather clean given the sheer amount of canvases, paint bottles, coffee tins of mechanical bits and various tool sets. You’re about to call out, but hear something clatter to the floor in the bathroom. You knock on the door lightly.

“Rafayel, you in there?”

He opens the door and you slap a hand over your mouth. His hair is sticking straight up, some parts clipped back, others falling down in slimy strands. His neck is a bright shade of purple and you can’t help but stare. He smiles and points a gloved hand at you.

“You are the first person to ever catch me doing this.”

He lets the door drift open as he turns back to cleaning a purple splotch on the tile floor. You tip toe past him and look at the variety of products on the counter. 

“You’re dying your hair?”

“Yup! It’s been fading like crazy. This house has a sauna, so I’ve been leaking purple for days.”

You couldn’t really tell, but you nod in agreement to appease him. He turns back to the mirror to dip his fingers in a bowl of dark violet mush, spreading it over his hair until every strand is saturated. You put down the toilet seat and step up to sit on the tank, feet on the lid. Avoiding the open cap, you pick up the bottle and examine it. 

“Mauve Smoke? That’s a pretty good description.” He chuckles. “Have you dyed your hair any other colors before?”

“I’ve always stuck with cool tones, I don’t know if red or orange would suit me.”

Any color would suit him and he knows it. 

“I had navy hair for a while, but it was too dark. Lightened it to a cobalt blue. Then I wanted to add teal to the ends, but it came out green. I finally leveled it out to a mint, but I hated it. So, using color theory, I cancelled out the green with a reddish purple. I’ve been purple ever since.”

On the counter, there’s a bottle of bright pink dye. You point it out.

“So why do you have pink?” 

“I was going to try something new, add some pink to the ends, but I don’t think it would really show up the way I want it to. And I am not bleaching my ends, they’ll melt off.”

You chuckle at the thought of Rafayel having to cut his luscious locks like one of those bleaching fail videos. The longer you stare at the bottle the more concrete your little idea becomes. 

“What if… you use it on me?” Rafayel nearly drops a glob on the counter. “I’ve never had colored hair before. Just highlights. Maybe…”

“Maybe it would be fun to live a little?” You nod. “Hmm… you have a lot of hair and I only have one bottle. We could do some strands of pink? You’d see it better when you curl it or wear it up.”

“Yes! Yes. Would you…?”

He gives you a devious smile.

“I’m so happy I’ve corrupted you. Yes, I’ll help you. Let me get this shit on my hair first ” 

You chat with him while he finishes applying the dye then he disappears into his room, when he returns he tosses you a t-shirt telling you to change to avoid ruining your sweater. Once you’ve changed, he cleans off the counter and you sit mere inches from the mirror. He sections your hair and mixes the dye in a clean plastic bowl. 

“It actually smells like bubblegum!”

“It’s a vegan formula that’s semi-permanent so it doesn’t have as many chemicals. That also means it won’t last as long. It’ll fade after a few washes. If you want it completely removed we can do a bleach wash in a few weeks.” 

You give him a terrified look in the mirror.

“That just means I’ll dilute the bleach and apply it with your hair wet. No reason to damage your hair to hell and back just to get a little pink out.” 

The process is relaxing, Rafayel works quickly and efficiently. After a little while, the door to the bedroom closes and Rafayel kicks the bathroom door open with his foot.

“Sylus! We have a guest, don’t get naked!” He leans forward. “Unless you want him to be?”

You thrust your elbow back into his stomach and he groans. Sylus pokes his head into the bathroom and you watch his eyes widen.

“Oh, you’re… is that my shirt?” Your smile falls, glancing down at the pink stains. 

“Rafayel! I thought this was yours!” Rafayel wheezes, dropping a strand of your hair to back away from an approaching Sylus. “Oh my god, I’m sorry Sy!”

“Yeah Sy! She’s sorry!” Rafayel teases. 

You keep forgetting you’re the only one who calls him Sy. Your cheeks turn a bright pink, almost matching the dye in your hair. Sylus just glares at Rafayel, but he retreats, leaning against the doorframe to examine you. 

“It’s a good look for you kitten.” You lock eyes with him in the mirror. “The hair too.”

He strolls out of the bathroom, leaving you stunned and speechless. Rafayel pokes your forehead so you’ll face forward. He lets you sit in silence, reveling in your embarrassment. 

“You guys are so cute. It’s disgusting.”

He finishes your hair an hour before practice starts, even drying and curling it so you can properly see how the pink weaves throughout. Xavier is rendered speechless. He still makes you pull it back so you won’t get distracted, but that just makes it worse and now he’s distracted. You win every bout tonight.

The basketball game is chaotic. Sigma Chi’s sister sorority are cheerleaders, you spot Arya among them and wave. She’s cute, petite, olive skin with big brown eyes, her wild curls framing her angelic face. You watch her hug Caleb after he scores another point. You expected to feel a twinge of jealousy or even sadness, but you feel… okay. Maybe this is acceptance? 

Sylus nudges you, offering some of his nachos. You happily take one before you start to overthink again.

“Zayne’s at the shelter tonight, right?” Sylus asks and you nod. He leans closer to whisper in your ear. “He hasn’t brought home any more strays, has he?” 

“No, but he could probably get away with it. Since he doesn’t have a roommate this semester.” 

 “I’m sure he’s looking forward to break, Galen misses him.”

“And you know this, how?” He stretches and drapes his arm over the back of your seat.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m pretty good with kittens.” 

His smirk is so cocky. How does he keep getting away with this?

You don’t stay for the after-party, you’re still not ready for that. Tara told you she plans to stay the night with Gideon and Xavier left the game early. You should really talk to him about taking more iron or vitamin D with how tired he’s been lately. So Sylus offers to walk you back. He drops you off at your dorm and this time, when he kisses your cheek, you don’t make a sound. 

🌸🌷☔️📚

Xavier picks you up early for the tournament on Saturday morning. Even with the sabre bouts scheduled towards the end to keep the crowd, you wanted to be there for your team. You try your best to remain calm, stretching often to keep your limbs from tensing. But by mid-afternoon you can’t stop fidgeting.

Your team is doing well, even for a club sport Yale fencing is known for being ruthless. The captain makes his rounds every five minutes to provide moral support. Xavier won almost every match by a landslide, only his final bout proved to be a challenge. His competitor was taller, longer arms and, just like Xavier, professionally trained before ever attending university. 

Watching Xavier leap and parry for so long fried your nerves. You weren’t even nervous for your bouts anymore. Audiences were usually not too rowdy at fencing matches, but as soon as Xavier started to tire you heard a familiar voice cheering him on.

“XAVIER IF YOU DON’T WOOP HIS ASS I SWEAR TO GOD!” Rafayel has never been so passionate about sports in his entire life. 

If you could see Xavier’s face behind his mask, you’re sure he’d be red as a beet. But Rafayel’s cheer, or rather his threat, worked. The judges had to deliberate if his move would count as cheating, but they were so impressed they allowed it, securing Xavier’s title as champion for the Épée rounds. Now it was your turn.

“Sabre competitors, 5 minutes!” The announcer called out. 

Xavier sank into the chair next to you, yanking off his helmet and grabbing his water bottle. 

“I see you finally took my advice.” You giggle.

Xavier squints, but quickly lifts his hand to his head. You grab his arm.

“No! Leave it! They’re cute!” 

He glares at you, but stops struggling for the moment, leaving the bejeweled star clips holding his hair back alone. You’d gifted them to him for the holidays claiming they’d be his lucky charm. But mostly because he kept complaining about his hair falling over his eyes making bouts more frustrating. He refused to get a haircut and you were ready to scream at him the next time he took off his helmet and flicked his bangs, sending sweat droplets into your face.

“You ready?” He reached down and grabbed your sabre for you.

“I’m nervous.” You fumble with the straps of your gloves and he stops you, taking your hands in his to fix them himself. “Thanks…”

“I know you want to win. I want you to win. But more than that, I want you to have fun.” 

“But if I don’t win I’ll be a miserable bitch to everyone I know.”

“Then get up there and kick ass.” He hands you your helmet and you stand, marching towards the mat with determination.

You flew through the first few rounds, gaining more confidence as you’re declared the victor. Some of your opponents are definitely more skilled, leaner, faster, but thanks to Xavier’s patient training you remain undefeated. You make it to the finals, your opponent just so happens to be the captain of the team from Harvard. Of course, a good ole fashion Yale vs Harvard match, bring it on. 

Names are read out, lights narrow and the referee nods to each of you. With your mask lowered, you close your eyes to get into the zone, imagining you’re just at practice on the lawn outside Lawrance Hall. Breathing deeply, you open your eyes. The referee stands back.

“En garde!” 

You each take your positions.

"Pret? Allez!"

Your opponent lunges forward, instantly catching the edge of your blade as you parry. Leaping high, you feel her blade tap your leg and you grin, your jump height has become so much better. Repositioning, you take initiative, striking with ease and pushing her back. She recovers quickly, but your feint succeeds in throwing her off. Your sabre strikes true, poking her abdomen. 

“Point! Yale.”

The dance continues. She remains on offense for a considerable amount of time before you finally parry, taking the right of way to make your attack. Your breathing turns shallow as your chest tightens, each match having taken its toll. Flunge! Your favorite term still makes you giggle as you hear it in Xavier’s voice every time. For a brief moment, you wonder if he’d be disappointed if you lost. After all the effort he put in to train with you. Would he be angry? He wouldn’t stop training with you, would he?

“Point! Harvard.”

You hadn’t even felt the hit. Looking down you see the tip of her blade pressed against your chest. Dead center. Fuck. You take a quick glance at Xavier, he just nods, his face neutral. 

Positions, allez. Another missed opportunity to engage first. She’s too fast. She swings low, forcing you to jump. You bring your blade down, anticipating a strike, but it never comes. Instead, she leaps herself, soaring into the air, ready to roll on impact. You move to take a step, but don’t know which way she’ll go. Before you get a chance to decide, she strikes.

“Point! Harvard.” 

You swear under your breath. You’re tired, bruised, it’s been a long day and you’ve been training harder than ever to prepare. All your friends are here to support you, Caleb arrived earlier than expected, Tara and Gideon brought you lunch even though you were too nervous to eat it, Rafayel drew you accepting a trophy weeks ago, and Sylus wasn’t lying when he said he’d make a sign. Even Zayne showed up and he hates sporting events. 

Attempting to bottle your nerves, you grit your teeth and roll your shoulders. Get one more point, even it out, accuracy over speed. Your logical brain repeats these facts over and over, but that little voice that you’ve spent over a decade trying to ignore keeps butting in. Unknowingly, you’ve been feeding that voice, helping it get stronger as the years pass. You never realized how damaging your self-deprecation has been to your psyche. It was just sarcasm, but your developing brain hadn’t processed it as such. 

If you choke for even a second, you’ll let everyone down. You’re about to fail, like always. Where will you hide when you inevitably lose this bout?

As you shake your head to clear your mind you hear the referee shout. 

“Allez!"

If someone was timing the match, they could reach out to the world record book - get your picture for ‘the shortest fencing bout in history.’

“Final point! Harvard takes the win.” 

Goosebumps rise along your arms and your throat begins to close making it hard to swallow. You politely shake your opponents hand, thankful fencing requires a helmet and you can hide the way you’re falling apart. The Harvard girl removes hers, her face marked by tears of joy. She’d worked just as hard to get here. Turning, you hop down from the mat and walk straight to the locker room. Xavier calls after you, but you break into a sprint, reaching your destination before he can catch up.

🌸🌷☔️📚

You’re not sure how long you sit in the shower stall. Maybe an hour. Maybe two. Your teammates came to find you, but quickly realized it’s probably best to let you cool off. The tournament was held at Yale, so it’s not like you’re missing a bus. When the locker room is completely silent, you emerge from your hiding spot to change.

After peeling off your uniform and storing it in your duffel bag, you stand, half naked, holding the clothes you brought for after the meet. They were meant for a celebration. Your favorite pink corduroy skirt, a fitted white turtleneck, lace tights and matching white heeled boots. The gang was going to go to Modern Apizza with the rest of the fencing team. You’d already planned what to order. The Bruschetta first and then the Margarita pizza to share with Tara. You’d been so confident you didn’t bring your usual extra set of clothes. 

Pulling on your skirt, you forgo the sweater and just zip up your coat. You just need to get back to your dorm, so you put your court shoes back on. The sweat in your hair has dried, leaving your hair sticking to your face, a few pink stains on your neck from where the dye bled out. You don’t bother to retie your ponytail, just let it be, you’ll shower soon. 

Opening the door to the locker room as slowly as possible, you look back and forth. You wouldn’t be surprised if your friends had waited for you. Before fully stepping outside, you dig your phone out of your duffel and scroll through the messages. 

Tara🐝 Babe, where are you?  Xav⭐ You did well, the final bout is always the hardest  I’m worried about you Pls call me Falafel🎨 i know ur upset & everything… but ur high jumps were really fucking impressive… Dr. Z🩺 (meme of two kittens hugging) Caleb✈️ Where are you hiding?  Come on, talk to me. Pips… Sy🐦‍⬛ You fought well, kitten.  Don’t beat yourself up.

Keeping your head down, you go out the side entrance and slowly make your way back to your dorm. When you get there, you brace yourself, Tara might be back by now. The lock clicks and you open the door carefully. All the lights are off, only your salt lamp glows faintly in the corner next to your bed. You’d been hoping the whole walk back that no one would be here. But now… A fresh stream of tears spill over and trickle down your cheeks while you gather your shower caddy and a towel. 

You take your time, have a good cry, exfoliate. Curling up in bed to sleep away the frustration sounded like the best idea. Wrapping the towel around yourself, you stare in the mirror for a moment. You’d trained for this, been so ready and you barely understand what happened. Squeezing the excess water from your hair, you clip it back and grab your shower caddy. You stare down at your feet as you open the bathroom door and enter your room, trying to massage a sore spot on your shoulder. 

“Oh shit…”

Your eyes snap up and lock with Sylus’s, who is sitting on your bed with a pizza box beside him. You freeze momentarily, half convinced this is not real life. When you realize it is very much real, you drop your caddy and wrap your arms around yourself. He lowers his gaze.

“Sorry, kitten, I didn’t–”

“Why are you here?! How did you get in here?! Oh my god, I’m naked…” 

You race to your dresser to get underwear and use your closet doors to hide as you dress.

“Tara gave me her key. And I’m here because even though you’re upset you still need to eat.”

Pulling on sleep shorts and a tank top, you close the closet doors and cross your arms as you approach him. He cautiously looks up and points to the pizza box.

“Half a Margarita pizza. And I stole a few pieces of Bruschetta from Rafayel.”

Every fiber of your being is telling you to kick him out. He’s not invited to your pity party. But the way he’s looking at you, his brows drawn together, lips pressed in a thin line. He’s worried. 

“Thanks.” You mutter under your breath.

He opens the box and you nearly start salivating the moment you smell the sweet tomato and garlic cheesy goodness. He kicks off his boots and starts to get comfortable on your bed, even grabbing your starfish plushie to hold in his lap.

“You don’t have to stay. I’m fine.” 

“So we’re lying to each other now?” He squints, head cocked. “Sit, eat. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Again, you’re torn between telling him to leave or replacing that plushie with yourself. Instead, you grab a slice and unceremoniously stuff half of it in your mouth. As soon as you swallow the first bite, your snarky attitude fades to a simmer. You sit and avoid his gaze as you continue eating. He leans back, watching you.

“What were you thinking about?” 

“When?” You say with your mouth half full.

“During the match.” You shake your head like you don’t know what he’s talking about. “Kitten.”

“I doubted myself for one second and it bit me in the ass.”

“It was more than that.”

“Okay, how did you come to that conclusion?” Your glare could freeze hell over. “I had a mask on, you were up in the stands, so please, enlighten me.”

“You tremble when angry. When you’re frustrated. And when you’re sad. Even when you’re tired, you don’t let it affect you like your emotions do. So, what were you thinking about?”

You might struggle to read him, but he has no trouble reading you. Drawing your legs close to your chest, you close your eyes to ward off the tears. You’ve cried so much lately. 

“I’m really mean to myself, you know? Without really trying. I just… I’m really mean.”

You don’t have it in you to elaborate and he doesn’t ask you to. He closes the pizza box and scootches over to sit next to you. You feel his arm wrap around your shoulders and without thinking, you lean into his warmth.

“If someone was saying those things to Tara, the things you tell yourself, what would you do?”

Probably end up in jail.

“I get your point.” He rests his chin on your head. 

“We’ll work on it together.” 

He doesn’t share a plan or why he wants to help you, he just stays by your side. You don’t talk about it anymore that night. When you’re full, he tucks you in and watches silly videos with you until you fall asleep. The next morning when you wake up curled up beside him, your cheek on his chest, you feel more at peace than ever. 🌸🌷☔️📚

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: (If you'd like to be added to the Ivy League taglist comment a🎓) @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22 @letharue @silverbrain @alastor-simp @drama-trauma @0tterteeth @mysticcollectionvoid @godzillaglitter @godoffuckedupcats @klmpun @ariallaisawesome @spidy-spider01 @ankitavminkook @m00nchildwrites @plsdonttakemyname @hauntedbysmutm0 @withering-dream @lostwingz2236 @simpfortheseven @bubbleteakittyy @stellar-seas @babylilxc @havenhope-art @lly5duck @freddy-2002-blog @sylus-hunter @plzdonutpercieveme @saybeyonce @red-f1sh-blue-f1sh @am-drawings @thechaoticarchivist @booklover99988755421 @szafficat

AN: I know, I know. Rafayel dyes his hair?? This is a real life AU so natural purple hair can't really be a thing. Plus it's a nice addition for FMC to give it a try. Also, I know the idea of Caleb dating might not be something everyone likes, but like I said, FMC will end up with only one of them. And I want all the guys to be happy. Summer special up next, cuteness overload incoming.

[atlantis-just-drowned]

I don't know if this is a theory or a rewrite at this point, because I feel like this could be canon, but I also have no trust in the Slashfic authors to actually care enough about their own story to make it make sense, so, I guess I'm throwing this take in the air to see what you guys are thinking.

I think Damien would be one of the kids the Dunlaps kidnapped for their science experiments, but was quickly discarded as an unfit host for the Darkness, and sent back to the camp after a few days.

Either because he was drugged, or because the intense distress and trauma he was put through caused him to disassociate and caused amnesia, he forgot (at least mostly) what happened to him and went on with his life. But what neither the Dunlaps nor him knew, was that the Darkness had actually taken root into him, but was locked away by a dissociative barrier.

And so, Damien Grimm grows up to be a troubled teen with a weird fascination for death and the darkest side of humanity. He shows symptoms of PTSD and other related disorders without anyone (not even himself) being able to tell what exactly caused them. He's terrified of blood to a point even the smallest drop can make him nauseous, with no idea where this fear came from. He's sent to multiple therapists, tries different methods, but nothing seems to work as the part of him claimed by Darkness refuses to reveal itself and to give him access to the memories, and he slowly abandons the idea of finding help.

Somehow, the only hint of an explanation he gets is someone in his family telling him about his misadventures at Camp Nevermoor as a child - one summer, he disappeared for a few days before counselors found him wandering in the woods, seemingly lost and disoriented. No one knows what happened, he never spoke about it. Surely, he got lost. But they swear he came back changed, even though everyone pretends otherwise. And Damien realises: he doesn't know what happened there either. He has no memory of this summer, but something inside of him seems to be reacting to this story. Maybe that's the key, then.

He starts researching Nevermoor. The camp, the curse, the missing children, the slashers. Something stirs in him. He feels a sense of connection with Jay - a kidnapped child hidden in the woods, found in the camp after committing atrocities. He doesn't know why, but the ginger gives him a feeling of déjà-vu. What he doesn't know is that the two of them met, long ago. Jay was the only one of the slashers authorised to roam the facility's corridors freely, and he was a comforting presence, a strange friend to this terrified little child transformed into a laboratory rat.

Damien starts to slowly develop a certitude: he has to go there and investigate himself. Somewhere along the way, he made his quest an interactive one through his YouTube channel, adapting his language and content to appeal more to his audience, authenticity and self-respect be damned, because he became convinced that the truth is owed not only to him, but to the whole world as well. The more people will listen, the bigger his chances to get his point across. But he cannot go back there yet - even if he knows something is wrong, he doesn't have any idea of where or what to look for. He'll be lost, with an immense zone to research, and only faint hopes to stumble upon something that might bring back the spark of a memory to his mind.

And that's when he receives an anonymous package, containing the necklace, the picture and the lead to the shack where Jay was raised. He takes it as a sign of fate: the time has come for him to uncover the key to his own past. He signs in as a counselor at the summer camp, and everything goes haywire.

When they meet again, Jay doesn't recognise him - Damien grew into a young man, who hides his face behind his bangs and is far from being the only kid Jay entertained during their trial tests. Said man doesn't remember anything, if not for a vague sense of companionship, maybe even security. Enough for him to forget his own survival instinct and get closer, make himself known to the slasher and try to talk to him.

What Damien doesn't know yet, is that every moment he spends on this cursed ground fuels the small piece of Darkness inside of him, making it grow bigger, more powerful. It's unable to claim his whole mind, but it is here nonetheless, and it wants to make itself known. It starts small, hindered by the dissociative barrier and the magic containing the dark force inside of a receptacle. But the intense stress, the emotional baggage, and the constant, very up-close exposure to the Darkness create cracks in his psyche.

And slowly, Freddie escapes through the cracks. Decided to claim his part of the cake after so many years of being locked out of the world. Decided to protect the innocent, blissfully unaware part of them who escaped the grip of the Dunlaps and Darkness.

[fuctacles]

Henderson's-brother-centered misadventures continue [Part IV]

[Part I] [Part II] [Part III]

Eddie screamed. Then, he screamed some more. Then, he got hit with a teddy bear, which bounced off into the floor, barely disturbing his mane of hair.

“You get a drop of spit on my pillow, and you’re washing all my sheets!”

He groaned, like a wounded animal. If animals could be wounded by their best friend’s disloyalty.

“No, dude! You can scream into your own fucking pillow! We can jam if you need, smoke or steal a beer, hell, I can even listen to you. But don’t just come here to stink my room with-” Gareth made a flapping motion in Eddie’s general direction. “Whatever this is.”

Eddie groaned louder before finally rolling onto his back.

“I fucking hate him.”

“I was hoping you’d choose jamming,” Gareth sighed. He threw his leg over his chair and leaned on the back of it. “You mean Big Bro Henderson?”

“Who else?” Eddie threw his hands up into the ceiling. His friend barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. “He’s the most annoying person I’ve ever met!”

“Good thing you can’t meet yourself, then.”

Eddie glared at him, but from this angle, it gave him a double chin which severely decreased the look’s efficiency.

“You calling me annoying?”

“Yes.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘lively’. Or ‘charismatic’! Or, or, ‘non-conforming’!”

“No, I’m pretty sure ‘annoying’ is the word. Also, ‘dramatic’.”

Eddie glared again, but since his position has not changed so hasn’t its lack of impact.

“How dare you,” he seethed. Gareth completely ignored it.

“So, what did he do this time? Give you more cookies?”

“No!” He had regretted the decision to tell him about it as soon as it left his mouth, but it was out there now. Well, the price of the blackmail material was listening to it first. “He just…” Eddie trailed off, realizing what he was about to say. ‘He let me sit in his lap for the whole length of Karate Kid’ was so much harder to explain than ‘he gave me an extra cookie for my good work.’ He scrambled to find a better approach. 

“So he’s like a therapy dog,” he started, because painting the scene is important.

“What.”

Wrong approach.

“Okay, so I’ve found out he has some issues, something to do with the Starcourt fire, I think? You know nothing of it, by the way, I probably shouldn't know about it. Henderson, well, the little one, just has a big mouth.”

“And so do you. By telling me,” his friend pointed out.

“Emerson, this isn’t about you,” Eddie scolded him. “So he needs extra physical contact or something. And he might have um…” Wrong turn again. “Engaged me in it?”

“Ok, hold on,” Gareth dropped his forehead on the edge of the chair’s back and rubbed his temples. “What do you mean by that? Because I know it’s not as weird as you make it sound.”

Eddie crossed his arms, which looked extra stupid in his horizontal position. He tapped his socked foot against the mattress.

“We were watching Karate Kid, and the couch wasn’t big enough for four people. Nobody else wanted to sit in his lap and I thought it would be, you know, funny, to offer. And he just said ‘okay’, and did it!” His arms flew up into the air again.

Gareth lifted his head.

“So you sat in his lap.”

“He put me in his lap.”

“Dude, you throw your legs all over me when we watch a movie!”

“Yeah, but that’s different!”

“How?”

“Because we’re friends! We play together and shit!”

Gareth scrunched his nose because while he knew of the wisdom his friend possessed (very selective and rarely occurring in the daylight), admitting him right was painful because the cockiness he possessed was probably far greater.

“Well, maybe he’s giving you signs he wants to be friends?”

Eddie snorted.

"No way. Not possible. No."

"And why is that?" Gareth raised an eyebrow at the adamant negation.

"I'm his younger brother's friend-"

"Who's his age."

"-And we like different things. I'm a freak, I like metal and D&D!"

"So does Dustin, and they get along well."

"They are brothers!" 

"Well, I actually hate my sister, it’s not a rule."

Eddie groaned.

"I don't know," he ended up saying, just to voice his internal frustration. At least he was facing the ceiling now and not Gareth's pillow.

He hummed, considering his friend, trying to understand his problem, to even locate it.

"Okay, so you don't like that he's nice?"

"Yes."

"... You want him to be mean?"

"... Yes? Maybe?"

Gareth hit his head against the chair. 

"This whole conversation is lost on me."

When he looked up he met Eddie's eyes, a storm brewing behind them.

"I don't want to like him. But he makes it hard not to because he's so nice."

‘He treats me like I'm normal, like his equal’, went unspoken but Gareth could hear it anyway. It was time to end the questions for the day because getting any deeper into his friend's psyche could trap him like quicksand. 

"And then I go to apologize and end up talking about BDSM of all things!"

"Nope!" Gareth straightened up and hopped out of his chair. "We're going to the garage, so I can't hear you over the drums."

"What a best friend you are," Eddie grumbled but rolled off the bed regardless. He was secretly glad for an excuse to stop talking about Henderson because he started getting lost in his thoughts and feelings himself.

The next time he sees Steve, he doesn’t make it any easier. They see each other only in passing, and the older brother doesn’t give him more than a weak smile and a "Hi, Eddie. Dustin's upstairs," before leaving.

Eddie walks up to his friend's room thoroughly confused. 

"What was that about?" he asks instead of a greeting. He never greets his friends properly these days, but there are more important things like ‘hi’s and ‘hello’s.

"What was what about?"

"Steve," Eddie frowns like it explains everything. And apparently, it does.

"I think he's still upset after last time."

Eddie blinks.

"I said I was sorry!"

Dustin rolls his eyes.

"Sorry doesn't solve everything. It's like a," he snaps his fingers looking for a good comparison. "Like one of the spell components. It's not gonna work without all of them."

Guess he is casting Charm Person after all.

"Okay, but like. What are the other components?"

Dustin just shrugs.

"Hell if I know."

Eddie was burdened with the most unhelpful friends. 

"What do you do when you upset him?"

Dustin's first instinct is to protest, probably point out what a great little brother he is, but one stern look from Eddie makes him shut his mouth and reconsider his words.

"Well, if I made him upset, I'd help him with dinner, make him coffee or tea, pick a movie I know he'd like. Help out with chores, mostly. He does too much by himself." The frown on his face is deep like the mystery of Steve's adoption and Eddie mirrors it.

"This sounds all great when you're brothers, but I'm not a Henderson, how am I supposed to pull that off?

"You helped with dinner once, you could do it again," 

Eddie sighs, long and suffering.

"I guess…"

"Great! Steve has left to get groceries and is making dinner later, I'm sure he'll appreciate the help!" He grins, knowing full well he just backed his friend into a corner.

Eddie sputters when he realizes that. 

“What? Today?”

“No better time than the present.” Dustin shrugs smugly, like it was a universal law they can’t help but follow.

Eddie bristles, because, yeah, true, but…

“I'm not mentally prepared," he complains. 

"For what?" Dustin raises his brows in this annoying way of his. "Cooking?"

"You ate my mac and cheese, you understand the severity of the situation!" he yells, accusingly pointing a finger at him.

"Ate is a big word, I spat it out. And calling it mac and cheese is also a big word."

"Exactly!" Usually Eddie didn't like his abilities slandered like that but on the rare occasion when it served his purpose… 

"Steve's first casserole was also inedible," Dustin shrugs and Eddie tries to picture Mr. Perfect Housewife fucking up a dish. "You have about an hour to mentally prepare before he's back though. You can spend it finishing your readings."

Ah, right. The mundane purpose of his visit was schoolwork.

Eddie groans. He can only hope the tragic stories of holocaust victims will set him in the right mind for cooking with Steve.

They don’t. He's heavily unprepared for the confrontation when they're running down the stairs to help with the bags. 

When Steve's instructing them which things he needs and which can be put away, Dustin elbows his friend in the ribs, hard. He hisses in pain, attracting Steve's attention.

"You staying for dinner?" he asks before Eddie can say anything. 

"Uh, if I can help with it, then yeah," he says, feeling Dustin’s annoying beady eyes on himself.

Steve frowns at him.

"You don't have to do that, I’ve told you before."

"Yeah, but I'm done with my work for today," Eddie adds under the menacing gaze. "And my cooking skills need some guidance. Wayne is too old to stomach my food, he can't risk another food poisoning,” he babbles, earning himself a snort from Steve. 

“Okay, if it's that bad,” he agrees finally,  the smile Eddie has gotten used to once again on his face. "But you'll be under strict supervision."

"Of course!"

"Okay, you already got yourself a kitchen slave, so I can go finish my work," Dustin speaks up before promptly disappearing, only the sound of his rushed retreating steps left.

"Guess we're alone then," Steve comments, giving Eddie an odd look. He thought he was used to those but Steve's were always hard to decipher. Not the exact kind he usually got.

He clears his throat to dislodge the weird feeling clogging it up.

"So, what are we cooking today?"

Steve hums, looking at the ingredients before him.

"You ever cooked soup?"

"Uh, I assume you don't mean the instant kind?"

Steve makes a disgusted face, fake gags for a good measure too.

"Soup it is then. It's getting colder, and I'm sure Wayne would appreciate it," he says, eyeing Eddie questioningly, and this one he deciphers easily.

"My uncle,” he explains. "I live with him."

To his surprise, Steve smiles warmly.

"Wanna make some extra you can heat up for him?"

"That's-" Eddie's taken aback, which doesn't happen to him often. "That would be very nice, thank you."

"It’s nothing. He should know his nephew is spending his time productively."

"I'm always productive," he mutters back a complete lie. But he's been trying, okay?

"I know," Steve says, surprising him again. "Maybe I want to get on your uncle's good side too."

Eddie doesn't ask why. Doesn't want to know. Doesn't speculate. Just leaves it be, bugging him for the time being.

"I was thinking fritters too? Since they're easy to heat up later."

Eddie nods, watching him sort through the vegetables.

"Whatever you say, chef."

Steve instructs him through the soup preparations first, explaining it needs more time to cook. 

“I hope you don’t mind veggie broth. El didn’t like chicken and we kinda got used to it. Also, it’s cheaper,” he says, watching Eddie pour water over the vegetables arranged in the pot. 

He puts the pot on the burner and looks up.

"Who's El?"

"Dustin's friend. She moved to California though," Steve answers with a frown.

"That's a bit of a drive."

"Yeah," Steve scrunches his nose, then looks back into the pot, before reaching for a box of seasoning.

"Ok, now for the fun part."

Eddie has no idea how seasoning a pot of vegetable water can be fun, but he's not about to argue. He follows instructions and marvels at the amount of weird plants that could be added to food. 

"I feel like a witch," he whispers, tossing dried herbs into his cauldron.

Steve chuckles.

"You kinda look like one."

Eddie side-eyes him from his position over the pot.

"I hope that's a compliment."

"Oh, it is," Steve says in a weird voice and Eddie is too afraid to look at him. He flips through the seasoning packets instead, reading unfamiliar names.

"Okay, so this needs a couple of hours to cook, you'll know when it starts getting together from the smell. Then we'll blanche the onions and garlic, add the tomatoes, blend it all, and it's done. Now we can work on the fritters. Have you done them before?"

Eddie thinks about it for a moment.

"I saw my uncle make them."

"Potato ones?"

"Uh, yeah? Are there more options?" he asks, eyebrows drawn together.

"Apparently, yeah,” Steve rolls his eyes. “A fritter is technically anything you can grate, slap together and fry in a pancake-ish shape."

"Huh. I've learned so much today already."

Steve laughs. 

"So, what do you want in the fritters?" he asks and Eddie is ridiculously giddy about having a choice.

"Can we put meat in them?"

"Yeah, I've made them with bacon before."

Eddie's eyes sparkle.

"Potatoes with bacon and cheese?"

"Holy shit,” Steve groans. “Claudia's gonna kill us, but it sounds so good." He ponders on it for a moment. "We could add corn to pretend there are vegetables in them."

"Ketchup is a vegetable," Eddie points out and Steve bristles. 

"We're not eating them with ketchup!" he protests. "But… we could use some of the tomatoes to make a sauce."

Eddie never thought cooking could be this fun.

"Yesss!"

"You're way more excited than I thought you'd be," Steve observes, grabbing the potatoes to wash.

"I'm a growing boy, of course I'm excited about food. Besides, we're like two alchemists; mixing up stuff to make other stuff."

Steve laughs again.

"Are those the guys who tried turning metals into gold?"

"Precisely!"

He's tasked with peeling the potatoes while Steve puts bacon in the oven. He’s  never good at it, and he huffs angrily when Steve joins him and gets through three potatoes while he peels one. What's worse, he can see him watching and his fingers twitching.

"Okay, I can see you itching to correct me. Just do it."

"You sure?"

"Yeah man, unless you have some disease I could catch, I'll be fine."

Steve winces and Eddie has a lightning-fast memory of a rumour that gays spread a deadly disease. But Steve isn't gay, probably, and it's just a rumour.

Steve is still haste when he rearranges his fingers on the peeler and takes his hand away like touching him burns.

Eddie frowns. Well, that's not gonna cut it.

"Like this?" he asks, making a motion he knows is wrong.

"No, like-" Steve reaches out and hesitates. 

"I don't have cooties, come on."

Steve presses his lips together and wraps his hand around his. He has to move closer too, crowding Eddie's side. 

"Like this," he says, whispers really, pushing his hand in the right motion.

This suddenly feels more obscene than it is, but Eddie’s half tempted to push it further.

"Your hands are weirdly soft. Do you steal Robin's hand cream?" he asks instead.

Steve huffs at the backhanded compliment and retraces his soft, big hands.

"No, I have my own."

"Hmm." Eddie cocks his head, looking him up and down. "Should have guessed."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Steve asks with a frown, but he can tell the anger is played up. 

"Nothing," Eddie shrugs. "You just look like someone taking care of himself." 

Steve keeps looking at him like he is not sure if he should be offended or not so Eddie helps him out by rolling his eyes. 

“Don't worry, I judge you more for your music than your hygiene.”

“Of course,” Steve huffs. “You wouldn't know much about hygiene anyway, would you?” he teases with a smirk.

Eddie gasps.

“Are you implying trailer trash don't clean themselves?” he asks, eyes wide and offended. 

“What? No!” The smile vanishes instantly from his face. “Of course not!” Steve scrambles to defend himself. But then, he cocks his hip and crosses his arms.

“You know what? No. I stand by it. Your hair needs proper care, not whatever 3 in 1 you treat it with,” he says. 

“5 in 1,” Eddie corrects him smugly. 

“Five?”

“Hair, body, face, beard and ass,” he lists on his fingers, earning himself a look of disgust from Steve. 

“For that alone, you’re washing your hands again.”

Eddie knows he doesn't have to, but complies anyway. Whatever makes the big Henderson happy. And consecutively, the little Henderson. And somehow, Eddie himself.

By the time the sun starts setting, he’s gained some valuable culinary knowledge, including the fact that as a cook, he gets to taste the dishes all the time. His growing boy tummy is satiated with a stolen strip of bacon and one of the test fritters he’s munching on, when they hear the door unlock.

“I’m home!” a woman’s voice calls out. Eddie freezes.

“We’re just finishing dinner!” Steve calls back while the man next to him shrinks on himself, looking up at him and wondering why he isn’t being pushed into a closet like a secret paramour. 

“Your mom is here?!” he seethes through his teeth, eyes jumping from Steve to the door. 

“Well, yeah?” Steve raises an eyebrow. “She lives here?” 

“But why am I here?!”

Was Steve this stupid or did he not grasp the severity of the situation?

“You’re cooking? Staying for dinner? Studying? The fuck do you mean man?” he answers, more or less matching his volume.

“Mothers hate me!” Eddie reminds him helpfully, making Steve only roll his eyes with a huff.

“Claudia likes you.”

“She never saw me,” he reminds him. Because as soon as any of the suburban moms caught a whiff of his metal vest, his dark clothes and long hair, he felt disgusted eyes on his back. 

And when the Satanist drug dealer rumours reach them? Things only get worse. 

“Dude-”

“Oh, hi boys!” A tired-looking blond woman enters the kitchen. Her smile doesn’t waver despite Eddie’s presence, meaning she must have seen some shit in her life. “You didn’t tell me we’ll have a guest today.”

Steve steps in before he can put his foot in his mouth, laying his big warm hand on his shoulder. 

“Eddie finished his work early and wanted to help in the kitchen. Hope that’s alright.”

At the mere thought it wouldn’t be, Eddie’s stomach twisted. 

“Of course! The more, the merrier!” Claudia smiled, still seemingly genuine, before stepping closer and extending her hand.

“Nice to finally meet you, Eddie. I’ve heard a lot about you from my boys.”

Steve’s hand is still on him squeezing minutely to remind him to shake Claudia’s hand.

“Likewise.” He smiles to his best ability, unable to remember the last time he was friendly with someone's parents. Except Gareth's, maybe.

“What did boys make?” she asks, sniffing the air and trying to peek over his shoulder.

“Tomato soup, like you asked, and some fritters.”

“With veggies, I hope?” She squints at her oldest (newest?) son.

“There’s corn in them, and we made a tomato sauce.” He smiled brightly and Eddie could tell he was happy to play the good kid role. 

“Good. I’m gonna change and get back to you,” she says before disappearing upstairs, probably to harass the younger Henderson now. 

“Why was she so nice?” Eddie muses, half to Steve, half to himself, half to the universe in general. Wait, that's three halves. Well, he didn’t fail school because of his great math skills.

“She's always nice.” Steve steps away to work on the next batch of fritters.

“Not to me! Mothers hate me! I bet she’s just pretending but as soon as I disappear, you're gonna hear all about it!”

“Hey!” Steve turns back towards him, frowning. And uh-oh, he upset him again. On his reverse-upset mission. “Claudia’s not some uptight bitch like that. She likes all our friends and you're not an exception. Just because you dress differently isn’t gonna ban you from the house or get us in trouble.” He knocks him on the head for good measure. “You’re safe here.”

“Okay,” Eddie simply says, taken aback. Being welcomed somewhere was a feeling he still had to process.

“We're safe here,” was a soft addition he almost missed over his own loud thoughts but made him even more curious about Steve himself. 

User tags: @i-have-three-feelings @mblogs @awkwardgravity1 @imacowboy3 @just-a-tiny-void @clumsiluni @shotgunhallelujah @halfadoginatank @carlprocastinator1000 @irregular-child

[in1-nutshell]

I know your on a break from requests but I don’t want to forget this one, so I’m just gonna leave it here till your back to taking requests ☺️

The butts and cons reacting to An adult buddy who is an archeologist and actively studies and learns the cybertronian language and history. A buddy who is in charge of a team that travels around the world too study history. And she has studied the cybertronian language so much that she can read and write it, she can sort of speak it aswell.

I can’t stop thinking about this, especially because I love the idea of a certain archivist (Optimus) and archeologist/historian buddy having little knowledge sharing conversations…..possibly romance 😏

But you do you boo

Tried going for a pre romantic vibe for this one. Optimus deserves a friend to just be himself around. Introvert to introvert levels of friendship. Lets see how Buddy navigates their friendship with Prime.

Hope you enjoy!

Human Buddy the archivist and who studies Cybertronian culture with Optimus Prime

SFW, slight romantic, platonic, Human reader

Buddy was an archivist that worked alongside Agent Fowler. They met while they worked as a former spy for the government that retired that life to pursue their passion.

They met the bots with him.

“Autobots. I’d like you to meet a friend of mine that will be working with you. This is former agent Buddy.”--Fowler

“Why bring us a former agent, Agent fowler?”--Ratchet

“Because ratchet, they are in charge of learning about your culture and in charge of helping you all learn about Earth’s culture.”--Fowler

“…Are they okay?”—Bulkhead

Buddy staring intently at Optimus’s frame.

“What do you—Buddy, Buddy no—”--Fowler

Buddy locking eyes with Optimus.

Optimus locking optics on Buddy.

Both-- Introvert radar on: Potential Friend spotted.

“Well good luck with that. See you all in 5.”--Fowler

“Wait what do you mean? Agent? Agent!”--Ratchet

It was Budy’s job to get to know the giant aliens more. They would be lying if they said they didn’t enjoy learning about the bots culture. They had gotten to know the members of the misfit team through the years. Sure, it did lead to some misadventures along the way, especially when the kids came along…

“Beeep? (Buddy, can I ask you a question?)”—Bumblebee

“Sure Bee! What’s your question?”—Buddy

“Beeep bep bop? (What does ‘babygirl’ mean? I heard Miko saying that to Jack.)--Bumblebee

“… Where’s Miko?”—Buddy

Despite this, they especially hit it off with Optimus.

Buddy seemed to have awaken Orion Pax from time to time with their thirst for knowledge.

Prime and Buddy by the screens looking at Iacon records.

“By the Primes…”--Ratchet

“What is it?”--Arcee

“I think I know why Agent Fowler said, ‘good luck’.”--Ratchet

“Why? They seem to be fine? What harm is that?”—Arcee

“Do you think it’s in section 3ab part 4 sub article 15?”—Buddy

“No, maybe in section 3.4 ab part 5 sub article 16?”—Optimus

“Oh, true maybe its—“--Buddy

“There’s two of them now.”--Ratchet

The Prime is more than happy to share his planet’s culture alongside the rest of the team. But those moments are usually reserved for the two of them.

It was their thing.

Soon enough the kids and June came into the picture.

Buddy wasn’t going to lie and say it was easy to explain their job to them. But the sight on their faces when they would go in depth about a certain topic was priceless. It was always nice to have someone interested in this line of work.

“You know you can ask Bulkhead about this stuff, right?”--Buddy

“That’s right you can ask me about stuff.”--Bulkhead

“Yeah but some of the stuff you weren’t there and Buddy is pretty much a walking wiki page on Cybertronian history.”--Miko

“I’m not sure whether to take that as a compliment or not? But thank?”--Buddy

“If you want history why don’t you ask Ratchet or Prime?”--Bulkhead

“I want a quick story not a university lecture.”--Miko

Now, did all this knowledge make them a bit bias about the war.

Yes, yes it did.

But Buddy wasn’t blind in the way stories go.

They secretly want the Cons input on the war and their beliefs. They have lost count of the number of times they have stood up for the bots against other humans.

The worst one came from June after she tried to take the kids away from the base and blaming the bots for letting them get hurt on their watch.

“June stop that right now!”--Buddy

“Why! They let the kids get hurt on their watch!”--June

“I understand your concern but let them off the hook a little okay!? They don’t have optics in the back of their helms you know!”--Buddy

“They still—”--June

“We are at war June! Whether you want to open your eyes to it or not! People are going to get hurt. No one can promise a safe return… no one can. So, for the love of Primus, June, shut it.”--Buddy

Optimus never saw the fury in Buddy’s eyes than in that moment. Nonetheless he is a bit grateful for them standing up while he tries to take that blame. The team does let Buddy know they appreciate them.

Buddy did get kidnapped one day by Megatron himself.

By the time the planned hostage negotiations were going to happen, Megatron had gotten a hit of nostalgia. It came in the form of his tiny hostage.

“So, you’re Megatron?”--Buddy

“Yes, I am. Now—”--Megatron

“Oh finally! You have no idea how long I’ve actually wanted to meet you.”--Buddy

“…What—”--Megatron

“I have so many questions to ask you and your cause.”--Buddy

“You want to know about the Decepticon cause?--Megatron

“Yes! I mean, I know pretty much what the autoboots have had to say, I want to know the war from your causes point of view. For example, how did it start? From what I heard, you wanted to bring a new change for your fellow Cybretronian were things were going to be better for everyone. And, not to embarrass you or anything, but I quoted some of your earlier works—”--Buddy

Megatron now looking at a smaller Orion Pax talking about his works.

“… Pax.”--Megatron

“I—what?”--Buddy

“You’re designation now is Pax.”--Megatron

“Oh I guess—”--Buddy

“Come with me Pax, I have plenty of Decepticon data pads that you can look over.”--Megatron

“Okay!”--Buddy

Megatron couldn’t bring himself to destroy the fleshy. They were an organic replica of how Orion Pax was before the war. Dare he say it, but he missed the smaller bot he once knew and grew to call brother. He can’t do it.

“Lord Megatron, may I be so bold—”--Starscream

“You may not.”--Megatron

“—as to ask you why the organic is doing with that data pad?”--Starscream

“They wanted to learn more about our cause, isn’t that right Pax?”--Megatron

“I finished with this one, may I have another one?”--Buddy

“Of course, Soundwave.”--Megatron

Soundwave passes another data pad to ‘Pax’.

“Thank you!”--Buddy

“…Did you name the organic Pax?”—Starscream

“Is that a problem Starscream?”—Megatron

“Of course not—“—Starscream

“Then silence. Come now Pax.”--Megatron

“All right then. Bye Soundwave! By Starscream!”—Buddy

“…What in the Pits…”—Starsceam

Megatron didn’t want to seem like a weakling to his army, so he decided to do the hostage video but as soon as he got what he came for, to split with Pax.

Optimus was furious to hear about Megatron’s negotiations and that he had Buddy. Everyone was angry and ready to get Buddy back. Prime is considering the possibility of cutting off more than Megatron’s arm this time around.

Everyone goes to the location where Megatron said the negotiations would be held.

Its to everyone surprise to see Buddy come out of the ground bridge with a little bit of scratches here and there.

“Buddy!”--Everyone

“Hey! How’s everyone?”--Buddy

“How did you escape?”--Ratchet

“Oh, I didn’t.”--Buddy

“You did not?”--Optimus

“No, actually I managed to strike a deal with ol’ Megs. I get to go back to you on the condition that I return to the Nemesis every month or so. And before you say anything, no details from either side.”--Buddy

“Well, we’re just happy your back.”--Bulkhead

Later…

“Hey Optimus.”--Buddy

“Yes?”--Optimus

“I didn’t know that Megatron had a soft spot for nerdy archivists.”--Buddy

“… Apparently he does.”--Optimus

“What are you guys talking about?”--Miko

“Lecture work.”--Buddy

[mint-yooxgi]

Gunsmoke & Leather Prologue

Biker!AU - Part of the Gunsmoke & Leather Collab - With @kpop-stories-21 @anyamaris @pyeonghongrie @sanjoongie

@nebulousbrainsoup @stardragongalaxy and @yoonguurt

Genre: Mature, Angst, Fluff, Humour, Non-idol!AU

Pairing: Ateez X Reader - Prologue in Third Person, individual parts to follow

Words: 1,480

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Warnings: Allusion to kidnapping and supernatural occurrences. Mature themes.

A/n: *Insert laughing lizard gif here* As always feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!~

Summary: Eight online friends meet in person for the first time and plan to have a wild weekend. However, things quickly go awry when they are kidnapped by a notorious biker gang. Hilarity, misadventures, and perhaps even feelings ensue.

Stars twinkle in the night sky above, the light of the full moon illuminating the pavement as an old microbus makes its was through the city. Peals of laughter can be heard from within, a chorus of eight voices shouting along to lyrics they all know by heart. Every so often, a streetlamp provides insight to wide smiles stretched across bright faces, most dancing in their seats or shaking their other friends lightly in excitement.

This trip was meticulously planned. Simply getting everyone’s schedules to line up was a pain, but as luck would have it, an opening seemed to appear for them all. Furious calls were made and messages sent to arrange the perfect getaway for these eight friends, excitement lingering in every voice to finally be able to spend some time with each other.

What better way to spend some quality time with friends than on a road trip?

Thus, a microbus was rented, bags were packed, and the meeting point was set. All that is left to do is make it to their hotel for the night, and pick right back up where they left off tomorrow.

“I still can’t believe you convinced that guy in the chicken costume to take a picture with us.” A large grin stretches across Elara’s features as all heads turn to look at Aurora.

“And it made for a good memory!” She beams, pulling out her phone to begin swiping through the photos. “Look how happy we all are!”

“The photos did come out really nice.” Larissa hums, reaching forward to grab Aurora’s phone.

“Look at our faces!” Nix cackles, swiping the phone and zooming in on the picture. “Caly and Aries are giving the chicken man the worst side eye imaginable.” 

“Any man who says ‘let’s cock-a-doodle-doo this’ deserves to get the side eyes of death.” Aries replies bluntly, leaning back in his seat to get more comfortable.

“Fair enough,” Rhea laughs, patting the taller male on his shoulder. “What’s your reasoning Caly?”

All heads turn to the woman in the driver’s seat who has been quiet this whole time. A slight frown mars her brows, eyes flicking between the dashboard and the road ahead.

“Caly?” Eris tilts her head in concern, noting how her friend’s lips purse in worry. “What’s wrong?”

A few glances are shared around the vehicle, each friend sitting forward in anticipation.

“Calypso?” Aurora leans forward in the passenger seat, making sure her face is in view of her friend’s peripheral.

“Sorry guys, the check engine light came on about five minutes ago and it hasn’t seemed to want to turn off.” Caly finally responds, noting a small parking lot about a block away. “I’m just going to pull in here and make sure it’s nothing serious-“

Almost as soon as those words escape her mouth, grey smoke begins to billow out from the engine.

“Oh shit, something is definitely wrong!” Nix’s eyes widen as they pull into the empty parking lot.

The moment the vehicle comes to a stop, it lets out a loud rumbling groan. A few clicks can be heard before the microbus shuts off, more smoke rising from the engine.

“Well, that’s not good.” Rhea blinks, unbuckling their seatbelt and opening the side door.

It takes about a minute for all eight passengers to exit the vehicle, a few of them circling the microbus. Phones come out, flashlights turned on to inspect the surrounding area.

“Good thing we got insurance.” Aries sighs, popping the hood.

Slowly, the smoke seems to be dissipating, all eight friends crowding around the front of the vehicle.

“We were almost out of the city, too.” Elara sighs, looking briefly off in the distance.

“We still had an hour to go before we reached the hotel, though.” Eris comments, checking the map on her phone.

“We shouldn’t drive it any further tonight.” Caly sighs, pulling up a contact on her phone. “I’ll call a tow.”

Fifteen minutes later, and some mumbled complaints from friends, a tow is called.

“They said they should be here in about an hour, so we’ve got some time to kill.” Caly says, tucking her phone into her back pocket.

“What are we supposed to do for an hour?” Larissa frowns, letting out a soft exhale. Her foot begins to tap rhythmically on the ground.

“Maybe there’s something around here still open that we can check out?” Aurora suggests.

“What would still be open at this hour?” Crossing her arms over her chest, Nix huffs.

“Well, it looks like there’s a bar across the street…” Rhea points out.

All heads turn to see a faint neon sign, a few windows with a dull light illuminating the inside. The place seems pretty busy, too.

“Thank goodness,” Larissa already begins hustling across the street. “I have to pee.”

The others follow closely behind, a few chuckling affectionately at their friend.

“I could use a drink.” Nix hums, Aurora happily agreeing.

“Maybe we can order some food while we wait?” Elara suggests, the others nodding along with her words.

Aries holds the door open for all of them, and as they all step inside, it’s as if a small electric shock travels through their bodies. Sounds seems to muffle for the moment as the atmosphere surrounds them. Spines straighten and brows furrow, a few shuffling from foot to foot once they notice just how crowded the bar is.

“Did anyone else feel that?” Eris’ hushed whisper gets ignored as the hustle and bustle of the bar assaults their ears suddenly in full force.

Larissa is the first to seemingly snap out of her daze, blinking a few times before marching through the crowd and towards the sign labelled ‘bathroom’. Little does she notice the eyes that follow her every move.

Shortly after, Aurora, Nix, and Elara all begin to weave through the crowd and towards the bar. Soft chatter is heard all around, yet the three girls all manage to hear each other for the moment, discussing what drinks they should get.

“I wonder what food they have here…” Elara mumbles, sidling up to the bar.

Unbeknownst to them, three sets of eyes track their every movement, a male drifting towards each individual almost subconsciously.

“Maybe we should grab a table?” Rhea suggests lightly.

Nods are shared by the remaining friends, searching through the crowd for an open space to fit all eight.

“There.” Aries flicks his head to a table in the corner by the front windows.

Wordlessly, all four of them walk over, sliding into the rounded booth to wait for their friend’s return.

Every few minutes, Calypso keeps checking her phone. A worried frown tugs at her features, and she keeps glancing out the window towards that parking lot across the street.

“I’m gonna go wait by the car,” she says, sliding out of the booth a moment later. “You know, just in case the tow comes early, or something. I don’t want to miss their call. Plus, it’s a little too loud in here.”

“I’ll come with you!” Rhea hops out of the booth. “Maybe there’s another place open we can check out.”

“Sounds good.” Aries hums, casually resting his one arm across the back of the booth while Eris scopes out the place.

With a final wave, Caly and Rhea part from their friends, heading back out the door they had just walked in only minutes before.

Two males behind the counter share a look.

A few minutes pass by, Eris continuously glancing over towards the bar to keep an eye on her friends. Though, with the amount of people weaving between tables and lingering about, it’s getting harder and harder to spot her friends. In fact, she’s already lost visual on Elara and Aurora. Luckily, Nix seems to still be in plain sight.

“Issie is sure taking a long time in the bathroom.” Eris comments, worrying her bottom lip. “I can’t see Lara or Rora, either.”

“I’m sure they’re fine.” Aries hums, glancing out the window to see Caly across the street leaning against the car, and Rhea heading down the street. He turns his attention back to the bar, having felt eyes on him. “I can see them right now.”

“Alright,” Eris replies, a vary tone to her voice. “But I’m going to go check on Issie.”

All Eris receives from the taller male is a nod in response. Carefully, she slips out of the booth, heading in the same direction Larissa did only minutes before.

A pair of eyes follow her through the crowd, yet she is none the wiser. A pair of eyes which glance around the room, flashing briefly as they lock with several other sets that all seem to share the same thought.

Eight subtle nods are given, and eight friends are soon separated, never to see each other that night again.