#given a number instead of a name and abandoned

[deadboyswalking]

girl help i'm having Visions and drawing Parallels

[messylxve]

goddess | elle greenaway x famous!reader

content warning: unlabeled sexuality, SA, douchy men, self-deprecating thoughts, soft elle, google translate spanish, laufey

divider by @enchanthings

It always goes like this

Could have predicted it

I’m so naive to think you loved me for me

It was almost humiliating how many times you’d been in this position. Heels were abandoned at the door, makeup streaked down your face, and your heart felt too heavy to even make it to your own bedroom.

You threw yourself on your couch, dragging a blanket over yourself and taking your phone out apprehensively. Through your tears, you felt the hesitation of dialing that number.

The number you knew through and through.

You knew it by heart.

‘She doesn’t want to hear from you,’ that little devil whispered into your ear. ‘She’s so sick and tired of you and your bullshit.’

A whimper escaped your lips. You wanted to throw your phone and let it shatter on impact. But you never did.

Instead you clutched it tighter and shoved yourself deeper into the cushions of your couch, the memories of that night resurfacing.

Kissed as I ran off stage

Too old to play this game

Guess you’re still growing up at thirty

You met him on a quiet Sunday morning. You were at your favorite cafe and there he was, approaching you. Calling you beautiful, unlike any other girl you’ve met.

But most of all. He didn’t recognize you.

You detested dating fans. You already got your heart broken there before. You swore off of that.

He showered you with so much affection, you completely missed the signs.

Red flags always seemed normal under your rose-tinted view of the world.

Were you surprised by me

When you took me home?

When the glamour wore off

Reduced to skin and bone

You should have known it was all a lie.

You should have known he was just like all the other

You don’t know how long you sat there, wallowing in self-pity, but the sound of your phone ringing took you out of it for just a moment.

You pulled it away from where it was resting under the couch pillow and your eyes widened at the name.

Elle <3

Once again, you hesitated, your thumb hovering over the green button. You finally picked it up on the third ring.

“Ellie, hi!” You cringed at the way your voice nearly immediately cracked as you tried to feign your usual chipper mood.

“Hey lovely.” Her voice sounded so comforting. Even with just two words, you felt a twinge of warmth attempt to spread through your chest. “You okay?”

You cleared your throat. “Yeah, what makes you ask?”

“You sound like you’ve been crying. And it’s nearly midnight in LA, you aren’t usually this chipper this late unless you’re faking it.”

A sigh escaped you. You never could lie to her.

“You’ve always been so observant.” Your voice dropped the octave now that the facade faded.

“I hope so,” she chuckled lightly. “It’s kind of my job. Do you want to talk about it?”

‘She doesn’t mean it. She’s just being nice.’

“I don’t want to bore you with the details.”

She hummed in disapproval. “You know I always want the details from mi estrella.”

A sad smile slid on your face at the nickname given to you in your childhood; coined after you had gotten the solo in the choir concert.

‘Super star by day, best friend by night,’ 10-year-old Elle had quipped.

You huffed out a small laugh before it all fell away as you recounted your date that night.

“You remember Trevor right? Met him at that coffee shop on Melrose Avenue?”

You heard a pause on her end before she spoke again, her voice softer. “I do.”

“Well…I had a date with him tonight. Fourth one.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

His lips pressed harshly into yours and his hands skimmed over your body as you struggled to keep up.

“I invited him to see me at a concert. My final one on my tour.”

I can’t even tell

Who you want to know

“Trev,” you had tried to laugh. “Slow down.”

Your words fell upon deaf ears as he kissed down to your jaw and began attacking at your neck.

“I um…I thought it was a good idea to invite him backstage when it was over…talk to him for a bit before I had to go out again.”

Elle listened as your tone got darker and darker, reliving your own fresh memories. She heard every bout of emotion in your voice. The pain that shone through from a broken heart.

He began lifting your skirt. You grew dizzy with nausea the more he continued.

‘This isn’t right,’ a tiny voice screamed at you.

“Trev—Trevor, please stop.”

Your hands found his chest, steadying yourself on it before pushing him away. “I said stop!”

“y/n…” Elle’s voice was a whisper now.

“I-I told him I didn’t want that. That I didn’t think we were there yet. He didn’t really like that…”

I’m a goddess on stage

Human when we’re alone

“What do you mean we’re not there yet,” he scoffed. “I’ve been waiting for basically two months for you to be ready.”

He moved in close again, placing a hand on your waist. “I’m so tired of waiting. I’ve listened to your stories, your music. Hell I even talked to that she-devil of a friend of yours, Bella.”

You couldn’t decide whether or not to feel disgusted or betrayed. “It’s Elle…You mean you didn’t want any of that?”

“I wanted you, baby…isn’t that enough.”

You cried freely now into the phone and Elle listened quietly, her own heart breaking for you.

“You’d be proud of me Ellie,” you sniffed. “I stood my ground. Told him no.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded, regardless if she’d see it or not. “Yeah… He didn’t really like it though. I had to call security to escort him out.”

“Did he put his hands on you,” she asked.

You bit your lip, the line going quiet for just a moment before you spoke again. “Do you think I can visit you? Just for a week or so?”

She frowned at the sudden change in topic.

“Of course you can, lovely.”

That next day moved so painstakingly slow for Elle. It was a paperwork day which meant she got to sit around anxiously as she waited for another call from you.

You had already called twice. Once to tell her you were leaving your apartment, twice to tell her your plane was about to depart from LA.

Hours has passed and now she awaited your call telling her you were at the airport waiting.

“Alright,” Derek quipped, rocking back in his chair. “What’s up with you today?”

Elle looked over at the man, lifting an eyebrow at him. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been staring at your phone all day,” Spencer claimed, not looking up from his paperwork.

Elle’s attention snapped between the two men before finally settling on Morgan. “So?”

Derek grinned. “So…? You hate the phone Elle, now you look like you’re waiting for it to come to life in front of your eyes.”

The girl scoffed out a laugh, shaking her head.

“You know what I think it it,” Derek continued. “I think you’ve got Mr. Mystery you’re waiting on.”

Her smile halted for just a second at his words. She twirling the pen in between her fingers once then twice. “You’re delusional Morgan.”

Almost right on cue, her phone rang and Derek let out a laugh seeing the usually preserved woman scramble for it.

“Agent Greenaway.”

“So professional,” you mused, a sly grin sliding on your lips.

A smile eased onto her expression as she turned away from Morgan’s prying eyes. “Hola amorcito. ¿Cómo estuvo tu vuelo?”

“It was good, I slept the whole way here.”

“Eso es bueno. Lo necesita.”

“Rude,” you fake gasped. “Are you calling me grouchy?”

“Sabes lo que quise decir y/n.”

Morgan and Reid looked at each other as they listened to Elle’s end of the conversation, completely clueless as to what you were saying.

“Estaré allí en veinte. Estar segura. Te amo.”

Reid furrowed his brows curiously. He might not have been a whiz in Spanish, but he definitely caught those last words.

“Alright boys, you better behave.”

Spencer frowned. “Where are you going?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

The two of you had spent the rest of the day together.

You didn’t want to go out, so she took you straight to your apartment and there you had the time of your life. You two binged movies, played board games, and now you were cooking together.

It was pure bliss and you couldn’t as for more.

“I missed this,” Elle mused.

You sat perched on the counter, your head laid comfortably on the cabinet behind you and you passed ingredients to the cooking woman.

“Cooking,” you asked with a giggle.

She looked over at you with a laugh. “Pass me the oregano would you. And no I don’t mean cooking. I mean being with you. Phone calls don’t feel like enough anymore.”

You twisted your body around as you shuffled through her spice cabinet. “Yeah,” you mused. “Hearing your voice is definitely what keeps me sane though.”

Elle’s heart stuttered at those words. The cooking spoon in her hand slowed it stirring and she looked up at you.

“I can’t find the oregano,” you mumbled, your attention now fully on the cabinet.

“…it’s on the second shelf,” she cleared her throat, pointing up to where it should be.

“I’m looking on the second shelf,” you whined playfully.

“Here,” she moved away from the hot stove and in front of you, leaving over your head to reach it. “It was right…there.”

She didn’t even realize what position she had put herself in until it was much too late. Either one of your thighs laid beside her hips. You looked down at her and you could feel her breath on you. You could smell her addicting perfume that you found yourself missing every time you two were apart.

It was like an invisible magnet between you two, beckoning the both of you closer and closer. So close that you felt her lips brush against yours.

It was like an epiphany to you. Everything clicked in your head.

The pauses over the phone.

The nicknames.

Hiding your phone calls from her team.

But just as the fireworks began to rise, they sizzled out before ever going off.

She pulled away, clearing her throat awkwardly.

‘You’re so delusional,’ that ugly voice hissed to you. ‘She’s seen the real you. The ugly you. Why would she want that?’

You swallowed hard and blinked away your tears. “Elle.”

She didn’t look over to you. Just focused on finishing the meal. “Yeah?”

You released a dying sigh. “Do you…do you think I’m unlovable?”

She had never looked up so fast. You would have thought the spoon burned her from how quickly she dropped it.

“What?”

You felt like the question was a plot for attention, but it wasn’t. It was probably one of the most genuine questions you asked in a long time.

“I- never mind. I’m sorry.”

Elle looked at you as if you grew a second head right in front of her. “y/n,” she moved back to that same position she had just run from. Except this time, her hands fell to your cheeks, caressing them oh-so gently. “How could you ask that question?”

You frowned. “How could I not?” It came out as a whisper. A moment of pure vulnerability. The first of its kind since that phone call last night.

“I’m not that impossibly perfect, beautiful super star they all expect me to be. I’m just…me. No one wants that.”

Elle shook her head, eyes scanning all over your face before finally settling on your eyes once more. “I want that.”

She felt you freeze under her grasp, but she continued on. “Every single failed date and false expectation was never your fault. You are…so incredibly talented, beautiful, and utterly amazing. In more ways than people give you credit for. If all these other people can’t love you the way I do, for you, then they don’t deserve you.”

Your breath stopped in your chest. Stuck. Unable to move in or out. “You love me? Or do you love me?”

You put that emphasis on your final words. There was no other way it could have been interpreted other than

“y/n, I am so utterly in love with you. I have been for a long time.”

Your hands found her wrists where you stabled yourself onto her. A smile broke free from your shocked expression. With a broken laugh, you surged forward, pressing your lips onto her’s in a kiss.

“I love you too.”

Translations:

“hi lovely how was your flight.”

“That’s good, you needed it”

“You know what I mean y/n”

“I’ll be there in twenty. Stay safe. I love you.”

@mackannkees

AN: I can’t believe I wrote that all in one night. It’s officially 3am as of posting, I’m not expecting this to get much attention, this was more self-indulgence if anything. I hope u guys like it tho

[leroiestmortvivelareine]

Strap in if you dare, I’m going to talk about Riko.

Yes, he is a Bad Person. Nothing I’m about to say counters that. However… evil isn’t always so obvious as to dress in black and torture everyone you love. Evil is insidious and nuanced - it can creep in when you aren’t expecting it and have no defences. We’ve been given this incredibly complex and interesting example of it, and we’ve been given it for a reason. Riko is a character worth trying to understand.

Could Riko ever have been saved, and if so what would it have taken? What if he’d been able to follow the Fox path to redemption instead of the Ravens to perdition?

Except both Foxes AND Ravens were traumatised… the thing that ruined Riko was power. Lincoln said it: “nearly all men can stand adversity but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.” Who was Riko without power? It’s hard to see.

So I’m fascinated by a different question - how did Riko see Riko?

We know how the Foxes saw him: a low-functioning sociopath with zero coping skills and the personality of a cat trapped in a wall cavity. Presumably that’s not how he saw himself. What kind of headcannon did he construct for himself, what was his own personal mythology?

We know he wanted his father’s approval, he wanted to be number one. We know how badly he dealt with those desires being thwarted.

I know how it feels to be an abandoned child. You feel like the outer edges of a person, with this gaping hole in the centre. It’s not just that you lost a loved one, it’s - how can I say it - it’s like the clasp that lets you hold on to people has been torn out too. Everyone will leave now, and you know it.

(I didn’t cope by turning my bedroom into Abu Ghraib, though.)

It’s the worst of both worlds. His father is far enough away to cause that gaping wound, yet not sufficiently gone for it to ever close over and heal.

But… despite his impossible situation, Riko wasn’t withdrawing into himself. Resentment ate away at him and he liked doing side-projects of revenge, but it was hope driving him on. I see Riko as someone with a very hot flame in them, someone determined to succeed (like Neil). He was driven, even if the goal he chased so eagerly was an illusion. I think he saw his situation as a challenge, an opportunity to prove himself and eventually take his rightful place at his father’s side (surely that’s what Kengo really meant, surely this was a test, a test he can pass if he just wins one more time...)

Imagine something like… the second son of a Roman emperor, sent to some far-off outpost to get him out of the way subdue rebel tribes. A chance to make a name for himself, an opportunity to create an elite unit where violence and skill are everything, where winning is everything. A challenge he accepts with savage excitement.

And the world views them with the kind of awe once reserved for ancient Sparta. Unsurpassed warriors, impossibly focussed. Yes, they endure conditions no one else could even consider but they always win, and everyone loves winners. They are the legends of legends. Surely his father will see.

Kevin was his Lancelot, his shining sword, his right hand. Kevin added to Riko’s status, assured him he must be a hero if he had such a splendid champion at his side.

But Kevin is beautiful, so perhaps Riko’s feelings were more complicated than that, perhaps they were feelings he couldn’t admit he had. He could still work those feelings into the overall picture though… it’s all part of Kevin being his beloved champion.

Until the champion started edging him out of his own story and had to be sacrificed. A necessary sacrifice, but losing Kevin struck a huge blow to the mythology Riko built up about himself. He could no longer look in the mirror, side by side, and see Kevin’s glory (and, yes, Kevin’s dad) reflected back as though it belonged to him too.

Despite this Riko finds a way to keep winning, even without his champion. Surely that is even more impressive? Can his father see that?

Still no response. In the story Riko constructs for himself his father does no wrong, so this towering rage he feels has to crash down on someone else. He tells himself he is punishing his troops for daring to be unworthy.

Then there is Jean, someone from a caste so low as to be unclean, even subnormal, someone it would hurt Riko’s prestige to treat with any kind of respect. But Jean is also beautiful, and those feelings can’t be worked into the myth. Their outlet is the darkness behind closed doors, along with all the other feelings that don’t fit the story of the hero.

Harming his people, his intimate possessions, was Riko’s coping mechanism for rejection and humiliation the way self-harm in many forms is to many others. (Are you hearing me if I say hurting yourself is hurting your own Perfect Court, and there is collateral damage even if you think it’s just you, because people love you and suffer because of it? Are you hearing me if I say stop being Riko to yourself?)

And maybe his enjoyment of that cruelty was, deep down, a form of denial that the cruelty arose from anguish. ‘No I’m not upset, I’m not a loser, I’m in control, I’m doing this because I like it…’ Maybe even to the point where rendition becomes sexual.

But it’s starting to unravel. He’s lost his only friend and can no longer unleash his mounting frustrations on Jean the way he wants to; he’s running out of pieces for his board.

Then he finds the fugitive his family were chasing for so long. This is his big chance. He’ll have a brand new champion for his stable or a valuable offering to please his father, he wins either way.

He captures this feral child who tells him there is no empty throne waiting by the side of the emperor, Kengo never mentions his son’s name, Riko is nothing more than a joke in that far-off capital. So much scorn in those words that the carefully constructed mythology withers before it.

First the would-be rook took the queen, then the wild-card knight escapes again, and now the whipping boy / concubine / bishop is taken by a girl with a cross around her neck. The king has lost all his men… because that’s your REAL story, isn’t it: everyone leaves you.

And then… Kengo dies.

Yes, Riko is a Bad Person. No, I do not like him. But Nora gave us two boys who met their brother for the first time, two boys who cried out their brother’s name only to see their hopes shattered. And in that moment they were one, so I cannot dismiss this monstrous, horrible abomination no matter how hard I try.

I can however dismiss anyone who says Nora is not a goddess of writing.

[prettyboykatsuki]

CIRCLE HAUNTS | TAKAMI KEIGO (HAWKS)

✮ tags ; dead dove: do not eat, gender neutral reader, no quirk au, horror + suspense, themes of cannibalism, implied / depicted cannibalism, noncon kissing + biting/drawing blood and flesh, intentionally open-ended, institutionalized cannibalism, white collar crime, yandere!hawks, 18+

✮ wc ; 9.9k (??)

✮ a/n ; another comm for the beloved @bitchkiss, thank you for your patience and also for letting me post.

✮ synopsis ; you move into a suspiciously nice house in the shizuoka prefecture, and meet your good-looking and unnerving neighbor. nothing is how it seems.

An abandoned house. Mostly functional in the outskirts of the Shizuoka prefectures in a lived-in district. 

On auction for a little less than 7 million-yen. Located in a  not quite suburb. Too much land between acres and backyards to qualify that way. All the other houses are within walking distance though, and there’s no shortage of places to go with a fair bit of time and energy. 

By all measures, a perfectly good house in a perfectly good prefecture. Even now you’re not sure why it went on sale. You stare at it, outside cream colored with a gate and a cat bowl left on the porch from the previous owner - food gone to dust. Something looms on at the doorsteps, the sun-cast shadows almost as dark as oblivion night. In the front yard are wild strawberries and bushes of ivy. 

It’s a home, no matter which way you look at it. 

But you can’t bring yourself to walk inside. 

You placed your bets on this house completely on a whim months ago.

You’d been looking for a house. No that’s not it - it was more that you’d started to look at houses. An important distinction in this instance, because you weren’t looking to move when you began. You wonder if it’s a rite of passage in your adulthood to peruse listings for places you can’t afford. Dreaming habitually of your landlord's body on a cross or of in unit washer/dryers. You weren’t unhappy with your living arrangements when you started doing it, but the longing for autonomy sunk its teeth into you and showed no plans of letting go. So browsing through houses idly, wine-drunk and exhausted, became something of a regular practice. 

It was three months ago, during that practice (and after an especially scathing argument with your roommates) you’d gotten drunk and committed your usual routine. Cracked open a wine cooler, took off your clothes until you were down to your underwear, and cracked open your laptop to look at more property listings. That time, with a little more weary bitterness in your heart than all times before. 

The search process for Japanese property could range  anywhere from uneventful to laughably cruel at any given time. Whether it be listings for upend mansions in Tokyo or worn down one-bedrooms in Osaka. For every house that seemed livable, there were ten or fifteen completely out of reach or in complete shambles. 

When you came up on thee listing initially, it felt too good to be true. A house in Shizuoka with lots of yard space. A house with decent upkeep and an even larger kitchen - and nice tatami in one of the siderooms. A beautiful house in a beautiful area, on auction instead of the normal sale. Some people had bid on it - but the pool was still low. Seven million yen was your final bet - the mortgage would only be a little more than your rent. You’d put your name down on a whim. With a laugh. 

Laughed yourself unconscious and forgot about it until a month passed. A call from an unknown number to your personal cell. 

A call from a realtor. Your name, miraculously, got chosen with the highest bid. The house was yours if you wanted it. You could move in as early as May.

You were convinced it was a scam at first - like any normal person with common sense would be. Immediately rejected. But the realtors assured you over the line that it wasn’t a scam, that the previous owners just didn’t want it anymore. Some kind of emergency. Of course - you didn’t believe them at face value either. So you did some research, went to tour the house, tried to gather information proving the whole thing was a hoax. 

But there was nothing you could find even after plenty of internet sleuthing and asking everyone in your life to help you vet. When you mentioned to everyone, not a single person advocated for you staying in the city. Your job even offered to move you to the Shizuoka branch. 

It was a good opportunity. There’s a coastal path not too far from where the house is. The previous family didn’t take the cat or any of his papers with him - but he’s friendly from what they say. There’s lots of space indoors and out. 

It’s a cheap price, for a good house and you’d probably never get an opportunity like it again. 

Something is wrong with it. You can tell that just looking at it now, despite how picture-esque it is on the surface. It’s a beautiful house. There’s even a second story and a balcony. You could plant a garden in the yard and still have space for grilling outside. 

It’s a beautiful house. 

And something is wrong with it - but you’ll never get an opportunity like this again. 

Maybe you’re more of a conspiratorial person than you thought. 

You look at the truck you’ve hauled all your things in. Your loved ones have been helping you in moving in the rest of your belongings over the last few months - so what's left is mostly lightweight knick-knacks and essentials. Clothes too. The car is parked along the side of the road with the back popped open for easy access. You shake yourself off your thoughts like you’re trying to banish them. 

It’s a beautiful day outside. Early June heat that’s enough to warm but not enough to burn or swelter. The sun beats down on your skin, the sounds of gnats buzzing and the breeze rustling the overgrown fields makes your heart swell. You take a breath and remind yourself it’s a good opportunity. Stretching your arms over your head, your spine cracks. Putting your hands on your hips, you nod enthusiastically, encouraging yourself to try harder. 

“Let’s just rip the bandaid off,” You mutter. You pull your keys from your front pocket, planning on opening the door first before hauling the rest in. 

The sound of an engine makes you turn your head towards the road. A silver car, something compact - drives along the edge of the pavement. Your expression changes as the car starts to slow in front of the house. Your house. You’re never going to be used to that. Are the realtors coming for a visit? Your move-in date was set months ago, so they should know you’re here. 

The car halts to a stop a few feet from your own truck, the tinted windows rolling down to reveal a good looking blonde man. He can’t be much older than you. He lets his arm hang out from one side of the window. 

His hair is pushed back and shiny, and he’s wearing a button up shirt and brown pants. There’s sunglasses resting on top of his head. He kind of looks like a douche, but you try not to let first impressions sour your views. You give him a confused look, instinctively backing away as he smiles at you. 

“You must be the new neighbor. Heard someone was moving into this place after the Nakamura’s left, but there’s always rumors like that floating around here,” He says, talking so much at once. You kind of have a hard time getting used to him.”But I’m glad to see that it’s true. Gets a little lonely out here if all the houses don’t have people in it. In my opinion, at least.” 

You give him a blank stare. He holds out his arm to you through the car window. You have no reason not to take it, and it seems rude for you to decline - so you shake his hand. His grip is firm and assured, golden eyes narrowing into something pleased. You feel a shiver run through you. 

There’s something about him. 

“Uh, do I know you?” You say instinctually. This catches him off guard. He pauses before breaking out into a laugh. 

“I’m Takami Keigo! You’ll hear people call me Hawks too though. I’m your neighbor. My house is..” He points north, “..the one ‘bout two minutes that way. I’m very involved with the community here. It’s pretty tight knit.” He explains to you. It doesn’t reassure you for some reason. You think it’s supposed to. “Is there anything I can help you with? Looks like you’re still moving in.” 

You make an expression of distrust towards him but his smile remains unfaltering.

“I’m alright,” You supplement, trying to keep the peace. “I wouldn’t wanna keep you but I appreciate you coming to meet me.” 

He looks like he’s considering the words, enough to turn himself around and leave. After a few seconds though, he pulls away and parks his car on the side of the road in front of your house. When he emerges from the front door - his expression doesn’t change at all. His smile is disarming. He’s not a terrible guy to look at  - but you wonder what he’s doing so far from the city. 

The way he dresses is metropolitan. His shirt is loose but his pants are fitted like their tailored - expensive fabrics that the big suits from your job wear. He’s wearing slacks when he’s not working, and loafer shoes that don’t seem suited for the outdoors. You’re not far enough in the country to be expecting country folk, but the area is relegated to families. Something suburban and simple about the people you’ve met so far, yourself included in some ways. No one like him. 

You go with your gut about him and keep a distance. 

It might be too early to completely shut him out - and you do want to get along with the people here if you’re going to take permanent residence. Not friendly, but comfortable. You figure it might be less precarious to go with whatever he’s interested in. He’s not going to harm you in broad daylight, not when he’s dressed like that. And you’ve already had so much apprehension since you’ve moved - you’re almost hoping there’s something you’ve overlooked about him. Something to assure you’re just engaging in some self-sabotage about everything. 

You soften your posture and put on a business smile. There’s a ghost of something - intrigue maybe, but it’s gone before you catch wind of it. You wonder if you imagined it. 

“Well if you insist, but I don’t want to leave you with nothing,” You offer to him, as charismatic and naive as you can spin yourself. Neither of you seem to believe it, and the whole conversation feels like a sham. But he hasn’t turned to leave in offense, so you keep going “I do have some drinks inside and I’m curious about the neighborhood.”

His grin widens. 

“June heat like this is the perfect weather for a cold beer. Would be great with some meat,” He hums noncommittally. You try your best not to let your face crack into distrust. “What do you need? Just some boxes carried inside?” 

You nod. 

“Yeah. It’d be nice to only make a few trips here and there.” 

“Easy peasy. You didn’t give me your name though. Little impersonal, don’t you think?” 

You’d prefer he didn’t know it - but perhaps that’s asking too much since you’re letting him move things into your house. You give it to him neutrally, picking up a tote that you can carry along with your keys. Takami picks up your things swiftly. The boxes he chooses are heavy - you know that because of the way they’re labeled. The gesture is effortless though, and you’re not sure if it’s good or bad that you’ve noticed. 

“Pretty name.” He tells you, and you do your best to not make a face. When he notices your staring, he tilts his head to one side. His teeth gleam an unnerving white. You can’t get over the yellow-gold of his eyes. “Surprising, right? But I’m stronger than I look.” 

He waits for you to walk in front of him. Maybe it’s the paranoia, but it strikes you somehow. How he’s trying to appear. He’s perceptive. You walk in front of him, starting down the concrete path to the front of the house. 

“Any reason or are you just a gym buff?” 

He thinks about how he’s going to reply, but doesn’t meet your eyes to look at you when he does. 

“Got into a lot of fights as a kid so I had to get strong. Something like that.” 

When your eyes meet the second time, you can tell he’s seeing what you’ll probe out of him. Wanting to know what questions you’ll ask. 

“Rough childhood, then?” 

Bullseye, if his reaction is anything to go by. He hums and chuckles, still carrying the boxes. You fidget with your keys, the door sounding with a faint click as you push it open with the weight. 

The lights are all turned off. It’s not your first time seeing the house - but the first time seeing it furnished in full. For weeks you’d been putting your furniture in it, and putting food in the fridge to make moving in smooth. All the other times you’ve been inside, you’ve never felt one way or another about it. Living there wasn’t actualized for all those months - but looking at your things, new and old, makes it all feel real. 

It’s a moment too intimate for a stranger to bear witness to and you think he’s probably well-aware. He doesn’t say a word, just observes you from the corner of his eye. When you come out of whatever trance you were just under, he whistles. 

“Nice decor,” He compliments - a fair attempt at lightening the mood. “Where should I put these?”

“Those can just go behind the couch for now, thanks.” 

He listens to you wordlessly, dropping the boxes off. You watch the light of the sun reflect onto him. He’s yellow gold. You think your mother might find him good looking. He stands back up and meets your eyes. Piercing, underneath everything.  He has marks on the corners of his eyes that give you the impression of a bird. A hawk scoping for something to peck at. 

“Two down, about how many more to go do you think?” 

“I think 6, give or take. And then some luggage with my clothes.” 

“Let’s get to work then, shall we?” 

You give him a tight lipped smile. 

“Of course,” 

__ 

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to bring all of your belongings into the house. It’s a short few trips and there isn’t really much small talk for the two of you to engage in during it. 

Once it’s over you, you thank Takami for his hard work and reward him with a beer as promised. You’re sure he knows that it’s only formality - but he’s completely  comfortable in overstaying his welcome. 

The two of you sit on the steps leading up to the front of your house - a cold beer in hand. The sun is starting to hide behind the clouds, and that deep shadow seems to cast once again. Over the both of you this time, and not just on your front steps. You let your nail push the tab of the can open, a soft carbonated hiss sounding as you depressurize it. Takami follows suit. He holds the can up to yours and looks at you before you can drink. 

“Cheers to our hard work,” 

You try not to balk at him, indulging his odd behavior per your own sanity. He’s aware of your apprehension, but his persistence is almost impressive. Another tight lipped smile. “Cheers, Takami-san.” 

You take your first sips in complete silence and don’t look his way for any reason. You need the brief respite of peace to deal with the terrible weight of the pit in your stomach, still lingering. You wonder if his presence is worsening it, or if this is another thing your imagination decides to supplement. The cool liquid and faint sourness of Sapporo ease your mind, if barely. You observe the can in your hand momentarily, pretending to read the label. 

He takes a similarly long sip of his drink and then lets out a semi-obnoxious aah. You peer over at him. 

“Thanks again for helping with the move.” You say, mostly trying to fill the space with conversation so you don’t have to talk to him more than necessary. “I appreciate it.” 

“Of course,” He says, waving his hand around in front of him. “Like I said, it’s a pretty tight knit community around here. I’ll introduce you to everyone whenever you’re free. They’re good folk.” 

There’s something in his voice when he adds the last words. You wonder if you’re overthinking it again. 

“Is that so?” 

He looks at you, but you don’t meet his gaze. “Mm. A lot of people move out here to get a break from the hustle and bustle of the city. Hard-working folks. Families. It’s good to know them,” 

You wonder if you’re being too honest about yourself - but decide that there isn’t anything he could do with the information you’re about to tell him. 

“Interesting. I always grew up in the heart of the industrial district, so that’s lost on me. I even lived in Shinjuku for a while.” You offer mindlessly. “A good change of pace I guess.”

“Oh, we’re the same then,” He offers. You want to ask him to elaborate on what that means, but he brushes over it just as quickly “You’ll like it here then. Just knock on my door if you need something.” 

He looks at you again that time, some knowing in his gaze. You try not to react in either direction, just nodding your head silently as you drink more of your beer. 

“Yeah,” You offer, not looking towards him, “I’ll do that.” 

__ 

For all the evading you down when you speak to Keigo, it was no lie that you spent most of your life living in the heart of the city. 

The hustle and bustle of Musutafu, in the industrial districts of various prefectures - all of that was what you were accustomed too. When you were in your late teens and moved out for the first time - you lived in Shinjuku for two years and worked in the nightlife trying to pay for your tuition. 

You would’ve never predicted a suburb for your future. It’s not the environment you know well. You can’t help but wonder if it’s always so… quiet. 

In the time you’ve started living in your new home, not much has changed in your daily life. 

Your initial paranoia has faded out enough to go about your responsibilities in peace. The previous family’s cat occasionally returns back to the porch, and you’ve started to buy it food just in case it decides it wants to stay permanently. A brown tortoiseshell who is always a little worried. You eat breakfast at the same time, but sleep in later since the Shizuoka branch you’ve moved to is a shorter commute. You still take your daily walks, and sometimes you’ll take some time to visit the coastal path and lay your eyes on the open water. 

(The ocean doesn’t feel as comforting as it once did. Maybe it’s symptomatic of your own grievances, but looking at the endless expanse - your throat closes with the fear of it swallowing you along with it. 

If it did, who would come find you? So far from everything you know?) 

You’re entering into mid June, brushing along the edges of July. The heat is starting to be too much. You can’t stay outdoors for too long without feeling like your whole body is going to melt into the concrete and evaporate you from the inside. The nights get chilly, but the days are long. Humidity makes your skin sticky with sweat, and you’re running up your water bill with just how often you bathe. 

Everything here is by all means much more uneventful. Some parts of it unsettle you. The nights are eerily quiet and before dawn breaks, there’s always a thick head of something perspiring in the horizon like fog.

Most days, the only people you talk to in person are your co-workers. Your friends live back in your hometown, so you only see them on weekends. Same with your family. It’s just you, and some after work dinners. 

But mostly you.

And Hawks. You call him Hawks, in your head and Takami when he speaks. But Hawks feels more apt. 

Hawks, seemingly, does not care what face you show him. Nothing stops him from showing up at your door at one time or another - always before you’re going on your walks.

(You want to ask how he even knows your schedule, but you doubt he’d give you any straight answers.) 

And he doesn’t leave. You don’t think he would, no matter how rough you were about telling to fuck off. How demanding. You don’t want to confront him out of self preservation. It’s not easy to tell him to fuck off for some reason you have trouble placing. When you normally would, when it’d normally be so easy. You do it at your job all the time, to men much more important than him. 

When he comes by, he hangs at your gate and never crosses the threshold to enter. He won’t move unless he’s invited in. You give up on being nice. If you offer him a glass of water, he’ll always agree just to see your expression change. He’s polite to make you uncomfortable. Says please and thank you, and makes conversation with you like he’s interested. An amalgam of reasons that you don’t like his company. Inescapable kindness that lends itself to plausible deniability. 

What do you do for work? Oh, what’d you study for? Where are you from? Where are your parents from?

You never want to answer his questions. But he stays, lingers longer if you don’t. He archives the information, you’re sure - but you don’t know what for. 

He knows what he needs to know. You live by yourself and your family is farther away. But he always wants to know more, always lingers at the gates - waiting to be let in despite how tight you’ve got your fingers on the lock. 

You try not to involve yourself with him more than necessary. You avoid him if you’re walking around the neighborhood for any reason, and you never ask him about himself. He never tells you about himself either - but you can’t be sure why that is. If it’s for your sake or for his. 

You try not to get used to him, but it doesn’t surprise you to see him just outside of your door. Sun pours over him in white rays like melted iron, but he’s the same as always. Same smile, same golden eyes, same unnerving expression. 

He waves at you politely as you let your bodycon bag hang off of one side - a single headphone in as you look at him. You don’t bother smiling. 

If it bothers him, it doesn’t show on his face. 

“Hi neighbor,” 

“Hey,” You reply, walking closer to the gate. It’s almost routine, but you try your best not to get used to it. No point in getting comfortable. “You’re here again,” 

He laughs good-naturedly. “I am. Good to check in, no? Don’t want you getting lonely out here by yourself.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” 

He laughs again, but he sounds more sincere. 

“Going on another walk? You should be careful in this heat, you know. Take care of your body and everything.” 

“I’ll be fine,” You offer, standing in limbo and waiting for him to leave. “Thanks for your concern.” 

“So cold to me,” He quips. So he does know. “Hope it’s a nice little workout for you.” 

You sigh as you make more small talk, mostly tuned out of whatever he’s saying. 

“Got any plans for today, Takami-san?” 

He pauses before smiling to himself. He lets his arms cross over the metal of your gate, but doesn’t flinch when the heated edge touches his bare skin. You wonder about it, go to ask - but he’s talking again before you can. 

“I do, actually.  Gonna go into the shop today and get a new fridge,” He tells you, his grin bright and unusual. You’re surprised. He never tells you anything about what he’s doing, no matter how casual. Nothing more than whether he’s working or not. “I’m out of room in my old fridge, so I’m upsizing.” 

“Out of room?”

You ask before you can calculate the correct move. It’s a slip up, you both know it. His smile widens just barely, nodding his head and closing his eyes. 

“Mm. Ran out of space. A lot of mouths to feed.” He says, and opens one eye playful. “A lot of people live with me. Too big of a house to leave everything all empty.” 

“I wouldn’t have guessed that.” 

“Oh my roommates?” Hawks says, and you nod. His smile gets bigger. “They’re kind of  a rag-tag bunch. Not sociable like me. I can always bring them to meet you - if you’d like.” 

“No need to trouble them.” 

“But you should get to know the people who live here a little better,” He insists, finally backing away from your gate. “It’s good to be familiar with your neighbors. I’ll try and direct people to you. Word’ll get out faster that way,” 

You go again to protest, but he cuts you off a second time - seeming faux apologetic about your upset. 

“You should come over for dinner next week, too. Meet my roommates. At 7 ish, we should all be together. They’d love to meet you,” 

You meet his eyes and wonder if his invitation is as deliberate as you assume. When you peer into them, you confirm that it is. He’s not forcing you. You’re sure that if you rejected him now, he’d return to the way he was. He might fake being hurt, but he’d still visit you at your door. He’d still linger, still be there. He’s inviting you in on purpose. Dinner with his roommates is a less than casual affair - and nonsense for your relationship. 

It’s a bad idea, and maybe a trap. You’re almost positive of that. 

But if you did go - it’d confirm things. You’re positive of that too. You’d know for sure if you were being paranoid, if you went into that house that looks just two minutes away and saw the inside of it. You feel your heart pump through your body as the sun moves away from the clouds. There’s no longer a shadow cast on your face. Just pure, blinding heat. 

You shield your eyes with your hand, all too conscious of the heat crawling up your back and the tightness forming in your stomach. 

“Sure,” You reply, noncommittally - trying not to show too much of any one feeling. No advantages. But you feel like you’ve already lost. “I’ll see if I can make it,” 

“See you then, neighbor,” He waves, finally turning to leave. “Looking forward to it.” 

__ 

He’s true to his word on multiple fronts. Which. Doesn’t comfort you.

 An official dinner invitation, and more importantly - sending out the other neighbors to come and meet you. He’s made a point of making good on both vaguely threatening promises. 

Like your old living arrangements, you don’t go out of your way to talk to anyone here. You’re busier in the Shizuoka branch (though you like it there) and you find that there’s more daily upkeep with the new and improved space. Plus it’s mostly family folks and retired couples - no one you have any business speaking with for more than five minutes. So you’re not really going out of your way to socialize. 

You never planned on being buddy-buddy with any of the people who live in the area, anyway. Acquainted and friendly at best. 

But  in these last few weeks, folks from all up and down the streets have arrived at your doorstep bearing all sorts of gifts. Fruits and desserts and other housewarming things they think you'd find helpful. They come so often even you have a hard time refusing them, though you’ve wormed your way out of any of them coming inside of your home or crossing far-past the threshold of the gate. 

On the surface, they’re good folks like he described them to be. There’s no distrust to the conversation, nothing they want to wield against you. 

But something's off. And isn’t that always the case here? You’re starting to feel like you’re repeating yourself. Stuck in a loop, some kind of odd deja vu. 

It’s two things you notice. They’re both minor, but they bother you. 

The first is the way they describe Hawks. 

Nothing but good things. Which makes you sound like a bitch, even to yourself. But it’s weird. The kind of kindness that doesn’t feel real. Empty praises like a helium balloon. Last week one of your neighbors described him as benevolent and his wife agreed whole-heartedly. Each time you wonder if you’re thinking too much about it. Benevolent isn’t a word you’d use to describe anyone you like, no matter how well acquainted. 

You know people as charismatic as him so you know that it’s something people do. He’s a good guy, but you don’t know him so you say empty, kind things. Still, it bothers you. And it’s like they say. A friend to everyone is a friend to no one. 

It’s uncomfortable that no one shows any sign of disagreement about how kind he is. That there’s no hesitant glances or country gossip. That not one old lady has pulled you in for gossip and wine. There’s no character. No humanity. 

It’s backwards but there’s too much harmony. In the people, in the weather, in the road - paved perfectly with no cracks. Everyday of June since moving in has been nothing but blue, cloudless skies. A bright vivid sun concentrated into one shape, heat casting the illusion of waves. No June rain to water the gardens or wash off the dusty roads. No lightning storms that send all the animals howling, no winds strong enough to dust a city into the sea. 

It’s not nothingness. There’s something to that at least. If it felt abandoned, it might feel less unsettling. An abandoned place is a familiar one, a memory from your hometown. An abandoned place usually means that someone lived there before you. At least ghosts are the promises of people, even deceased. 

Is there something more nonexistent than a ghost, while still being material? You don’t know what that would be. 

Hollow but not empty - the skeleton of a suburb. Like something has been carved out of it and replaced. Unnatural, man-made. It never fails to make all the hair on your neck stand. 

Then there is the other thing. 

Well it’s a stretch. Even you can acknowledge that it might just be coincidence. But nothing here feels like sole coincidence except for the fact you’ve been unfortunate enough to end up here. 

A lot of people in town have… injuries. Particular ones. The elderly couple up the street has a lost leg and missing pinky between the two of them. Of the few other people living alone here - all three of them have some type of it - a part of them completely gone. A lost eye or arm, or visible scars along their sides like something’s been … cut out of them. 

You know how it sounds. Even to yourself, you’ll reprimand your imagination. It’s not something you can discern meaning from, not something to draw conclusions from. This is Japan, a Japanese suburb with little kids playing in fucking mud and wild strawberries and bushes of ivy. 

Maybe the people who retire here are veterans, or maybe Hawks has some kind of charity. 

Maybe it’s something not sinister, because what else could it really be?

You keep trying to convince yourself that this time it really is your paranoia. Because even if you examine that, try to unravel - what does it leave you with but more questions? 

You want answers. Need them so you stop tossing and turning. But even if you’re to get answers, you aren’t sure if you could trust them. You trust your gut - yourself and only yourself. 

You know something is wrong, but just how wrong do things get before the point of no return?

But you can’t help living here if something is wrong. As wrong as you think. If it doesn't go away, what then? What happens to you? Neighbors keep meeting you and people keep being injured and tight-lipped and hollow eyed. Something is always waiting for you in the dark. 

You want to get ahead of it, no matter how fucking sick it makes you.  You have to know or it'll swallow you up. 

You just want to put the whole thing to rest, and get answers. You’d take fake ones to placate you if they were believable, you’d take anything to get your fucking mind off of it. 

But the longer you stay, the longer you live at the edge of the road, the longer Hawks  waves to you as he passes by your place - makes you feel like you can’t rest until you know. 

You need to know for sure. 

_

It rains. 

The day he invites you over for dinner, just two minutes down the street - it rains. Harsh, July rain that sounds like it’s running against the ground. Thudding as it floods the streets and turns the Earth to mush. You couldn’t have expected it. It’d been sunny in the morning, but it’d all gone gray outside while in the office. And then it got darker and heavier, like nightfall early. 

You were soaked on public transport on the way home, tracking mud into your front door as you walked along the grass back to your own home. You had enough time, at least - between getting home and going over to shower and sit down. 

In the two hours of your arrival from the office and your invitation - you pretend for a while that none of it is happening. You read on your couch and pet the cat you didn’t adopt. You listen to music and pleasantly paint your nails up until you have to get ready, because you don’t really want to get ready. 

You’re being dramatic. Or you’re not. But you don’t want to go. You don’t want to know what happens when you get there. You think about canceling. Taking a raincheck because of the weather. Feigning an illness for your not-cat. 

Something is wrong with this place, and it’s bothering you. But you don’t know if you’re prepared to find out what.

You decide to go, because the other option is remaining in the dark. You could tell him that you want to reschedule, but just like you trust your gut on most things - you get a feeling this is the only window you’ll get to find out anything important. Like if you do it another day, you’ll get the same hollow facade as always. 

So you dress yourself slowly. You take an umbrella, and lock your door shut. You even say goodbye to that cat that isn’t yours. You’ll make it back in one piece but something will change once you go.  Both of these you believe with full conviction. 

But you go. You go. 

When you get outside, you open your umbrella up and put it over your head - walking out past your front gate and onto the sidewalk. 

It’s not a lie that Hawks is the neighbor closest to you. He lives within walking distance, less than ten minutes from you. The neighborhood is more compact closer to his place, your own house being more isolated - the first house when cars turn the corner.

You don't know what the house looks properly, only what it's like vaguely in shape and color. On the walk there, it’s the only thing your eyes can focus on. You stare at it aimlessly as it comes into your vision line. 

It’s obscenely big. You don’t know how many people are living inside for that to be the case, but it sticks out. Even in your time in the city, you’ve never seen a house that size just out in the open, so protruding. It feels invasive. 

You feel something forming in your gut as you start to approach the gate. It doesn’t look so different to yours. 

Clearing your throat, you approach.

In the clear distance is Hawks, in front of the open door like he’s waiting for you. It’s still light outside, but the weather makes everything dark. The warm light pouring out of the open door casting shadow onto the concrete above it. Hawks runs to meet you at the gate to open it, not bothering to grab something to cover himself with. The rain soaks his head, makes his hair fall a little flat. 

There’s a girl waiting by the door with him, younger than you both - who’s looking at you with a wide smile. Her teeth are sharp like fangs. You can see them from afar, and better as you get closer. 

Hawks is quick as he unlocks the latch for you. He pulls the gate back and ushers you with his hands on your waist. Instinctually - you hold out the umbrella to cover his head. He gives you a smile as he leads you through to the front of the house. The rain feels like it gets heavier as he does. 

When you’re underneath cover, you’re rushed into the foyer of their place before you can think twice.

The door shuts behind you, the noise of the rain muffled. You miss it and you want to go outside again. You look at the door as it shuts, and the girl with him closes it and looks at you. 

She’s cute. She has to be a student, but she looks nothing like Hawks. He walks over to her and pats her head. 

“This is Toga. She’s the youngest of us. She won’t be joining us for dinner ‘cause she’s going to see her girlfriend, but she wanted to see the new neighbor.” 

You give her a passive glance. She smiles at you. 

“Nice to meet you, neighbor,” She drawls the end of the word, then looks you up and down. “Hawks keeps talking about you all the time,” 

“Aw, c’mon now Himiko-chan, don’t embarrass me in front of our guest,” Is what he says, but he doesn’t look embarrassed at all. “Take your raincoat and umbrella. Say hi Uraraka-san for me,” 

“Uh-huh, I will. Bye-bye,” 

You watch her get dressed for the rain and turn to leave. The brief sound of the rain returns and you’re all but too aware of how much you want to turn back from whence you came. 

Hawks takes your jacket for you. His voice guides you to putting your shoes in the rack, telling you where the house slippers are for guests. 

You’re not particularly trying to listen, but you’re out of your own body. The muffled rain thunders, cries out - makes you jump in your own skin. Lightning flashes through the whole house. 

He looks at you bemused. “Just a little rain,” 

“Right,” You reply, itching to get control of yourself “Been such a clear summer, so it spooked me,” 

“Are you off put easily?” Hawks asks. You close up your umbrella and hang it against a wall “You seem like it,”

You shake the water off your face and neck and shake your head. “Not particularly. Just not used to living here yet.” 

He nods sagely. “You’ll get used to it. But enough out of me, I’m here to introduce you to my roommates. You’ll have to forgive their curiosity, especially Touya.” 

Curiously, Hawks doesn’t proceed with his usual testimony and fair. He doesn’t tell you that they’re good people, like he normally does. Just smiles, coyly, and gestures you to the corner of the hall. 

From the kitchen on the other end of the foyer, you can hear sizzling and cutting - something being hacked away with a butcher's knife. Hawks waves your thoughts away as you turn your head towards it. “That’s Kurogiri. He learned we were having guests so he took up cooking. He’s the best at it, and I’m pretty decent. Himiko too.” 

“Oh, that’s kind. What are we having for dinner?” 

He stops to look at you. He holds his stare too long.“Meat. With some sides and rice, of course. I think it’s steak but Kurogiri doesn’t like western sides. You eat meat, right? You mentioned wanting to barbecue,” 

You hesitate. Something slips in his face, but it’s gone before you can catch it. You nod. “I uh do meat. I try not to lately, to save money.” 

He laughs. “Well, we have plenty to go around. Please eat as much as you like,” 

You frown at him. 

“...Thanks for the offer,” 

He doesn’t say anything more. Doesn’t make a punchy quip, or have a fresh joke like normal. Just nods aimlessly before giving you another familiar business smile. 

“Lets not keep ‘em waiting,” Hawks offers, as he walks you into the basement. The darkness at the end of the stairwell puts a familiar gnawing in your stomach. “I’m sure they’ll want to meet you sooner, rather than later.” 

__ 

They’re not what you expect. 

His roommates. You’re expecting people like him. Metropolitan, overly friendly types. You’re expecting people he gets along with well, and some of them do. 

But they’re nothing like Hawks at all, not even close.

Most of his roommates remind you of the kids living on the street during your life in the industrial districts. Rag-tag bunches who got in trouble with the law frequently, always in and out of the penal system. 

Of his roommates, Shigaraki is the most antisocial. He doesn’t say anything when Hawks drags you to his room. Hawks doesn’t seem to be expecting anything either, but he does ask if the former will join you for dinner. Shigaraki looks you up and down, then laughs for the first time, and says not tonight. Hawks shrugs and moves on.  

There’s Twice too, and he’s kind. Of them, you think he’s the nicest. He’s the closest with Toga. A bad past, he’s fond of Hawks (though you can’t be sure Hawk’s is fond of him.) Apparently he has some kind of condition and disorder, he tells you candidly - but he’s not unpleasant all the same. At the very least, he doesn’t offset some baser instinct to run far in the other direction. 

You meet Magne, an older girl and another man who doesn’t tell you his full name. Hawks calls him Compress, but he introduces himself to you as Sako. He tells you he won’t join you all for dinner - holds your hand, places a kiss on the back of your palm as an apology. The gesture weirds you out, but you try to keep the peace.

Hawks tells you he’s a performer and you believe him. 

The last person you meet is Touya. 

Touya is interesting. He has thick scars along his face and neck, burn marks - but he’s got a handsome face. Hawks seems most hesitant to introduce you two, but they room together. You want to ask if that’s necessary, given that there’s so much space in the house but refrain.

When Touya greets you, his grip is casual and firm. He mostly seems disinterested, except when you’re in closer proximity to him.

 Enough for him to flash you something pitiful. Something knowing, something… like he’s condescending you and pitying you all at once. 

He’s the one, of all of them, that leers at you the most openly. He assesses you, polite in his introduction before turning to Hawks. They communicate something to each other wordlessly and you don’t like any of it. After whatever that had been, Touya simply turned to examine you, shrugging as he agrees to dinner and slinking back down into his room.

After a while, you go back downstairs. Hawks doesn’t tell you anything about his living space. Just sits you in a living room and chats with you until dinner is ready. Chats hollowly about the same pointless dialogue fodder he always does. He stares at you with each word, and you try your best to ignore the shivering it incites. 

He’s relaxed with the charade here, but he keeps it up exceptionally well irregardless. 

Nothing is strange in a way that makes all of it strange. The rain pounds against every window like it’s begging to be inside and the doors sometimes shake when thunder claps. But nothing is wrong in a way you can prove. His roommates are nothing like you thought they’d be, and only serve to prove that you know even less about him than you might’ve assumed. 

He’s quick, on all fronts, to brush over any questions. 

Whatever you want to know about, Hawks won’t let you. But it’s not out of secrecy. If he could tell you to be patient without spoiling your little game, you’re sure he would. 

The pit of your stomach only grows heavier as the evening continues. Even though he hasn’t done anything to warrant your increasing distrust. Nothing feels as it seems. 

It’s nearly eight o’clock when Kurogiri calls you all to have dinner.

Hawks send you into the dining room alone. 

The walk into the dining room feels like it goes on forever. The hallway remains dark. At the end of the tunnel is a kitchen. A brightly lit dining room with warm lights and a table that seats many people. On the table, there's a bottle of sake and glasses. A pitcher of water with lemons cut into it, and plenty of sides. 

On display though is meat. A lot of meat. Meat you can’t identify any one way, and that doesn’t smell like any other meat you’ve ever had. Hawks mentioned steak, and you can’t be sure it’s not that. It just doesn’t look like it from this distance.

 The tables are all set-out, and there’s a steak on each plate. 

Kurogiri is polite when he greets you. 

“Oh,” He says, thinking to himself. “You must be the guest. Sit here. Keigo insisted I sit you next to him,” 

You’re startled, but nod your head. “Nice to meet you, Kurogiri-san,” 

He shakes his head. “The pleasure is all mine,”

You sit at the far end of the table, and let Kurogiri pour you a glass of water. The rest of the housemates start coming into the kitchen. Magne, and Twice, and Touya mostly - along with Hawks at the tail end. He comes around the redwood table to join you. He sits at the very head while everyone sits in what seems to be their own assigned seats. Touya sits directly to your right. Kurogiri sits at the opposite end of the table, glancing at Hawks. 

“Master Shigaraki won’t be joining us?” 

Hawks shakes his head. “Said he wasn’t. You can always bring  him something to eat.I can take care of your guest.” 

Kurogiri pauses, then looks at you. He shakes his head. “Just be careful, Hawks.”

“Have some faith in my hosting skills, Kurogiri,” 

You watch on in silence as Kurogiri fixes things in a tupperware. Master Shigaraki?

“Sorry about the delay!” Hawks offers, all of a sudden. You look at the plate in front of you, and all the bowls alongside it before looking back towards Hawks. “Thanks for joining us for dinner. Please eat as much as you like and consider this our formal welcome to the neighborhood,” 

Touya laughs hard beside you. “Laying it on thick aren’t you, Keigo?” 

He replies in his unflinchingly calm voice. Touya must really get under his skin though, because you can hear his demeanor crack just barely. “Just being welcoming. Wouldn’t kill you to take a page out of my book, I don’t think,” 

“Enough bickering,” He supplements, throwing his hands up. “Let’s eat,” 

There’s a resounding itadakimasu around the table before the sound of cutlery begins to scrape against the ceramic plates alike. 

For the first time all night, you check into your body and stare down at the plate in front of you. It feels like all your blood is rushing to your ears. Your heart pounds, blood thrumming through your nerves as you examine the plate. There’s a cut of meat on it, tender with herbs - and a side of rice and pickled vegetables. The ceramic plate it’s on is red, a deep sort of maroon. Painted birds decorate the sides along with thin leaves and branches. The other cutlery is nice. Heavy stuff, nothing cheap. Even the chopsticks have good weight. 

You feel out of body as your hand reaches for them, swallowing thickly and not looking up at anyone for any reason. From the corner of your eye, you see Touya who seems to be watching your every move. Hawks doesn’t pay you any mind. You wonder why he’s doing so deliberately. 

You use a spoon to help pick up rice. You eat the vegetables plain. It hurts to chew and swallow even though none of it’s dry. The lemon water you drink from the cold glass cup doesn’t soothe your throat. 

The blonde glances at you. He reaches towards the sake bottle and cups circling the centerpiece of the decor and hands you a glass. “This’ll warm you you,” 

You look at him, and briefly at his plate. He hasn’t touched the meat yet. You take the glass from him and sip in long drinks until you reach the bottom. 

But the feeling doesn’t leave you. You wonder if you’re imagining it. 

It’s meat. Beef, from what they tell you. You look up to see Twice across the table, tearing into the flesh with his teeth - and something inside your gut churns hard. Your focus is unbreaking as you see it. Teeth sinking into flesh. The outside a golden brown but the inside raw and red, fatty and bleeding. Twice’s plate pools with what looks like blood. Steaks bleed, you know that. 

And everyone is eating comfortably, like nothing is wrong. Except Hawks. He has yet to cut into anything. He mimics you. He’s waiting for you to eat first.

“You should eat first,” He goes as far as telling you. His smile gleams. Pearlescent white teeth, golden yellow eyes, blackness in his pupils like oblivion. “Feels a little rude as the host.”

Fuck. Something is wrong. It’s screaming at you. The sound of scraping and chewing and swallowing becomes a cacophony as it grates on your mind. You try your best to be unaffected and drink more sake. You keep your voice calm. 

You won’t panic. You can’t panic. You steel yourself. 

“No no, please - go ahead. I’m a little tired so I don’t feel like chewing, is all. It’s fine, I promise.” You offer, then stare at him. “Eat.” 

He looks at you surprised, and Touya laughs besides you. 

He shrugs though, and eats. Unconcerned with you, with refined manners and well practiced etiquette. Hawks is polite when he eats. 

He cuts through the thick hunk of meat with a sharpened knife in precise, even squares. He’s an expert at it. You watch as the outside cuts open. Underneath the brown is tender red. Bleeding red. It’s practically raw on the inside, blood spilling out from the open slices. It has that soft texture of raw meat. Hawks uses his chopsticks to grab the piece, and it yields underneath the pressure - squished between the ends.

You watch as he chews it. You watch carefully. 

There’s delight in the act of eating. He savors when he chews, slow and deliberate and when he swallows - he seems especially pleased. His expression changes after the first few bites, repeating it over and over. You feel bile rise in your throat. 

“It’s good you know,” Hawks hums, looking at you so deeply you feel suffocated. Flying close to the ground to pin you right when you’re least expecting, how typical. It’s so like him it makes you sick. “You should give it a try,” 

You clear your throat. 

“I will. I uh, I do need to use the restroom though.” You say quickly, trying not to heave. “Where would that be?” 

Touya snorts. “Down the hall on your left.” 

Before he can get a word in edgewise - you bolt. You nearly knock the dining chair over with how swift you carry yourself on your legs. You run, speeding off towards the bathroom. Grabbing the handle you nearly slam the door as you hurry yourself inside.

Your chest feels tight as a sense of nausea overwhelms you, mixed with some morbid sense of relief. You were right. You were right about everything. 

They’re taking body parts - this much you’re sure of. You can think of what they do with them. Selling them is a lucrative business. But eating them? It’s a level of depravity so far beyond your scope - you can’t help but feel nauseated. 

Your hands grip the linoleum sink as the fluorescent lights of the bathroom flicker overhead. Your complexion has gone pale with disgust. Your stomach feels especially tight, soured. It’s almost painful how sick you are. Sweat drips along your back and into your shirt - all down the crown of your head. White knuckling the edge of the sink, you stare into the linoleum and take deep breaths trying not to fucking puke. 

You’re in too deep. You were weeks ago. Maybe the minute you clocked that something was wrong about him, like you’ve seen past a carefully set-up illusion. 

By rights of the illusionist, it’s only inevitable that he comes after you. You either die with his secret or become part of his magic act. 

You don’t know which things he wants more. 

By the time you steady your breathing at all, you hear the bathroom door click open behind you. 

You nearly scream. 

Hawks closes the door behind him. The enclosed space of the bathroom makes your chest ache, as you back into the sink. He looks calm. You ready yourself to run. 

His eyes no longer shine. They’re almost dull, copper in color as he stares at you with a lazed smile. It’s like the mask has all but shattered. Leaving you two in this cramped, airless, stale room. Your stomach clenches, muscles tight with adrenaline. You think of all the ways out, but Hawks leans his weight on the door to keep you from running. 

“Relax,” He offers, no longer pretending. “I won’t hurt you. And you’d rather not get the attention of my housemates, I’m guessing,” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You fucking—you eat people?” 

He smiles. “You know, it’s pretty clever of you to figure it out. Most folks here are too stupid to see through it, but you noticed right away. I was really interested in that when we first met,” 

He stands up straight, readying himself to approach you. 

“Stay the fuck away from me,”

He leans against the door and puts his hands up, but not because he’s trying to appear unthreatening. 

“It’s a good gig. Cheap property, more people move in, more business. When someone proves loyalty, they get a cheap mortgage and live for a small price. Up until now, no one just moving has been able to get out of it. Except for the family before yours. Still feel sorry about that one.” 

The dread that washes over nearly has you throwing up. You dry heave. Hawks smile only grows. 

“But you noticed right away, which was interesting. So I started getting intrigued by you. I wondered how far you’d go to find things out, and it was farther than I expected. It’s good to be clever,” Hawks offers. He steps closer to you this time and you go to defend yourself, grabbing something from the counter to hit him with. You find nothing. “Not so good to be nosy. But you couldn’t help yourself, huh? I like the spunk, at least.” 

“You’re a monster,” You say and you mean it. 

“It’s a house full of them. I’m just the spokesperson. And this is a lucrative business practice. My colleagues aren’t the social type, so I handle all the HR. I can’t have some newbie who just moved in fucking the protocol,” Hawks hums, tilting his head at you. “In a way I’m helping you,”

“Helping me? How in the fuck are you helping me?” 

It’s a swift movement where Hawks pins you. You go to move, to hit him - to scream. But Hawks is fast. He’s strong, and completely swift - and when he grabs you to pin you to the sink, you’ve never felt more completely helpless in your life. You bite his hand, but he looks at you steadily. Cold.

“No one will help you even if you scream, so don’t scream,” Hawks reprimands, almost bored. “Cops don’t come here anyways. I would know.” 

He pulls his hand away from you. 

“What do you want from me?” 

Hawks looks surprised then laughs. 

Before you can protest any further, you feel the grip on your arms and body tighten painfully. Hawks ducks his head down against your throat, and in one motion bites. He bites hard. You can feel it break the skin, and that time you scream. You pull away, but his teeth scrape and scrape and scrape till you’re bleeding. 

He sucks the blood and licks the flesh, like someone might eat bone marrow from a carcass. You can feel it then. He’d devour you into nothing if he could - while you’re still all pieced together. You look at his mouth when he pulls away, covered in your blood. Some of the skin he’s taken off, just barely. Your whole body feels feeble as he goes again to lick up and clean the sensitive wound. 

Your knees feel weak as he pulls away. Your blood is on his mouth. There’s surely more on his hands. You feel sick all over again. You’re gonna throw up. 

“It’s simple what I want,” Hawk’s says, and then narrows his eyes at you “I like to play with my food before I eat it,” 

Your eyes narrow. 

“There’s no way  I’d let myself wait around here to be killed.” 

“Who said anything about killing, stranger? Just eating. It’s good practice to eat. We’ll eat together. We’ll eat each other. It’s romantic, don’t you think?” Hawks hums, hugging you to him. And it’s like you’re seeing him for the first time, for exactly what he really is.  “Eating together is a basic facet of a healthy connection.” 

“A healthy connection? You’re insane.” 

He shakes his head. 

“I’m in like. Different things.”

You try again to pull away, but remain stone still in his arms. For now, there’s no escaping. But you thrash and thrash and thrash. It comforts you.

“I’ll never take it lying down.” You tell him, as seriously as you can. 

He gives you a smile. It’s pearly white. It’s unnerving. It’s genuine. Your heart feels heavy as the weight and implications all sink in. Oh, he’ll chase you - if it means getting to eat you alive. 

Thunder strikes the house. The walls shake. July is unwelcoming and gloomy. 

But Hawks’ eyes shine yellow gold like a false sin as he looks down at you in awe. 

“I’m looking forward to it, neighbor.” 

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

The disrespect toward indigenous peoples is what popped put at me today in one of your posts. I wonder how long the English have been looking down on the Welsh. We're the Saxons like that or is it the Normans who really thought they were better than everyone else. Cause it seems like it goes back a long way.

Oh, both, just in different ways. The Normals were imperialist, the Saxons were more theft and landgrab.

Something that makes me want to start hurling knives is the INCREDIBLY COMMON English myth that the Anglo-Saxons were a sweet innocent indigenous British people who were conquered and bullied by those mean nasty Normans (and Vikings), and because the Normans came over via France, that means everything was actually THEIR fault, and the true English i.e. the Anglo-Saxons, were victims too :(

When I say it's incredibly common, by the way, I really mean it. Enormous numbers of modern day English people believe this. I've seen BBC programs about the Viking invasions that claimed without a trace of irony that the Vikings would take slaves from "the native Anglo-Saxons". I've literally had English people comment this shit on posts of mine about Celtophobia and Welsh history. Like I'm there describing how the last Prince of Wales was locked in a wooden cage in Bristol Castle at the age of eight and lived out the remainder of his life there until his fifties so the Welsh would know their place, and some snivelling English cunt will straight up write a message going "Teehee really it was the Normans not the English though and they conquered the poor Anglo-Saxons too, poor England uwu"

Anyway in the dying days of the Roman empire in Britain one of the leading reasons for Rome abandoning Britannia was the constant waves of Anglo-Saxon invaders. There were so many the east coast of Britain became known as the Saxon Shore. There were so many the Romans built a line of forts that were and are literally called Saxon Shore Forts. There were so many that an official, historically documented, paid governmental position in Roman Britain was the Count of the Saxon Shore, i.e. the guy responsible for keeping the bastards out.

Rome had banned native military, of course, so when they then withdrew and took the armies with them, the people left had no defences against the incoming waves of Angles, Saxons and Jutes. England fell pretty quickly, Angles in the north, Saxons in the south, Jutes primarily in the east, I believe. What stopped their westward expansion was the Brythonic Celtic nations living in modern day Wales. And this is the origin of the Welsh dragon - those separate kingdoms needed a banner that united them, and represented Not Saxon. An anti-Saxon force. They chose a red dragon.

This is also the origin of King Arthur. An anti-Saxon king of the Brythons, who would repel these Germanic invaders. (It was several centuries later that England realised they should probably steal the term 'British', because otherwise they were marking themselves as 'not native'.)

Anyway the saving grace of the Anglo-Saxons in the end was actually that they were whiny little bitches who gave up trying to fight in Wales with its difficult mountains and fought each other instead. The whole sorry tale of the Heptarchy is the various Anglo-Saxon kingdoms fighting like cats in a bag, while Saxon king Offa built a dyke along the Welsh border and went "WELL YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED OVER HERE" and every Welsh king went "...we literally didn't want to conquer you anyway, you spectacularly sad and stupid man"

Oh, and of course, there's the name 'Wales'. Given to us specifically by the Anglo-Saxons. And translated by centuries of English scholars, mostly very smugly, as 'foreigners'. A fun bit of early propaganda, look - foreigners in our own country that they tried and failed to steal.

All of which is a circuitous way of saying - yeah, it goes way back.

[artbyblastweave]

Whatever else I may say about the writing of Fallout 3, Oasis is excellent on every level. Genuinely totally siloed from the main quest and the rest of the game world's communities, isolated from any area of the game world that you'd be likely to pass through on your way to another quest objective (maybe Fort Constantine, but you'd still have to detour pretty heavily.) Despite that, allusions to the place are seeded throughout the game- Three Dog talking about it on the radio as an urban legend, a single insane wastelander ranting about it before dropping dead in front of you. One of your rewards for completing the Arefu quest is that you'll have a cluster of locations in Arefu's general area marked on your map if you hadn't found them already; one of those locations contains an exiled, berserk Treeminder with coordinates to Oasis on his person, albeit without any explanation of what Oasis actually is. Actually finding the place is a very self-directed activity even if they hand you everything you'd need to get there. I feel as though there's a level of restraint on display from Bethesda here that you wouldn't get for settlement with a named quest these days- an asset as visually unique as Harold would absolutely end up with top billing in the main quest, you wouldn't be allowed to miss him. And anyway, once you get there, I dunno, there are interesting parallels. Inasmuch as Fallout 3 has any kind of actual deliberate theme, I'd argue that the theme is that you can't run from your problems, and you can't stick your head in the sand. A lot of the settlements you visit over the course of the game have the vibe of a whole bunch of people who are just sort of holed up and waiting to die, even the outwardly successful ones like Megaton and RIvet City. The entire main plot is triggered by James deciding to try and do something about the state of the world instead of just waiting to die of inbreeding along with everyone else under the Overseer's thumb. Everywhere you visit is experiencing some kind of watershed moment- something's gotta give. And then you get to this place that's outwardly a pretty sweet setup, but only because they're obscure- and that's not sustainable. You found this place, other people are going to, the only actual choice on the table is on what terms they're going to come into contact with the outside world and on what timetable. The possibility of reforestation is complementary to Project Purity; they make a big point of the fact that Harold can't do jack about the irradiated water even if the restoration of greenery would still be a major net positive. And it's not hard to draw a connection between the ending where you convince Harold to keep living because the Treeminders are dependent on him, and the whole "abandonment issues" beat that the Lone Wanderer is given room to have with their own father- you don't get to duck out on the world that easy, James Number 2. Lots of interesting little parallels swirling around in there, if you're an overly charitable apophenic such as myself

[dairy-farmer]

Thinking about the 'Damian actually killed Tim when he cut his line' ask and having thoughts™. I'm a huge sap, so nobody actually dies and there's even the possibility of a future happy ending:

Damian did the whole 'trying to kill / maim Tim' thing, but a few years have passed since then and Damian has actually come respect and love (maybe even kind of desire? 👀👀👀) Tim alongside the rest of the family, and consider his past actions as water under the bridge. Tim never brings it up, so Damian assumes he feels the same way.

But then! The family, or at least Tim and Damian in a team up, get into a very dangerous and sticky situation; I haven't thought about specifics because they are not important. What is important is that in order to escape, Tim is going to have to trust Damian: maybe it's a 'jump and I'll catch you' because Tim's grapple is missing or broken situation, or maybe a 'I'm bluffing the enemy about hurting you, so you need to stay completely still so I don't accidentally hurt you for real' type thing or maybe Tim is hurt and will make the injury worse if he tries to move by himself, so Damian has to leave to bring back help and tells him not to move until he comes back for him.

Whatever the specifics, Damian expects Tim to follow his lead / do what he tells him... But Tim doesn't and gets seriously hurt: instead of trusting Damian to catch him he wastes time trying to find another way down/out, or he moves to dodge Damian's blow and accidentally ends up where Damian was fainting towards, or made his injuries worse by trying to get out by himself instead of waiting for Damian to come back. After Tim has been treated and is out of danger and recovering in the Bat Cave, Damian demands to know why Tim didn't do what Damian told him to!

"Don't you trust me?!" Damian demands. Tim's expression turns incredulous as he states, "No, of course not."

Damian, and the rest of the family are stunned silent. Dick and Bruce recover the fastest, and Dick demands to know what Tim means; how can he not trust Damian?! They've gone on hundreds of missions together! Worked together for years now! Were family!

Tim glares at Dick. "Have you forgotten how many times he's tried to kill me?" Starts listing off different things Damien had done when he first joined the family: pushed him off a dinosaur, cut his grappling line, lied and attacked (and maybe tried to poison?) Tim multiple times.

Tim angrily tells them all he's not an idiot or a fool, and refused to be lulled into a false sense of security. Damian hasn't attacked him in over 2 years? Tim hasn't given him the chance. Even when he has accepted food or drink from Damian, he's never actually consumed it unless he saw Damian, Bruce, or Dick eat or drink from the same source. Damian passed on intel or messages from a family member or friend? Tim always took the time to double and triple check the information and call the family or friend himself to confirm.

Damian is just standing there -still somewhat stunned- listening to Tim explain how he's seen the last couple years, which are completely different from how Damian and the rest of the family had seen them. And Damian is struck by the realization that even though Tim had never trusted him, Damian had trusted him hundreds of times and similar situations... And Tim had always come through for him.

Damian feeling an incredible number of different feelings. Guilt over his past actions, horror at the realization that Tim could have died just because Damian had proven himself to be untrustworthy in the past and never actually did anything to prove that he changed/changed his views on Tim, and some other emotion he can't quite name (Awe? Humility? Love???). Tim had never stopped distrusting Damian, but had still never lashed out or abandoned Damian: there were at least five incidents in the last 3 months where Damian could have possibly died if Tim hadn't intervened, which Tim did even though he still expected Damian to stab him in the back.

Just! Damian devastated at having an unintentional hand in Tim's injury and realizing how badly he fumbled their relationship. But also? Maybe falling a bit (more?👀) in love with Tim at the realization of just how honorable and good Tim is -how else would you describe someone going out of their way to help people they fully expected to hurt them?

I would expect Damian to explain how he no longer wants Tim hurt -hasn't since maybe 6-9 months after he first joined the family- and beg for his forgiveness. The fact that Damian does this without reservation and in front of the rest of the family is actually a huge point in his favor of Tim actually, maaaaybe, being willing to believe him: Damian is still an incredibly proud person and would not prostrate himself and beg forgiveness lightly (especially not in front of an audience).

Tim and Damian slowly start to actually get on the same page, talk about their feelings (ugh 🤢), and start to get closer. Eventually, after months and months, Damian confesses his feelings for Tim. Tim is hesitant: yes, he's finally decided that Damian is being honest and is willing to trust him in general. But starting a romantic relationship is very different. Maybe Damian suggests an old fashioned courtship: something structured and chaperoned, at least at the beginning, until Tim can decide definitively whether he wants to date or be together with Damian.

Something something dating falling in love something something. Tim turning to Damian one normal, uneventful, random day and looking deeply and searchingly into his eyes, before saying "I trust you."

damian absolutely being shaken at the realization that not only had tim never trusted him, he'd never forgiven him for anything that had happened between them. that he'd been willing to take the risk, and possibly die rather than trust damian because he believed that trusting damian would mean he would certainly die 🥺🥺🥺

[annisassintchaska]

The Interview: Lewis Hamilton x Black! Reader

It was time for the press conferences and so the drivers shuffled in unwillingly since they all hated this part of their job. Everyone took their seat and away went the questions. They had been twenty minutes into the conference when a beautiful young black woman raised her hand to ask a question. Lewis noticed her and immediately started smiling as he remembered her.

“Hey, I remember you! You were at the club on Friday!” He exclaimed in excitement as the lady’s eyes went wide at his declaration. “Lewis don’t say that here, you’re ruining my reputation” The woman countered as she blushed profusely causing Lewis to smile at her. She gathered herself and went on with her job. “Hi, my name is Y/n L/n and I have a question for Lewis” She said nervously as everyone kept staring at her. “I wanted to ask how do you feel now that you’ve extended your contract with Mercedes instead of going off with Ferrari? You had given everyone quite a scare when they found out about the contract” Y/n explained as Lewis listened attentively; something the other driver and reporters along with fans have noticed. “First off I want to say that I hope you’re doing well and taking care of your stability and to answer your question, I feel great. When I got the Ferrari contract I honestly didn’t consider signing with them so the document was just on my desk in my home office up until the last meeting, I decided that since no other team reached out and I loved my current team, I would stay here at Mercedes” Lewis answered her question fully. “Thank you Sir Lewis for answering and yes I am well and my stability is as stable as it can be” Y/n answered as Lewis but the inside of his cheeks, watching as she walked back to her seat.

The press conference went on for almost another hour when someone finally addressed the elephant in the room. A male reporter walked up to the mic asking. “Sir Lewis, you mentioned earlier that you had met Ms. Y/n at the club this past Friday and you seem really happy about that. Please don’t take this in a way of disrespect but I would love to know what could have possibly happened for you to actually perk up the you did when you recognized her?” The reporter asked making Lewis smile as he held his head down, meanwhile the other female reporters were giving the poor girl nasty side eyes and the unoccupied male reporters were either winking at her or admiring her beauty as they awaited Lewis’ response. “What happened was that I had gotten the chance to dance with the lovely woman as we were both abandoned by our friends that night” Lewis recalled shyly to which the everyone awed at him.

After the interview had finished everyone packed up to leave, yet Lewis stayed behind as he realized that Y/n had went to the restroom, so he carefully packed up her bag and waited for her. The woman was surprized to see the 7x World Champion waiting for her as she headed back to her desk.

“Hi Lewis, shouldn’t you be heading back to the hotel?” She asked curiously as to why he was still there. “Yes, I should be but since I wasn’t sure if I would see you around until next week, I decided to ask you before you went missing” Lewis explained as she nodded for him to continue. “Y/n ever since I met you that night in the club, I’ve become more attracted to you with each passing day. I’ve always admired you from afar and for me to get this close to you I don’t want to lose this opportunity. Will you please consider going on a date with me whenever you’re free? It doesn’t have to be out in the public we could eat in and have a movie night or we could do some fun board games or even skincare cause I know you like that” he pleaded as he watched her think. “Ok, I’m up for it, we can do it tonight seeming that we are staying in the same hotel, you have my number that you didn’t use earlier so now you can text me your room number and I’ll be there at 7pm” Y/n said as she patted his chest softly before making her way to the garage.

Lewis looked on in amazement, smiling wide and feeling like a high school boy who just spoke to his crush as he ran excitedly to his car to get prepared for his date.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Villain's Coffee Shop part 6

Warnings: bleeding out, gravely injured Villain, stab wounds, corrupt Superhero

"Now you know why I spent my days fighting people like you," Villain snorted bitterly. "It's the only way I can make enough to stay off the streets and survive. By stealing and killing."

Hero's gaze grew distant, thoughtful, before there was a sudden flash of furry motion off to Hero's left that sent her springing from the chair, daggers in hand ready to attack the threat.

"Wait! Don't hurt him!" Villain barked frantically.

"'Him'?!" Hero squawked, but his words made her hesitate long enough to realize that it was... literally just a cat. Embarrassment flushed Hero's face as she sheathed her blades and sat back down. She stared at the scruffy cat, which had black fur... and it was missing a whole front leg, along with a large chunk of one ear.

Hero gawked at the feline as he bunched his hind legs and hopped up onto the table next to the couch, giving her a quizzical look. "You have... a three-legged cat. I am both surprised and somehow unsurprised at the same time."

"Somebody has to adopt the unwanted critter," Villain shrugged. "Like me. Unwanted. Only I'm not adoptable," he added quickly when he saw Hero winding up to make a snarky joke about it. "His name is Mocha."

"Seriously? You named it after a caffeine drink?"

"It's a cat that lives in a coffee shop, Hero. Mocha is an appropriate name," Villain argued defensively. "Apparently Mocha got into a fight with a loose dog, and no one wanted to adopt a mangled cat, let alone one that also had black fur. They're often considered bad luck. But I took him before he could be euthanized."

"That's... actually kind of sweet of you," Hero said, gently stroking the cat's head. Mocha purred loudly, an oddly raspy kind of purr like a broken motor, and climbed into her lap, kneading her leather suit with his remaining front paw and arching his back happily.

"Mocha is the sweetest cat you will ever find, you just have to look past all the scarring." Hero was taken aback by the fondness in Villain's face as he reached a weak, trembling hand toward Mocha, who instantly abandoned Hero to hop onto the couch and settle down on Villain's chest instead, still purring madly.

Villain sighed heavily, petting Mocha's curled-up form gently. Hero would have never guessed him to be capable of kindness, given his violent reputation.

"...Would you be willing to consider switching sides?" Hero asked softly. "Be a hero instead of a villain like you are now?"

Villain's eyes darted over to her, surprised. "I'm pretty sure it's too late for that," he rasped quietly. "I've killed too many people. I'm not worth your time."

"Maybe so," Hero agreed solemnly, "but you can always give it a try. I have connections, I could get you on our Hero team where you can use your powers to save lives instead of take them. And you wouldn't have to show anyone your face, either. We can design you a new mask." She bit her lip nervously. "...It's up to you in the end, but I get the feeling you've got a lot more good inside you than you're willing to admit." She put a reassuring hand on Villain's shoulder, and he flinched hard, disturbing Mocha who meowed in protest before settling again.

"Just... think about it for awhile, Villain. Can you promise me that?" Hero glanced around and snatched up a notepad and pen, scribbling something down and tearing off a page to hand to Villain. "This is my personal number if... you'd like to reach out." Villain stared numbly at the paper in his hand.

A chance. He'd said he'd needed a chance. Just one. And now he held that chance on a thin piece of paper. "...Thank you," he murmured after a brief hesitation. "And not just for this, I mean for... listening, I guess, and saving my life." Villain cleared his throat awkwardly, fumbling over his words.

But Hero smiled playfully, standing up and ruffling Villain's hair. "I look forward to hearing from you."

Villain scowled and ran a hand through his hair to flatten it back down. "I'll let that slide because I'm in so much pain I can barely think straight, but try that again when I'm at full-strength, and I'll destroy you," he grouched.

Hero laughed as she headed toward the back door. "Heal up, Villain, and then we have work to do."

Villain smiled faintly at Hero's back as she left, darkness in his gaze. Oh, he had work to do indeed… Hero was in way over her head dealing with him. He grinned down at Mocha, who affectionately nuzzled into his hand. “What do you say, Mocha? Should I cause some trouble?”

---The current, ominous end.

UPDATE: due to popular demand, I continued this storyline further!

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[island-in-the-shadows]

Hannibal and Will Adopted Oliver AU Pt. 2

I literally have waited long enough to continue posting this one. Definitely owed it to @ib3li3v3you so here goes:

Pt. 1 here: https://island-in-the-shadows.tumblr.com/post/742073028536582144/my-hannibal-and-will-adopted-oliver-au-hcs

Oliver goes hunting on his own for the first time at 18 (so prior to arriving at Oxford). His dads are waiting in the wings, so to speak, in case Oliver fumbles. His hunting style is, given that he's a teenager, a little more conspicuous than his fathers'. His target had been scoped out for months, however. Got just the right person from his papa's (Hannibal) Rolodex of Rude.

Oliver wanted to try something a little different from how his dads do it which meant finding the rude man in question and seducing him while simultaneously remaining in the shadows. He really thought this out. Anyway, very looong story short, he basically does what cannibalistic spiders do to their mates. Except with a deadly syringe. His fathers' help him create a spidery display.

Oliver does start out eating regular, if incredibly fancy, food but does develop the taste for long pig and, in either case, has a fondness for Sweetbreads. Don't ask me why, I'm still not clear and do not want to probe.

Oliver seriously considers taking care of Farleigh for a while because he finds him unspeakably rude. However, Hannibal and Will advise him not to and recount how they have waited for the right time. Besides, they both know that Farleigh going missing would be noteworthy and possibly alienate their son from what he wants the most: Felix.

Hannibal sympathises with Oliver much more than Will does about the whole Felix thing. Will knows Felix's type and is just instantly on his guard. Hannibal, on the other hand, knows what it's like to fall for some pretty boy more or less at first sight.

This means that Hannibal is the one that gets the brunt of the calls when Oliver needs to vent about Felix. Yes, even when Oliver is so angry with Felix for abandoning him to shag some girl that he debates about killing him.

Back to Oliver's lies: Instead of telling Felix that his dad died, he says his mother died.

Will is the one that helps Oliver fully understand what it is that Felix wants. Except Will never suspects that Felix might want Oliver too. Cut him some slack, it's his kid and he mainly just wants the crush to go away.

Hannibal and Will argue about Oliver's obsession with Felix. Get in a fight about it. Hannibal believes Oliver and Felix are inevitable. Will thinks their son is going to wind up with a corpse and a broken heart.

The tack in the bike tyre was Hannibal's idea.

Oliver finds horror movies funny because, come on, he's literally seen and done worse.

Oliver does tell his dads that he's going to Saltburn instead of coming home.

Oliver knows how to cook though not as well as Hannibal. However, when he eats Venetia out, he thinks her blood would be wonderful in a Sanguinaccio Dolce. He wonders if Felix's blood tastes better.

His phone kept ringing while at Saltburn and Oliver kept ignoring it. The "HL" and "WG" brought questions from Felix, so he lied and said it's family members who are always asking him for something or to forgive his dad. Stupidly, this prompts him to change the name for both numbers and put "dad." (Let's remember Oliver is very smart but also very fucking stupid in canon; same goes here.)

When Felix answers the phone when "dad" calls, it's Hannibal on the other line. Hannibal follows his son's ruse and pretends he knows nothing about Felix. He does, however, get curious. Tells Felix that he would love to see Oliver for his birthday and that wouldn't it be nice if Felix came with him.

Hannibal lies and says that he's at something like a program for rehabilitation. Really wants to make it extra tempting for Felix. Gives him the address and says that oh this whole building was remade and blah blah he plays it up. He has a ball doing this.

On the drive to this place (not Prescot because, even though that's where Hannibal and Will found him, that's decidedly not where they live now.), Oliver at first doesn't recognise where they're going. Hannibal and Will and Oliver moved to this estate (one that Hannibal has long owned but barely used) a few months before Oliver started at Oxford and Oliver really only left it to hunt once and then to get on the trains and busses that would get him to school. [I did actually look for real estate for this and had fun doing it.]

However, when they turn into a familiar little road with all the familiar buildings before they get to the definitely familiar 16th century manor, Oliver starts to panic.

Felix comments on how nice it is for a rehabilitation program. Oliver is dying inside and he knows his dads did this on purpose.

Felix is, however, taken by complete surprise when he realises that Oliver's dad and his "friend" are the only people there.

Hannibal asks Felix forgiveness but that Oliver is so embarrassed of them that he had to lie. He reveals Will is his partner and that oh yes, shame about Oliver's mother dying all those years ago.

Will is polite but quietly observing. Hannibal is the consummate host. Felix is livid but polite. Hannibal likes that Felix keeps playing at politeness. Will finds it grating.

Oliver will pull Will aside and ask why? Will pats Oliver's shoulder, "We were curious what would happen, you should know that."

When Hannibal hugs Oliver goodbye he whispers, "Don't spoil the meat."

Ok this is long enough...will keep developing this for later with the big party, the maze, Felix surviving, and eventually becoming interested in more exotic meats. LOL

[mariacallous]

Many thousands of civilians have reportedly been killed. The number of people displaced from their homes is well into seven figures. Densely populated urban areas have been reduced to rubble. Supplies of electricity, food, and water have been cut off. Hospitals have come under attack. Many of those fleeing, injured, or dead are children.

I could be describing Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, which has raged on for almost two years now, or the terrible human costs of Israel’s military offensive in the Gaza Strip following the horrific Hamas attacks on Oct. 7. But I am referring to a conflict that has received much less international attention: the civil war in Sudan that broke out last April. Even as one lethal war captures the world’s attention, others roil on in the background.

Unsurprisingly, given its geopolitical significance, Ukraine has received considerable attention in the West, where leaders have been quick to condemn Russia’s war crimes. The new conflict in the Middle East has dominated headlines over the past couple of months. But Sudan’s crisis has gone woefully underdiscussed, like many others that for various circumstantial, political, or geographic reasons seem to matter less to the international community.

The West likes to think it has abandoned the racist habit of ascribing different value to human life in different places. We profess our respect for international law, which codifies the principle of equality. But in practice, our behavior does not always reflect this. Accusations of double standards from non-Western counterparts sting precisely because they have a point.

This is not to advocate for a zero-sum redistribution of attention and diplomatic energy from one conflict to another. Nor is it to say that we should care any less about innocent people killed, for example, in Kharkiv than those killed in Khan Yunis or Khartoum. Instead, more than 75 years after the United Nations adopted the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, the international community needs to rediscover the tradition of humanitarian universalism. We must avow in word and deed that all human lives possess the same value and that the killing of civilians is unacceptable wherever it occurs.

Never before in recent memory has this been more urgent. The world has entered what David Miliband, the president and CEO of the International Rescue Committee, has called an “age of impunity.” War crimes often go unpunished. Nations increasingly disregard the laws of war: Torture, sexual violence, acts of collective punishment, and indiscriminate destruction of civilian homes and services are tragically common.

In a fragmenting international order, old mechanisms such as naming and shaming no longer work. Multilateral peacekeeping operations are in decline. These days, when wars do end, it is more often the result of one side vanquishing the other than a negotiated settlement. This new disorder arrived gradually—as the optimism of the immediate post-Cold War era gave way to new wars, power shifts, and then global economic crisis in the 2000s—and then accelerated in the early 2020s.

Wars are now more frequent, they are lasting longer, and they are killing more people. In 2022, more than 200,000 people died in state-based conflicts globally—the highest death toll since 1986 (excluding unilateral acts of violence such as the Rwandan genocide). Mass civilian casualties in recent years include the massacres of Tamils in Sri Lanka; the killing of tens of thousands of civilians in Yemen; and the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people in Ethiopia’s Tigray region. Such conflicts are forcing more civilians to flee, which is one of several factors that has driven the number of displaced people worldwide to a record 114 million.

Open Society Foundations, the philanthropy I run, provides funding to several of the largest humanitarian organizations to support their work on these overlooked conflicts. We also fund a range of advocacy and policy groups working to bring attention to the roots of these crises and mobilize the political will to address them. But this work can feel like a drop in the ocean. It needs more funding and scaled-up operations, particularly at a time when there is less news coverage of international conflicts, as media outlets have fewer resources to send foreign correspondents to distant war zones. When these conflicts are out of public sight, they too easily become out of mind for officials and politicians.

The time has come, then, for a new universalist global campaign for solidarity with victims of conflict everywhere that reestablishes the norm of equally valuable human life. This may seem like an obvious principle, woven as it is through the constitutions of multilateral institutions such as the U.N. But it is evidently getting lost in today’s world.

Civil society activists capable of crossing national and partisan divides should lead this campaign. They should cooperate with existing multinational institutions, such as the U.N.; nongovernmental organizations, such as ONE Campaign and Amnesty International; and far-sighted cultural and media figures with the reach needed to build momentum.

This global campaign should demand deeper pools of core funding for emergency aid, especially from groups of national governments, ensuring that aid responses do not depend merely on media attention or the largesse of individual governments. It should challenge both media and government to widen their attention spans and scope for empathy. And it should also demand swifter multilateral responses to crises, including by pressuring the U.N. Security Council to speak out immediately for basic humanitarian principles rather than deliberating for weeks.

Perhaps most fundamentally, the campaign should draw in a network of civil society groups, cultural leaders, and new generations of human rights champions to proclaim: no more hierarchies of civilian suffering, no more double standards, no more selective blind spots.

In an age of multiplying and interlocking crises, the international community must find room for solidarity for more than one or two benighted groups at a time. Global civil society should convene, whether in person or online, to launch this new campaign and reassert fundamental but increasingly sidelined principles of equality, solidarity, and shared humanity. As the English poet John Donne put it: “Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.”

[fromwhenceucame]

Today was Not Great so it’s time to make my first ever real post on here I guess !!

Shoutout to @thehardestwater for giving me that one post about turning your favorite characters into warriors, I did that and thought about them way too much

First we have Chaeya, let’s go !!

I very, very loosely used real warrior cat design concepts in the fact Kaeya doesn’t have an eyepatch but instead a big ol’ scar (in star-shaped format). A lot of their designs are inspired by aspects of their outfits, like how Childe has the darker ginger around his chest/neck like his scarf, and Kaeya’s white fluff is his actual fluffy thing (but this time on his body, wow). I had to make Childe’s stripes swirly like water and Kaeya’s spots like stars (also the moon-shaped ear fluff, that idea came to me from a warriors MAP (edit: I found it!!! It’s Crookedgoose and the design for Moonflower (of course it was a Crookedstar map (my favorite little freak who I associate with Childe for no reason)) and also the fur on Kaeya’s back was inspired by another cat design of him I saw and I really wanted to include it)

In their warrior cats land, there’s 7 clans for each nation — so Childe’s in Snezhnaya clan (Snowclan) and Kaeya’s in Mondstadt clan (Windclan (very original)).

Childe is a highly respected cat in his clan, and they do things a little differently out there! There is no leader/deputy structure; instead, there’s the 11 Harbingers (“omens” instead, since “harbinger” isn’t a word I’ve seen in warriors as far as I know) who support their leader, the Tsaritsa… I don’t know off the top of my head if we know how many cryo archons there were before the Tsaritsa, but the original was definitely “Snowstar” and currently her name is “Icestar.” Childe is basically number 11 of Snowclan’s deputies…

As for Kaeya, he’s essentially Windclan’s acting deputy while the actual deputy (Jean) is the acting leader while the REAL leader (Varka) is away doing whatever he does. There’s a horseplace very close to Windclan (ironically similar to the real Windclan) that Kaeya knows everything about, the horseleader if you will, and he strongly enjoys watching them graze and gallop around when he’s not busy with clanlife. Pretty much everyone in the close-knit Windclan respects Kaeya because he is very cool (Kaeya does not agree with this, but okay). Also! The original “Windstar” (Venti) basically stepped down the moment Windclan was made, he’s not interested in that life.

And as for names !! They make me scream :]

Snowclan’s 11 Omens all have a new name based on what omen brought them to that position, that are formatted like the older clan names/tribe names, too. Originally, Childe was “Floodpaw” before he disappeared for a few days and came back a lil silly. After that, he was re-apprenticed to an Omen and given the full name “Floodripple” with his Omen name “Dark Waters of the Abyss” … sometimes I break my own rules (I don’t think “abyss” is a word warrior cats know) and that’s okay. Floodpaw probably still found a whale out there wherever he went to get trained by Skirk.

Kaeya would be “Frostwind” — the leader having honored him for his loyalty to the clan despite his loner roots (having been abandoned as a kit and taken in as usual, maybe Diluc is “Flametalon” for his fierceness because they definitely become warriors before The Incident) (Frostwind definitely doesn’t think he deserves that name, but okay).

Additional thoughts, Jean is “Dandelionroar” and has been acting leader for too many dang moons now. Barbara is most likely a medicine cat, but Albedo and Sucrose are also in that vein so maybe this Windclan does things a bit differently in regard to medicine cats. Dottore may be the medicine cat in Snowclan but he’s not. A very good medicine cat. Arlecchino’s Omen name could be “Flames of the Crimson Moon”

And yeah that’s all I got \o/ stay tuned for parts 2 and 3 when I post my other favorites from fe3h (Dimtiri + Sylvain + Claude) and hsr (Dr Ratio + Aventurine) my goal is to have a whole lot of them done before artfight next year — I hope they were neat, thanks for reading !!

[ibeta]

In a Name - Just Say It

[Unedited Kustard Draft Below]

Scenario: Sans can’t say Red's name. No one knows why, except Sans' brother might know a hint.

———

Red knows he isn’t the most reasonable monster from his universe, but he never thought he’d meet someone even more unreasonable than him.

—

In the dark caverns of the Underground, Red had met a skeleton. A skeleton in a grey-hooded blue jacket, single-striped shorts and fluffy slippers. He had glowing white eyelights instead of red ones, and his smile was blunt-edged than sharp. He had not a single crack on his bones, all smooth and white. His mittens had looked clean, no dust on his hands.

He looked like free EXP, except Red hadn’t been able to move when the other skeleton had stood before him. And Edge, who’d usually take his actions when Red gave him a signal, hadn’t done anything but introduce themselves to the other skeleton.

In reply to Edge’s semi-polite and semi-threatening introduction, other skeleton had introduced himself as Sans. It was exactly the old name that Red had immediately abandoned because of its meaning, but Sans of this world hadn’t cared that he was named so poorly.

He… was the first person Red had met the moment he and his brother escaped from King Asgore’s tyrannical rule through a desperate shortcut. Sans had told them they were in another universe entirely, handed them a giant book of monster-human laws, and then gave them new phones and numbers to call if they needed help.

“to help you guys.” Sans had given them a bemused expression. “never actually thought i would meet another me and another papyrus, but here we are.”

“i'm red,” he’d told Sans, to correct the name. “and my bro’s renamed to edge.”

The expression on Sans’ face had frozen for a noticeable moment before his grin relaxed. “you sure are, buddy.”

At first Red thought he was just being funny. Monsters from this side of the universe seem to be too touchy-feely, and at times there were some that didn’t seem like they want to get to know him. So, he’d ignored the lack of acknowledgement from Sans.

But during a visit to their new home on the Surface –  and after a hectic and confusing paperwork problem regarding their identities – Sans had spoken to his brother, casually saying Edge’s name for the first time since they’ve met him.

“edge seems like a cool name.”

Red had paused, and then looked at his so-called double. Sans had given his brother, the ex-captain of the Royal Guard, a grin. Tomato sauce leftovers had been splattered on Sans’ apron from the minor food fight he and Red started after Edge screeched at them that they were wasting his time in the kitchen.

“���makes sense for a guy as sharp as you,” Sans had teased, causing his brother to sputter and blush and puff his chest all at once.

“IT IS INDEED A GOOD NAME!” Edge had bragged with pride. “MY BROTHER MAY AT TIMES ACT LIKE LOWER THAN THE CASE HE SPEAKS, BUT HE IS GOOD AT RENAMING THINGS!”

Sans’ grin had quirked when he tilted his head. “renaming things?” he’d prompted his brother.

“WELL,” Edge had mumbled, blushing, “I WAS NAMED PAPYRUS IN OUR WORLD, AND RED HAD BEEN NAMED SANS. HOWEVER!” Edge had raised his hands before Sans could ask anything. “HOWEVER, WE DIDN’T WANT OUR NAMES, SO WE RENAMED OURSELVES. WE ARE NEW MONSTERS, COOLER AND BETTER THAN BEFORE—ALTHOUGH MY BROTHER STILL NEEDS A LOT MORE WORK,” his brother had grumbled at the end.

Red had noticed that Sans became silent, a contemplative look on his skull. “this… might become an issue.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?”

Sans had glanced at Red, looking entirely apologetic. “i – uh – say, do… do you have another nickname?”

Another nickname, another name. As if Red’s new name was too troublesome to say when it was only a single syllable.

“just red,” he had told Sans evenly. A warning or a reminder, he couldn’t remember, but Sans had given him a blank expression and then nodded.

“it’s a good name,” Sans had said, and Red relaxed enough that he’d almost forgotten about it.

Almost, because Red couldn’t help but note that Sans had never said his name. Never. He could drop friendly call-outs. Buddy, pal, chum, and whatever equivalent, but he’d never said Red’s name at all.

Red had confronted him about it. However, Sans evaded the question so fluidly that he was like a well-oiled machine with his witty comebacks. Red couldn’t get the answer out of him. Papyrus, Sans’ brother, had pleaded for Red to understand that Sans couldn’t say his name.

Like it was some kind of bullshit taboo.

So… Red had thought it was fine if Sans couldn’t say his name, or say the word. Whatever. Really, he hadn’t cared at all. Sans had the power to call any name with the exception Red’s name.

However, although Sans occasionally acted kindly and graciously, Red did not get close to him. He could not get close to him. Red’s name was a part of him. His identity. He didn’t understand why the word would make Sans clam up like it was something bad.

The avoidance bothered Red. It made him lose sleep to see Sans get along with Edge, to say his name, and then make some puns about it too. His brother was like him, renamed, but Red… Red had started to feel like his name wasn’t good anymore.

Frankly, it would have been fine if Red never hears the word from Sans.

Except… When they had to pick up some buckets of paint for the ex-queen’s school, Sans had mentioned the colour to his brother.

“the walls look a little more red than brown, papyrus.”

And something in him had snapped. All curiosity about painting and paint thinners sparked into a seething rage inside him. He had no idea why or how it happened. He had whirled around to face Sans, who had the audacity to name-drop a colour, but not Red’s name.

“okay, what the fuck is your problem with me?”

The skeleton had looked up at him in surprise from where he’d been comparing little paint cards with Papyrus, who had stared at Red in shock.

“i, uh, what—”

“don’t play dumb!” Red had snarled, cutting him off and gesturing towards the cards. “you can say red, but you can’t call me by my name?!” His soul had churned his wrath like threads on a loom, weaving and weaving until it felt like he was bound to it.

“that’s—” Sans had looked away and shuffled the cards within his mitten-clad hands, sweating magic. He looked scared. Nervous. And fuck if it hadn’t made Red feel worse than before. “colours are different than names,” came the meek answer, “when you call a colour, it’s a colour, but when you call a name, it’s…”

Papyrus had stepped forward before Red could lunge at Sans for his stupid, ugly excuses, and his ridiculous insider rule not to call him Red.

“I’M SORRY, RED,” Papyrus had apologised. “BUT SANS CAN’T CALL YOU BY THAT NAME.”

“WHY?!” Red had thrown in the capitals and the frustration that had built up over time from not hearing his name from Sans—Sans had mentioned a damned colour because it wasn’t a name, how was that fair?!

When Papyrus hadn’t answered, as well as Sans, who he had hidden behind him, Red had turned around to leave.

“i’m sorry,” Sans had mumbled.

“then say my name,” he’d snapped.

There had been no reply, but he heard bones rattling. Then, Sans had made some kind of keening noise.

“COME HERE, SANS,” Papyrus had murmured gently.

“papyrus,” Sans had gasped, because of course Papyrus’ name deserved to be called out. His brother, but never Red, a friend, who only wanted to be called by his damned name.

Not Red. Never Red, who proudly owned his name, not something that’s been given to him by some asshole from his Underground.

So, with a hollow feeling in his soul and a tension to his bones, Red had continued home so he could complain to Edge.

His brother had met him at the door, and asked him why he insisted on being called Red when there were many nicknames to choose from. Papyrus had apparently sent him a message, telling him that Red had snapped and that Edge might need to calm him down.

“it’s my name!” Red had all but spat in protest. His rage hadn’t gone down, which had caused his brother’s sockets to narrow. “my name, edge! the very thing i call myself. if he can mention a damned colour but not my name, then what the hell is he doing?!”

“PERHAPS THERE ARE REASONS THEY CAN’T EXPLAIN TO AN IDIOT LIKE YOU, WHO BLOWS HIS GASKET BEFORE THEY CAN EXPLAIN,” his brother had coolly told him while pointing at the dinner table. Red had flinched and shuffled close to the table. “SIT YOUR BONY ASS DOWN! WE WILL TALK ABOUT THIS AFTER DINNER.”

Unfortunately, they hadn’t been able to talk about it after dinner. Papyrus had come knocking before Edge could give them a second serving of food.

Edge had let him into their house, and Red had seen Papyrus carrying a pack of bottled condiments.

“MY APOLOGIES,” he’d said upon seeing Red, “I WOULD HAVE ARRIVED MORE QUICKLY, BUT THERE WERE EXTENUATING CIRCUMSTANCES THAT LED ME TO BE LATE.”

Late to a dinner invitation, of which Papyrus hadn’t been invited. Red had scowled.

“the fuck do you want?”

“RED!” Edge had thrown him a glare—a serious one, so Red shut up. Edge had turned an amiable but stern look at Papyrus. “WHAT BRINGS YOU HERE, PAPYRUS?”

“TO SPEAK WITH RED, OF COURSE.” Papyrus had smiled, but it didn’t reach his sockets. “MY BROTHER MAY ACT INCREDIBLY LAZY AND OVERUSE RIDICULOUSLY LOW QUALITY PUNS, BUT HE DID NOT MEAN TO HURT RED.”

Red had bristled. “then why isn’t he here doing this shit?”

“OH, WELL…” Papyrus had avoided Red’s glare and conveniently looked at Edge instead. “MY BROTHER IS CURRENTLY INDISPOSED,” he’d told Edge, who had a stupid soft spot for Sans because the shorter skeleton loved to toss praise in his general direction. “HE WOULD HAVE COME OVER HIMSELF IF I HADN’T TOLD HIM TO REST.”

The grim look on Papyrus had looked so real that it made Red look away. (Sans had made a sharp noise, had his bones rattled, and Red had caused the fear in his gaze.)

“PLEASE EXCUSE MY BROTHER,” Edge had told Papyrus, his expression carefully blank. “HE’S REACTING THIS WAY BECAUSE IT IS A NAME THAT WE FEEL THAT WE HAVE EARNED TO KEEP.”

“I UNDERSTAND,” Papyrus had replied, warmly. “NO ONE UNDERSTANDS BETTER THAN US, I SUPPOSE. WHICH BRINGS ME TO MY PRESENCE TO YOUR HOME—”

Red had scoffed, hard, but a warning look came from Edge, which Red returned with a glare. “and what are you here for?”

“LET’S SEE, WHAT CAN I EVEN TELL YOU?” Papyrus had muttered. “I SUPPOSE WE SHOULD CLEAR THE MISUNDERSTANDING. AS YOU KNOW, MY BROTHER AND I ARE NAMED SANS AND PAPYRUS, SIMILAR TO YOUR PREVIOUS NAME—”

“YES, THAT IS TRUE,” Edge had cut him off. “BUT WE ARE NOT USING IT ANYMORE.”

Papyrus had thrown Edge a look of amusement. “THAT IS FINE, BUT NOT MY POINT.”

“just fucking say it already,” Red had hissed, earning a harsh nudge from Edge. “don’t make it some kind of flowery bull—”

“PARDON MY INTERRUPTION, BUT OUR ORIGIN IS DIFFERENT FROM YOURS AS SANS AND I HAVE NEVER BEEN BORN IN THE UNDERGROUND.” Papyrus had interrupted. “SANS AND I WERE BORN ON THE SURFACE. SANS HAS EXPERIENCED THE MONSTER-HUMAN WAR.”

Red’s eyelights had disappeared in an instant, and Edge gasped loudly.

(Sans the skeleton had experienced the… what? How—? No, that was impossible, it couldn’t be.)

“OUR APPEARANCE IN THE UNDERGROUND WAS CIRCUMSTANTIAL. WE HAD TRAVELLED TO A DIFFERENT WORLD FOR A RE-TRIAL OF A SORTS. THEN, ONCE THE TRIALS HAD FINISHED, WE MOVED HERE AND ENTERED THE UNDERGROUND TO HELP MONSTERS.”

Edge hadn’t said anything. Red hadn’t said anything. He had no idea what to say to something so convoluted at all.

“HERE I AM, DISTRACTED BY OLD MEMORIES WHEN WE ARE… SPEAKING OF YOUR NAME.” Papyrus had offered a sad smile. “IF SANS SAYS YOUR NAME… WELL, I HAVEN’T SEEN WHAT HAPPENS IF HE DOES, BUT I HAVE SEEN WHAT HAPPENS IF HE TRIES.” The pressure in the room had increased from magic that Papyrus had gathered. “PLEASE DO NOT FORCE HIM, AND DO NOT ASK WHY. I HAVE BEEN SWORN TO SECRECY ABOUT THIS. SANS WILL ALWAYS KNOW IF I BREAK A PROMISE.”

“BUT YOU’RE HERE NOW,” Edge had pointed out.

Papyrus had smiled. “I SIMPLY FOUND A LOOPHOLE SO MY BROTHER CAN KEEP HIS FRIENDS.”

“he’s not my friend,” Red had immediately denied, and had immediately regretted it the moment he heard the door click and the moment Papyrus’ smile disappeared.

“OH.” Papyrus had stopped looking at him, and instead turned to the door behind him. Red had followed his gaze and nearly took a shortcut to his room. “OH, NO.”

Sans had stood behind Papyrus for whoever knew how long, eyelights extinguished and keychain hanging on his mittens.

“SANS!” Edge had gasped with panicked surprise. “YOU’RE HERE!”

“i, uh,” Sans had blinked rapid clicks of his sockets until his eyelights came back. “i just. i – i want to apologise to red. for… not saying your name.” His voice had sounded too casual, too forced to be light.

Red had made a rough sound in reply, voice stuck inside him as a horrible, heavy feeling bore down on his senses.

“i guess i have to return this, too,” Sans had added, and then slowly and tenderly placed the keychain on the bowl of keys on the side table by the doorway. Red had followed Sans’ actions as he shuffled backwards, skull ducked low and so careful not to meet their gaze. “thanks for the, uh, good memories. and for, uh, letting me know.”

And then Sans had opened the door and left without another word, shoulders hunched and hood up.

“SANS!”

In a second, Papyrus had sprinted after him, slamming the door shut behind him.

Red had stared at the door with his fragile soul pounding in his ribcage. The keychain… Edge had given Sans as a token of friendship. Sans had placed it back into the ugly friendship bowl that Papyrus had given them. Sans had—

Sans had left. He hadn’t stayed or bothered them with nonsensical gossip and he hadn’t told a single joke. He’d always left with a joke. He hadn’t looked back at Edge or Red. Sans had forgotten to do a knock-knock joke before entering and… and…

Sans had left.

Sans had left.

Red had a sinking feeling in his soul that he won’t ever come back.

A gloved hand landed on his shoulder.

“BROTHER,” Edge had told him with a grave tone, “YOU WILL NEED A LOT OF MILITARY GRADE SEWING KITS TO SAVE THE ONLY GOOD RELATIONSHIP YOU’VE TORN APART WITH YOUR UTTERLY MORONIC WORDS.”

“fuck,” Red had whispered.

“YES,” his brother had agreed, “IN SHORT, YOU HAVE GONE AND TRULY FUCKED UP.”

—

So, Red ends up in a predicament where he wants to apologise to Sans, and yet also wants to keep his pride.

He wants to say sorry, to befriend Sans again, to make stupid jokes with him and then fall asleep to horribly boring videos of people falling to pranks.

He wants to stay away and stand his ground. His name is important to him, so he doesn’t want to crawl back to someone who could never call his name.

He can’t decide clearly, so Edge has to invite Sans and Papyrus over for a new dinner appointment.

The front door earns its first knocks of the night. Red rushes to the door, unlocking the many locks, and opens it wide.

Papyrus stands before him, dressed in a thick, long coat and a red scarf and a blue beanie on his skull. His whole frame takes up the spot on the doorway, so Sans must be behind him.

Before Red can decide which path to take, Papyrus interrupts his musing.

“SANS WON’T COME,” he flatly announces to Red. Edge groans out a whimper from the couch inside.

Red’s soul tightens. He clears his nonexistent throat and rumbles out, “come in,” and feels like shit when Papyrus dusts off the snow from his clothes.

Sans isn’t behind him.

[hippielittlemetalhead]

The King Is Dead (Long Live The King): My Kingdom For A Kiss

Long Live The King Prelude (In The Beginning)

For those of y'all who have been liking and reblogging my OLD Punk!Steve AU stuff: Thank you so much?! I am so glad people still like it but I will admit that version, that timeline is abandoned, we're restarting, rebranding that AU, rewriting and revamping. I hope you like this new (I consider improved) version even better and I can't wait to continue creating this world with all of you!

Sometimes Steve actually appreciated the fact that his parents were never home. Times like when he shrugs off invitations to house parties, garage hang-outs or lakeside bonfires to celebrate the end of the first week of the new school year as he walks down the front steps of the school and instead hops into the brand new Beemer his folks had delivered to the house the day before school started and heads out to the edge of Hawkins.

He's got a duffel bag in his trunk with a map of Indianapolis with the route he needs to go drawn over in highliter and a wad of cash from his savings he's accumulated from the last few years of the larger allowance his parents had been giving him to take care of himself and the house. There's an address book in the inner pocket of his denim jacket (after the first few days of school his leather one was just too hot to wear regularly. He doesn't know how Munson does it.) with the names and contact information Val and Bo had given him on a couple sheets of notebook paper back in New York carefully copied down in his neatest handwriting. He had called most of the numbers he'd been given. There were a few he'd avoided because he either wasn't ready for what the name attached to it represented or the guys had left little notes next to them telling him in no uncertain terms to only call those numbers if he was in some shit and needed help.

One he hadn't called because he wanted to talk to them in person.

Benny's is a staple of Hawkins, older than the movie theater and music store and even the library. It used to be called Hawkins' Diner, owned by and named for the founding family of Hawkins itself, before Benny Hammond got his hands on it. He'd inherited it from his father, along with a few other businesses that he'd immediately sold and used the money to completely renovate the diner. Steve used to spend his weekends camping out at the diner's bar counter or getting underfoot 'helping' in the kitchen with his younger cousin Beary. That ended when his mom and aunt (Benny's sisters) had their latest falling out before Steve's freshman year. Lenora Harrington and Matilda Emerson had always been complete opposites of each other and their younger brother was more than done with their childhood feud.

So weekends with Uncle Benny and Cousin Beary ended but Steve still tried to have at least one meal at the diner each week. Usually more when his parents were out of town. The last time Steve had seen his Uncle Benny was a week before his trip with his parents. Uncle Benny had sent his old highschool buddy (James 'Call me Hop' Hopper) who is apparently the new chief of Hawkins' police force to check on him after not seeing him in almost a month. Steve had made his way down to his uncle's diner just to yell at the man. He said things he'd regretted as soon as he got home but then his parents were swanning through the front door, listing all of the -acceptable- social events he was required to attend with them before leaving Hawkins. Then they were in New York for months. He hadn't even called his uncle when they landed in the city or when he made it back home.

Benny's is quiet for a Friday afternoon, empty except for a couple of truckers at the bar counter. They both look up when he walks in the door, looking him up and down before seemingly deciding he wasn't anything of interest before turning back down to their food.

"Is that my sunshine boy?" Steve can't help the smile that overcomes his face as a plump gray-haired woman comes out from the back kitchen, spotting him.

"Hey there Miss Medda."

"Oh honey!" She wraps him up in a crushing hug before he can even take a full step towards her. "Where ya been kid? I missed seeing you skulking around the dining room."

"Dreamin' of your homemade cherry pie. But yeah, I was out of state with my folks. Just got back into town for school."

"Uh-huh. Is out of state the reason behind this new hair?" She smiles as he ducks dramatically to avoid the hand she'd raised to tousle said hair. "And what is that jacket? Are you trying to melt out there?"

"Miss Medda I-"

"Medda, where did you go? The coffee has been just sitting there for ten minutes!"

Medda rolls her eyes and smiles at Steve conspiratorially before turning round to face the kitchen with her hands on her hips. "Benjamin Hammond it's not been a minute since that pot finished and you can wait a darn minute before you get your millionth cup o' jitter juice. Heavens know it'd probably do your heart a favor to miss a cup."

The man who comes out from the kitchen, spatula in hand and stained apron folded in half leaving his shirt uncovered, is tall and broad and Steve has to bite back a joke about his hairline being even farther back than the last time he saw him. He stops, staring at Steve still standing by the front door of the diner.

Steve raises one hand, wiggling his fingers in a tentative wave, "Uh, hey there Uncle Benny." He winces when his uncle just raises one bushy eyebrow.

"Steve. What brings you round here?"

"Uh, I was hoping- Hoping we could talk?"

"Figured you did all the talking you wanted last time we saw each other."

Steve winces as Medda hisses out a scolding "Ben Hammond!" At his uncle.

"Yeah, no I- I'm sorry about that." He takes a deep breath, "I was hoping I could talk to you about something? Alone?"

His uncle sighs, one hand coming up to tug at his beard. "Alright kid. Medda, go ahead and close up for a bit after these gents finish up. Take an extra break or something. I'll fetch ya when the kid and I are done talking."

"Sounds good hun. You boys play nice now."

Both uncle and nephew call out, "Yes Miss Medda." As Steve makes his way back into the kitchen after his uncle. They both make their way back through the kitchen to Benny's small office. It used to be the dry pantry before Benny's dad switched the dry pantry with what used to be the larger office space. Steve remembers setting up camp under the desk that took up almost half the space with his little cousin while he tried to practice reading Dr. Seuss and his cousin used their Uncle's menu drafts as coloring paper.

"So," Benny says, leaning against the old oak desk with a tired groan that Steve makes a concerted effort to not make a joke about. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Uncle Benny, I-" And Steve feels his throat closing up and his hands getting clammy. He has his little black address book burning a hole in his pocket that tells him Benny is one of the good ones. One of the best ones. He's safe and supportive and the type of guy other people wish they were related to and had in their corner. So why can't he say it?

His breathes are coming quick and shallow as his uncle steps into his space. One large hand rests on his shoulder and the other reaches back to grip the back of his neck. "Woah there Stevie, deep breaths kiddo. Whatever it is, it's alright. I'm right here and I ain't going anywhere." The hand on the back of his neck squeezes softly and Steve feels his body relaxing into the touch.

"I- I um. You know how my folks and I went to New York?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"Well, you were right. They didn't really want me there they just wanted to show off to their business friends their shiny show dog and all it's little tricks."

Benny curses under his breath and Steve is pulled into a tight hug. "I am so sorry kid. I wish you hadn't had to deal with that."

Steve sniffs, getting a whif of fry oil and fresh bread and pancakes with the everpresent smell of coffee. "Yeah but I'm glad I went. Made some new friends."

"Friends huh?" And his uncle has pulled back, one hand going up to tug at the bit of hair curled over his forehead before resting back on his shoulder. "That the story behind the new look?"

"A bit. They actually helped me figure some stuff out. Offered to put me in touch with some other friends of theirs in the area."

"This isn't where you tell me you got yourself caught up in some legal trouble is it? Or that you need help getting a young lady to a... certain sort of clinic?"

"Oh God, Uncle Benny no!" Steve can't help but laugh. "They just were good people. Told me were to find others who are... safe."

That makes his uncle stop the pacing he'd started in the small cramped broom closet of an office. "Safe? Safe from what?"

Steve takes a deep breath, "Have Bo and Val called you about Baby, yet?"

Benny completely freezes and Steve can't make himself move either. They both just stand staring at each other a beat longer than Steve is really comfortable with before Benny throws his head back, letting out a belly-roar of a laugh. "Oh, shit kid. They said you'd be an interesting one but my own nephew? Oh those little shits!"

"What, they knew?!"

"Oh knowing them probably figured it out soon as you said your name and that you were from Hawkins." He reaches up to wipe away tears from laughing so hard. "Baby? Really? That was the best you could come up with?"

"Well it was that or Nicks. Like Stevie Nicks."

"Baby Nicks!" And his uncle is off laughing again. Steve pouts at him.

"It's not that funny."

"It's pretty funny kid."

"Well- well you're bald."

"You're a little shit."

"It's a Hammond trait."

"Damn right it is. Now come help me make some more pancakes while you tell me about your time with those two numbnuts."

And they talk. About the places Bo and Val and the others had shown him and the music he'd taken to listening to. He tells Benny about hiding his new wardrobe from his mom even if he knows there's not much she could find fault in about it and about the struggle of finding hair products that let him do his hair the way he wants without falling from the summer humidity. They talk about Val kissing and disappearing from parties with boys and Bo doing the same with boys and with girls. Benny tells him the word is Bisexual. It's not a commonly used word and there are even members of the queer community that might try to tell him it wasn't a real thing but it was just as valid as any other experience of love and attraction if it's what felt right and didn't hurt anyone else.

There's a lot he wants to ask his uncle. So many questions about how he got involved in the world Steve had found himself in and how many others he knew of out there besides the ones in his little black book. There's so many questions Benny laughs and tells him to put an apron on and be useful if he's going to stick around hounding him through the dinner rush. So he does. He hangs his denim jacket up next to Medda's butter yellow cardigan and his uncle's own canvas jacket and grabs one of the extra aprons. Falling in step with Medda and his uncle and the couple of extra hands that clock in while he's doing his best to make himself useful while pestering his uncle is easy. Easier than he thought it would be when his uncle first offered him a summer job at the diner and he'd declined to go across the country with his parents.

Most of the tables he takes orders from are kids his own age who giggle and snicker behind their menus but seem to lose interest when he's obviously unphased. He hears more gossip than he expected there to be after just one week at school but still has his ears perking up as he takes mental notes. It's a few hours into his impromptu shift that he sees the Wheelers and Hollands make their way into the diner. Karen Wheeler is bouncing a baby Holly on her hip while trying to make small talk with Marsha Holland while Aaron and Ted seemed to be dutifully ignoring each other. Baby Holly is on the verge of tears and Nancy's little brother (he thinks she said his name was Mike?) is looking about the crowded diner with a scowl on his little face.

"Hey there, folks!" Steve pastes on his brightest smile as he approaches the waiting party. "Got a whole party goin' on by the looks of it. We all lookin' to sit together or we needing separate tables?"

Karen and Marsha both turn to him with similarly relieved looks on their faces but before they can answer Nancy is stepping forward, her arms wrapped tightly about her middle and looking up at him through her eyelashes in a way that might have been cute if she didn't seem on the edge of being upset. "Steve, what are you doing here?"

He feels his smile drop a little at the bite in her voice but he keeps his voice light as he reaches beneath the hostess stand to grab some crayons and paper. "Just helping my Uncle Benny out some. He and Miss Medda were a bit shorthanded so I aproned up and joined the fray."

"Oh that's sweet of you Steve, helping your uncle out like that." Coos Karen Wheeler as Marsha nods in agreement.

"I forget you're Benny's nephew sometimes," cuts in Marsha. "Family is just so important and it's so good to see y'all keeping the diner in the family like this."

Steve laughs and gives the older women what Tommy calls his 'aw shucks' grin and shrug as Nancy seems to uncoil a bit and Barbara just rolls her eyes. "Well I don't know about all that Mrs. Holland. Uncle Benny isn't going anywhere anytime soon and between you and me, I'm still holding out for another younger cousin. Cousin Beary is too cool to come round these days, I need another baby cousin to think I'm the coolest thing around and help me steal extra cookies from the kitchen." That has even the dads chuckling at him so he takes a moment to check the available seating on the chart and marking where he plans to seat the two families. "Now if you folks will come right this way, we'll get you seated and taken care of right quick."

It's almost too easy, getting both families seated and started on drinks as one of the other waitresses passes by carrying a high chair and asking him to help clear her table. The routine is one he learned by shadowing Medda as a kid when he was convinced he was going to take over Benny's when he grew up and spend his days making pancakes and drinking coffee. That was before his mom and Aunt Matilda had their falling out, before his parents had another miscarriage on the tail-end of another of his dad's affairs and Steve became the only proper hope of continuing the Harrington name.

Steve shakes his head to clear the bitter line of thought that was starting and makes sure he's smiling when he gets to their table. "So what were we thinking tonight? We celebratin' anything or just having a night out?"

Aaron Holland perks up at that. "Oh I don't know if the girls told you they were on the wait-list for Mr. Hauser's class?"

Steve frowns, "Isn't that a Juniors class?"

Marsha Holland nods her head emphatically, "Yes, exactly! But the girl's grades were so good last year they're being allowed to take it this year instead. And not just that. But the advanced course."

He feels himself grin big and bright. He knows he doesn't have the right to but he feels almost proud of Nancy and Holland for this. "No kidding!" He turns to look at a bashful Nancy and a scowling but slightly blushing Barbara, "That's amazing, guys. Hey, when ya'll are ready desert's on me."

Barbara's scowl deepens, "Won't your uncle mind you giving away free food?"

"Nah he wouldn't mind but Miss Medda would string me up by my ears for giving out free food. Don't worry about it, I'll just pay for it from my wages for helping out. Uncle Benny never let me or Beary work for free even if it was a last minute thing. So I'll just take whatever y'all want out of what I'd get paid and everything breaks fairly even."

"Oh no Steve," Nancy turns to him with big earnest blue eyes, "We couldn't ask you to do that with your own money and-"

"Well good thing you're not asking. I'm offering." He grins small and sharp and leans in like he's telling a secret, "Let's call it an apology for the first day of school." Nancy flushes a pretty pink that sits high on her cheeks and brushes across her nose. Her mom and Marsha are eyeing the two of them with amused but worried looks on their faces as Barbara's face is full of just plain suspicion.

"What happened the first day of school?" Little Mike Wheeler bites out, glaring at Steve over his kid's menu and pack of crayons.

Steve had never really dealt with little kids outside of when he himself was one. He tries smiling soft and dopey and unarming, "Bit of a head-on collision in the front hall, Little Wheeler. Your sister was carrying a stack of books bigger than she is and I was trying to figure out just what Munson was yammering about this time and we plumb ran right smack into each other."

The kid still doesn't seem to trust him quite yet but he nods like he accepts Steve's story and goes back to scribbling on his kid's menu. Steve notices that he's not actually playing any of the little games on it but instead writing in the blank spaces.

"Well that's very sweet of you, Steve." Karen Wheeler cuts in, "We'll let you know if we decide to have dessert. So long as you're sure and you won't get into any trouble."

Steve shrugs her off with another small smile and makes his way to the kitchen window with their drinks and starters order. The rest of the evening is a rush as even more people flood in and he's finding himself doing a bit of everything. The Holland-Wheeler party stays long after their food is done and even after they finish the dessert Steve paid for just as promised. They stay until Medda and his uncle are getting ready to switch out with the overnight staff for the diner's weekend overnight hours and shoo him out with the other teens scheduled around curfews. His uncle gives him a pat on the shoulder and a schedule of shifts for the next couple of weeks he's expected to show up for and Steve can't help the grin on his face at the silent message. Medda shoves some leftovers from the lunch rush specials in his arms with a kiss on his cheek as she makes her way out the doors to her own car.

Nancy and Barbara meet him outside while their parents and Nancy's siblings slowly make their way to their respective vehicles. "Thank you again for the dessert, Steve." Nancy almost whispers up at him through her lashes, dainty hands picking at the edge of her cardigan. "You really didn't have to do that."

"Well I know that, but like I said, I wanted to." Nancy blushes with a small giggle and he ignores Barbara's eye-roll. "You guys did something really impressive and that deserves to be celebrated."

"You're not what I expected, Steve Harrington."

"You-" Steve feels his palm going sweaty in his pockets. Images of frizzed curly hair and eerily wide grins flash behind his eyes. But this is Nancy. Not-so-soft, not-so-sweet Nancy that he doesn't think he will ever be able to know nearly enough about. "You're everything Nancy Wheeler."

"Oh pu-lease!" Barbara groans, turning on her heel and walking towards their families as she grumbled about doe-eyed dunderheads.

"Everything huh? High praise coming from 'King Steve' himself."

"Always hated that nickname."

"Ah yes, heavy is head that wears the crown."

"You get it." Another giggle. "Tell me if I'm reading too much into this-" She raises an eyebrow at him as he takes one hand out of his pocket and reaches up to push a strand of hair behind her ear. "But this reluctant king would trade all his kingdom for just one kiss from the fairest maiden in the land."

Her eyes are big and bright and her lips are parted in shock. "What?"

He starts to take a step back. "I'm sorry, I just thought-" and is cut off by a deceptively strong hand grabbing the collar of his jacket and pulling him down for a quick kiss that makes his brain short circuit.

"You're an idiot Steve Harrington."

"Absolutely, whatever you say."

"See you Monday?"

"Or tomorrow? My shift ends at noon."

She smiles up at him like she didn't just rewire his entire brain, "See you tomorrow at noon."

Steve nods silently as she pulls away. He can't stop staring after her as she jogs over to her smiling parents and scowling brother. Tomorrow can't come soon enough.

Taglist:

@heartsong18 @knightofthieves @13catastrophic-blues @nightmareglitter @steddie-as-they-go @sani-86 @lawrencebshoggoth

[time-lord-hilarious]

A random IWTV speculation but has Armand been trying to erase traces of his existence from the human world after a certain point in history?

Claudia’s diaries have his name specifically removes, he and Louis seem to have collected remaining theatre pamphlets (a theatre that’s fully burnt down at that). Daniel’s memory seems to be altered to forget specifically Armand - the dream about Mary’s cuts off directly before he steps in, and Louis seems to be amused by this fact. When Daniel states “you were there” after Armand reveals himself Louis asks “you don’t remember, do you?” which is something that’s been plenty established. The tapes shipped to Daniel have absolutely no trace of his presence, but we see him turning on the recorder in season 2 preview that aired after 2x01 (did he make a separate tape with his voice on it that they didn’t share with Daniel at all, tucked away somewhere in the safety of their house, not to be given to Daniel or any third party to get it to NYC to him?)

Now I know that all of these could have different explanations. 

Louis and Armand could’ve made an agreement to remove the pages for a great number of reasons. After all even if Louis does not realise the nature of Armand’s involvement in Claudia’s death she made it known to him that she felt abandoned because of Armand, so maybe it was necessary to remove them to keep their love and relationship going and get past that for the sake of Louis’ sanity. Daniel thing could easily be Armand deeply traumatising him on the night of the first interview where it would be needed to additionally permanently remove Armand  from his memory as an entity separate from the interview, and/or a memory wipe of some rendition of a DM scenario. Theatre pamphlets could be a mere archiving effort regarding Armand’s long life. The tapes with Armand’s voice on it might not be relevant to Louis’ story.

But I still thing it’s interesting that Louis is more public with his name, putting it on cards in 70s, presumably transportation and other bills, post shipping etc. And Armand used a specific person as a disguise instead of introducing himself as servant Armand or devising a new persona. Louis also tried and failed to stop him from revealing himself. 

So I really wonder if this could potentially have something to do with the Talamasca too.

Also this would make him going on the record for the interview very dangerous.

[xbraveheartx]

WARNING !! Contains spoilers for Lies of P! If you haven't beaten the game, be warned! This is just a first draft !! I might change it... I might not. I'm just testing the waters and seeing how far I'll get. I think I'll just post the prologue for now and then proceed solo in google docs after. But I wanted to see how people are feeling about the idea ♡ I'll upload the rest most likely on AO3 A "I don't care what canon gave us, I'm bringing Romeo back" fic that'll end up in a romance between our favorite real boy and his bestie ♡ It takes place post-canon!

Prologue

The sun had barely risen when they set off on their mission, a gentle shower coating the city of Krat in sleek rain that took little time to drench every stone and tile. Only once they had reached their destination did the skies suddenly open, a hint of blue smiling down on the otherwise desolate buildings. One couldn’t avoid puddles under such conditions, but there wasn’t any true concern to be had over them.

There were far greater things to worry over. He only hoped they were still there.

“Jeepers. It sure is creepy being back here again.” Gemini chirped, effectively breaking the silence that blanketed Krat Central Station. “Now that the monsters aren’t as much of a problem, everything just feels kinda…” He trailed off, causing the boy’s head to turn just slightly in an effort to toss back a glance in the lamp’s direction. “... Spooky? Haunted is the word, maybe? Almost like something is hiding just around the corner, ready to just– Jump out at you!”

“You’re being dramatic.” Slender digits rose to tuck a long, grey lock behind an ear, palm rubbing a stray droplet of water from a freckled cheek.

“And you’re being careless, pal!” Gemini countered, ignoring the eye roll given in retaliation. “I’m just saying, even if we can’t see the monsters all around like we used to, I’m sure there’s bound to be some still lurking around! Just be more careful, okay, Carlo?”

There was a pause in his steps, the echo of the last dying out shortly after as nothing but the dripping of water and creaking of pipes met their ears.

Carlo… it was still strange, hearing that name, and while he felt it was just right, it felt strange in the same breath. It was familiar yet foreign; He was still learning.

He felt his heart beat.

“Did I say something wrong?” Came Gemini’s chirps once more, the sound coming off as one of concern. Carlo shook his head, lashes fluttering rapidly as he came back to himself whilst lips tugged into a slight smile.

“No, no. Sorry, just… Thinking.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie. Gemini seemed to accept the excuse regardless, trilling gently in a way that Carlo could just picture a real cricket practically vibrating with eagerness.

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go! Er– b-but! … Y’know!... Carefully.” The guide seemed to beam, and Carlo couldn’t help but beam right back, hopeful that their journey would be fruitful in the end.

There, in the dimly lit station, was their target. Track C, train number three– The Blue Fairy. It was funny, looking back on it now, but there was no stopping to admire any form of happenstance. The train itself had been subjected to all manner of bile and questionable fluids, but otherwise, remained intact. The boy hesitated just before entering, hand rising to touch the door frame as he stood at the entrance and listened. When nothing but silence rose to greet him, he pressed onward, stepping over forgotten luggages and shattered glass.

“You really think something like this’ll work?” Gemini spoke again, chirps blending with the crunching of a wineglass underfoot.

There was no immediate response, not until they had made it to the back of the train where a familiar chair sat in the middle of the aisle. He stepped around it, choosing instead, to make his way into the hidden workshop behind.

“I don’t know.” Carlo confessed, fingers trailing across abandoned notes and papers left atop a messy desk. Blueprints were among the litter, notes bookmarking heavily written pages of journals, their fine leather covers worn and frayed. He gathered it all, leaving nothing he deemed important behind. One of many discarded suitcases was chosen among the piles, and with its original contents discarded, was used to house the very legacy his father had left behind. “But I have to try.”

Venigni thumbed through the blueprints, eyes roaming through Geppetto's old notes that had been laid out before him. It was a daunting task, to say the least, and they both knew it. 

"This is... beyond my field of expertise."

The moment of silence to follow after felt far too long, seconds seemingly to stretch into hours that didn't exist. Finally, the boy's lips parted, voice heavy with newly gained emotion that unashamedly manifested as a beg.

"I believe you can do it." Came the quiet encouragement, brows drawing together to further accentuate his plea. "Please?" Yet another pause followed after whilst muted blues fell for but a moment, until finally, they resettled on Venigni. "For... a friend?"

The sigh of defeat to follow the request said enough.

"I shall do what I can, but I make no promises, compagno!" As if a switch was flipped, suddenly a black gloved hand rose with a snap. “Pulcinella! Some fresh parchment, if you would! I must get started immediately! And you!” Once more did the man’s head snap in Carlo’s direction, a finger dramatically being pointed all the while. “You still carry the most important component, do you not? All that’s left is the body– Go and bring it back here. I will give it my all, for I am the Incredible Lorenzini Venigni, and I will settle for no less than my one-hundred percent!... But again, no promises.” 

The emotion to grip at his heart was almost overwhelming, the heavy THUD THUD of the organ pounding against his chest in a mixture of anticipation, joy, and above all else, hope.

“I’ll be back.” He announced with a nod, though he made no move to leave just yet. Instead, he gave the man a smile, brighter than any he had expressed in the past. “Thank you, Venigni. I appreciate your help.” The words were met with a nod and something akin to that of a mutter and a hum. Already was the other absorbed by the notes before him, ink meeting paper in rapid scribbles from the very moment Pulcinella had provided the writing tools.

“Let’s go get your pal… pal!” Gemini chimed in, spurring the boy into motion with a nod. “Leave the technical stuff to the professionals! Rosa Isabella Street awaits!” A trip that would surely be a bit more eventful than their visit to the train station, knowing full well that the puppets would still be prowling around their fallen king’s domain.  Please let this work… The silent prayer was sent skyward.