#he’d like to be perceived as a Ken

[starlooove]

Kon is a Barbie who wishes he was a Ken Bernard is a Ken who should be a Barbie hope that helped

[solestixx]

1- lukas matsson x reader

word count ≈ 6600

warning: smut and mid writing

____

“Ken- you know this isn’t my scene.” Your voice goes quiet, simply just peering at your brother, anxious for his reaction.

He’s been a bit of a pain in the ass lately, the whole family was a pain in your ass lately, but perhaps it was always this way. The Roy family created chaos and unnecessary drama, that was a given. It was something you tried to detach yourself from; the business, the craze, the constant chatter– it all drained you. From the moment you were born, it was as if your family was screaming from all sides whether it be Roman and Shiv fighting over shit all, or your dad blowing up in your faces.

You always knew that you didn’t fit into the puzzle. You were born a little bit too late, grew up with faint glances of your older siblings, and dismissed like the baby you were. Maybe that was the reason you never considered joining Waystar, or perhaps why a place was never offered. 

Your dad was your dad, perpetually disappointed in you – while at the same time maintaining that you were his favourite. You all knew it was Shiv, but the very fact he insisted that it was you made you villain number one to your siblings. 

So there you were, their little sister who was a fucking writer, twiddling with your ungroomed thumbs, waiting for your family to forget who you were. That being said, it was a surprise when you opened your email to find a very flashy invite to Kendall’s 40th. You didn’t think that your brother would want what he perceived as his Debbie Downer boring little sister at his grandiose douche fest.

“Come the fuck on, it’s my party, Bambi, cheer up, enjoy yourself for once,” Kendall says. “Come on, I’ll take you somewhere special.” As he’s about to leave, you stop him, placing a hand on his arm.

“Wait, Ken. I have a gift for you.” You hand him an envelope, “I didn’t want it getting lost in the mix.”  

Kendall stops with his buzzing, which is probably coke-induced and takes the envelope from your hands. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” you sigh as you watch your brother tuck the envelope into his coat. 

He quickly puts a hand on your shoulder before he starts to navigate you around, waving and fistbumping his friends walking by. As quickly as you had gained Kendall’s attention, it faded away from you, as he yelled over at his assistant who seemed new, but you weren’t around enough to know. “Yo! Comfrey, ship up my little sis to the treehouse.”

His assistant – Comfrey, who you knew had definitely been speed walking away from her boss before he hollered out at her – whipped her head towards the both of you. You were the odd couple, Kendall’s glazed over eyes and dopey smile mixed with your grimacing under his touch. “Coming!”

Kendall gives you a pat on the head– a move he often did in childhood, his eyes dead as always as he gives you a good-enough smirk,  “You should avoid the other sibs, they’re strictly business right now – serious work only.”

You smile at his unconscious insinuation. You weren't a serious person to them. You weren’t anything you guessed, “Have fun, okay Ken? And try not to be a complete dick tonight,” you ask before Comfrey pulls me away and Kendall saunters off. 

You watch your brother from the corner of your eyes, and quickly try to keep up with the bouncing ponytail of his young assistant. The hollowness in your chest that used to exist – that there would be ten years ago –  had disappeared now, you were completely okay with the empty promises and empty phrases. 

It’s what you grew up on. Raised in the top two floors of the highest buildings in New York, the Scottish highlands with your father’s forgotten castles, or in sprawling ranches in the middle of nowhere for tax purposes. At least that was the childhood you had with the Logan Roy experience.

After Uncle Ewan’s wife passed away, when you went to her funeral with your whole family, Dad decided that he’d leave his youngest with his brother to build your character. Your siblings were already almost in college and you were, well, the youngest and still complaining about multiplication and school field trips. So, from then on, you distanced yourself. Not entirely by your own volition, but every decision after was. And you prayed that every decision following would be as well.

As you try to keep pace with the taller woman, “So Comfrey, how’d you become Kendall’s assistant?” 

The woman turns around for a second to get a glance at the youngest Roy, she presses her lips together before curtly responding, “I’m his PR rep.”

All you do is hum in understanding, she was a PR rep that was running around like a low-level worker bee trying to satiate her older brother. It was like all people in their lives. 

You pass by the flashing lights, tall glass windows, and strange art installations, not so much admiring them, more like begging to just dissolve into the floor. To melt like the witch in the Wizard of Oz would be your opus, your ooey-gooey pile of person simply having a hard time leaching onto the rich person floors.

When you spot the all-too-familiar treehouse you wince. It seemed that Kendall’s childhood trauma manifested in an exuberant part of his fortieth birthday party. “This is Kendall’s little sister, she’s cool.” Comfrey motions the guards behind her, as you stand awkwardly – it looked like they needed visible confirmation you were you? It took them a second for their heads to look at your orientation. 

While they make way for you, opening up the roped fence, you thank Comfrey, then watch her scatter away, and hurry away probably to clean up Kendall’s inevitable fuck-ups. 

She was nice enough, you guessed; could be worse. 

You wandered through the treehouse with no purpose, staring at the tree trunk columns that looked borderline tacky and its leaf-casted shadows on the walls. You weren’t alone in the room, no there was a boatload of Kendall’s rager hedge fund friends, or celebrities whose faces you remember enough to dart away from – but still, you were alone. You felt eyes on you, people knew that you were a Roy, but eyes don’t give you company. 

The space was large enough to walk around for a few minutes, but eventually, you assumed you just looked out-of-place. Pacing around like a failed dracula, circling his already knowing victims. So you resigned yourself to a couch near a wall, praying that nobody approaches you. At least you wouldn’t be sneak-attacked from the back. That was your worst fucking nightmare – a hand on your back and a networking LinkedIn smiley techie. 

Leaning into the couch’s thin leather you try to get comfortable. The lights were bright enough you hoped, to not ‘ruin the vibe’ with your phone’s obnoxiously bright screen. Staring at your home screen, you forget any work that you had to do – literally nothing of importance that would make you look like you were doing something. Yes, you were writing a screenplay right now, which would be a good thing to work on if you could concentrate in the noisy fucking room. So you just went on Candy Crush, your finger languidly swiping your high school iPhone wanting to shoot yourself. 

You spent an adequate amount of time doing that, getting cozy enough to tuck your feet under your body and let your hair out from the bun it was in. It felt okay, you still wanted to go home, but you were waiting until at least ten percent of the crowd was gone so Kendall wouldn’t get prissy. 

But you couldn’t keep the peace, of course, you couldn’t. Because there Kendall comes into the room, not looking for you, but for a man sitting on one of the benches in the middle of the party.

“There he is!” You internally shrink, like a deflated balloon as your brother approaches. You hide like you were habitually doing as a child, trying to dart off from where you were oh-so comfortable. You hear Kendall saying some other bullshit which you tune out in your panic, but as you’re set to leave he calls out your name. 

“Bambs!” He turns to the man next to him, “This is my sister– she isn’t a vulture like the other ones, don't worry about that.” He looks back at you, then at the man again, “She’ll take care of you, they avoid her like a fucking plague.”

“Really nice, Ken,” you say, walking towards them reluctantly, resigning to sit next to the blonde man. He was tired-looking with hardly-noticeable but still visible rings underneath his eyes, a small smirk of interest on his face as he doesn’t shuffle to give you space, instead moving closer to you.

Kendall leaves, for a reason you are unsure of. You try to stare in his retreating direction as you feel the stranger’s hot eyes on you. You couldn’t read this guy, he seemed like a regular dude at first glance and to your relief he didn’t seem crazed in the eyes or serial-rapey.

“You’re the youngest one, aren’t you? The recluse?” he asks, his accent isn’t American, it was something Nordic – you hadn’t met many of them in your life. 

You turn towards him, to be polite of course, although your body tries to twist awkwardly, making sure he isn’t too close, “Good use of deduction.” He’s attractive, vaguely familiar like everyone in the room, obviously important to your brother, but you still have no fucking clue who he is. “And you’re? One of my brother’s friends?”

He smirks, laying back on a column behind him, “Yeah, we’re best buddies, like peas and a pod.” 

“No name?” He laughs, like he was in disbelief that you didn’t know who he was, “I like this, I’ll be your mystery man, hmm?” He leans further towards you, raising his eyebrows – the lack of space making your face hot. 

You try to escape any feelings of chagrin, crossing your legs, and staring into his eyes which felt like it was more of his soul. Who was this fucking dude? “A mystery man in my childhood treehouse, you’re sounding like a pedophile to me…”

He nods as though he agrees, laughing, “You have a history in this, I assume, with your family.” Oh yes, Uncle Mo. “What do you do? The tabloids say… writer?” 

A part of you feels insecure in your lack of knowledge about him. He knows your occupation, your name, and would probably be able to trace your life back to childhood through the internet, while you sat here like prey for his predator. All in his casual clothing and wolfish smile. 

“Yes, some screenwriting, some things more authorial, enough to get by.” 

It seemed like the idea of ‘getting by’ was amusing to him as he smiled when you said that. Almost as if he was in disbelief that a Roy would ever need to make enough to get by. Maybe he was older money, maybe he grew up in a big castle like you, a prince or something… your mother had always had people like that over when you were young. It was funny, the old aristocrats with their wine and screaming kids. No he wasn’t old money... his whole being read new. New money. New power.

“You dress like you write children’s books, like a sexy-librarian-kindergarten teacher – it’s hot, if I dare-say,” he says. You can feel him looking her up and down and she doesn’t know if you hate it or like it. You may be leaning to the latter with how lonely you’d been feeling for so long. 

You almost roll your eyes, although your face heats up. How long has it been since someone somewhat complimented you? Sure they called your writing good, praised you in those magazines– no journals they called them, but nobody ever looked at you. Even if it was a half-insult. 

You did dress conservatively, at least to control the narrative of yourself. Stemming mostly from when the paps took pictures up your skirt as a teenager. They weren’t even decent enough to wait until you were eighteen, the moment the vultures saw that you wore a short-enough skirt they chased you around trying to get a glimpse of the most elusive Roy sibling; the paps were constantly chasing a story, and for the duration of your childhood you were the most interesting part of the billion-piece puzzle belonging to the Roy family.

Without any response, he moves even closer, if that’s humanly possible – your arms pressing up against each other. He was warm, warmer than the stuffy room around the two of you, “Trying to insinuate something, mystery man?”

“Ja, maybe I am,” he says, before leaning close to your face. “Let’s go somewhere more private.” He offers you a hand to get up, which your body wills you to take, but your brain knows logically any man your brother wants to woo is a douche, yet you’d always think with your feelings. He pulls you through the treehouse, walking into more of a secluded room. 

You feel people watching you, more than before, more than they would the youngest Roy, but his hand feels so warm in yours, and he was even more attractive standing up. Taller than your smaller stature – you were the shortest of your siblings along with the youngest, the baby. It felt nice walking next to him, it felt safe. But still, it felt almost dangerous.

You breathe out a thank god as the two of you get off of the wooden bench and your butt touches a soft surface again. It’s more secluded than your spot before but like every corner of the party, there were still people around you. 

“Not a fan of crowds?” he asks, getting comfortable on the couch and leaning back as you feel his hand rise slowly on your thigh. Like he’s apprehensively confident.

“Is anyone really?” you ask him, he nods slowly, his eyes asking me to go on, “I don’t know why I’m here, maybe just feeling shitty about my family situation, you know? I don't spend much time with them… ever.” You eye the man as he intensely looks back at you – eyefucking you believe it’s called. Oh and his eyes are blue, you’d never noticed that before — remarkably they’re not empty, the soul was still there, at least right now. You have to admit that he’s hot, in this light even more so. His features affirm my suspicions of where he’s from– and as you stare at him even longer you can't quite remember when you’d ever seen a hotter man. “Do you still have no name?”

He grins, looking away, “You’ll know soon enough, won’t you? This is fun for now.” 

“The only name I know you by is pedophile, and I don’t think you want people overhearing. Seems like we have eavesdroppers,” you glance over at the small groups of people around you. You assume that they’re small investors, that they probably know Kendall and whatever business he has with the mystery man. 

“You’re right, my facial expressions plus my conversation are very relevant to the stock market and usually equals tanking.”

“You talking to me will probably tank it, whatever stock you’re talking about—“ you stop yourself from continuing, would Dad be mad that you were talking to him? “You’re not part of Kendall’s crusade, right? Like my father won’t try and assassinate me for speaking to you?”

It’s almost like he enjoys that notion as he laughs to himself, “Don’t worry about Kendall, your dad hiring a guy maybe, but right now I’m to be courted.” He gestures with his hands – which to you are strangely very animated, “You care about what your dad says, do you?”

You respond nonchalantly, though your hands squirm and you look to the ground, “It’s a constant fuck him, and at the same time I love you, Daddy, I guess. He was shit, is shit, but sometimes he’s not too bad.”

“You call him daddy?”

For the second time today, you feel yourself crawl into your skin, “Oh yeah, when we’re in bed together definitely.”

Mystery man almost giggles at your comment, and there’s something affable about that. He was constantly switching from this serious man to a very unserious one. There was some strange part of this that you liked, you liked the attention the way that he looked at you, the bubble he created around the two of you, the way his hand was increasingly inching. 

You think back to the way this night started. You were quite desperate to leave, a bit dampened by the way Kendall accepted your gift, and guilty that you weren't at home taking care of your cat and working. Then you were delivered by this tall Viking man and you were uncomfortably comfortable with the way he made you feel. 

“I kind of want to get drunk.”

“I have no qualms with that,” he responds, a grin on his face as you both get up and inch towards the bar, his hand slipping onto your back easily. 

The time at the bar was spent in easy conversation, you stand against the wall, with him looming in front of you as you drink together. Him a beer and you a drink with a name you’re unsure of – hating yourself for so much enjoying the tang of the liquified poison. 

“Why aren’t you part of your family’s business?”

The way he looks at you… you feel like there’s genuine interest, you look into his eyes and there’s a gleam that scares me. Was he playing with you? Was this a play for your family? You still have no clue who this man is. You let him get too close to yourself, hand on your waist – eyes on yours, too close for a stranger. But you just want to be happy,  to feel like you exist again. Not a fly on the wall, the main course. 

“You know,” you shrug your shoulders, taking another sip as he just looks at you with a weird facial thing that you don’t quite understand. Like he’s teasing you, but ever so slightly, begging you to spill – which you do. “I’m the baby, y’know – Bambi or whatever.”

He tilts his head back as he absorbs, “Bambi… I like that, you look like a Bambi – the deer right?”

“Yes the deer, they–” I hurriedly take another sip of my drink as I recount the story of my ubiquitous nickname, “Once Dad went hunting and brought me along, we spotted a deer and instead of uh– killing it I kind of ran towards it, while his gun was still aimed. He said that he was about to shoot me like I was a Bambi, he said I was so fast that he almost pulled the trigger while watching me through the scope.”

Mystery man looks at me with wide eyes, “Jesus fuck, that’s a shit thing to say. How old were you?”

“Uh maybe ten, by then my siblings were gone and he visited me where I lived with Uncle Ewan in Canada.”

“What a fucking prick.”

“Yeah.”

You stare at each other for a minute, him in front of you and you below him, you really like his eyes. You break it though, your head was starting to spin from the one drink and he was making it almost worse. “Come on, let’s go sit down, I’m gonna get stumbly.”

Pushing yourself away from the wall, you walk towards an empty space with a few chairs around a table and plop yourself down. Curling into yourself, you can just feel him situating himself next to you.

“You’re a lightweight, aren’t you? You look like one too,” he says, taking a swig of his still-almost-full beer.

You glare up at him as you start dozing off, “I’m gonna nap, you do you, pedophile.”

He guffaws, “Okay, no more pedophile jokes, the press hears and I’m done.”

“I wouldn’t know,” you mutter before tucking your head into your own shoulder. 

“I have to ask you something before you nod off.” He seems almost genuine in his words as he furrows his eyebrows and leans towards your chair. You lift yourself ever so slightly showing that you’re listening. “We’ll fuck later right? Like guaranteed?”

You close your eyes again before you can roll them, although a tiny smile slips onto your face – you hope he won’t see it as you bury your face into the back of the lounge chair. 

“I saw that grin, I’m going to take that as a yes.”

“Fuck off, asshole.”

“Don’t contradict yourself now.”

You shake your head in mock embarrassment as you go to sleep. Your head was throbbing a bit, and your heart was beating faster – but you realize that you’d forgotten the loud music, and the crowds of people around. You’d forgotten. You’d found solace after so many years looking for it, in the middle of a mock replica of your childhood treehouse.

And this sleep was peaceful for a while, but then a fucking earthquake rumbled you awake. 

“What the fuck,” you grunted as you felt hands on your shoulders, your eyes bulge open and you see Roman above you. “Rome, leave me alone, you bitch.”

“Were you trying to seduce Matsson for dad?” 

You just roll your eyes, not understanding in your incoherent state what the fuck your brother was talking about – per usual. Looking around you saw that mystery man was gone, and the party was still raging around you. And his name was Matsson? Strange name, but a little bit fitting. 

“I have no clue what you’re talking about… why’d you even wake me up, miss me that bad?” you asked, clearly trying to antagonize him with your whiny voice.

Roman with all his pessimism and ass-holery deadpans at you, “Well I’m fuckin’ sorry, you totally missed the six foot tall Viking who was camped out beside your unconscious body?”

“Is that not the point of being unconscious, dumbass?” 

“Did you fuck him, Bambi? Were you so fucking tired after fucking him that you had to take a big girl nap?”

“There’s something psychologically wrong with you.”

Roman sits squatting on the top of the chair as he pseudo-interrogates you, “Y’know he didn’t let me fucking wake you up, was that a power play or did you let him do you?”

“Rome, I have no idea who that man was, he just said he was your friend and Ken told me to keep an eye on him.” Half-lying was your thing, you guessed. Your life was full of half-lies, momentary omissions of details, ignoring parts of sentences so you seemed more innocent. That was the life of a youngest child out of five you guessed.

“And since when were you Kendall’s bitch?” “Since he invited me to something, unlike you.” 

Roman completely skipped your comment before going off again, “Did he tell you anything, Matsson?”

“Oh yeah, he told me he fucking hates your guts,” you say with a smile, watching your brother getting riled up.

“I’m going to tell Dad that you fucked him if you don’t tell me the truth,” he threatens, it was fun being in this position. You’d so regularly in your childhood been put down by your older siblings, so it was interesting being the one to give it back to them. You finally understood the appeal. Ah, leverage. 

You smile as you pretend to recount, a finger to your chin as you mockingly itch it, “Oh he told me that Dad’s an asshole and he has no interest in business with any of you creeps.”

“You’ve seriously been spending too much time with Uncle Looney? You know that right? You sound delusional, completely and utterly gone.”

As you sit up straighter trying to compose yourself, you eye Shiv coming over to where you and Roman sit (although he’s very much standing, pacing, like a lunatic), her hair a mess and her makeup smudged all over. She’d either just had mind blowing sex or something was seriously wrong with her. 

You and your sister were strained to say the least. You wanted the idealized big sister who would braid your hair and make you up. The sister who would talk about boys with you and argue with you over stealing her clothes. You guessed Shiv more so wanted to prove herself to Dad – she’d always been his favourite. You were more of an afterthought to her. The kind of afterthought that made you do a double take when you remember that you’d buried it so long ago. 

There wasn’t any sentimentality in the title of sister with the two of you. You were just another sibling, and probably her third favourite before Connor. But still, you love her, and you know in the deep recesses of her heart she loves you too. All the siblings love each other, although a strong belief for you was that there were certain dynamics that you were excluded from because of your age and difference in childhood. 

“You do you, Roman. Just know that I’m hoping for your business with him to fail, just handing you my two cents.” Business was a strange concept to you, you were always pushed away from it as a child, leading you to know less than nothing about it. At one point you felt like you would go into it, but that too was ripped away from you. So right now, you just wanted to make Roman feel bad. Sure it was wrong to want to churn your brother into pieces, but it felt so good.

“I know you’re a fucking liar, so just like, sit with that, okay?” 

“Whatever, Roman.”

Roman ignores your words calling out for Shiv. Shiv runs a finger through straight but frizzy hair before coming to give you a half-hug.

The hug was weird and a little bit detached, but it was something, and it made you feel not instantly uncomfortable, but almost happy. Happy to see your sister again a little bit. “Bambi, it’s been like two fucking years.” 

It hadn’t been, but you agree. It felt like it.

“I didn’t know you were keeping track–” you try to say, but Roman quickly cuts you off. Biting off that Shiv was out dancing. Dancing was a human thing. You didn’t know your only sister was a human. 

“Guys, I’m gonna go now, I’ll probably not be in touch, so yeah,” you try and gracefully leave as your siblings bicker about finessing or some shit. 

They both nod non-committedly as you trot off observing Kendall and Connnor at the opposite poles of the room. You choose to not go off towards Kendall, who you knew probably already ruined his night with his overthinking or underthinking. Instead you go to Connor, probably your only kind brother, albeit the fact sometimes he was fucking lawful psychotic.

“Con, Con,” you call out, your small purse at your side as you push it around your body – you’d refused to give it to security earlier, citing personal reasons which they were too scared to deny. They probably assumed it was your period or something like that – you’d made that insinuation when they didn’t relent for your last name.

You see Connor’s coated body turn around as he returns your call, “Bambi! My favourite sister – you remember Willa?” Connor gestures to his arm candy, who didn’t seem too excited to meet you – or meet you again, but obviously faked it. She was very pretty, nearly to the point where she made you feel insecure. But then again, no hate for your brother, but she was with your brother. You were sure Connor had mentioned her in a phone call, but you two never really talked about those kinds of things. He was always ranting on about politics (you think you’re the only one who would listen, so he took advantage of that) or you would talk about your life – never about the company, or really how he was doing besides his ranch. 

“Yes, at Shiv’s wedding, I believe?” She just nods, and you’re both just pretending to know when you last met. There was no recognition in her eyes, and you don’t think you’d ever interacted with her. It was a nice connection you’d had, a shared lie always brings people together.

“Ken, told me you were here, but I thought you’d be gone by now.” Connor pulls you into a hug before saying, “Have you been taking care of yourself, sis?”

“I’ve been doing okay, normally as always.” Noticing his cast, she asks, “What’s up with your arm, Con’?”

“Oh, I was doing an Irish jig as one does, and boom I slipped and it bent in all different directions,” he describes in a strangely vivid way. “I’m feeling better though, Willa helped me recover, right sweetheart?”

“Yep,” she nodded, a smile on her face as she bore her eyes into mine – uncomfortable? Very.

Connor was probably the only one of your siblings you regularly spoke to, yes it was by phone, and no you didn’t always enjoy it, but there was a beautiful normalcy to speaking on the phone with your brother. With Kendall or Roman it always turned into business– about Dad. With Shiv it was her ranting about some political thing, well maybe that was before she turned so Waystar-loco. 

Connor was your normal brother.

“Have you heard of my recent presidential proclivities?” he asks, tilting his head as he looks at Willa for support – in which she enthusiastically nods her head.

Maybe he wasn’t exactly the most normal of brothers, but he was more normal than the brother who spoke about you having sex weirdly too much or the one who can’t stop fucking over your dad and snorting cocaine. 

You nod, but before you hear a tumble and watch Roman bending over a kneeling Kendall. What a fucking dick. Kendall’s girlfriend, who you also didn’t recognize was helping him up, and you stood there with no intention to help or rush in, frozen to your spot.

Connor shouts out, “Everyone take it easy, okay?” as Roman maniacally laughs and Kendall helps himself up. 

As Kendall walks past you, Connor, and Willa he grumbles, “Take your fucking coat off,” repeating it to Connor as he walks like a man scorned. Willa blocks Connor from Kendall trying to calm the younger brother down. You avert Kendall’s gaze, standing next to Willa blocking Connor who looks to the ground much like you.

Shiv seemingly walks away from the scene as well, but in the opposite direction from Kendall, and immediately after Willa and Connor walk arm in arm out, saying a quiet goodbye to you.

With one glance to Roman, who’s still muttering curses under his breath on the sofa chairs, you leave. You’d quickly sobered up, and it was time to face the darkness of New York. Walking out of the luxurious Manhattan skyscraper you peer at the artificially brightened roads and the strange silence of the backroads. Instead of taking an Uber or Taxi, you opt for the Subway. You didn’t take an allowance from your Dad like Connor did, you never inherited anything ever, and your last poetry anthology wasn’t lucrative enough to have casual taxi money. You were sure nothing would happen on the Subway, from experience you know that there would just be a few people throwing up and tired workers coming home from the night shift.

Before walking down into the station, you check your phone, one hand on the railing and the other carefully gripping onto your phone. Attention split both ways.

Unknown

Know who I am yet?

1 Missed Call from Unknown

Your heart skips a beat, an adrenaline rich positive-ending to the night beat skip.

Instead of heading inside, you turn around, sitting down on the top step of the stairs, hoping a coked up crypto-bro doesn’t push you down. 

Pressing the call, a part of you hopes he doesn’t pick up, so you can return to normalcy, but the heart wants what the heart wants.

“Bambi?”

You groan, “I thought the story would stop you from calling me that.”

“Not because of the story, it suits you–” he pauses, the line going crackly as you hear him talk to someone, “You’ve left the party?”

“Yeah, walking home now.” “Walking? This is America, ja? You’re on a death mission.”

“It’s not too late, you know serial killers only come out after two in the morning.”

“I can send a car, hmm? You can come over here.”

“What does ‘over here’ mean? To a stranger’s home?”

“You promised me something, didn’t you?”

“Hmmmm, a promise? I don’t remember.”

“Send me your location, I’ll get my guy to get you.”

“Okay, I’ll send my location to a stranger just because he was nice to me at my brother’s party.”

“See you soon then.”

____

The drive was awkward to Matsson’s (you preferred mystery man to what seemingly sounded like a last name, although it might be a first, Europeans were in themselves a mystery as well). The driver was quiet, and the car was a rich person’s. It was a car you were all too familiar with, the car you drove in during your childhood, the same tinted windows and leather seats.

Same thing of riding up to the penthouse of a hotel – he was only here temporarily you surmised. You’d probably be a one-time thing. 

When the elevator doors beep open and you’re in a hallway with one door, anxiety fills you up. What if this was a trap? If he was some sort of sexual pervert, or even worse an axe murderer with an even worse temper than anyone you could find on the New York streets?

But before you can even knock the door swings open and a hand pulls you in, “Fucking asshole,” you whisper as you feel his lips trace over yours, your breath in his. 

He’s rough, and rushed, like he’s a man starved – of you. 

As he starts tracing his fingers underneath your shirt you push his back, two hands on his chest as he kneels his head to meet yours. “What’s wrong?” “I don’t know your name,” you say, almost embarrassed that you hadn’t found it on your own, “Matsson? That’s your name.”

He doesn’t respond, just pulls you close to him, before picking you up into his arms. You restrain a squeal as you struggle in his arms. He navigates through the hallways, looking as though he was confused on the layout of his own homebase, he finds the bed – splaying you down and standing above you like an animal.

“You know, I refuse to orgasm without your name,” you insist. He moves closer and closer, uncharacteristically quiet as he pulls your shirt up laying a hand on your stomach, the other tracing over your soaked panties, slowly creeping towards your sensitive skin. 

He’s strangely gentle with it, until he pulls your panties to the side, spreading open your legs as he buries his face into your pussy. You move your two legs onto his shoulders, as plays with your nipples – languid twisting and faint touches that leave you just wanting more.

You let out a yelp as you feel his tongue move into you, like a fucking shark he dives into your clit as he watches you for your reaction. You know you look like a mess, breathless and desperate. “Please, please–” you moan, desperate for his tongue, for his touch, his everything. 

“Your pussy’s so good, baby– fucking heaven,” he whispers into where his head lay between your thighs. As he blows gently on it, you are wholly exposed and cold, you start squirming. Your thighs start pressing around his head, trying to push him further, which seemed to turn him on even more. Your legs start to shake as your orgasm builds up and builds up, you feel like screaming from the bliss of it, his attack on your pussy is like God reigning down on earth. “Refuse to orgasm, hmm? Want me to stop?”

You shake your head as he continues, “Please, keep going, keep going—” He listens to you, beginning to rub your clit as the feeling of everything continues to crash down on you

“Come baby, come.” He keeps on licking you up, every fucking crevasse. 

Your orgasm came hard and quick, with a groan and a twitch your eyes rolled over as you released his head from in between your thighs, and as quickly as he got there, he climbed on top of you – his larger body engulfing yours as he hurriedly kisses you. 

“I want to inside me,” you say into his ear, you could feel him from underneath his pants as he grabs your ass, groaning into you as you palm him. 

“Take off your fucking clothes,” he orders, as you do it, you take off the loose t-shirt you’d been wearing to Kendall’s party off slowly, you can feel him staring at your tits, and a part of you loves it. Loves the attention you get from him. As you take off your pants from where they are bunched up from your ankles, and then the greenish-blue granny panties you wear, you watch him take his suede pants and then his boxers off. Oh god, you feel yourself thinking as you stare at him. 

He picks you up as he brings his length into your entrance, rubbing it on your clit. He keeps going, relentless before he surprises you and slips it in, tilting your head towards him so he could watch you as he fucked you. 

You hear him groan as he starts with slow thrusts, he would push in and then wait five seconds before slowly sliding out— making sure you felt every inch of him. He was too big and you felt so full, with every time he pulled out you felt like five years were taken from your life span, that time had slowed down too much. You fucking needed him.

Of course he starts going fast, rough. There were no thoughts in your mind as you arched against him, and moaned in his mouth as he kissed you. Deeply and raw, like he had everything to lose and you would disappear in a heartbeat.

Pinning your hands above your head, he continues with his pace, passionately and without bore– “You’re so good for me, I just want to be inside you all the time,” he says a grin on his face as he watches your face before glancing down looking at his dick pound into you. 

He presses kisses to your throat as he whispers, “My name’s Lukas, Lukas Matsson–” strangely enough hearing his name sends you off the edge as you moan out unintelligibly, overstimulated as he keeps on going, getting more and more erratic. 

Not long after, he pumps into you a few more times before completely spilling inside of you, collapsing on top of you, not leaving your warmth as he buries himself deeper.

You don’t say anything afterwards, you let him lay on top of you as he stays inside of you all the same. It feels like time doesn’t pass as he wraps his arms around you, “Stay the night?” he asks, all you do is nod. 

You lay in silence for a few more seconds before you tell him, “I’m on birth control, by the way, pretty fucking risky to cum inside me without asking though.”

“I wouldn’t be mad at a little me running around if I could fuck you again.”

Not saying anything, you press a kiss to his neck before tucking yourself closer into his body– finding sleep comes to you when so often it fails you.

[ur-fav-sugardaddy-situation]

Hey, so, you know things about dating and men right?

What do you do when you think you like someone, and you enjoy their company, and you love them, but in a very different way from how allos perceive love?

Its not romantic, but not platonic either…Hard to explain.

-Kyle K.

I’d go to ken but he’d hold it over my head

Well..

If it’s not Romantic, and not Platonic.. but you feel affectionate about them..

Maybe invite this guy over for a date? Of course nothing too fancy, And if you don’t want it to be a Date you can always just ask them to Hang Out instead-

It really could just be dinner at your house

But it’ll help you to get to know this person better. To help describe how you feel about them better, and why you feel this way.

Who knows? Maybe it can spark a relationship, or maybe just help you grasp your situation better.

Hope that helps 🍸

-W.W.

[ipsen]

scrapped thing: kanou’s lab raid but different

this is a scrapped prototype of that “root a but it’s actually kind of original” fanfic that i was mulling over the other day. i’ve been sitting on this for a few months, but the direction, while pleasing (to me) isn’t quite where i want to start. the premise was also directly lifted from someone else’s fic on fanfiction dot net that hasn’t updated in like 5 years or smth idk

basic summary: yomo doesn’t appear to take rize from kanou’s lab. instead, it’s eto who appears to stall kaneki from pursuing kanou.

below the cut!

Shachi had taken Rize and left with Kanou. Kaneki would have pursued them in most circumstances. He’d come this far, and he wasn’t about to stop now. He had to fight. More, more, and more. To kill the king, and save Anteiku. To become strong, so that no one would ever trample over him ever again, so that no one could ever destroy his home. He refused to be the one who was hurt; he would do the hurting instead.

And now, at the bottom of the Yasuhisa mansion, his goal was suddenly much closer than he thought.

(“The One-Eyed King… might be that child in bandages.”)

“It’s good to finally meet you, Ken Kaneki,” Eto said, leaning over the edge of the railing.

Her cheeks were in her hands, and those black holes stared down at him. Kaneki took a deep breath.

“Join me. Join Aogiri, and I can show you the reality of this world.”

What a joke.

If the reality of this world meant your severed toes and fingers filled a bucket while a centipede aimlessly scuttled around in your brain, then he’d destroy it. He’d destroy all of it, everything that threatened his home. Everything that threatened his safe place.

Starting with the One-Eyed King.

(Yomo. Kaya. Enji.) (Hinami.) (Touka.) (It ends today.)

That was what Kaneki thought. That was what he’d left Anteiku for. To kill the king. To protect his home. And yet—

(“Kaneki. What if I told you that a ghoul named Yoshimura was responsible for the creation of the Aogiri Tree?”)

Kanou’s words echoed in his head, over and over and over. A nuisance. A fact? Kaneki didn’t know. He didn’t know, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care; if he did, it would distract him. It would make him falter, make him weak. He was not weak. Only the strong survive, and he had survived thus far. He was strong. He was—

“What did you think of Doctor Kanou?” Eto’s voice pierced the maelstrom of his thoughts. “Much more interesting than I was imagining, personally. The twisted birdcage analogy really caught me by surprise. Maybe I’ll steal it some time.”

(A ghoul named Yoshimura.) (The One-Eyed King, leader of Aogiri.) (The bandaged girl is the king.) (Then this is—?!)

“Cat got your tongue? This was quite the foray for you, Ken Kaneki.” His target walked down the steps, her fingers gliding atop the handrails. “The world is different from how you perceived it, and you’re having trouble digesting it.”

She was distracting him. Kaneki knew that much. Her gait was casual, her steps light; she wanted to expend as little energy as possible when confronting him. Shachi had done a similar tactic with his intentionally sluggish movements, and he wouldn’t fall for it a second time.

“After all, what good is your strength if your reason is faulty?” Eto now stood in front of where Rize had been contained. “What good was leaving your friends behind if things weren’t as they seemed?”

Left them—? No, no, he didn’t do that. He was protecting them. He was out here, so they could stay in Anteiku. Where it was safe. He was out here, plucking the bad beans. He didn’t—

“‘I didn’t leave them.’ Is that what you’re thinking?”

(what?)

“Then let me ask you something—”

Kaneki’s body instinctively leaned backward as Eto appeared directly before him. He didn’t even register her presence until she spoke again.

“If you didn’t leave them, then where are they?”

(she’s right) (shut up shut up) (shut it out she’s distracting you she’s right there) (kill the king)

Two of his rinkaku tendrils wrapped themselves around his forearm, and with the bolstered force, he swung as fast as he could, aiming straight for her clavicle. However, Eto vanished just before he made contact.

(an afterimage?) (not even Shachi was—) (no, no. calm down. relax, assess, break down.)

“Wow! Nice swing.” Eto was now on the handrailing, crouched like a predator about to pounce. “Lovely kagune, too. Nice and dense.”

Kaneki’s eyes flickered around her, trying to predict—

“Trying to predict where I’ll go next?” Even with her face obscured, he knew she was smiling. “I’ll give you a hint: down.”

(she’s lying. it’s a ploy.) (so if not down, then—)

He sent two tendrils to flank her, a third directly at her, and then a fourth above. None found their mark, only destroying the walls and glass around her.

“I should’ve been more specific.” Eto’s voice came from beneath him. She was very small, he noticed, barely coming up to his shoulders. “Down here.”

Kaneki felt his diaphragm rupture, and he collapsed in a heap on the floor, all the air evacuating from his lungs.

“You’re such a peabrain, Ken Kaneki,” she said, squatting down as he gasped for air. “You’re clearly a very intelligent individual; I can see it in the way you approach your fights. You take in all sorts of knowledge and combine them into one fluid gesture.”

He saw a hint of verdant eyes behind those black holes, a void staring back at him, ready to swallow him at any moment.

“I was watching from Kanou’s security room. You borrowed some techniques from Martial Arts and the Body, by Gen Yasuda, didn’t you? Page 39, diagram 3?”

(why is she bringing this up? she reads?) (shit. can’t breathe…) (come on, heal!!) (YOU’RE SO CLOSE)

“Of course it was.” Eto yanked him up by his collar, and somehow he managed to stand. “And despite your rinkaku kagune, you’ve managed to perfectly replicate the Gourmet’s technique, a koukaku. You steal others’ work, then string the data together to make something all your own. How wonderful, Ken Kaneki.

“And yet, for all your hunger, all your knowledge, your view of the world is… narrow. You fashion a thin corridor for you to walk through, unable to turn around and see what you’ve wrought.”

Memories. Yamori, crying for help. Ayato, a helpless heap of his own skin and shattered bones. A ghoul, whimpering and at the mercy of someone else as they were devoured. Then another. And another. And another. A pile of corpses.

And him, the cause. His fault. His sins. For strength. To protect what matters. Only the strong survive. Only the strong eat. Only the strong kill. Then, to be strong was to be—

(“Don’t make me a murderer…”) (“I am a ghoul.”)

“Touched a nerve?” She danced around him, and he felt her use his back as support. “Good. Feel that. Remember that. Because it’ll never go away. Your sins, your ghosts— They’ll haunt you for the rest of your days.”

A trail of skulls that followed in his shadow. Ghouls whose names he’d never bothered to learn. Whose names he’d never learn. Their hands, their teeth, their arms all wrapped around some part of his body, creating a cloak that dragged across the floor and painted the road behind him in blood.

(“Know your weakness.”)

Kaneki felt his knees shudder under the sudden weight, threatening to crush him, but he stopped.

“I… I don’t care,” he muttered.

“Hm?” Eto pressed further down on him, trying to force him down with her weight. “How heartless, Ken Kaneki.”

“You’re the heartless one here,” he fired back, and forced her off of him, standing on his own two feet. “Aogiri… kills mercilessly. They don’t value life.”

“And you do?” She appeared again on the railing, sitting on it this time. “What do you really know about the Tree, Ken Kaneki? As someone who wasn’t there during the 11th ward raid, I’d like to know—”

He swung again with his kagune, feeling his airways clear. She moved faster than he could track her, but there was a tell. She took direct paths, meaning she leapt in a direction. As soon as he shredded the railing, he felt it for a moment. A presence, like the shadow of a bird darting over you as it flew.

In one swift motion, he seized Eto’s neck, finally connecting with her. It was thin, he thought, as he slammed her into the floor.

“Well done,” she said, and he began to squeeze.

He had to do this. This was the best way to protect Anteiku. Protect Touka and Kaya and Enji and… And…!

“Are you sure this is the right thing?”

(you’re so CLOSE)

“If you’re sure, Ken Kaneki—” her voice tightened as he pinched her airways shut, but she didn’t resist— “then I have one more thing to tell you.”

(JUST DIE ALREADY)

He lifted her up and slammed her a second time into the ground. It made those stormy green eyes wince. Good. For everything she’d done, she’d wrought, she’d suffer just the same.

(“A ghoul named Yoshimura” SHUT UP)

“You…” She reached up, slowly, and patted his cheek. “You have my thanks.”

(what?) (distraction.)

“For Yamori. He was a pest.”

(but what if—) (DISTRACTION)

His grip loosened ever so slightly, and he watched her eyes crinkle in a smile.

“Ready to listen?” she asked.

He swallowed.

— 

And that’s as far as I got before I decided to fully scrap it. Posting it here makes me feel better about doing that. Thanks for reading!

[vipier]

if i loved you back, you would kill yourself.

TRISTAN ISN'T SURE WHY THE WORDS SOUND ALMOST COMICAL TO HIM, IF BITTERLY SO. impossibly bitterly. perhaps it is the sheer irony of the situation, if one could even call this all irony, or perhaps it is the sheer fact of how utterly and incorrectly skewed he finds kenneth's position on the matter. it takes only that one statement for tristan to confirm he does not understand. but how could he? it matters little in this circumstance, this bargained bond between them ; despite its existence, the other viper cannot possibly know all the twisted depths of tris's black heart, the extent to which to receive @daylighter’s scorn feels a little too much like lovemaking in its own sick way. kenneth cannot truly comprehend, tris is certain, that to have his devotion returned would not feel right to him, as if it were slow poison. the concept of ease, the concept of mutual affection, births in his gut a cold, nauseating sickness he could not possibly describe. how could he possibly say aloud that he was born to be a mongrel pup, ever trotting at the heels of unrequited ardor despite understanding inherently that he’s likely to be kicked for it? a man like ken could never understand. perhaps that is why they find themselves here.

yet still, ken’s words spark in tristan a blind rage that he bites back only by the skin of his teeth.

“ and how I know you would take such pride in my demise, if it would not take you with it, too. ” the words, a toxin. his derisive hiss, the bitter wine in which it is delivered. his eyes spark as he looks at kenneth across the table, pausing only briefly in the task of packing his travel bag, nostrils flaring. it would do little good to pretend he does not seethe, not when he knows the bond makes it easy for his companion to reach within him, to pull those feelings from his subconscious with greedy golden fingers. how he hates him.

how he loves him.

how he yearns to draw a blade over that perfect throat as much as he wishes to taste it.

violently, he shoulders his bag after stuffing the last items carelessly into it, then takes a step back away from the table placing more distance between himself and his companion on the other side. if I loved you back. he tells himself he knew already the depths of ken’s ambivalence, how the seidhe cares only as far as his fate is now entwined irrevocably with tristan’s. two vipers, the last of their kind, binding themselves to one another eternally, daily resenting those strange vows to chaos made half on a whim while still standing their ground, as if to say, it is only by my hand that you are permitted to die. darkly, tris wonders if that makes kenneth’s statement more of a threat.

if I loved you back. you do not want him to love you back, tristan reminds himself, the words carving mercilessly into his ribcage like a serrated knife. you would be sick with it, with love, and it would choke you, and you would never recover, you who chaos did not build even for a brutal and cruel love.

if I loved you back. and even if he did, in a moment of profound weakness, find himself craving the sort of punishing love that could ever blossom between those of their ilk — were they, perhaps, different men, were ken the sort to love and tristan the sort anybody could love — he has his answer, definitive, ruthless, and he would not ask for that reminder in any softer way, despite the rage boiling now in his gut.

“ novigrad awaits, ” he says, his voice shockingly quiet, though no less frigid, no less brittle with unmasked contempt. the fury is hardly in response to the revelation that he remains unloved. no, that is a truth he’d long accepted now, before any childish hope could ever have had the opportunity to slip through the cracks. not once has he ever labored under such a possibility ; not once has he lost sleep over its perceived loss, save perhaps for his trips to the passiflora to visit his dominik. ( or is donovan? it isn’t as though that is the name by which he calls him anyway. ) he is not to be loved, but rather savaged, the faint scars remaining along his neck and torso serving as a subtle reminder of his purpose. the love he can offer is to be consumed, to give himself up as a feast to the seidhe’s appetite. all kenneth can give in return is to indulge — and even that occurs without the regularity that tristan would like, as though the other witcher somehow prefers to hold back, would rather deny him. “ I am likely to be longer than expected. by a few days, I think. do not dream to me unless it is an emergency. after all, you would not want me to start thinking you’ve any affection for me and perhaps throw myself from the wall of temple isle in despair. ”

for as calm and impassive as he would prefer to remain, even through his dark sarcasm, tristan cannot help that his tone has descended into more of a growl, like that of a feral dog. how dare ken deign to speak of such things, how dare he presume to practically lecture tris for what he had never expected in the first place. in itself, it’s insulting, even amongst the many cruel things that tend to come from that pretty mouth. it is not the rejection that enflames him, for rejection is not rejection at all where hope has never lived, but the presumption itself that makes him briefly — so terribly irrationally — wish to sink a blade into kenneth’s heart and end their foolish bargain right here. “ I will return when I return. no doubt you will be glad of my absence. at least try to get something done while I’m gone. ”

[plugrick]

Mike bent down on one knee and took his bony flesh hand in a chitinous claw, gently sliding it up to his elbow so that they were arm in arm. His other hand reaching up to sweetly caress his cheek…

Rick didn’t know what to say. The tenderness of the killer’s touch took the human off guard. It was just so - so out of place here, within the cold blank walls of the interrogation room that had once been host to so much pain. The human let out a shuddering breath, a wash of relief cutting through the sense of impending doom that had taken ahold of him.

Rick gazed back into concerned ruby red eyes, a hundred fractal reflections of his tear streaked face staring back at him. He was worse for wear with a black bruise over one of his puffy eyes, but in that moment he wasn’t upset about his vanity. He couldn’t help but get a little lost when he just… looked at Mike…

Mike, who had saved his life a thousand times and had always been his shoulder to cry on. Mike, who had been served to Lizardperson on a silver platter and made to suffer agonizing venom withdrawal. Who had broken his seal and gone berserk and genuinely tried to kill him. Who had said all of those terrible things about the death of his family, and how he was just like Flannax and Lizardperson, and wished they had never fallen in love in the first place. Who had, despite endless lamentations about how hated Lizardperson was, bore witness to his past self begging to be returned to cruel teeth.

Rick’s expression darkened and he pointedly averted his gaze, his face burning with shame. His logic and emotions were so jumbled and twisted up with one another that it felt like his insides were knotted into a balloon animal.

Any other time before what had happened back at the safe house, before what had been revealed on those screens to the entire Outpost, Rick would have found immense comfort in the special forearm hold he maintained with Mike. But… it was hard to do that anymore… Things were different now and so very far from being fine…

Kenneth, who was mostly oblivious to the subtle communication of body language between the killer and his human, sat down on the opposite side of the table and continued off of his old friend’s explanation. His voice was even and kind, in consideration of the human beings perceived fragility in the moment.

“It’s true. None of you will be prisoners here,” he began matter-of-factly, drawing Rick’s attention. He glared daggers at Ken, his brow set low over his fiery eyes. “And none of you will come to any harm aboard my ship. All I need from you in return is information pertaining to the creature so that we can better combat it.”

“….”

Rick sat in stony silence, practically burning holes in the Grand Leader with his glower alone. What was this guys deal, anyway? Mike said he was an old friend, but that didn’t mean anything - Mike had been pretty close with Flannax in the past, too. And he hadn’t missed the squeeze that indicated that they should be cautious as to what they reveal. As far as he knew, Ken was an enemy poised to slaughter them both.

More importantly than that, though, was the fact that Ken was the one responsible for humiliating him. It was his fault that those decade old tapes had been played at all. Revealing just how desperate he had been, how he’d chosen to go back to Lizardperson—!

“… You. Y-you just put. One of the worst days of my life. On full display. For you and your little cronies to - to crank off to.” He seethed. “W-w-what, you - you people didn’t torture enough out of me th-the first time around, y-yyyyou garflamp-sucking dickhead?!”

Ken blinked, taken aback by the contemptuous venom that he was spoken to with. Nobody on the Outpost dared to address him with such brevity and rudeness, since he was the Grand Leader and all. It was unusual for him to hear, and it frankly stunned him a little.

“I… Excuse me?”

X

[slimeypuppy]

A Circle Is Round: Duty-Bound (1/4)

Summary: Character studies on the Roy children through their trauma.

Day: 6 | WC: 1.1k | AO3 | Prompt: Screams from Across the Hall

Connor was already well into his teens before he has any siblings to speak of. He honestly had been assuming that he wouldn’t ever have any, either by his neurotic mother or his distant father, but he’d been reabsorbed into the family unit just in time to meet the little dark-eyed baby that represented a new line of heirs for his father’s business. Now, he’s caught in his twenties trying to figure out where and if he fits in at all to the family that has sprung up in his place.

Some of the things that Connor notices in the rearing of his new siblings are familiar from his own upbringing, while others are brand new and at times repulsive to him. His father of course disciplined him from time to time; he doesn't remember anything bad when he was extremely little, but he went to high school with a black eye more than once. He knows Logan Roy has to keep his potential heirs in line somehow. He just isn't sure this is necessary.

He stays in his room with his quilt pulled up to his chin and his eyes shut. Down the hall, his three little siblings should be safe, sound, and asleep. One of them is crying. It's not Kendall, who outgrew crying at night three years ago, but it's not shrill enough to be baby Siobhan. That leaves Roman. The only child their father has less compassion for than Connor is Roman.

Silently, he wills Roman to be quiet. Without attention, he should cry himself out soon. The longer it takes him to do so the worse it'll be when someone else comes to quiet him. Connor should go get him to settle down, certain that he'd be a better option to soothe a distraught four year old than his father might at this hour. He means to do it. It's just that his blankets feel heavy and there's some little kid inside of him that never grew up and is too afraid of what wrath he might invoke in turn. 

The decision is made for him when their father's door slams open. It only takes eight thunderous footfalls for him to get to Roman, whose cries echo louder now that his bedroom door is open. Connor covers his ears with his pillow like it'll be enough. 

"I'm sorry, Daddy! I'm sorry! I'll be good!"

Connor has cataloged his siblings' cries. Siobhan especially, since she's still too young to explain what she needs most of the time. He knows when Roman is crying just to make a sound, to call attention to himself and get someone to fix whatever perceived problem is in front of him. That cry is always high and piercing, at a decibel that Kendall always makes a face about. Then there's the way he cries when he wants something and someone made the mistake of telling him no. 

Roman doesn't cry like that when Logan Roy disciplines his sons. The first sound is more of a screech than anything, shock over pain. It's fear. Then he actually sobs, proper things heavier than whatever Roman had been upset about before, hitching as he tries to breathe between blubbered apologies. Connor can hear him, afraid, in pain, needing help, but with the knowledge that his father is in the room, he can't make himself come to help. He's a failure. 

Another door, another voice, rings out like there's no reason to be quiet at this time of night. Kendall's voice hasn't dropped yet. It, too, is high pitched and warbling, but Connor admires the bravery he himself doesn't possess as an adult when he hears Kendall snap for their dad to leave Roman the fuck alone. 

"Go back to bed, Ken," Connor pleads into his pillow.

He doesn’t catch what their father says in response, but he hears Kendall bounce off the walls from a forceful shove and another painful wail from Roman’s room. The youngest Roy son’s screaming drowns out the specifics of the shouting match Kendall and his father get into, and this combination only serves to wake up Siobhan, who starts crying in her nursery as well. 

Siobhan is what makes him swallow down his terror and get out of bed. The nanny won’t hear her over the commotion, Caroline can’t be dragged out of bed for her children once she’s shut her eyes for the night, and if Logan hears her, he certainly won’t respond with compassion. Connor gets out of bed as silently as he can manage even with the cacophony around him, and creeps out of his room and into the hallway. 

Kendall is in the doorway of Roman’s room, it looks like, with a determined grimace on his face and shaking fists by his side. “Don’t fucking touch him!” The language is too foul for a seven year old, but it is one of the only things Connor has heard him say without a stutter, and he doesn’t look up to see Connor, someone who should be able to help him, lingering a few feet away.

He lets himself into the nursery and shuts the door behind him. Siobhan’s not screaming yet, the way she does when she’s really upset, and her tiny face turns red and she lashes out with her little fists. She’s just scared. Connor reaches into her crib to pick her up, gathering soft blankets with her in the process. More so than Kendall, and even Roman, she has been a fussy baby prone to fits of irritation and colic, but she allows him to soothe her this time. As he paces her nursery, rocking her and trying to remember if he’s even holding her correctly, her whining cries soften, and eventually drift to nothing.

It is then that Connor realizes how silent the world has become. Whatever happened to his brothers, it is over now. There’s a part of him that half-expects to see remains of their father’s rage when he hesitantly cracks Siobhan’s door, but all seems to have gone back to its place. The door to the master bedroom is now shut. Roman’s door is shut. Connor’s door is shut Kendall’s is cracked. 

Like the plush carpet beneath him has been replaced with eggshells, he tip-toes to Kendall’s room. The lights are off, as is expected, though the bright nightlight over his desk bathes the room in a gentle blue glow. Kendall has propped himself up against the wall, jaw set despite his fat bottom lip and bruising eye socket, with Roman curled up against him to hide from the world. He looks at Connor. 

The accusation in his eyes could be real, or it could be a mental manifestation of Connor’s own profound guilt about what goes on in this house, but regardless, Kendall does not stop Connor from sitting with them and arranging Siobhan in one arm so that his brothers can also huddle up against him. 

He draws the blankets up around Kendall and Roman’s shoulders. He won’t be able to sleep tonight, but he can make them feel safer, and hopefully they’ll eventually rest. 

[shihalyfie]

Daisuke and Ken’s dynamic, and what Ken does for Daisuke in return

Everyone in the main 02 cast can be said to be a little surface-deceptive in some way, and so, even with Daisuke and Ken as the relationship at the forefront of 02′s story, there’s still more going on behind it than first glance would initially make you suspect. It’s all too easy to just take the surface reading and decide that Daisuke is some kind of saint whom Ken is singularly dependent on for his happiness (which would really be quite the unhealthy relationship), or, worse, shove them into the stereotypical BL tropes just because they’re the two at the front, even though the story practically went out of its way to depict them as unusual characters who don’t fit into those kinds of boxes as easily.

Even though it wasn’t stated outright in words, Ken did a lot for Daisuke in return, and there’s a lot of layers to their relationship to each other both in the series and in going forward after it.

What Daisuke does for Ken

That Daisuke and Ken have very “complementary” personalities goes without saying, but this applies to both their surface demeanors and what lies beneath them. Daisuke has an abrasive surface demeanor and a tendency to get defensive, but isn’t actually very assertive at all; on the other hand, Ken is more polite and ostensibly “soft”, but is significantly more assertive than Daisuke is. This also means that, while it would of course be foolhardy to pretend that Ken could easily shrug off all of his trauma, it’s also conversely reductive to shove the two of them into boxes where Ken is a constant crybaby angsting over everything bad that’s happened to him while Daisuke’s the only ray of sunshine who can get him out of it. A lot of Ken’s strength in the series is self-supplied; he of course does end up needing the others’ support at times, but extreme readings like this really don’t give the kid enough credit for how good he is at gritting his teeth and pushing on without anyone prompting him.

The initial problem, however, is that Ken is too assertive about the wrong things at first. Like, say, in 02 episode 26, when he assertively says that he’s going to...recklessly chuck himself into an exploding reactor! For the third quarter of the series, Ken deliberately tries to keep his distance from others, and is very clear and open about his reasons why: in his mind, it’s his responsibility, and the others shouldn’t have to be involved. He doesn’t want their friendship, he doesn’t even think he deserves their friendship, and here’s Daisuke going “okay, yeah, but that’s stupid, shut up and let us help you.”

Adventure and 02 have a strong thread of driving it home that “doing things on sheer principle eventually becomes pointless when it gets in the way of being practical” -- and Daisuke, being a simple-minded and “straightforward” person who doesn’t overthink things, is basically there to keep Ken’s focus back on the proper picture. Because yeah, Ken can attempt to do things like frame things in terms of whether he “deserves” all of this, or “whose responsibility” this all is -- but the fact of the matter is that Daisuke and his friends want to do something and help instead of being sitting ducks about it, Ken’s practically not going to be able to do this alone, and, well, that’s the base of their first Jogress in 02 episode 26! Ken says outright that his goal is to do something to help, but then decides that “helping” should involve suicidally chucking himself into an exploding reactor, and Daisuke, hearing out Ken’s troubles, reminds him that him dying there won’t actually help the way Ken wants to help, because it won’t leave him alive to do all of the other things he wants to do and will hurt his family even more just when he was starting to repair things with them -- and as much as this extremely suicidal plan might temporarily spare the others from dying in an explosion, Daisuke would have to live with the guilt of letting Ken go off to die like that, so it won’t make him happy either.

So in other words, while Ken’s trying to sort out his complicated feelings of guilt, shame, and sense of responsibility, Daisuke’s there to keep his head on straight and remind him when he’s about to run himself in mental circles. Ken would have easily spent the rest of the series trying to make up for what he did even without Daisuke’s help, because he’s such a strong believer in “the right thing to do”, but his way of going on about it would have involved him staying in isolation out of a perceived sense of responsibility, endangering himself out of a sense of self-sacrifice, drowning himself in self-blame and feelings of regret, and, eventually, not addressing the very gaping hole in his life that he very much needs emotional support from others right now.

One thing particularly interesting about the Japanese version of 02 is that, for nearly the entirety of the second half of the series, Ken only refers to Daisuke as “Motomiya”, which is surprising given the fact that he employs given-name basis with the others quite quickly. Ken eventually does commit to “Daisuke” after the series in almost all post-02 material, and this image fits the two so well that pretty much every doujinshi artist has caught onto it despite it not being there all that much in the actual series, but it really took him a while; what gives? (Daisuke himself committed to “Ken” from surname basis “Ichijouji” starting in 02 episode 39.) Well, the important distinction is that Ken dropped the honorific with him from very early on -- meaning that he did want to approach Daisuke with a little bit of casual bluntness in a way beyond the distant respect he treated the others with, but at the time, going straight to buddy-buddy on given name with no honorific at all would have been a bit too much for him, and it comes off as him almost deliberately giving off a sense of distance. Why?

Ken didn’t have too much of an opinion on each individual kid in the group until 02 episode 8, when he developed a particular hatred for Daisuke for “ruining his pride” and decided to emotionally torture him a bit. Then, come 02 episode 25, this same kid approached him with no sense of grudge whatsoever, and presents him with a completely different way of seeing things: “whatever you did in the past, you’re clearly trying to help now, which means we’re now on the same side, so we should work together.” It’s pragmatic; it’s extremely pragmatic, and it’s not like Daisuke was working off of blind optimism and trust as much as he observed, very practically, that Ken was clearly trying to do better now and that therefore they should work together and make use of it. This kind of thought pattern is completely alien to Ken’s “I deserve/don’t deserve this” mentality at this point of this series, and by all standards of his own logic Daisuke should be one of the people who hates him the most, and yet -- nope!

By the time of their Jogress, Ken of course understands that Daisuke’s trying very hard to communicate with him, and thus they develop a sort of rapport -- but they’re not quite friends yet at the level of truly being “comfortable” with each other, because most of the second half of the series involved circumstances where Daisuke was helping Ken through a very emotionally hard time. It’s only at the point of the Christmas party in 02 episode 38 when Ken can really think about having these kids as real friends in terms of socializing and not just people who are willing to work with him in his penance journey. It’s enough that Ken’s able to admit that he wants the help of Daisuke in 02 episode 44, when beforehand he’d been trying to keep everyone out of what he’d perceived as his business. And, as Ken’s slowly more exposed to Daisuke’s way of life and its influence on the rest of the group around him, he comes to understand that maybe having a “close friend who can support him” isn’t that bad after all, since it’s not like these friends are just being “open-minded” towards him; they really are there to support him and his actual feelings and welfare, not just “cutting him slack” because he’s helping.

And so, with that, once the crisis is resolved and all is said and done, Ken finally truly accepts Daisuke as his friend and moves him up to given-name basis (no honorific!). This is most prominently shown in Diablomon Strikes Back, where their interactions are now removed from the question of Ken’s former actions and his emotional problems, and it turns out, they’re still good friends in the sense that friends are. As in, people who laugh together, hang out together, converse with each other casually; even if they are working together on the same thing for the duration of the movie, it’s not such an emotionally tense situation that you could chalk their interactions up to sheer necessity. With Daisuke’s help, Ken was able to move on from all of his past hangups, and the two of them became able to enjoy the moment of “now” like normal children.

What Ken does for Daisuke

Daisuke may be simple-minded enough to not have deep-seated concerns that eat at him every day, but that doesn’t change the fact that he was a bit socially maladjusted during the early parts of the series. Namely, being really insecure and prone to getting defensive whenever he felt he was being made fun of. Those kinds of things were what was most likely to get Daisuke to “lash out” at others, because he slips into his worst bouts of these whenever he’s lacking in validation.

Daisuke was, undoubtedly, improving over the course of the series, with him slowly starting to become more assertive by the time of 02 episode 20. It’s incorrect to say that Ken was the only person who could truly help him with this; 02 is a series about a group dynamic after all (even if the Jogress pairs are the most instrumental in helping each other), and it would be a pretty unhealthy relationship if one person were so dependent on another to even remotely function. But starting in 02 episode 22, when the crisis is momentarily resolved and everyone’s not sure what to do, Daisuke’s feeling of being third wheeled by Takeru and Hikari shoots up right at the moment everyone’s feeling a bit lacking in purpose. Two episodes later, Miyako immediately stages an intervention to help keep his mind off of things, and she’s arguably even the most comfortable with him at this point in time.

It’s not that Daisuke isn’t improving, nor that his friends aren’t trying to help, but, well...emotionally sensitive as Miyako can be, she’s also a bit all over the place herself and sometimes needs restraining; Hikari may be assertive, but she’s pretty obviously apprehensive about shutting Daisuke down too bluntly, and Takeru being so hard to read and evasive about everything means that Daisuke can’t really tell what he’s thinking or understand his intentions; Iori is younger and is restraining himself, so he still won’t cross certain lines with Daisuke. So as you can see, they’re all doing their best, and they’re not doing a terrible job of it either; hell, the rest of the series involves them maturing into people who can better interact with and support each other, so their own relationships with Daisuke are likely to improve even well after the series ends. It’s just that, especially at this point in the series, there’s definitely room for an extra person to fill a certain niche that’s got a gaping void here, begging for someone who’s assertive and put-together enough to regularly keep Daisuke in check, yet also willing to be properly straightforward with him to the extent that he doesn’t have to feel insecure about their intentions. Hmm, who could that be?

Although “the priority of reaching out to Ken” eventually becomes enough of a distraction that it certainly takes Daisuke’s mind off potentially feeling insecure, as we start to see more “casual” interactions between Daisuke and Ken, we see that Ken actually fills in a lot of the gaps that had been so sorely missing in this group dynamic for a while. Forward-thinking as he is, Daisuke’s simple-minded way of going at things has its drawbacks in that he’s not very smart or good at thinking, but Ken is the opposite, being intellectually analytical and much more thoughtful overall, and since Daisuke is the kind of person who defers to others when they’re better than him at something, Ken being right next to him means that he can give him a hand in making important decisions he can’t by himself. This is especially so in Diablomon Strikes Back, when Ken’s role is largely keeping an eye on Daisuke and making sure he’s not a loose cannon -- something he’s very capable of doing -- but also simply being there as a springboard whom Daisuke can comfortably approach and talk to, since Ken is such a mild-mannered, straightforward person who won’t set off his overly defensive tendencies as easily.

That doesn’t mean that Ken is completely above teasing him, of course -- a lot of post-02 material in fact makes sure you understand that he’s not just some soft-hearted saint and can be quite the snarker when he wants, since his increased comfort level with Daisuke means he’s now able to poke at him here and there, even doing something as mean as dumping all of the Christmas shopping on him (the character songs and other related in-character material lie in questionably canonical territory, but that kind of punchline is not unreasonable to imagine given their respective personalities). But, overall, he sets the right tone for Daisuke to have a friend he’s able to be around regularly and receive support from, and to fill in that niche of his casual interactions so that Daisuke can have some more solid grounding in his life.

It’s also a testament to how much Ken himself had changed in terms of becoming the kind of person who could handle Daisuke like this. When the two of them first “met” in 02 episode 8, while Ken was still fully under the influence of the Dark Seed, even if we were to put the part about him being the Kaiser aside, this sort of person would never be able to become a good friend to Daisuke. This episode had Daisuke put him on a pedestal -- someone he’ll never be able to be as good as, whom he looks up to as an “idol”, much like the way Daisuke has a tendency to instinctively put himself down in uplifting others. Thus, it was a negative relationship for both of them; Ken being put on a pedestal that ultimately made him uncomfortable, and Daisuke contributing to putting him there in the first place, and taking it extra personally when that pedestal was shattered. But then, Daisuke himself (and, ultimately, the rest of the group) became able to treat Ken like the “normal person” he wanted to be, with no pedestals, simply considering him as a friend with his own feelings and needs; as a result, being this sort of “normal person” making friends through his true personality and desire to support others meant paved the way for him becoming the one person who was best equipped to deal with the very difficult-to-handle Daisuke.

Incidentally, in terms of Kizuna: considering how 02 was such a series about everyone becoming people who could fundamentally interact and communicate better with others, it stands to reason that everyone’s relationships with each other would uniformly improve even after the events of 02, and you can see better interactions between everyone that go beyond just the Jogress pairs. Ken’s clearly able to interact with more of the people in the group in a much more casual manner than he did in 02 itself, and it’s made an important point in the drama CD that Daisuke took everyone’s incidental advice to heart, not just Ken’s. However, advertising material still prominently features the two as a pair, and although part of this is of course due to marketing, Ken is also the one who gets the final words in extracting his “promise” from Daisuke in the drama CD; the official website also calls special attention to him being the one to accompany Daisuke on his ramen outings, even though the one depicted in the drama CD and movie was planned to involve everyone in the group. There are multiple indications that Daisuke himself has learned to become somewhat less defensive and prone to insecurity compared to himself in 02, and it seems that this was accomplished via Ken still actively putting himself in a role of checking on him and making sure he feels properly supported in all of this.

[novarpg]

WELCOME TO NOVA, KENNETH "KEN" HARGREAVES

Age: 29 Birthday: September 9th Gender identity: Cis Male Pronouns: he/him Face-claim: Miles Teller Clan of origin: New Pittsburg Occupation at Nova: Builder

Bio:

Old money isn’t a term that’s thrown around lightly. Hell, it isn’t even a term in most places, not anymore. But New Pittsburg isn’t most places, and the Hargreaves weren’t most families. They were old money. The Hargreaves line went back on Ken’s mom’s side, though he’d always gotten along best with his mama. Perhaps that’s why he was given as much leeway as he was - overcompensation to minimize the risk of a favorite mother, or the perception of a favorite child. 

Ken never strayed close enough to destruction to cross any lines, but he made sure everyone had a good time, no matter whether or not they could afford the alcohol or any drugs being passed around (Ken kept a no-drugs policy for himself after a few experiments gone poorly as a teenager, but he didn’t judge his friends their fun). Ken was charming, easy-going, and remarkably resourceful, despite his tendencies to be impulsive, cocky, and a touch dense. He bought rounds for the tables and danced with everyone, staggering home at dawn and making the family big, greasy breakfasts. His mama found it endearing, while his mom ate her eggs in a silence of mixed emotions.

Ken never knew if his older sister never was given the same freedoms he was, or simply never asked for them. He’d never asked her. He’d just done what he wanted. The world was handed to Ken on a silver platter, and it never occurred to him to ask why. It simply was. 

Being declared heir to his mom’s company had been a surprise - both to him and to his older sister - but numbers came easy to him and delegating tasks to others came even easier, so Vice President of Operations was a comfortable seat. No one had to think him incredible, just competent enough not to need replacing. Ken assumed his life would be just that - a comfortable seat - and for a while anyway, it was.

Ken’s mama got sick, not of the illness that had ravaged the world, but an older illness no one had expected. It was treatable, the doctors said, back before the Collapse. But the technology just hadn’t survived. Neither did Ken’s mama.

He went to a bar instead of the funeral, and began firing any employee who crossed him at work. He hated the world and wanted anyone in it to know. Ken was angry, and took it out on everyone around him, including his mom, who assured him that she was just as angry as he was, but that didn’t give her the right to go around acting like an asshole. Ken’s sister mostly stayed out of the fights, grieving in a perceived silence, or perhaps just more silent than the screaming matches between Ken and his mom. When their voices were hoarse, she’d hug them both and go to bed. She was usually gone before sunrise.

When the opportunity came to apply to be one of the first fifty colonists of Nova from New Pittsburg, Ken didn’t think much about it. He assumed he’d join them soon, when the colony was good and ready, and until then he had his work here. The pink slip at his office door told him differently. Ken’s mother had gotten him a spot in the group, she told him. It was last minute, but some money had been exchanged and some strings had been pulled. So, in order to win back his mom’s trust, Ken headed out.

He assumed he would be working in the government or some sort of leadership role. When Ken was handed a hard hat and introduced to his building team, he was flabbergasted. He had never worked manual labor a day in his life. That was something other people did. He tried to explain that there had been a mistake, but soon learned there was none. His mom had gotten him this assignment, and he would not be allowed back to her company, let alone inherit it, if he were to be fired now. As the final fuel added to his fire, Ken’s mom let him know that it was what his mama would have wanted. And so Ken could resent her all he wanted, but it was time for him to get to work.

PENNED BY: MAGS

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 32: Wings in Amber

Summary: In the midst of hollowed dreams, a choice must be made.

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Chapter 32: Wings in Amber

***

“Claire?”

The sound of someone calling her name dragged her from the grip of the peaceful darkness she’d been resting in. “Claire? Wake up, a leannan,” came the call again. It sounded urgent, even scared, but Claire felt too muted to respond. Until the realization of whose voice it was hit her, at the same time as she became aware of warm hands cupping her shoulders and pulling her upward from the bed. 

“Jamie?” she murmured, fighting now against the waves of exhaustion that crashed over her head. 

“Claire? Oh thank Christ,” came her beloved’s voice, “ye scared me, mo ghraidh.” 

Forcing her eyes open, she found herself cradled in his embrace, leaning against one of his strong arms and one of his hands holding the side of her face. 

“Good morning, lass,” Jamie said as she met his eyes. 

She wanted to say it back to him. She wanted to say anything at all. But the words seemed caught inside her mind, unable to be expressed. She panicked for a second, thinking she may never get a chance to tell him how much she loved him.

“Jamie, I love you,” came from her lips as she suddenly realized her mouth was able to move after all. 

It looked as if she had hit him square in the gut rather than express her love, but her eyes were falling closed, and she couldn’t think more on it. 

“I love you, Sassenach,” his deep voice echoed, “dinna fash, I ken.” 

She didn’t know what that meant. Everything seemed foggy for a second, as if she was trying to perceive the world through a haze of cotton. She must have lost track of time because the next thing she was aware of was the feeling of Jamie’s warm hand shaking her cheek. 

“Hey, stay wi’ me now, lass,” he rumbled. 

The muscles of her face tightened in concentration as she managed to open her eyes again. 

“Aye, there ye are,” Jamie said, an odd tinge in his voice that made him sound like he was choking. 

That worried her, but she couldn’t seem to focus her mind on it. He seemed too distant, so far out of her grasp. 

His thumb traced back and forth over her cheek as he stroked it with a sweet fondness that made her feel infinitesimally better. 

“We’re goin’ tae go out for a bit,” he said, making Claire’s attention pique. 

She thought for a second maybe she’d imagined it. Surely he couldn’t have been suggesting…

“I can’t, Jamie,” there was an edge of pleading in her voice. 

“Only for a wee while, and then ye can rest,” he said. He sounded terribly strange, like his light words didn’t match the strain in his vocal cords. What was going on? 

“Please, don’t make me, I’m so tired,” she breathed, trying to keep the whimper inside her throat. 

“I ken ye’re tired, but this willna take but a few moments, and I’ll carry ye.” 

She opened her eyes— not aware that they had fallened closed— and fixed them directly on Jamie’s. Tears of desperation beaded at the corners as she thought of doing anything but laying there in the safety of his arms and in their bed. 

“Please, Jamie,” she swallowed hard, “I’m so tired. Please. Just hold me?” 

She’d made that request before; several times. But never before had she meant it as much as she had in that moment. 

Something was going on in Jamie’s face, but she couldn’t identify what. He was starting to scare her. Nothing he was doing made sense to her brain, and she felt a shred of terror take root in her heart that something was wrong with him. Was he pulling away? Why was he refusing to hold her when he never had before? 

Her fears were assuaged when he gave a jerky nod and suddenly pulled her into an embrace. Perhaps embrace wasn’t the right word for it because Claire couldn’t manage to make her limbs respond enough to return it, but he pulled her upper body tight against him and buried his face in her hair. 

“Alright, a leannan, it can wait. I’ll hold ye for a little while longer.” 

Claire felt a sigh escape her lips, feeling relieved. That was good. Very good. She let her eyes flutter closed as Jamie began to move, repositioning her while she remained limp under his capable hands. Soon, she was horizontal on the bed again, and his body was pressed behind her. His arms came around to her to pull her securely back against him, and they didn’t leave her. They would never leave her. 

He was saying something then, speaking words over her that she couldn’t quite make out. It sounded nice and she wished she could listen to them. Even without understanding though, she felt a tug of wellness deep within her soul. 

She was drifting again, lost in that odd sea of grey oblivion, but this time, she was content. Jamie was there with her; she could still feel his body against hers even as her mind began to swirl. Everything would be okay, she knew it, as long as he was with her, holding her in his arms. 

***

Numb. 

Jamie was numb with despair. 

It was a feeling so debilitating that Jamie could scarcely bring himself to move. Except the resignation was stronger still. 

This time, there was no choice. 

It wasn’t like the raw heartbreak that he’d experienced the first time he took her to the stones because there was no decision. No room for regret or guilt. There was only action to be taken. 

Action that would tear them apart forever. 

But somehow, despite the knowledge that he had one course only and there was nothing more to be done but act, the sorrow and grief still cut him to the quick. 

As much as he wanted to cry and scream and rage over how unfair it was, one glimpse at the love of his life— so still and ashen it was like there was barely an ounce of life left in her— he couldn’t. He had to do what needed to be done, and he had to be strong enough to do it. 

It couldn’t be delayed any longer. When she’d pleaded with him in that small voice just to hold her for a little while— not even knowing what lay ahead— he gave into weakness. In the time he’d spent laying with her then, watching her in that uneasy sleep that brought no rest for her fatigued body, it had taken all his strength to convince himself again of what needed to be done. He had to keep reminding himself that there was no choice. No alternatives. He couldn’t wait any longer— he was selfishly taking time she didn’t have. 

He gently gathered her in his arms, lifting her up from the bed to cradle her upper body against his chest. 

“Jamie?” she murmured, the word coming out slurred, disoriented. 

She was barely conscious. Oh God. God help him. 

“Dinna fash, mo ghraidh,” he said, not even aware that he had said it. How had his lips formed the words? He didn’t know. 

Her glassy eyes closed again, her head resting bonelessly against his shoulder. He raised a hand to gently stroke her cheek. 

She was so lovely even in her suffering. 

Christ, he would miss her beyond words...

—Enough of those thoughts! They could stop him altogether, and there was no room for that. No room for anything but action.  

With gentleness so extreme it nearly killed him, he brought his arm underneath her knees and stood, lifting her fragile form from the bed. 

He prayed she wouldn’t wake enough while they were at home to argue with him again. Please God...— he didn’t even know what to plead. That she stayed unconscious the whole time, or that she would wake enough to say goodbye? He didn’t know which would be worse. Or which would be better. Neither could be better. 

Carrying her out to the car, his stomach churning with the realization that this was the last time she’d ever be in his house, Jamie forced himself onward. 

It had to be done. To save her. 

His name fell from her lips again. It was almost a cry, an incoherent pleading for him to make things better. 

“Dinna fash, a leannan,” he answered, “I’m here. I’ll see ye safe. I promised ye I’ll see ye safe.”  

She settled again, going still and lifeless in his arms in a way that terrified him to the very core. Looking down, her face was nearly pale as a porcelain doll’s, and just as perfect. Those lashes curled against her cheek, dark and delicate. Only she was missing her usual glow. What had been a bright shine when he’d first found her had gradually faded into a muted shimmer until now the only thing that surrounded her was an air of heaviness. 

God, give him strength. 

Somehow, taking stock of her made it easier for him to take the next steps. He focused on the fact that there was no choice. Nowhere to go but straight ahead. Nothing to do but send her away. 

He set her in the backseat of the car, tears nearly falling at the thought that he would have to spend much of their last precious few minutes away from her, but he wanted her to be able to lay down comfortably. 

She didn’t protest when he gently deposited her into the backseat. There was no peep from her, and he started to panic at the thought that she might very well be unconscious when the time came to send her through the stones. 

He left her there to get in the driver’s seat, and that tiny effort nearly broke him. How would he possibly have the strength to do what needed to be done? 

As he drove toward those terrible stones, his mind couldn’t help but cry out at the injustice. 

He had thought he’d be able to hold her for the rest of his days. He’d dreamed of their life together. He’d been careless with the time they’d had, thinking it forever. Jamie didn’t understand how such happiness could be ripped from him so quickly. How the promise of a life with her could end up so hollow? 

Promises. He’d made so many to himself and said so few aloud. There was so much more to say. Too many things. 

He should have said them when he had the chance. 

Before long, the hill came into view, and he parked the car at the edge of the road. 

She was limp as a ragdoll as he gathered her into his arms, her head falling against his shoulder when he picked her up. 

“Hold on,” he murmured, pressing one kiss to the top of her curls, and then another, “hold on, mo chridhe. I’ve got ye.” 

It felt like he was wearing boots made entirely of lead as he began his trek toward the hill. Every step felt like it would be his last— surely his strength would give and his resolve would break. Only he kept moving, kept going toward the stones. Because he had to. 

“Jamie?” 

This time, there was coherence to the whispered sound of his name. Jamie looked down in surprise to find glassy eyes regarding him with confusion. 

His heart sang with relief at the same time as anxiety flooded his veins. 

“Hi, sweet one. It’s good tae see those beautiful eyes.” 

“Where are we?” voice small and oh-so fatigued. 

His tongue couldn’t seem to form the words to tell her that they were walking toward the stones. He tried to tell her the truth, only he couldn’t seem to do it. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. He closed it again, swallowing hard. 

“I want to go home,” she said, pained and breathless. 

Home— oh Christ. She was going home. Only she meant his home, the home that had become theirs, but he was sending her home . 

“Jes’ a little bit longer,” he said, only sheer resolve and monumental will keeping him from choking on the words. That was the truth. It would only be a little bit longer, and then she’d be home— gone from him forever. 

She didn’t answer, and he wondered for a second if she’d drifted out of consciousness again. But when he looked down, he noticed her eyes were still open and there was a tear tracking slowly from the corner of one eye. 

If his heart had not already been torn from his chest, that would have done him in. He stopped in his tracks, his breath catching in his lungs. 

“What is it, mo ghraidh?” he asked, wrecked beyond repair. 

“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head, “I don’t know why I’m crying.”  

He couldn’t bring himself to move. He couldn’t take one step closer to the stones. 

And then... his love— the very breath of his lungs and beat of his heart— said to him, so quietly it was barely more than a whisper, “I love you, Jamie. You know that?” 

All his resolve fell to pieces. Obliterated, shattered, wrecked until it was a pile of dust. He sank to his knees, every ligament feeling like jelly. He ended up on the ground with grass tickling at his legs and Claire cradled in his lap, her beautiful but haunted eyes gazing up at him with so much trust— some much love— that he could barely stand it. He swallowed, hard. 

There was one thing and one thing only on his heart and on his tongue. 

Don’t say it. 

It’s not fair. 

You have no right. 

But he couldn’t stop it any more than he could stop the flow of water after a dam had broken. There was nothing left to do but embrace the wave and the words he’d been aching to say for too damn long. 

You can’t do this. 

Hold yer tongue. 

Don’t say it, you goddamn bloody bastard.

“Marry me,” he said anyway, the words falling from his lips as if they had been torn from his very soul, “marry me, Claire. I want you to be mine.” 

You selfish bastard. 

But he couldn’t stop. He was only human after all; he was weak. His heart longed to be left with one thing….

He wanted the knowledge that after she was gone from him, she would still be his. 

And that was the most despicable thing he’d done in his life. 

He had no right to ask that of her. 

“Yes, Jamie, of course I want that,” she was saying, “I’m yours forever.” But she didn’t know... She didn’t—

“Right now,” he burst out, “we can be handfast now. Please Claire, please say yes, mo ghraidh.” 

She struggled to lift her head from his shoulder, as if she was trying to sit up, only she lacked the strength even to raise her face. 

“Yes,” she said. 

Her eyes were dazed, glassy with exhaustion, but there was joy there too. She’d wanted this for as long as he had— he knew. Only she didn’t know what he really was asking of her. Not to be his forever with him, but to be his forever without him. 

Jamie thought himself a good man, but he wasn’t without his flaws. Of all his transgressions, he thought asking this of her might have been the worst. But he prayed that God would grant him forgiveness. And that the knowledge of their union would keep him for the rest of his lonely days. 

“Alright then,” he said, a bit shakily, his breath hitching in his chest. 

He let go of Claire with one hand and went fumbling around in his pocket. All he needed was something to bind them, anything, but he had nothing of use. His jacket sleeve would have to do. 

Handfasting was an ancient ritual, not typically used in the present day and age, but it still held weight in Scottish culture. It particularly held weight for Jamie, as his parents had been handfast at the tender age of 18 when they’d run away together. A handfasting was a promise: between two people and God. And that was all he needed. 

As he wrapped the sleeve around his and Claire’s wrists, he explained this to her, his voice shaking slightly. 

“It means we’ll be bonded fer life, ye ken?” he finished. They’d talked about the concept of human marriage before, but he wanted to be certain she knew the weight of the ceremony before they began. 

“I told you, Jamie,” she breathed weakly, “I knew we were bonded for life a long time ago. I was just waiting for you to catch up.” 

“I’m wi’ ye now, mo chridhe,” he whispered.

The dress she was wearing was her favorite— the white dress that had been hanging on display in Mrs. Fitz’ shop that day, the first one she’s tried on. It was like a stab to the heart to think that this dress was now her wedding dress. He would have decked her in the finest lace and most beautiful wedding attire there was, but it brought him some small comfort to see her at least in white, in something she loved. 

He wished he could sit her up and look straight into her eyes as they said the words, but he knew she lacked the strength. He kept her laid against his arm, staring down at her in adoration. 

“Repeat after me,” he said softly. 

She gave a nod against his shoulder. 

“You are Blood of my Blood and Bone of My Bone,” Jamie began, feeling a shiver run across his body. 

She repeated after him, sounding breathless but sure. Her thumb brushed across his forearm where they grasped each other. It was a small sign of affection, but it soothed Jamie’s aching heart. 

“I give you my body, that we two may be one.” 

Feeling her laying against him, it seemed like she had already given him her body. She could barely move, yet trusted him so completely. Jamie swallowed hard, trying not to think about how they’d never have the opportunity to belong to each other in a physical sense. 

“I give you my spirit, ‘til our life shall be done.” 

Their life together would be done soon. Jamie hated himself for asking her to make this promise, but she’d be released from it the moment she went through the stones. Not him, though. He knew he’d belong to her for the rest of his days. ‘Til his life shall be done, he’d love her. 

“You are Blood of my Blood and Bone of my Bone,” Jamie finished, with Claire echoing softly. 

And then she was his wife. 

With the utmost delicacy, he reached to tilt her face upward. Her cheek slid against his shoulder, and she looked up at him with eyes swimming with emotion. Adoration. Joy. Love. 

And he kissed her. 

It felt so much like the moment she’d ran down from the hill to throw herself in his arms and kiss him for the first time, yet so different. Her lips rocked Jamie’s world in nearly the same way. He felt like he was drowning in her just as much; her touch consumed him and soothed him all at the same time. Yet she was so still. There was no running. No eager hands threading through his hair. No arms clutching on to him for dear life. Just her body resting against his and her lips pressing softly to his touch. 

When he pulled back, he couldn’t help but profess, “I love ye, mo nighean donn.” 

“I love you too, Jamie,” she whispered. 

His hand was still cupping her cheek, keeping her face lifted toward him. He found himself growing lost in the whisky of her eyes. His thumb stroked back and forth over her jaw, reveling in the feeling of the silky skin. 

But he could tell that fatigue was dragging her under again. She blinked slowly, trying to keep her eyes open as if she wanted to stay connected with him, but eventually they fluttered closed and didn’t open again. 

Jamie felt a tug in his stomach— a sharp pull of grief. He just wanted more time! He wanted to bask in the joy of being married to her. He wanted to call her Mrs. Fraser and make love to his wife. God, he wanted—

There were too many things he wanted that he would never have. Sitting there on the grass as his new wife faded before his very eyes, he knew he couldn’t waste any more time. 

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, finding it clammy, and then another to her curls. 

“I love you, Mrs. Fraser,” he whispered under his breath, “I’ll love you for all of my days.” 

He gathered her up again, repositioning her limp and malleable body, and then stood. She felt so light in his arms. A burden only to his broken heart to see her like this. 

His heart pounding in his chest, he began carrying her toward the stones. 

***

Claire drifted, floating and falling at the same time. Grasping at awareness was like reaching through the mist, holding on to nothing substantial. 

She swirled in vague feelings of joy. Images of the ceremony with Jamie flashed through her mind on repeat. Glimpses of his face, the tie around their hands, the feeling of his lips. The words in his soft, Scottish brogue. Promising to love her forever. 

It was just out of reach. What should have been the perfect moment was shrouded in thick fog that threatened to suffocate Claire. 

Her head went under the water again. She could tell she was in motion. Strong, familiar arms carried her. But beyond that, everything seemed to fade away. 

*

She was dragged back to the surface sometime later by a sharp feeling of grief, like a stab through her very core. From some unknown source, it seared her, forced her brain to jolt into motion and her eyes to open. 

Blinking into the bright light, she found herself laying on the ground, Jamie’s arms around her upper body. He was curled over top of her, holding her to his chest in a tight embrace. 

He was saying something, what was he saying? 

“Please, Sassenach, please wake up.” 

His face was pressed into her hair, and she could distantly feel his tears wetting her skin. 

She tried to open her mouth to tell him she was awake and he didn't have to worry, but no words came out. Her stomach clenched, and she was hit by another wave of grief. Jarring, agonizing. 

It was coming from him. 

“Jamie?” she forced out. 

Her head was swimming. Keeping her eyes open was a feat in itself, and she couldn’t seem to grasp what was going on. 

“Sassenach!” 

He drew back, and she took in sight of his tear streaked face before her brain could process what she was seeing. He looked wrecked, his blue eyes shining with a hollowness that sent enough adrenaline through her veins to keep her conscious. 

“What’s going on?” her lips managed to form the words as her insides twisted in on themselves. 

“It’s time to go home now,” he said as his hand came up to cradle her cheek. His thumb was gently stroking, soft and tender, and her mind drifted away from his words. 

“Good, let’s go home,” she murmured. 

“No, Claire,” the way he said her name made her perk up again, blinking in an attempt to keep her wits, “look where we are.” 

For the first time, Claire managed to look beyond Jamie’s face, and she noticed the grey shapes surrounding them, rising into the sky in a foreboding way that made her blood turn cold. 

Before she could say anything, Jamie was speaking. “Listen to me. Ye have tae go through the stones, Claire. Ye’re cut off from yer energy source. Ye canna stay in this realm or ye’ll die.” 

The words couldn’t seem to penetrate. It was like she was wrapped in a thick cloud, and although she could hear his words, she couldn’t quite comprehend them. Jamie watched her with tear stained eyes as the words took a moment to sink in.

But the instant they did and her brain repeated back to her what he’d said, she was doused in a wave of icy panic. Panic that consumed her entire soul, but she was too tired to feel it with real intensity. Instead, it was like she was frozen, paralyzed as she watched the ground underneath her feet give way, crumbling into nothingness.  

“No,” she whispered, too weak to do more than that. “No.” 

She tried to shake her head. She would have been yelling and screaming if she could have, but her neck wouldn’t even move. “No.”

“There isna any choice,” Jamie sounded shattered, “I canna let ye die.”

“I’ll die without you,” she mustered, frustrated at how trapped she felt. She couldn’t let him do this. She had to fight. But her useless body betrayed her. 

That bloody, heroic fool. Don’t you see? Sending me back will kill me more surely than if I stayed — she wanted to yell. 

“No, you won’t,” Jamie choked, his hand reaching up to stroke her cheek, “ye’ll have a life. Ye’ll survive.”

“I won’t go,” came her breathy words. 

Darkness was pulling at her again. It shrouded her senses, clogging her mind even as her heart raced in horror. 

Everything was ending and she was powerless to do anything. 

“Please,” Jamie was begging now, his tears dripping down his face and falling on her skin. The image of her beloved above her wavered for a second, coming in and out of focus, but she could tell he was just as wrecked as she. “Please, lass. Dinna argue. I canna bear it.”

This time, it was her throat that refused to move. Words failed her as the inky blackness threatened the edges of her vision. 

With all her strength, she managed to shake her head with exhausted but clear conviction. 

“I willna let ye die. I canna let ye stay and fade away while knowin’ that I could have saved ye. Ye canna stay.” 

Her vision faded out for a second, but she could tell the tenor of his voice was changing with those words. He no longer sounded broken and wrecked. He sounded… resigned. 

When she fought to regain her senses and the sight of him came back into focus, his face was as hard as the stones looming behind him. 

“I won’t go.” Her words were so weak, like tiny waves lapping against a massive cliff. 

“Ye must,” he said firmly. 

She wanted to cry. Claire desperately wanted her Jamie back— the one who would tenderly take her in his arms and hold close while whispering words of love. Telling her they’d be together for eternity. Gentle and giving. It wasn’t that this Jamie wasn’t tender— he was holding her close with such concern— but he pushing her away at the same time, resolution forming a coldness that made tears flow down her cheeks. 

She hadn’t known that she’d closed her eyes until she felt a thumb swiping over her cheeks and she realized she saw only blackness. 

“I’m so sorry,” his voice was softer now, grief breaking through the facade of strength, “I ken ye dinna want to go. I ken ye want to fight and scream and cry but ye dinna have the strength. This isna fair. But it’s time now.”

He was still speaking, voice low and solemn. “I need ye to ken, Claire, that I love ye with all of my heart and soul. And I will love ye until the day I die. I would have given everything to spare ye this pain. But ye have to go on and live... for me.”

She barely had time to take those words and hold them in her heart, treasuring them in a sacred space, knowing it would be all she had left of him. 

Claire wished desperately she could say them back. But her tongue had grown impossibly heavy again, and the invisible hand of sorrow and panic gripped her by the throat. 

He was moving, picking her up in his arms and lifting her. 

“Jamie. No,” she whispered brokenly, with all the fight she had left in her. 

“I love ye,” he said, the stony resolve etching itself into his face again. 

“Please,” she begged, “please. I love you.” 

He looked down at her, stricken. She almost felt bad for what her pleading was doing to him, but she couldn’t let him do this. She couldn’t be parted from him. 

But he was leaning down and pressing his lips to hers. The kiss was incredibly soft. Gentle. As if he were scared that she would fall apart but desperate to savor her one last time. 

Then, all too quickly, he was pulling away and setting her down to lay just in front of the center stone. As her body settled prone on the ground, she was forced to look up at the looming height of her destiny. 

“No,” she whimpered, shattered, but her voice barely came out as more than a breath, and he likely couldn’t even hear her. 

The swirling grey of fatigue clouded her vision as Jamie pulled her upright, propped against his chest. She couldn’t see him anymore since they were both facing the stone. She couldn’t look into his eyes one last time. She couldn’t memorize the beautiful lines of his face. 

She couldn’t fight. 

He took her hand in his, lifting her boneless arm up, slowly. 

“Goodb—“ the word caught in his throat, choking it off. 

She could feel his chest expand against her back as he took a deep, shaky breath. 

“I love you, mo Sorcha,” he murmured into her ear as he raised her hand. 

No. Stop. Stopstopstopstop—

Her body didn’t move. Spots flashed in front of her vision. Her heart was pounding wildly in her chest. 

His one last, final “I love you,” echoed in her ears as Jamie pushed her hand forward, and it made contact with the stone. 

Blackness took her. The solid strength of his body disappeared from behind her, and her own body was sucked away, torn into shreds and crushed and mangled. 

She tried to scream, but no sound came out. 

***

Jamie screamed, agony tearing from his chest quite against his will as his arms held only empty air where Claire had been only an instant before. 

She was gone. 

He felt himself shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, the pain so unspeakable that he couldn’t even breathe. 

Before his mind realized what he was doing, his own arms were raising and he was pounding his hands flat against the surface of the stone. 

“Take me too!” He yelled. 

But nothing happened. He stayed seated in the grass in front of the stone, truly and horribly motionless. 

He hit the stone again, his lungs constricting as he began to pound against it— over and over— his grief pouring out of him. 

“Please. Please. Take me with her,” he sobbed, “please. Take me.”

He hit it until his palms bled and his blood stained the surface of the stone. 

***

Claire awoke feeling like her body had been buried beneath the earth for some time. For all she knew, it had. Perhaps she was dead. It felt like she was dead. 

As awareness slowly broke through the fog of her exhaustion, she found herself laying on top of the ground rather than below it. Grass was pricking at her skin. She forced her eyes open and caught sight of the stones looming above her. 

And then the terrible reality of what had just happened came crashing down at her. 

“No,” she cried out, her voice hoarse and barely there, “no.” 

But it was true. Jamie was gone from her. She was gone. 

She attempted to push herself up, managing to get up onto her elbows before her traitorous arms gave way and she slammed back down onto the ground. 

“Take me back!” She tried to yell, her voice gaining intensity despite her exhaustion, “I have to go back!” 

Abandoning the idea of standing, she pushed her hands underneath herself and tried to drag her body forward, toward the stones. 

“I have to go back,” her voice was fading, the screams in her heart coming out only as a faint whisper. 

She collapsed down again, and familiar blackness stole into the corners of her vision. She tried to fight it, tried to fight the wave of nausea overtaking her, but she was powerless. 

She couldn’t go back. 

Darkness took her again. 

***

A/n: And you guys thought you hated me last chapter....

Two more to go in Arc II. tomorrow and the next day. Thanks so much for reading!!!

Next

[tg-headcanons]

I know this isn’t exactly your thing, but could you do any Kaneki’s Group headcanons? Just from when he’d left Anteiku to make his own little group for a short while. Thank u in advance

Them!

In the much harsher environment of Aogiri, there’s not much room for any perceived weakness and the members who are not tougher than the others often get kicked around or left out of meals. Kaneki, being as strong as he is, will claim several bodies and hold onto them for the smaller, weaker ghouls.

Banjou and his group are much more chill that the others, so he can just hang out with them. Plus Banjou is trying to read and Kaneki is one for the four total proficiently literate members of Aogiri, so he helps out a bit

Naki and the white suits are rowdy, loud, and used for heavy hitting missions. They’re strong, but not too bright and it’s clear that they’ve never been inside much before. Whenever they’re staying in a base or other building, Ken tries to show them how to use a coffee maker or television so maybe they can entertain themselves without breaking stuff

Ayato does not like ken. Ken does not like Ayato. Ken is also not above throwing hands with a child

Aogiri doesn’t really do comfort. It’s seen as weakness to admit that reasonable things make them uncomfortable so most don’t seek solutions. Kaneki tries to subtly offer the others coffee when they’re jittery or jackets when they’re cold or even gently suggest kagune cuddles since almost every member has that Touch Starved Ghoul Anxiety but only Naki and Banjou have taken him up on it

[i-need-entertainment]

Not Scary To me

Character: Washio x single mom reader

*Timeskip spoilers*

Pt.2

TW- mentions of insecurity, Washio has past ~trauma~, mentions of divorce and toxic relationships.

If you asked anyone who knew Washio Tatsuki if he was a scary, mean and dangerous man, they would probably laugh in your face. Since he was a teenager Washio was no stranger to being judged by his appearance. He was always taller than the other kids, much more muscular and his general demeanor screamed ‘intimidating’. Which was why people were typically scared of him and unwilling to get to know him. So when he entered his first year in Fukurodani, it was no surprise to him when no one wanted to be his seat mate. That is, until you appeared. 

“Is this seat taken?” He looked up, and he felt his heart stop. In front of him was the prettiest girl he had ever seen. She had warm and kind features, and the most welcoming smile he’d ever received from a girl. Well, a girl who wasn’t his mom or his older sister anyway. He quietly told the girl ‘no’ and nodded when she asked if she could sit there. Over the course of just a few months the two had become fast friends. They always ate lunch together, studied together, hung out after school and she always made sure to be in the front row when she watched his games. 

For the next three years, the two became best friends. They were there for each other through all of their highs, their lows, their problems in their love lives. Er- Y/n’s problems in her love life. Throughout high school she dated this guy, Ken Hashimoto. He was your typical high school heart throb. He was charming, popular and very attractive the whole school saw them as the ‘it’ couple. But to Washio, they were anything but. 

Putting aside his bias, he never really like Ken. To him Ken was sleazy, dishonest, and cunning. Washio lost count of how many times you had called him during terrible hours of the night crying over something the jerk had done. Or worse, when the two of you had fought and it was up to Washio to console you. But no matter how many times he picked you up from rock bottom, he’d always be there to pick you up again when that jerk pushed you down. Why? The reason was simple. 

Washio Tatsuki was in love with you. And he had learned to accept a long time ago that you would never love him the same way. 

Throughout the next three years you and Ken were off and on. He was a jerk, yes. He was selfish and dishonest. And…he hurt you. A lot. But for whatever reason you…couldn’t leave him. You had experienced too much with him, felt too much with him. He had too much to guilt you into staying for longer than you should have. You and Washio were very good friends, but for some reason after high school, your friendship didn’t last. You both tried to stay in contact, see each other every now and then. But with him going pro and you pursuing your interests, you both agreed it was okay you couldn’t see each other as much. 

For you that was the case. But for him, it was simply because it was too painful to constantly be reminded of what he didn’t have every time he caught sight of the engagement ring sitting on your left ring finger. Not long after he left for Hiroshima (It doesn’t say where the EJP Raijin are located, but they’re based off of the JT Thunders which are in Hiroshima Japan) to play as a middle blocker for the EJP Raijin (Eastern Japan Paper Mills Raijin). 

It’s been about five years since the two of you have seen each other. When you and Washio had graduated, you had started drifting apart. During that time you and Ken had actually been doing okay. He was treating you much better (well, by the standards of you guys’ relationship anyway) and it seemed like it was going places. So when he proposed, you didn’t think twice. Especially since the only man you think you’ve truly loved was soon leaving for Hiroshima. 

That’s right, you, Y/n L/n were in love with Washio Tatsuki. Before you rage quit reading this, bear with me! Yes! You loved him so, so much. But you couldn’t leave Ken. You knew he wasn’t a great guy, you had experienced it first hand! But no matter how much you wanted to you just couldn’t go, plus…you couldn’t go to Washio, he didn’t deserve that. 

So you kept quiet, married a man you tried to love and forget the man you always did. Here we are five years after the two of you graduated. Washio was still playing for EJP, and you were living in Osaka with your three year old little girl, Emiko. Currently you were working as a sports manager for the MSBY Black Jackals. Well that was the job they paid you for, but on most days, you felt like the MSBY Black Jackals baby sitter instead. 

“What? No- Bokuto you cannot go sky diving before next weeks game- I don’t know! No, don’t ask Akaashi, you know he’ll side with me. Atsumu don’t encourage him!! Bo, if you ask him, I promise you he’s going to tell you the same thing I did. *sigh* just- get here on time. We have a practice match today.” Bidding your goodbyes and letting out one more painful sigh you put down your phone and rubbed your temples. 

Don’t get me wrong, you loved the MSBY four, but man did they give you some big time stress. “Mommy?” All your worries faded away as you looked to the doorway, your little girl Emiko standing there with her favorite stuffed bunny in hand. “Hey there baby, ready to go?” Emiko excitedly nodded her head and walked towards you, lifting her hands above her head for you to carry her (she is only 3 after all). After getting the necessary items and a bag for Emiko the two of you left the house and headed to the MSBY Black Jackals stadium. 

The Black Jackals had a daycare center in the stadium, so working parents could leave their kids there while they did their jobs. It was nice having it in the building, especially since Emiko was a painfully shy kid. She was very quiet and usually didn’t talk to strangers, or people she knew for that matter. It was unusual for her to utter more than ‘hi’ and someone’s name (other than to you or your parents of course, or people she felt comfortable around). As soon as the two of you arrived you said your greetings to your co-workers and made your way to the daycare center. 

Until “Bunny!” this particular part of the building was always crowded, and you daughter just realized that between here and the front door she had lost her stuffed animal. Before you could re-grab her hand, she was gone and a sickening amount of panic settled in your stomach, you of course immediately ran to go get her.

 At the same time, Washio and the rest of EJP Raijin had just entered the MSBY stadium for the practice match they’d be having. When they got settled, the coach told them they had about 2 hours before the match started, giving them about 1 ½ hours to kill. Komori and Suna went off to antagonize Sakusa and Atsumu while Washio explored the stadium. (Bokuto and Hinata were not there yet for reasons better left unknown.) 

Before Washio could get very far he saw something on the floor. ‘Is that a…bunny?’ squatting down he picked up the toy to notice it was indeed a stuffed bunny that he guessed belonged to a child. He picked it up and made his way back to the entrance, figuring he’d leave it at the office for someone to find. But before he could get there, he heard a small “Mister…?” He looked down to see the cutest little girl he’d ever seen tugging at his pants, with tears in her beautiful e/c eyes. 

For a moment he stilled. He didn’t dislike kids, quite the opposite actually! It’s just…kids didn’t usually perceive him very well, usually they were afraid of him. Trying to make himself as approachable as he could he put on a gentle smile and knelt down before the girl. Sure he was still much bigger, but he was less intimidating. “Are you okay?” The little girl shyly looked at him before she shook her head ‘no’, and after some inner contemplation said “Bunny” Washio then gently smiled and showed her the bunny he had in his hand, noting the way her familiar e/c eyes lit up as she excitedly reached for the stuffy. 

She happily squealed as she hugged the toy. Right around that time you, who was running adrenaline and two cups of coffee, also a huffing and puffing mess had desperately turned the corner. “EMIKO!” The little girl turned around and smiled, triumphantly holding up the bunny. “Mommy! This nice man found bunny!” Looking past her you finally realized the man who had been kneeling (but is now standing) in front of your daughter. Both of your eyes blown wide as you both looked at each other. 

”…Tatsuki?” Washio nodded as a familiar but buried feeling fluttered in his chest as he choked out a ‘Y/n?’. You quickly ran up to him and gave him a hug, one he gladly returned. Your daughter looked at the two of you confused before acting like the two of you didn’t exist, she had some business with her precious bunny she had to take care of! “But- Wha- how? What are you doing here?!” You asked him as you pulled away from the hug. His hands went into his pockets, a nervous habit you vividly remember him having, as a smile overtook his features. 

“I’m on EJP Raijin, we’re here for a practice match. What about you? I thought you were still in Tokyo with…him.” Y/n’s expression faltered at the mention of her ex-husband. “I’m the sports manager for the Jackals, have been for about a year now. And, uh, he’s not in the picture, he left last year.” Y/n maintained the small awkward smile on her face as Washio nodded. Washio’s eyes slightly widened, “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” You waved him off as you picked up your little girl. “Don’t be, I kind of figured we’d never last long anyways…” Washio just nodded. 

“But! It’s not all bad, I got through school during all…that, got my degree and when we were getting divorced, I found this job. So, when it was done, we packed up and moved here and got started on our life together.” You continued to smile fondly at your little girl, she laid her head on your shoulder and looked at Washio with an unreadable expression. “Enough about me! How have you been? Anyone special?” 

You asked him, you wanted to know he was doing well, that he was happy. But there was also that little part of you that wanted to know if he was single. He let out a small chuckle, the sound taking you back to high school. “I’ve been alright. Not long after we graduated, I moved down to Hiroshima to play for EJP, threw myself into my career and here we are But, uh no. No one special.” You two were smiling at each other when Emiko tapped your shoulder. She leaned close to your ear and cupped her small hand around your ear. 

“Mommy?” You were holding back a giggle at her cute action. “Yes, baby?” Emiko nervously looked at Washio, and he felt a sort of dread come over him. ‘here we go again’ he thinks as he waits for the tears to start… ”What’s his name? I like him.” As if it was even possible your smile got even wider. “Well, why don’t you ask him?” The little girl looked at you before looking at him, you gently placed her on the ground and encouraged her. “Uhm….mm..” She looked nervously to the floor as she tightly clutched her bunny, making some noises of discomfort. 

She then looked up to him. “What’s your name…?” She asked in a small voice. He smiled and knelt down, holding out his hand to her much smaller one. “Washio Tatsuki. What’s your name?” She smiled and she took her hand and lightly shook his. “Emiko…Emiko L/n” she then released his hand and presented her bunny’s hand instead, wanting him to shake it (which he did). “This is bunny.” The little girl continued to smile, happy that this nice man was not only nice to her and her mommy, but also bunny. That scored a lot of points with her. 

The little girl turned around and looked at her mom. “Mommy?” You looked down to her as you started to stroke her long brown hair, which was seemingly the only trait she received from her father. ”Can we see Washio again? I want him to be my friend…” You couldn’t tell if the swelling feeling in your chest was from your daughter wanting to be someone’s friend, or the prospect of seeing Washio again, but after five years of loneliness, it was a welcomed feeling nonetheless. 

You looked up to meet his equally surprised but happy eyes. “Well? What do you say…”? He smiled down at the young girl before nodding his head, the little girl happily giggling and clutching his leg in a sort of hug before quickly returning to your side. “Oh! I need to get this little one to daycare, and I need to get to work! Uhm, why don’t we exchange numbers and we can get dinner or something, the three of us?” Emiko just nodded, even if she wasn’t really listening, while you and Washio exchanged information and said your goodbyes. You dropped Emiko off and made your way to the gym, since the practice match would begin in just under an hour.

*I have split this into parts bEcaUse it ended up reaaall long :) The next parts should be out soon*

[arosnowflake]

When A Watch Gets Stolen

Fandom: Magic Kaito/DCMK

Wordcount: 4503

Summary: Hakuba Saguru has met more police officers than he cared to count, and was liked by... well, none of them. So when his watch gets stolen, the people working with the KID task force become his suspects, and he launches an investigation. Or: Hakuba is autistic and gets his comfort object stolen. He takes this about as well as you'd expect.

Notes: Written for Autism Acceptance Month. Warnings for self-injurous stimming and a violent meltdown.

///

Hakuba was not well-liked among the KID Task Force, a fact that did not bother him in the slightest. Making friends had never been a priority of his, after all; he was here to catch a thief, and whether or not he got along with a bunch of half-witted officers was of no concern to him.

That is, as long as they left him alone.

His watch was missing.

The latest KID heist had ended with Hakuba on the receiving end of a waterfall of glitter-mixed paint - exceedingly immature, even by KID’s standards, a prank more than a magic trick. Though, he supposed he should’ve seen this coming, after he’d told Kuraba, quote: “If KID can’t even dodge a seven-year-old’s soccer ball, there is no possible reality wherein he could get past a police line to get the drop on me,” in an overt attempt to goad him into recklessness. He had succeeded there, at least, even if he’d still ultimately lost the war.

Either way, Nakamori had offered up the office shower to him, and he’d accepted, gladly washing off as much glitter and paint as possible. Sadly, it turned out the paint doubled as a dye - now, his hair was sparkly pink, and would likely remain as such for the foreseeable future.

Perhaps he’d invite Kuroba and Aoko on a fishing trip. One low blow for another.

And then he excited the shower, tugging lightly at his hair in a last futile attempt to get some of the glitter out, only to find his watch gone.

The rest of his belongings were still there; his button-up, blazer, shoes, pants, underwear, coat, all neatly in place. But in the jacket’s left pocket, where he always put his pocket watch, he found only lint.

He took a deep breath. With forced calm, he checked his other pockets, even though he knew he’d never make such a callous mistake as to misplace something. One thing Hakuba was not was sloppy. He liked everything to be in precisely the right place at the right time, neatly ordered and according to schedule. It provided structure and security. He didn’t like it when those things fell away.

And now his watch was stolen.

A quick sweep of the surrounding area provided little clues, aside from the slightly tilted door handle proving that someone had indeed picked the lock and walked in while he was showering. However, that did not narrow the suspect pool down in the slightest. He was in the middle of a police station, specifically working with the task force of a master thief renowned for dirty tricks; the odds of someone in his immediate vicinity knowing how to pick a lock were disproportionately high.

He could probably rule out Inspector Nakamori. While the man was as dim-witted as they come, he had a clear sense of honor and duty not often seen among officers. It was unlikely he’d stoop to the level of petty bullying; if he had a problem with Hakuba, he’d simply yell it at him, as he’d proven time and time again.

That said, it was exceedingly unlikely that he’d side with Hakuba over someone from his own task force. He was not well-liked, and therefore, he’d receive no help.

Not that he needed it. He was Britain’s youngest detective, rivaled in Japan by only a few. If he couldn’t even deduce who’d stolen his watch, he might as well retire to the country side right now.

He could feel the watch’s absence, as absurd and illogical as it was, taunting him from his pocket. Absently, he scratched his wrist, feeling his nails gauge the skin, leaving red gashes in their wake.

The first order of business would have to be narrowing down the suspect pool. He could hardly do a thorough examination everyone’s desks without getting caught, so he’d have to limit his search to those most likely to have committed the crime.

There was a bang on the door, and Hakuba startled.

“Yo, kid! How long you gonna be in there?” Nakamori’s voice called through the door.

How late was it? Out of habit, he almost reached into his pocket, before remembering the current circumstances and aborting the motion. It was hard to breathe, and his nails dug deeper into his arm.

He forced himself to take a deep breath despite the dam in his chest. Calm down.

“I’ll be right out,” he called back, and went to get dressed.

///

Narrowing down suspects proved to be about as difficult as expected, taken into account that a) no-one in the police station was fond of Hakuba, and b) all cops were varying degrees of bastards. But, finally, he managed to land on three key suspects: Hashimoto Takashi, new to the corps and therefore having something to prove; Fujiwara Akane, who had been accused of theft before, although the charges had been dropped; and Yamamoto Ken, who had been smirking at him for the past three days in an extremely smug fashion.

With the primary suspects nailed down, he went to work.

For some reason, people never even so much as considered the possibility that Hakuba might have some dubiously legal skills. People usually perceived him as an overly rigid rule-follower, and while Hakuba acknowledged he had a tendency to be somewhat inflexible, he was not exactly what you’d call a ‘rule-follower’. The law, while necessarily, was often flawed and illogical, and if the rules made it more difficult for him to do his job, he had no qualms ignoring them.

Regardless, his reputation for being a stickler to the rules meant that no-one had bothered to make any precautions against their desk being lock-picked and their phones being hacked. An oversight, of course; if you’re going to commit a crime, at least have the decency of covering it up properly. Especially if your target is a genius detective.

Neither Hashimoto’s nor Fujiwara’s desk contained anything out of the ordinary, and while both of their texts contained copious amounts of complaining about him, that was not a crime and did not in and off itself implicate them in theft.

Yamamoto’s phone, however, contained some very interesting messages indeed. He was in a small groupchat with some other officers, and he’d been making vague remarks about an ‘upcoming show’ and ‘the best prank in ages’ ever since the day Hakuba’s watch had gotten stolen. He backed up those messages to his own phone; it might prove to be important later.

His desk, however, contained no incriminating evidence, let alone the pocket watch. It should not have come as a surprise, and yet, he had to stop himself from breaking the drawer in two.

He had back-up watches, obviously, other models he could use in emergencies. Right now, a nice brown electric watch sat on his wrists. It was perfectly serviceable and of decent quality, and yet, it felt wrong. Too heavy on his wrist, always somehow managing to be in his line of sight, drawing attention to its obnoxious flickering numbers; every time he saw it, it became harder and harder to push away the panic that always threatened to overwhelm him.

He shoved the drawer closed, careful not to make too much noise. Then, he walked away, his hands shoved in his pocket so that no-one could see the way his nails clawed at the palm of his hands.

///

There was another heist that night. Unusually close to the previous one; KID preferred to have more time to plan out his tricks, but it seemed that dyeing Hakuba’s hair hadn’t needed much preparation. So, another heist.

KID was after the Red Haze this time, a 22 carat Burmese ruby. The owner, an old collector named Nakamura, had been most cooperative with the police, thankfully. Hakuba was crammed together with the rest of the task force in the display room, roughly ten minutes before the start of the heist.

He was panicking. He didn’t know why, but he was panicking. It was a struggle to get his breath under control, his fingers itched with the need to move, and when he turned to check the time the sense of wrongness was so profound it strangled him.

“Hey, Hakuba,” Yamamoto whispered. He bit his tongue to stop himself from yelling. He hadn’t noticed him get so close. Sloppy. Unusually sloppy.

He tried to focus on Yamamoto, but everything seemed hazy. He didn’t know how many minutes they had until the start of the heist, and he couldn’t bring himself to check. He needed to focus on Yamamoto. It might be important.

Yamamoto’s next words filtered through like he was underwater. “Guess what I have?”

In his hands was Hakuba’s pocket watch.

It took him one, two, three seconds to process what he was seeing, before he made a grab for it.

He missed. Through the fog, he realized that was strange, and then he remembered Yamamoto was tall; tall enough to keep anything out of Hakuba’s reach. It didn’t stop him from trying to get at it, jumping in an attempt to reach the chain, and that didn’t seem like something he should be doing, there might be laughing from above the water, but it didn’t matter, there was only one thing that mattered and it -

Was broken on the ground, shattered to little pieces.

Yamamoto was grinning, and ugly, smug smile, and the laughing had gotten louder. Hakuba stared at the remains of his watch, and someone was saying something, but the words were absolutely meaningless, he couldn’t understand them, couldn’t process anything except pain and panic and broken gears and a wide smirk -

Something was wrong. Distantly, he recognized this. His throat hurt, open and screaming, the sounds around him too loud, there were lights on now even though they weren’t before, his body was moving on its own, his hands making contact with something and doing it again and again and again, until he was pulled back by other hands, and still he was screaming and screaming and screaming -

A pair of hands pulled him along, and he tried to claw on them but it didn’t seem to be doing anything, the texture of their skin was off, somehow, but he couldn’t place it, and the lights were off now, and there was quiet. The hands let go, and he tried to follow them, because he needed to hit something, to scratch and hurt something, it was the only thing calming him right now, so he turned to himself, scratching and hitting and screaming. The pain felt real, at least.

And slowly, he calmed down.

There was no new input, nothing to exacerbate his current state, just him and his movements and his pain, and so steadily, the panic sunk and his head grew clearer.

It really was quiet. He wasn’t in the display room anymore; instead it was a smaller one, with a large bed in the corner and soft carpet under his hands. Probably Nakamura’s bedroom. Strange. They hadn’t been allowed in here, nor had they any reason to enter, for that matter. He shouldn’t be here. How had he gotten here?

Then he noticed a bright white blur among the darkness and - ah. The heist had started, then. Sadly, Hakuba was in no state to play mind games, and had no energy to arrest anyone, and so, he just sat back against the wall, closed his eyes and focused on his breathing.

“You okay?” KID asked, something like worry in his voice. Fuck, this was embarrassing.

Not trusting himself to talk, Hakuba waved a hand. Not the most efficient method of communication, but it would have to do for now. Thankfully, KID seemed to get the message, because he shut up and let Hakuba figure himself out in the calm.

After a precise 300 seconds (he counted), he felt well enough to speak.

“As much as I can be after a meltdown,” he finally replied, proud of himself for not flinching back at the sound of his own voice. “Don’t you have a gem to steal?”

“Already did.” KID flashed the Red Haze between his fingers, and ah, yes, perhaps Hakuba should have suspected that. Not that he was up to doing anything about it. Speaking was enough of a challenge right now. “What was that, detective? You do not strike me as the type to lose control.”

Hakuba rubbed his face with one hand and petted the carpet with the other. It really was soft, and he could use some grounding right now. “A meltdown, in the context of neurodiversity, is a way autistic people react to an overload of stress, sensory input, fear, or other negative emotions. They are uncontrollable and can be quite extreme. I am not the type of ‘lose control’, but my brain does not always cooperate with me.”

KID cocked his head. “You’re autistic.”

“Yes. And I would appreciate not finding that rumor spread through the school tomorrow, Kuroba.”

“I am not this Kuroba person you seem to know, but if I were, I’m sure I’d be offended by the insinuation I’d betray your trust for a cheap laugh.”

“Well, just in case, you should know I have a 20000 word essay on why you likely have ADHD, and I am not afraid to use it.”

“Wait, you have a - Nevermind, I’ll steal it later.” KID waved his hand. “Either way, I’m assuming removing you from the source of the stressor was the right course of action?”

“It was, although I would advice against grabbing people if at all possible.” And then, through gritted teeth and with a near insurmountable loss of pride: “Thank you.”

“Don’t think too hard about it, detective.” KID threw the Red Haze into the air, catching it with nimble fingers before tossing it at Hakuba. “You can have the ruby back.”

“How gracious.”

KID shrugged. “Saves me the trouble of returning it later. And besides, stealing is no fun with your critics incapacitated.”

He gave one of his patented, overly dramatic bows, and with a “Take care, detective,” he was gone, vanishing out a window Hakuba hadn’t even noticed yet.

It was another half hour before he could bring himself to make the trek back to the task force.

///

As expected, there was a talk, afterwards.

Nakamori’s desk was messy, paperwork and candy wrappers strewn indiscriminately across the bureau, the only clean corner containing a picture of him and Aoko. Hakuba also noted another three pictures of her taped to his laptop. It seemed like the kind of thing Aoko might like to know, just to remind her that her father did, indeed, care.

Nakamori himself sat back in his desk, looking tired and annoyed in equal measure, rubbing his temples.

They’d been here for an hour now, Nakamori interrogating him on what happened under the guise of ‘wanting to hear his side of the story’. Hakuba hadn’t bothered to explain anything. It wouldn’t help, anyway.

“You know I can’t let you get away with this, right?” Nakamori asked. “If you refuse to give me any damn explanation, I’m going to have to report this to your father. Probably gonna have to do that anyway.”

Hakuba’s fingers curled around the chair’s arm, but he said nothing.

“Yamamoto might press charges.”

He snorted. As if his father would let that happen. Couldn’t have his precious reputation damaged by a criminal son.

Nakamori glared. “You think this is funny? You broke his fucking jaw, Hakuba.”

“And?”

It was the first thing he’d said all hour, and he wasn’t sure why he’d opened his mouth. His fingers were rasping against the wood, and there was something hot in his chest. Anger, he recognized. He’d been angry for days, perhaps even longer, and he was still too out of it to hold back this long. Great.

Well, if he was on his way out anyway, might as well make it a show.

“And?” Nakamori repeated, incredulous. “Do I need to tell you why you should feel guilty for breaking a man’s jaw? Really?”

“Guilty? I should feel guilty?” And oh yeah, he was angry, hot and boiling and it spilled over into his words. “Yamamoto steals my watch with the express purpose of using it to humiliate and hurt me in front of his friends - if not the entire task force - during a Kaitou KID Heist, and I should feel guilty for retaliating?”

Nakamori blinked and opened his mouth to say something, but Hakuba continued on, bulldozing over his next words. “Am I supposed to feel sorry that his plan had some unforeseen negative consequences? He knew perfectly well that I would not react calmly to him smashing my pocket watch, and this was, in fact, the whole entire reason he decided to do it in the first place, and now I’m supposed to feel sorry that I reacted somewhat stronger than he planned? With all due respect, Inspector Nakamori, fuck off. He reaped exactly what he sowed.”

Nakamori leaned forward, blowing out a deep breath through his nose. “Even if what you say is true, which I highly doubt, considering the fact that I’ve known Yamamoto for years and he has never done anything like that, that isn’t a damn reason to get into a fistfight. You should have come to me -”

“And what? What would you have done?” Hakuba’s hand slammed on the desk, and Nakamori flinched back, startled. “I come to you and say ‘Inspector Nakamori, my watch has been stolen’, and what would you do?”

“I would have launched an investigation -”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” Hakuba cut him off. “You would have rolled your eyes and told me that I probably just lost it, that it’s just a watch, that I don’t need to be so melodramatic or make any false accusations. So then I would have decided to do my own investigation, which is exactly what I did anyway, and I would have found evidence that Yamamoto was likely responsible.”

Nakamori opened his mouth, but Hakuba ignored him. “So then I try again, and I come to you with the evidence, but it’s not watertight, so once again, you just roll your eyes. You tell me that you will talk to Yamamoto, after which you call me back into the office to say that Yamamoto denied the accusations and you feel inclined to believe him due to the fact that you’ve ‘known him for years’, and you tell me once again not to make any false accusations.”

He took a deep breath. “And then tonight happens, and it goes the exact same way it did now, and you will tell me that I reacted too strongly and that I will be removed from the case, as you are doing right now.”

Hakuba sat back, and went through the effort of looking Nakamori straight in the eyes. “Tell me, Inspector, exactly what would have changed if I had come to you? Why should I have bothered?”

A silence fell as he stared down Nakamori, the ticking of the clock louder than it ought to be.

Nakamori broke first. “You have evidence?”

“Text messages illegally obtained, not admissible in court,” Hakuba confirmed. “I’ll send them to you, in case you’re interested in maintaining your facade of objectivity.”

Hakuba stood up. “In the meantime, I will be expecting my official dismissal by Friday. I can see myself out.”

And just like that, he walked away.

///

He spent the next day finding ways he could circumvent the task force’s grip on the KID case. Sneaking into heists might be difficult, but it would not be impossible. Probably. Hopefully.

(Hakuba wasn’t that good at disguises, or at least, not at KID’s level, which is what the security around the heists was counting on. He may actually have to ask Kuroba for tips, but that would be an absolute last resort. He did still have a sliver of pride left.)

Either way, he could definitely hack into their database and read their reports, but it wouldn’t be the same. This case had just gotten significantly harder.

At 4AM, he finally fell asleep at his bureau. When he woke up, he found the carefully hidden physical copy of his KID/Kuroba ADHD essay stolen (to be expected and no disaster; he still had numerous digital copies he could print at any moment) and a brand new pocket watch on his pillow. It was silver, with little movable doves decorating the case.

Hakuba spent precisely eleven minutes and fourteen seconds playing with them, and he smiled.

///

By Friday, he did not receive his dismissal, as he had expected. Instead, he received another invitation to talk to Nakamori.

Strange. Perhaps Nakamori wished to deliver the news in person.

Either way, come Monday, he showed up at the task force once more. As he walked to Nakamori’s office, people kept their distance, whispering from the sidelines. Hakuba didn’t care. It wasn’t like he’d have to work with these people again.

He sat in the exact same chair he’d sat last week, and noted, with some perverse pride, that his nails had made little indents in it.

Nakamori was not usually that difficult to read; he wore his heart on his sleeve and was not afraid to speak his mind. That made him easier to deal with than most other people, and although his loud nature grated on Hakuba, it was something he’d always, on some level appreciated.

Today, however, Hakuba couldn’t get a good read on him. He was sitting straight in his chair, unusually professional, and his face was blank. Or, maybe the expression on it was just too subtle for Hakuba to read. That was a distinct possibility too.

Either way, it was unsettling. Hakuba reached into his coat pocket and traced the doves on his new watch.

“So,” Nakamori started. “I called your father.”

Naturally.

“He explained that you’ve gotten into fights with officers before, and basically threatened to end my career if I decided to remove you from the case.”

Hakuba closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Expected, but no less annoying.

“Not that I give a shit about any of that. Not the first time my job has been in peril, and it won’t be the last. I wish them good fucking luck trying to find a replacement for me.”

Hakuba barely managed to hold back a laugh. Nakamori had proven time and time again to be by far the most suited to leading the task force, and KID had proven time and time again he wouldn’t tolerate anyone else. Nakamori was right to be unafraid. His father had no power here.

“But the fact that this apparently wasn’t the first time you snapped and decked a guy did make me curious, so I did a bit of digging.” Hakuba’s surprise must have shown on his face, because Nakamori shot him an irritated glare. “Don’t look so shocked, you’re not the only detective in the room. There’s a reason I got this job in the first place.”

Hakuba inclined his head, contrite, and Nakamori continued. “Anyway. I did some digging, and found out that this is pretty routine for you. You work with the police, you deck a guy, you get about as fired as a high school detective can get, rinse and repeat. Kind of a weird pattern, considering the massive stick up your ass. Since it seemed out of character for you to just attack someone for no reason, I assume that all instances of that were caused by similar situations as this one?”

“Does it matter?” he scoffed.

“It does, actually.” Nakamori leaned forward on his desk. “You seemed pretty certain I wouldn’t have done a damn thing for you, and to be honest, you were right. I don’t like you. I do like Yamamoto - or I did, at least. It would’ve been way easier for me to just wave you off, so I probably would’ve.”

Hakuba sat back, blinking. Well. At least he admitted it.

“And I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what happened with the others, too.”

Nakamori looked at him, and a beat too late, Hakuba realized he was expected to answer. He nodded. “Yes, although I fail to see how this is relevant.”

Nakamori rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It’s relevant because it explains why you didn’t come to me in the first place, and it’s relevant because it shows that this situation is as much my fault as it is yours.”

Hakuba’s hand slid off the watch, the doves’ cool metal replaced by cotton under his fingers. “What?”

Nakamori glared. “I said, it’s my fault as much as it’s yours. As leader of the task force, it’s my job to take these kinds of matters seriously, and I wouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have made you feel like you can’t turn to me for help, and I definitely shouldn’t have been playing favourites, and I’m sorry for that. I should have done better, and I’ll try to do so in the future.”

Hakuba opened his mouth. Closed it again. Repeated the process. He should be saying something, but he was at a loss for words.

“Stop imitating a fish, dipshit,” Nakamori snapped. “Either way, you still broke a guy’s jaw, and I can’t let that slide. Although I can’t suspend you, considering the fact that you’re not actually an officer, I’m removing you from the case for the next three months and refusing you access to the heists. Also, if you pull a stunt like this again, I’ll be kicking you out properly. Just come to me next time, and I promise I’ll take your concerns seriously. No more vigilante justice, understood?”

“What about Yamamoto?” he managed to ask.

“Your evidence was obtained illegally, and not something that would hold up in court anyway, so therefore, it’s not something I can use to level any serious charges against him. However, his messages did imply rather heavily that your accusations were valid. Although your retaliation was far too extreme, childish bullying in the manner displayed by Yamamoto is not something that I’ll tolerate in my task force. As such, I requested for him to be transferred to another department. Hopefully that, and his time in the hospital, will teach him to behave in the future.”

Nakamori leaned back in his chair. “Now, I’ll ask you again: no more vigilante justice, understood?”

Although this barely felt real, Hakuba nodded. “Understood.”

“Good.” Nakamori waved a hand. “Now get out of here, and don’t let me see you for another three months.”

Outside, Baaya was waiting with the car. He watched he houses flash by as she drove him home, still somewhat dazed. He’d have to jump through some hoops for the next three months, but he wasn’t removed from the case permanently. Someone other than him had faced consequences. Nakamori had taken responsibility and apologized.

There was a new watch in his pocket, and surprisingly, it did not feel like such a bad thing.

[mobius-prime]

222. Sonic the Hedgehog #154

Songoose (Part 2 of 2)

Writer: Karl Bollers Pencils: Ron Lim Colors: Jason Jensen

Today's issue is a bit bittersweet. While Karl Bollers hasn't always been the most popular writer, and I've definitely had my fair share of problems with certain aspects of his writing, it's hard to deny the heavy impact he had on the world of the comic. And this just so happens to be his last issue as a writer! That's right, though we've seen various writers come and go, this is the first time we're truly saying goodbye to a head writer. (You might be wondering about Michael Gallagher given his increasingly infrequent involvement with the series, but fear not, he's still got a few more future issues left in 'im.) Apparently he actually had quite a few plans for the storyline and characters post-StH#134, which was a while ago, but for one reason or another these never came to fruition, and never even had a chance to be salvaged for future issues by other writers due to his leaving the comic. So let's dedicate this issue to ol' Karl and the hard work he put into this comic, and appreciate what he brought to the table over the years. Onward!

It's the night of Mina's second concert, and the various Freedom Fighters are positioned at strategic points around and behind the stage and crowd to guard the venue from any more assassination attempts. Mina is pleased with Sonic's involvement in her protection detail, but Ash is considerably less so, and asks to speak to Mina privately before her performance. Sonic initially tries to refuse to leave her side given his duty to her, but when Ash gets in his face about it Mina steps in and tells Sonic she'll be okay to have a quick chat. Sonic reluctantly leaves the dressing room, and Ash confronts Mina about her decision to go through with tonight's concert, as he really feels it's too dangerous. She reiterates her feeling of security with Sonic around, and Ash's feelings of jealousy finally spill out as he details Sonic's perceived failings, including how he (totally unintentionally mind you) broke her heart a year ago by kissing Sally in front of her. He paradoxically refuses to "forgive" Sonic for… not dating Mina, I guess? Which you'd think he'd be pleased about considering that's the only reason he ever got to date her, but she stands firm against his tirade.

Really bad timing on this, Ash. Honestly, though, as abrasive and jealous as Ash can be, he's not wrong at all about his accusations, and in my opinion has every right to feel slighted and upset. He really does seem like a guy who's flawed yet genuinely likable - I mean, put yourself in his shoes (assuming you're not down for open relationships) and tell me you wouldn't feel the exact same way upon seeing your girlfriend routinely eyeing up another guy. Plus, he isn't flaky - notice that despite breaking up with Mina, he explicitly states his intentions to remain as her band manager. A lesser person might have left their ex high and dry out of spite, but despite their disagreement he's still completely ready and willing to help her organize everything she needs to remain a pop star. Careful, Mina, you better remember "Aly's" advice to you from a few issues ago before you let this guy slip through your fingers…

Outside the room, Sonic gets a call from Sally looking for an update, and when he lets slip that he let her stay in her dressing room alone Sally scolds him for not sticking to her like glue, ordering him back into the room to check on her. When he enters he's surprised to see her sitting alone with a sad expression, asking her what's bothering her. You'd think he'd have some clue of what was wrong considering he would have just seen Ash angrily stomping right through the very door he was guarding, but Mina just says she doesn't know how to explain, which Sonic quietly agrees with the sentiment of. She's able to collect herself for her performance, though, and begins by singing another song that definitely feels inspired by her crush on Sonic. However, Eggman's plan to kill her is still moving ahead, and he sends out Heavy and Bomb (well, Bombs, there's a lot of them) to infiltrate the concert crowd once the concert is well underway.

Sonic immediately grabs Mina and pulls her away from the edge of the stage while the rest of the Freedom Fighters rush in to battle the Bombs, something which I find funnier than it should be considering they're, well, bombs, and the best plan for dealing with bombs on legs would usually be to run the hell away from them before they blow up. Nevertheless, they seem to be holding their own by throwing or smacking the Bombs away before they explode, though Ash finds an excuse in the situation to insist once more than Sonic leave so he can protect Mina on his own, even somewhat spitefully pointing out that Mina was fine without Sonic for an entire year before now. Sonic initially refuses, but when Heavy himself arrives, crashing down onto the stage to target Mina directly, Sonic concedes and tells Ash to take her somewhere safe while he fights the robot one on one. At first Sonic teases and trash talks as normal, but when Heavy gives him more trouble than he bargained for he concocts a plan to drill into the earth and bait Heavy into following him, then drill straight into the nearby lake from below. This washes them both out into the open waters, disabling Heavy in the process. I'm not sure exactly how this plan even works, considering we've seen in previous issues that Heavy is waterproof - I mean, did Eggman take out that feature when he rebuilt him? - but either way, it does work, though Sonic falls unconscious once he gets washed out. Man, between his first battle against M in StH#132 and his easy escape from a watery grave in Anti-Mobius just a few issues ago, it really seems like later comic issues like to play fast and loose with the whole "he can't swim" character trait. Sometimes he can detangle himself from tight rope bonds and swim to safety without a problem, and other times he blacks out within scant seconds of touching water, and you never know which one you're gonna get till the plot calls for it. Of course, he's fine after waking up on shore, having been rescued by Bunnie, and the Freedom Fighters tell him that as far as they can tell they disabled or destroyed every Bomb in the area, meaning Mina is safe once more. With the threat ended, Sonic and Mina say goodbye to each other for the night, with Sonic making Mina promise they'll go out for chili dogs sometime soon. However, this wouldn't be a story if something didn't go wrong…

I like to think that this isn't even a case of the Freedom Fighters randomly missing a Bomb, rather being part of Eggman's plan - send in the big, obvious cavalry first to be fought and predictably defeated, then send in one last little Bomb to finish the job once everyone's guard is down. The explosion alerts everyone outside the backstage area, and they rush in to find Mina sobbing over Ash's body. Don't worry, though - when they rush him to the hospital Dr. Quack is able to get him in a stable condition, meaning that though he has a long slow recovery ahead he'll ultimately be fine. Sonic escorts a distraught Mina into Ash's room, where she admits her true feelings to his sleeping form.

I'm surprised that Sonic genuinely seems a little disappointed at their reconciliation, but then again, he and Mina were clearly shown to have some chemistry even before the time skip, though Sonic was obviously drawn more to Sally. It seems that with he and Sally currently being on the outs, and Mina having split from Ash, he had actually considered taking the chance with her - I mean, they did agree to a chili dog date after all - but now that's obviously not happening. Well, maybe the chili dog date is, but not Sonic and Mina becoming an item. What I'm trying to say is, this page has just sunk your Sonic/Mina ship. Fortunately, with this second failure Eggman has decided that trying to kill Mina is too hard and not worth his time, so she should be safe for now. He still finds himself lamenting the loss of his robotic body, however (something that you'd think should be child's play for him to fix considering previously roboticizing himself is literally part of his backstory), finding his current organic body too breakable. The use of that word suddenly makes him pause, having just come up with a new idea… but Karl certainly won't be the one writing about it, as with that final line of dialogue, he's officially completed his time as head writer for the Archie Sonic comics! Sayonara, Karl Bollers - though there were certainly some rough patches, on the whole I enjoyed your work on the comic, and we'll miss ya!

More Than Meets the Eye

Writer/Pencils: Ken Penders Colors: Josh Ray

…though remember, we are still dealing with Penders for a few more issues yet. Since the mission into Megaopolis a couple issues ago, Rotor, Uncle Chuck, Tommy, Tails, and Snively (plus apparently Fiona, for some reason) have all been hard at work studying and trying to understand the nanites. They try blasting them with a ton of electricity, but when that elicits no response from the nanites Tommy worriedly thinks Snively killed them with the zap, though Snively corrects him that biologically speaking, they're not really "alive," nor is anything that Eggman makes. While you may be technically correct from a scientific standpoint, Snively, I think Nicole might have a thing or two to say about your assertion that machines can't be alive…

Well! It seems Tommy was also unconvinced by Snively's words, and his tear splashing down into the nanite goo triggers some kind of reaction, prompting them to rapidly spread out and reach tendrils of themselves towards him. He's understandably a little freaked out and retreats into his shell, but the nanites don't hurt him as they make contact with the shell - in fact, the sensation is ticklish and causes him to start giggling uncontrollably, which must make for a very weird sight as Uncle Chuck reenters the room to investigate the noise. Tommy assures him that he's all right - and then from out of nowhere, his shell sprouts a pair of goddamn wings, because why the hell not?

I initially took issue with this concept due to it being established canon that the nanites can only absorb and reshape non-living matter, whereas turtle shells are definitely living matter, being full of nerve endings and basically being formed from repurposed bone matter from the turtle's ribs and pelvis. However, the above dialogue seems to indicate that they were able to fuse with Tommy's shell anyway by connecting straight into his nervous system. I would guess that after Sonic introduced the nanites to the concept of organic and synthetic coexistence a couple issues ago, they were just waiting for the chance to "study" an organic specimen in their own weird way, and Tommy just happened to end up as their test subject.  Chuck and Tommy call everyone else in, where he notes that the nanites seem to react to his thoughts without said thoughts actually controlling the nanites directly. He demonstrates this by thinking vaguely that he wants to go somewhere, prompting a pair of jetpack engines to sprout from his shell and ignite, carrying him straight out of the lab and into the sky above Knothole. The others watch with an odd mixture of bemusement and amusement as the nanites fly Tommy's body in a pattern, using contrails to write "We're just going for a test drive" in the air. Well Tommy, looks like you have a really cool and unique new ability! It'd certainly be interesting to be fused with self-replicating nanomachines that react to your thoughts and wishes by morphing themselves in ways to grant those wishes, especially when they seem to actively like their host.

[keeroo92]

Be My Nightmare Ch10

A New Beginning

Mild gore warning, but you guys have seen worse in this fic already. Enjoy!

Word Count - 4,502

~~~~Previous Chapter~~~~

________________

Within twenty minutes, you had your ancient beater of a car parked in your usual spot. Normally a coffee cup and a few wrappers littered the passenger side, but lately you’d had the time to clean it out. The damn thing clattered every time you took a sharp turn and the windshield featured a widening crack, but it got you from point A to B and that was all you really cared about. 

Well, that and the sound system. It drowned out the clatter, after all.

Cold stone walls loomed over you, but their shadows were far from the unfriendliest thing you’d encounter here. You sighed and faced the music, locking your car with a deceptively cheerful chirp.

Even after only two days away, the facility seemed foreign as you entered the lobby. The smell of antiseptic that you almost never noticed overwhelmed you, the overly bright fluorescents blinding overhead. Was it always this bright? How hadn’t you noticed? Ridiculous, you should’ve worn your sunglasses.

“Dr. Waras! What are you doing here?” cried a familiar voice behind the glass panel hiding the counter. Sandy hair and brown eyes set in a face the female patients couldn’t get enough of. You approached with a smile.

“Hi, Rob. I’d like to speak with Malphas, is he in?”

“Yeah, I think so. I… I’ll have to escort you, I’m sorry,” the young man said, eyes shifting away. 

Indignant heat pooled in your cheeks. How absurd. You worked here, this was your home! A babysitter only added insult to the already painful injury. 

Calm down, it’s not his fault.

You paused to swallow your anger and offered an understanding nod. “That’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“It’ll be just a sec, gotta have someone take over.”

You sighed and turned away, heading for one of the pastel armchairs dotted around the room. Outdated magazines lined tables here and there, a water cooler gurgling happily in the corner. Landscape paintings covered sections of the horrible plaster, as if seeing a grassy meadow might ease the discomfort of being here. A waiting area like any other, but one you hadn’t been forced to wait in since interviewing for your position.

Never one to sit idle, you pulled out your phone and settled into an open seat. It wasn’t like you had a reason to check it, but the slim device brought comfort. Plus, as long as you looked busy, people wouldn’t bother you. 

Hopefully.

It was a slow day, only a pair of brown-haired girls sitting nearby. One was crying, but besides that they seemed normal enough and you put them out of your mind. 

After a few minutes of mindless scrolling, Rob came to fetch you with another apology. He led you through the first security gate and down the long hallway toward the administrative wing. By the time you reached the second gate, the uncomfortable mood became too much.

“How’s Ken doing?” you asked.

Rob shot a hesitant look your way. “Uh, I’m not sure if it’s okay for me to tell you…”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t blame him. “Of course. I’ll ask Malphas, then.”

The rest of the journey passed in awkward silence. Rob was a kind man, you had no complaints about him aside from his lack of courage. Not that you held it against him, after his years of running intake. Poor man saw the worst of the worst, the patients before any treatment. When they were at their lowest and most agitated point.

Finally, the heavy oak door to Malphas’ office greeted your hungry gaze. Closed,oddly enough. He liked keeping it open most of the time. Some nonsense about encouraging everyone to stop by and chat.

Rob knocked on the door and sent another worried look your way as a deep voice called for him to enter. 

“I’ll wait here, to escort you back out. I uh, I hope it goes well.”

“Thanks, Rob. I appreciate it,” you replied, pushing the door open without a pause. Might as well get it over with.

“Dr. Waras! What an unexpected pleasure. You should've called,” the grandfatherly head of the facility greeted with a hesitant smile. 

He doesn’t seem pleased to see me. 

You stepped inside and clicked the door closed, bracing for a battle of wits as you took a seat across from his desk. Maybe you should've stayed standing, sitting put you in a position of subservience. 

If I stand up now, it just looks like indecision. Damnit.

“What can I do for you?”

Pushing aside your doubts, you met his gaze with a firm stare. “I’d like to know if you’ve made any progress on reversing my suspension.”

Malphas glanced away, as if he couldn’t bear to meet your eyes. Not a good sign.

“Well, it’s become considerably more complex since the patient has begun terrorizing the city.”

You snorted and crossed your arms. True, no one who knew the murderous artist could doubt his involvement, but what proof did they have? 

“Bullshit. There’s no way to prove he’s involved.”

Wrinkled fingers brought the man’s foggy lenses to his tie for a vigorous cleaning as Malphas collected his words. “True, but you know as well as I that when he’s caught, if you’re on the active roster it won’t look good.”

You pursed your lips and tried to keep your voice even as heated anger tinted the overstuffed bookshelves behind his head blood red. Fucking PR bullshit. “So it’s all about appearance, then? Your only reason to keep me out is the press?”

He sighed and returned the glasses to his face, blinking to force his eyes to adjust. You were shaking, barely holding back words of utter rage and frustration. Not good, he wasn’t likely to reinstate you if you came across as an emotional wreck. You needed to rein it in, now.

Change the subject. Something less complicated.

“Can you at least tell me how Ken is doing?”

Malphas sighed, blinking owlishly at you. “I’m afraid not. Patient details are privileged information, and you aren’t currently affiliated with his care. I cannot share any details with you.”

A small smirk twisted your lips. He revealed enough. “You used the present tense. He’s alive, then.”

Malphas bit his lip and looked away again. Honestly, who did he think he was talking to? The man told you himself that someday he wanted you to take his place. He knew your intelligence, why did he act like he could fool you?

A long moment passed in silence, both you and Malphas searching for the right phrase to move forward. Even with the sting of his actions, the man had your respect. He’d done so much to help you start your career, more than anyone else. You didn’t like being angry with him, or the resentment that built every day he didn’t bring you back. There had to be a way back to the previous state of your relationship.

You released a breath and pinched the bridge of your nose. Conflict was exhausting. “Look, just… what can I do to make this all go faster?”

Malphas’ wizened eyes met yours, tinted with sympathy and understanding. You struggled not to get defensive. You didn’t need his pity, it served no purpose. What you wanted was his agreement. 

“There’s nothing you can do right now. If something changes, I’ll let you know. For now, you just need to be patient.”

Fine, this is getting me nowhere. Waste of time.

“Please do. I look forward to coming back to work.”

The epitome of professionalism, you extended one hand to shake his as you gathered your things to leave. He seemed relieved to see you go, adding another tic in the column towards rage.

Poor Rob led you back to the lobby without a word. You knew you weren’t doing a good job of hiding your emotions, but right then it didn’t matter. It was too much, to have every aspect of your future in the hands of another. 

As if dealing with Malphas wasn’t enough, when you turned the next corner beside Rob, there stood Kotomi. Her heels clicked against the floor, her nose buried in a patient file. Like nothing had changed. Maybe she wouldn’t look up. A single word from her perfectly colored lips and you feared your already tenuous self-control would snap.

“Hi, Dr. Ishida,” Rob said. 

God damnit, Rob!

Her eyes shot up and widened as they landed on your face. The rhythmic tap of her shoes halted as she froze, lowering the still-open file.

“Rob, Dr. Waras… what are you doing here?” she said with a cautious smile. “Are you back?”

With Malphas, you had a damned good reason to keep your cool. He controlled your career, your future. If he perceived you poorly, the consequences were dire. Kotomi was a different story.

“No,” you growled, glaring daggers at her. “Thanks to you.”

Her face fell, tears gathering in her pretty eyes and shoulders slumping as she looked away. Twisted superiority filled you, a strange sense of pride at being able to dismantle her normal cheer so easily. She was pitiful, so weak for just a few words to destroy her so violently. 

The woman clearly didn’t know how to handle conflict - first during the fire, and now today, she somehow made it this far without developing the skills to handle a crisis. Life must’ve treated her tenderly, but that was fine. Karma’s a bitch and you didn’t mind serving as its tool if it meant you could show everyone how useless she was.

You paused at the direction of your thoughts. They echoed a darkness you saw in your patients regularly, a vindictive pleasure derived from others’ pain. 

What the hell is wrong with me? Making someone else feel bad shouldn’t make me feel good!

Before anyone had a chance to react, you turned away and headed for the next security gate, each step faster than the last as if you could outrun your confusion and self-loathing. Rob followed a beat behind, but he had the good sense to keep a respectful distance other than buzzing you through the gates. Smart man.

You couldn’t leave fast enough and paid little attention to the passing beige halls. Harsh words had never been difficult for you to summon, but rarely did you speak them aloud, and never before had doing so brought you such satisfaction. 

Where did that come from?

Somehow you made it back to your car unscathed, without bearing the weight of untold judgemental stares. Practice trained you how to block them out, anyway. 

Yet no defense blocked your own judgement.

Untinted windows did nothing to hide your stricken face as you sat in the parking lot and stifled sobs. This was stupid, Kotomi deserved it! She’d stabbed you in the back and hadn’t bothered to apologize!

And yet… Even if she deserved it, that didn’t change the fact that you enjoyed tearing her down. You enjoyed watching her smile shatter, her joy wilt into pain. Reveled in the knowledge that you were, in fact, better than her.

Am I, though? Am I better?

A buzz in your pocket broke the cycle of self-hatred as an alert lit the screen of your phone. This better be good, you were in no mood for more bullshit.

Oh, for the love of… are you fucking kidding me?

What was the purpose of this conversation? Idle chatter? Who cared if the sunrise was pretty, there were bigger things to worry about.

In a strange sense, it almost made you miss Kotomi. Her chatter never required thought out replies, instead providing a break during which your mind could wander. She helped you fit in, made you feel like less of a freak. Like maybe, just maybe, you actually belonged somewhere. You didn’t tell her much about your past, but it’d been nice to have the option. Look at you now, your only companionship offered by a lunatic.

Does it make me a lunatic to enjoy our conversations?

Probably. 

Another choked sob slipped from your lips, the pit of your stomach sinking into the floor mat. Instead of changing the face of medicine, you were a scapegoat. A martyr, sacrificed on the altar of society’s paranoia. You were meant for more than this, you’d spend years building the scaffolding for your success.

And for what?

The lit screen in your hand called out for a response. Dwelling on this black mood didn’t help, you needed to shake it off. Keep moving. Push it aside and focus. You’d been through worse, right?

You sighed and wiped the tears from your eyes. It didn’t make any sense to go to an insane murderer for advice, but who else did you have? Everyone you thought was an ally stood within the nearby building, probably laughing at you and cracking jokes about your suspension. 

Who could blame you for turning to the one person who cared enough to ask something as mundane as if you’d seen the damned sunrise? Besides, who would he possibly tell your secrets to?

You sniffled and a twisted note of laughter slipped from your lips. It was nice, for someone to take your side and not blame the entire fiasco on you. A rare luxury, having a friend.

Even if he was a murderous psychopath.

You stared at the words for a full minute, stunned beyond coherent thought at his offer. If you were chatting with anyone else, it might seem like a joke. But with V?

He’s dead serious.

You cringed. Poor choice of words. Talking to V, you couldn’t afford to let your guard down even for an instant. It was foolish to talk to him at all, let along make jokes. Had you seriously just thought of him as a friend? What was wrong with you?

Get your shit together!

A chill raced down your spine. What was happening to you, to seek solace from him? You’d be better off if you never answered him again.

But somehow, you already knew you would.

—-V—-

V sighed happily and leaned back, scratching at his scalp for the hundredth time that morning. The change was necessary, but damn did it itch!

“What a fruitful exchange,” he murmured. 

An encouraging sign, that you opened up to him willingly in such a way. It showed a level of trust or desperation he hadn’t been aware of. He didn’t care which; either suited his plans.

As long as you came to rely on him, the reasons didn’t matter.

Still. Someone had hurt you. A female, one whom you worked with. A fellow doctor, perhaps?

No…

A wicked grin twisted his lips. Of course, the Asian woman from his painting. How perfect, he already longed to skin her alive. Now, perhaps you’d join him in doing so.

The image sent heat rushing to his core, the first flickers of lust stirring in his gut. With the right provocation, no doubt you’d fall into his grasp with a smile. 

He couldn’t wait.

Long fingers slid under knitted fabric to scratch his scalp yet again. Perhaps a haircut would’ve been easier, he truly despised wearing hats. They made his head too warm and he’d yet to find one that didn’t make him itch as if ants crawled between the obsidian strands still tickling at his neck.

“Stop scratching, you’ll only make it worse,” Vergil commented.  The artist shot a glare at the pale-haired man and scratched just a bit more. He’d satisfy any urge he pleased and none of his friends could stop him.

“You look good, Van Gogh. Very edgy,” Griffon added. 

With an annoyed growl, V tore the beanie from his head and threw it at the damned demonic bird. The scrap of black fabric sailed through the air and landed harmlessly, six feet from Griffon’s perch on the television, sending both man and bird into hysterical laughter.

Well, Griffon’s laughter was hysterical. Vergil’s was more of a dry chuckle.

“You’re both insufferable,” he muttered. All their teasing made his fingers tingle with need, visions of red plastered on the walls of his mind. Time to go out and leave another message for you. Maybe you’d notice this one.

---Reader---

The next morning dawned cold and bright, the winter sun shining through the thin curtains covering your bedroom window. Even with the heater on, a chill teased at your toes and fingers as you huddled in the mound of blankets. What time was it, were you late or-

Oh.

And there it was, that heavy stone that resided in your chest. You groaned and tugged the quilt over your face, hiding from the world in a futile attempt to return to ignorance. Maybe you could just stay in bed all day, why bother getting up? Not like you had anywhere to be.

But your bladder had other ideas, and moments later the icy wooden floor dragged a hiss from your lips. If only you could use the toilet without surrendering the blankets… 

You did your business quickly and headed to the kitchen. Hot coffee might help, and you’d need to check your email at some point. Malphas might have news.

And V might want to chat…

A sharp knock on the door pulled your focus away from the coffee machine before you could ponder the thought. You weren’t expecting company, who in the world would show up unannounced?

You added three healthy scoops of brown powder and closed the lid, pressing the button to start brewing. Only once the telltale sound of water heating reached your ears did you approach the door, peeking through the eye hole to get a preview.

You froze, the breath escaping you at the sight of blue uniforms. 

Cops?! V, what did you do?

Possibilities raced through your mind. How much did they know? Would it be foolish to try denying any wrongdoing? Maybe you should run, go into hiding. At the very least, you might avoid prison. 

No, don’t be stupid.

You pursed your lips and forced your trembling hands to unlock the door. No point trying to escape the inevitable. Whatever they wanted with you, you weren’t going to hide from it. 

“Can I help you?”

Two blue-clad figures stood in the dim hallway. Kind faces, non-threatening posture. Was that a good sign or a bad sign? Fuck.

“Good morning. Are you Y/N Waras?” the larger figure asked.

A man, tall and broad shouldered. The uniform did nothing to hide his powerful physique, nor did it conceal his dominant posture. White hair brushed at the collar of his light blue shirt, perhaps a past trauma shocked him enough to change it? You’d heard of the phenomenon but never seen it.

“Yes, I am. What’s going on?”

“Ma’am, you’re gonna have to come with us,” the shorter figure replied with a southern drawl.

Still quite tall compared to most, the young woman had a spray of freckles dusting her nose and cheeks under a pair of stylish glasses. Bouncy brown curls gathered at the back of her head in a messy ponytail, and hints of tattoos teased at the edge of her sleeves. 

The man shot her a look. “Don’t be rude, Nico. I’m Officer Tony Redgrave, this is Officer Nicoletta Goldstein. We can talk inside if you prefer, Doctor.”

So I’m not under arrest? What the hell is going on?

“Of course, come in. It’s a bit of a mess,” you commented, widening the gap so the two strange people could enter. “I’ll get some coffee for you.”

As the two officers settled in at your small dining table, you busied your clammy hands with preparing three fresh mugs of the bitter fluid, grabbing the sugar and cream as you brought the drinks out. Having a task always helped calm your nerves, and by the time the two muttered a thank you the worst of the anxiety had faded. 

“So… what’s this about?” you asked as you joined them, your own mug in hand.

The two exchanged a look, the man shrugging and leaning back to take a sip of his coffee. A clear indication of seniority, for him to grant permission for her to speak. 

“Well you know ‘bout the murders, right?”

You almost laughed. “Of course.”

“And you gotta know the leading suspect is the escapee,” she continued without pausing for an answer.

“V.”

“That’s the one. We thought you might be able to help out, bein’ his doctor and all.”

You sipped your coffee, pondering how to respond. It might seem strange if you refused, especially given your lack of excuses. It wasn’t like you didn’t have time. Damn Malphas, he probably sent them here in the first place. As if suspending you wasn’t enough…

“What sort of help are you looking for, exactly?”

At that, Officer Redgrave leaned forward. Up close, it was easy to see the authority in his expression, the knowledge that what he said would be heard. Arrogant and handsome. A dangerous combination.

“Anything you got, honestly. Insight, patterns, any habits or places he might’ve mentioned during treatment. Couple folks at the station want to bring you in as a full-blown consultant, but that takes a lot of paperwork.”

Another sip, bitter fluid masking the nerves dancing through your body. You couldn’t deny it sounded interesting. Who knew what you might learn about your favorite patient? Would they give you access to their files, to the crime scenes? 

Shivers raced down your spine. 

What if they find out I’ve been in contact with him? I’d be an accessory, at the very least. 

But the easiest way to make sure they didn’t find out was to know what they were doing. You folded your hands on the table and forced your voice to be steady, swallowing your fears as you spoke.

“I’ll need to see a warrant, just to establish the legality of my cooperation. After that, I’m at your disposal.”

No more boredom, no more endless hours watching stupid TV you didn’t care about. Something to do, at last. Yet the risks couldn’t be ignored. You’d need to be careful.

“Got it right here, they mentioned you played by the book,” the man said, pulling a sheet of paper from his coat pocket and handing it to you for inspection.

Indeed, a warrant for any and all files or information regarding V. 

All? So… I’d be breaking the law if I kept his sketch of me hidden. 

Internally, you panicked at the realization. All your careful little lies crumbling to dust around you. By this time next month, maybe you’d already be in prison. At the very least, you’d probably lose your medical license by then. Ten years, wasted. Everything you worked so hard to achieve, sacrificed so much to gain, gone.

Not yet. There’s still a chance.

“Everything seems to be in order. How should I begin?” you replied carefully, schooling your face into neutrality. 

The young woman tapped at her phone for a moment as the man waited, drumming his fingers on the table and sending an apologetic glance your way. You didn’t mind, the delay gave you more time to think, time to plot your next move. 

You. Plotting. Ugh.

“Here it is, take a look. This photo was taken at the last crime scene,” the young brunette said, holding out the slim device for your perusal. 

Red, red everywhere. An ocean of it, covering all manner of common household furniture. You zoomed in and gasped, spotting the first limb arranged on the table. A hand, feminine and dainty. Fingers curled to mirror the hand beside it, forming a twisted heart shape. 

What was…

Oh. 

Through the hands, a particularly gruesome image met your eyes. An armless couple, sitting on a couch drenched in their own blood. Judging by their agonized expressions, he’d severed the limbs while they were still alive. Probably where all the blood came from. A dark void lied in each chest, right where the heart sits. In their laps, the organ in question. If you remembered basic anatomy right, the man held the woman’s heart, and vice versa.

You cleared your throat, pursing your lips as you handed back the phone. “How long ago was that?”

“Call came in at six thirty seven this morning, right at sunrise.”

Holy… is that why he asked if I saw the sunrise?!

A typhoon of conflicting emotions swirled within you. Confusion, disgust, curiosity, revulsion… chaos.

What a strange duality, to both be horrified by what he created as well as understand his reasons for creating it, at least partially. The image held a macabre sort of appeal, like a sculpture in a garden. If the man didn’t use human bodies as his medium, no doubt he’d be critically acclaimed. What a waste.

“So, Doctor… any thoughts?” Officer Redgrave asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Well… it does seem like his work,” you began slowly. This was extremely dangerous ground, you had to tread carefully or you’d be ruined. “It’s tough to gain any new insight on such a small screen, but in our sessions V was always focused on the meaning of his work. He never created something without a deeper message. I think if you find that message, you might find him.”

That seemed safe. Something relatively obvious, no new information for them to misuse or misinterpret. But was it enough?

“So, you need to see it in person?” he asked.

God damn it.

“I may be able to offer more insight, yes,” you replied carefully, handing Officer Nicoletta her phone back. 

The two officers shared a look, one you didn’t catch the meaning of. What an odd pair they made, hopefully you could use that to your advantage. 

“I’ll get the paperwork started when we get back,” the woman said with a flash of resignation. Poor girl, doing all the grunt work…

“It’ll take a day or two, but we’ll be in touch. Heh, don’t leave town,” Tony said with a smirk.

The young woman rolled her eyes and stood, extending a hand to shake yours. “Don’t mind him, he’s just like that.”

“What? Saying stuff like that’s the best part of the job!” he exclaimed. 

It was almost enough to make you laugh. Almost. 

Not until the door closed on their retreating backs did you dare to breathe, allowing your true emotions to show at last. You wondered what it might be like, living without a mask. To not hide yourself away and portray the person others expected you to be. Would it be easier, or more difficult? 

It didn’t matter. This was the life you had, there was no changing that. You simply needed to make the best of it, keep moving forward. What was the saying, when you’re going through Hell, keep going?

No, Hell was for children. This was just life.

_________

You guys NEED to check out this amazing comic by @monochromatic-echo​, this is now my headcanon for how V figured out his new hairstyle! Thank you so much!

~~~~Next Chapter~~~~

[queenofthefaces]

*slams down paper* Give a thesis on Stanny boy. :D

I finished all my exams so LETS FUCKIGN GO!!! A lot of this is personal interpretation combined w hc character development 👌 I went kinda off topic bc y’all apparently like my analysis!! So here u go!!

1) sexuality hc: I love exploring queer themes w Stan sm ;;o;; I think he’s an incredibly relatable character and fandom tends to focus on his good morals so he’s the kinda character we’re more comfortable exploring like that :0 (unlike Eric who’s Problematic or Kyle who’s pretty morally gray and who has some questionable interactions w the ppl he’s had romantic interactions w)

And I love portraying Stan’s exploration into his sexuality as a very...slow kind of journey? Like Stan being someone who’s pretty ignorant but earnest, and appreciating when someone is able to help guide him (like Kenny or wendy)

But to the question: I hc Stan as bi!! Like a lot of ppl do :0 again w the slow journey, I see Stan as being the kind of person who would get into queer issues, and just being curious in general and asking questions, alongside wanting to explore w other people—like feeling a romantic/sexual tension w/ another boy but not knowing what it means, and only after he’s had someome start to guide him does he connect the pieces. Like Stan realizing “oh all those times I had a CRUSH on that guy I didn’t just admire him” sort of thing

And it’d be a very personal journey as well, I can’t imagine Stan being open or talking abt his sexuality while he’s still tryna figure it out, mostly bc he isn’t sure abt himself and he doesn’t feel secure enough to be open, plus he’s probably shy abt that kinda thing in the beginning.

And honestly I prefer Stan exploring his sexuality with Wendy or Kenny—I have a whole hc that he’d be uncomfortable with talking to kyle about it, not bc he has anything against Kyle—it’s just that Kyle sometimes gets too in his own head, gets uncomfortable with serious conversations, can sometimes leave Stan behind, and can think he knows Stan best/talks over Stan. I can’t see Kyle being someone patient enough to let Stan talk without adding in his own two cents and confusing or frustrating Stan, and Stan needs someone attentive and non-judgmental to talk things through

Wendy (esp w Wendy as a v knowledgeable queer person) is a good choice to help Stan out bc she’s very compassionate, emotionally sensitive, and wants to help.

(Going into hc-zone:) wendy might also fall into the thing Kyle does where she talks over Stan, in that she knows *so much* she thinks she can guess what Stan feels and kind of flood him with too much information unintentionally. It’s not a bad thing to try and inform him about gender stuff and bi/pan/ply/omnisexualities but Stan isn’t ready for all that yet. And I think Stan is also the kind of person who wouldn’t be super comforted by labels and facts the way Wendy is. Where Wendy likes having specific definitions to explain how she feels, Stan is overwhelmed by those labels bc he’ll overthink them and doubt himself

...which is why I prefer Stan exploring this stuff with Kenny, bc I have a really elaborate kind of relationship development between those two that could blossom if they let themselves grow closer, esp during times where Eric and Kyle are off doing Their Thing. Kenny being someone who’s incredibly sure of who he is, being a great listener, very emotionally sensitive, able to keep a secret, and able to read people well and handle situations between people. Ken is the type who can listen to Stan w/o judging him or making him feel overwhelmed, and knows when to ask questions and when to back off, etc. I have a whole thing abt how their developing relationship can be incredibly mutually beneficial but Yanno that’s for the next bulletpoint 👌 basically Kenny could be someone Stan can explore himself with, and not be pressured

And then there’s Stan’s gender identity which I also Love. I love nb Stan. Just in the kind of nb where he doesn’t want to give himself a specific label, he just wants to Be Himself, whatever that means. I hc Stan as primarily male-aligned nb, in that he’s most comfortable with being a guy or being perceived as a guy and generally presenting masc, but a lot of that is in Stan being more *socially* comfortable presenting that way, instead of him feeling more “like a guy.” I hc Stan to primarily use he/him pronouns but to also be ok w/ she/they depending on the situation. I think Wendy and Kenny would also help him w this, in hc’ing both of them as nb as well (though of course their identities manifest in different ways and they’re comfortable doing different things than Stan)

(Also I love Stan using goth stuff to explore his gender and presentation....using a more feminine name like Raven?? Being able to use nor androgynous ways of dressing?? I lov him sm ;;o;;)

(Plus I have a big hc I love where Stan tries to come out to his parents and he’s bracing for impact for the response and BOTH TIMES his dad STEALS THE SPOTLIGHT bc it’s like “ugh, what is it with kids these days coming up with FAKE TERMS for stuff that’s JUST NORMAL. It’s NORMAL to think about wanting to kiss other guys Stan duh” and Sharon and Stan just. “No....dad....straight men don’t want to kiss other men wtf” and later it’s “ok Stan I believe you about the bisexuality thing but this nonbinary thing?? Again it’s NORMAL!! To feel like a bit of both and want to be seen as a woman sometimes” and Stan’s just pinching his nose again.

He was afraid of becoming his father but. Not like this. Nb bi KINGS)

2) Otp: STENNY!!!!! I love stenny sm. (But I’ll get into that in a bit but first)

S/tendy is also really really cute, but imo it’s the pinnacle of school love. I feel like Stan and Wendy can be good together and genuinely like each other’s company, but I feel like their life goals and ambitions would stray, and they wouldn’t be completely compatible in a way that would be really sustainable as adults. It’s not a bad thing, and I think they could absolutely remain close friends w/o necessarily needing a romantic relationship

Anyways. I adore Stenny. A lot of it again revolves around some development hc stuff I have, mostly in how compatible and mutually beneficial the relationship can be. I like imagining them growing closer and more intimate w each other in a very private kind of way. Like them hanging out one on one, and eventually that evolves into texting, calling, sleeping over w just the two of them, etc, until they have this entire close relationship that’s all their own

And with compatibility, I think both Kenny and Stan are incredibly compassionate, sensitive, thoughtful people who can just sit and enjoy some silence. Unlike Eric and Kyle, who need constant mental stimulation—who need to be DOING things—Stan and Kenny can just...relax. And I think their sensitivity can also lead them to be able to support each other emotionally. Both of them can listen to each other, both of them are capable of having serious conversations and being patient through those conversations, both of them are perceptive and sensitive enough to recognize what the other is feeling and to have some idea of what to do about it. I think they’re both good at knowing how to take care of people (rather than someone like Kyle, who likes taking care of others but doesn’t really know how to do it very well; he’s like his mother in that way, he’s good at obvious stuff like injuries and crying but he can be kinda overbearing, presumptuous, and indelicate abt the quieter stuff but ENOUGH abt Kyle AHJSKDKF)

I think stenny is strong also in how the two can help one another. Kenny is realistic but careful and can provide support for Stan when he’s going through a rough patch. Kenny shows up to Stan’s room in the middle of the night with water and snacks and listens to Stan rant or just *is there* to show Stan he’s not alone. Kenny answers Stan’s 2am texts when Stan can’t sleep and stays on the phone with him all night to keep him company

And Stan is earnest in how much he cares abt his friends and would just...really easily show he cares w/o any judgement. Stan saves seats for Kenny, sends him “be safe!” texts when Ken goes home, offers his bed and his home to Kenny and Karen when they need a place to stay, and it never has an air of pity or self-righteousness about it—it’s just Stan genuinely being nice. And that kind of attention and care is a breath of fresh air for Ken, whos usually forgotten

And both of them are just. They’re a shoulder to cry on, or a pillar to lean against. And that’s smth they need—Stan to feel listened to, Kenny bc he takes on so much stress. They can be a rock for each other.

3) brotp: I love Stan making friends honestly ;;o;;

like I said in my kyle analysis I love the super best friends a lot ;;o;; they really care abt each other and don’t want to lose each other which is really nice. I just...love them being best friends + brotherly towards each other

But I also like Stan making friends outside of the m4—with the girls or the goth kids or even with someone like Tweek. (Though I cant really see him hanging out w “Craig’s gang” mostly bc there’s this air of exclusivity w the “groups,” like an established dynamic that no one really likes to cross, bc they’ve all jus Known each other for so long and have solidified those groups + dynamics—though I can see him also befriending the individual members of Craig’s gang, esp token or jimmy)

His friendship w the goth kids means a lot to me HONESTLY I love the idea of them remaining friends bc they vibe together well—esp when they get a better hang of mental health stuff, and they can talk abt gender and coping mechanisms and cool movies they’ve watched ;;o;; i think being with the goth kids could be a really important part of Stan forming his personal identity and while I don’t think they’d be *best friends* I can still see them as ppl he’d invite to his parties or to the movies and stuff

4) notp: s...st/yle, bc like I said in my kyle analysis I just. Can’t see it. I think kyle hurts Stan too much and that they need to work on their friendship, and that they’re much more compatible as friends than as anything else. I much much prefer a brotherly relationship where they’d feel weird even thinking about kissing each other lol

My other notps for Stan are less about me not liking the ship and more abt me like. Not wanting the characters w anyone else but who I already ship them with. I don’t like Stan with Craig or Tweek bc I can’t see those two w anyone but each other, for example. (Plus I have a lotta hc’s abt craig and his feelings for Tweek ;;o;; craig is a one man kinda guy lmao)

Though I do think Stan is extremely compatible with lots of characters. Idk why ppl ship Kyle w everyone when I don’t think kyle is v compatible with ppl—Stan is def someone who could date like. Just abt anyone. I don’t like Stan ships that aren’t stenny or st/endy but I can at least understand them. Stan is just really nice and approachable and can get along w a lotta people

5) First hc I think of: oh I love the hc that Stan sometimes writes his own music, but he’s kinda shy abt his voice so he doesn’t sing very often.

Or hc that he has a bit of a “dad bod” when he gets older. And the chubbier he is, the happier and more relaxed he is ;;o;; (Bc if Stan is too aware of his body and trying to work out to get the “perfect” figure, he’ll stress over it)

Or Stan growing up to breed service dogs ;;o;; (thank u magnus burnsides for this PERFECT idea)

6) how I relate to this character: I’ve kinda incorporated my own gender stuff into my interpretation of Stan (though I relate more to my gender-interpretation of Kenny)

But I think.....hm. It’s kinda hard to pick out a way I relate to Stan bc I’m so invested in seeing him grow and develop it doesn’t feel like it relates to me. Probably tho I relate to his weird balance of loyalty vs exasperation. Stan loves his friends and family and will do a lot for them. But my god. Sometimes they’re all so stupid. Randy being randy is obvious but remember when Kyle had a breakdown over the fucking Facebook farm game?? Stan is so tired

7) what gives me secondhand embarrassment abt Stan: uhhhh hm. Well, sometimes he’s kinda ignorant and goes along w what everyone else is doing, but honestly I don’t really cringe over Stan. He’s learning and trying and I can’t really fault him for that so much

8) cinnamon roll or problematic fave: cinnamon roll ;;o;; Stan is someone who’s usually pretty genuine and I love his role as the “straight man” in a lot of the stories. He’s been through a lot but I want him to just...be happy ;;o;; I love portrayals of Stan where he can be happy?? Like yeah he can be a cynic but he’s also really compassionate and I jus ;;o;;